by Katie Ginger
‘I’ve arranged for you to go somewhere and I’ve got a car waiting outside. I’ll pack you some stuff tomorrow and send it on.’
Nate shook his head. ‘I can’t just leave the show. There’s still three nights left.’
‘Your understudy can take over. We’ll say you’ve got pneumonia and you’re recovering. You need to distance yourself from this.’
‘Pneumonia? But it’s July.’
‘You can still get pneumonia in July. Stop being difficult.’
Outside his dressing-room door, the theatre came to life again as costumes were collected, props were organised for the next day and people bustled around. ‘I’m not being difficult, but no one’s going to buy it. And I haven’t even got clean pants.’
‘What are you, the Queen of bloody Sheba? Just wear the ones you’ve got on now. Turn them inside out or something, I don’t bloody care! And I don’t care if they buy it or not. The story will die quicker if they can’t twist your words.’ Robin sighed heavily. ‘We just need you out of the way for a week or two until they find something else to write about, which they undoubtedly will.’
‘So what exactly do you want me to do?’ Nate pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead.
‘Get in the car that’s waiting – it’s taking you to stay with an old friend of mine in a little seaside town where the press won’t bother you.’
Nate moved to the open window and closed it. The stage door was busier than usual, probably stacked full of reporters pushing past the fans who had paid good money to see the show and hoped for a quick photo or autograph with the cast. ‘And where’s that?’ he asked, unconvinced this plan would work.
‘Greenley-On-Sea.’
Chapter 3
Greenley was always quiet at this time on a Sunday morning. The only people around were fishermen, walking towards the pier ready for the day ahead, their rods and nets slung over one shoulder and a great box of bait carried in the other hand.
Sarah met Lottie outside the theatre, ready to begin the next rehearsal of The Tempest. ‘Morning,’ she said, forcing the words out of her scratchy throat. Stopping beside Lottie, she took a final glance at the still, blue-green sea. At one corner of the beach, a bright ball of white light threatened to blind her where the sun rose at its own leisurely pace into the sky.
‘Hey, you,’ said Lottie, fiddling about trying to unlock the revolving doors. ‘How are you feeling this morning? You were a bit tiddly when you left last night, but then from the sounds of it you had to get a bit drunk to get through your disastrous date.’
‘If that’s a nice way of saying I was off my face and talking at a million miles an hour, you’re right.’
‘Umm … yes,’ Lottie replied, grinning, her blonde ponytail swishing as she turned her head.
A low groan escaped Sarah’s mouth and she rubbed her temples. ‘Urgh. I think the nice white wine you bought mixed with the God-awful vinegary stuff I had at the restaurant and caused some sort of chemical reaction. You know, like those volcanoes kids make with vinegar and bicarbonate of soda. My stomach’s all weird and bubbly.’ Right on cue it gurgled loudly and she repressed a burp. Lottie raised her eyebrows as she dropped the keys back in her pocket.
‘Was that you?’
‘Sorry.’ Sarah placed a hand on her stomach. ‘I feel like I’ve died and been re-animated, or at least my stomach has.’
‘Ooh, now there’s a thought. Maybe we should do Frankenstein one day?’ said Lottie, excitedly. ‘Mrs Andrews can be the monster.’ She giggled to herself then turned to Sarah. ‘I don’t know why you didn’t stay over. I’ve got two spare rooms and Sid doesn’t mind.’
Sarah didn’t know why she hadn’t taken up Lottie’s offer either. She wished she had now. The roundabouts on the taxi ride back to her house had acted like a centrifuge, rattling around the horrible wine and greasy food from the Szechuan Palace with the four Cornettos and two very large glasses of wine she’d consumed at Lottie’s. This morning her mouth felt like a small furry creature had setup home, turned it into a bedsit, then died. Even after a breakfast of Alka Seltzer and half a slice of buttered toast she wasn’t sure she’d make it through the rehearsal. A gentle summer breeze filled her lungs, making her feel marginally better, but then a sheet of used chip paper drifted up and wrapped itself around her ankle. She bent down, picked it up, then put it in the bin. ‘Where is Sid anyway?’
