The Last Act

by Laura Ellen Kennedy

  That made me not want to do the next one, especially as it was for a musical part in The Wizard of Oz and I was extra nervous about singing. But actually the woman taking that one was really lovely and made me feel relaxed as soon as I went in.

  After that, I loved the rest of the day, even though I was in a state of nervousness pretty much the whole time. When I met Gemma for lunch she was literally jumping with excitement. I had to practically hold her still just to try and calm her down enough so we could go to the supermarket to get something to eat. It was so funny.

  ‘I can’t eat anything. I’m too nervous!’ she said.

  ‘I know what you mean,’ I replied, ‘but you should try, honestly, or at least have a sugary drink or something. With the amount of nervous energy you’re using up, you’ll pass out this afternoon otherwise.’

  ‘You’re right,’ she resolved. ‘I’m glad you’re here to be my voice of reason, Zoë. It doesn’t seem like I have my own one of those.’

  After lunch we wished each other luck and went off in different directions for the afternoon session. When we met again at the end though, we realised we’d tried out for the same part in one of the plays.

  ‘Oh no! I can’t be friends with you any more – we’re rivals!’ cried Gemma when we realised. I didn’t know her that well yet but decided to go with my gut instinct and assume she was joking.

  ‘Ha ha. It’s true – I bet a lot of people went for that part though – it’s a cool play, sort of dark, being a murder story and a sort of comedy in one.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope one of us gets it . . . even if it’s you!’ Gemma grinned. ‘I’d better give you my number, so if you “get the call” you can tell me and put me out of my misery.’ She rummaged in her bag for her mobile and we swapped numbers.

  She walked with me over to the cinema, where Dad had said he’d pick me up, because it was on her way to the station, and then we said goodbye. While I waited, I felt half tensely impatient, wondering if I’d get a part, and half happily tired, thinking that even if I didn’t, maybe I’d made a friend. I didn’t mind having to wait a quarter of an hour for Dad to turn up (he misremembered our arrangement, of course). He made up for it by letting me yammer on about the day all the way home. And through dinner.

  The ring of the telephone woke me up the next morning at about ten-thirty. While I was coming round, Dad answered. There was a bit of mumbling and then I heard him say, ‘Ahh, that’s great news! Brilliant, I’ll let her know and get her to call you . . .’

  I scrambled out of bed and, as I got to the bottom of the stairs, he was just putting the phone down and scribbling a note.

  ‘That was The Wizard of Oz. You’re second senior munchkin,’ he announced, looking up from the pad.

  I got a little rush of excitement, knowing I was in – that whatever happened I could be involved in one of the productions. But, although I knew there’d be loads of people who went for roles and didn’t get any offers, I felt a little bit disappointed too. I’d read for the good witch and even a speaking munchkin wasn’t quite as good.

  ‘What do you think?’ Dad looked over the top of his glasses at me, clearly trying to work out what my expression meant.

  ‘Yeah, that’s really good . . .’ I started.

  ‘But not what you really wanted?’ he guessed.

  ‘It’s a part though. I didn’t know if I’d get offered anything, so it’s really good.’

  ‘Well, you got one offer, maybe you’ll get more. Don’t decide anything yet – I’ll be your manager for the day, eh? Answer all the calls for you and then you can weigh up the offers tonight?’ He clapped his hands and then rubbed them together all businesslike.

  I grinned at his optimism and nodded OK, not expecting him to be exactly rushed off his feet with that job. But, actually, by three-thrity, I had a decision to make after all – although it was an easy one.

  ‘Ha! Oh my God!’ I jumped off the sofa when Dad told me I’d got a part in the murder comedy play. It wasn’t the part Gemma and I had both gone for, but it was the other female lead. I was so happy. And terrified. I suddenly wondered if I’d actually be able to do it. Then I thought how brilliant it would be. Then, I finally realised that, just maybe, that meant Gemma had got the other part. Then we could be in it together. That would be so perfect. Spookily enough, that’s when my mobile rang . . .

