The Last Act

by Laura Ellen Kennedy

  I decided I’d text Gemma once more. Really honestly sorry. Want 2 come tomorrow but wish you’d meet me 1st. I’ll b in the café half hr before practice. Pls come. Then I tried to read for a while but I soon realised I was just staring at the page.

  Dad said once that mad people don’t know they’re mad. So even if I was having these weird fits and hallucinations, if I concluded I must be insane, because insanity was the only sane conclusion, then my conclusion was sane – and that proved I wasn’t mad, right? Argh!

  As I drifted away from consciousness I even started thinking maybe someone might be poisoning me. I started making a mental list of everything I’d had to eat or drink and who might have had access to it. I think it was about one a.m. when I finally fell asleep properly.

  I woke up suddenly and nervously about nine hours later to the sound of the back door slamming. I’d had more dreams but I didn’t want to remember them. I didn’t open my eyes. I just lay there, moving my toes, my legs, my torso, my arms – wondering if I’d sustained any new overnight injuries. No pain. But when I stretched out my fingers, they felt sticky – just the first two fingers of my right hand. I sighed and slowly opened my eyes, edging my hand out from under the duvet. They were shiny with bits of fluff from my pyjama bottoms stuck to them. I tried to wipe them clean with a tissue from my bedside drawer but the stickiness was pretty stubborn. Then I recognised the fruit smell of my favourite lip-gloss, which Katy had given me on my last birthday.

  I rubbed my eyes with the backs of my hands and went over to my dressing table. The scarf I’d used to cover my mirror was lying on the floor and, smeared across the reflective surface, in big capital letters, were the words: MARION KNOWS. I actually stood there open-mouthed. This was ridiculous.

  It didn’t look like my writing. Not that I’d ever written in my sleep before, so who knows. But I didn’t even know anyone called Marion! Who the hell was Marion?

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream so I just swore disbelievingly for a bit. That was really nice lip-gloss too. And expensive. And there was hardly any left now. This stuff just got weirder and weirder. I really didn’t know what this meant. And I didn’t know which I felt the most: fear, confusion, anger, or anxiety about the day ahead. I was on edge the whole time while I showered and dressed and went to the theatre.

  Gemma was late. I was just staring into the dregs of my coffee, wondering how long to sit and wait before I gave up. Then she appeared. I smiled at her, taking her arrival as a good sign, but she didn’t smile back. She looked away as she sat down. My heart sank but I was determined I wouldn’t go to pieces.

  ‘Thanks for coming. I wanted to say sorry properly before rehearsal. I really am. I don’t know what happened – I really don’t know what made me do it. I think there might be something really wrong with me. Ever since I fainted that day, it’s like I haven’t been in control of what I’m doing . . .’ I’d thought about this apology over and over. It had never sounded so weak when I’d said it in my head. Gemma still wouldn’t look at me and my throat had dried up.

  ‘Is that it?’ she asked quietly, putting her bag over her shoulder as if to leave. I didn’t know what to say. I guess my speechlessness made her angry because she looked at me then. For a couple of seconds anyway. ‘I’m sorry, Zoë. But just think about what you’re saying, honestly. If I told you I had some sort of illness that made me punch people in the stomach or slap them in the face, would you believe me? It’s obvious this is about me and Anton. I did ask you. I gave you the chance to tell me the truth, but you were clearly lying when you said you were OK with it.’

  No! She had it all wrong. ‘I am. I am OK with it, I swear . . .’ But what else could I say? She was right. You don’t hit someone and then say, ‘Oops, sorry, it wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated, ‘but I’m not ready to forgive you for this yet. Let’s just be civil for the sake of the play for now. OK?’

  And that was it. She walked away. I felt tears welling up and knew I had to get away too. But I didn’t want to follow her out of the theatre – she’d made it clear she didn’t want me chasing after her. So I went through to the auditorium. Thankfully, the doors were open and it was empty in there – and dark, to suit my mood. I sat in the back row, clutched my bag to my chest like it was a comfort blanket and cried.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  I let out a little scream as my heart jumped. It was him. The stagehand. Oh. Good timing.

