‘Life shouldn’t be taken for granted,’ said Micky reaching out to grab some leftover chips. Mum smacked her hand.
‘Speaking of which, did you phone the woman on that Slimming World leaflet I gave you?’
‘Leave it out Mum,’ said Micky.
‘Someone has to say it. I don’t want you to end up like those people on the television, weighing two hundred stone. I don’t want to be on some reality show where an American comes over and tells me what a bad mother I am and makes you drag a tractor tyre along with a huge rope.’
‘Micky’s beautiful,’ said Dave shoving chips in his mouth. ‘And her cholesterol and blood pressure are normal.’
‘There’s some tins of Slim Fast left over from the raffle at the fête,’ said Mum.
‘You gave away Slim Fast at the local fête?’ I said.
Micky nodded.
‘They charged a quid a ticket Nat. You can pick up three tins of Slim Fast at the 97p World shop.’
‘What do you do Natalie, to stay slim?’ said Mum.
I gulped back the mouthful of wine; Micky fixed me with a stare.
‘Living on my own, I often can’t be bothered to eat,’ I said.
‘That’s not going to work for you Micky,’ said Mum. ‘You can always be bothered. How much do you weigh?’
‘For God’s sake Mum!’ she said.
‘Surely you can’t be happy?’ needled Mum.
‘The thing is that I am happy. I have lovely kids, a lovely husband who likes me just as I am.’
Dave waggled his eyebrows to show us just how much.
‘Think how much better life would be if you lost six stone?’ said Mum.
‘Life would be the same, I would just weigh six stone less, and I’d be miserable,’ said Micky.
Mum huffed and puffed.
‘I give up. And what about you Natalie?’
‘What about me?’ I asked.
‘You need a man. Are we going to see a man in your future? What’s happening with this Benjamin?’
‘Nothing,’ I said. Mum turned to the dishwasher. I leant into Micky and Dave.
‘I caught him shagging his receptionist; she’s now pregnant with twins!’ I whispered.
Micky and Dave pulled a face.
‘What about that Ryan Harrison, he was nice, what about him?’ said Mum.
‘He’s ten years younger than me, and I’m his boss,’ I said.
‘Did you and him, you know?’ whispered Micky. I nodded.
‘He is so fit,’ whispered Micky.
‘Oi. What about me?’ said Dave.
‘What are you all laughing about?’ said Mum coming back to wipe the table.
‘I was just saying I’d love to go to Hollywood,’ said Micky.
‘It would set you back a fair penny my girl, you’d have to book two seats on the plane,’ said Mum. Micky deliberately shoved a pile of chips in her mouth.
‘Maybe you could go to Jamie’s Nan’s funeral!’ exclaimed Mum, as if it were the best pickup joint. ‘Did they give you an idea of when she’d be buried?’ said Mum.
‘Mum, you are unbelievable. What if I decide to be single? You can be single and happy. In fact that’s what I’m going to do, I’m going to abstain from men,’ I said.
‘Oh, wayhayy…’ said Dave.
‘She’s not saying she’s going to be a lesbian!’ said Micky slapping him on the arm.
‘Will you stop talking about lesbians, the window is open!’ said Mum diving over to close it. Just as she did Dad appeared knocking on the glass. Mum shrieked.
‘Dad’s head of the lesbian patrol,’ joked Micky. I laughed. Dad banged on the window.
‘Come on! Rihanna’s given birth,’ he said.
The kids were retrieved from playing Bears on the Stairs and we all went down to Rihanna’s pen. Mum hastily donned her llama midwife outfit, which consisted of a hairband to pull back her fringe, an old Alton Towers t-shirt, and a pair of yellow marigolds. But it wasn’t needed; a tiny furry llama was staggering around under Rihanna’s long legs, attempting to suckle.
‘I thought she wouldn’t be due for a few more weeks,’ said Dad. ‘She must have had it late this afternoon.’
‘They’re very quick at giving birth,’ said Mum. ‘Unlike poor Micky, how long were you with Downton and Abbey?’
‘Long enough,’ said Micky.
