I Am Dust

by Louise Beech

  Chloe feels the same. Flashes of memory appear – candles, always candles, and dust dancing.

  ‘But weren’t there three of us?’ asks Ginger.

  ‘Yes, there was Ryan too,’ says Chloe.

  ‘God, yes.’ Ginger throws her head back and laughs. Her neck is long and swanlike. ‘Ryan. I had such a crush on him, didn’t I? Probably made a real fool of myself.’ She shakes her head. ‘I wonder what happened to him. We could search for him, only I can’t remember his surname.’

  Chloe wants to ask if Ginger has searched for her; she wants to ask if she has a partner; but she can’t. And she does not want to search for Ryan. The idea fills her with a curious dread.

  ‘The three of us were together a lot, weren’t we?’ says Ginger.

  ‘That last summer? Yes, I think so.’

  ‘What did we get up to?’ Chloe is sure Ginger is frowning as she speaks, but perhaps it’s Botox that makes it difficult to tell. ‘I haven’t thought about it until now. But it’s like, I don’t know … this door has opened, and it’s because of you. Even saying that now gives me shivers. Like it means something more. God, how dumb do I sound?’

  ‘Not at all,’ says Chloe. ‘I feel it too.’

  She’s tempted to tell her about all the odd things that have been happening recently; things that seem to point to their past. But she doesn’t want to scare her away before they get to know one another again.

  The backstage tour group emerge from the theatre, blinking in the glare of the foyer. A woman in a tracksuit spots Ginger and nudges another woman, who nudges another. They approach the two of them in the window.

  ‘You’re Ginger Swanson, aren’t you?’ says Tracksuit.

  Even with the show months away, Ginger has become a superstar in her hometown. She is utterly captivating; she sits up straight, shoulders back, and nods and smiles.

  ‘Oh my God. Me and my mum have got tickets to the show!’

  More of the tour group approach, adding their thoughts to the conversation, shouting excitement, admitting they weren’t sure about whether Dust should return, but now they can’t wait. From the centre of the group Edwin Roberts calls for everyone to follow him up the stairs to another of the rehearsal rooms. He clearly doesn’t realise who the commotion is for.

  ‘What do you do here, then?’ Ginger asks when they have gone.

  ‘I’m an usher … but I’m training to be a duty manager soon.’ Chloe adds the second part in a rush.

  ‘Do you still act at all?’

  ‘No, but I’m writing my own show.’ Earlier today, Chloe read through the words she’d written the night she’d blacked out, and even though she knows they are chaos, she thinks the story might be beginning to emerge. ‘I’d really love to perform it somewhere myself, maybe.’

  ‘I seem to remember that you were such a lovely actress.’ Ginger studies Chloe. ‘I always thought that, of all of us, you’d make it. That you had some sort of … I don’t know … magic.’

  ‘You did? Really?’ Chloe could not be more surprised – or delighted.

  ‘Yes, really. What’s your show about then?’

  ‘No, tell me about you.’ Chloe is embarrassed to talk about her unfinished script. ‘Did you go to RADA? What else have you starred in?’

  ‘I did.’ Ginger inhales as though preparing for a soliloquy.

  Don’t act or lie, thinks Chloe. Just tell me it as it is.

  ‘We moved away straight after school, down to London. My mum wanted to give me the best chance. You know what she was like. Pushy. I got my A levels and went to RADA. It’s not been easy though. As you’ll know, this is my first huge role. It’s taken years of bit parts. I was Eponine in Les Misérables for one week when the actress got ill. That was when I thought it might happen, but it didn’t…’

  ‘It has now though,’ says Chloe. ‘You must be ecstatic.’

  Ginger nods enthusiastically, but Chloe senses some trepidation.

  ‘Do you want a coffee?’ she asks, glancing towards the bar.

  ‘No, but I’d love to see backstage. I know they’ll show us when I come for rehearsals in May, but you must be able to show me.’ She pauses, looking around. ‘It’s a bit run-down now, isn’t it? Not how I remember it when we came as teenagers.’

  Defensive, Chloe says, ‘We’ve had a hard time recently, like many theatres have, but with Dust selling out they’re going to do the place up next month. When you come back it’ll be like a new theatre.’

  ‘So? Can we go backstage?’

  Chloe inhales. For a moment, the thought of taking Ginger there makes her want to leave. ‘If you like, yes,’ she says eventually.

  ‘Fabulous.’