‘I left him in bed, snoring his head off.’ Lottie’s face always changed when she spoke about Sid, as if a light turned on somewhere in her soul and shone out like a beacon of pure joy. Sarah had been truly ecstatic when they’d got together. Although walking in on them full snog backstage after the opening night of last year’s Christmas pantomime had been a little embarrassing. ‘He said he’d meet us here.’
‘Okay.’ Sarah looked up at the old building admiring its Victorian elegance. The long square front of grey stone was mostly fixed up now, though they still needed to change the rotting poster cases. The windows either side of the door gleamed in the sunlight and the domed canopy above the elegant revolving door had just received a fresh coat of blue paint. ‘I love this place.’
Lottie pushed one of the large glass panels of the revolving door, and followed its circular motion inside. ‘I do too, it’s amazing isn’t it? But that reminds me, I’ve got to organise someone to clear the guttering before the summer’s out.’ Sarah was just about to grab her phone and make a note when Lottie tugged hers from her back pocket and did the same. Their love of organisation was one of the things they’d bonded over. That and both having lost someone close to them. Lottie had lost her beloved nan last year, and Sarah her mother a few years ago. Sarah was happy to speak about her mum, even though it was painful to remember her, but she quickly changed the subject whenever her dad was mentioned. That he was in prison was a fact of which she was deeply ashamed. He’d always been a respected accountant in the town but got greedy when he didn’t get as much of a bonus as he wanted. Then her mum had been diagnosed with cancer. Terminal cancer. Meaning he wasn’t there at the end. There were other things too, but those she had buried so deep she didn’t dare think about them, afraid of the hurt that would erupt. She hadn’t even told Lottie, studiously avoiding the subject whenever it came up. ‘Come on,’ said Lottie, leading the way. ‘We need to have a bit of a clean before we start.’
Sarah followed Lottie in and clicked on the light. The revolving doors opened into a small square balcony that had steps on either side leading down to the seats. The ceiling was painted in Greco-Roman murals, some a bit naughty, and each wall had floor-to-ceiling columns evenly spaced along it. Everyone commented on what an unusual set-up it was, but the Greenley Players all agreed it made their theatre extra special. Just like Lottie. Lottie didn’t act, admitting herself she was rubbish, but she was great at sourcing costumes, organising props and generally bringing it all together. To think that a year ago, before Lottie got involved, the building was falling apart, there was no amateur dramatics group, and the mayor planned to sell the theatre to plug a hole in the council’s budget was astounding, but now, it was a thriving part of their community, loved by everyone. ‘I still can’t get over how nice it smells when you walk in here,’ Sarah said, taking a deep breath. ‘It smells like cupcakes.’
‘That’s because I’ve got approximately forty-eight plug-in air fresheners on full whack,’ said Lottie, making her way down the central aisle to the stage. ‘It costs me a bloody fortune.’
Sarah followed Lottie down the aisle in the centre towards the stage, pausing to pick up a small scrap of paper left under one of the seats. ‘I’ve told you, you don’t have to pay for things out of your own money. The budgets have been re-done and we’ve got a special one for maintenance and cleaning that covers things like that. We’re doing really well, Lottie, you should make sure you get your money back.’ Lottie placed her handbag on one of the chairs and smiled at Sarah.
‘Okay, I will. I promise.’
�
�Things seem to be going well with your plans to turn us into a charity. Even our beloved mayor’s on board this time, isn’t he? He was verging on positive the other night.’ Sarah had been at the meeting and the mayor was their most vocal committee member.
‘Oh, you know what he’s like. There’s a lot of paperwork to do and he much prefers being seen as the mayor, throwing his weight around and looking important, to actually doing mayor things and you know … helping.’
Sarah nodded. She knew only too well. Last year, during their campaign to save the theatre, Mayor Cunningham had been less than supportive. Now Lottie had these amazing plans for it to become a charity which would mean more funding possibilities and he was, as usual, being negative and annoying.
Slipping her handbag from her shoulder, Sarah dropped it onto a chair beside Lottie’s. ‘I’m actually starting to feel hungry now. I could murder a coffee and cake.’
‘Did someone say coffee and cake?’ asked Sid, striding in with takeaway cups and a pack of muffins. This was why Sid was a keeper.
