The concern that was in every lasered pore of Calvin’s face was touching, but even though Odette knew it came from a place of care, she was so embarrassed that she responded with a brusque, ‘Of course I am. It was just the power of the scene that caused my little… interlude.’
They both knew that was a lie, but she was far too proud and too mortified to admit it, even to Calvin. Oh, the shame of it. Showing vulnerability and falling apart like that in front of the whole bloody cast. Calvin had assured her that he’d got her out in time, and that no one had clocked on to her having a genuine meltdown, and she was choosing to believe him because the alternative was too horrendous to contemplate.
All these young ones nowadays seemed to think it was a national bloody sport to show their feelings. She was barely social-media savvy (her choice, given that she refused to give all that nonsense a moment of her time), but she’d seen enough to know it was changed days from her generation of stoicism and inner resolve. All those posts declaring their woes and theirworries. Attention-seeking, that’s all it was. And as for the Tok-Tiks, or whatever they were called… piece of nonsense. Filming themselves eating their lunch or crying over whatever ridiculous thing that was going on in their life. What was the point? Genuinely, she was baffled. As for those… what were they called? Influencers. Yep, that was it. Well, she couldn’t get her head around that at all. In her day, you only got famous if you were either a criminal, a politician or someone with a talent. Singing. Dancing. Acting. Writing. Not for putting up pictures of your arse hanging out of a bikini the size of two teabags and a pocket square in Marbella.
She was back in her chair in her dressing room, and after a quick session with the hair and make-up team, all traces of dowdy Agnes McGlinchy were gone, and in her place, Odette Devine sported a flawless visage and a perfect coiffure. If the glam squad had noticed her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy skin, they hadn’t mentioned it and that suited Odette fine. The old adage of ‘Never explain, never complain’ was one that she thoroughly subscribed to. And she’d be sticking to that in this next session with the documentary team. Thankfully, there was only going to be time for a quick exchange before her official farewell lunch.
‘Okay, let’s get this over with,’ she sighed, and Calvin responded by swinging the door open and beckoning to Elliot and his cameraman, who’d been in the corridor for the last forty-five minutes, patiently waiting for their next audience with the freshly de-throned queen.
Elliot opened the session with a compliment. ‘That scene was incredible, Odette. The sheer force of your performance shows us why you’re regarded as one of the greatest British actresses of your time.’
Odette wasn’t buying what he was selling. Not that she disagreed with him, but she wasn’t a wet-behind-the-ears novicewho fell for flattery and let their guard down. It was the oldest trick in the book, and she was a thousand press junkets too experienced and savvy to let that work.
‘Can you tell us how you feel now that the scene is over and Agnes McGlinchy has breathed her last breath?’
If she were one of those Tok-Tickers, she’d well up and start pouring out her feelings to anyone who would listen. Thankfully, she wasn’t.
‘I feel… satisfied. I think the scene was the perfect ending for one of the most iconic characters in soap history. Agnes will be up there with the likes of Dot Cotton, Pat Butcher, Peggy Mitchell, Hilda Ogden and Vera Duckworth. If there was a soap hall of fame, I’d like to think she’d get a star there.’
Elliot nodded, letting her give her full answer. All his questions would be edited out in the final documentary, and her answers would be interjected between clips to form a narrative. She just had to make sure that it was the story she wanted to tell. ‘Great, Odette, thank you. Just a couple more and then we’ll let you go. Your son, Hugh, has been played by Rex Marino for the last two years. Can you give me some comment on Rex and the rumours that he has hopes of transitioning to a movie career?’
She was tempted – so, so tempted – to announce to the world that he was an overrated arse whose ego was far greater than his talent, but again, she gave the politically prudent answer.
‘I think he’s a fine actor and I’m looking forward to watching where his career goes from here. The Glasgow streets to the Hollywood stars would be something, wouldn’t it?’
He didn’t have a snowball’s chance in Satan’s kitchen of making it on the other side of the Atlantic. Here he was a big fish in a small pond. Over there? He was just another good-looking guy with mediocre talent.
Calvin could sense that she was getting impatient, and smooth as ever, he stepped in. ‘Elliot, I’m sorry to intervene, butOdette has lunch with the cast and crew shortly, so we’ll have to wrap this up.’
