At that moment, Calvin walked back in, saw Odette’s face, saw Mitchum on the screen, gauged the temperature of the room and jumped immediately to the absolutely correct conclusion. ‘Get that off, Elliot. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but get that off.’
‘Sit yourself down, Calvin. You’ll miss the best bit,’ Elliot sneered.
Odette felt like she was in a parallel universe where nothing was as she thought. Mild-mannered Elliot now shot a look of malevolence towards her, and a realisation hit her like a thunderbolt. She recognised that expression. That mannerism. Not from him, but from someone else. It was something in the eyes. Something she’d seen before, a million years ago. Or rather, forty years ago to be exact.
The image on the screen changed, and Odette was back, the light unflattering and her eyes bloodshot from crying. She knew when that was filmed. This afternoon. In her dressing room. After she’d spectacularly melted down at the end of her final scene.
Elliot’s voice again, interviewing her, posing the question he’d asked her in their last session today. ‘Okay,’ he could be heard saying, ‘let’s wrap this up with one final question. 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.’
On the screen, Odette gave a bashful smile and began recounting her well-rehearsed version of the truth. The voiceover returned, telling the audience that everything they were about to hear, was in fact a lie.
‘And now, for the first time,’ the voiceover went on, ‘you are about to learn the truth of the despicable things Odette Devine did to claim a career that should never have been hers.’
Odette whimpered.
A thunderous Calvin was marching towards the TV screen to switch it off, when a new face appeared.
That’s when Odette knew she’d been right in her realisation from a few seconds ago. On the screen next to where Elliot was standing, their faces only a few feet apart, was a woman she recognised, and when they were side by side, the resemblance was so much more obvious. In fact, it was so strong, they could only be mother and son. It had to be.
So this was it. Karma. Justice. This man was seeking revenge for what Olive Docherty had done to his mum. The truth was going to come out now and there was no way to stop it. May as well face it and the inevitable punishment that she rightly deserved.
‘Calvin, leave it,’ she barked, to the palpable astonishment of everyone in the room. Appalled glares shot in her direction, before eyes darted straight back to the TV, unwilling to miss a second of this. ‘Let it play,’ she told him, calmer this time.
He spun around, his expression asking a silent question:Are you mad?
Maybe she was. But she was tired too. Tired of the lies. Tired of waiting for it to catch up with her. Tired of wondering if every awful thing that happened to her was a result of some messed-up karma she’d brought on herself by her actions all those years ago. Tired of having nothing left to lose.
What did it matter if the story came out? Let it happen. Her life was over anyway. Her money was gone. Her fame would be next. There was no family and very few friends. Sod it. Let them do their worst, because it was warranted. She had it coming. And maybe the woman who was on the screen in front of her deserved to have her moment in the spotlight. The one Odette had stolen from her four decades ago.
‘We should stop this,’ she heard one of the producers say to Carl, the director of the show. ‘There could be legal issues for thestudio.’ Only interested in their own skins. Scumbags, every one of them.
Carl brushed it off with, ‘Too late. Better that we know exactly what’s there so we can lock this down or milk it. This could be TV gold.’
Odette had never wanted to kill anyone more, but it would have to wait.
Eyes back to the screen. The lady staring back at her was about the same age, with the skin and eyes of someone who’d shared too many nights with a packet of cigarettes and a bottle of booze. There was a hint of a slur when she started to speak.
‘There were three of us who went to the audition. Of course, she wasn’t Odette then. She was just plain Olive Docherty. Anyway, me, Olive and…’
Calvin came back to his seat, whispered in her ear, ‘Whatever this is, you don’t need to listen to it. I can get you out of here right now.’
Odette shook her head. No. She’d been running from the truth for forty years. It was time to stand still.
The woman was still speaking, but Odette didn’t need to listen, because she had been there, and she knew the truth of how it ended. The phone call. That Monday morning in 1983.
She’d heard Alf’s voice and known immediately who it was. ‘Aye, erm, yes, hello. This is Alf Cotter. Can I speak to Fiona Jones?’
It was a split-second decision. A sliding door. A fall off a cliff, straight into hell.
She’d cleared her throat, raised her voice, copied the cadence and pitch of a brogue that she listened to every day. ‘This is Fiona.’
‘Fiona, like I said, this is Alf. I’ve got some news for you. What an audition that was. And, if I’m being honest, it camedown to you and one other lass. But I’m offering you a part. You start next…’
There had still been time to do the right thing. She could just tell Fiona that Alf had called to offer her the part and Fiona would never be any the wiser. A loud voice in her head had told her to do that… but she’d ignored it.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to be on the show.’
‘What?’ A confused pause. Clearly Alf Cotter had never had that response before.
