Anyway, whatever odd things go on in this head of mine, it was the best feeling, finally thinking maybe I wasn’t so weird after all – I could have a real group of great mates and just have a laugh like anyone else.
That summer, in between rehearsing, going to David’s gigs and getting sneaky discounted games at the bowling alley, the four of us would spend all the time we could hanging out in the diner or in the park by the college.
We were together all the time and I can’t remember ever being happier. Back then, I couldn’t have imagined that anything could change how close we were.
Chapter 4
It was close to the end of term in July when Steve finally told us the theatre was ready. He said we’d been doing so well that, if we wanted to, we could pop along on Saturday and just have a look round instead of having a full rehearsal, before we got in there for real on the Wednesday to ‘get to work’ as he put it. We all agreed we’d like to. I think we were excited to get up on a stage – we’d got to the point where we all knew our lines and we were sick of just using a classroom with all the tables and chairs pushed up against the walls.
Just when everything was going so well though, on the Friday night before our theatre visit, I got a call from Gemma. When I saw her name come up on my phone, I got a weird, nervous knot in my stomach. She asked if we could meet at the diner, just the two of us, before we met the boys at the station. As I agreed to go, I wasn’t sure whether to be worried or not. The diner was close to the college but was the other end of town from the theatre really (and an extra walk for me as I lived at the theatre end). It made me wonder if she had something nasty to tell me and wanted to be in familiar, happy surroundings. Why couldn’t she say whatever it was over the phone?
When I walked in, she was already sitting down with a Coke and was jiggling nervously, just like that first day we’d met.
‘You worried about something?’ I asked her as I sat down. I was half joking, but she confirmed my instincts were right.
‘Argh, am I so easy to work out?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Well, I wanted to ask you something. And I guess I’m a bit unsure how to put it.’
Oh man, that sounded serious. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it.
‘Mmhmm.’ I tried to seem nonchalant.
‘Anton asked me out. And I wanted to check with you before I said yes for sure. I reeeeally like him, Zoë, but I sort of got the impression maybe you do too, and I wanted to check with you it wouldn’t be weird if I said yes.’ She peered at me as if she wanted to try to work out my reaction from my face. ‘We’ve all been getting on so well, I don’t want it to go bad. I don’t want you to think I went behind your back or anything.’
It was a lot to take in and I wasn’t sure how I felt. Mostly, I felt relieved – was that all she’d wanted to ask? But then maybe I did fancy Anton a little bit, now that she said it, and I did feel a weird little pang of jealousy. But what was the point in admitting it when he’d chosen her?
‘That’s great, Gemma,’ I said with a grin.
She raised her eyebrows at me, still peering at my face – I saw then why she’d insisted on having the conversation in person.
‘Say yes! Honestly, it wouldn’t be weird. Of course say yes, I can’t believe you asked my permission – you’re so funny.’ Of course, what I really meant was that it was sweet of her and that I appreciated it.
‘Are you sure? I know you’d say it was fine even if it wasn’t, for my sake, because you’re a nice person, but are you sure you don’t like him too? I really do want to know, or I wouldn’t ask . . .’
Oh, why did she have to go and flipping ask me outright? I knew I wouldn’t be able to just say no and leave it at that. It’s like I’ve got some sort of naturally-occurring truth serum in my blood or something. Ask me a question, and I just spill my guts out . . .
‘No, no,’ I said. Stop there, Zoë, I told myself. But I didn’t listen. ‘I don’t think so, not properly – I mean you can’t help getting sucked in by his cheeky grin, can you?’
She nodded. Her face lit up when she thought of him and in that moment I suddenly knew that I felt really, truly happy for her.
‘No, honestly, Gemma, that flirty banter we have? That’s not sexual tension, you know, he just genuinely gets on my nerves!’
She laughed loudly and seemed to relax.
‘I know what you mean about how great things have been and not wanting to risk it, but I don’t see why this should have to change anything. Just don’t try and pair me off with David now, OK? I don’t want this play turning into some icky, loved-up double date.’