‘I know! You went in on the Monday and didn’t come back out til the Thursday night!’ said Mum. ‘It’s much easier for llamas – and they don’t tend to put on much baby weight.’
‘Now I have to be a llama,’ said Micky.
‘Is it a boy or a girl?’ I asked.
‘It’s a girl,’ said Dad with as much pride on his face as when we announced Micky’s children.
Rihanna put her nose down and made a low humming noise to her tiny baby. It was so peaceful and sweet.
‘What should we call her?’ asked Dad. The kids, who were all standing in awe, shot their hands in the air as if they were at school.
‘We have a great name,’ said Downton, his eyes shining under his little mop of dark hair. ‘What was it, Abbey?’ he added.
‘Llama Del Ray,’ said Abbey proudly. We all laughed.
‘That is the best name ever,’ I said. ‘You have to call her Llama Del Ray.’
‘To think, Nat, you never made it for any of my kids’ births, but you’re here for the llama,’ said Micky.
‘Micky,’ I said. ‘Can I talk to you?’
We moved away from the others, cooing over Llama Del Ray in the pen. Micky flicked her hair back from her face and looked ready for a fight.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘What for?’ asked Micky, surprised.
‘For being a crap sister, for buggering off to London all those years ago and not looking back…’ I took her hand. ‘We don’t know each other really anymore, do we?’
‘I missed you, I miss you,’ said Micky, her eyes beginning to water.
‘I miss you too, and I’ve been so stupid, I only just realised it. And I’m sorry I haven’t been there for your kids, to see them grow up.’
‘They’ve still got plenty of growing up to do… noisy little fuckers,’ grinned Micky. ‘You should come and stay with us, please. After we’ve been to see your play.’
‘You’re going to come and see the play?’ I said.
‘If you promise to come and stay…’ said Micky with a wry smile.
‘Deal,’ I said. She gave me a huge hug. I hugged her back, but my arms didn’t quite reach round her.
‘Jeez, I think I am going to lose weight, just a little,’ said Micky. ‘But don’t tell Mum, I’ll never hear the end of it!’
I stayed the night at the farm, in my old attic bedroom. As I lay in bed I could see the night sky through the skylight above. It was clear and the stars were bright. It had been such a strange long day. I’d made peace with my sister, and perhaps some sort of peace with Jamie, but I had been there when his Nan had died.
And then the day had turned on its head, and I’d had the most funny, wonderful evening with my family, topped off with the birth of Llama Del Ray.
The parts of the day now seemed miles apart. I had started this morning beaten and battered, with a sense of impending doom, and now I felt profoundly changed. I realised my life was full and rich. I had a career I loved, I had friends and family. I had nieces and nephews, and Godchildren in Micky’s and Sharon’s kids, and back home I had a very cool lodger in the shape of Gran. And just maybe, with a little more fairy dust blown in my direction, Macbeth could end up turning into something truly special.
I was just drifting off to sleep when my Blackberry beeped. I was going to leave it, but I knew I wouldn’t sleep with the little red message alert light flickering, lighting up the corner of the room. I clambered out of bed and grabbed it from the top of the pile of clothes I’d dumped on the chair. It was a text message from Jamie:
NAT. I’VE NEVER STOPPED LOVING YOU.
Y
OU WERE ALWAYS THE ONE. Jx
I felt a jolt go through me. A jolt of deep desire, of longing for him. That conversation we’d had all those years ago felt like it still hung in the air: marriage or nothing, marriage or nothing…
And we were older now; it didn’t have to be marriage or nothing. It didn’t have to be so black and white. It could be booty call, it could be date nights, boyfriend and girlfriend, living together… The floorboards creaked as I sat down. I looked back at my phone to reply, and realised he was in the grip of grief. I imagined how I would feel if Gran had just died. He was probably drunk, his mind all over the place. I couldn’t let a late-night text message get to me. I wrote back:
AND I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU.
