A Snowfall of Silver

by Laura Wood

  Sophie shakes her head. “Not really,” she says. “The theatre is beautiful, but we’re very out of the way. Hubert tries to keep it going – he loves the theatre, Hubert does – but earlier in the year he was talking about shutting it up. That’s why it was such a relief when your Mr Cantwell added us to his tour.”

  “It’s a shame we never got to put on the play. It’s supposed to be our last night here tomorrow,” I sigh.

  Nora shakes her head. “Strange, isn’t it? We’ll just have to hope the snow thaws soon. I can only imagine how wild with anxiety Miss Meriden must be.”

  “Wild? Miss Meriden?” I ask disbelievingly.

  “Underneath.” Nora smiles into her glass. “Underneath a very calm and capable surface, she’ll be going wild with anxiety.”

  “Who fancies some dancing?” Russ’s voice calls my attention back to him, and the others murmur in agreement. Someone puts on a different record. I stand to find Russ bowing over me. “Might I have this dance?” he asks, holding out his hand.

  “Of course,” I say lightly.

  The left-hand side of the stage becomes our dance floor then, and it feels only right to be twirling around in the arms of a handsome man while wearing this beautiful dress. While Russ spins me around and around the stage, my skirts swirl around me, a vibrant Catherine wheel of purple and silver sparks.

  We all dance: me with Russ, Kit with Alma, Viola with Dan who is saying something outrageous that makes her laugh. Eileen dances with Hubert who has the blissful expression of a man whose dream has become reality, and Nora holds Sophie close as the two of them sway gently around the dance floor. Only Rhys Cantwell sits at the long table, watching the rest of us with the look of an indulgent parent.

  When the song finishes, I head over to Mr Cantwell and ask if he would like to dance.

  “How very gallant of you,” he says, “to take pity on a wallflower.”

  “Not at all,” I admit. “Gallant would be volunteering to sit out the dance, but I’m selfish and I want to keep on twirling.”

  “Then I shall be happy to oblige,” he says with a bow. He freezes. “That was not,” he says sharply, “an invitation to curtsey.”

  “No, sir.”

  He dances carefully, politely, keeping a rigid distance between us. We don’t talk very much, but I think he is enjoying himself.

  I watch Kit who is now dancing with Viola. She reaches up and whispers something in his ear and I see his answering smile.

  I dance with Dan, with Russ again – twice – and even with Hubert, who is surprisingly light in his feet, but it is a long time before I dance with Kit. I find that I am too shy to ask him. I look over at him often – I don’t exactly know why. Perhaps it is still the shock of seeing him all dressed up. Kit usually wears scruffy trousers and a worn jumper, and seeing him turned out like this, all smooth and polished – it’s as if it’s turned him into someone else, someone I don’t know.

  By the time he does ask me to dance I am in a state of anxiety. I try to blame my breathlessness on the vigorous foxtrot I’ve just been executing with Hubert, but when Kit takes me into his arms I can feel myself trembling. We’ve danced together before, but this feels different.

  I think he must feel it too, because his face is serious, the usual laughter gone from his eyes. I experience a brief instant of panic that somehow my friend has gone. I’ve never had a best friend before, but since that day on the train, Kit has stepped admirably into the role. He has become the person I want to share my good news with, the person I want to talk to all the time, the person who knows me best, and who makes me laugh. I feel greedy for his time and his attention. I force myself to relax. I’m just being silly. Everything feels unreal tonight, as though we’ve fallen right down the rabbit hole.

  As we dance through the dusting of snow, his arm wrapped around my waist – none of the polite distance between us, just fine layers of purple silk and black wool – I rack my brain to think of something to say. I am finding it hard to concentrate on anything except the feel of his hand spread across the small of my back.

  Finally, we come to a stop, having danced in total – and certainly uncharacteristic – silence. I step back from him, fanning my face with my hand.

  “I’m so warm,” I say, in a choked little voice that I am not proud of. “I think I need to stop and have a drink.”

