Theatrical

by Maggie Harcourt

  “You don’t think it’s weird?”

  “Secret theatre and an older man. What a dark horse you are.” But his voice dips as he adds, “Sometimes, people keep secrets even from their parents. Especially from their parents. Yours is safe with me.” And then he’s bright and grinning and George again, leaning in to the mirror to wipe a smudge off the glass. “So, how do we keep you and your mother apart?”

  I think for a minute.

  “You know, I might actually have a plan…”

  Amy gives me a pointed look when I finally get back up to the wings, but I mumble something about helping George and she nods and hands me a roll of white electrical tape.

  “Can you mark up the props table while I go down to the furniture store? We need to swap out a table.”

  I practically snatch the tape from her hand – not only does she believe my excuse, but I love prop work.

  Laying out a grid of tape on the props table, I hear the door into the wings whisper shut, and look up to see Luke picking his way through the gloom at the side of the stage. “That looks fun.”

  I rip off another strip of electrical tape and add it to the grid. “It’s actually more fun than you’d think. Very satisfying.”

  “Need a hand?” He hops up to sit on the end of the table. There’s no avoiding him now…

  “I’m almost finished – although unless you’re a prop, you don’t belong on there.”

  “If I was?”

  “I’d have to label you.” I wave a Sharpie at him.

  “And what label would you give me?”

  My stomach jolts like I’m on the first drop of a rollercoaster. “How about…in my way?”

  I can feel him watching me; feel the warmth of his gaze washing over me like a tide, threatening to sweep me away.

  I shouldn’t have said that. It sounded too sharp; too grumpy. I try to soften it with a smile, show him I was only joking – but he’s looking the other way now so instead I plonk the book I’ve rummaged out of the crate into its little space on the grid, labelling it with another strip of tape. The awkward silence stretches on and on. I think he’s waiting for me to say something about yesterday’s rehearsal, or why I wasn’t there, or why he’s not seen me around much in the last day or so…or just something. And what do I say about any of it?

  Finally, he whips round to face me. “Are you around for the costume parade later?” He’s so casual about it, but as he leans on the edge of the table the whole thing lurches forwards.

  “Careful!” I grab the front of the table and level it, pushing the sliding props back into line. “I’m the stage management intern. Of course I’m here for the parade. I’m here for everything.”

  I imagine Luke in his Lancelot costume with the red shirt I’ve seen in George’s sketches, or in Jamie’s costume out under the lights, but then I blink the mental pictures away. Today’s turning out to be quite complicated enough already, thanks. That thought itself is a distraction, and yet again my mouth’s off on its own mission. “And besides, with my mother coming in later…” I regain control and my mouth snaps shut. Nope. Not going there.

  “Your mother? What’s she got to…?” His eyes flicker, and I can see the thought behind them lighting up like flashbulbs, even as I pray I’m wrong. “Your surname’s Parker, isn’t it?”

  “Yes?”

  “Not Parker as in…?”

  Great. Thanks to my stupid mouth and my stupid brain, I gave him enough to figure that one out on his own. I really need to be more careful. He’s just so…distracting.

  “You are not to tell a soul. I mean it.” I put on my best warning voice. He grins and tips his head to one side, like he knows something. Like he knows me.

  “Huh.”

  This is not how I wanted this to go. Not even a little bit.

  “What does ‘huh’ mean?” I put the tape down and glare at him, folding my arms.

  He frowns, taken aback. “It doesn’t mean anything. I was just surprised. Miriam Parker’s your mother, right? How come nobody’s mentioned it?”

  “Because…because I haven’t told anybody. That’s why. Because everyone does exactly what you just did when they find out who she is.”

  “And you don’t want anybody doing you any favours because of it – or assuming somebody else already has.”

  “I…well, yes, actually.” That was easy. Almost too easy. I’m used to people constantly thinking they know what I’m capable of – who I am – because they know her. But it doesn’t seem to even cross his mind to think that – or if it does, he hides it better than the others. “So,” I add, “if you could…maybe keep it to yourself?”

