Stage Fright (3 page)

Kevin and Stan returned to their seats and the rehearsal trundled on. Again Archibald embraced Isabel. She left the stage and on came Barbara Hare, to ask Archibald's advice: her brother, Dick, who is on the run, is hiding nearby, disguised as a stable-hand. Could Archibald, the family lawyer, advance her some money to give to him? Barbara was played by Belinda Roy, a young actress just beginning to make a name for herself. She was a robust creamy-skinned brunette, whose looks were a good foil to Melissa's more fragile blondness. At the end of the scene Clive and Belinda moved downstage and mimed talking quietly together.

Kevin stood up and took from the seat next to him a frockcoat even more ancient than Clive's. As he shrugged it on, his whole demeanour seemed to change. It was as if Captain Francis Levison had materialized in front of me. He swaggered up the steps on to the stage and I almost seemed to see shiny leather knee-boots, the flick of a riding-crop.

Melissa came on from the right as Isabel.

‘What did I tell you, Lady Isabel?' Levison said. ‘Even from here you can see how he whispers in her ear, how close his lips are to hers, speaking the loving words that should belong to you alone.'

‘I didn't believe you and even now – surely it can't be true…'

‘Alas, all too true. I overheard them arranging this tête-à-tête. How can you endure the sight of it, and not seek revenge? Never forget that there is one who has always loved you, has loved you constantly, and has suffered the pain of seeing you wronged and deceived.'

Lady Isabel's face was white and set, her shoulders rigid with tension.

Levison gestured downstage. As they watched, Barbara laid a hand on Archibald's arm. He inclined his head so that she could whisper in his ear.

‘Come with me,' Levison urged Lady Isobel. ‘Come to a life of happiness with one who will devote his life to you. My carriage and horses are waiting.'

I was surprised to see the gleam of a tear on Melissa's face. I didn't remember this from the last rehearsal. The silence stretched out. Had Melissa dried up?

Stan clearly thought so. She looked up from the script.

‘Only prove this,' she said in a low but distinct voice.

‘Sorry,' Melissa said, in her own voice. ‘Sorry.'

Stan got to her feet.

‘What the fuck…' Kevin said.

Tears were pouring down Melissa's lace. For a couple of seconds she stood there, plucking at her breast. She gave a huge hiccuping sob. Then she turned and ran off the stage. For a few moments no one said a word. Kevin seemed too taken aback to respond. He hesitated, seemed about to speak, seemed to change his mind. Then he ran off the stage after Melissa, leaving the rest of us gaping.

‘I bet it's that bloody corset.' Stan said, getting to her feet. She ran up the steps on to the stage. On her way across she collided with someone who was rushing in from the wings.

‘For God's sake, Jake!' she said, ‘Can't you look where you are going?'

What was it about Jake that reminded me of the White Rabbit in
Alice in Wonderland?
Nothing as obvious as protruding teeth or bulbous eyes. No, it was more to do with his air of quivering, whisker-twitching alertness. Behind him trailed a man who was so different from him in appearance that the two of them looked like a comedy double act. Jake and Geoff: the eager young documentary-maker and his older, more jaundiced cameraman. While Jake was short and stocky, Geoff was tall and thin with hips so narrow that you wondered how his trousers stayed up. He was supporting a camera the size and shape of a ghetto-blaster on his shoulder.

‘What's happened?' Jake asked. ‘Have I missed something? I have, haven't I?' He looked from Stan to Clive to Belinda and back again. The camera on Geoff's shoulder swivelled round as if it were attached to Jake by a string.

‘Yes,' Belinda said.

‘No,' Clive said.

Stan overrode them both.

‘It was nothing, just a temporary glitch,' she said firmly, ‘just a costume problem. Wait here, all of you. And that means you, too, Jake,' she added as he made to follow her off the stage.

Jake rolled his eyes in a parody of frustration. He turned back and began to interrogate Clive and Belinda.

