The Director's Cut by Js Taylor (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud txt) 📕

memories,” says James. “I’m just going to read it out. And we’re all going to discuss what might have been behind it.”

All of us have grim, anxious faces. I suddenly feel a little closer to Natalie. She looks just as worried as Callum and I.

“When I was ten years old,” reads James, “My dad came to pick me up from a movie set. I was so excited. But he left me on set for two hours whilst he took the producers for drinks to try and land himself an acting role.”

My eyes widen in amazement.

That’s Natalie.

It must be. She’s the only one of us who was acting so young.

I feel a surge of respect towards her. She must have known we’d work out it was her memory. How brave of her.

I turn to Natalie, and she gives me a little shrug and a half-smile.

Callum, too, is staring at Natalie in admiration.

“What emotion,” says James, “do we think that was based on?”

This jolts me back into the exercise.

“Fear?” says Callum. “Perhaps the person feared their father didn’t love them?”

“Very good,” says James. “Issy?”

“Pain,” I say. “Rejection, maybe.”

Poor Natalie. I give her an apologetic glance.

James nods. “It seems as though many emotions could be present. Let’s try another one.”

He pulls a second paper out.

“When I was in the depths of my drug addiction,” he reads, “I stole money from my father’s home.”

Is that James? It could also be Callum. And if Natalie’s paper hadn’t been so obviously her, it could have fit her experiences too.

The thought hits me, suddenly, as to what a large ex-drug problem is in this room.

I realise that no one is speaking. The drugs revelation seems to have prompted a silence.

“Desperation,” I say, to fill in the gap. “The memory is of a desperate act.”

James raises his eyebrows slightly and nods. Callum, who seemed to have been frozen, suddenly twitches back to life.

“Relief,” says Natalie.

I turn to her in surprise.

“I know it sounds ugly,” she says, “but when you’re an addict, getting money for drugs is a relief.”

I’d never thought of it that way. But then, I don’t know too much about drug addiction. Natalie’s medication flips to the front of my mind.

“Time for the next paper,” says James, plucking out a third memory.

As he opens it up, I get a flash of the front and recognise the handwriting as my own. Part of me wants to sink into the ground. Another part of me wants to share. Everyone else has been so courageous.

“After my father’s death,” reads James, “I was so angry with him, I didn’t attend the funeral.”

I sit perfectly still, with my breath held.

As far as I know, neither Natalie nor Callum would be able to work out this is my memory. James, of course, knows immediately. His eyes move to mine, loaded with feeling. They’re full of something I can’t quite place. Admiration? Love? I look away quickly.

“Anger,” says Callum, sounding pleased to have such a straightforward deduction.

Natalie nods. “Anger, and loss,” she says.

Anger and loss? Is that how they read that memory? I am filled with shock. How could they not interpret that memory as shameful? I didn’t attend my own father’s funeral, for God’s sakes.

Their reading of my memory throws me into an entirely different understanding of it. And I realise that maybe this is part of James’s method. Everyone, must understand their emotions differently, when they’re seen through other people’s eyes.

I’m still wondering at this when James plucks out the last paper.

“When my father remarried,” he reads, “I was so upset, that I refused to meet my new stepbrother.”

Wow. Is that James? Or Callum? I find myself glancing between the two, trying to work out who looks the most affected.

I have no idea about Callum’s background. I don’t know if his parents divorced or remarried.

And I know that James did meet at least one of his stepbrothers. Ben. Did he have any other stepbrothers? I have no idea.

On measure, I decide, Callum looks the most moved by this statement.

“Betrayal,” says Natalie. “The person felt their father had betrayed them by remarrying.”

“Pain,” I suggest, “that a new brother is being brought into the family.”

Neither Callum nor James speak. And James quietly returns the paper to the bag.

“I have something to share with you,” he says, “about that exercise.”

We all stare at him expectantly.

“It was interesting to hear you all voice different emotions,” he says, “and I am very grateful that you have all been so honest.”

His eyes settle on Natalie for this last part.

“But I thought you would be interested to know,” he concludes, “that you all had the same emotion to draw upon.”

What? A ripple of surprise goes around the room.

James nods.

“All of you had the word ‘shame’ written down.”

Wow. Really? I can’t believe that those other memories were prompted by that word.

On either side of me, I see Callum and Natalie’s faces work around this new piece of information. I’m doing the same.

The revelation throws all the other admissions into stark relief. All of those memories. They were things people were ashamed of?

I let my mind track back. Stealing from your family to buy drugs. I can understand that would be shameful. But Natalie’s memory. Of her father deserting her. She feels ashamed of that? Why?

The new understanding prompts another wave of feeling towards her.

And refusing to meet a stepbrother after a remarriage. It seems… excessive to be ashamed of that. It’s not beyond the realms of understanding, after all.

“So,” James is saying, “does anyone have anything to add with that new piece of information?”

There’s a brief pause, and then I clear my throat to speak.

“Isabella?” asks James. He sounds surprised.

“I think,” I say slowly, “that the memories I heard didn’t sound shameful. They sounded sad. So perhaps we’re harder on ourselves than others would be.”

My own memory is racing through my head as I speak. Should I reconsider the shamefulness of my own actions?

James is nodding. He looks pleased.

“That is exactly what I want you to start thinking,” he