  ‘God, you scared me. I didn’t see you there.’ The nerves pounded in my stomach, seeing him standing there – butterflies doesn’t describe it, quite. Wild horses, maybe . . .

  ‘Sorry. If you want to be alone, I’ll go . . .’ I nearly kicked myself for snapping at him. But why did the most stunning guy I’d ever met want to speak to me now, when I was a wreck? But of course I didn’t want him to go. Now he’d already seen my stupid blubbing face anyway, what I really wanted was a hug. I wanted him to wrap me in his arms. I wondered what he smelled like. Oh my goodness, snap out of it.

  ‘No, no, please, it’s fine. Sorry. It’d be nice talking to someone who doesn’t hate me for a change.’ I wiped my face dry and moved my bag from the seat next to me and on to the floor. I gestured for him to sit, but he took the next seat along. I tried not to feel snubbed. It was sort of gentlemanly,I suppose.

  ‘Are you OK? You look awful,’ he said.

  Oh, this was going great. I couldn’t help laughing at that, which actually made me feel a lot better. ‘Thanks!’ I smiled at him and he grimaced.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.’ He smiled the cutest, shy smile back at me. ‘I mean you look sad. And hurt. What happened to your face?’ He pointed at the graze on my cheek. I’d forgotten about it and instinctively reached up to cover it, even though, clearly, he’d already seen it.

  ‘I fainted on to my bedside table. I seem to be having a lot of dizzy spells lately, although that’s actually the least of my problems . . .’ I looked at him, and he was looking back at me, his big, clear blue eyes focused completely on me, a worried little crinkle between his eyebrows. Just sitting there with him, a wave of calm came over me, like I was safe. I thought I might tell him everything then. It felt like such a long time since I’d confided in someone. Time seemed to have stopped still, like we could talk forever if we wanted. But if I actually told him everything, he’d think I was crazy. Violent and crazy. And I didn’t even know his name.

  He broke away from my gaze, looking down at his hands, fiddling with his fingernails. He had really nice hands. When he looked back at me, it was through his eyebrows, a sort of almost guilty look. It took me by surprise.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked, not really meaning to ask out loud.

  ‘I wanted to tell you something.’

  My heart leaped at the thought of what he might be about to say, and I cursed my overactive imagination.

  ‘But I didn’t want you to think I was weird . . .’ Oh, it probably wasn’t a declaration of love then.

  ‘That’s funny,’ I said. ‘I was actually thinking something pretty similar.’

  ‘I think I know what’s happening to you.’

  That left me stunned. For a second I thought I’d misheard, but his eyes told me he’d said it for real and he was serious. He looked right at me. My heart was racing again, only now everything was sharp and clear, like his words had been a blast of cold water in my face.

  ‘What?’ I murmured.

  ‘I wanted to tell you when I saw you yesterday, but it’s not the sort of thing you open a conversation with when you don’t even know a person’s name.’ He smiled his curly smile at me again. ‘I’m Jack, by the way.’ I half expected him to offer his hand to shake, the proper way he spoke. But his hands were clutched tightly around his ankle, which was folded up on to his knee in that awkward-looking square, leg-crossing thing that men do.

  ‘I’m Zoë. Hi.’ I smiled back and looked directly and unblushingly into his eyes for the firs
t time. ‘Now that we’re properly introduced,’ I urged quietly, ‘please tell me what you mean.’

  ‘I was watching you at rehearsal the other day. I think you saw me?’ I nodded. I knew it! I knew he’d seen there was something wrong. ‘There was someone there, behind you.’

  I got a cold, creeping feeling.

  ‘Who?’ I breathed. My head was so full of questions but I didn’t want to interrupt – he was obviously finding it hard to explain what he’d seen. He seemed worried I’d think he was deluded or something, but I was just desperate for answers. ‘Please tell me. Believe me – nothing you could say would sound as weird as what I’ve been feeling.’

  Chapter 11

  Jack turned to face me more directly.

