Theatrical

by Maggie Harcourt

  Spectacularly, I manage to press just about every button except the one I want. I guess I could try leaning forward and using my nose…?

  Luke laughs, squeezing in among the bundles and bouquets as the door slides shut, and we start our slow progress up the building.

  “You missed.”

  “I know.”

  “Let me try.”

  He half-turns, and edges around me on tiptoe, trying not to crush any of the delicate petals and pressing up against the door as I shuffle back. The noise of the tissue paper wrapping the bouquets is unbearably loud, and all the oxygen in the air has been replaced by eau-de-billions-of-roses. Something squashes under the sole of my trainer.

  “Uh, I think I just trod on one.”

  “Nobody’s going to notice one less flower in all this lot.”

  “It’s not bad, is it?” I look around. There really are a lot of them. “I did that.”

  “Best bit of DSMing I ever saw.”

  Thinking on your feet, getting the thing done. No second-guessing, just finding whatever it is you need as fast as possible…

  Maybe he’s right. It might not be for the stage, technically, but it still counts. Kind of.

  Thinking like a stage manager.

  Outside, there’s a whirr…and a clonk…and with a jolt that rustles all the flowers, we stop.

  “What happened?”

  “Ah. I think I pressed the stop button.” Luke looks embarrassed. He cranes his neck around to check the panel. “Yep. I did. It’s fine.”

  “It’s fine? Why did you do that?”

  “I didn’t mean to, did I? There’s not exactly a lot of room to manoeuvre.” To demonstrate, he sticks out both his elbows. One rests against my ribs, the other against the door.

  “So…unpress it?”

  “I’m not sure I can.” He twists around properly and peers over the top of three bouquets at the panel of buttons. Everything that was lit on there has gone dark. “I must’ve caught it with my elbow.”

  “You’re sure it was you? Because I don’t know how long I want to be stuck in here with all this…”

  If it was just him and me, without the flowers (and whatever passengers they might be carrying), it would be a different story. But I’d still prefer it not to be in a tiny, tiny lift.

  “Maybe?”

  “You either did or you didn’t.”

  “Look, just…hold this.” He holds out his bouquets.

  “With what? What am I supposed to hold them with? My other arms?”

  “Fine.” He settles the flowers he’s holding on top of all the others – and without another word, he reaches forward and lifts the bouquets out of my arms, putting those down too.

  And then he straightens back up and he looks at me and the light is dancing in his eyes and suddenly the lift can never be too small.

  A couple in a stopped lift, surrounded by roses.

  “Now. Want me to unpress it?”

  I look right back at him, and then I look past him at the panel – and I shake my head. “No.”

  And I don’t know whether it’s him reaching for me first this time, turning his face towards me, the touch of his fingers dancing across my cheeks – or whether it’s me, pulling him closer as his hand runs through my hair, brushing it back from my face…

  All I know is that his lips against mine feel softer than any flower petal…and that close up, the scent of his skin is better than any rose. That his touch is warm and sure of itself – and that when he kisses me, he means it.

  When the lift clatters open with a happy chime only a little while later, we’re on the top floor of the hotel. The door to Tommy’s room is open, and two of the housekeeping staff are waiting right outside. Luke passes the flowers out and between us we form a floral chain, passing bunches from hand to hand until we fill the whole room. There are flowers everywhere – on every table, in every corner, by the bed, on the desk…even in a huge glass vase in the bathroom. It’s beautiful, like an enchanted garden. Maybe I thought it was stupid when I was stuck in a taxi with them and their leaves were trying to get up my nose…but the roses are definitely growing on me.

  We don’t speak as the lift rattles back down, not stopping until it reaches reception, but I can feel him standing beside me. When he takes my hand and links his fingers through mine, I feel it all the way down to my toes. But when I step out onto the marble floor of the lobby, Luke hangs back. He says my name and I turn…and there he is, holding out a single rose to me – a pink so dark, so deep that it’s almost impossible to name it.

