The Transit of Venus, Book 2 - Ch 42

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The Transit of Venus
Book 2 - Ch 42

Book 2, Chapter 42

Knocking on Susan Cartright's door made me feel like a child. What was a voice coach? Would she try to get rid of my Welsh accent and make me talk posh?

"Hello, you must be Venus, Litara's sister. I'll put the kettle on."

An hour later we were chatting as though we had known each other years, sipping tea, starting and stopping the DVD so that she could ask questions. I’d have guessed by appearance she was about 60 but in manner she was a woman in her prime.

"You were a bit of a tomboy growing up, weren't you? "

As the facts were public knowledge I admitted I'd lived as a boy until less than a year ago.

"I've known and helped people who have transitioned but you don't have any problems in that area. What you do is charmingly use a few phrases that a boy or tomboy might use but you also have a confidence in the way you speak that comes to those who have successfully stood up to physical and verbal threats from others. You have that without the arrogance of the Queen Bees and Street Kings of your age so having already seen you on television I'm not at all surprised that Litara wants to develop your potential. Watching and hearing you sailing, dancing and just talking with me I can't see you without a lot of training making it as what they call an actor's actor who can play any part, if you don't break your neck however, which seeing your video you might, I think the public will love you if you can fake in the studio the Venus I see here and on film.

Concentrating on the the video footage in front us Susan got me first to repeat what I said on screen. Next she asked me to describe what I saw and felt at the time it was taken and only then to describe the scene as an observer. Simply put it worked. It wasn’t fluent as I was making it up as I went along but it did sound natural.

At 2:20 pm we sat down to the roast that Susan had been cooking as we worked. Admittedly most of the preparation had been done before I arrived but chatting as we ate Susan explained that although I would be in a soundproof booth during voiceover work I would be aware of things going on around me and today would help me cope with that.

After dinner we set to work again but this time using Susan's DVDs of other people in action. First re-phrasing what they said as I imagined I would say it, then describing the scene as though I were the person on screen and only then did she give me the voiceover script to absorb, re-phrase into my own words and finally read out in sync with the video while she recorded. It was arduous and time consuming but Susan reassured me, no more so than getting an actor to do the same thing.

Over a final cup of tea Susan came out with something outfield.

“When some people hear that you have worked with me they will say that I hypnotised you but I haven't. What you have learnt is a self-hypnosis technique to take yourself out of the studio and into the scene filmed. When it works it stops people tripping themselves on the paradox of being in two places at the same time and from what I've seen it works for you.”

“Are you sure you’re a voice coach and not a psychotherapist?”

“Is there a difference? Just teasing. Acting is being one person while portraying another but that isn't so different to picking a particular side of your own character to show at a time and place it might otherwise not appear so I do help for instance knowledgeable but shy people with public speaking."

My goodbyes when I left with more practice DVDs and scripts in my bag were both sincere and heartfelt. I felt that if I grew up to be halfway as decent a person as she was I'd have done well.

* * * * * *

Sitting on the train on the way back to Cardiff, half-reading a Sunday paper somebody had left behind, I went over the things Susan had shown me. Like in my dancing and like in my modelling, Susan was giving me permission to fake it. Not to fake who I was but to fake where I was. Just like the line I had heard in a television play, ‘Imagine they are in their underwear and they won’t seem at all intimidating.’

"Hey! You're that bird off the tele?"

"Pardon?" I looked up at two boys of about my age. They had sat a few seats away from me when we got on in Bristol but they were now standing over me menacingly.

"Bet you're not short of a bob or two working on the tele. Show us what ya got!"

The dark haired spokesman was reaching inside his jacket letting me see his hand on the hilt of a knife.

"Come on. Ya don't want that pretty face messed up.”

I unzipped my sling bag and pulled out my purse †. It only contained cash and my train ticket as I'd been taught by Serena to keep my credit cards and driving license separate from my cash. My mobile phone also was in a side pocket where I could get it easily and that proved fortunate.

The boys had chosen their moment to coincide with their arrival at Newport station and grabbing my purse they shouted "Stay put!" and headed for the door. I never was very good at doing as I was told so pulling my mobile from its pocket I headed down the train in the opposite direction dialling 999 ‡ as I moved. Feeling the train braking I chose my moment, pulled the Emergency Cord and immediately the train went into full braking mode. Luck was with me as I saw both the men thrown forward down the carriage at the same moment as the police answered on the phone asking for details. Being prepared for the train's jerk I was holding on tight as I said to the police, “I’m on the train at Newport Station. I've been robbed by two men and at least one has a knife. They're getting out onto the platform now!"

I think I heard "Stay on the line" from the phone but by then I too was heading out onto the platform. We were not the only passengers on the train because the lead carriage had evidently been full and it was rapidly emptying onto the platform and the robbers would have to go through these people to make a quick exit.

“Stop those men!” I shouted. “They've robbed me with a knife!”

I can't vouch for what the reaction would have been elsewhere but this was Wales, the men were in good spirits, and so they broke into song. Surreal doesn’t begin to describe the scene but a Welsh Male Voice Choir in full flow ranks up there with a regiment of Scottish bagpipers or a Maori Haka when it comes to the ability to intimidate. The thieves chose the lesser of two evils and turned to an alternative route off the end of the platform but unfortunately I stood between them and their escape. Being a coward at heart I stepped behind a platform trolley but it was one with a large red button by my hand and I couldn't resist…

* * * * * *

Eating breakfast with Mum and Dad next morning the local television news was on showing some of the ubiquitous CCTV video footage we see. This morning's pick was taken yesterday evening and showed an unnamed Cardiff girl charging down Newport station platform with an electric trolley and skittling two men who are now helping the police with their enquiries into a robbery that took place on the train at the platform…

† In the UK a purse is a small, usually clip closing pouch, women carry for cash. It is not a handbag/pocketbook/bag.
‡ British emergency services like 911 in USA

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Comments

And I thought she was calming down!

Christina H's picture

That girl certainly get into all sorts of scrapes! Good for her though battering 2 toe rags trying to rob her!
What with the Parrot man and these is she turning into Super girl!

As usual another great chapter though my recollection of the saying is 'just imagine them sitting on the toilet then we are all the same'

Christina

Multi-talented

Dahlia's picture

Sexy, beautiful, smart, talented and brave. What a girl! Sounds like me, PMSL, not.

Dahlia

English to American translation

Rhona McCloud's picture

PMSL = ROFL + WK (wet knickers = wet panties). Two nations divided by a common language.

Rhona McCloud

American

Dahlia's picture

To add confusion to the mix, I'm as American as they come. It's just that I'm engaged to an English woman.

When Dahlia met an English Rose

Rhona McCloud's picture

My thought is that the union between a Dahlia and an English Rose would be a Peony. Be thankful she is not a Scot as the National flower is the Thistle and no American accent survives long next to a Scot.

Rhona McCloud

Oh my!

It's Wonder Woman(Venus) in action yet again! (Giggles Talia!)
Loving Hugs Talia

We know what knickers are.

I don't know Rhona, My Baasten accent may be Scot proof.
Being Welsh they broke into song. Sounds like Tom Jones would be better help.