  He shrugs. “If that’s what you want. None of my business, is it?” But he gives me a look I don’t quite understand. Something that’s one part confusion to one part – what? Pity? Envy? I can’t tell, and to be honest I’m still slightly thrown by how unshocked he was about Mum. Maybe I was expecting George Part II.

  Suddenly he runs a hand back through his hair and sighs. “I’d better get down to wardrobe. Final fittings call.”

  And without even a goodbye, he slips away into the shadows again and it’s me who’s at a loss.

  Luke’s a puzzle. How can someone who wants to go onstage – and do that their whole life – be so closed in on themselves? All the actors we’ve had through the Square Globe have been the exact definition of “extrovert”, all flinging doors open and booming voices, and Luke’s just…not. Like he’s so uncomfortable in his own skin that he wants nothing more than to take it off, switch it for somebody else’s.

  I shake my head and rip off another strip of tape for the table.

  “Can we have Lizzie’s second costume, please?”

  Rick’s voice buzzes into my ear through my headphones on the shared crew channel, but there’s no time to think. Instead, I flap at Juliet, who is standing in the middle of the quick-change area that wardrobe have set up at the side of the stage with everyone’s costumes and a basic make-up station. George is finishing tucking her wig cap under the waist-length dark artificial hair that completes her transformation. He heard Rick as well as I did – that call was really meant for him – but he’s ignoring it.

  “We need Lizzie two,” I try, but George hisses at me.

  “Do you want her now, or do you want her right?”

  “Both, ideally…”

  He mutters something rude under his breath as he steps back and shoos her past me out onto the stage. We watch from the wings as she moves across the boards, while out in the stalls Rick, Amy, Nathalie and Jonna the wardrobe mistress check they’re satisfied with the way the costume looks under the lights, before turning to my mother for her opinion.

  From the safety of the shadows I can just make her out, sitting at the end of the creative desks with her notebook. I heard her come in, heard her telling Rick about what she’s doing at the moment as he walked her to her seat; I listened to the two of them chat away about people they both know, shows they’ve got mutual friends in. As she sat down, she looked straight over to the edge of the flats where I was standing and I panicked – but she can’t see me from out there. I know she can’t. She was just getting a feel for the stage. Either way, I still took a step further back. George has told Rick and Amy that I’m doing something to help Roly, so might be a while. I’m not sure what he said I was supposed to be doing, but at least it means I can stay out of sight in the wings and help the wardrobe team (by which I mean George) get the cast and their costumes ready. As far as Amy’s concerned, I’m busy being useful elsewhere – and everyone else is too busy to care where I am. I’ve even de-tuned my headset mic so they can’t hear me out in the stalls. Now all I have to do is keep out of sight until Mum’s gone. Should be a walk in the park.

  Tommy’s next up, and George scuttles off to the men’s quick-change area on the other side of the stage. I scan the list pinned to the wall of the cubicle, checking off the cast names and pulling out the next costume. We’re about three-quarter
s of the way through now, and any minute Luke should—

  “Hope!” It’s George in my ear this time – on a private channel, and far too loud for my liking. Loud, and panicky.

  Uh-oh. I look across the stage, past Juliet working through the dips and twirls of one of her choreographed magic fight scenes, making sure her coat moves and she can stretch enough, and see George staring at me, wearing his headset.

  “What?”

  “Just…get over here.”

  I edge past the organized chaos of one quick-change area and dart across the rear of the stage. Thankfully, one of the backcloths has been brought in as a better setting for the costumes, and nobody except George sees me run through the crossover to the other wings.

  “What?”

  Tommy is standing in the quick-change area in his second Jamie costume: dark trousers, a loose shirt and a long overcoat and…

  “Where’s the bag?”

  “That’s the problem.”

  “The bag. He has to have the bag – it’s a personal prop. It’s in the dressing room…right? Tommy, you had it in your dressing room?” There’s no point being polite about it – there isn’t time, for a start. I look Tommy in the eye – or try to, because he fixes his eyes straight on his shoes.