  “Let me get one for you,” Kit offers.

  “No!” I exclaim, too sharply. “You should dance with someone else,” I manage more calmly.

  I hurry off the dance floor, just as Viola appears again to claim Kit’s hand.

  I make my way over to a seat, and press my hands against my cheeks, trying to cool them down.

  “Let me pour you a glass of wine.” Russ appears at my elbow. “This elderflower stuff is not bad at all.”

  “Thank you.” I accept the glass from him. “I think I have danced my feet off.”

  “Perhaps we should move on to the next part of the evening?”

  “And what is that?” I ask warily.

  That Cheshire Cat grin appears. “The games, of course.”

  “What sort of games?”

  Russ makes his way over to the record player, bringing the music to a clattering halt.

  “What did you do that for?” Nora asks grumpily. She and Sophie were dancing again, and never mind the polite distances, you’d have been hard pressed to slip a sheet of paper between the two of them.

  “It is time for the next portion of this evening’s entertainment,” Russ announces, like he’s the ringmaster of this particular circus. “Games! And the first game will be … sardines!” If he had a moustache, I think he’d be twirling it.

  “Sardines?” Alma frowns. “What’s that?”

  “It’s like hide-and-seek in reverse,” I explain. “One person hides and the rest of us have to look for them. When you find the person hiding then you have to get in the hiding place with them.”

  “Like sardines in a tin,” Nora adds. “The last person to find the hiding place loses.”

  “Plenty of secluded, darkened corners in an old place like this,” Dan says, with a twinkle.

  “Oh, yes, let’s play,” Alma says. “I’ve had enough dancing.”

  Even Viola agrees. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes sparkling.

  “I think it’s time for the elderly folk to head home,” Eileen demurs. There is a chorus of disagreement and she shakes her head. “It’s been a wonderful evening, but it’s well past midnight already, and the three of us are long overdue for turning back into pumpkins. You youngsters enjoy your game.”

  We bid Mr Cantwell, Eileen and an exuberant Hubert goodnight and it is decided that Kit will hide first. The rest of us count to a hundred before setting off in pursuit.

  Once outside the halo of light surrounding the stage the rest of the theatre is shrouded in a thick, velvet darkness. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust.

  “I think that’s the last we’ll see of those two,” Russ murmurs in my ear, as Nora and Sophie disappear down one of the corridors, the faint sound of laughter echoing behind them.

  “Perhaps they’re looking for Kit,” I say. “He could be down that way.”

  “Perhaps,” says Russ. “Why don’t we look in here?” He leans past me and finds a door handle, twisting it open with a click.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “Which room is this?” I ask, disorientated, as we step inside.

  “I think it might be Hubert’s office,” Russ says, swearing as he walks into the corner of the desk.

  “Kit?” I whisper. “Are you in here?” There’s no answer. I turn to Russ. “He’s not here. Let’s go.”

  “In a moment,” Russ says, and then he pulls me into his arms, pressing his mouth against mine.

  I make a muffled noise of protest which he ignores. I bring my hands up to push at his chest, but his arms only tighten, and so I bring my foot down on his, twisting the heel sharply.

  He gives an exclamatio
n of pain and stumbles backwards. “What did you do that for?”

  I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. “What do you think? You can’t just go around jumping on girls in darkened rooms.”

  “I thought you wanted me to.” His voice is sulky, like a child who has been denied a toy.

  “I don’t think I did anything to give you that impression,” I say. “In fact, I know I didn’t.”

  We stand there in the dark for a moment, and I can feel his animosity coming towards me in waves. “You seemed to want to be kissed well enough the last time,” he says.

  “Yes, well, I changed my mind,” I snap. I feel curiously shaken and a bit sick. “You don’t even like me, Russ, not really. This is just a silly game.”

  In the shadows I see his expression soften. He takes a step forward, “Darling, if that’s what’s worrying you…”

  “It’s not.” The words stop him in his tracks. “I don’t feel that way about you either.”

