The Last Act

by Laura Ellen Kennedy

  I wasn’t being let off the hook easily. ‘Of course, yes, I do. I am really sorry. I know there’s no excuse but I’ve been feeling really odd lately – I’ve never done anything like that before, I swear.’ I wanted to tell him that I’d fainted afterwards, at least then he might believe I was ill instead of just a violent crazy person. But I knew he’d tell me to go to the doctor – he might even tell my dad and I wasn’t ready for that to happen yet.

  ‘I can tell it’s out of character, Zoë, that’s why I haven’t spoken to your dad about it – yet. But you’re right, it doesn’t make it OK. Can you promise me nothing like that will happen again?’

  I didn’t know what to say to that. Of course I wanted to just say yes, of course I did, but it’s not like I decided to hit anyone last time – how could I guarantee it wouldn’t happen again? I paused too long.

  ‘Zoë, I need you to promise me.’

  ‘I’ve honestly never hit anyone in my life before yesterday. It was horrible and I don’t intend to let it happen again.’ I held my breath, hoping that would be close enough to a promise.

  ‘OK then,’ he said. I exhaled. ‘You’ve got another chance. Let’s see how it goes tomorrow, shall we?’

  Now I had to ask for the favour. I wasn’t sure how to put it – I wasn’t exactly in a position to bargain.

  ‘Thanks, Steve. I’m going to do my best . . . Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘This is going to sound really odd, but do you think there’s any way we could avoid act three tomorrow? The start bit specifically. I know we obviously need to practise that bit, but I just think if we could leave it out tomorrow it might help things get back to normal.’

  Steve was quiet for a minute and I couldn’t guess what he was going to say.

  ‘I can see why you don’t want to do that scene and bring back memories of yesterday . . .’

  Good, so it hadn’t seemed like such a weird request after all. The question was would he agree?

  ‘But it’s probably the most important one, and we’ve only got two more practices really, even as well as you’re all doing I’m not sure . . .’

  ‘Please, Steve, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important to me.’

  ‘OK, Zoë, just this once, we’ll miss it out. But this doesn’t mean you don’t have to deal with what happened, OK? This is just for one rehearsal. Whatever bad feeling there is, you need to get it sorted out quickly. Things aren’t going to get put on hold for you.’

  Yes. Thank goodness. I had some time.

  ‘I know. Just this once is fine. Thank you, Steve.’

  ‘OK. See you tomorrow. Five on the dot.’

  ‘OK. Bye.’

  Well, if all my apologies could go that well, I might just be all right. But I had a feeling they wouldn’t.

  Chapter 9

  It was almost eleven a.m. and I wondered if Dad was in. I hadn’t heard him. I lay down for ten minutes or so listening out for signs, and then I decided he must have gone out. So I figured I was safe to venture beyond my room.

  I felt guilty trying to avoid him when I should have been seeking him out to say sorry, but it was sort of exhausting apologising – especially for things I hadn’t meant to do – and I wanted to be totally ready to say what I wanted to say. I just really hoped he’d know, deep down, that I’d never mean what I seemed to mean when I’d said what I said.

  There was a note in the kitchen: Gone to the library at work. Back around four or five probably. Hope you’re OK this morning . . . Dad x. I touched the note where he’d signed off with an ‘x’ and it made me want to cry again. He was worried about me even though I’d been so horrible. I had to make sure whatever was happening to me didn’t happen again. I couldn’t stand to do this to the people I cared about.

  I still wasn’t sure how I could make a plan to stop something when I didn’t know what was causing it, but I was going to do the best I could. I’d already made sure we were going to avoid the first scene of act three. What else could I do? The only thing I could think of was maybe I needed to get to the theatre before everyone else tomorrow and have a nose about. Maybe there was something on the stage that was making that dizzy feeling start at that particular moment.

  I thought about that last spell and, of course, then I thought of my stagehand. I got that odd déjà vu feeling, where you know you’ve had a dream about someone but you can’t remember what happened in it exactly. What I could remember was every millimetre of his face. Even though he’d been standing in shadow I knew the shape of him so well it wasn’t healthy: his Adam’s apple, full, soft mouth, clear, mesmerising eyes and cute nose . . .