‘Aw, thanks Zoë.’ Gemma grinned at me and grabbed my hand across the table. ‘I promise we won’t leave you alone with David – not the whole time anyway!’
I was impressed at how grown-up the whole conversation was – and how easy. As we finished our drinks and went to meet the others, I felt all warm and fuzzy. It was like we’d crossed a friendship milestone somehow, because we’d faced a potential problem and got past it. When we spotted the guys, David came over to walk beside me and Anton gravitated towards Gemma. She reached for his hand and I watched him smile at her – a real, genuine, lovely smile just for her, not a cheesy grin – and I felt this huge surge of emotion for them.
Don’t get me wrong, as a human being (a boyfriendless, female human being), I’m not saying I didn’t feel a tiny twinge of jealousy, but it wasn’t because I wanted to be with Anton; it was because I wanted someone of my own to smile a smile like that, just for me.
I got over it though. And, as we all trooped to the theatre together, it was like we were a team. Ready for anything.
Even though the theatre wasn’t far at all from the centre of town, I’d never really stopped to look at it. It was set back from the road, behind a canopy of trees, a car park and one of those flimsy, boxy community buildings. Even when you got to it, it was shrouded in yet more trees, which obscured it from view despite the leaves being parched by the summer weather already. It wasn’t until you were quite close that you got the full sense of the building. I stopped for a moment as we got our first proper view of it, and my stomach did a little flip as if I’d found out a secret I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
It felt imposing, because it sort of snuck up on you and was looming over you before you even really knew it was there. But there was something slightly comical about the grand features of it, given its size. For a smallish, tucked-away building, its little dome entrance, pillars and steps that spilled down to the ground seemed a bit boastful. And I don’t know as much as I’d like about architecture, but it seemed an odd mix of sort of Roman-ish pillars and then tall, thin patterned strips of window that reminded me of some of Dad’s books on art deco.
Most of all, though, it seemed like it was alive. You know the way you look at your toys when you’re little and you’re so sure they all come to life the moment your back’s turned? It was like that, only I didn’t want to turn my back. For a moment I was captured, frozen, trying and failing to imagine its past. Then Gemma called back over her shoulder to hurry me up and I came round.
There were loads of people rushing about as we walked into the grand foyer. They were all dressed in black and I guessed they were all new theatre staff – security and technical people. Some of them were moving boxes or ladders or paint tins around and a couple of them had Bluetooth headsets on and were striding about talking to invisible others, looking important. It was like MI5 had invaded, only a bit scruffier.
Steve was talking to one of the ‘men in black’ (only she was a woman) and beckoned us over for our little tour. We looked around the front of the theatre – the café and box office and an arched doorway with a sign over it saying History room. It was going to be like a tiny museum of all the old stuff they found while they were renovating that was too interesting to chuck out. Then there was the auditorium. That was the best bit. It was dark and velvety and glamorous and, as we looked over the backs of all the seats, up to the stage, I
knew we were all feeling the same excitement, knowing that in just a couple of weeks we’d be standing up there, looking down at a real audience. I imagined everyone in their seats, and all of us in our costumes . . . The others headed over to the stage and goose bumps prickled my skin. There was no going back now.
Chapter 5
‘We’ve got hours and hours completely to ourselves . . .’ Anton said his line. That was my cue to come on stage and catch him at it with ‘the other woman’.
I stepped out from the deep shadows of the wings and on to the stage. The others turned to look at me – Gemma, Anton and, just visible in the wings on the other side, David was watching patiently.
‘Why . . . Rebecca, darling . . . I thought you’d left over an hour ago. I . . .’
Then it was my line. We’d done it dozens of times before but this was the first time on this stage. Was it excitement, or a renewed bout of nerves that was making me dizzy? Maybe it was the smell of the place that was making me nauseous – a queasy mix of musty old, and synthetic, freshly painted new.
