Kate Thompson - The O’Hara Affair

‘Yes.’

‘You are a talented young lady, Bethany. Artistic.’

Bethany shrugged. ‘I – I suppose I am.’

‘I see a keyboard. Do you play the piano?’

‘Yes. I do.’

‘And you love to act. It is your dream career. Have you applied to theatre school?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Isn’t it about time you did?’

‘I guess so. They’ve actually extended the deadline to the school I want to go to, but I keep putting it off.’

‘I see. You’re putting it off because you’re scared of rejection?’

Bethany nodded.

‘The crystal ball is telling me that you shouldn’t procrastinate any longer,’ said Madame Tiresia. ‘If you want this thing badly enough, you must take action now.’

‘Oh.’ Bethany looked dubious. ‘OK.’

‘The ball is telling me too that you’ve had a reason to be unhappy lately. What is the reason for your unhappiness, Bethany?’

‘I – I guess it’s just…I’m eighteen and I’ve never had a boyfriend.’ Oh! What was she doing, blurting out personal stuff like that! It was a fortune-teller she was talking to, not an agony aunt!

‘You badly want a boyfriend?’

‘Yeah. I know it’s stupid, but I feel like a loser without one.’

‘But you are a special girl, Bethany.’

Bethany shook her head. ‘No way! I’m not special!’

‘You are a special girl, Bethany,’ repeated Madame Tiresia. ‘And special girls have to be particular about the kind of boy they allow into their lives. You must not settle for just any Tom, Dick or Harry.’

Bethany drooped. ‘It’s just that nearly all the other girls I know have boyfriends.’

‘Ah – but they probably have settled for any Tom, Dick and Harry. They think that by surrounding themselves with friends, it proves to the world how popular they are. But they’re indiscriminate. You, Bethany, being special, must wait for that special boy. He is out there somewhere, waiting for you. But you must be patient.’

Funny. That’s what her mother always said to her. Bethany had always pretended to her mum that she didn’t care that she didn’t have a boyfriend, that she was perfectly happy without some punk hanging around, cramping her style. But the real reason she told her mum this was to reassure her, because she didn’t want her to know how badly she was hurting. She’d never told anyone how badly she was hurting. Until now…

‘I know it’s hard, Bethany,’ continued Madame Tiresia. ‘It’s hard to be different. And it’s even harder when you’re beautiful, because beautiful girls are expected to be carefree and fun-loving. You do know that you are beautiful, don’t you?’

‘Me? Are you—’ Bethany had been about to say, ‘Are you mad?’ but, realizing how rude it would sound, stopped herself and changed it to, ‘Are you serious?’ Nobody apart from her parents had ever told her that she was beautiful. At school, she felt so ordinary next to the glossy girls who spent a fortune on their appearance. Plus, she was always being asked for her ID.

‘You’re beautiful, Bethany. You’re a natural beauty. Trust me.’

‘But everybody picks on me and calls me pleb and loser!’

‘You’re neither of those things, Bethany.’

‘Oh – I’ve been a pleb and a loser for as long as I can remember.’ Bethany gave a little laugh, as if she didn’t care that people called her names – even though in reality it hurt like hell. ‘I remember when all the girls in my class were getting confirmed and boasting about the frocks they were going to wear, and I pretended that I had a frock with lace petticoats and pearls sewn on and in fact there wasn’t a frock at all because I wasn’t getting confirmed. My parents are atheists, you see and have no truck with religion. And when the other kids found out I was lying they gave me such a hard time.’

‘I can imagine. Children can be very cruel.’

‘They’re even worse when they grow up. I’ve had so much grief since people found out that I want to be an actress.’

‘But haven’t you always wanted to be an actress?’

‘Yes – since I was a little girl. But I never told anyone. I just used to act out scenes all by myself in my bedroom.’

‘So you’ve never acted in public?’

‘No. I used to help out with the drama group at school, but I didn’t have the nerve to audition. I just used to fetch and carry for the stage manager, and sit on the book in the prompt corner during shows. And then when people found out that I had – well, aspirations – they decided I’d got too big for my boots. They started sniggering and saying things like, “Got yourself an agent yet?” and, “When’s DiCaprio coming to find you?” And I’d have to laugh and pretend I can take a joke. I’ve got pretty good at pretending. Maybe that’s why I identify so much with Laura in The Glass Menagerie . They’re doing it in November, in the Gaiety School. I’d give anything to play Laura. In my dreams!’

‘Dream building is a good starting point. Tell me this. Assuming your application is successful, how are you going to put yourself through school? Will your parents finance you?’

‘I’ll live with them, because I can’t afford to rent anywhere. But I’m going to have to get some kind of a part-time job.’ Bethany gave a mirthless laugh. ‘That’ll be a challenge, the way things are in the employment market.’

‘So you’ll be looking for work when you go back to Dublin?’

‘Yeah. I’d much rather stay here, though, until term starts. I love it here.’

‘Why don’t you try and get a job in Lissamore, then?’

‘I’ve tried. There’s nothing going.’

‘You’re wrong. There are jobs going. Did you look for work on The O’Hara Affair ?’

‘As an actress? Are you – serious? I wouldn’t have the nerve.’

‘Not as an actress, no. As an extra.’

‘I’d have loved that, but somebody told me there was no point. Apparently hundreds of wannabes like me applied. Oh – that’s an awful word, isn’t it! Wannabe.’

‘No. There’s nothing wrong with wanting something. Wanting something is proactive. Apathy is far, far worse. That’s why your classmates made jokes at your expense. They don’t have the courage to dream.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You said an interesting thing earlier. You said that people decided you’d got too big for your boots. That’s because you have a dream, Bethany, and maybe they don’t. And because they’re jealous of your dream, they want to destroy it. Seeing you fail will make them feel better about themselves. Think about it.’

Bethany thought about it, and as she did, she felt a creeping sense of relief that what she’d always suspected to be true had been put into words by someone so much older and wiser than her. Was that the reason she was confiding all her secrets in Madame Tiresia? ‘That’s horrible, isn’t it?’

‘It’s human nature. But a much easier way of feeling better about yourself is to have a positive mantra. You lost your phone recently, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. How did you – oh. The crystal, of course.’

‘Of course,’ echoed Madame. Was Bethany imagining it, or was there a smile in her voice? ‘And when you lost your phone, what did you say to yourself?’

‘I told myself that I was an idiot.’

‘You see? You told yourself .’ Madame shook her head. ‘If you are telling yourself that you’re an idiot, Bethany, you are simply giving other people a license to do the same. If your self-esteem is rock bottom, you can hardly expect other people to respect you. So next time you lose your phone, don’t tell yourself you’re an idiot. Say, instead: “Oh! I have lost my phone – but hey, that happens to everyone from time to time. Losing my phone doesn’t mean I am an idiot. In fact, I think I’m pretty damned special.”’