Stage Fright

by Christine Poulson

  ‘I thought Kevin was going to lose it there completely,’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen him like that before.’

  ‘It’s no wonder, is it. It’s not just his wife that’s missing, it’s his leading lady as well. It’s Wednesday today and we open on Monday!’

  ‘What’s going to happen?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s what Richard rang up about. And why I didn’t want to take the call in front of Kevin. You see, if Melissa doesn’t come back, we’ll have to ring round the agents, see who’s available to take her place.’

  She saw the expression on my face.

  ‘Sweetie, I’m just as worried as you are, really, I am,’ she said. ‘It seems hard, I know, but…’ she shrugged.

  ‘The show must go on?’

  ‘Just think about it, Cass. How many actors are there in the production? A dozen or so? And then there’s all the technical crew, there’s the big opening that’s already been publicized, the sponsors, the tickets sold. We have to open next Monday, come hell or high water. It’s a cast-iron rule. Everyone accepts that. Melissa knows that as well as anyone.’

  ‘But what if she’s had some sort of crisis and she comes back in a day or two?’

  Stan shook her head. ‘We can’t wait on the off-chance. We’ll have to act soon. Richard said that if she’s not back by nine o’clock tomorrow morning, he’ll be ringing round the agents to find a replacement.’

  ‘Will he find someone at such short notice?’

  ‘Oh, he’ll find someone. But who? That’s the question. We’ll be lucky if we can get anyone a tenth as good as Melissa – and it’s such a big part. Will they be able to learn it in time?’

  At 6.30 Stan went into the garden and smoked a cigarette. At seven o’clock she made cheese sandwiches. At ten past seven Jake rang to find out what was happening. At seven I fed Grace. At 7.30 I gave Agnes another bottle and put her to bed. At 7.45 Tim Fisher rang to say that the police had gone round to the flat in Camberwell. There were no signs of Melissa. And there were no reports of an accident involving her car. Stan went out into the garden for another cigarette. At eight o’clock Clive rang to find out what was happening. At 8.30, Richard rang to find out what was happening. At nine Stan rang home and told her husband she’d be staying the night at Kevin’s. At 9.15 she had another cigarette. At 9.30 she told me to go home and get some rest. I didn’t need much urging. My head was buzzing with fatigue. Kevin had spent the whole evening by the phone. I was exhausted by the strain of watching him pace up and down, by the adrenaline rush every time the phone rang, and by trying and failing to think of reassuring things to say.

  I drove slowly home. I brought Grace in from the car. The unusual day had worn her out and she didn’t wake up. I went up to my bedroom and put her in the bed with a pillow next to her to stop her falling out. I was so tired that as I undressed the floor seemed to rise up to meet me. I dropped my jeans and shirt on the floor and fell into bed.

  Almost instantly it seemed I was on the stage of the Everyman theatre. Stephen was explaining to me that he would have to be back for the opening of the play, because he was going to take the part of Lady Isabel. Of course I’d have to rewrite it – and could I please be quick about it, because the play was going to start in half an hour.

  I woke with a jerk. The red numbers on the digital clock told me that it was ten. I’d been asleep for ten minutes. I was wide awake. Without putting the light on I padded over to the window and opened it. The cool night air made me shiver. It was a clear, cloudless night. The sky was the colour of slate, but soft like flannel. Far across the fields I could see that the lights were still on at Journey’s End.

  Twenty-four hours ago I’d been saying goodbye to Melissa. Was there anything that could have warned me about what was going to happen? I saw her as I’d seen her the night before, leaning over the cot, brooding lovingly over her baby. Had she been too anxious, perhaps, had it all got too much for her? Somehow I didn’t believe it. But what was the alternative? I was too tired to think it all through, and yet I couldn’t stop the events of the day going round and round in my head. If only I could talk things over with Stephen. But it was mid-afternoon on the West coast. He was somewhere in the bowels of the huge organization that was employing him – and I couldn’t even remember what it was called.