  The squeals nearly deafened me when I told Gemma I’d got the part of Rebecca. And I allowed myself my own squeal or two when she said she got picked too, for the part we’d both read for. It all seemed too good to be true. And Gemma’s hyperactive chatter kept me distracted from my nerves.

  ‘Did they tell you when rehearsals were starting? I was too excited to listen properly . . . Hey,’ she interrupted herself, not giving me a chance to answer, ‘what do you think our leading man will be like?’

  Chapter 3

  In the third act, I got shot. Then dragged off and locked in the cellar. I couldn’t wait.

  I had the full script in front of me – the director, Steve, had emailed it to us in advance so we could read through properly before the first practice. I thought I couldn’t be any more excited about getting started until I sat down in the kitchen to read that printout. I was so ready to get on with it that I couldn’t keep still. Foul Play read the curly type on the front page. I practically tore open the cover like the wrapping off a present. It was like being a little kid at Christmas. Of course, if I was that excited, I knew Gemma would be about ready to explode. I figured I’d give her a call when I’d finished reading.

  My character, Rebecca, was newly-wedded to Tristan (how weird to be playing a wife!) and was an heiress who ran her dead father’s shipping business (it was set in the Fifties so it was quite cool, ahead-of-its-time in the feminism department, to be playing a business woman). But while Rebecca is away on business trips, Tristan starts an affair with a ‘shop-girl’ (not so feminist, in the terminology department) called Diana – that was Gemma’s part.

  Of course, Rebecca, being pretty smart, knows just what’s going on and fakes a business trip so she can walk in on her new husband doing the dirty on her. Only, Tristan panics when she catches him with Diana, grabs a gun from the sideboard drawer, and shoots Rebecca. Diana isn’t keen on the whole violence thing, but goes along with it because she wants to protect Tristan, and the panicked lovers lock Rebecca’s body in the cellar while they decide what to do. Only it turns out Rebecca isn’t quite dead, so while the nervy couple are frantically planning how to cover up their murder, not realising there hasn’t actually been one, yet, Rebecca is causing trouble in the basement . . .

  Before I could finish reading, my phone rang. You guessed it, it was Gemma, calling to screech in my ear. When she’d chilled out a bit, i.e. ages later, we read some lines together over the phone.

  ‘I wish we had more scenes together,’ Gemma said.

  ‘Me too, but you can kind of see why we don’t – it’s understandable, what with the whole love-rivalry, murder-plot thing . . .’

  ‘I guess so,’ Gemma sighed. ‘I’ll be the man for you in scene one then, and you can be mine in two.’ She put on a deep voice and read Tristan’s part, which made it hard for me to concentrate on my lines.

  ‘Gemma, you’re making me laugh too much,’ I said, giving up. ‘I can’t wait to meet the others . . .’

  ‘Oooh, me neither. Now, I’ve been thinking a lot about who we’ll get for our Tristan. He’ll be hot, hopefully. And single.’

  ‘I can go along with that, I reckon. Not too hot, though, I’ll need to keep my mind on the job.’

  ‘But it wouldn’t be any good if he minged, would it? I mean, it’d make us look bad, given that we’re basically fighting over him in the play.’

  ‘Good point,’ I said, glancing at the calendar by the phone. ‘Well, it’s less than a week before we find out . . .’

  ‘That’s still too long!’

  ‘Well, hello ladies,’ said this cocky-looking guy, letting out a
whistle of approval as he walked into the classroom at the college, that first rehearsal. ‘Which one of you is my wife and which is my girlfriend? Cos I’m ready to get down to business.’ He winked. Gemma and I exchanged looks.

  ‘Yeah, and which one of you’s gonna hurl first after that introduction – just so I know where to sit . . .’ said the boy who came in next, quietly shutting the door behind them.

  ‘Hello chaps, nice of you to join us.’ Steve the director looked at his watch and then through his eyebrows at the boys. ‘Do sit down, please.’