  “What have you done with it? Seriously, Tommy. Where’s the bag?” I know he knows which bag I’m talking about: it’s a small brown pouch, worn on a long cross-body strap. I know he knows, because I handed it to him half an hour ago in his dressing room, just like he asked. And when I handed it to him, I reminded him that it’s a really important part of this costume because he has to use it.

  My headset buzzes into life, and there’s Rick again. “We need to speed things up a little here, guys – can you send Jamie two out, please?”

  “Where’s the bloody bag, Tommy?” I hiss at him. If we don’t get him onstage – and soon – someone’s going to have the brilliant idea of sending for “our intern, Hope” to fetch the bag, and then I’m toast.

  “I don’t know,” he hisses back at me. He blinks several times, fast – and yes, that really is panic. Tommy Knight is panicking. Star or not, name on the poster or not, he’s slipped up. It’s not catastrophic, losing a bit of a costume, and it’s bound to turn up somewhere, but time is tight and everyone’s tired and stressed and grumpy. Not least Rick.

  “Just…go. We’re running close to overtime.”

  On autopilot, I put my hands on Tommy Knight’s shoulders and shove him out onto the stage.

  It takes a minute and a half.

  And then:

  Jonna’s voice, clear in the quiet of the auditorium. “George? Could you step out here for a sec, please?”

  He flashes me a panicked look as he walks out onto the stage, shielding his eyes from the glare of the lights with his hand and pulling his headset down to rest around his neck like a giant collar.

  Jonna speaks again. “We seem to be missing a personal? Jamie’s bag. Do we know where it is?”

  I can see George fidgeting.

  Of course they spotted it. Why did they have to? Or why didn’t we switch the bag over from the first costume and buy ourselves time to fix this later? I wince at the thought of Rick’s face if he realizes that Tommy managed to lose it somewhere between his dressing room and here – never mind the extra overtime sheets I’ll have to fill in if we don’t get this sorted fast.

  I flap at George. “Pssst. Pssssssst!”

  As he turns to look at me, he does the worst, least-subtle job in the whole history of theatre of pretending he’s remembering something, and from my safe spot in the wings I throw my arms around, extravagantly miming in his general direction.

  “Oh.” His eyes widen. “Sorry, yes…I was just taking it over to Tommy and I noticed there’s a problem with it – a hole in the seam. It needs mending, or it’ll completely open up. I’m so sorry…”

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Tommy twist ever so slightly towards me, frowning at first – then blinking in surprise when he sees me pantomiming sewing something with a giant needle.

  I stop.

  He stares.

  It’s fun times all round.

  “Right. Okay.” Rick claps his hands together and the sound echoes around the stage. “If you can arrange for that to be mended first thing – and can we borrow Lizzie’s for the purpose of the parade? We can? Marvellous.”

  I scurry back behind the crossover and snatch the bag off the Lizzie 2 hanger, throwing it out at Tommy. He catches it obediently and loops it over his neck and arm, turning back to the auditorium with his coat swirling around him.

  When I turn away from one Jamie, there’s another one right behind me. Shirt, trousers, coat…but it’s a different Jamie. The collar of his coat is slightly raised, giving him an altogether different air. His ruffled blond hair isn’t white-blond from a bottle, but a softer golden sand. His face is in shadow, but I know he’s watching me, waiting for me to say something.

  And I can’t.

  It’s like standing inside a mirror, looking from one to the other of them, and yet it’s not. In the same costume, as the same person, they look so alike…but they’re different. Perhaps because the insides are so different and it shows on the surface; even through the costume and the make-up and the lines…

  “Last but not least – can we have the other Jamie two, please?”

  “Not bad,” I whisper as he slips past me, out onto the stage – and hearing me, he spins round with a grin, so his coat swirls out around him.

  “It’s not, is it?” he says, stepping out into the lights.

  But I wasn’t talking about the costume.

