Meet Me Under the Westway

by Stephen Thompson

  ‘Bored already, are we?’

  I stare at my feet.

  ‘Look, it’s not obligatory for you to come in. I’d like to you to be here but I don’t need you to be. If you’re not enjoying yourself, you should go home. In fact, you don’t have to come in at all if you don’t want to.’

  She sounds almost glad to be rid of me. According to Evan, this isn’t suppose to happen for another three days.

  ‘What about the last week? I’d like to come back for that.’

  ‘It’s up to you. I’m just saying that you don’t have to.’

  ‘I feel bad but I’m worried that I’ll come to hate the play if I have to listen to it over and over.’

  ‘Don’t give yourself such a hard time. I understand – really I do. And, besides, I’m flattered that you trust me enough to walk away so soon.’

  ‘I do trust you.’

  ‘As I trust you to make a good fist of those rewrites. Speaking of which, when can you let me have the new version?’

  ‘When do you need it by?’

  ‘Next week at the latest.’

  ‘You’ll have it. Should we meet up?’

  ‘Could do. Or you could just post it and we can talk about it on the phone. Whichever you decide is fine by me.’

  I leave her to go and have a quick word with the actors. I thank them for their enthusiastic input so far and wish them luck for the coming weeks. They make a great song and dance about how they were just getting used to having me around and how they will miss me and how I should make an effort to pop in and see them from time to time. I promise to do so and leave. Outside, I experience the thrill of the released captive. When I told Penny I wanted to come back for the last week, I really meant it but now, as I stand here waiting for my bus, I make the decision not to visit the theatre again until opening night.

  The revision takes me ten days to complete – twice as long as I’d hoped. I print off the new version and post it to Penny, with a covering note to apologise for its lateness. A few days later, she calls to say she’s very happy with the changes. ‘The story’s a lot clearer now. And I see you’ve also sharpened the dialogue quite a bit. Good work.’

  I ask her about the rehearsals and she says they’re going well and that the actors have really started to come into their own, all of which is music to my ears.

  * * *

  Christmas arrives without warning and throws me into a panic. Less than a week before the big day and I still haven’t bought a single present. I grab my credit card and rush out to do a bit of last-minute shopping. My God! You’d think the whole of London had congregated in the West End. Moving around the shops requires the sort of aggression usually witnessed only at football stadiums. Ideally, I’d have liked more time to mull over my purchases but I become so distressed by the crowds that I grab the first items I see and run. I then spend the rest of the afternoon indoors buried under wrapping paper and worrying that I haven’t bought well.

  Two days later, I head off to Pinner. I spend three days with the folks – Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day – then hook up with Evan and Ollie on New Year’s Eve. We end up at a party in Brixton, thrown by one of Ollie’s friends, at which there are too many people for the size of the flat. Just before midnight, as we’re getting ready to sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’, Sarah calls me on Evan’s mobile to wish me happy New Year. When I’m done talking with her, Ollie shakes his head and says, ‘How you let that slip through your fingers I’ll never know.’

  The first three weeks in January drag by. At the beginning of the fourth, I succumb to curiosity and call Penny to find out how things are progressing with the play. She says she’s just started dress rehearsals and asks whether I’d like to come in and take a look. I’m tempted but, in the end, I decline, saying, ‘I want to be surprised.’

  Penny says, ‘In that case, I’ll see you on preview night.’

  19

  Lots of people have gathered in the gleaming new bar to await curtain-up. These include Penny’s friends and relatives, those of the cast and my lot – Richard, Piers, Emily, Miles, Sarah, Evan, Ollie and, last but not least, Mum and Dad. I flit nervously from one to the other, making introductions and trying to make sure I give everyone enough attention. And all the while I’m knocking back brandies in a vain attempt to steady my nerves. I’m doing my best to hide it but the fact is I feel exposed, naked, paranoid. I’m just not used to having so many eyes on me. Oh to be out of the spotlight! Oh the irony! When I hear the one-minute call, I’m among the first to enter the auditorium, partly out of eagerness to see the play, partly because I’m desperate to go and hide in the dark.

  When the play begins, I feel even more conspicuous – as though it were me on stage speaking the lines and not the actors. I break out in a sweat, I fidget in my seat. The play hasn’t made the best start. I spot at least a dozen mistakes in the first twenty minutes, every one of which I correct in my head as and when it occurs. It’s excruciating to watch. Every missed cue, every clumsy line, every signposted piece of exposition, every awkward silence feels like one more nail in the coffin of my fledgling career. I take a quick look around the audience. They seemed engrossed but luckily I’m not easily fooled by appearances. I can tell they’re judging, dismissing, ridiculing. It’s obvious they think the play stinks and, had it been the cinema, many would already have voted with their feet.

  I glance along my row beyond the folks to where Sarah is sitting next to Evan, Ollie and Emily. How will I be able to face them all at the end? They’ll be polite, of course – supportive. They’ll say all the right things – ‘It’s just first-night teething problems.’, ‘It’ll improve with each performance.’, ‘Don’t be so critical.’, ‘It’s nowhere near as bad as you’re making out.’ – but, privately, they’ll be pitying me. In which case, there’s only thing for me to do – I’ll have to emigrate to some far-flung corner of the globe and live out the rest of my life in obscurity.