I didn't want to get involved with this. I sunk down in my seat and got out my mobile phone to see who had rung me earlier. The call had been from a Cambridge number, not one that I recognized. If it was important, no doubt they'd ring back, but at least I knew it wasn't Stephen. I looked at my watch. Twelve o'clock. He must surely be airborne by now. If only we'd had a chance to make things up properly …

I thought about what he'd said about another baby. I loved Grace and I didn't regret having her, not for a single moment, but the fact remained that she had been conceived by accident. We had accepted the pregnancy and made the best of it. To plan a second child was a very different thing. We weren't even married, and Stephen still had his flat in Cambridge. True, I couldn't remember when he had last spent a night there, but …

Jake came clattering down the steps and flung himself into the seat next to me. Geoff followed him more slowly, camera on his shoulder. Clive and Belinda retreated upstage, where they sat down on the
chaise-longue
and chatted quietly to each other.

‘Oh, why did I choose this morning to interview the designer, Cassandra? I never seem to be in the right place at the right time.' Jake gazed into my face. He had dark hair worn almost shoulder-length in tight corkscrew curls and unusually long eyelashes for a man. He was only about ten years younger than me but he was from a different generation, more like one of the students I taught at St Etheldreda's College than one of my contemporaries. I found myself relenting and dropping into understanding tutor mode.

‘It must be difficult,' I murmured.

‘Difficult!' He heaved a sigh.

Geoff had settled himself in the seat in front of Jake. He pulled out a paperback and started to read. Whereas Jake only stopped talking when the camera was running, Geoff rarely opened his mouth. Had I ever heard him say anything at all, I wondered? I shifted in my seat, trying to catch a glimpse of the title of his book. I'm always fascinated by other people's reading habits. I'm shrewd at guessing what their tastes might be, but with Geoff it could be the latest Wilbur Smith or it could be Schopenhauer. I simply had no idea. Though the book didn't look fat enough to be the latest blockbuster …

‘The first of six,' Jake said.

I realized that I'd missed something.

‘And the others?' I prompted, hoping that this would give me a clue.

‘Not completely settled yet, but I'm hoping one of them will be set in a fertility clinic, and another one in a monastery. That one was very difficult to set up, I'm really excited about it.'

‘And when…?'

Geoff turned over a page. I caught the glint of a wedding ring on his hand. Funny that I hadn't registered that before. Even now it was something I automatically noted when I first met a man. What
was
he reading? I craned my neck.

‘That's just what I was saying, Cassandra. They won't happen
at all
if this one isn't a success. This is the
pilot.
'

The camp way he had of emphasizing his words had made me wonder when I first met him if he was gay, but mention of a girlfriend on a traineeship with a TV company in the north had dispelled that notion.

‘It's my big break. If I can't pull this off … I know Kevin was reluctant to let me into the theatre, but he needs me as much as I need him. He'd better remember that. You did know that his career's on the skids…'

‘What?' He'd got my attention now all right. I turned to look at him. ‘You're not serious?'

‘But yes.'

‘Jake! He's a household name!'

‘
Used
to be a household name. Can you think of anything he's been in lately? He's yesterday's man, sweetie. What is he now, mid-forties? Forty-five, forty-six? He's looking to directing for a fresh start and he's got Melissa to thank for that. Management were very keen to get her and she and Kevin came as a package.'

I thought this over. Kevin had starred in one of those cosy long-running TV dramas that people slump in front of on Friday evenings. He had played a minor fifties rock star who gets involved in solving murders: Agatha Christie meets Billy Fury.
Half-Way to Paradise,
it had been called. It had ended about five years ago and it was true that I couldn't offhand remember anything he'd done since. Could Jake be right? Geoff shifted in his seat, and turned another page of his book. I saw just enough to identify it as a black Penguin classic, but as to which one …

Jake leaned towards me confidentially. ‘Rumour is, there's a health problem, too. Something serious.'

I hadn't heard anything and I was taken aback. Surely Melissa would have let something slip to me? We'd got on pretty close terms when we'd been together with our babies in the premature baby unit. That was where I had first met Melissa – and Kevin, too. When he had discovered that I taught nineteenth-century literature at St Etheldreda's College, he'd asked me to talk to the cast about the historical background to the play. One thing led to another and I'd got involved with rewriting the parts of the nineteenth-century dramatization that seemed especially stagey and artificial. In the end I'd rewritten the whole thing. I thought back over the last few months. It was hard to imagine that the ebullient Kevin was in anything but the best of health. He threw off energy like a wet dog throws off water.