  “Because nobody’ll notice one missing, right?” I say lightly, twirling it between my fingers.

  “Because sometimes, it’s the things that nobody notices which deserve noticing,” he says.

  “And you’re sure?”

  “Yes, Dad. Your tickets will be on the door. There’s a drinks reception in the stalls bar afterwards. I’ll meet you there. Priya’s coming too.”

  After everything came out about the Earl’s on Friday – and by the time Mum and Dad had had several conversations behind several very closed doors – Mum announced that of course the whole family would be coming (with a pointed look at Faith) and would enjoy being there to support me. And then it turned out that she’d actually been invited to opening night anyway – because, naturally, she’s Miriam Parker…

  “And we should get to the main entrance…?”

  “After seven, but before seven thirty,” I shout back through the bathroom door, trying to wrap the towel around my wet hair. When I managed to run in here and get the door locked before Grace could get across the landing, I thought it was a minor personal triumph…right until Dad decided that now was the time to have a long conversation about tonight’s logistics. I don’t really have time for this now; not when I’ve got so much to do ahead of curtain-up, but when Amy suggested I take an hour or two this afternoon to have a break and freshen up, I wasn’t going to say no.

  “And what sort of thing should I wear? Should I be…you know, a bit smarter, seeing as it’s opening night. I don’t want to overdo it?”

  Enough is enough.

  I tuck the end of my towel in, and open the door to see him waiting patiently outside. Steam billows out onto the landing as the colder air outside the bathroom rushes in.

  “Dad. It’s an opening night. You’ve been to loads of them before.”

  “Yes – but not yours.”

  Oh.

  “Okay. So, if you really want to know what to wear, maybe ask Mum. Clothes are…kind of her thing.”

  “She’s out getting her hair done for this evening.”

  Of course she is.

  “What will you be wearing?” he adds hopefully.

  “Black. Because that’s what we wear.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  He stands there in silence. I have so many things to do, and so much I need to get straight in my head, and I have to get to the theatre for five o’clock, but he’s trying so hard. I know how upset he was when the truth about the Earl’s came out; hurt and angry and worried and, more than anything, disappointed. Although he’s hiding it now, I think he might still be all of those things, and I hate it… But I also think he knows what this means to me – not just now but for my future too. And however upset he might be, he’s not going to risk that – because whatever else he might be, he’s my dad.

  Who is still just standing there.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing. I just thought I’d…check.”

  “Dad.”

  “Yes, love?”

  “You’ve not come to any of the shows I’ve worked at the Square Globe.”

  “Well, that was different, wasn’t it?”

  “You won’t be able to see me. You know that, right?”

  “Nonsense.” He lifts his hand…and for a second I think he’s going to pat my head like he did when I was a kid. But he hesitates, and eventually he rests his palm against the door frame. “It’s your night. Whoever m
ight be on the stage, it’s your night.”

  Sitting on the bottom stair, trying to get my (black) trainers on with one hand and shoving everything and anything I think I might need into my bag with the other, I don’t even notice my sisters looming: Grace in the door of the living room, Faith eyeing me from the pew in the kitchen.

  Grace smiles at me. “Are you going over already?”

  “Amy asked me to come back for five. Everyone else will be off on their dinner break, so…” I jump up and grab my bag. It weighs more than any bag has ever weighed, and I could probably live out of it for the next fifteen years, so I think I’ve got everything – including, right at the bottom, a couple of cardboard figures that have been folded and refolded so many times they’re practically crumbling. Touchstones; talismans. Because it is opening night, after all.

  I’m ready.

  “See you later.”

  “Break both legs…” Faith’s voice is almost sing-song…and I can’t decide whether she’s kidding or not. I stop, my hand on the porch door.

  “It’s one leg. Break a leg. It’s to do with how actors only used to get paid if they got out onto the stage, crossing the—”

  “Leg line.” She cuts me off. “I know.”

