by Celia Imrie
While the girls on the floor continued their noisy card game, Amanda shyly undressed, put on her nightie and climbed into bed.
PART TWO
Getting Aboard
5
When Suzy awoke and glanced at her watch she was happy to see that she had almost an hour in hand before she had to leave for the theatre.
She pottered around for about half an hour, filling her wheelie case with her make-up box and the usual dressing-room stuff: hairdryer, electric curlers, mini-kettle, towels, tissues, cotton wool and her raggy silk dressing gown which she had always used for every show since she was at drama school. She needed to restock on mascara and a few other items, but she hoped she could find a pharmacy open on her way into the theatre; otherwise she’d nip out during one of the scenes she wasn’t in.
When the case was ready, Suzy strolled along towards the shower room.
Her landlady was hoovering the landing. She expressed surprise that Suzy was still there as she had left a note saying that she wouldn’t need breakfast because she was leaving for the theatre at a quarter to seven.
‘I’ve got a bit of time,’ explained Suzy.
The landlady shook her head and pointed at the hall clock. It was already seven thirty. Suzy looked again at her watch. She was an hour behind. She realised that, after getting off the plane yesterday, she had failed to adjust to European time.
She was already late.
Forgetting the shower, Suzy hurriedly dressed, grabbed her tote bag, plonked it on top of her wheelie case, and ran along the cobbled streets. She glanced up at church clocks as though, by checking them, she could somehow make time stand still.
As she scrambled down the steep lane leading to the theatre, her case clacking loudly on the cobbles, she could see a small crowd gathered outside. She hoped it was not a gaggle of photographers. She must look a wreck.
But as she drew closer, she realised it was the cast and crew of The Importance of Being Earnest. They all looked agitated and cross.
‘What a nightmare.’ Suzy was panting like a dog. She had not run so fast in many years. ‘I forgot to change my watch.’
‘Don’t worry. No one noticed you weren’t here.’ Emily took her elbow and said quietly, ‘Reg has obviously overslept as well, and no one seems to have the key to the theatre.’
Suzy looked around. The boy who played Algernon was stabbing urgently at his mobile phone, while India was scouring the peeling posters and signs outside the theatre, and reciting the phone numbers to him.
Barbara looked close to tears. ‘I’ve tried every number they gave me. Every single one on answerphone. London office is just ringing out. But of course over there it’s only 6.50 a.m.’
‘What should we do?’ asked Emily.
‘There’s no point everyone standing here.’ Barbara looked around her. ‘Just keep together, could you? How about everyone going into that little sandwich bar and having a coffee.’ She moved away and started rounding up the cast, along with the lighting designer and assistant stage manager, a strange silent girl with long Pre-Raphaelite hair.
‘Give me half an hour,’ said Barbara. ‘Then, later, perhaps, we should call Equity.’
Suzy was startled by that news. If Barbara was flummoxed enough to be calling in the union, then things really must be bad.
‘Who’s the Equity deputy?’ asked Suzy.
‘Me,’ said Emily. ‘But their office won’t be open for hours yet.’
‘Early days, early days,’ said the ASM, hauling a tapestry bag over her shoulder and smiling blithely.
Suzy lost her cool with the girl. ‘What do you mean, “early days”? We tech-dress-rehearse today and open before an audience tonight. Even if things were going really smoothly this whole shambles would be nothing but lunacy.’
The ASM gave a slightly sarcastic shrug and went back to join the younger actors.
‘You don’t think they’ve done a moonlight flit, do you?’ asked Emily as she joined Suzy crossing the road, heading for the café. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’
Suzy looked at her. This thought had not occurred to her. She had just imagined that the person who kept the key had overslept.
Suzy thought back to her agent’s phone call about the pay – or, rather, the lack of it. She decided to broach the subject again.
‘Emily? Out of interest, have you checked your bank? I haven’t got any money yet.’
‘Not a bean.’ Emily pushed into the café. ‘But as I said, these foreign operations are frequently chaotic. I was only thinking yesterday how well ordered this one was looking.’
As they settled at a table by the window Suzy looked up to see a man in a two-tone blue blouson and navy woollen hat arrive at the theatre and hammer on the door.
‘Is that one of ours?’ asked Emily, pointing.
India peered out of the window. ‘That, my dear, is a Swiss policeman. I’ve had enough brushes with them while on skiing holidays with my parents up in Klosters and St Moritz to recognise the uniform a mile away.’
‘What are the police doing here?’ asked Emily.
Barbara came around the corner to the theatre front doors and spoke to him.
While Suzy was trying to lip-read their conversation, her phone buzzed. An unknown English mobile number. A man’s voice.
‘Suzy? Are you alone? It’s Jason.’
She touched Emily’s arm and signalled that she would take the call outside.
‘What’s happening?’ Jason asked. ‘Are you inside the theatre?’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘We’re all locked out.’
‘Oh no!’ Jason groaned down the line. ‘He cannot be serious.’
‘You knew?’
‘I didn’t think he meant it.’
‘Who?’
‘What a total bastard.’
