‘Can I start over?’ Lucy asked again.

‘Fine,’ the lead actor intoned, bored. He was a legendary piece of work

Lucy disappeared behind the curtain and re-emerged in a pure white nightdress.

‘Why are you wearing that?’ the girl-actor asked.

‘It signifies the mental state of my character,’ Lucy explained, ‘which is destructive.’

‘Just say your name and where you’re from.’

‘I’m Lucy.’

‘And where are you from?’

‘I don’t know where I’m from.’

Natasha laughed. The troupe turned to look at her, three serious faces. ‘She really doesn’t know where she’s from,’ Natasha said, ‘just let her start.’

Lucy moved behind the table as if to begin her monologue. She looked at the table for a few minutes. She started making choo-choo noises, performing the motion of a train with her arms.

‘What’s that?’ the piece of work asked.

‘That’s the start.’

‘No, it’s not.’

‘That’s how I’ve interpreted the start of this woman’s sad journey,’ Lucy explained.

‘Just say the monologue,’ the girl interrupted. ‘Say the lines as you’ve learnt them.’

‘Okay,’ Lucy agreed, but didn’t supply anything further. There was a short silence. ‘Can I start again?’ she asked.

‘Jesus Christ,’ the shortest, most aggressive actor shouted.

‘Just let her try again,’ Natasha pleaded from the back.

‘What is wrong with you?’ the girl-actor asked Lucy, genuinely interested.

‘I’m here to audition,’ Lucy replied haughtily, ‘not for a character assessment.’

‘Okay, go then.’

Lucy hid behind the curtain. Natasha could see her fluttery, desperate movements.

She walked out unsteadily wearing a stained dressing- gown and carrying a whiskey glass.

‘What’s that?’ The short actor rubbed his hand across his face in weariness.

‘It’s a drink. If I know this particular character she would need a drink at a time like this. To assist with her illusions and keep reality at bay.’

‘What’s a time like this?’

‘A time of despair and pitiful loneliness.’

‘Has she put her dressing-gown on because of despair?’ Natasha could hear the sneer in the girl-actor’s voice. It came naturally to her, like birdsong.

‘No,’ Lucy said, ‘she’s put her dressing-gown on because she’s cold.’

‘Just begin. Please begin.’

‘Okay,’ Lucy agreed.

‘Is that actual whiskey in that glass?’

Lucy nodded.

‘Put it down.’

Lucy put down the glass. ‘Do you want me to pick up anything else in its place?’

‘No. Just begin.’

‘Fine.’

Lucy paused.

‘I’ve forgotten, do you want me to pick up the glass or put it down?’

‘Put it down.’ The piece of work said each word slowly, as if communicating with a child.

Lucy perched herself at the edge of the table and rested her chin on her knuckles.

‘Thank you for the flowers,’ Lucy said.

‘There are no flowers in this play,’ the short actor said.

‘I love the flowers you’ve brought me, but I must comport myself like a woman and say no.’

‘There are no flowers!’

Lucy was holding an imaginary bunch of flowers in her right hand. ‘Are these lilies?’

Natasha watched the girl-actor, waiting for her to say something. Instead, she was leaning forward, her body bobbing back and forth. She was laughing. Lucy had made this professional mourner laugh.