  I got back into bed beside Grace. Sometimes having the radio low in the background helps me to sleep. I switched it on. Grace must have grabbed it earlier and shifted the tuning knob. It was always happening. Instead of A Book at Bedtime, there was a blast of music. Even before I consciously recognized the voice and the song, my stomach flipped over. Elvis Costello singing ‘My Funny Valentine’. I hadn’t heard it for years. Perhaps it was because I was so tired, so strung out, but the memory it brought back was so vivid that I could see the little flat in Birmingham as if it were yesterday: the bed on a metal frame that came down from the wall, the narrow galley kitchen full of flecked fifties Formica, the surprisingly large and very cold bathroom. I saw the books on the floor, the cheap, spindly furniture, the absurd jungle-pattern wallpaper, the windows misty with condensation.

  The barrier between past and present wavered and dissolved. It almost seemed possible that if I caught the bus from New Street station, as I’d so often done all those years ago, and walked in through the door of that flat, my old life would be waiting for me there. Joe was in the kitchen, making spaghetti and meatballs. Elvis Costello was on the hi-fi. We knew that LP – Armed Forces – by heart. He’d hold his floury hands apart and I’d walk into his arms. I felt the pressure of his wrists as he crossed them in the small of my back and locked my body into his.

  His hips moved against mine in time to the music. We fumbled for each other’s mouths. Without taking his lips off mine, Joe walked me backwards to the kitchen door. The flat was so small that it was only a few steps to the bed.…

  The telephone rang, slamming me back into the present. My heart was beating fast as I picked up the receiver.

  ‘Cass?’

  ‘Joe!’ It was as if I had conjured him up.

  ‘I hope this isn’t too late to ring? I rang a little earlier … didn’t want to leave a message.’

  ‘Oh, no, it’s fine.’

  ‘You sure? You sound as if I’ve woken you up.’

  ‘No, no, it’s not that. It’s just that…’ I cast around for something to say and what I came up with was the truth, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. ‘I’m so worried about Melissa.’ And I told him what had happened.

  ‘Jeez, you’ve had quite a day, haven’t you? But the most likely thing: it’s all got too much for her and she’s gone off somewhere to get her head together.’

  ‘But leaving her baby like this?’

  ‘It does happen.’

  ‘Joe, I can’t help thinking that something awful might have happened to her. To have done that – perhaps she was feeling really desperate, perhaps she’s…’

  ‘Don’t let’s even go there,’ he said firmly. ‘Hey, now listen, shall I tell you what happened to me one time? Amy once did something much the same.’

  ‘She did?’

  ‘That’s right. She went off, booked herself into a motel for the weekend. I didn’t have a clue where she’d gone. Left me holding the baby. Literally. Josh must have been – oh, about nine months? Yeah, that’s right and Daniel was about three.’

  ‘But why?’ I found myself relaxing back on to the pillow, like a child listening to a bedtime story.

  ‘We had a row. She thought I wasn’t helping enough with the kids. She wanted to teach me a lesson. She did that all right.’

  ‘But Kevin would have said if it had been something like that.’

  ‘Well, now, would he? People are funny, you know? Might be too embarrassed or ashamed.’

  ‘You’re right.’

  ‘You’re on your own out there, aren’t you? When does that man of yours get back?’

  ‘Stephen? Not sure. Maybe not for another week at least.’


  ‘If you want to talk, give me a ring. Any time. And you know what? Things’ll look better in the morning. She’ll probably have shown up by then. Let me know what happens, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Better now?’

  ‘Yep.’

  I did feel better, more ready to believe that Melissa hadn’t come to any harm. Joe had always been able to talk me down when I got into a state. When we’d first met he had seemed so much older, more worldly wise. Four years is a big gap when you’re only twenty-one. Of course there was no earthly reason now to think that Joe knew better than I did – maybe there never really had been. But I couldn’t help being comforted all the same.

  That feeling evaporated the next morning when Stan rang me up to say that there was still no news of Melissa.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘YOU never intended to be back in time,’ I said.

  Kevin didn’t reply immediately. I glanced up from my script. His face had a yellowish tinge and his slicked-back hair was greasy.

  But when he did at last speak, his voice was firm enough.

  ‘Well, my dear, you’ve rather put yourself beyond the pale, haven’t you?’