‘Hello you,’ said Lottie, smiling as if she’d never seen him before. ‘Dragged yourself out of bed eventually then?’
‘Only for you, my darling,’ he replied in lofty tones, then handed a cup to Lottie, and one to Sarah. ‘I thought you could use this. And one of these.’ He brandished the chocolate chip muffins and Sarah nearly ripped his hand off as she grabbed them.
‘You’re an absolute star, Sid. Thank you.’
He gave his usual lopsided, cheeky grin. ‘Well, you were completely trollied last night. I’m surprised you’re upright this morning.’
‘It is a bit of a challenge,’ Sarah replied, breaking a piece off the top of the muffin and placing it in her mouth. The sweet chocolate soothed the ache behind her eyes. Lottie gave Sid a kiss on the cheek before taking a sip of her coffee. As Sarah and Lottie were nibbling their muffins, while Sid took huge gigantic mouthfuls, a few of the newer members of the Greenley Players arrived ready to rehearse their big summer play. There were only two performances, but the Greenley Players all wanted to show they could handle some Shakespeare. Lottie welcomed them just as Mrs Andrews, long time Greenley Player and prima donna, strolled in.
‘Good morning, fellow actors.’ Mrs Andrews strode down to the front in three-inch beige suede high heels and skintight cream trousers. Her long flowing cardigan billowed out behind her, as did her honey blonde hair. She paused with her back to Sarah. ‘Lottie, darling, I really must talk to you about Ariel. I’d like to play the character a little stronger than we first agreed. I just feel there’s so much I could be doing. I mean, I really think I should be playing Miranda, but still …’ Sarah flashed her eyes mischievously at Lottie. They’d heard this all before. ‘I don’t want to complain but …’
Sarah wanted to say, ‘Yes you do, Mrs Andrews. You’ve done nothing but complain since we started rehearsals.’ But she swallowed it down and shoved some more muffin in her mouth instead. Next time they were going to have to give her a leading role just to stop her moaning. Especially as Sarah had had two. She was playing Miranda now in The Tempest and had played Jasmine in Aladdin, their Christmas panto. She’d also been the lead in Much Ado About Nothing, but that didn’t count because it had been such a disaster no one wanted to think about it.
‘Well, that’s really something you need to discuss with Conner,’ said Lottie diplomatically. ‘Since he’s directing. And with Gregory, as he’s playing Prospero.’
Mrs Andrews tossed her hair over her shoulder. ‘I just want to get this sorted, Lottie. With the builders still working on the extension and all the stress with that …’ She dramatically laid a hand on her forehead. ‘I could really do with something going smoothly for a change. My talents are not being utilised at present.’
They’d heard about the ongoing saga of the two-storey extension for the last two weeks not to mention the months of wrangling with the architects, but Sarah had very little sympathy. The enormous addition to Mrs Andrews’ six-bedroom townhouse in the posh part of town was so she could have her own spin studio, complete with fancy disco lighting and expensive sound system. She didn’t teach spin, she just didn’t like working out with all the other riff-raff at the gym. Even though she used the super expensive one in town that was more like a spa.
‘I understand,’ Lottie replied, her voice neutral. ‘Just chat to Gregory when he gets here. Actually, where are Gregory and Cecil? They’re normally here by now.’
That was odd. Gregory and Cecil, owners of the town bookshop, were usually the first to arrive. Pulling her phone from her bag, Sarah checked that Gregory hadn’t sent her a message. When she looked up, Mrs Andrews had left Lottie alone, so Sarah shook her head to confirm she hadn’t heard anything. The other players were milling about chatting excitedly, and some had made their way onto the stage and were making a circle of chairs ready to read through the play. Rehearsals were at that wonderful stage where everyone was finding out about their characters and reading from the script, so it didn’t matter if you couldn’t remember all your lines. Sarah’s stomach knotted at the prospect of having to learn everything off by heart, she was really struggling with The Tempest. Gregory, who had experience of acting on the West End a long time ago, had been helping her, and she found his presence reassuring.
