‘Why didn’t you wake me up?’ I say.
‘You looked so peaceful.’
That wasn’t how this was supposed to go, that Fletch would find me dribbling all over his best friend.
‘Was I asleep on—?’
‘Luca’s shoulder, yes.’
The kettle clicks off; Fletch pulls away to go and make a cup of tea. Like, I get that he’s probably thirsty after his journey, but it feels abrupt.
He’s making a lot out of busying himself with the tea, which makes me think he’s not happy. It’s fair enough. I guess I’d be cross if I found him asleep on some random girl from the show in Chichester. But, I mean, Luca isn’t some random guy. I wipe my chin. ‘Well, you had a lucky escape. Luca’s sweater’s basically made of drool now.’ It’s not my best material, but hopefully it’ll lighten the mood. ‘It’s nothing, you know that, right?’
‘Of course.’ Fletch sighs, turns around and takes my face in his hands. He kisses me. ‘Nettie, you don’t have to worry. I trust you.’
Which is lovely. But it’s almost like he had to have a word with himself to say it.
We talk into the night. He holds me close, like he can’t get enough of me – as if he’s building up reserves for when he has to leave again. I don’t remember what time we fell asleep, but I know we were wrapped around each other.
After a leisurely Saturday morning in Camden, we spend the rest of the weekend mooching around a mixture of vintage shops, listening to music back at mine, and having a Sunday roast with Alec. It’s perfect. So perfect that I don’t mention my worries about Mum or Triple Threat or any of the other hundred things on my mind. I don’t want to spoil it.
When Sunday evening arrives, I walk him down to his bike, which is parked a few roads away from the flat. I’ve got that ache in my stomach that I used to get as a kid the night before school, but this time it’s got nothing to do with Monday mornings and everything to do with not seeing my boyfriend for a month.
‘Well, this was amazing,’ he says, taking my face in his hands and kissing me.
‘Call me when you get there. I love you.’ And I’ll miss you so much it actually physically hurts. Is what I don’t say.
He knows anyway. I feel his arms wrap around me, his lips on the top of my head. We stay there for a couple of minutes. Then he puts his helmet on, swings his rucksack over his shoulders and heads off towards the river on his bike.
I know I should be all driven and hard and into my career and not moping around after my boyfriend, and I’m trying to be all of these things, but it’s much harder to be apart from him than I thought it would be. I’m not being ungrateful – I love it at Duke’s, and I know thousands of people would bite my arm off to swap places with me, but right now I wish I was on the back of Fletch’s bike, arms around his waist, swerving round corners, riding somewhere that no one could find us.
CHAPTER 12
The group chat’s never been busier as we gear up to our first Chicago session.
11:37
Leon:
Rehearsals start tomorrow . . .
AGH. Fosse session at mine later?
Leon:
Sure!
Alec:
Can I come? I AM a Fosse Queeeeeeeen . . .
Leon is typing . . .
I mean you live here
Alec:
Lisa flew back in today.
I saw her heading out with Michael.
Can’t wait to get started with her . . .
But also v v scared
Leon is typing . . .
Alec:
She’s going to love you.
You’ve been working so hard on this. You’ve got no worries.
♥
12:30
Kiki:
I can’t, sorry. Meeting Sam.
Leon messages me privately a little later.
13:10
Actually, Nettie, I’m really sorry, but if Alec’s going to be there, I’d rather not come to yours later. I just don’t need it right before we start rehearsals.
I’m sorry – I know you’re trying to keep your distance. I thought he’d have known I meant you and Kiki.
Wanna come to mine? Kiki can join us later that way.
Perfect x
07:30
Thanks for last night. You and Kiki have helped me so much already. How are you feeling about today?
Leon:
NERVOUS
You?
SAME
It’s been a long time coming. Taro and I were saying that it’ll be a relief to get started!
How IS Taro?
Still cute
Leon and I walk over to the music hall together after college on our way to our first Chicago rehearsal. The November rain is making it feel as if winter has come early. It’s less than four weeks until we break for Christmas. How is that possible?