  Suddenly there’s laughter, loud and prolonged. The third actor has arrived on stage and his entrance, not intended to be especially comic, has given the play the kick-start it was crying out for. As well as being infectious, laughter is also affecting and, at the sound of it, the actors visibly grow in confidence. This transmits to the audience who, instead of being passive, are now actively playing their part. They’ve become more giving, more encouraging – they’re willing the actors on. Feeding off this positive energy, the actors raise their game to a whole new level and so it continues, scene after scene, the audience and the actors in perfect harmony creating the sort of magic that can only be found in the theatre.

  At the end, in the midst of all the deafening applause, Mum turns to me and, with tears in her eyes, says, ‘I’m so proud of you.’ She then proceeds to hug the life out of me.

  The after-show party takes place in the rehearsal room, which still smells of varnish and glue. Again I find myself hurtling around – now making sure my parents aren’t bored, now talking to the actors, now flirting with Emily. On top of that, Miles keeps dragging me off to introduce me to various people, among them a BBC executive, whom he insists I spend a bit of time talking to. He’s apparently keen to option the play and a word from me might make all the difference. I doubt that very much but I go through the motions just to please Miles.

  Shouting to be heard above the din, Penny calls the room to order. I groan. Why does there always have to be a speech? I hope no one expects me to give one.

  ‘I’d like to begin by saying a big thank you to everyone who worked so tirelessly behind the scenes to help make this production such a resounding success. The lighting crew, the sound technicians, the stagehands, the set designer – they all deserve our gratitude. So come on, let’s hear it for them.’ She leads the applause, which starts slowly and ends abruptly.

  ‘I’d also like to thank everyone who showed up tonight to show their support. It means a lot to us and we hope you enjoyed yourselves. And, if I may just put my promoter’s hat on for a
second, it would be good to see you here again for future productions.’ It’s a shameless plug for the theatre and it sinks like a brick in water. And quite right too. This is my night. How dare she?

  ‘Finally, I’d like to thank Jem for writing such a wonderful play and for giving me the opportunity to direct it.’ A sudden burst of applause, with much whooping and whistling. I get the sweats again, worse than before. Penny looks at me and says, ‘It was a pleasure and a privilege.’

  I mouth the word cheers, after which the cries go up for me to make a speech. I start shaking my head but they won’t take no for an answer and eventually Dad, of all people, shoves me forward.

  I begin by thanking everyone who had supported and encouraged me through the dark days. There are mentions for Evan, Ollie, Emily, Piers, Richard, Sarah, and a long and somewhat sentimental thank you to my parents, for which they receive a round of applause. I then thank Miles for showing faith in me and for his honesty and straight talking. To Penny and the cast I extend a heartfelt gratitude. ‘You guys have done me proud and I hope we get a chance to work together again.’

  And finally I thank everyone for coming along and helping to make what has been without question the best night of my life. I feel myself choking up and do my darnedest to fight back the tears but the applause and cheers and hip-hip-hoorays are enough to send me over the edge. Penny comes and puts a comforting arm around me, as do Mum and Dad, and, before I know it, I’m surrounded by faces both familiar and strange, all wanting to offer their congratulations and to wish me good luck for the future.

  About an hour later, feeling a tad tipsy, I decide to go outside for a bit of air. On the way, I bump into Miles, who has his arms around Sarah’s waist. ‘Hey, Jem, you’d better watch out. Someone might steal this gal off you.’ I ignore him to stare at Sarah. She snuggles up to Miles, her eyes aglimmer with childish spite and, in that instant, I realise that whatever there was between us (which wasn’t much) is now over. I raise my glass to the two of them and totter away.

  Out in the foyer, I stop to take a look at all the posters on display. I stare and stare at them, feeling immensely proud to see my name featuring so prominently on each. I make a mental note to get one as a souvenir then step outside. The cold night air makes my head spin and causes me to sway slightly. I steady myself and am about to go back inside when I remember there was something I wanted to have a look at – something I saw on my arrival a few hours earlier and which almost made me faint. I step away from the entrance, the better to see it, and suddenly it comes into full view – my name, in big letters … in lights.

  Just then, I see Evan walking towards me. He comes and stands beside me. His presence totally ruins the moment but I decide not to hold it against him. After a few moments, he says, ‘So, tell me, how does it feel to be a success?’

  ‘There are no words, Evan – none.’

  He claps me on the back. ‘Well done, mate. If anyone deserves it, you do.’

  ‘I know that.’

  He laughs but I wasn’t trying to be funny. I do deserve it and no amount of false modesty is going to prevent me from saying so. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s false modesty.

  Copyright

  First published 2007

  by Black & White Publishing Ltd

  29 Ocean Drive, Edinburgh EH6 6JL

  www.blackandwhitepublishing.com

  This electronic edition published in 2014

  ISBN: 978 1 84502 816 9 in EPub format

  ISBN: 978 1 84502 083 5 in paperback format

  Copyright © Stephen Thompson 2007

  The right of Stephen Thompson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Ebook compilation by RefineCatch Ltd, Bungay