  On the other side of the stage, Tommy escapes back into the wings – but as he does, he gives me a look I’ve haven’t seen before: it’s uncertain, and definitely un-Tommy. It’s almost a question; asking me why I just covered for him. A question I can’t actually answer.

  Maybe I did it because I didn’t want anyone to summon me out onto the stage to fix the problem – and blow my cover. Maybe it’s because, somehow, it felt like the right thing to do. Maybe, just maybe, it was both.

  I wait until I’m sure she’s left the building, just to be on the safe side. The last thing I want, after skulking around the corridors and hiding in the office for ages, is to walk straight into Mum outside the stage door. So I make myself useful sorting paperwork…and only glance over at the model theatre across the room with its pair of little figures a couple of times.

  It was him, wasn’t it? It has to be Luke. Nobody else would have done it. But he hasn’t mentioned it. Without thinking, I pick up the tiny cardboard people and fold them together, sliding them into my pocket as…what? A touchstone? A talisman?

  Maybe.

  You can never have too much luck in the theatre.

  When I’ve done everything that I can possibly do, I loiter just outside the stage door and watch the fans again. They’re a lot more friendly than I imagined, smiling and chatting to one another, to anyone who comes out of the building. It’s like they’ve adopted the whole company, the whole show, because of the connection with Tommy.

  Some of the cast and crew say goodnight, some of them don’t; some of them smile as they walk out through the stage door and agree to photos, some of them put their heads down and their earphones in. With no previews before opening night, we’re still days from opening…but there they are. And they aren’t going anywhere.

  “Hey.”

  Luke has turned back into Luke, all the way down to his torn jeans. I pretend not to notice the approving murmur from the crowd around the stage door as he walks out. He shifts his bag on his shoulder. “You heading out?”

  “I think so.”

  “Not going back with your mum?” He arches an eyebrow and I feel my face burning.

  “Look, about that…”

  “It’s okay, you know. I won’t say anything – you asked me not to, so I won’t. And even if you hadn’t, it’s not my secret to tell.”

  H
e says it lightly, as though it’s nothing, but I can feel the question in there like a box waiting to spring open.

  “It’s complicated. That’s all.”

  “It’s none of my business.”

  “I’d just prefer to keep it quiet. I don’t want anyone thinking…”

  Suddenly there’s an explosion of chatter and laughter, and that can only mean one thing – and sure enough, there’s Tommy. He’s gone total film-star tonight: head-to-toe in black, topped off with an expensively swishy coat and dark glasses with round tortoiseshell rims.

  He smiles, he poses for photos, he hugs, he signs things. He’s the full Tommy, and it looks completely natural.

  He’s about to breeze past me, the way he usually does, when he pauses and peers over his sunglasses.

  I give Tommy a half-smile, all the while praying that he’s not going to ask me to do something else.

  “Goodnight, Hope,” is all he says – and then he’s gone, just like that, to the collective sighs of his fans.

  What’s it like, living with that kind of devotion? Having to perform every time you step outside, any time you’re where anyone might see you? Acting, but always; your life becoming the performance and the performance becoming your life…

  Not that that excuses him from giving me his laundry.

  In the middle of the frenzy around Tommy, Luke and I are simply ghosts. Nobody even glances at us as we walk away from the Earl’s into the fog that has come up from the river. At least when it’s foggy, it stops raining. Besides, I’ve always liked the fog. It makes the old buildings around here look like they’re a stage set – almost as though the doors and windows are painted on and there’s nothing behind them. You half-expect to turn a corner and find a couple of guys running a fog machine.

  Side by side, we have fallen into step like it’s the most natural thing in the world – and then he stops. “You were saying about your mum?” Luke points back at the door.

  “Forget it. It’s fine – and sorry for snapping at you. It’s my own fault – I’ve been trying to keep it quiet, then I had to tell George and then I let it slip with you, and it all felt a bit much.” I tail off feebly, and the fog billows around us. I can’t seem to find the right words, the right way to explain it to make him understand instantly; to make him understand me. Even though, deep down, I can’t help wondering whether he already does. I mean, it really did feel easy earlier. It never feels easy.