by Fay Keenan
Sam looked at her wryly. ‘Why do I get the feeling that you’re used to getting your own way?’
Laughing, Florence slapped his bare forearm where he’d pushed up the sleeves of his grey cashmere jumper. ‘You make me sound like a right bossy cow!’ The contact of the palm of her hand on his warm, bare skin made her hand tingle as the electricity of contact shivered through her.
Sam joined in the laughter. ‘That wasn’t what I meant, honestly! I just can totally see why I’d be following your every instruction if you were my teacher!’
‘Thanks,’ Florence said drily. Her hand was still on his arm, and, as a slightly charged silence descended between them, Florence felt herself moving closer to Sam from where they were sitting on the floor by the fireside. The crackle of a log falling in the grate made Florence jump, in her heightened state of awareness of how close she and Sam were getting. ‘So, is that a yes?’ Florence murmured as her mouth, with a mind of its own, began to move closer and closer to Sam’s.
‘It’s a definite maybe,’ Same replied softly. ‘If you promise not to give me a massive telling-off if I mess up.’
‘As if I would,’ Florence’s voice grew husky. ‘Unless you want me to, that is.’
Sam’s breathing was quickening, and she could feel its warmth on her face, sweet from the hot chocolate they’d all been drinking while running lines. The cinnamon undertones of the sweet confection made her senses reel, and they were within a hair’s breadth of another kiss. Instinctively, Florence’s hand tightened on Sam’s arm, and as their lips were a breath from meeting, she felt an incredible sense of rightness, of coming home.
‘I’m home!’ Aidan announced as the front door banged behind him. Sam and Florence jumped apart guiltily. Although why Florence felt guilty, she had no idea. She and Sam were two consenting adults, after all.
‘That was quick,’ Sam said, perhaps a little resentfully, at least to Florence’s inflamed ears.
‘Tom spotted me on the way out of the pizza place and gave me a lift back,’ Aidan replied.
‘Should he be driving?’ Florence questioned, shifting away from Sam to put a bit more of a respectable distance between them. She hurriedly picked up her script again and pretended to be looking intently at the rest of the scenes she and Sam had to rehearse.
‘He’s got an automatic car and reckons there’s plenty of room on the left for his cast,’ Aidan replied. ‘And he’s only on paracetamol now, since they discharged him, so he seems safe enough.’
‘Perhaps he’ll be OK for the performances, then?’ Sam said hopefully.
‘Sorry, mate, doctor’s orders are I can’t stand for too long on the ankle, even if it is in this wonderfully colourful cast.’ Tom Sanderson’s voice echoed through the hallway.
‘I, er, thought Tom might want to join us for pizza and to help you two to perfect your lines before tomorrow’s dress rehearsal,’ Aidan said. ‘Is that OK?’
Florence sighed inwardly. She’d grown to like Tom in the weeks they’d been working on the play together, but given the seconds-ago near miss with Sam, she was hoping they might get another chance before she had to go home. With both Aidan and now Tom playing gooseberry, that now seemed unlikely. ‘Sure,’ she said quickly, as she caught Sam giving her a quizzical look.
‘Come and sit in the living room, mate,’ Aidan called to Tom, who was hovering in the doorway. ‘I’ll sort out the pizzas and bring them in in a sec.’
As Tom hobbled through the door on his hospital-issue crutches, Florence felt a surge of sympathy. Tom seemed gutted to be missing out on his big moment in the Willowbury limelight, and it was clear that he still wanted to be a part of proceedings, even if he was no longer going to be centre stage.
‘How’s it all going?’ Tom asked as he sank gratefully into the large, comfortable armchair by the fire. Florence suppressed a smile as she saw the multicoloured cast that was wrapped around Tom’s broken ankle. Trust him to pick something so attention-grabbing.
‘We’re getting there,’ Sam said evenly. ‘I don’t think I’ll be a patch on you, though.’
‘Well, of course, one can’t overestimate the importance of stage experience,’ Tom replied, but the tone of his voice made it clear that he was joking. A few weeks ago, Florence would have wanted to thump him for a comment like that, but now she knew him better, she could take it in the manner it was intended.