Just as she was about to call them, Gregory and Cecil arrived. They moved down towards the stage huddled close together, doing a weird run, skip, hop kind of thing, like over-excited children. Uncharacteristically, they gave everyone only a brief hello, rather than their usual exuberant welcome complete with air-kisses, before sitting together at the furthest end of the front row. Frowning, Sarah picked up her coffee cup and went over to them. As their whispering quietened, she felt a stab of hurt at their secrecy.
‘Hello, Sarah, darling,’ said Gregory. He and Cecil stood and kissed her on each cheek before re-taking their seats. ‘How are you?’
‘Hungover,’ she said, taking another bite of muffin. ‘But fine.’
‘Don’t talk with your mouth full, dear,’ said Cecil, and she playfully narrowed her eyes at him.
‘Another disastrous date was it?’ asked Gregory. He was wearing an exquisite linen suit, complete with open-neck shirt.
‘No – well, yes. Sort of.’
‘You can tell us all about it later,’ Gregory said, then gave Cecil a conspiratorial look.
Sarah frowned. Something was lingering in the air around Gregory and Cecil, and the coy smiles tugging at their heavily tanned faces told her they had news of some sort. She hoped they weren’t setting her up on a blind date again. Unless it was with Finn. ‘What’s got you two all excited?’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen you this worked up since we saw Kit Harrington in Othello and you were planning on throwing your pants at him.’
Gregory took a deep breath then leaned in and spoke in almost a whisper. ‘I’ve got something to tell you, but you have to keep it top secret.’
‘Okay,’ Sarah replied, hesitantly.
His eyes scanned around quickly, checking no one was listening.
‘The one and only, totally gorgeous, heartbreakingly swoon-worthy Nathaniel Hardy is currently asleep in our spare room.’ Gregory sat back with a silly grin on his face. Sarah opened her mouth, closed it, then tipped her head. Nathaniel Hardy, the famous actor?
‘Are you telling me fibs?’
‘Scout’s honour,’ Cecil replied, giving the three-fingered salute, but Sarah didn’t believe him for a minute.
‘You were never in the Scouts. You told me you refused to join because you didn’t believe in camping.’
‘Darling, why would you ever go camping when there are luxury spa hotels?’
‘Not the point,’ Sarah responded huffily. The coffee and muffin hadn’t settled in her stomach and she felt a bit sick. ‘Why don’t you tell me the truth or just say it’s private? There’s no need to tell lies.’
Gregory leaned further in and took her hand. ‘I’m not lying, my darling. This is
top secret and you can’t tell anyone.’
Sarah’s brain refused to compute. It was one of the oddest things Gregory had ever said to her, and that was saying something. She felt a bit like she’d read one of those odd newspaper headlines that pop up every now and again like, ‘Alien Crop Circles Found in Chigwell’. You just couldn’t believe them because if aliens did come to this planet, the last place they’d want to visit is Chigwell. ‘Nathaniel Hardy?’ she asked. ‘At your house? Right now?’
‘Yes. Yes. And yes.’ Gregory smiled like he’d just been given Chris Hemsworth naked, for Christmas.
‘Why?’ was the only thing Sarah could think to say in a vain attempt to understand all this nonsense.
Cecil sighed in exasperation. ‘My darling girl, haven’t you seen the papers?’
‘No, of course I haven’t. It’s ten-thirty on a Sunday morning and I’m hungover as f—’
‘Thank you,’ said Gregory, disapprovingly.
‘You’re lucky I’m here and dressed. I nearly didn’t make it at all, or I could have turned up in my jimjams.’
Leaning backwards, Cecil wriggled his phone from the pocket of his trousers and began tapping away.
‘What are you doing?’ Sarah asked.
Cecil held up a finger, then resumed typing. ‘Hush.’
‘I just want to know wh—’
‘Hush,’ he said again, before turning the phone to show her the website for one of the tabloids. A giant headline read, ‘Love rat heart-throb ditches loving wife for debauched night with glamour model’.
Sarah’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. ‘He did not!’ This was incredible. Like most of the women in the UK, Sarah fancied the pants off Nathaniel Hardy, especially since he’d played a suited and booted villainous bodyguard on TV. Those well-fitting suits were mouth-wateringly attractive and he had a strong square jaw. Plus, he was supposed to be a complete darling, loyal to his first love despite starring alongside some of the most glamorous women in the world.