by Lesley Lokko
She looked up suddenly. Something had interrupted her thoughts – a man had come into the empty room. It was Josh. He was walking towards the bar, his back turned towards her. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks as she looked at him. He was ordering something, a drink – any second now he would turn around. She ought to get up and make her way across the floor to the lifts before he saw her. She wanted nothing further to do with him. She ought to get up … but she didn’t. He turned slowly, drink in hand, and then, of course, he spotted her. There was a moment’s awkwardness, before he lifted his glass, acknowledging her. She hesitated, then lifted hers in return. He began to walk towards her. It struck her as he approached that she felt the same way about Josh as she had about Aaron, all those years ago. Despite their obvious differences, there was something remarkably similar about them. She wondered whether she’d misjudged Josh, just as she had Aaron.
‘Hi,’ he said, setting his glass down on the table and pulling out the seat opposite her. Julia was too surprised to answer. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might actually join her.
‘Hi,’ she muttered, not wishing to appear ungracious but not relishing the thought of his surly company either.
‘That looks empty,’ he said, pointing to her glass. ‘What’re you drinking?’
Julia hesitated. ‘Whisky and soda.’
Josh seemed to be considering something. ‘Tell you what,’ he said suddenly. ‘How about a proper drink? In a proper place. Not here …’ He let his hand drop disparagingly.
‘What d’you mean?’ Julia asked, further taken aback.
‘D’you know Jo’burg?’
She shook her head. ‘No. It’s only the second time I’ve been abroad,’ she said ruefully, expecting him to laugh.
He didn’t. ‘There’s a bar in Braamfontein that I’ve been to a couple of times …’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s quarter to eleven – they should just about be opening up. Come on. Let’s get a cab.’ He drained his own glass and put it down on the table. He stood up, looking down at her. ‘Well? Coming?’
Julia scrambled to her feet. It was the last thing she’d expected, but there was something thrilling and compelling about Josh just the same. She couldn’t imagine Aaron doing anything even remotely like this, she thought to herself wildly as she followed him out of the lobby and waited as he organised a cab. Aaron would sooner have died than gone out at midnight to a bar in a city he hardly knew. Getting into the back of the cab after Josh, it occurred to her that it was hardly the sort of thing she did, either. When was the last time she’d done anything remotely like this? Never, was the answer. Never.
All the life was withdrawn from the city streets as they drove towards the address Josh had given the driver. There were few streetlights, a couple of abandoned cars; no one was about. ‘You sure?’ was all the driver had said on hearing the street name. ‘You been there before?’ Josh nodded. ‘Well, if you’re sure …’ The driver lifted his shoulders. Julia bit her lower lip. Suddenly all the stories she’d ever heard about Johannesburg came flooding back.
‘Isn’t it very dangerous?’ she whispered to Josh as they plunged down one deserted street after another.
He shrugged. ‘No more dangerous than anywhere else,’ he said cryptically. Julia’s pulse began to race again. What was she doing? The car suddenly came to an abrupt halt.
‘This it is, sir.’ The driver turned his head disbelievingly.
Josh peered out into the darkness. ‘Yeah, this is it. Thanks.’ He pushed a note through the glass and got out. ‘Well?’ He looked down at Julia for the second time that evening. She got out with some difficulty and stood beside him as the cab pulled away, faster than it had arrived, she noticed, as if the driver couldn’t wait to get away. She looked up at the building in front of them. It was tall, almost entirely blacked out, with thin strips of light showing here and there as if the darkness had worn thin. There was a buzzer on the door in front of them. Josh stepped forward and pressed it; after a wait of a few seconds, the door swung open. The hallway was dark, but there was the unmistakable sound of laughter and music coming from behind the door at the far end of the room. It opened to release a surge of activity. Someone was standing in the doorway. From his stance, Julia understood he was carrying a gun. She swallowed nervously.
‘Hi,’ Josh said, making no move towards him. ‘I’m a friend of Tumi’s.’
