by Bill Condon
‘Okay. I’ll tell you. This is going to sound pretty stupid … but I think he might love me.’
Mum says the perfect thing: ‘Why is it stupid that someone would love you? You’re my Caitlin. You’re beautiful.’
She has to say that. It’s in the mother-daughter contract. I’m not fooled. It’s not even a little bit true. But I still fall into her arms. Crying isn’t bad at all when you have someone to catch you. I cry for me and for Lanny. For Mum and Dad. And for all the Davids in the world whose fathers won’t come home tonight.
‘But what am I going to do about Lanny? Sooner or later I have to tell him the truth.’
Mum rocks me to and fro. ‘Yes, you have to tell him … but leave it a while. You never know, one day the truth might change.’
‘You all look wonderful!’ Miss Boyle stands at the dressing room door. ‘Now please remember that the curtain goes up in fifteen minutes. And we will start precisely on time. Does anyone have any final questions?’
Lanny’s hand flies up. He sneaks a glance at me and winks. Miss Boyle sees it. She steps towards him and narrows her eyes in a kind of mad chook impersonation. ‘I hope this is going to be a sensible question. Is it?’
‘Ye-ah.’
‘Very well then. Ask.’
‘I forget what play we’re doin’.’
‘Hilarious.’ She snaps a glare back over her shoulder. ‘No one is to laugh.’ Then her sour face zooms to Lanny.‘ The play we are doing is Cyrano de Bergerac. You are playing the fool – as always.’ She claps her hands. ‘Chop-chop, everyone. We now have fourteen minutes before the curtain goes up.’
David pokes his head in the door for a final hug and a kiss on the cheek for me and Megan. Glenna gets that and more. They embrace. That’s a few steps up from a hug. No full-on kissing, not in front of everyone – especially Miss Boyle who’s sewing a button on Cyrano’s jacket – but there’s feeling enough there for Glenna to write several new poems. When he reaches Lanny the two of them turn into bear cubs. It starts with a friendly thump on the arm and two back for good measure. Lanny is keen for more but Miss Boyle is not impressed. ‘That’s enough of your nonsense,’ she says. ‘There is no room for brutality in the theatre. We leave that to the critics.’
Before he goes, David casually slips in a message.
‘Hey, if anyone’s looking for me, can you send them to the lighting box?’
‘You mean your dad?’ asks Lanny.
‘Yeah. I’ve been waiting out front but I haven’t seen him. No one’s asked for me, have they?’
No one has.
‘Okay, then. I better get ready.’
He stands there awkwardly as if there’s something more he wants to say but he can’t get it out. Glenna flies to the rescue.
‘I think your dad will get here.’ She holds both his hands. ‘I’ve had this feeling all day that you’ll see him. I’m really sure of it.’
‘Hope you’re right,’ he says. ‘I know he’ll make it if he can.’
He smiles, then bounds off. We all cross our fingers for him.
Now I settle back to concentrate on remembering my lines. Megan and Glenna concentrate on scaring each other.
‘I am so nervous. Are you?’
‘Oh yeah. Big time. Have you seen the size of the crowd?’
‘I know. There has to be three hundred people out there.’
‘Tell me about it. I expected, like, fifty tops.’
‘I feel nauseous – like I’m going to throw up.’
‘Ohmigod – so do I!’
I can’t resist being helpful. ‘Look, if it happens, just pretend it’s part of the play. No will know.’
‘Not funny, Caitlin.’ They both say that.
There’s time for one peep through the curtains. In the centre of the second row I see Rory, wide-eyed and looking all around. He’s never been to a play before. I hope he doesn’t rush up to save me when the sword-fight starts. Mum and Dad sit on each side of him. It looks like they’re out on a very rocky first date, but they’re here. I can’t ask for more.
‘Two minutes, people. Stand by.’
Miss Boyle charges from one actor to the next, straightening costumes, checking make-up and props, fussing to the last. Then with a cheery, ‘Good show!’ she darts off to attend to who-knows-what and we’re left on our own. Lanny decides it’s the perfect opportunity to practise karate. He thrusts and chops at the curtain. It’s either his way of dealing with nerves or it’s insanity. I don’t think he gets nervous. Megan prays softly. And she’s not even religious. Glenna is pale and wobbly on her legs. She whispers to me, ‘I don’t think I can do it.’ I squeeze her hand. ‘You can. You will.’
I’m glad Miss Boyle isn’t watching this. She’d have a fit. Lucky they have me to pull this thing together. I’m very confident. I know my lines perfectly. I don’t have a single twitchy nerve.
‘Curtain going up – now!’
The others walk on but I wait for my cue. Lively music begins and a spotlight falls on Megan, who like Glenna and Lanny, stands like a petrified tree.
From the side of the stage, Miss Boyle commands, ‘Begin!’
Megan finds courage and the words follow. Then Glenna speaks. Fear rattles her voice as well as her legs, but she doesn’t run. With every new second I hear her grow more assured. Lanny joins in next and he’s good. They all are.
All too quickly I hear: ‘It’s him! Cyrano! The king of jesters!’
Boldly I step out into the lights. I’m ready for this. Can hardly wait. But then the enormity of it all hits me. I’m standing in front of a monster with six hundred eyes and every one of them is trained on me. I’m not an actor. I’ve never been on stage before. Now the words I’ve memorised so well evaporate. I hear Miss Boyle booming my lines but I can’t speak, can’t think. My nervous system has bubbled into meltdown and I freeze. I don’t even have strength enough to fall flat on my face.
But then Lanny is beside me. Smiling, he slaps me on the back. All the words fly out as if released from a trap. I say them like Cyrano would, with passion and courage, with charisma! I leave Caitlin far behind as I brandish my sword and leap around the stage, duelling with a hundred men. And I crush them all. At the end of the scene someone in the audience claps. It’s very embarrassing because you’re not supposed to clap until interval. But I forgive you, Dad. We all do.
The play lasts for one hour. Every minute of it is an electric charge. One that lights me up until I think my world can never be dark again. Only when it’s long over, when we’ve taken our bows and the audience files out of the hall, do I remember to look at the lighting box.
David sees me and smiles. He’s on his own.