  ‘For myself I am past caring – I no longer even wish to marry you – but why should my child – our child – have to suffer for our sin?’

  It was eleven o’clock the following morning and we were on stage at the Everyman. Over in his office Richard was busy on the phone trying to track down a substitute for Melissa. Kevin had asked me to read the part of Lady Isabel so that rehearsals could continue. It was strange to hear myself reading Melissa’s lines, lines I’d written myself. Stranger still to realize that I was so used to hearing her speak them that I was using exactly her own intonation.

  ‘Hard lines, I agree,’ Kevin drawled. ‘You can’t suppose I’m pleased that my first son’s been born a bastard. But you must see that it’s quite impossible for me to marry a divorced woman—’

  ‘Kevin. Cradle,’ Stan said in a low voice.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You were supposed to go over and look in the cradle during that speech.’

  ‘Oh Christ.’ He thumped his forehead with his clasped fist. ‘But no, hold on, we changed that. It was too awkward getting back across the stage. We decided to move the cradle instead.’

  There was silence.

  ‘So why haven’t we moved the fucking cradle?’ he enquired. ‘It’s still on the other side of the stage.’

  ‘Sorry, Kevin. Can’t think how that happened.’

  I couldn’t see Stan clearly, because I was wearing my reading-glasses, but I could tell from her voice that she was flustered. It wasn’t like her to make this kind of mistake.

  There was another silence. Then Kevin said:

  ‘I’m sorry I snapped. The situation’s getting to me.’ He walked across the stage and picked up the cardboard box that was standing in for the cradle. ‘OK, then. Cradle over here. I walk over to it, I pick up the baby…’

  As Kevin moved back and forth across the stage, I let my mind wander. In my reading-glasses, everything more than a foot or two away was blurry, adding to the feeling of unreality induced by lack of sleep and anxiety. Kevin looked even more villainous as Captain Levison when he wasn’t in focus. I took my glasses off and rubbed my eyes. The theatre was empty except for a smattering of people in the stalls. Stan, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, was in the front row. A little further along Clive and Belinda were sitting next to each other. Clive had stretched his long legs out and had his eyes closed. Belinda was reading her script, her lips moving – going over her lines, I guessed.

  I found my eyes straying up to the spot in the dress-circle where Belinda had seen the strange figure and Stan and I had found the seat down. There was no one up there today.

  ‘We’d better take it from the top,’ Kevin decided.

  I turned my attention back to my script. I was about to put my glasses back on when something flickered on the edge of my vision. I looked back into the auditorium. At first, I couldn’t see anything. The contrast between the light on the stage and the dimness at the back of the auditorium was too great. I thought I’d imagined it, then just as I was about to turn away again, there was another movement. I could see now that there was someone standing next to the double doors at the back of the stalls.

  I gave an involuntary gasp.

  ‘Cass?’ Kevin was staring at me. Then he turned to follow my gaze down the centre aisle. The people sitting in the front rows of the stalls were also looking round.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Kevin said.

  His voice was gentle, hopeful almost. He didn’t sound as if he was challenging an intruder. Then I understood: he thought it was Melissa. Could it be? But no, the figure was advancing down the aisle now and it was too tall.

  Then it spoke.

  ‘I do beg your pardon. The chap on the stage door said you’d be breaking in five minutes or so. He thought it would be OK if I slipped in the back.’

  It was Tim Fisher. I’d been holding my breath. I let it out in a sigh.

  Fisher reached the front of the stalls. Kevin stared down at him. ‘I thought for a moment,’ then, his voice quickening, ‘You haven’t…?’

  ‘I’m sorry, no, we haven’t found her. Not yet. I’m afraid there are a few more questions I need to ask you. Perhaps we could have a word in private? And I’d like to see Miss Meadow’s dressing-room.’

  ‘Of course.’ Kevin hesitated. ‘I’ll take you up there. We can talk there, too. There’s only one thing. Richard’s going to be here in a few minutes, and the rest of the cast and the crew. We’ve got to explain what’s happening.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll just wait here, shall I?’ Fisher took a seat in the front row.