  Gemma and I shot each other another glance, eyebrows raised. I wondered what we’d let ourselves in for. The guys were about five minutes late – what would Steve be like if they were actually properly late, like a whole ten minutes? Plus, I wasn’t sure about this boy with his bold attitude, walking straight in with his sexist flirting. He had a very charming, cheeky smile, but you could tell he used it to get away with stuff.

  ‘Boys, this is Gemma, our Diana, and Zoë, who’ll be playing Rebecca. Girls, this is Anton, who, you may have fathomed, will be playing Tristan, and our all-important everyman: butler, postman, locksmith and policeman, David.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘And now, let’s get started, shall we – has everyone brought their scripts?’

  I couldn’t work out how old Steve was – he could have been anything from a stressed-out twenty-nine to a baby-faced forty-five. He wore a young-looking T-shirt and baggy jeans, but when he opened his mouth it was like an old woman talking. He was shortish, with dark blond, slightly wavy hair and a vaguely squidgy look. I don’t mean he was fat, he just had a sort of slightly cuddly, teddy-bear feel to him, which is maybe why he felt the need to assert his authority so often, to compensate.

  Anton was good-looking and certainly made the most of it. He sort of reminded me of Will Smith, in looks a bit but totally in his manner – that way of walking into a room, giving a million-dollar smile and completely taking over everyone’s attention. David was more like a sort of smallish, blond, surferish Daniel Radcliffe and was much quieter.

  I was always in awe of people like Anton, so full of confidence and so ready to speak. But I wasn’t sure if it was a bit much, like he was a bit arrogant. But then just when he annoyed me, he’d make me laugh. Maybe I just resented that he pulled me in, totally. It was like I didn’t have the power to resist.

  He kept going off the script when we read through the first scene. It was him and me at the breakfast table, with David as the butler lurking in the background.

  ‘Oh, Harris?’ he summoned the butler and asked for his riding gear to be prepared, like it said in the script, and then he added a bit just for David: ‘Oh and clean up this mess would you, there’s a good lad.’ He grinned, waving in the direction of the empty desk covered with make-believe breakfast things.

  ‘Certainly sir, and could I get you anything else? A smack in the mouth perhaps?’ David delivered his subtly-amended line completely deadpan, with a perfect butler bow, and Gemma and I both laughed.

  You could tell David had that sneaky, wicked sense of humour that you could totally miss if you didn’t pay attention. It was opposite to Anton’s obvious, cheesy humour. They knew each other already, from a drama group, I think, and it seemed like they had their little dynamic worked out. They were like a comedy act, the way Anton delivered every look-at-me line with a grin and a wink and then, whenever he got out of hand, David cut him down with some clever, dry comment. You could tell they were good mates though, they were just doing that guy thing of showing affection through relentless assault.

  We managed to read through most of the play despite dissolving into giggles quite a lot. I think we went a bit too far at times, because Steve’s eyes would go a bit squinty and he screwed his mouth up disapprovingly into this hilarious cross, pointy little pout while he told us off, which didn’t exactly make it easier to stop laughing.

  The four of us went for a drink together afterwards and we laughed until we ached, mimicking Steve’s funny expressions. Anton flirted some more while David’s jokes stopped it all being too cheesy and cringey. David was shorter than Anton, and skinnier, and his blond hair was long enough that he had to keep sweeping it out of his eyes all the time. He had a kind of soft, gentle face. He told me he played keyboard in a band and I said I didn’t know how he could fit it all in, as well as the play – and that he should let us know when he had a gig next.

  We all talked about the old-fashionedness of the play and how it still felt real, even though it was from so long ago.

  After just that day together, I couldn’t imagine not having met them all. Thinking back to when I’d left the house that morning, it seemed like forever ago. I was on a high as I walked home, looking back on the day and feeling really part of something.

  We packed four more rehearsals in before term started again in June. Steve was in a proper panic right from the start, going on about how we only had two months – about twenty rehearsals – to get everything perfect. Given each rehearsal was two or three hours long, and our play was quite short and just one of a bigger production, that sounded OK to me – but he was totally giving himself grey hairs about the fact we weren’t going to be able to get into the theatre until really close to performance (he was livid that building works were running behind schedule but that the theatre managers insisted there was no need to move the performance dates back). He said we absolutely had to know our parts inside out before then so we could concentrate on sorting out the stage direction once we got in there.