‘You know what caused this?’
Jason was silent.
‘You obviously do.’
‘I did.’ Jason spoke quietly. ‘I caused it.’
Suzy felt her temper rising. How had this chit of a boy managed to get them locked out of the theatre?
‘How did you do that, Jason?’
Jason paused. Then spoke in a hesitant voice. ‘I had an enormous row with Reg and the money bloke.’
‘Where is Reg?’ she asked.
‘I’ve no idea. And, just to warn you, as far as I know the show is cancelled.’
‘Tonight’s show?’
‘No,’ said Jason. ‘The whole run. The Importance of Being Earnest is cancelled.’
*
Amanda awoke with a start and looked at her watch. It was 5.30 a.m. She had no idea where she was, but suddenly remembered that she was in a bunk in a dormitory above a pub.
She was surrounded by deep breathing, muffled snores and snorts. The air was acrid and slightly damp.
She felt utterly trapped. She tried to go back to sleep, but, after an hour, she realised this was not going to happen. As her eyes became accustomed to the dark she could see the switch for a small individual reading light and was about to turn it on, but realised that this would illuminate her and she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. She reached out and felt for her suitcase which was beside her, standing upright on the floor by the edge of her pillow. She pondered for quite a while how she could get dressed without waking anyone. Eventually she decided to grab her clothes from around her feet, then, still in her nightie, go out into the corridor, which she could see from the gap under the door was well lit. Once out there she could dress easily, and creep downstairs.
As she swung round and put her foot on the floor, a board creaked and one of the men snorted in response. She froze for a second and then continued her furtive exit.
Safely in the corridor she sighed with relief and hastily dressed.
She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do next. Obviously at this time of the morning there would be no cafés open. Maybe she’d just sit in an armchair in the bar downstairs and read. If she nodded
off, that would be fine.
She gripped her case and tiptoed down the creaky stairs.
At the bottom of the staircase she tried the bar door. It was locked. There was a tiny vestibule and an emergency push-bar exit.
She sat on the painted wooden steps.
Now that she was here she realised that she didn’t have a book with her, so what did she think she was going to read?
She fumbled around in her suitcase and pulled out the estate agents’ details of the places she had seen yesterday. She was glad she didn’t need them any more. With nothing else to do, she glanced through them one by one. They were all horrible, dark and depressing, and wouldn’t have been right for her at all. With some relief she lay them aside.
Then she came upon one of the brochures she had only picked up to cover her embarrassment when she had mistaken the travel agent for an estate agent.
Mermaid Cruises.
Now there was something she never had the slightest desire to do. Go on a cruise.
She flicked through the sunny pictures of cheery bright older couples, dining and dancing onboard, alongside glossy photos of pretty harbours like Porto Fino and Venice.
She flicked to the back of the pamphlet and was about to put it in the bin with the estate agents’ brochures, when she came to the price list.
She had never before even thought about what such things cost. A fortune probably. She had read articles about people saving up for their ‘cruise of a lifetime’. That surely meant loads of money.
‘Inside cabins from £1,900 for seventeen nights, full board.’
That couldn’t be right, could it?
She looked again, and did a little mental arithmetic. Seventeen nights. That was about £112 a day. The same price as a poxy room in a hotel on Belgrave Road, but, onboard the ship, all food and entertainment was thrown in.
Amanda started enthusiastically poring over the pages. At prices like that she would be mad not to try to get on a ship as soon as possible and stay on it till the time came to move in to the new place.
She flicked through page after page.
Looking at the cabins, and noting their floorplans, she quickly saw that a balcony room was worth the extra couple of hundred as it not only got you a view, and some outside space, but lots of other extras, like a welcome bottle of sparkling wine and £40 to spend in the onboard shops and casino.
She was now really excited.
What if she could get on a ship somewhere today? She’d wave goodbye to the payment for a bunk bed for the remaining six days, but so what? She had no intention of ever going back to that bed anyway.
Amanda looked at her watch.
She had a few hours before the travel agent opened. She decided there and then that she would go out, catch a cab and return to her storage room. She’d pack a few evening gowns – she had noticed that formal wear was a necessity onboard – grab her laptop and a few other useful things – underwear, shoes – then she would book herself on any ship which she could embark tonight. Hopefully a ship which would bring her back to the UK just in time to move straight in to the new flat. Even if it arrived back a few days later that would be OK. She just hoped the cruises weren’t all sold out.
6
Along with everyone else, Suzy was talking into her mobile phone. They were all calling their agents, trying to work out what they should do next.
Jason had been short on detail and had sworn Suzy to secrecy. He told her not to mention that he’d phoned, and promised to contact her very soon. She said she would phone if she got any further news. But the truth is that she was furious with him. She wanted to know everything, to hear the whole story from someone – be it Reg or Jason. Anybody who might explain how an after-dinner argument led to a show closing before it had opened. She wondered whether Jason had been rude to the backer. But as she barely knew the boy after only two weeks’ rehearsal, all she could hope was for him to ring back later.