‘I really can't believe there's anything seriously wrong,' I told Jake.

‘He was taken very ill sometime last year. Nearly died. I know that for certain. I know someone who was there when he collapsed and was rushed to hospital.'

It dawned on me what Jake must be talking about.

‘Kevin does not have a serious illness!' I said. ‘He has a nut allergy. That's quite different. Melissa told me about it. He was at a party and ate something that had traces of nut in it. But he did not collapse and he was not rushed to hospital. He's fine as long as he takes his adrenaline, and he always carries it with him. If you're going to be a half-decent documentary-maker, you'll need to have more respect for the truth.'

‘Oh.' It was Jake's turn to be taken aback.

‘And I hope you haven't been spreading this around,' I continued.

‘Of course not,' he said hastily.

I didn't believe him. Neither of us spoke for a while, then Jake sighed and looked at his watch.

‘I bet they won't be starting the rehearsal again. What are you doing for the rest of the day, Cass?'

‘Stan's taking me to buy a new dress for the opening night.'

Jake's face lit up, ‘She's giving you a
make-over?
Great, can I…?'

‘Oh, no, no, no. Certainly not.'

His face fell. ‘Oh, please!'

‘You really think your viewers would enjoying seeing a middle-aged, out-of-shape academic struggling in and out of clothes in a cramped changing-room?'

He nodded fervently. ‘Of course … human interest…'

‘Out of the question, Jake. It's a treat they'll just have to forgo.'

He looked at me with spaniel eyes. ‘OK, OK, but how about this? We don't see you
inside
the shop, but we shoot you going in and then we shoot you coming out with a whole load of carrier bags.'

All too soon, when
East Lynne
had opened and my maternity leave was over, I'd have to go back to my real life as head of English in a Cambridge college, and I could just imagine what the response among my colleagues and students would be. And anyway, I wasn't at all sure that I could trust Jake not to make me look a fool.

‘Sorry, Jake. I have my academic credibility to maintain. I'd never hear the last of it.'

‘Oh, well, it was worth a try.'

I looked at Geoff's shoulders. For a moment I'd had the impression that they were shaking ever so slightly, but he still appeared to be engrossed in his book – whatever it was. I tilted my head to get a better view. Yes! I could see the first line of the title. It was
Thus
—

‘That's all for today, folks,' Stan said. I jerked my head up. I hadn't noticed that she'd reappeared on the stage. ‘You'll remember that we weren't going to rehearse this afternoon anyway. Kevin's got to go to London. The next call is 9.30 tomorrow.'

‘How's Melissa?' I asked.

‘She's OK now. But Kevin and I think she needs a bit of rest, poor lamb. I'm rejigging the rehearsal schedules so that she doesn't have to come in until after lunch. So please check the board, everyone.'

‘Can I go up and see her?' This was Jake.

‘Certainly not. But, Cassandra, she'd like you to pop up, if you wouldn't mind.'

Jake gave an ostentatious sigh and tapped Geoff on the shoulder. ‘Come on, let's see what's going on with wardrobe and set design.'

Geoff closed his book and slid it back into his jacket pocket, allowing me to glimpse the title at last.

I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't
Thus Spake Zarathustra
by Friedrich Nietzsche.

Chapter Three

T
HE
bare lightbulb shed a dim light on the brick walls painted in peeling cream paint and the narrow concrete staircase. There was something familiar about the echoing quality of the uncarpeted floors and the smell of cheap pine disinfectant mixed with a whiff of sweatiness. I realized what it was. It was like the changing-rooms in the dilapidated comprehensive school where I'd been educated, and in the college where I now worked.

I made my way up past the public telephone on the first floor, glancing at the board next to it, which was covered in announcements of flats to let, B&Bs, and train timetables. On this floor there were rooms for storing and ironing costumes. Another flight of stairs led to the dressing-rooms, and here some natural light filtered down from the top floor where there was a light well that opened on to the fly gallery. There were only three dressing-rooms. No.1 was for the leading lady, No.2 was for all the other women, No.3 was for the men. It certainly wasn't glamorous backstage: in fact, it was scarcely even comfortable. The Everyman theatre is squashed on to a such narrow site on the Newmarket Road, that the workshops and offices have to be housed in an office block down the street.