  Kevin went over and sat down on the sofa at the side of the stage. I went down the stairs and sat next to Stan. She gave me a conspiratorial grimace. No one spoke. Soon people began to drift in. They were a scruffy lot: cast and crew alike wore washed-out T-shirts, badly cut jeans and baggy cardigans. And yet one could immediately tell which were the actors; there was something in the way they dropped into their seats or perched on the edge of the stage, in the way that they frowned and murmured to one another. Their concern was genuine, but they were always acting just a tiny little bit, I thought, always projecting themselves even when they were at their most sincere.

  Richard appeared on the stage. He was a big, heavy man, with a high-domed forehead which he was now mopping with a large white handkerchief. Jake and Geoff were close on his heels. All this excitement and drama: it must be money from home for Jake, I thought. Richard headed for Kevin. He seemed suddenly to realize that Jake was right behind him, and flapped his handkerchief at him like a man shooing away a wasp. With evident reluctance Jake backed off and signalled to Geoff. They retreated to the side of the stage.

  Richard sat down next to Kevin and spoke quietly in his ear. Kevin nodded. He got up and went to the front of the stage. There was an immediate hush.

  Kevin cleared his throat.

  ‘All of you will know by now that Melissa has gone missing. I won’t need to tell you how desperately worried I am. I’m hanging on to the hope that it’s all been too much for her and she’s gone away somewhere for a few days to rest and recuperate.’ There was a murmur of sympathy. ‘In the meantime,’ he paused, ‘we’re going to carry on as best we can. Richard has arranged for Phyllida Haddon to come up from London to take over as Isabel.’

  The faces around me registered mingled concern and relief.

  ‘We didn’t expect to get someone like her at such short notice, but she just happens to be free,’ Kevin went on. ‘Something to do with a change in a filming schedule. We’ve got some bloody hard work ahead of us. But I know I can rely on you. This afternoon I want the entire cast here. We’ll have a complete read through with Philly, and then we’ll go through the blocking with her. I’m breaking now for…’ Kevin looked at Fisher. ‘Twenty minutes?’ he asked.

&nb
sp; Fisher nodded. It was oddly as though their roles were reversed, and it was Fisher who was the director, Kevin merely an actor.

  ‘OK, twenty minutes,’ Kevin went on. He looked at his watch. ‘Then we’ll go on rehearsing Act Three, Scene One. Everyone else back here at two o’clock sharp, OK? But before we break, Richard wants a word…’

  Richard joined Kevin at the front of the stage.

  ‘The press,’ he said. ‘There’s no way we’re going to keep them off our backs. We’ve already had the Sun on the phone. I don’t want them to get hold of a lot of idle gossip. That’s not going to help Melissa – or Kevin. I’m not suggesting that we keep it quiet – couldn’t do that if we tried, actually, but I want everything, and I mean everything, to go through the press office. Understood?’ Everyone nodded. ‘OK, that’s it, folks.’

  ‘Phyllida Haddon,’ I said to Stan. ‘The name rings a bell.’

  ‘She’s done a lot of period stuff. There was one of those Henry James adaptations. The Spoils of Poynton, was it? And that movie version of Our Mutual Friend.’

  I remembered her now. ‘Oh, yes, of course, she played Bella. Blonde hair, one of those rather bland, doll-like faces.’

  ‘Kevin was right. We’re lucky to get her at such short notice.’

  I detected a reservation in her voice. ‘You don’t sound very sure.’

  Stan heaved herself to her feet. Her hair, which had been screwed into a rough bun, was listing to one side. She rolled it up and skewered it into place with a pencil.

  ‘Well, between you and me she has a reputation for being difficult to work with. And that’s the last thing we need at the moment. As long as she turns up on time, says her lines and doesn’t bump into the furniture, that’s all I ask.’ Stan yawned. ‘I’m gagging for a cup of coffee. Come on.’

  We made for the green room.

  ‘Are you going to go home at lunch-time?’ I asked.

  ‘Probably not. I’m OK actually. Brushed my teeth and changed my knickers. Those are the main things. I always keep a bag with a few spare things in the car. You just never know in this job. I once had a technical rehearsal that went on all night. Don knows to expect me when he sees me.’