Florence was saved from replying by Aidan returning with the pizza boxes and four plates. ‘Here we go. What are we drinking?’
‘Ought we to drink if we’re carrying on rehearsing?’ Florence queried, and then blushed at how sensible she sounded. Sometimes the teacher in her sneaked out of the classroom a little more than she liked.
‘It might help,’ Sam said wryly, passing her a plate before standing up. ‘We’ve got a few bottles of lager in the fridge if you want one.’ He looked down at her for confirmation, and she felt her heart flip at the sight of his long, muscular legs, encased in slim-fit jeans, in front of her.
‘Yeah, OK then,’ she said, struggling to focus on his face. ‘I guess one, or three, wouldn’t hurt.’
‘Not for me, thanks,’ Tom said. ‘Got to drive home after this.’
‘You could have the sofa if you want,’ Aidan offered quickly. Was Florence imagining things, or did Sam’s younger brother blush as he made the offer?
‘Thanks, but I had a night on the orthopaedics ward last night after they pinned my ankle back together, and while I’ve always had a thing for cotton sheets and hospital corners, I’d quite like to be back under my own duvet tonight!’
‘How did you do it?’ Aidan asked.
Tom glanced at Aidan and grinned ruefully. ‘It was when I was walking Mum and Dad’s Jack Russell, Billy, last night. I put a foot down a rabbit hole up on Willowbury Hill. I managed to limp home after it happened, but after an hour or so I realised I might have done a bit more than sprain it. Thankfully, my next-door neighbour drove me to hospital and then looked after Billy when I had to stay there overnight. Mum and Dad picked me, and then him, up early this morning, so I don’t have to worry about him today at least. But thanks for the offer of the sofa,’ he added, almost shyly.
‘No worries.’ Aidan busied himself with handing out the plates and soon they were tucking in to generous portions of Meat Feast (with added chillies) and slugging down mouthfuls of cool lager.
Florence, feeling relaxed in the company of these three very different men, took the time as they were eating to observe them. Aidan was chatting away to Tom, who seemed, unusually, not to be trying to get one up on the other two guys. Knowing where Tom’s preferences lay, Florence gathered pretty quickly that Tom had a bit of a thing for Aidan. Weeks ago, she could have sworn it was Sam who’d got his interest, but from the way Tom was laughing uproariously at Aidan’s every mildly humorous utterance, she figured it was Aidan who was now on Tom’s radar. She wondered if Aidan realised. Then, she chided herself; what business was it of hers, anyway?
Sam, on the other hand, was sitting quietly eating his pizza and paying little attention to the other men as he looked at the script in front of him on the floor, clearly trying to memorise as many lines as he could before the next rehearsal. Every so often he’d glance up though; was she imagining it or did his gaze seem to linger a little more on her than his brother and Tom? In the firelight, and from the dim light of the lamp on the side table nearest the door, it was difficult to tell.
Eventually, full from the takeaway, Aidan stretched and got up from his spot on the sofa. ‘I’ll get this lot away,’ he said, grabbing the plates and stacking them on top of the two pizza boxes. ‘Anyone want another drink?’
‘I wouldn’t mind another beer, if there is one,’ Sam replied. ‘I can’t get any worse at this role, so the alcohol might make it better.’
‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Tom made to get up, seemingly having forgotten about his broken ankle, then sighed and sank back down again. ‘Maybe not,’ he said ruefully. ‘Althoug
h I must have a pee.’ He looked at Sam. ‘Is there a bathroom on the ground floor?’
‘Yep,’ Sam replied. ‘Out of here and second on the right.’ He passed Tom his crutches, which were on the floor by the fire.
Tom successfully got up and hobbled out of the lounge door, behind Aidan, who’d taken the detritus of the meal out to the kitchen.
‘So,’ Florence said as she picked up her own script. ‘Where were we?’
Sam, intent on studying his own script, glanced up at her as she settled back on the floor. His brilliant blue eyes regarded her levelly. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘Are we on the same page?’
Florence blushed. ‘I think so,’ she said softly. The two of them had the booklets open in their hands, but Florence’s slipped from her lap as Sam leaned over, closing the gap between them. They were a breath away from another kiss, and Florence’s lips parted in tingling anticipation of what was about to happen. Closer, closer…
‘I thought you weren’t rehearsing the kissy bits!’ Aidan called as he came back into the living room.