Less than four weeks until the Christmas holidays means less than three weeks until the newly-named Christmas Ball, and I can’t wait. I’ve already planned what I’m wearing. Seriously, I’ve been crossing off the days on my calendar. True, he’s been kind of hard to get hold of the last couple of weeks, but the next time I’ll see Fletch will be at a ball. What could be more perfect?
Leon adjusts his umbrella to cover both of us. ‘What if Michael realizes he’s made a mistake casting me and asks me to leave in front of everyone?’ he says, out of nowhere.
‘That’s not going to happen, Leon. Michael’s not silly. He wouldn’t have given you the part if he didn’t think you could do it.’ I take his arm. ‘You’re brilliant. Just do what you do, and you’ll be more than enough.’
He squeezes my elbow. ‘Thanks.’
Michael’s rounding up stage blocks and chairs as Leon and I file in with the rest of the cast. We rarely use this studio – it’s still laid out like a music hall auditorium, with a raised area and a pit and a small stage over the far end that makes it an awkward space to work in. Old-fashioned sconces on the wall are the only lights, and the floor is mostly covered with a threadbare carpet. I love it – like Fletch once said, it just feels like theatre in here. If you put your ear to the wall, you can almost hear the whispers of hundreds of performers from centuries of showbiz.
Obviously the cameras are here. Michael waits until he gets the thumbs-up from Sam before addressing the cast. It’s like no one can breathe without her permission. Even just thinking about how Miss Duke overhauled the entire college performance schedule for her on day one is mind-blowing.
‘Welcome, everyone.’ Michael looks around the dimly lit studio, taking us all in. ‘The competition was stiff this year. In a bold move, the musical will be staged here, in this beautiful room, taking it back to its original purpose, which was to house theatrical performance. Yes, the process is a little . . . dragged out this year –’ he glances over at Sam – ‘but being able to rehearse here should eliminate the need for a long tech week . . . Do I hear sighs of relief? I’d like to hand you over to Lisa Jacobs, who not only is a Broadway legend, but a Fosse veteran, having worked with the man himself on several productions. Lisa, it’s an honour.’
Everyone applauds. I catch myself grinning at her in delight like a four-year-old at a panto. I can’t wait to start learning from her.
Lisa puts her hands up to stop the clapping. ‘Thank you, Michael. And what a pleasure it is to be working with you again.’ She turns to us. ‘We’re going to start with class at every rehearsal. It will help you to form the shapes that you’re going to need for this production – shapes that may feel alien to you for a while. Go with it. It’ll happen.’
We spread out and start work, studying Lisa in the mirrors Michael’s had installed all the way down one side of the music hall. Lisa sets us up with an exercise and then walks among us, correcting technique and encouraging us. At one point I catch Luca’s eye in the reflection; he grins sheepishly. As someone playing a non-dancing role, I don’t think he was expecting to have to do a full-on class. It’s weird seeing
him dance – almost like watching him discover the ends of his limbs for the first time. To be fair, he’s doing it with gusto. And in jeans.
‘What’s your name, honey?’ says Lisa, as she passes him, unable to hide a smile as she watches him roll his hips the other way from everyone else. ‘You’re adorable.’
‘It’s Luca,’ he says, wiping a trickle of sweat off his forehead. ‘Am I . . . doing it wrong?’
‘Wrong and strong, Luca. Wrong and strong.’ She winks and carries on up the line.
I stifle a giggle.
Class finishes at around seven, followed by an hour’s vocal call, after which Michael gives us a break. Leon goes to make a cup of tea with Kiki. In the absence of anyone to talk to, I go to the mirror and try to refine some of the moves we learned in class.
‘Hey, you want to sit back in that.’ Lisa’s behind me, doing the same move except a ton better. ‘Like this, in your hips.’
I try her suggestion. It works. ‘Thank you!’ I say in delight. (I fall short of, You’re-amazing-I-love-you-please-like-me, but it’s dangerously close to happening.)
