‘That’s brilliant, Kiki.’ The anger melts away as I hug my friend. I’m so pleased this is working out for her. It’s just a shame I can’t get as excited for myself. ‘So, what will you have to do?’
‘I don’t know yet – I’m meeting someone called Michelle next week. We’re going to sketch some designs together, talk through what we want from the collection. Nettie, the money’s really good! Means I can stop worrying for a bit.’
‘That’s great!’ I say.
As the rest of the cast trickles in, I sit in the corner with my head in my score, trying to focus on Kiki’s good news but invariably slipping back into thoughts about my conversation with Sam. Over the little music notes, Anand’s warning floats back to me almost like a melody:
If you give her nothing, she’ll go out of her way to take everything . . .
I can’t shake the look on her face just now when she joked about suing me . . . It doesn’t matter how many times Kiki says Sam’s fine, I just don’t buy it. If I was doubting Sam’s integrity before, now I’m certain: she’s definitely not to be trusted. In fact, I’d go further than that.
She’s dangerous.
‘OK, everyone, well done. We’re ahead of schedule, but I don’t want to lose momentum over Christmas, so make sure you keep working on those harmonies.’ Michael starts playing exit music on the piano. I’m exhausted; since the Christmas Ball and all its drama I’ve been living off the raw energy of nerves and anticipation. But on Saturday I finally get to see Fletch.
‘And practise that schmoozing,’ calls Lisa, circling her wrists at us. ‘I want you all looking like Fosse dancers by January.’
She’ll be lucky. My hips are killing me.
We all start to pack up. A few people linger in the corner, working on their shoulder rolls and walks (who knew walking could be so difficult?). I haul my bag over my shoulder.
‘Ready?’ I say to Luca, opening the door.
‘Yep. You’re gonna love this.’
I have to admit, ever since I got the text from Luca, I’ve been intrigued what it is he has to show me. We don’t walk far, just to Shaftesbury Avenue. He stops outside a small shopfront covered in adverts for West End shows.
‘Here.’
‘The Theatre Cafe?’
He smiles. ‘You’ll see.’
He leads me inside. It’s really cute how they’ve done it out, with the box-office sign behind the counter, Theatre Cafe written in lights across the bricks at the back, and the walls pretty much fully papered with show posters. Full on MT geek chic. Obviously I love it.
He grins. ‘I wanted to show you something.’ He moves aside to reveal a framed poster on the wall behind him. It’s an advert for An American in Paris, an oldish production by the look of it.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand.’
‘No – really look.’
I see an anticipatory smile spread across his face as I turn to search the poster, like he’s waiting for me to open a birthday present he’s spent hours choosing. I half smile back, wishing he’d stop being so cryptic and just tell me.
Then I see it.
Starring Anastasia Delaney-Richardson and Peter Russell
‘Oh my God!’ I squeal. ‘It’s Mum!’
Luca laughs at my excitement. ‘I came in here the other day with some friends from home,’ he says. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw it.’
‘I didn’t even know she was in this show,’ I say.
‘It’s the one about the ballerina and the artist, right?’ says Luca. ‘Now we’ve got one more show we know she worked on. It’s a start, Nettie.’
‘This is really helpful,’ I say.
Luca smiles ruefully. ‘Unfortunately, no “B”s in the cast. I looked on Wikipedia.’
‘None at all?’
‘No. Michael was Musical Director, though.’
Only problem is, Michael clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. I wish there was some way of getting the info out of him. ‘Was Mum in the article?’
‘You’d have thought so, but when I researched An American in Paris, this is what happened.’ He shows me on his phone. The show comes up with a Wikipedia entry. Luca scrolls down to the section entitled ‘Productions’. ‘Look – cast list.’
‘She’s not there.’
Luca nods. ‘And considering this poster says, “Starring Anastasia Delaney-Richardson”, you’d think she would be. It was a big deal – David Hirst directed it, for God’s sake.’
The director’s name, David Hirst, rings a bell but I can’t think why. ‘Look up Oklahoma, Copenhagen,’ I say. It was the show Mum was in with Miss Duke.
Luca types it into his phone. ‘Same,’ he says. ‘Her name’s not there. You know, I tried just looking her up, too.’ He stirs some sugar into his coffee. ‘Wikipedia says her page has been removed. I just thought there was nothing to begin with. Why would it be removed?’ A little thought pecks at me, like one of Cinderella’s birds from Into the Woods. Mum? She hid a lot from me, after all. Who’s to say she didn’t go one step further?