Sam sprang back from Florence again as if guilty. ‘Oh, you know,’ he laughed nervously. ‘We’ll have to do it on the night, after all.’
Florence felt frustrated by the near miss. ‘I think I’ll turn in,’ she said, feigning a yawn. ‘I’ll see you at the dress rehearsal tomorrow evening.’
‘Sure,’ Sam threw her a quizzical look as she stood back up again. ‘Can I walk you home?’
‘No point, really,’ Florence smiled briefly. ‘It’s not exactly miles away.’
Sam paused, as if he wanted to say something else.
Florence headed out to the hallway. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she called over her shoulder, opening the front door and then closing it swiftly behind her before Sam could follow her. As the night air hit her, cooling her flaming cheeks, she wanted to scream with frustration. They’d spent most of the evening together and yet they’d both, still, not mentioned their kiss at the air ambulance base. She knew she could just have brought it up with him, but then she’d be forced to consider whether she was keen to embark on a relationship with someone with a whole load of baggage. And was she really going to take that step? Not to mention they’d be onstage together playing at being lovers next Saturday night in front of the whole of Willowbury – how were they going to cope with that?
20
‘Christ, these breeches are going to castrate me,’ Sam grumbled to Aidan as they both got into their fake military uniforms for the first performance. The dress rehearsal the previous Monday had been nothing short of a disaster, with Sam clutching his script like a lifeline and the rest of the cast missing cues here there and everywhere. To cap it all, Tom had forgotten to pass on the costume to Sam, so it was only now, literally just before the show was due to start, that Sam had got his hands on it. Struggling abortively with the zip on the breeches, Sam breathed out in frustration. ‘I can say goodbye to having kids if I have to do the whole performance in these.’
Aidan waggled his eyebrows. ‘The front row won’t know where to look,’ he quipped, buttoning up his jacket and then bending down to pull on his long boots. ‘But then Tom’s about a foot shorter than you.’
‘And he must have lost some weight,’ Sam grumbled. He fidgeted uncomfortably in them. ‘I might need to find a different pair.’
‘At this notice? You’ll be lucky.’
‘Ten minutes to curtain,’ Josie called. Cool and efficient now the cast had been sorted out, she popped her head around the men’s changing area. She furrowed her brow at Sam. ‘We’re going to have to do something about those,’ she gestured to his ridiculously tight trousers, which were still refusing to do up. ‘Or you’ll give the venerable ladies of the parish a heart attack. Can you stick your jeans back on?’
‘With pleasure,’ Sam sighed, relieved in more ways than one. Whipping off the trousers, he slipped back into his jeans, which, while pleasingly tight, felt like pyjamas after wearing the costume for ten minutes. Then, he had a brainwave. ‘My navy uniform’s on the back of my bedroom door,’ he said before Josie disappeared again. ‘I reckon the trousers’ll still fit, and they’re a similar shade to these, anyway. What do you think? I can pop back home and get them before the show starts.’
‘Sounds fine to me,’ Josie said, who basically would have agreed to anything to keep Sam as Benedick at such short notice. ‘But make sure you’re back here before your first entrance.’
Sam coughed. ‘Yup.’ He darted out of the back door, safe in the knowledge that the trip to his house and back wouldn’t take more than eight minutes. He had the uncanny ability to gauge distances rather well since he’d been flying for the SAA.
‘Positions, everyone, one minute!’ Josie called, exactly nine minutes later, in a voice that would silence even the loudest Year 9 class.
Sam, back and in his dress uniform trousers, which, thankfully, did still fit, suddenly felt like he was about fourteen years old again. His stomach turned over as he contemplated what was to come. What if he really wasn’t up to scratch and let everyone down? No matter how many times Florence had reassured him that everyone knew the tricky position he’d been put in, he still felt the old desire to be the best, to be perfect, kicking in. He knew the odds were stacked against him; that sooner or later he was going to fluff a line or miss a cue, and feel that horror of being the one who messed up, but no matter how many times everyone had told him how proud they were that he’d stepped in, he knew it was all on him now.