  After our first few sessions, he bought us all little Foul Play diaries (which was sweet, but also a shameless way to guilt us into making sure we didn’t miss any rehearsals) and we put in one three-hour rehearsal every weekend, and a two-hour session one evening each week. But he wanted to increase that once the holidays started, and that was now not very far off at all.

  We moaned about it later at our favourite hang-out near the college, a cool diner that did the best milkshakes and fries, and was open late. We’d already formed a habit of going there after rehearsals to chat, or run lines – or moan about what a slave-driver Steve was.

  ‘My bandmates will be well displeased,’ David said forlornly, looking at his diary.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ agreed Gemma. ‘There’s no way I’ll get a proper summer job now all our weekends are all booked up. I’ll be totally skint.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Anton said. ‘Come and work at the bowling alley with me. My uncle’s the manager so I can get you a sweet deal on some easy shifts.’ It was so typical Anton, he always had an answer. ‘You too if you want, blondie,’ he said, winking at me.

  ‘That’s Zoë or Ms Nelson to you, loser.’ I fake-grinned at him, knowing I could probably make enough cash from my child-minding to tide me over. I loved that I didn’t have to feel guilty about throwing insults at Anton. I knew his ego could take it. Plus he knew that I knew he was basically a good guy despite all the swagger.

  ‘Always with the attitude, Ms Nelson.’ He rolled his eyes at me and made a face that made me laugh.

  Sometimes between rehearsals, it got so I craved seeing him, which worried me a bit. I wondered if I was getting a bit of a crush. But when I thought about it calmly, it was all three of them I loved being with, I was sure of it. Somehow, as a group, we just worked. Gemma’s excitable energy and Anton’s flirting and boasting kept us all going, while David and I took turns being the voice of reason and teasing Anton. We just had such a laugh together.

  I love Katy and Katie, don’t get me wrong. Katy-with-a-y and all her dramas. She always has some guy dilemma or family feud going on and she loves to give you all the gory details – but she’s super-clever and naughtily funny, so she could talk endlessly about anything and still be entertaining. Katie-with-an-ie is basically just the sweetest person you could meet. Always seeing the other person’s point of view and looking for the best in everyone. They’re such an odd couple that somehow they’re closer for it, like they make
up each other’s missing bit to make a whole. School would’ve been horrible without them. We could always rely on each other if we needed to moan about school or stress at each other over coursework and stuff. But sometimes I felt like an outsider because their families were close – they even went on holiday together. Maybe it was my fault. They never treated me like a third thumb, or whatever that expression is, but they did have little in-jokes sometimes. Plus there was always a bit of me that worried I couldn’t quite be me, because they knew me from school, where I was the quiet girl who kept her head down.

  I couldn’t remember ever having a proper, physically exhausting laugh with them like I had with Gemma, Anton and David. That was the great thing about being able to meet people outside school. It was a chance to start fresh. Plus it was just nice to hang out with blokes, because at school it was all girls, hence all the bitchy crowds.

  I don’t know why I let my life at school bother me. It’s not like I cared what any of them thought of me – neither did the Katies because they weren’t part of a big gang either. But a lot of people seemed to think I was stuck-up or something, because I wasn’t loud and giggly like a lot of other girls, or obsessed with hair and make-up and fashion. (I’m not saying I don’t like make-up and fashion, by the way, just that I might have different ideas of what I like. Anyway, I know there’s more important things in life than hair extensions and fake nails.) I tell myself over and over that I don’t care what they think of me, and most of the time I’m convinced, but I admit maybe I’m a little tiny bit scared too, and that means I don’t give anyone a chance. I’m not a psychologist or a psychotherapist or anything, so I don’t know, but maybe I close myself off a bit, for protection. What if I did try to make friends, and they did see the real me, and they still didn’t like me? More rejection.