  He’d looked at me with shock, and then he moved forwards as if he wanted to save me and he looked so strong, like he could have, too, if something hadn’t made him back off the way he did. Why did he back off? And, more to the point, how did he know I needed saving when no one else did?

  I jumped up. I was such an idiot! It was obvious what I had to do – I had to get to the theatre and find him. Why wait till tomorrow? I could find him now. I could look into those eyes again and find out his secrets – heat flushed my face at the thought. The theatre would be open and I couldn’t sit doing nothing at home, not now I knew what I needed to do. I ran upstairs to shower and get dressed. I wanted to be fast so I pulled my hair back, threw on a T-shirt dress and trainer-style pumps and then rushed as fast as I could to the theatre.

  I only slowed down when I got to that cocoon of trees around the theatre building; I was always a little awed by the cloak-and-dagger feel of walking up to it. I rushed up the steps and into the grand foyer. That cool, polished marble and that big circular design drew my gaze and held it. As I walked round the edge of the great room, I started to feel a bit woozy.

  My heart leaped up into my mouth. Oh, wait.

  Stop.

  Was it happening again? Was I so stupid that I’d run headlong into a trap? I closed my eyes tightly. I breathed as slowly and calmly as I could. I counted my sensations – I could still feel my fingers, my toes . . . False alarm. Just a bit of plain old, ordinary dizziness. Rushing about on an empty stomach on a hot day will do that, I guess.

  The ticket office booths were closed. The café looked open but was empty, except for one cashier who was hunched, unmoving, over a book. But I could hear the muffled, distant sound of piano music and singing. The doors to the auditorium were closed but as I got closer I could hear the voices more clearly: ‘Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow-the-yellow-brick-road . . .’ I couldn’t help a little smile. It was a rehearsal for The Wizard of Oz.

  I leaned into the wall, feeling suddenly exhausted, not sure what to do next, my sense of purpose lost. How would I get in there if there was a rehearsal going on? I’d only ever seen the stagehand on stage. But now I couldn’t get in there. Maybe I should have made a plan B. I wondered how long it would be before they finished – maybe I’d just wait . . .

  Listening to the happy-sounding, melodic voices, I thought about what I might be doing now if I’d taken that part as second munchkin. I might be in amongst those voices, never knowing the fate I’d escaped.

  Or what if I hadn’t sat down next to Gemma in reception that day at auditions. I looked down at my still-scratched hands, which were shaking a little. I reached up to my face and touched the graze along my jaw. Still tender and swollen. Despite the battered, bruised state I was in, when I thought about going back to that moment, seeing Gemma sitting there jiggling about with nerves, trying not to chew her favourite dark red nail varnish off, I couldn’t imagine not going over and taking that seat next to her all over again.

  I couldn’t turn back time. And I couldn’t just hang around waiting either – I wanted to find my stagehand now – and get some answers. What if I went round to the stage entrances? You could only open them from the inside, but they were quite often kept open so people could go in and out with props and stuff, or just go out for air between scenes when it was hot. But there was b
ound to be people milling about, too . . . Still, if they asked who I was, I could just tell them I was in one of the other plays and I’d left a bag backstage or something. Even if they watched me look for it, I could always just pretend to search and conclude someone must have handed it in.

  Putting my plan into action was actually even easier than I’d imagined. The first door I came to was propped open and the few people I could see were all squashed into the wings, watching the action on stage. Tsk. Terrible security. Thank goodness. I stopped for a minute to scour the huddle of people, looking for him. But the only figure I could see wearing black was a woman with a tall pointy hat – not quite what I was looking for. So I slipped past unnoticed, ready with my lost-property line in case I bumped into anyone along the way.

  I walked past the green room where everyone waits for their scenes. I hesitated for a second but figured I was likely to find Wizard of Oz people in there and have to explain myself. Besides, I’d spent plenty of time in there already and it was always full of actors – theatre staff didn’t hang out in there. But there were four or five more rooms backstage I’d never been in. I wondered if any of them was a staff room, or if they were just props rooms and store cupboards. I could feel my nerves start to get the better of my determination. Even if one of them was a staff room, it wouldn’t be OK for me to just walk in . . . Still, until I saw a door clearly marked Private, I figured I could get away with just playing dumb. My heart was thumping a bit as I moved towards a little corridor on the right.