‘You know, I think there’s potential here,’ she says, addressing my body rather than my face. ‘Why don’t we schedule some extra rehearsals? Just you and me.’
My heart stops. ‘Omigod, that would be amazing. Thank you.’
‘Pleasure.’ She points to Luca over by the coffee station. ‘I think that guy could do with some help, too.’ She calls him over. ‘What do you say? A few extra dance sessions? I wasn’t counting on my Billy Flynn doing too much movement, but . . .’ Her eyes drift over to where Sam and the crew are milling about.
‘Uh, sure,’ says Luca, smiling. ‘Anything to help.’
Lisa smiles at him and goes to speak to Michael.
Luca talks to my reflection in the mirror. ‘With all this dance training, maybe I’ll give Alec a run for his money by the end of Chicago. We could do a dance-off.’
‘I’d be here for that,’ I say. ‘But it would only be fair to make Alec play six instruments as well.’
He grins. ‘Hey, I was thinking about your mum. Have you had any more thoughts about where to start searching?’
‘Oh.’ I don’t know what to say. It’s taken me by surprise, hearing him talk about it in the middle of rehearsals. Looking behind me to make sure there’s no one from the crew lurking nearby, I grab Luca’s hand and take him out to the corridor. ‘I had a look online and found nothing. How could she have been that well known but so elusive?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘It’s odd. Maybe you should get the boxes of her stuff from your grandmother’s? I’d happily run you over to get them.’
I pause. ‘That’s so kind of you, but I couldn’t poss—’
‘Seriously, Nettie. I don’t mind.’
‘I . . .’ Should I accept his offer? I do want to get my hands on the boxes, but equally, it feels daunting, and I kind of wanted to do that with Fletch. Also, I can’t help thinking Fletch seemed – well, not annoyed, exactly, but a bit uncomfortable about my spending time with Luca? But he’s not here, and Luca’s been really kind, and . . . Jeez, why am I even having this conversation with myself? Luca’s a friend, there’s nothing between us, and if I start avoiding him, then I’m making a thing of it. And I’m meant to be going for it this year, not sitting around waiting for things to happen to me.
‘Thanks, Luca. That would be really helpful.’
20:45
It went well tonight!
Only four weeks, then we get a whole month together!
ALSO THE BALL BEFORE THAT
Fletch:
Glad it went well still at work will call later x
22:03
You were great tonight. I could tell Lisa was really impressed with you.
Leon:
Thanks. It felt OK?
It was more than OK. Taro said you were brilliant too . . .
Hey, guess what?
?
Luca and I get to have extra coaching with Lisa!
I’m so happy
I love her
Yeah, she’s awesome. That’s great,
Nettie. You’ll be a Fosse pro in no time.
DANCING IS LIFE
‘Extra rehearsals with Luca, huh?’ Alec peers over my shoulder from behind the sofa.
I flip my phone screen side down and bat him away. ‘Stop doing that! Like, personal space.’
He ignores me. ‘That’ll be nice. You and Luca, cosying up while I’m stuck here like some sort of loner—’
‘We will not be cosying up. Ugh, Alec, stop making out like Luca and I are—’
‘Making out?’ Alec’s smirking is at unendurable levels.
‘Just stop, OK? It’s annoying. And stop reading my messages, too. You’re always doing it, especially when I’m talking to Leon.’
Alec’s cheeks flush. ‘No, I’m not.’
‘Yes, you are. If you want to know how he got on tonight, just ask him.’
For once, Alec has nothing to say. He mutters something under his breath like ‘as if’, and slinks back off to the kitchen.
CHAPTER 13
Luca’s waiting down at the Aldwych in the only parking space in the whole of London on the first Sunday of December. After a hectic fortnight, we’ve finally managed to find a day to go and pick up my stuff from Auntie’s. I get in and we set off over the river.
My phone rings. It’s Fletch. ‘Hey.’
‘Hi, Nettie,’ he says. ‘Sorry I didn’t call yesterday. It got late. How are you doing?’