Neither of us speaks for a moment. Then it hits me. ‘There are other places like this – you know, the Nell, the corridors at theatres – that have old show memorabilia on the walls. I bet we could find her there. Or even the person who wrote the letters.’
‘You’re right. We should definitely be looking in those places. Let’s do it in the New Year. If we haven’t got weekend rehearsals.’
‘That would be great. Maybe we could—’
My phone rings. The sight of Fletch’s name makes my stomach do a little somersault.
‘Hi, my love.’
‘Hey, Fletch!’
‘Three more days,’ he says excitedly. ‘What time do you want me to pick you up on Saturday?’
‘Can you come early?’ I say. ‘I’ll be ready.’
‘Nettie, getting to spend Christmas with you is kind of all I can think about right now. I’ll be camping outside your doorstep.’
My insides glow at the thought of seeing him.
‘How’s it going?’ I say.
‘We’ve got David in tomorrow. He’s coming to check us out. Everyone’s stressed.’
‘Wait – it’s David Hirst, right?’ I say.
Luca, who up until now has been doing that thing of trying to seem like he’s not listening to my conversation even though I’m right next to him, looks up sharply.
‘Yeah, why?’ asks Fletch.
‘I – it’s just the second time his name’s come up today, that’s all . . .’ I trail off.
Luca’s frantically mouthing, Get Fletch to find out! at me, and I’m momentarily distracted. Is now the time to be filling him in? I was going to do it over Christmas, when we’ve actually got some breathing space.
Fuck it. I need to know. ‘Could you do something for me?’
‘Name it.’
‘Could you ask David Hirst if he knew my mum?’
There’s a pause. ‘That’s a strange request.’
‘I’ve just seen a poster of a show that Mum was in, at the Theatre Cafe. David Hirst’s name was on it, too – he directed it.’
‘You’re at the Theatre Cafe?’
‘Yeah – just popped in here.’
‘On your own? You absolute nerd,’ he says, laughing.
‘Oh, no – um, Luca just dragged me in here to show me the poster.’
‘You’re with Luca?’
‘Yes.’
He pauses, like maybe he’s expecting an explanation. Determined not to give one, I keep silent.
‘Well, that’s cool,’ he says finally, and he sounds like he’s trying to mean it. ‘I’ll definitely ask David about your mum. Listen, I’ve got to go. Can’t wait for Saturday.’
We say goodbye, and I go to join Luca, who’s hovering at the door.
‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Leon’s saved us a table.’
It’s been a long day, and I’m tired. But when we arrive at the pub, all cosy and inviting and Christmassy, I
soon relax. Kiki and Leon are on good form, and Luca and I tell them what we just found.
‘Amazing,’ says Kiki. ‘Have you googled Peter Russell?’
‘Ooh, no – I’ll do it now,’ I say. Disappointingly there’s not a lot: only that he retired from theatre fifteen years ago and lives in the Cotswolds.
‘Maybe he had an agent?’ says Leon. ‘You could try that?’
‘Yeah, maybe. Well, it’s a start, at least,’ I say.
‘It’s brilliant,’ says Kiki. ‘Luca, you’re a legend.’
‘Yes,’ I say, smiling at him. ‘You kind of are.’
Fletch picks me up on Saturday morning. I’ve been waiting for this moment all term. He turns up on his bike with a huge smile and some hand warmers for me for the journey, and Wednesday’s slight awkwardness is forgotten.
His parents, Bob and Rosemary, are waiting at the farmhouse door when we arrive, waving. The house is old, and shabby in places, as if they’ve lived there so long that all the jobs like painting and fixing need doing again and they haven’t got round to them. It’s homely. There’s a wide gravel driveway leading to a pond in front of the house where we park.
Rosemary bounds over and pulls Fletch into a tight hug. ‘How was your journey?’ She releases him to look at his face, as if checking he’s been looking after himself. He smiles at her. Seeing me emerge cautiously from around the pond, she takes my hand and draws me into an equally tight embrace. ‘Nettie. So lovely to see you again. How have you been?’
‘Good, thanks,’ I say. It feels nice to be hugged by a mum.
‘Let’s get those bags,’ says Bob, taking our luggage out of the panniers on the back of the bike.
‘I’ve mulled some wine,’ announces Rosemary.