  That’s when I saw him. Just a couple of metres away in front of me. He came right out of the corridor I’d been just about to turn into.

  ‘Oh!’ I called out before I had a chance to actually think of what I might say. I slapped my hand to my mouth in embarrassment but kept moving towards him. Then he turned round – and my racing heart stopped still. Oh my goodness. I wasn’t ready for quite how stunning he was in the light of day. I sort of stopped and stumbled backwards, tripping over one of my own feet. I looked down at my clumsy, pale, freckly legs and regretted not wearing something nicer.

  ‘Hi.’ His voice was deep and resonant and lovely. I looked back up and he smiled at me, probably trying not to laugh, and the corners of his mouth curled up, making lovely little dimply creases in his cheeks.

  I was breathing hard. Everything I’d been thinking seconds before dropped out of my head. I just stood there, unable to speak. How could I have possibly thought for a moment that I might have had a crush on Anton? This was a crush. When the whole of your insides turn to quivering mush. I had to gather all my strength to say something and I just ending up going into auto mode.

  ‘I left my bag here the other day – I’m in one of the other plays – I’m just trying to find it,’ I blurted.

  ‘I know. I’ve seen you rehearsing. You’re good. It’s a good play too. I’ve had fun watching you all.’ What did he have to go and compliment me for? Just to add to his impossible loveliness and my deepening blush. I knew I was supposed to be here looking for answers, but I honestly couldn’t think of what the questions were I was supposed to ask now I was here, face to face with him.

  ‘Oh, thanks.’ I looked down at my shoes because looking into his pure blue, searching eyes was too much for my pulse. I’m too young to have a heart attack. When I looked up he’d come closer. I really thought I might pass out. I was actually, literally, swooning.

  ‘Do you know where you left it? Your bag? I’d help you look, but I should get back to the lighting desk really . . .’

  ‘Oh, you’re doing the lighting for The Wizard of Oz?’ A question! Getting straight to the point there with an incisive question, Zoë. Smooth. Good thing I decided to come backstage after all, because the answer to this could solve all my problems . . .

  ‘I’m just assisting really, I’m a sort of apprentice. Actually, the guy lighting this one, Roger, he’s very serious. He won’t even let me touch the board yet. But I just like being here. I love the buzz of it, you know?’ I did know – he felt just the same as me.

  ‘Yes! I do. I really do,’ I gushed as I stared at him, desperate to say more but utterly sidetracked by just looking. His eyes danced as he thought about being in the theatre and his smile just took my breath away. The shape of his shoulders and arms through his short-sleeved black shirt made me tingle . . . Behind me I could hear a couple of actors coming off stage, chatting in whispers.

  ‘Well, I should go,’ he started. Damn it, damn it. Argh! I couldn’t think of anything else to say to keep him there. He seemed a bit jumpy suddenly. ‘But listen, erm, I can’t – don’t have a pen, but leave your number at the office and if your bag turns up I, someone, will call you, OK?’ He was already turning away but he gave me another dimply smile. I nodded and smiled and muttered thanks as I watched him go round the corner.

  Gah! I’m so useless. I didn’t ask anything I was supposed to. Not even his name. I’d been incapacitated. He was more amazing-looking than anyone I’d seen before. But ignoring my stupefaction for a moment, what was I meant to say? Nice to meet you. So, did you see me not-quite-pass out on stage the other day? When you looked at me did you stare into my soul at all? Because it seemed like you did.

  Wait – did he ask for my number though?! He said to leave my number. Was it a bit psycho-stalker-ish to take that as him asking for my number? I figured probably yes. But I had to leave my number now, even though I hadn’t actually lost a bag. Was it wrong to pretend I’d lost a bag so I could leave my phone number in the tiniest hope it might somehow mean he’d ring me?