My friends’ faces were pointed at me expectantly, waiting for my words, but when I tried to speak, the words got stuck. The edges of my vision were starting to blur and darken. I tried to swallow the sticky, sick feeling in my throat, but I couldn’t budge the muscles. Was this stage fright? Suddenly I was cut off from my body, I couldn’t feel my arms or legs properly. I’d never felt anything like it before. I thought I was passing out. I expected to fall down any second and for everything to go black. But it didn’t, everything was just blurry at the edges.
I could see what was in front of me but I was detached from it, like I’d somehow been sucked into a dream. I could hear Anton string out his line, trying to help me along, but his words were muffled, as if I was listening from another room.
Then I heard my line. Out it came, perfectly clearly. But I hadn’t said anything – I mean, I was sure I hadn’t moved my lips. I could barely even feel my lips.
What was happening?
It was like I was hypnotised. Maybe someone else had said the line, but I was sure there hadn’t been anyone behind me . . . and the voice sounded like mine . . . I think.
It must have been mine, because in that second, the others unclenched. The awkward pause was over and the play sprang back into life. It all started to flow along again, without me. Only it wasn’t without me. Not from what they could tell. I started moving around the stage, not quite according to what we’d rehearsed, but near enough.
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Tristan,’ my voice continued. I was acting, just carrying on with the play, but I wasn’t controlling my movements. It was terrifying. I’d have been crying out to my friends with fear, begging them to help me – except I couldn’t. I was imprisoned. It was like when you’re trying to scream in a nightmare, but no sound comes out because back in the real world your body’s paralysed in sleep.
‘Wh . . . don’t be silly, darling,’ Anton said, and, helplessly, I watched the rehearsal play out in front of me, anticipating my lines and hearing them come out but not having any hand in saying them. My tone and emphasis were different, but clearly not enough for people to be put off. I was willing them to notice, for Steve, the director, to call time out. I was desperate for them to see something was wrong. But they didn’t. They all just went on as if everything was normal.
At the end of the scene, after Rebecca gets shot, they had to carry me off stage, which they did. And as they moved the set around for the next scene, in the cellar, my body just watched everything go on around it. No one even gave me a second look.
No one except this one guy, who was standing in the wings on the other side of the stage. He was dressed in black like the other staff, so I assumed he was a stagehand. He was looking right at me. He was young, only a little bit older than us I guessed, maybe nineteen. He was amazing-looking – sort of boyish and manly at once, with smooth, innocent features but strong shoulders and arms . . . His perfect jawline was lightly shadowed with a hint of stubble. He had dark, longish-short hair and these huge, blue, piercing eyes. I think my heart was racing faster as I watched him watch me. It was like he could see me in a way none of the others could. For a moment it was like he could see right into my soul.
Did he know what was happening to me? For a just second it seemed like it. But then Anton stepped between us and I lost sight of him.
Carrying me back on for the next scene, Gemma and Anton put me down centre stage, on the little couch, and covered me with a throw. I was a ‘dead’ body while they acted over me. I wondered if the stagehand was still there, just a metre or two away, watching. My body stayed frustratingly still, obedient to stage directions but not to me. If I’d had control of it, I would have peeked to see if he was there. I was sure he could see that something terrifying was happening to me.
‘OK guys, stop there!’ Steve clapped his hands loudly. ‘That was pretty good, well done.’ My head lifted itself, throwing off the shroud, and turned to face him as he was rising from his seat. ‘It’s all sounding nice, but I think we’re going to need to adjust some of the directions a bit – they’re a bit lost in the change of scale. I think all of your gestures and your volume will need to come up a notch, too.’ He wafted his arm up like he was conducting an orchestra. ‘We’re not in a cosy classroom any more. Why don’t you take five, get a drink, limber up and try and “think big” so we can read the next scene with a bit more oomph, hmm?’ With a grin and another suitably theatrical wave of his hand to signal break time, Steve turned back to his chair and his notes. Gemma’s voice was suddenly behind me.