As if on cue, the door opened again and Sam’s stomach turned another somersault. Aidan was off to his left, chatting quietly to a couple of other cast members before they all had to take their places for the first scene. There was Florence, hair tied up in a bun, with tendrils framing her face. Her eyes looked a deeper blue than he’d ever seen them, enhanced by the glittering stage make-up, and her skin glowed with a luminosity that took his breath away. She’d been wearing the costume at the dress rehearsal, but her make-up hadn’t been so dramatic. Sam’s stomach jumped again as she smiled and met his gaze.
‘Are you ready?’ she said gently, taking one look at his pale face.
Sam, temporarily incapable of speech, swallowed hard to relieve the constriction in his throat. ‘As I’ll ever be,’ he finally said.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. In addition to the theatrical hair and make-up, she was wearing a white, floaty summer dress that had been artfully unbuttoned a little to show just a tantalising glimpse of her cleavage, and a red, fake-fur-lined cloak that tied with a red satin ribbon at her throat. As she breathed in, her chest rose and he found himself dragging his eyes back up to her own before she clocked his inattention.
‘Well, break a leg,’ Florence’s eyes glinted, as if she’d seen exactly where Sam’s gaze had been drawn. ‘I’ll see you for the second scene.’
‘Sigh no more, lady,’ Aidan quipped, returning to Sam’s side as Florence left. ‘Christ, bro, could you have been any more obvious?’ he continued once Florence was out of earshot. ‘Short of falling into her cleavage?’
‘Oh, shut up,’ Sam muttered. ‘She looked bloody gorgeous.’
‘Yes, she did, didn’t she? Do you think you’ll be able to control yourself when you stage kiss her?’
Sam tried not to think about that. At least he had the whole of the first half to prepare himself. They’d had a couple of stage kisses during the dress rehearsal, which he’d been too nervous to appreciate, and now they had to lock lips in front of the population of Willowbury!
As he walked out into the wings, he could hear Florence uttering her opening lines and felt the hair rising on the back of his neck. She had a beautiful speaking voice, with a tantalising trace of the broad Yorkshire vowels she’d picked up from teaching in York. Her diction was lyrical. Emma Thompson, eat your heart out, he thought.
As the rest of the scene played out, he felt Chris Charlton, the taciturn actor playing Don John, slipping up beside him with Rob Henshaw, who w
as playing Don Pedro, on the other side.
‘Don’t worry, mate,’ Rob said in an undertone. ‘We’re all with you. We’ll make this work.’
‘Thanks,’ Sam was touched. Rob was clearly channelling the role of the valiant prince, and he was grateful for it.
‘Let’s do this,’ Chris said, from his other side. Already psyched into the role of the dastardly Don John, his face was deadly serious.
Drawing a deep breath, the three strode onto stage, Sam pulling himself up ramrod straight as if he really was on parade. What was his first line? His mind was a blank. Then, as he saw Florence in the centre of the female cast, chin thrust upwards in a gesture that was pure Beatrice, his heart expanded. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came. As the pause descended, he felt a nudge from Rob on his right side.
‘Disdain,’ he muttered under his breath.
Sam shook himself. Of course!
‘I see you’ve still got that look of disdain, Beatrice!’ he called across the stage. ‘I thought it would have killed you by now.’
Florence’s eyes flashed. ‘Sorry? What was that? I wasn’t paying attention.’
And they were off, flashing witty repartee between them until the scene’s end, when Florence was left to one side, allowing, for a moment, Beatrice’s helpless longing to glimmer through the facade of carefully cultivated indifference.
As Sam exited stage left (having been prodded, once again, by Rob, in the right direction), he breathed a sigh of relief. That was Act One in the bag. Just another four to get through.
‘Well done, mate,’ Chris said once they were offstage. This time, he was smiling. ‘The rest of it’ll be a piece of cake.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Sam muttered, still thrown by seeing Florence in her costume, without Josie milling around, cutting in, and the other numerous distractions that had occurred in the dress rehearsal. It was also one thing to have been rehearsing with Florence and Aidan with a pizza between them and a roaring fire, but something entirely different to be onstage for all to see and judge. Why the hell had he ever agreed to be the understudy?