She takes her spot on the X on the floor. The camera pans up and down her body. She says her name, says the name of her agent. Turns to the left. Turns to the right. Shows her hands to the camera.

When the men have done the same, the casting director claps his hands.

“OK, so, Lissa, you’re the mum, Rod, you’re the father. Dan, you’re playing the teacher.”

Dan nods wildly. Lissa can see he read the brief last night, since he has come dressed for the part in a jacket with patches on the elbows, and a tie.

“So, Lissa, Rod, you sit here.” The casting director gestures to a couple of chairs behind a table. “And Dan, you here on the other side. And here’s the cookies.”

Lissa looks at where a plate of cookies sits on a stool, anemic-looking in the fetid air.

“So yeah, why not just do a bit of improvising?”

One of the men on the sofa glances briefly up at the monitor, then back down at his phone, as Dan leans forward, eager to begin.

“So—erm, Mrs. . . . Lacey. Mr. . . . Lacey, I’m a little, um, worried about . . . Josh.” He sits back, obviously pleased with this first line.

“Oh?” The actor beside Lissa leans forward now. He is handsome in a bland sort of way. She can see his muscles tensed beneath the cotton of his shirt. “That’s very . . . concerning.”

“Look at me.”

Lissa looks up, startled, to where the casting director is reading from a script in a gruff baritone.

“The cookies,” the casting director says to her, waving her gaze away, “I’m the voice of the cookies. Look at the cookies, not at me.”

“Oh,” she says. “Right.”

“Look at me,” he says again.

She looks down at the cookies.

“You know you want to. Yeah. That’s right. Come a little closer.”

Lissa leans tentatively towards the plate.

“Yeah.” His voice drops another half an octave. Is he moving into an American accent? He sounds like Barry White.

The men on the sofa have both looked up now. She can see the monitor—a tight close-up of her face, her cheeks red, her expression confused.

“Yeah,” the casting director murmurs. He too is looking up at the monitor now, waiting.

Silence.

“Go on,” he says, in his normal voice.

“Sorry?” She can feel sweat spreading over her back. “I’m a bit lost here.”

Dan leans forward, eager as ever. “You’re supposed to pick them up,” he says. “It said in the brief. To shove them in your mouth.” He points to the paper. “It says you can’t concentrate on the teacher. On what the teacher’s saying. Because of the chocolate. You just can’t help yourself.”

“Ah. I see.”