Elliot nodded sagely. This man had the patience of a saint. If she could give advice to her younger self, it would be to forget the bad boys, the arrogant tossers, and go for this type of guy: attractive enough, level-headed, no desire to share her limelight or profit from it. A wave of angst made her jaw set and she quickly readjusted her smile, careful not to give them any unflattering shots that they could use if they tried to add some grit to the piece by showing her in a negative light or in more sombre moments.
‘Okay,’ Elliot agreed. ‘Let’s finish off with one final question.’
Odette flashed her well-rehearsed, strategically precise smile – just wide enough to show off her perfect veneers, but not too wide that it gave her crow’s feet or emphasised her mouth-to-nose lines.
‘I’ve read several different accounts of how you got the role onThe Clydeside. I’d love to hear the true story straight from you.’
Odette’s perfect veneers almost rattled.
This was it. She had two choices. She could stick to the same old rubbish she’d been spouting for decades, about how she’d been working in a café (a lie), and one day, Alf Cotter, the original director of a new Scottish soap calledThe Clydeside,had come in for a pie and beans (more lies). It was a low-budget project in the beginning (true, and that hadn’t changed too much) and the show had only been commissioned for six episodes, so there were no flash restaurants for the executives yet, she would joke when she was retelling the story for the hundredth time. Anyway, in that fictionalised version, Alf sat down, opened his newspaper, and barely glanced up when a young Odette Devine came to his table to take his order. At least, at first. As soon as he heard her voice, he’d lifted his head, andwhen he saw her smile, he was captivated. After his pie, and three cups of tea, during which his eyes had barely left her, she’d marched over and demanded to know what he was staring at. She’d expected him to ask her out, but instead, he’d asked her if she’d ever thought about acting. Which, of course, she had. After all, she was only working in the café in her spare time, in between the modelling jobs that were getting more frequent every month (she’d never modelled a day in her life). He’d asked her to come back to his production office there and then, where she’d read in front of the director, and well, the rest was history.
That was the version she should give Elliot for this documentary, even though every word of it was nonsense.
Olive Docherty hadn’t been working in a café at all. At twenty-eight years old, she’d been working as a school dinner lady, in some godforsaken village on the outskirts of Glasgow, a job she’d only got because the previous person in the role had been her Auntie Vi, who’d died the year before after her gin-soaked liver had packed in, leaving Odette without another living relative. Her mother had passed when she was twelve and she’d been brought up being told by her mum and Auntie Vi that Robert Redford was her real dad. She still couldn’t watchLove Storywithout tearing up. She’d hated every single thing about that job in the school, except the banter between the rest of the women. Three of the canteen crew had been in their twenties, and the rest were in their forties and fifties, all of them women who drank, who smoked, who loved their families fiercely. They gossiped relentlessly, their language was choice and they used caustic humour to get them through every hard time, and to keep each other grounded when things were good. Every one of them had played a part in inspiring her portrayal of Agnes McGlinchy.
It had been one of her co-workers of a similar age who’d brought the newspaper in. She’d pointed out the advert foractresses for the new show, said she was going and suggested Odette and another of their work pals should tag along. What neither of the other women knew was that Odette had immediately recognised that it could be a way out of her hellish existence, of living day to day on her own, trying to eke out enough money to eat, for her bus fares, to put coins in the gas meter so she could stave off hypothermia and get a bath a couple of times a week. That was no life for anyone. She’d been desperate for comfort. Security. Fame and fortune would be a bonus. All she’d ever known was miserable poverty. The prospect of an acting job had been a fantasy way out of a world that she hated and she’d been fully prepared to fight for her chance. In the end, she’d won the battle, but she’d had to lie and cheat her way to victory.
Question was, should she come clean now, try to right the wrong, and absolve her conscience? Telling the documentary crew would get the story out, be the first step in trying to find a way to repent for what she’d done and maybe even balance the karma that was shredding her life to tatters right now.
For the second time in a couple of hours, she heard Rex’s words echo in her mind.
‘I hope you’ve got no regrets, Ma. Because it’s too late for you to fix them.’
This was her chance. She just had to have enough integrity to take it.
10
TRESS
