Free Lucky Break by Esther Freud Page B

that some pupils, as predicted, have nothing left to learn from us, and will therefore be released from their obligation to keep studying the art of acting, and will instead be free, as from next week, to wend their eventful ways out into the world.’
    No one spoke. They’d learnt from bitter experience that questions or comments were rarely welcome. So we are being thrown out, Nell thought, and it was no easier to bear the second time round. She remembered reading that clause in the prospectus and knowing absolutely that it would never, ever, apply to her. It was for people who were late, or unable to learn their lines, who crashed into furniture, or questioned the validity of what they were being taught. There was no one in the room like that. Those students had barely lasted the first term.
    â€˜Right.’ Even the Australian looked subdued. ‘So remember, kids. Have fun.’ And they wandered off to take up their positions for the start of the show.
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    The interviews were scheduled for the following Tuesday. There were no lessons for their year that day, although the year below were still busy, taking ballet class in the studio with Olinka, running through Stanislavsky’s method exercises with Babette in the hall. The third year were preparing for their final production, open to the public, where their friends and family, agents and casting directors could come and speed them on their way. Only the music room was free to wait in. It was a mirrored room, that doubled as a stage make-up and dressing room, and it was opposite Patrick’s office.
    There were three students waiting there when Nell arrived. ‘What’s happening?’ she said, glancing at her watch, and Jonathan looked up and whispered, ‘It’s Pierre, he’s been in there for bloody hours. You can hear him, if you listen, pleading and begging.’ They all did listen. A high, hysterical murmur drifted through the door. ‘You’re wrong, please, come on . . . if you give me one more chance, one term . . . I worked so hard . . .’ But he was drowned out by low, stern words, and the fluting fluttery tones of Silvio. If they throw me out, Nell thought, I won’t beg or plead. I won’t give them the satisfaction. I’ll just walk away. She felt herself go icy cold, and eggy pools of sweat collected under her arms. Just then Hettie appeared in the doorway. ‘Hey,’ Nell patted the seat beside her. ‘What’s the news? Did you hear, is Samantha in?’
    Hettie nodded, and Nell nodded too, to keep her lip from trembling.
    â€˜But it’s so awful,’ Hettie was close to tears. ‘Susie’s out, and Tess and Mikita. They’re all in the pub. Dan’s in, of course, but he’s threatening to leave because of Jemma.’ Nell glanced at her watch. ‘What time are you?’
    Just then the door opened, and Pierre drifted across the hall. ‘They wouldnae listen,’ he said, and he fell on Nell’s shoulder.
    Eshkol, his green lenses glinting, his face swathed in foundation, swept past them. ‘If they keep that weirdo I’ll kill myself,’ Pierre wept. ‘Oh God, what will I tell my parents? They’ve paid for two years of this place and I have nothing to show for it. No agent. No photograph in Spotlight . No contacts. It’s as if I was never here.’
    Hettie hugged him. ‘Babe,’ she said. ‘I know this might not sound very helpful, but loads of the third year are leaving and they don’t have any agents or contacts either.’
    â€˜Yes,’ he sobbed, ‘but at least their mums and dads had an excuse to come to London. Got to see them. Got to clap and read their name in a photocopied programme.’ Nell and Hettie laughed, and through his tears Pierre did too. ‘Oh, the dreams, the glamour.’
    But the door was already opening and Eshkol, his face a mask, his eyes staring, turned and walked away