  “If I get hit by a bus on the way and actually break both legs, you’ll never forgive yourself for that.”

  “Meh. I’ll live.” Faith shrugs…and then winks at me.

  Grace gives me a goofy smile and her ridiculous thumbs up, and I’m out of the door.

  On the bus, I go over and over the things I need to do, counting them off on my fingers as I whisper them to myself. The middle-aged woman sitting on the seat next to me moves further away.

  Be like that then.

  I take the bus one stop further than usual, all the way down to the station. This way, I get to walk up to the theatre past every bus shelter and bollard and display unit with our Piecekeepers poster on. And then I round the corner and it’s straight ahead of me. The Earl’s Theatre. In the slowly dimming daylight, it – she – shines, and my heart swells because that’s me.

  I’m the Earl’s Theatre. So is George. So is Rick and Amy and Nina. Chris and Jonna and Lucinda the PR and Nathalie; Roly and Rav…and Luke. Even Tommy.

  We are the Earl’s Theatre.

  The foyer lights glow through the glass doors, the awning signs sparkle on the front of the building and there are Piecekeepers banners hanging from the upper windows, brightly spotlit. Down on the ground, the queue already winds around the side of the theatre, past the HOUSE FULL sign on the pavement – and I actually recognize most of the faces at the front, patiently waiting for the doors to open even though they won’t for ages yet. They’re the same faces I’ve passed for days, including the ones who’ve smiled at me and the ones who’ve booed me. But looking at them all standing there, leaning against the wall in the cold and stamping their feet to stay warm…it’s enough to make me shiver.

  “It’s not bad, is it?”

  I didn’t even know he was there. Luke’s words come from behind me, so close that I can feel them on the back of my neck as his arms slip around my waist and pull me back against him. Even through my coat, I can feel the warmth of his body – although the moment is kind of spoiled when I realize that the strong arms wrapped around me are also, in fact, carrying two enormous plastic containers of milk.

  “Thirsty, are we?” I step away from him and eye the giant bottles. “Here – gimme.”

  He hands one over, laughing. “It’s not for me. It’s a favour for the front-of-house guys – Sarwat went to get the stalls bar up and running and realized they’re out of milk. I was going out anyway, so…” He brandishes his bottle. “How are you doing? Nervous?”

  “Me? Nervous? No. No, no. Nope. Ummm. Ha.” I follow him through the stage door and up the steps, past the desk where Roly is almost invisible behind a mountain of flowers, cuddly toys and cellophane-wrapped baskets of biscuits. Peering over the top of a bouquet of roses, she spots us.

  “Don’t suppose you fancy taking some of this lot through to the dressing rooms, do you?”

  “Sorry, Roly.” I shake my head. “I’ve done all my flower-arranging today.” And I thought I’d emptied the whole town of roses already. As we head past, I hear her muttering, “Don’t eat that,” at Domino the cat.

  Even indoors, it’s still cold. I can’t imagine how miserable it must be outside in the queue – especially as I’m pretty sure some of them have been there since this morning, with only the promise of Tommy Knight to keep them warm.

  I stop and look down at the milk in my hand.

  “Luke…”

  “Mmm?” He turns towards me.

  “Do you think they’re going to need all of this in the bar?”

  Ten minutes later, we head back out through the foyer doors carrying trays loaded with cardboard cups (found in the back of a cupboard in the production office) full of tea.

  “Hi there!” I walk up to the girl at the front of the queue. Her hair is tucked behind her ears and under the long stripy scarf she’s wrapped round and round her shoulders to keep the chill out. She eyes me suspiciously, so I nod at my tray. “It’s a little while until the house opens, so we thought maybe you could do with a cup of tea?” She eyes me even more suspiciously, and it looks like she’s about to turn away…but then I have a brainwave. “He’s needed in wardrobe right now, but Mr Knight asked us to let all of you out here know how much he appreciates your support. He can’t wait for you to see the show.”

