Realms Of Possibility

COLIN

It was our Lauren who showed me the ad in the paper and said she was going to go for it.

'Get away, you daft 'apporth,' I said, hanging onto the washing machine so it wouldn't judder out and scuff the kitchen tiles even more.

'They pay you £150 for the day, ' she smirked, 'and all you have to do is hang around and cheer when he makes the speech.'

'When who makes what speech?'

'King George the Sixth. It's a film about how he couldn't talk proper. He had a shockin' stammer and the film's about this doctor who cured him.'

I could feel her eyes wickedly twinkling into my back as she said,

'Guess who's playing the king?'

'I dunno. Claude van Damme?'

I was getting sick of her twittering on and the washing had got all tangled up in the machine, so I was struggling a bit to get it in the basket.

'Only Colin Firth.'

'What?'

She knew she'd got my attention now. Colin Firth. Mamma Mia, Bridget Jones' Diary, Kingsman: the Secret Service, Pride and Prejudice, you name it, I've seen every film he ever did. Even 'Love Actually' where they gave him a rubbish part.

She grinned.

'Okay,' I told her, 'start again. You said there's this ad in the paper...'

'And they're looking for extras for a film called 'The King's Speech' starring Colin Firth. They pay you £150 for the day and you have to go to the stadium. They give you the gear, you listen to him give the speech, then you clap and cheer. I signed up already.'

'Give me that paper,' I shouted, as she snatched it up and ran round the kitchen with it. She reached the door before yelling,

'Buy your own,' and she was gone.


The washing forgotten I slipped on my crocs and sprinted to the paper shop to get 'The Examiner'. My hands were shaking so much when I got home I could barely turn the pages to find the ad. Except I couldn't find it. Then I realised it was in yesterday's paper. I'd have to get the bus to the library in town.

Of course, the bus took ages to come and it was raining stair rods. By the time I got to the library I was a drowned rat, but they had the paper and I soon found the ad. Seeing me pull my phone out, the librarian tutted and pointed to the 'no mobiles' sign. Shamefacedly, I put the number in and marched out into the rain.

'Hello, hello? I'm phoning about the job in The Examiner, to be a film extra?'

'Sorry, love, we don't need any more people, but I can take your number...'

'No, erm, no thanks.'

I was so disappointed I found a quiet corner in Merrie England and wept over a latte and two Mars bars. If only Lauren wasn't so mean... Well, that's my sister for you: selfish to the last. I'd find a way to pay her back. And soon. I went home to my washing, draped the duvet covers over the doors to dry, made a mac 'n' cheese for the kids' tea and put Mamma Mia on to cheer myself up.


Lauren usually came over for tea on Saturday. Her favourite was fish and chips, so, even though I knew it would break the budget, I sent Tim out for five fish, a steak and kidney pudding for Martin and chips. Tim looked at me as if I'd come up on a scratch card, even brought home lager.

We settled the kids in front of 'Despicable Me', and ate in the kitchen with our tinnies. I knew Lauren wouldn't be able to help herself and soon enough she was bragging about her new job: she had to be there at nine in time for hair and make up. She was catching the 8.15 bus to be sure to be there early. She'd try to get me Colin Firth' autograph but she couldn't promise. And with the money she was buying herself a designer jacket she'd seen in TKMaxx. In fact she'd already bought it on her credit card and was going to pay it off next month. Pretty soon I knew all the details and Lauren was going to get a lesson in keeping her mouth shut.


Tuesday morning it was fine but cold. I shooed the kids out for breakfast club at 8; Tim was long gone as usual. I called Lauren and said,

'You have to help me. There's a bird trapped in the shed and I can't get it out'.

She protested she was just leaving, I'd make her late: I began to cry.

'You won't be late. It'll only take a minute. You know how scared I am of birds.'

'Okay, but if I can't get it out quick I'll have to go.'

'You're a star. Thanks Lauren.'

Two minutes later she was at the door, wearing her new jacket.

'Thanks,' I gushed.

She left her bag on the kitchen table and held her hand out for the key.

'I'll open the shed for you. The door's been sticking and there's a knack to it.'

Lauren raised her eyebrows to show her contempt for my fear of birds, my falling down shed, my general status as a loser, before following me down the garden path. I unlocked the shed and cautiously opened the door, letting Lauren in through a small gap.

Then I slammed the door shut, locked it and took the letter out of Lauren's handbag before rushing out to catch the bus.


I left a note on the kitchen table for the kids:


'Your tea is in the fridge, just warm it up, and can you let Auntie Lauren out of the shed.
Love, Mum xxx'