‘Good. How’s it going?’
‘Great, but they’ve just asked me if I can work next Saturday. I’m really sorry. I can’t say no, not when the entire team has committed to staying the extra day. It’ll only be the daytime.’
I have to physically stop myself from sighing. ‘It’s fine.’ It’s not at all fine; we’d arranged to spend the day together before going to the ball. But I try to sound upbeat because I don’t want him to feel guilty.
‘Are you sure?’
I take a breath. ‘Yes. Completely. We knew it was going to be like this. You’ll make it in time for the evening, won’t you?’
‘Wouldn’t miss the chance to take my girl to the ball,’ he says. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you, too. Take a left here.’
‘What?’ says Fletch. ‘Are you in the car?’
‘Oh, Luca’s taking me back to Auntie’s to get Mum’s stuff,’ I say.
He doesn’t say anything for a second.
‘I’d have done that,’ he says eventually.
I suddenly feel bad. Of course Fletch would want to help me.
‘I know,’ I say, trying to sound understanding but also hoping to disguise the awkwardness of our conversation from Luca, who can probably hear every word. When Fletch doesn’t answer, I add, ‘I was just scared she’d get rid of it if I didn’t go soon.’
‘Nettie, I’m sorry,’ says Fletch, after a couple of seconds. ‘I feel like I haven’t been there for you.’
‘It’s fine – I know you’re busy.’ I gesture right to Luca, who gets into the filter lane.
‘I’m really glad Luca’s there to help you,’ he says, and there’s a surprising warmth in his voice. ‘Makes me feel better about being stuck down here.’
Luca takes a wrong turn and I gesture for him to go back. ‘Fletch, I’d better go. I’ll call you later.’
‘Oh, OK. Good luck.’
‘Thanks.’ I hang up.
‘Fletch OK?’ Luca’s obviously pretending not to have heard out of politeness.
‘They seem to want a lot from him. I think he’s feeling it.’
‘He doesn’t mind that I’m helping you with this, does he?’ says Luca, his voice mirroring the anxiety I already feel.
‘Honestly, I don’t think it’s you, specifically. He’s just sad that he can’t be here. I think he just feels a bit left out.’
We arrive outside the house. Luca spends a few minutes trying
to get into a tiny parking space while I get my keys out of my bag and prepare for battle. A year ago, I wouldn’t have even come. But I feel different this year – like I’ve grown, like I’m finally ready to take back control of my life. I’ve found my voice, and I’m not going to let anyone silence me.
I knock on the door. Best not to surprise her.
As luck would have it, there’s no answer. There’s no one in as far as I can tell, so as Luca joins me, I unlock the door and we head inside.
He looks up at the chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. ‘Wow. Your gran’s posh.’
‘I know. It’s weird, isn’t it?’
We shrug off our coats and toss them over a kitchen chair so we can lug the boxes down the stairs unrestricted, and I lead him up to the attic. It’s a proper working room with a bed and a sofa, only it looks like someone’s just moved in due to the seven or eight boxes piled up at one end. That’s all that’s left of her, along with the memories inside my head. Funny – it’s not much, but it’s also everything.
My throat’s tight. ‘Can we get them all in the car?’ I say quietly.
Luca sizes up the boxes. ‘Yeah, I reckon.’
We start carrying the boxes down to the front door, and after the final lot has been brought down, Luca begins to load the car while I head back to the kitchen to collect our coats.
I look in the fridge, just for a laugh (although there’s actually nothing funny about it). As usual, it’s almost completely empty, apart from a small amount of salad in the drawer at the bottom, a tiny bottle of skimmed milk and a few slices of ham from the Sydenham deli. There’s no bread in the bread bin, just a packet of Ryvita. When I was living here and she was trying to force her regime on to me, I despised and resented her. Now that I’ve had some distance, I can see her for what she is: a lonely old lady, damaged by her years in ballet. I can only imagine what it must have been like for Mum growing up with her.
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