The man looked them over once or twice, then nodded, standing aside to let them pass. Like Alice plunging after the White Rabbit, Julia followed Josh in. They went down three or four steps into a basement space. It was dark, but there were candles and tea lights strung up everywhere. The sound of laugher and music was a warm, thick blanket covering them. In contrast to the cool night outside, it was hot inside; the smells of alcohol, perfume, cigarette smoke and the occasional whiff of a joint filled her nostrils pleasurably. A band was playing in the far corner of the room. Josh turned and pulled her forward by the wrist towards the bar. ‘What’ll you have?’ he shouted above the noise.
‘Rum and Coke,’ Julia shouted back. Despite her nervousness, she was beginning to enjoy herself. She looked at him, his body half-turned towards the bar, chatting animatedly with the barman. His face glowed under the soft neon lights. She found herself staring at him, unable to tear her eyes away. The whole evening had suddenly taken on an unreal, otherworldly aspect. He passed her a drink over the head of a young woman who stood in between them. Her smile, as the drink sailed above her, was both sweet and flirtatious; Julia felt something inside her lift. She smiled back and took a sip. The alcohol flowed thick and strong through her veins. The band began to play again. Julia had never heard music like it. It was strong and soft at the same time, intensely lyrical but with a pulsing, driving beat. The singer, an extraordinarily beautiful young woman with an enormous, theatrical Afro, came out on to the makeshift stage to roars of applause. The crowd was almost totally mixed, Julia noticed, sipping her drink and looking around with interest. Black, white, Indian … students, young professionals, workers … it was unlike any bar or club she’d ever been to. Not that she’d been to many, she reminded herself. She took another mouthful of her drink. Someone asked her to dance; she shook her head, laughing: no, no … He smiled regretfully and turned his attention elsewhere, singling someone else out.
It was almost three in the morning by the time they finally left, but for Julia, it felt as though it had been only a few minutes. Dancing, talking, drinking, laughing … the man beside her was almost unrelated to the surly, withdrawn person she’d met. She followed him outside. The same bouncer who’d let them in opened the door for them on to the beginnings of a storm. Fat drops of rain were falling from the inky black sky. ‘Summer storms,’ Josh said, looking up. ‘It always rains early in the morning.’
Julia lifted her jacket above her head and they ran towards the waiting cab. Squalls of wind gusted at their backs and a small tornado of leaves whipped up just as Josh opened the door. They clambered in, wet and giggling, and the car pulled away. Josh gave instructions to the driver. ‘Well, did you enjoy that?’ he asked, turning his head to look at Julia. She nodded vigorously. A sudden intimacy had sprung up between them in the darkened interior of the cab. The steady drumbeat of rain on the roof turned into a soft, enclosing rhythm, drawing them into its sound. Julia was acutely, uncomfortably aware of Josh’s thigh pressed close to hers. She shivered, suddenly cold, and moved away as imperceptibly as she could. It was only the second time she’d met him and already she was aware of the danger she was in. He was like Aaron; and yet he was not. There was both familiarity at work here, and the erotic pull of a stranger. She turned to look unseeingly out of the window at the darkened streets through which they passed. She put a hand up to her face. It was hot with fear, but also with desire. There was the same distance in Josh that had first annoyed her in Aaron, then intrigued her. That same quality of something else lying just beneath the surface, if only you could reach it. She suddenly felt herself close t
o tears. She was tired, drunk and overwhelmed. She was alone in a very foreign country, all sorts of strange and unfathomable thoughts spiralling around in her head. She longed for home and the comforting security of Aaron’s embrace.
76
MADDY
London, June 2000
Maddy shook off the drops of water from her umbrella and propped it against the wall. The flat was lovely and quiet: Darcy was at playschool. She took off her raincoat and walked into the living room. The cleaner had been in the day before and everything was spotless. Just looking at it made her feel calmer. She kicked off her shoes and walked over to the couch. It seemed almost a pity to destroy its soft, plumped-up comfort. She sat down, picked up the pad and pen that were lying neatly aligned on the coffee table and opened to the page she’d been working on the night before.
