Chapter 4

"No good?" The burly figure of her father sat next to her and looked into his daughter's misty eyes. She shook her head.

"Not past the first," she muttered.

"Stoopid dreamin'," Moira told her. "Ya not gonna be in those silly films ya watch. Ah've told you hunners ae times."

"That's enough," Shona told her eldest daughter who shovelled her dinner into her mouth. "What's got-in-tae ya?"

"She," Moira spat as bits of potato hit her disappointed sister. "She tried to chat up Quentin."

Shona and Iain both looked at Abigail who shook her head. "I did not," she cried, angrily. "I teased him. Nuttin' more."

"Yer liar," Moira shouted. "'E told me what ya said. Yer a clatty, nasty..."

Iain stopped his daughter by banging on the table. "Ah'll not-be 'aving it," he shouted and pointed at Abigail. "And ya leave Quentin aloon."

Abigail snorted. "I wouldn't want to touch 'im," she replied.

"Liar!" Moira cried. "Just 'cause..."

"Ah said," Iain shouted. "Ah'll not 'ave it at 'ome." He turned to Abigail and then rubbed his nose. "Ahh what 'appened in Glasgae?"

Abigail rubbed the brow of her forehead and began to recount the short audition while Moira sneered at her failure making snide comments. She choose not to rise to it and was left to ponder just how she would escape from the village without an acting career.

"'Ey Abigail!"

The voice of her friend interrupted Abigail's daydreaming, and she glanced over to see the brown-haired full figure of her friend calling her from the top of the side road she was ambling past. She walked up the small incline to see her, sitting on the small wall outside her house. "Whatcha up to?"

"Nuttin'," Lisa moaned. "Bored."

Abigail suggested a walk into town and the park – where she was planning to go, but Lisa sniggered. "No-one about," she moaned. "Ma's gone to London."

"Home 'lone?" Abigail asked in a playful voice and Lisa nodded. The two girls chatted amicably on the porch as gray clouds gathered overhead and then as the first drops of rain appeared but apart from watching television inside there was little for them to do.

Abigail spotted the figure of Alistair running in the slight drizzle and whispered to Lisa. "Bet I can make him spunk without touching him," she promised, and Lisa nodded.

"I ain't seen that before," she admitted and then told Abigail she had a bet, to the value of a solitary Scottish pound. Abigail called Alistair as he drew level with the house and beckoned him into the porch that sheltered her.

Lisa unlocked the door as the wet boy came to see her friend. "Come in," Abigail offered. He hesitated, and she smiled sweetly at him. "It's Lisa's 'ouse. I got something to show you. You like, OK?"