I pressed send. Then realised I should have phoned him. I’d wanted my reply to come across as kind and loving, acknowledging what we had, showing him that I cared. Leaving room for it to be a friendship gesture. However, I realised I’d just sent him the title of a Whitney Houston song. I waited five minutes, then realising that I had cramp from crouching on the floorboards, I quickly switched off my phone and climbed back into bed. Trying vainly to banish all erotic thoughts of Jamie Dawson…
Curtain call
Five weeks later.
The wrap party
Macbeth was a hit. It never ceases to amaze me how a play can come together in the last few days of rehearsal. Chaos becomes calm, and everything clicks and starts to work. Of course, it helped that Ryan got sober, and worked so hard in the days leading up to it.
On opening night, Mum and Dad came with Micky and Dave, so did Sharon and Fred, with the kids, and of course Gran was there. Her stitches had only been removed that afternoon, and she was still on a high from seeing her new toe, which thankfully looked just like Sophia Loren’s. She was still consigned to wearing flats for a couple of weeks, so I bought her a beautiful pair of jewelled sandals which she was thrilled with.
When I slipped into my seat beside Mum, I was almost having kittens with nerves. I looked back at the packed theatre auditorium, Nicky sat behind with her husband Bart, Xander and Val were a few rows back. Morag was in attendance with the rest of the board, and the press were taking photos before the play had even started. I’d never been to a Shakespeare performance where the audience had made banners, the most prominent being ‘I LOVE MC BETH’. As the lights went down, the audience screamed and whistled, and my heart climbed into my throat. Then Mum smiled and leant into my ear.
‘I’ve brought a bag of Revels, just tap me on the shoulder when you want one,’ she whispered.
It brought me back down to earth and I relaxed. This was a fun night out for people. It was just a play.
During the curtain call there was a five-minute standing ovation, the audience went crazy. And I have to admit I shed a tear. Ryan and the cast were wonderful, the sets and production were stunning and atmospheric, I was so proud of the Raven Street Theatre.
My mother, whose attention span is non-existent, had been very drawn in during the play, forgetting about her bag of Revels and even shrieking loudly as blood started to slowly trickle, then cascade down the back wall of the stage when Lady Macbeth killed the King.
We all crowded into the bar afterwards, and there were smiling faces everywhere. Gran gave me a huge hug.
‘My darlink! It was vonderful! Vonderful!’ she cried. ‘It was clever, and gripping – and those boys in the kilts, oh!’
‘I really got into it, like I do with Hollyoaks,’ said Micky, standing with a grinning Dave.
‘Natalie, we’re so proud of you,’ added Dad, giving me a huge hug.
‘How on earth will they get all that blood out of Lady Macbeth’s dress?’ asked Mum. ‘They didn’t have detergent back then.’
‘It wasn’t real Mum,’ I said.
‘Well, it felt real, well done love,’ she said.
‘Nat! I want to see it again already,’ shouted Sharon, fighting her way through the crowds with Amy, Felix, Fred and an older greyer version of Fred in tow.
‘Didn’t we love it, kids?’ asked Fred. Amy and Felix nodded shyly.
‘Nat, meet Giuseppe,’ said Sharon, introducing Fred’s father,
‘It was epic,’ said Giuseppe in a thick Italian accent. ‘Epic!’ he repeated, throwing his arms open theatrically and knocking Gran’s drink out of her hand, spilling wine all over her new sandals.
‘Look vat you did you big oaf!’ snapped Gran. Then she noticed just how handsome Giuseppe was for his age. ‘All vill be forgiven if you buy me another drink,’ she added raising an eyebrow. Giuseppe smiled and led her away to the bar.
‘I’ve seen that look in her eye before,’ said Mum to Fred and Sharon. ‘Your father better watch out.’
‘She doesn’t look like she could hurt a fly,’ said Fred, with a grin.
‘It’s not the flies I’m worried about,’ said Mum.
Ryan emerged with the cast a few minutes later and made a bee line for my family. They all hugged him and slapped him on the back, and lined up for him to sign their programmes. Then Nicky came over.
‘Fuck-a-doodle-doo, we did it honey,’ she said. ‘I’ve been talking to some of the press, and we’re guaranteed five stars from all of them. The coverage is going to be awesome!’