  “I see.” His voice is cold now. “So you’re just a tease, then?”

  The queasy feeling in my stomach intensifies. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do.” His voice is hard and scornful, and I don’t recognize it at all. “I know you were just playing hard to get. You’ve been flirting with me for weeks, leading me on. You want to be careful about getting a reputation like that in this industry. People talk. Men don’t like women who string them along. Just ask Viola.”

  “Russ.” I struggle to keep my voice even. I take another step back to put more space between us. “I-I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression.” I swallow, hating the fact that I’m apologizing to him. The man I thought was my friend has become something else entirely, here in this cold, dark room. I’m not at all sure what is going to happen next, and it’s that uncertainty that scares me. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” I finish weakly.

  There’s a moment of silence, one that stretches out between us. Then, with a muffled expression of disgust, Russ turns on his heel and leaves the room. I sag against the desk, surprised to find myself trembling.

  Nothing happened, I tell myself sternly. Stop being so silly. Nothing happened, just a few mean words.

  Finally, I leave the room. The darkness has transformed the snug little theatre into something much more sinister, and I jump as the quiet is broken by the scattered sound of laughter in the distance. Russ and I had only been in the office for a couple of minutes. The game is still going on, and suddenly, I really do want to find Kit.

  I stumble down the passageway, trying to get my bearings. I try a couple of the rooms off to one side, but neither of them open. Eventually I come to one that does, and I know exactly where I am. The costume cupboard is blessedly familiar, even in the dark, with only the pale silver light from the moon filtering through the high windows.

  “Kit?” I whisper, moving through the clothes rails. “Are you in here?”

  There’s no answer, but suddenly a hand closes around my wrist, and I squeak in alarm.

  “Shhhh!” Kit laughs. “You’re the first one to find me. Come back here and hide.”

  I manage my own shaky laugh as I push the clothes aside and take Kit’s hand as he helps me through to the gap between the rail and the wall. There’s just enough space to sit down, and with the clothes pulled back in front of us, we’re very nearly invisible.

  “A good hiding place,” I say quietly. “Very cosy.”

  “I thought so.” Kit turns to look at me, his face half in shadow. “Is something wrong?” he asks sharply.

  “Yes,” I say, rubbing my arms. “Actually, no. Not really. I had a bit of a run-in with Russ. He doesn’t take rejection very well.”

  There is a silence and I feel Kit stiffen. “Did he hurt you?

  “No! I feel silly making a fuss about it. He just – said some things that weren’t very nice.” I take a deep breath. “I don’t know why it bothered me so much. He’d been drinking, and—”

  “I could wring his neck,” Kit mutters. “There’s no need for you to make excuses for him. If he made you feel uncomfortable or frightened then he was in the wrong.”

  “He – he said I should be careful about getting a reputation, that it could hurt my chances,” I manage, my voice small. “I suppose I am quite inexperienced.”

  “You’re clever, and you’re talented and beautiful,” Kit says. “You don’t need to listen to anything Russell Whitmore has to say on the matter. He’s nothing but a pretty face, and deep down he knows it.”

  Kit thinks I’m clever and talented and beautiful. Or maybe he is just trying to cheer me up. Either way, I feel better. “All the same,” I say firmly, “I think I might be done with romance.”

  Kit snorts. “That’s because you’ve been romancing entirely the wrong person.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You sound very sure.”

  “I am, in fact, absolutely certain.”

  We sit quietly then, side by side in the dark, surrounded by silk and tulle and taffeta.

  “Do you think the others will ever find us?” I ask.

  “Perhaps I’m just too good at hiding.”

  “Well, I found you.”

  “That’s true.”

  I drop my head on to his shoulder and he rests his cheek against the top of my head. I like it here, I think. I would like to stay in this dark little corner for ever. Clever and talented and beautiful. Those words settle around me like sparks of light – warm and comforting.

  “I think you’re clever and talented and beautiful too,” I say dreamily. I feel him smile against my hair.