She ran a finger down the list on one side of the page. Those were all the possible agents, listed alphabetically. Next to them were the smaller theatre companies – occasionally, very occasionally, an actor might be hired on the strength of a tape or an interview. It was a long shot, but definitely worth trying. Finally, next to them she’d drawn up a list of cooperatives, tightly knit groups of anything between two and twenty actors who worked and sometimes lived together, putting on their own productions and performances, taking care of the business end of things themselves. She would try every single avenue; she wasn’t fussy. She couldn’t afford to be, that was the point. She’d wasted four years here in London; she couldn’t afford to waste another four minutes. Christ, if Julia could get herself invited halfway round the world to speak, surely she could manage to get herself the tiniest, most insignificant part? She had to lift the cloud of hopelessness that seemed to have descended permanently on her. Rafe couldn’t do it for her, neither could Julia. Only she could. Alone. Armed with her new-found determination and a long list of numbers, she picked up the phone and began to dial.
Two hours later, she’d gone through the long list of agents and was halfway down the theatre companies without a single spark of hope. The responses were always the same. ‘Sorry, we’re not taking on anyone new at present,’ or ‘Do send in a tape and a CV. We’ll be in touch.’ All she wanted was the chance to see someone – she didn’t care who – an agent, a casting director, a producer, a talent scout … anyone! How would she ever persuade anyone she was any good if they weren’t prepared to see her? An old tape of a performance in a play none of them had ever heard of, directed by a young American whom they’d never read and reviewed by American critics whose opinions meant nothing to them was hardly likely to persuade anyone on this side of the pond to hire her. No, she’d have to do it on the strength of her personality and talent … and how to convince anyone she had either when she was on the other disembodied end of a telephone was anyone’s guess.
Wearily she picked up the phone again. The London Theatre Company was a small set-up known for its experimental, cutting-edge performances. Maddy had actually sent them a tape when she first arrived in London. She steeled herself for disappointment as soon as the phone was picked up, but to her great surprise, the voice on the other end of the phone was warm. ‘Madison Stiller. Gosh, I remember the name. It’s unusual. Didn’t you send us something a few years back?’
‘Y-yes, yes I did. About four years ago. I … I can’t believe you’d remember that,’ Maddy stammered, her face immediately going bright red with pleasure. She was glad the woman on the other end of the phone couldn’t see her.
‘I remember your name. Why don’t you come in and see me?’
Maddy almost dropped the phone. ‘When? Now? I mean, what would be a good time for you?’ The words came tumbling out, one after the other.
Stephanie Whyte chuckled. ‘How about next week? We’re running a production of Hedda Gabler at the moment. Tonight’s the last performance. Do come – I think you’ll enjoy it.’
It was all Maddy could do to stay standing upright. ‘Oh, I’d love to but I’ve got a young daughter … No, yes, I’ll come. Thank you.’ She managed to stop herself just in time. Her childcare arrangements were hardly likely to interest the director of the London Theatre Company. Stammering another round of thanks, she put down the phone, her pulse racing. Whom could she leave Darcy with for all of four hours that evening? There was only one person – and much as it killed her to ask Diana for help, there was nothing else for it. She wouldn’t have missed the performance for anything.
Enjoyment was too mild a term for the rush of emotions that swept through her as the play unfolded. Maddy sat in the back row, entranced. She felt a chasm open up inside her and for the next ninety minutes nothing in the world existed save the performance in front of her and Ibsen’s timeless, poetic suggestion that the key to the future lay in embracing the past, not rejecting it. It was as if the message were directed at her alone; the words spoken for her.