  ‘A woman. A pale woman with long, black hair . . .’

  ‘And green eyes!’ I finished, holding my spinning head in both hands.

  ‘Yes! You’ve seen her?’ I think Jack was excited I’d had proof of what he was saying. I was excited too – as well as sick – there was someone doing this to me. I knew it wasn’t me.

  ‘Who is she, Jack? What’s she doing to me?’

  ‘I’m not completely sure – I’ve never seen anything like it before, but she . . . stepped into you.’

  Every hair I had stood on end. Hair I didn’t know I had stood on end. I was reeling.

  ‘She was standing behind you and she looked furious . . . She got closer to you and I stepped forward, not thinking. I could see that you could feel it – in your eyes. I could see you were scared and that you could somehow feel her coming. And then she just . .. stepped into you. Your eyes went blank for a second and then they were hers. They had the same anger in them. I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Please don’t be. I’m so glad you’re telling me this, you have no idea – I honestly thought I was going mad.’

  ‘I promise you’re not. It’s not you.’

  ‘She’s . . . a ghost, isn’t she?’

  I couldn’t believe the words that were coming from my mouth, but there wasn’t a flicker on Jack’s face.

  ‘I think so.’ He nodded.

  He didn’t think I was crazy. He trusted me. And I trusted him. Even though he was telling me something that just a few weeks ago I wouldn’t have believed for a second.

  ‘I don’t believe in ghosts.’ I laughed softly, looking up at the stage and feeling clammy to the stomach. ‘The funny thing is, in the general scale of weird things that have been happening to me, this actually doesn’t seem that weird at all. In fact, it explains things perfectly. And it’s a massive relief to know I’m not imagining it all, or dying of a brain tumour.’

  ‘I thought you’d think I was insane if I tried to tell you what I’d seen.’

  I shook my head as he smiled at me. I knew he was telling me exactly what he saw. There was no way he could be making it up – because I’d seen her too. And I’d seen her eyes in mine, just like he had. I thought I might throw up, thinking about it. I covered my mouth with my hand and hugged my stomach with my other arm. This was all mad.

  ‘Are you OK?’ His voice was deep and soft and soothing. It had a calming effect on me, like the rumble of a train carriage along its tracks.

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry. I’m just trying not to be sick. It’s a lot to take in but I’m so glad to know what’s happening . . .

  ‘Why couldn’t anyone else see her?’ I wasn’t really asking him. It was more that I was just thinking how unfair it all was that none of my friends would ever believe this.

  ‘I’m different.’ He shrugged, staring down at his hands again.

  ‘I guess so.’ I looked at him until he met my gaze. ‘Have you seen ghosts before?’ I asked suddenly. I couldn’t hide the wonder in my voice. He looked back down at his hands and I realised he was wondering again how much he could tell me.

  ‘Yes,’ he confessed, exhaling. ‘Never like this though.’ I felt, in a way, like he was as relieved as I was to talk about this with someone. This explained why he seemed so quiet and alone. He had a secret no one would understand. After the last few days, I knew how lonely that felt.

  ‘That must be hard . . .’ I half stated and half asked, curious but not wanting to pry.

  ‘Sometimes.’ He shrugged. ‘Other times it has its up sides.’ He looked at me and smiled again. He was so lovely I couldn’t help staring again as I smiled back. We were quiet for a few moments as we looked at each other.

  It felt like we were connected, like we were both alone except for each other. Maybe it was wishful thinking that he felt the same connection I did.

  A slow, amused smile crept on to his face. ‘You didn’t leave your number yesterday – I checked at the ticket office.’

  ‘Oh.’ I blushed, embarrassed at remembering our awkward conversation and my lies, but also secretly thrilled that he’d checked. ‘I got distracted. That’s when I saw her, the ghost, she was in the mirror in the props room . . .’

  Jack nodded, trying to be serious, but the smirk crept back. ‘I couldn’t find your bag I’m afraid, but I was going to let you know I’d looked.’