‘I’m sorry Nicky, for all the craziness that’s gone down,’ I said.
‘It seems the craziness has done us good, Nat. Especially you, you seem younger, happier,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ I grinned. My eyes flickered over her shoulder for a moment, scanning the people in the bar.
‘Do you wish he’d come tonight?’ said Nicky softly.
‘What? Who?’ I protested unconvincingly. Nicky smiled and raised an eyebrow.
‘You know who I’m talking about… The gorgeous Jamie Dawson. I did get the girls in the box office to send him an invite.’
‘I know… I didn’t expect him to be here. His Nan’s funeral was only yesterday, and I didn’t really get much of a chance to talk to him… He was understandably distracted, and I had to come back to London straight away…’
‘Give him time hun,’ said Nicky. ‘It’s been fifteen years already, you can wait a little longer.’
‘I don’t even know what I’m waiting for, if there is anything to wait for…’
She gave me a hug and went off to talk to a group of journalists. I hung back for a moment and took a deep breath. This night was not going to be about pining for a man. It was about our success. I grabbed a drink and went to join in with the fun.
****
The reviews were wonderful, and for the next five weeks, through August and into the first week of September, Macbeth ran to packed houses. The day after the show ended was the eighth of September, and London seemed to switch over to autumn. It was blustery and cold, and there was the smell of wood smoke in the air. I hadn’t heard anything from Jamie, and the idea of me and him had been pushed to the back of my mind as I buried myself in work at the theatre.
Ryan was due to fly back to LA the next day, so Sharon threw him a farewell party at her house in New Cross, to celebrate the successful conclusion of Macbeth, and that he’d reached thirty-nine days of sobriety.
Gran had been spending a lot of time with Giuseppe, since meeting him on the night of the premiere, so she was very keen to come to the party too. She assured me they were just friends, but I thought it could become something more. She was now fully recovered, back in heels, and her walking stick a distant memory. She’d sold all her jewellery and was trying to work out where she could afford to live – last week it was Rio, this week it was Scotland. I hoped it would take her a long time to make up her mind. I loved her being around. It made coming home to the flat less lonely.
At the party Ryan gave a toast to Fred and Sharon, and presented them with a personalised Ryan Harrison calendar. This one, however, was very funny and contained pictures of Ryan with Amy and Felix. My favourite was March, where Ryan was posing outside a phone box as Dr Who with his assistants Amy a
nd Felix.
I was just in the hall retrieving my phone from my bag to take some pictures, when there was a knock on the front door. I opened it and there stood Jamie. He was dressed in jeans, a shirt and tie and was carrying a bottle of wine. He looked gorgeous.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Hi Nat,’ he grinned.
‘I didn’t know you were back in London? I mean obviously you are back in London, you’re standing here on the doorstep which is in London…’
‘Sharon invited me…’ he said. ‘I was supposed to be here earlier but, you know, engineering works on the train.’
‘How are you doing? I left you a couple of messages…’
‘Yeah, sorry I didn’t reply. It’s been a weird few weeks. I’ve needed to get my head round things.’
‘Of course,’ I said. There was an awkward pause.
‘Thank you for the flowers, by the way, from you and your family, for Nan,’ he added.
‘You’re welcome…’ I said. There was an awkward silence. ‘So, are you back in London permanently?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. I’m weighing up my options…’ he said. ‘You must have seen that Tuppence quit the show.’
‘Yes, sorry about that. What’s with all those adverts for iced tea and deodorant now running on the big screen?’
‘I signed a year’s lease on The Big O, and it was the only way I could pay the rent,’ said Jamie. ‘Although, ironically, I make more money showing adverts for iced tea and deodorant than I would if I put on a show.’
‘And what’s Tuppence up to?’ I asked.
‘She’s finishing filming her reality show, and she’s incorporated her alopecia into a new burlesque act. Now the final thing she takes off is her wig. She gets a guy up from the audience to polish her head with a lace handkerchief. She’s a survivor.’
Miss Wrong and Mr Right Page 27