  There must have been a break then, because people started to flood backstage. My instinct was to hide. I ducked down the corridor he had come from. Maybe I could come back and leave a bag somewhere for real, and then leave my number . . . I looked for somewhere I could hide it. The first door I tried was locked, which meant I obviously wasn’t supposed to be back there. I glanced around. No witnesses. I wandered a bit further. The second door opened nice and easily with no telltale creaking and I went in. There’s wasn’t much in the room except boxes. What was I doing? Sneaking around looking for somewhere convincing to leave a bag I’d lied about losing in the hope a guy would find it and call me . . . Argh! I was going mad. It wasn’t like he was actually asking for my number – a guy like that wouldn’t be asking for my number. It was ridiculous. I had to try and snap out of this.

  I could still hear a lot of chatting outside so I stayed and nosed through the boxes. Some looked like they might be newdeliveries – paint and tiles and stuff. Others though, especially in one corner, were full of old, dusty stuff – loads of assorted old props. Once it was quiet enough, I turned to leave, but something flashed, on the edge of my vision. I spun back round, my heart thumping, and there was a mirror. It must have just caught the light. I laughed and rolled my eyes at myself. Talk about jumpy.

  I went over to the mirror – it was quite big, just the corner of it was sticking out from the box and it was half covered in a dust sheet. It was heavy, but I pulled it out of the box and lifted it up. My face was too close up for me to really see myself. But I saw the woman standing behind me.

  I’d been caught.

  I yelped, a strangled scream, dropped the mirror and spun round.

  There was no one there. I caught my breath and swallowed hard. There was a hat stand behind the door I hadn’t seen and there were a couple of old costume jackets hanging on it. My nerves must have been making me see things.

  But I was so sure there’d been a woman there. I’d seen details. Her long, raven-black hair and pale skin. I’d even noticed her eyes – striking green – because she’d been staring at me, hard. How would I imagine all that from a hat stand?

  Maybe it was a trick mirror or something. I turned back and crouched by the mirror. Thank God it hadn’t smashed. Feeling a bit sick and woozy again, I propped it up, pushing it back to an arm’s length away, so I could look properly. There was no one in the mirror but me. I looked at myself. It didn’t seem like a t
rick mirror. I stared at my face. And as I looked, my normally grey-blue eyes suddenly glowed bright green.

  I gasped a breath in so hard it hurt. Scrambling backwards across the floor away from the reflection, I was shaking and terrified. That was no trick – what the hell was happening to me?

  I squashed myself as hard as I could into the corner of the room and just sobbed with horror.

  As soon as I could get my shaking legs to work, I got out of that room. I rushed past the green room to the door and out on to the street. Then I ran and ran.

  Chapter 10

  Dad was still out when I got home. I went straight to my room – I wanted to hide from everything. I drew the curtains and covered my mirrors. There was no reasonable explanation for what I felt so sure I’d seen – I must be turning insane.

  I wanted Dad to come home. I wanted to sit with him in the kitchen, over dinner, and tell him everything. But part of me still couldn’t bear to face him because I felt so guilty. Another part of me was angry that I felt guilty for something I didn’t feel like I’d done of my own free will. I wanted to believe someone was plotting against me somehow, because otherwise it meant there was a side of me I suddenly couldn’t control.

  I wrote Dad a note: Hi Dad. I’m so sorry I was horrible last night. I didn’t mean anything . . . I’m just not feeling right at the moment. I’m getting an early night to sleep it off. Love you. Z xx. I ran downstairs, stuck the note to the fridge, grabbed a stash of food, and got upstairs again as quickly as I could.

  I lay awake in bed with the light off. I heard Dad come in and make food in the kitchen. It made me smile to hear him crashing about. I thought about going downstairs a few times, but there was so much noise in my head that I was too exhausted. Despite all the serious problems I should be thinking about – like what did I really see in that props room? What could I say to Dad to make him forgive me? What was I going to say to Gemma and Anton tomorrow? (I hadn’t heard back from either of them) – the thing that kept taking over all my thoughts was my conversation with the stagehand. I cringed at how embarrassing I’d been, but his smile had just left me helpless. He said he’d seen me and that I was good. He had actually said that. But he was probably just being nice.