  I flushed red again and winced. ‘There’s no bag,’ I confessed. Why did I have to do that? Why couldn’t I just say thanks and keep quiet. I just couldn’t keep secrets.

  ‘I know.’ Jack grinned a brilliant grin and my insides somersaulted. My jaw dropped a little and he laughed the most irresistible laugh – I had to remind myself he was laughing at me. I managed to recover enough to shoot him a scowl for being so devious. He just laughed harder and although I tried my hardest I couldn’t stop myself smiling.

  Then I remembered real life. It was only a few minutes until I was supposed to start rehearsal. I went quiet and then Jack did too.

  ‘I’m being possessed by a ghost,’ I said, nodding to myself in disbelief. It sounded ridiculous to say it out loud. ‘The others could be here any second. I’m supposed to get up there and act. I don’t know if I can. I mean, apart from the fact everyone hates me – she could be there, waiting for me. I don’t think I can go through it again.’

  ‘So go. You still have time to get out. Go now.’ There was urgency in his voice. He jumped up, ready to let me out. But I didn’t move. I thought about my last conversation with Steve. He’d given me another chance. And he’d promised me we’d avoid that scene, even though it was a really important one to rehearse.

  ‘I can’t.’ I almost whispered it and closed my eyes, I just felt so defeated. ‘As scared as I am, I’m on my last chance with this play. If I don’t do this, I’m out. I’m not ready to throw it all away yet – and for some dead person I don’t even know, who picked me to mess with for some reason .. . I really don’t want to have to go up there. But giving up now would be worse.’ I stared up at the stage.

  ‘You’re right.’ Jack was nodding again when I looked at him. ‘You’ve got more guts than me, but you’re right.’ There he went again with his compliments, catching me off guard. ‘I was surprised when you came back, after the first time . . . I was glad you did.’

  My heart sped up and I flushed with heat yet again; he could render me useless when he said lovely things like that.

  ‘It’s not bravery at all,’ I argued. ‘It’s fear. I’m too scared of losing what I care about. Who I care about.’

  ‘Fighting for what you care about? That sounds like bravery to me.’ He wouldn’t let me reject his compliment.

  I can’t tell you how much I wished that he would just take me out of there then, take me away so I could just be with him instead of facing the horrible afternoon ahead.

  ‘Zoë, listen.’ Oh, he said my name. I’d never heard my name sound so good. ‘I’m going to stay with you.’ He’d read my mind. Oh wait – he was a mind reader as well as seeing dead people? I really hoped he didn’t know what I was thinking about him. That would be mortifying . . .

  ‘I’m going to stay, through your rehearsal, and I’m going to watch you. But you have to watch me too, OK? Because I’m going t
o be looking for her. And if I see her, I’m going to signal like mad at you and you have to get out as fast as you can.’

  As he told me his plan, he was already backing out of the row of seats to let me through. I wanted to hug him – this was brilliant – not only would he have my back, but I’d have a friend there too, to see me through the horrors of rehearsing with people who hated me.

  ‘Do you think it’ll work?’ I asked, my excitement starting to bubble.

  ‘It took her a good few seconds before, I think, to . . . do what she did, as if it took work to build up to it. I’m sure if she turns up again you can get away in time. And then, if I can see her – maybe I can talk to her. Maybe I can find out what she wants.’

  I was practically jumping with anticipation. If this could just work . . .

  ‘You think she wants something? From me?’ It hadn’t occurred to me to think about what might be driving her. I’d been more interested in me.

  ‘She’s angry. Something’s tying her to the theatre. I’m sure she wants something – whether we can work out what, I don’t know, but if we can, maybe she’ll move on.’

  I loved the way he was saying ‘we’. Like there was no question that he was going to do all he could to help me.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, taking a step towards him.

  He backed off.

  ‘We should be quick.’ He tried to disguise his step backwards as a glance towards the doors, but I’d spotted it. ‘I should get up on stage and hide,’ he said, starting to move round the back of the auditorium. ‘I should keep hidden as much as I can if I’m going to be a lookout. Just look for me as soon as you start, OK?’