  “Tommy Knight knows we’re here?” Her eyes light up almost as brightly as the awning above us.

  “He does, and he’s so grateful to all of you. But he thought you might be getting a bit cold waiting.” I lift the tray hopefully…and that’s all it takes. She beams and takes a cup, turning to the person behind her – the girl I’ve spoken to before, from waiting for Tommy – who smiles in recognition.

  “He sent us tea!”

  It ripples down the line as we make our way along it: Tommy Knight sent them tea. Tommy Knight knows they’re there.

  Tommy Knight knows they exist.

  All the times he’s driven me crazy and I’ve wondered what the actual point of him was… It’s this.

  It was never about him. It’s about them.

  It’s the simplest thing, and the best.

  The last cup taken, we tuck our trays under our arms and follow the line of people around the side of the theatre.

  “Why’d you say it was from Tommy?” Luke nods back to the queue.

  “Because as far as they’re concerned, it is. Besides, I’m invisible, remember?”

  “Not to me, you’re not.” He reaches a hand towards me as though he’s about to brush a strand of hair away from my face…and stops. “Oh, wow.”

  He’s not talking about me, is he?

  I follow the line of his gaze to the stage door.

  Oh, wow indeed.

  Not only is there another crowd around the steps, there’s a guy who looks like someone squished two heavyweight boxers into the same suit standing at the bottom.

  “Hi, yep, coming through – excuse me…yeah, mind your backs…”

  I step around a couple of fans staring at a phone between them – uploading a picture, by the look of it. It’s not till we make it to the steps that Luke whispers in my ear, making me strain to hear him through the sea of excited chatter around us. “It’s Emery Greenway. She’s here.”

  I snap my head round to face him so quickly that I almost lose my balance. “She’s backstage? Right now?”

  “I heard someone say she just went in.”

  My heart sinks. So much for my quiet hour before everyone gets back from dinner and things start getting serious. If Emery really is here, it’s going to be bedlam, isn’t it?

  The suit blocks my way as I try and walk up the steps, holding out a hand the size of a dinner plate. “Sorry, no.” His voice is so deep that I don’t hear it so much as feel it vibrating through my ribs.<
br />
  “Sorry, yes.” I stand my ground. “I’m part of the theatre crew, and I need to get to work.”

  “Miss Greenway…”

  “Miss Greenway will understand that as part of the technical team for the production in which Mr Knight is, in fact, starring, I need to get inside.”

  The hand drops.

  “Thank you.” And I sweep up the steps, through the door – and walk straight into Roly, who is peering around the edge of the frame, having apparently clambered out from behind the gift mountain.

  “Big lad, isn’t he?” She dusts herself down.

  “Is she really backstage?”

  Roly gives me a look.

  Well, it explains the security.

  “I need to check the props and personals.”

  “Well, then, you’ll most likely meet her. She’s holed up in number one with half the cast, as far as I can tell. Some people have nothing better to do.” Roly tosses her hair back as she says it.

  I raise my eyebrows at her. “You couldn’t get through the door, could you?”

  She shakes her head crossly. “It’s rammed in there.”

  I put on my most serious voice. “It’s about to get…unrammed.”

  “Unrammed?” She blinks at me. It’s not the most eloquent thing I’ve ever said.

  I give Luke a knowing glance. “I work better with a script.”

  Roly wasn’t kidding about the crowd: most of the crew, and what actually looks like the entire cast, are loitering outside dressing room number one, its door open and the sound of laughter spilling out. At the far end of the corridor, through the crush, Luke gives me a wave and vanishes through another door to start his own prep for tonight. As the door closes behind him, I realize that I didn’t ask him if he’s nervous – not that he should be. He’s knocked every rehearsal out of the park, and I can’t wait to watch him from the wings; to watch everyone else watching him and seeing just how good he is.

  I edge my way through the tightly packed bodies standing outside Tommy’s room. “Come on, guys…it’s gone five. If you want to eat, you need to go!”