Chapter 3 – In Which Things Go From Bad to Worse

After finishing high school, Sarah, who had loved the theatre since childhood, applied to several acting colleges. And after much deliberation, chose one with a good reputation, fifty miles from her family.

Just in case they need me, she had thought.

And so she had moved into the college dormitory at the start of the academic year, full of hope for the future.

Sadly, that hope was short lived.

It wasn't that Sarah minded the hard work or the long hours. It was just that…well…she had no friends. Even thinking it sounded childish, but when you added to that the fact that her lecturers ignored her, the acting coach always (and that means always) gave her the bit parts with no skill required and her dance teacher constantly paired her with the creepy guy who touched his partner up, it all got a bit too much. She only ever learned theory and never got to put her skills into practice.

Late at night, Sarah would sit at her desk and read her book; it's familiar pages dulling the pain for a few moments. As she read through the story over and over, she began to realise how childish she has been. At fifteen, she had been so sure that she knew everything and had taken her friends for granted. She also came to realise what Jareth has been referring to in their final confrontation and how he had helped her to grow. It had seemed cruel to her at the time but the more she read, the more she realised that, with the possible exception of the cleaners, she had never been in any real danger in The Labyrinth. As time moved on, Sarah realised that she owed Jareth an apology.

Every few months, Sarah would call to her friends in the underground, but there was no response any more.

The feeling that she was invisible began to grow. Sarah was overlooked while standing in the middle of the room. People who she had sat next to, for the best part of six months, didn't know her name or even recognise her. One day, when a lecturer said her name, she didn't realise he was talking to her.

Sarah tried to recall the last time someone had spoken directly to her, what her name sounded like. I'm Sarah, not just 'me' or 'I'. I'm Sarah. The realisation came like a physical blow. She had lost her identity. She was a ghost of herself. She hardly spoke, never made eye contact, and never, ever drew attention to herself.

Sarah had been trying to pluck up the courage to drop out when the announcement had been made. Twenty lucky students would be sent for a workshop with one of the countries most talented actresses.

Her mother.

Sarah had not thought of her mother in nearly a decade, not since she had walked out on them to pursue her career. It must have been some kind of sign, Sarah desperately needed some kind of hope so she grabbed the opportunity and held on to it with some semblance of her old stubbornness.

She submitted her application for the course the same day as they became available, three minutes after receiving the form. She was turned down on the grounds that the trip was already full. Sarah was befuddled by that answer because, although the trip was popular, surely twenty or more people had not set their alarms for before 7am and beaten her to it.

Still, she had to take the colleges word for it. However, they agreed to put her on the top of the list of replacement candidates, if only to make this girl, who no one recognised, stop asking about it.

Two days before the workshop began, one of the chosen twenty dropped out of the trip. And so Sarah spent an entire 200-mile coach journey to the theatre owned by Linda Williams (or Linda Holmes as she now called herself) on the edge of her seat, much to the amusement of her condescending peers.

Upon their arrival, they had been swiftly fed and watered, then thrust immediately into work. The workshop consisted mainly of lectures with some minor role-play and some group work. All of this was with Linda Holmes herself. For the past two days Sarah had hoped and prayed that this would be the time that her mother would realise that this young woman of 20 with the same hair, so dark brown that it looked black, and the same eyes, the colour of the jade pendant she wore, was in fact her long lost daughter.

She had spent the whole journey there fantasising about the moment her mother realised who she was, swept her up in her arms and swore never to leave her again, but as the workshop progressed and her mother walked passed yet again, Sarah realised that the woman now talking animatedly at the front of the room, may as well have been a complete stranger.

She was a complete stranger.

Sarah pulled out her tatty book and ran her hands over its smooth leather cover, trailing her hands over the gilt lettering on the front and spine as she frantically tried to keep the tears from building up in her eyes.

"Sarah!" snapped Mrs Feehan, the dance teacher, "Put that book away while Ms Holmes is talking!"

The whole room stopped and tuned to stare at her and the blood rushed to her cheeks. Linda (Sarah could no longer think of the woman as her mother) walked down towards the back of the room to see what the commotion was about. As she took in the sight of the book clutched protectively in Sarah's hands she spoke directly to her for the first time since their arrival:

"Oh, Labyrinth! I used to read that to my daughter when she was little more than a baby," She commented.

"Does that mean it's a baby's book?" asked one of Sarah's classmates under her breath, smirking spitefully.

Sarah's breath caught. Could this be it? Could it be that her mother hadn't forgotten her, it was just that she had changed so much that she couldn't recognise her daughter?

"My mom used to read it to me too," she replied quietly, her voice trembling slightly as she tried to ignore the sniggers from around the rest of the room at her answer.

As if on cue, the door burst open and a small girl of about Toby's age stood framed in the doorway for a second. She was possibly the most beautiful child that Sarah had ever seen. Her long light brown hair was shot with gold and woven into pigtails. The pale blue ribbons at their ends matched the dress she was wearing and set off the biggest brownest eyes in existence.

The girl saw Sarah's mother and her eyes lit up.

"Mommy!" cried the five-year-old happily as she threw her self into Linda's arms, pigtails flying and ribbons fluttering as she went.

"Hello, Sweetheart," greeted Linda as she picked up the child and turned to address the students, "Everyone, this is my darling daughter, Emily."

Linda carried on speaking but Sarah could only hear that last phrase. It was echoing around her head, taunting her. All the other students were gathering around Linda and her new daughter, cooing their compliments.

Sarah couldn't breathe and the room was spinning; she desperately needed to get out. She turned to Mrs Feehan blindly, mumbled something about a bathroom break while class was already interrupted and ran from the room.


"A mother is she who can take the place of all others but whose place no one else can take."

- Cardinal Mermillod