  “That’s nice,” he says.

  I pull away from him then and turn so that I can look him in the eye. Our faces are close together, almost nose to nose. In the smudged, silver moonlight Kit’s eyes look almost pewter, the irises wide and dark. I’ve never been this close to him before. I could count the golden freckles scattered across his nose, sketch constellations in them. My heart is thumping, and when Kit lifts a gentle hand to push a strand of hair away from my face, I almost jump out of my skin.

  “Freya,” he murmurs, my name holding a question in it.

  “Yes,” I whisper, and I’m unsure if I’m asking a question myself, or answering one.

  “Here you are.” The acid voice of Viola makes us spring apart. The clothes are pushed unceremoniously to one side. “I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  Part Four

  Durham

  December, 1931

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Two days later we arrive in Durham.

  We never did get to perform at the little theatre in Runleigh, and we miss our first night in Durham too, before the snow thaws enough to let us leave. There is still snow on the ground as we reach the city, our penultimate stop on the tour, but it is only a light, picturesque dusting.

  Durham is a lovely place, dressed for Christmas, with lights strung up in the winding cobbled streets and shop windows full of plum cakes and piles of beautifully wrapped gifts.

  Relations between the group have become strained. The morning after the party, Russ sought me out, and mumbled something about having had too much to drink, and worrying he’d not been “quite the thing”. In the interests of the production and an easy life I told him that it was fine, that we were fine. But I have avoided him since.

  Russ and Kit are also avoiding each other, and I get the sense that this is because Kit had some strong words to say about what happened. Then I too am avoiding Kit because I find the sight of him extremely confusing. Did we really almost kiss in the costume cupboard? Or did I imagine it? Viola seems to be avoiding me and spending as much time with Kit as possible. Dan appears bemused, while I think Alma has it all worked out, and Eileen and Mr Cantwell are either oblivious or hoping to ignore us all.

  Needless to say, this made sharing the small, cramped dressing rooms rather testing. Nora was, at first, quietly amused, but her nerves – l
ike everyone else’s – have begun to fray, and at one point she asked quite forcefully if we could all “stop leaping in and out of rooms away from each other like bloody jack-in-the-boxes”.

  I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but it is a relief to finally leave the tiny chocolate box of a theatre and head into new surroundings. When we pull into our accommodation in Durham and Miss Meriden steps out of the door, her neat little tweed suit completely smooth, every strand of her hair in place, a clipboard in her hand from which she starts issuing instructions, I feel that I could throw myself into her arms and weep.

  It seems that Mr Cantwell feels the same, because he goes so far as to clap Miss Meriden’s shoulders and press a loud kiss on each of her cheeks. “Thank god you’re here, Meriden,” he booms when she emerges from his embrace. “It’s been one bloody disaster after another with you gone.” As though Miss Meriden could have prevented the blizzard that kept us all stranded, or erected a five-star hotel with her bare hands.

  “Well, you’re here now,” Miss Meriden says soothingly. “And I have rooms booked for you and Eileen down the road at the Grand.”

  “Bliss.” Eileen briefly closes her eyes. “Not that Hubert wasn’t an absolute angel putting us up, but it was rather cramped for the three of us and I’m longing to spend several hours in a hot bath.”

  Our new digs on the other hand are a cold and draughty boarding house. A long corridor full of small, cell-like rooms containing two narrow beds each. After the peculiar magic of the theatre the rooms seem even meaner, but the relative privacy is a relief. Thank goodness for Alma, who at least is behaving normally. In this dingy room I look forward to the best night’s sleep I’ve had in three days.

  Once we’ve unpacked our meagre belongings it’s straight over to the theatre for rehearsal. It feels good to sink back into the familiar routine, everyone playing the parts they are meant to play – both onstage and off. Nora and I are busy unpacking and steaming and mending and helping with the quick changes between scenes. I fly from place to place, my fingers always busy, demands ringing in my ears.