Kate Thompson - The O’Hara Affair

Bethany had been visiting Second Life for a week now. Working on the movie kept her busy every day, and in the evening, living vicariously in front of her laptop was proving to be a good way of winding down.

Although ‘busy’ might be a bit of a misnomer. Hanging around the film set was as dull as ever. It was lucky that she was fed by the caterers, because come seven o’clock when she arrived home to Díseart, the last thing she felt like doing was feeding herself. Her parents had gone back to Dublin, her mother exhorting her not to hold any wild parties in their cottage. As if! Who would she invite?

It was the first time she had stayed in the cottage on her own. She had thought it might feel spooky, but tucked up in bed as she was now with the full moon shining through the window and the wash of waves within yards of the garden gate, she felt peculiarly tranquil. The lullaby lapping of waves had always had this effect on her. She remembered falling asleep to the sound when, on holiday as a child, her mother had finished telling her her bedtime story, before backing out of the room with a ‘Night, night, sleep tight.’ And Bethany had gone to sleep dreaming of princesses and dragons and unicorns and wizards. It was funny that now, in another century, the princesses and dragons and unicorns and wizards still existed for her, not in the fairy stories of her imagination, but in the virtual world on the screen in front of her.

Bethany had always had a vivid imagination. Shortly after her sixth birthday she had terrified her mother by readying herself to jump off an upstairs windowsill because she believed she could fly like Peter Pan. She’d queued with her father outside book shops at midnight, waiting for the new Harry Potter, which she would devour in a single sitting. She’d discovered a computer game called Final Fantasy, in which, for her, the characters lived and breathed. She supposed that her imagination, her facility for transforming herself into different people and transporting herself to different worlds, was responsible for her all-consuming desire to become an actress. But as an extra on The O’Hara Affair , so far the only emotion she’d been required to register had been one of resigned stoicism.

But then, acting – proper acting – bore no relation to extra work, where you were just a piece of furniture, really. A mobile prop. Acting allowed your imagination to soar: an actress could be starry-eyed Juliet one day, tragic Ophelia the next. If she was in belligerent mode, she could be Katherina the shrew; if she was in good form, she could be vivacious Beatrice. All those fabulous heroines who had trodden the boards of the real live Globe Theatre, four hundred years ago! Rosalind, Viola, Portia, Cleopatra…

What would Shakespeare have made of this virtual world, where the theatre in which his plays had been performed was now displayed digitally, on an LCD screen? Would he applaud it, be excited by it? Or would he—

Oh! A green dot told her that someone else had arrived onto the island via Teleport. With a click of the mouse, Bethany sent Poppet off in search of the new arrival.

A youth was standing on a street corner, looking lost. He had floppy hair and Johnny Depp eyes. He was wearing something vaguely piratical: a bandanna, leather jerkin and boots. His name was Hero, and he was a cutie. Poppet moved over to him.

Hi,she said.

Hi,Hero said back. This place is a bit empty.

I know. Shakespeare Island’s always empty. Nobody seems to know about it. Is this your first time here?

Yes.

Bethany decided to be proactive. Shall I show you around?she asked.

I’d like that, he told her.

I’ll show you the Blackfriars Theatre if you like?she said. It’s this way. Or the Globe?

I’d like to see the Globe. I’ve been there in real life. Cool!she said.

Bethany felt a little fizz of excitement in her tummy. None of the other avatars she’d engaged with on Second Life had ever displayed an interest in anything to do with theatre. It was all gross-out movies and soap opera and sex.

I saw a production of Romeo and Juliet there in April,Hero told her. It was awesome.

The one with Ellie Kendrick?

Yes.

Wow.She was impressed.

Bethany walked Poppet around the corner and along a street constructed of Tudor-style, half-timbered buildings, pointing things out and chatting as she went. The entrance to the Globe was across a bridge.

This is awesome,said Hero. They’ve done a great job. It looks just like the real thing.

Wanna sit down?Poppet suggested.

Sure.

The pair of avatars sat themselves down on a wooden bench, and there was a slightly awkward pause as they looked at each other. In Bethany’s experience, conversations on Second Life tended to peter out and residents would often disappear without warning. On numerous occasions Bethany had felt tempted to teleport in the middle of a conversation that was less than riveting, but her good manners always got the better of her.

Have you been a Second Life resident for long?she asked Hero, then cursed herself for sounding so formal.

No. I’m a newbie.

Me too. Met anyone interesting?

Not really. You’re the first person I’ve had a proper conversation with. There are some real weirdos on here.

I know. And some real weird places too. I got stuck in a horrible building last week and had to teleport my way out of it.

What was it like?

Bethany didn’t want to tell Hero that the building had been a gallery, the walls of which had been lined with pornographic photographs. She’d tried to escape, flying past image after disturbing image, urgently searching for a way out, but she had just kept banging into walls. It had unsettled her deeply, and she’d been wary about the locations she visited since.

It was just a spooky old house,she lied.

Were you scared?

A bit.

You should take care of yourself on here.

Don’t worry. I’m a grown-up.

Over eighteen?

Yes. You?

I’m legal.

Hero stood up, and started to move around the theatre. As he explored, Bethany checked on his profile. Hero had created his avatar just two days after Bethany had created Poppet. He was interested in film and theatre, and his favourite actor was Johnny Depp. He lived in Dublin!

Hey,said Poppet. You’re Irish! So am I! No shit! What part? Dublin. But I’m in the west right now, in Coolnamara. My parents have a cottage here.

I know Coolnamara. Aren’t they making a film there?

Yes. The O’Hara Affair. I’m actually in it!

Hey! Are you an actress?

Sadly, no,she confessed. Just an extra. But acting’s what I’d love to do more than anything. I’ve applied to the Gaiety School.

I hear that’s a great course. I have a friend who’s a casting director. She says the Gaiety students get the most work.

He had contacts! This was amazing!

You have a friend in casting? she asked.

Yeah. I even help out sometimes.

How?

She has a small baby. That means she can’t get to all the shows she needs to see. I go on her behalf, and make recommendations.