‘It’s a very small part, I warn you. But it’s a start.’ A week after she’d gone along to see them, the London Theatre Company had good news – she’d been asked to audition for a part. Maddy sat opposite Stef Whyte, almost too stunned to speak. Stef peered at her over the top of the multicoloured rim of her glasses. ‘We’re inundated with Americans at the moment, unfortunately. And even more unfortunately for you, they tend to be famous. That’s the draw. In your case … well, let’s just say you’ll be starting at the other end of the spectrum.’
Maddy nodded her head vigorously. She didn’t care where she started … the fact that she was starting at all was gift enough. She looked at the script in her hand and felt her toes begin to curl with excitement. The opening description brought out the hairs along the back of her neck. Flames perceptible through ice. Mishima believed that this quality was found in classical Japanese poetry and in the Noh plays, where the passion is shielded under polished surfaces. ‘Th … thank you,’ she said fervently. ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me,’ Stef laughed. ‘You haven’t got the part yet!’
She practically ran all the way down Upper Street, still clutching the script to her chest, and got on the bus at Newington Green. She made her way upstairs and sat right at the back, oblivious to the sounds and noise around her. The bus lurched its way past the Angel, past King’s Cross and Euston and was winding its way slowly down Oxford Street before Maddy realised she’d missed her stop – by about a mile. She jumped off and ran all the way home. She couldn’t wait to read the rest.
She was still full of excitement when Rafe came home that evening. ‘OK, OK, just let me get my coat off,’ he protested, when she tried to describe the play to him in the hallway. ‘So what’s the part?’
‘Oh, it’s a tiny part. If I get it, I’ll have about three lines, I promise you … nothing big. But you’ll never guess who’s playing the lead.’
‘Who?’ Rafe unwound his scarf.
She could feel the smile stretching across her face. ‘Judi Dench. And Maggie Smith’s in it, too. It’s by this Japanese playwright, Yukio Mishima,’ she went on. ‘It’s an adaptation of the story of Marquis de Sade, told through the eyes of the women. It’s amazing, Rafe … just amazing. You have to read it.’ She only just managed to suppress a smile. Rafe hadn’t read anything non-medical in a decade, as far as she knew. ‘Or I’ll read it to you. D’you want to hear my part?’
Rafe made a quick grimace. ‘Look, d’you mind if you read it to me some other time? There’s cricket on tonight and I’ve had a hellish day.’
Maddy stared at him. She could feel her enthusiasm slowly seeping out of her pores. Cricket? ‘No, you go right ahead. I’ll just do the washing-up.’ She turned on her heel and walked through to the kitchen, her eyes smarting. Cricket?
77
NIELA/JULIA/MADDY
London, June 2000
‘We can’t not go,’ Niela said calmly, clearing the dishes from the table and taking them through to the kitchen. ‘It’s your father’s birthday. It’s disrespectful.’
‘Christ, Niela … a whole week?’
/> ‘We don’t have to stay for the whole week,’ she said, coming back into the living room. ‘We could go for the party, stay a day or two and then come back.’
He sighed but she knew the argument had already been won. She breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been back from Mozambique for over a week, and although she was overjoyed to have him home again, the distance that she often sensed in him when he first returned was still there. He’d said very little beyond the usual comments about what they’d managed or failed to accomplish. She was due to leave at the end of June for a two-week assignment in Yemen; there was no word yet on where Josh would go next. But at least they would have some time off in Mougins together. She was curious about the place; it seemed to hold the key to so much of who Josh was and what he’d become. She found herself thinking ahead to the party and to the daunting prospect of spending a week with the people he seemed to both love and despise. She knew, even if he didn’t, that the situation was in no way as simple as he made it seem.
Julia stepped out of the doctor’s office just off Harley Street and made her way down the Marylebone Road towards Baker Street. It was raining lightly, but she didn’t notice. The doctor’s words still reverberated in her ears. ‘Well, the good news is, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. No reason at all why you shouldn’t be able to conceive. We’ve run all the tests; everything’s come back well within normal ranges … no, there’s no medical reason that I can see that’s preventing it from happening.’ She’d looked at him, almost afraid to ask the next question. But she had to.