‘Come on, Zoë, let’s check out that café thing in the foyer – I need a juice or something.’ I watched her loom in front of me, sit at the front of the stage, swing her legs over the edge and jump down. My mind wanted to follow but my body didn’t move.
She spun round. ‘Coming? You OK?’ she quizzed me with a slight frown. I nodded, I think, and then went downstage right, behind the curtain, down some steps and out of the door at the side of the stage, where Gemma was waiting with her hands on her hips.
‘You’re acting weird. Come on, let’s get snacks.’
I followed as she walked to the back of the auditorium and out into the foyer. How strange to be moving around without the sensation of walking – it was like I was a toddler again, being carried wherever I had to go, with no choice. The boys were heading out of the front of the building, Anton had a pack of cigarettes in his hand as he waved at us. Gemma waved back.
‘I wish he’d pack that in.’
‘What?’ I heard my voice ask, even though I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t understand how it was happening.
‘Waving. I just hate it,’ Gemma joked. ‘I mean smoking, obviously.’
‘Why? Everyone smokes. It’s good for your nerves . . .’ What was I talking about?
‘What are you talking about, Zoë? You don’t. I don’t . . . Not often anyway.’ She gave me a quick sheepish look, but my face obviously didn’t register it, because her expression quickly went blank again.
‘“Smoking Kills”’?’ Gemma tried again, peering at me and waggling inverted-comma fingers. ‘Besides, it makes his breath stink when I get up close.’ She winked at me. I wanted to climb out of my head. I wanted my body back so I could smile at her. I had no idea what my face was doing.
In the café, my hypnotised brain seemed to be transfixed by the rows of sandwiches and drinks in the chill cabinet. I could hear Gemma was still talking to me but I couldn’t turn to look at her. Inside I was shouting at myself to wake up.
‘You were doing your lines differently today,’ she said.
‘Better?’ my voice replied. Nice and modest.
‘I don’t know, I liked the way you did it before as well, you know, sort of gentler, with a bit of vulnerability.’
‘Vulnerable is just another way of saying weak. No one’s going to feel sorry for me when you steal my husband, if I’m all weak. They’ll just think I b
rought it on myself.’ Where was this coming from? It couldn’t be from inside my head.
‘You mean when Diana steals Rebecca’s husband? I don’t know if the audience is supposed to feel sorry for Rebecca or not. I’m not sure it’s that simple . . .’
‘Oh, it’s the simplest, oldest story there is. The typical man plays away with the younger, tackier, obvious, tart-type. Of course the audience is supposed to side with me.’ Wait. What was I saying? I didn’t mean that! Shut up!
‘You mean side with Rebecca.’ I could hear the edge creeping into Gemma’s voice. She was getting annoyed and I didn’t blame her.
‘Do I?’ my voice challenged. Oh. My. GOD. Shut up, shut up! The edge in my voice matched hers and raised her a notch. Why? I didn’t want to fight with her. There was no way this stuff was coming from my brain, even under hypnosis or if I was ill or something. Someone must have drugged me somehow. Suddenly I wondered if I was dying.
I was filled with panic but there was nothing I could do. I could see Gemma now, my face was pointed right at her and I didn’t know what expression I had on, but I could see hers all too clearly. And her hands were on her hips.
‘Well, it seems to me like, if you don’t, that’s a sly way of calling me a “tacky tart” or whatever granny phrase you just used. So what do you mean?’
‘Excuse me. I think I’m going to go outside for some air.’ Good! Get out before you lose a friend.
The foyer opened up in front of me as I turned and left the café. The new glass in the windows was still covered so it was dark, despite the bright sunshine outside. My eyes gradually acclimatised, making out the patterns on the old-fashioned but newly polished, marble-type floor. It looked cool to the touch. There was a great circle with huge, elongated, arrow-like stripes, like on Dad’s old backgammon board – only they emanated out in a ring from the centre. My eyes moved up to look into the domed ceiling. More and more, the building itself seemed to want to whisper secrets in my ear, but all I could hear for real was the miles-away-seeming shouts and traffic from outside on the street.
The Last Act Page 3