‘Mum’s pulling out all the stops because you’re here,’ mutters Fletch in my ear.
It’s just good to be wanted, to be honest.
Christmas is amazing. They’ve got all these family traditions (I mean, Mum and I had a few, but they were basic compared to this lot), like making mince pies together, which is pretty darn cute; decorating the big tree outside; going to choose a turkey (I duck out of this one – choosing food while it’s still alive is a bit too much for this city girl); and having something mulling on the stove at all times. It’s perfect.
10:51
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
Kiki:
Happy Christmas!
Alec:
Joyeux Noel, babes
How’s everyone’s holiday?
Kiki:
Good. Going running later to work off the choc. Mum’s idea. Once a dancer, and all that
Alec:
Kiki, it’s Christmas, give yourself a break
Kiki:
We’re back on film in two weeks. Can’t do that.
Alec:
Fuck that, have some cheese
ALEC . . .
Do what makes you happy, Kiki. But also you’re perfect and we love you x
Kiki:
Thanks, love x
Gotta keep at it though, especially with the collection coming out, been working on that loads btw!
OMG pics, please!!
So excited for you!
Alec:
What collection??
Kiki:
Got a clothing line collab with See Me Now!
Alec:
What? When did this happen?!
Kiki is typing . . .
Alec:
Well, I’m starting on the champagne now. Gotta go. Love you all x
Leon left the group
I message Leon to make sure he’s OK.
11:09
Hey, love. Happy Christmas! All OK?
I notice you left the group chat.
All good here. Just can’t deal with Alec. Miss you, though.
Are you still not speaking?
I might, if he apologizes.
He told me he HAD apologized!
‘I’m sorry you’re upset’ more like it.
♥ How’s your Christmas going?
Dad’s only been back for two days, so I haven’t had to see much of him this year. It’s been nice being with Mum, though.
That’s good.
How’s yours?
I’ve had such a good time! Can’t believe half the holiday’s gone already. Call me if you need me, yeah?
xxx
11:27
Alec:
Leon left because of me, right?
Basically
What can I do to win him back?
You could start by apologizing properly?
Maybe stop seeing him as something to ‘win’?
And don’t even bother getting all competitive with Kiki about her dancewear line.
This is really special for her
Don’t ruin it
I wasn’t going to!
Well maybe be a little more encouraging, then.
On New Year’s Eve, I’m lying on a beanbag in Fletch’s treehouse under an enormous blanket, looking up at the stars through the skylight. This time last year, I was crying into a Malibu and Coke with Alec. It’s funny how things change. How you can be so miserable and lost one minute and so happy the next. When Mum died, I thought I’d never smile again. It still catches me, the grief – and when it does, it’s just as close and as painful, but it’s less often now. I get a chance to breathe in between the hits.
Being here with Fletch and his family has been really healing, not just for me but for us both – a chance to just ‘be’. Things were getting a little Stop the World – I Want to Get Off: hectic, stressful and dizzyingly confusing. Now we’ve had time to breathe. Together. Fletch has opened up about the stress of his placement, and I’ve shared everything I’ve discovered about Mum. He was quite upset that so much had happened that he hadn’t been around for, and I think he found it hard to hear how much Luca had been doing to help me, but he took it well and promised to be there for me in the future. I promised not to keep stuff from him, too. We’re going to start over again; everything’s going to be better this year.
‘You OK?’ says Fletch. He’s got one arm around me, the other nursing a mulled wine.
‘Yes.’ I watch a plane fly over, brighter than the stars, passing across the window like a large comet. ‘Thank you for having me to stay.’
‘I can’t imagine you not being here,’ he says. ‘Mum’s elated. I think she secretly always wanted a girl. You two get on well, don’t you?’
‘Well, she’s basically you in Mum form, so it’s not hard,’ I say. ‘You even look the same. Apart from inheriting your dad’s scruffy hair, you’re exactly like her.’
‘Are you calling my hair messy?’ He looks down at me, feigning indignation.
‘It’s hot,’ I say. ‘Besides, all the best MDs have messy hair. It’s a prerequisite.’
‘Do they also have the most beautiful girl tucked up next to them?’ he says.
‘Smooth.’
‘I’m known for my eloquent chat-up lines.’
As we lie there together, my phone beeps. Fletch sits up to refill our mugs from a flask next to the beanbag; I take a look.
23:15
Luca:
Happy New Year! This is the year you find out about your mum
Dance Like No One's Watching Page 16