I Know Who You Are

I feel a little bit sick. It’s as though I’m trapped inside a life-sized joke.

I stand on the set of my fictional kitchen, waiting for my fictional husband to come home, and I see Jack smile at me before our first take.

Nobody is smiling by the twentieth.

I keep forgetting my lines, which never happens to me. I’m sure the rest of the cast and crew must hate me for it. I get to go home after this scene, but they don’t. The clapboard sounds, the director says, ‘Action,’ again, and I do my best to get it right this time.

I pour myself a drink I’ll never swallow, then pretend to be surprised when Jack comes up behind me, slipping his arms around my waist.

‘It’s done,’ I say, turning to look up at him.

His face changes, in exactly the same way it did nineteen times before. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean. It’s done. It’s taken care of.’ I raise the glass to my lips.

He takes a step back. ‘I didn’t think you were actually going to do it.’

‘He wouldn’t give me what I wanted, but I know that you will. I love you. I want to be with you; nobody else is going to get in the way of that.’

The word ‘Cut’ echoes in my ears, and I can tell from the look on the director’s face that I’ve nailed it this time. As soon as he’s watched the scene back, I’ll be free to go.

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