Two weeks into rehearsals, on a Friday, Holly took the train out to her old acting school in Guildford, where she’d agreed to give a guest seminar, unpaid, as a favour. Standing at the front of the room, she looked out on the students’ hopeful, expectant faces and wondered what she could say to them. Don’t do it if you can possibly avoid it?

No, can’t say that.

She pulled her notes from her bag and began speaking on the woman’s voice in Greek theatre, and the line from there to Ibsen and Tennessee Williams. She zeroed in on Chekhov, since he was front of mind. The students looked bored stiff, the little brats. But she knew this was a cover, a pretence, in the way that boredom often was, and that deep down, underneath, they were utterly petrified. They were all so desperate to make it, and they knew the odds were against them.

Wanting to offer them something more, she read them an article about how Chekhov’s modesty, his self-mockery and self-doubt, for a long time persuaded others not to believe in his talents. ‘“It was only slowly and with great difficulty that he gained a modicum of belief in himself – the belief that is essential if others are to believe in us,”’ she finished, quoting Thomas Mann.

So she ended up doing the opposite of what she intended, and left them with this note of encouragement.

In doing Platonov, Holly had never considered that Genevieve might stand in need of encouragement or support. The following day, when someone asked Genevieve if she’d be auditioning for a part that was coming up elsewhere, she told them she couldn’t. ‘I can only do this play because it’s close to home,’ she said. ‘My daughter’s seven months old. I hate being away from her, I’m in two minds all the time. Even when I’m here I’m not doing justice to the role. You know, I didn’t want it to be known that I’ve had a child because I worried that people would think I’m distracted. And guess what? They’d be right. They’d be absolutely right.’

The penny dropped for Holly, and for the first time she felt some sympathy towards Genevieve. Perhaps it showed. Genevieve turned to her and said, ‘I should have said this those times you all went out for lunch, but it’s better if I pop home at lunchtime for a feed.’

It took Holly a moment to realise that a feed meant feeding her baby.

‘I mean, I’ve expressed, obviously,’ said Genevieve with a downwards smile, ‘but it helps to keep the plumbing going. Boobs. What a mega-pain.’