Coming into the café, Barbara explained that the policeman’s arrival was nothing to do with them. They were apparently looking for someone called Herr Appenzell. Meanwhile, although it wasn’t yet 8 a.m., she had managed to rouse the owner of the theatre who, after a few more phone calls, called back to tell her that The Importance of Being Earnest was indeed cancelled. The reason he gave was that the major backer had withdrawn all the finances from the production and that the police were looking for the said backer, but he had no idea why. He had no address for the backer.
She had told the theatre owner that, under the terms of their contract, it was illegal for the theatre to lock them out. He reminded her that his only contract was with the production company, who had just pulled out of the show. Their individual contracts were English and that meant, as they were now in Switzerland, the whole affair had nothing to do with him. When Barbara tried to argue this one out he told her to shut up. He simply owned the damned building, he shouted, and now he was going to be seriously out of pocket. People paid him rent to use it. Their gripe was not with him. He was as much a victim as they were.
Barbara made one last attempt at finding a solution from the theatre owner. Any quarrels should be picked with Mr Reg Shoesmith, he told her. Reg Shoesmith had called the owner in the early hours to ask whether he could still hold on to the use of the building, even though, at this moment, he had no money to put down a deposit. The theatre owner had laughed at Reg and hung up. It was nothing to do with him, he told Barbara, who then tried Reg’s phone. It went straight to voicemail.
When the company started murmuring between themselves, Barbara suggested that they all go and talk to their agents again and to Equity, but most importantly cancel their digs, change their flights and get home, pronto.
There was no show.
Oddly, after weeks dreading and fearing the job, now that it had evaporated before it even started, Suzy felt desolate.
‘Will we get paid?’ asked India. ‘The money would be incredibly useful.’
‘As I told you,’ shouted Barbara, waving her arms to try and get everyone together, ‘call your agents. For your information, I’ve not been paid rehearsal money either, which is why I hold out no hope and I am heading straight to the airport. I need to get home and get another job asap.’
‘Stan’s not here,’ called India. ‘Someone should tell him. And Jason.’
‘Stan only ever arrives at the last minute. He’ll not arrive till nine on the dot.’
‘He knows he’s not on till Act Two,’ India grunted. ‘Like some other people, including me. But I can manage it.’
‘Men always turn up at the last minute for techs,’ said Emily.
‘They’ll phone me quick enough when they find we’re locked out,’ said Barbara, still practical. ‘And I’ll leave a note pinned to the theatre door.’
Suzy found the whole saga hard to swallow. She thought of all the money she had laid out already – the fares back and forth to rehearsal, the sandwich lunches, the drinks and meal last night. Over the last few weeks she had run her credit cards up near their limit. And now she also had to find the money she owed to pay the Zurich landlady. She hoped the woman would let her off lightly; after all she had been expecting Suzy to be in the room for the next six weeks. She wondered how much notice she would want.
Suzy looked around. She could see the same panicked expression on everyone’s face.
‘Someone better call Jason,’ said India, turning to Suzy.
Suzy nodded. Rage boiled inside her towards the young actor. What on earth could he have done to cause this fiasco?
‘Let’s go to our digs, pack our things and get to the airport,’ she said. ‘I’ll phone Jason. See you all there.’
Once out of earshot she called Jason and told him they were all on their way to the airport.
‘Please don’t be cross, Suzy. How could I know this would happen? Look, we’d all better get a move on and get on our planes home. I can’t stay here.’
He hung up. He sounded utterly anxious and forlorn,
but Suzy was too stressed about finding a way to get home to think about his problems now. After all, once back in London, she might never meet him again.
Suzy found her landlady on the doorstep, just going out with her kids. When Suzy told her what had happened the woman was clearly upset to lose her rent, but agreed to charge for only one week.
Suzy went to pay with her card, but the landlady said it had to be cash.
She rushed up the road to find an ATM, and, while she was there, she checked her balance. After paying for the digs she would have just under £200 credit left. And that was it. No other tappable funds.
While she was returning with the cash, Jason phoned again.
‘Don’t speak to me now, Jason. I’m too upset.’
Suzy pressed the button to end the call, swept inside and handed her landlady the money. She then gathered her bags and headed for the station.
For the third time, Jason rang. ‘We can meet up at the airport,’ he said.
‘I know that!’ yelled Suzy. ‘First you might explain how the hell this has happened to us all?’
‘Look, I’m on my way to the airport,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you there and tell you all.’
Suzy dragged her cases across the tram lines and a busy, very confusing junction, opposite the railway station.
Using her credit card again – she was quite out of Swiss francs now – she bought a ticket to the airport, which she realised, only after she’d entered her PIN, was in fact a weekly pass. Another few pounds down the drain.
The airport departures concourse was bright and busy. Suzy saw a small group from her company and headed towards them. They appeared to be arguing amongst themselves. Emily was waving her hands in that pacifying way, while India was shouting ‘Perr-lease!’ at the top of her already rather strident voice.
Suzy asked India, who was now typing into her mobile phone, what was happening.
‘We can’t use our return plane tickets.’ She looked up briefly then went back to the phone.