  21

  The Game

  2005

  Ryan returned to the corridor, slamming the door behind him. Jess leapt back from Chloe’s finger. ‘We’re just warming the glass up,’ she called after him, and put her finger back on it. Chloe put hers there too, but it was cold. It didn’t pulsate beneath her touch like a warm mouth. In that moment she hated Ryan with every bit of her soul.

  ‘Who’s gonna ask the question?’ Jess avoided looking at Chloe.

  ‘I will.’ Chloe’s heart wasn’t in it now. She paused. Shut her eyes. ‘Are you still with us, Daniel?’

  IM ALWAYS HERE

  ‘Can we ask you something?’

  ASK ME ANYTHING CHLOE

  Jess’s mouth fell open. Chloe hadn’t picked up the pen, but she didn’t care.

  ‘What’s your mum’s name, Daniel?’

  TELL ME YOUR MUMS NAME

  ‘Don’t,’ said Jess.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me?’ asked Chloe.

  SHES CALLED LYNDA

  Chloe looked at Jess – that was Jess’s mum’s name.

  LYNDA IS A BAADDD GIRL

  ‘Don’t you talk about my mum that way!’ she cried.

  ‘He’s messing,’ said Chloe. ‘Daniel, we’ll say goodbye unless you tell us your mum’s name.’

  IF YOU DO ANYTHING YOU

  CAN HAVE ANYTHING

  ‘Your mum’s name or we go.’

  DO YOU WANNA DIE TOO

  ‘Move the glass to goodbye,’ said Chloe.

  ‘It won’t.’

  Will it and it shall happen. Push. And Chloe did it again; she pushed. Not with her finger. Not with her body. With her heart. And the glass began to shift.

  HER NAME IS STEPHANIE

  The glass then stopped at ‘Goodbye’.

  They took their fingers away from it.

  ‘Ryan,’ called Jess.

  He opened the door. ‘Well?’

  ‘Tell us his mum’s name,’ said Chloe.

  Ryan flicked the light switch. ‘Stephanie.’

  The light flickered for a moment but stayed on.

  ‘Shit,’ whispered Jess. ‘That’s what Daniel said.’

  ‘Now do you believe me?’ Ryan asked.

  Jess looked sheepish. She got up and went to him. ‘I just had to know,’ she said softly. Then she kissed him. Passionately. On the lips. Chloe could only watch, heartbroken. Was the kiss really for him or was it to show Chloe that what they had shared earlier meant nothing to Jess?

  The game was over for the night.

  But maybe another had started.

  *

  It was that night, at home, when the phone first started ringing. Not a mobile phone, but the house phone. It pulled Chloe from a restless sleep where hundreds of large birds were throwing themselves at the window. She went onto the landing. The phone continued ringing, and yet no one in the house stirred. She remembered how her mum always said that a phone call during the night never brought good news. She got to the table in the hallway and picked it up.

  It continued ringing.

  What the hell?

  The receiver was actually in her hand.

  But still it rang.

  She put it to her ear. Static. Crackling. A voice. And still the ringing.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she whispered, af
raid of the answer.

  ‘Never … be … under … one … roof…’

  A flicker of recognition despite never having heard the words before. A sense of remembering something not yet happened. A feeling of absolute certainty that one day she would know what the words meant.

  Chloe put the receiver down. It stopped ringing. As she walked up the stairs to bed, she didn’t dare to look back, the sense that someone was watching was so strong.

  She tossed and turned all night, haunted by visions of Jess kissing Ryan over and over, and hundreds of dead birds falling from the sky, and a ringing phone that never stopped.

  22

  The Dean Wilson Theatre

  March 2019

  Chloe and Ginger stand up at the same time, and manage to crash into one another. Both apologise and laugh. Chloe isn’t sorry though. She wonders if there’s a chance Ginger feels the same way, that she is flirting. No, it’s probably nothing. Chloe leads the way along the corridor to the backstage door and keys in the code.

  ‘It must be so mundane to you,’ says Ginger as they go through the door. ‘But all I wanted when we were teenagers was to be on the stage here. Do you remember? We used to act out scenes from Dust and pretend?’

  ‘You always made me play Chevalier,’ jokes Chloe.

  ‘God, I was a pain, wasn’t I?’

  No. But you caused me a lot.

  Now that the tour has passed through, it’s quiet and cold. They are between shows, so the costume rails are empty and the concrete floor is tidy. All of the dressing-room doors are shut. The door that leads to the stage is ajar, black curtain just beyond. They are building a new set for the upcoming show about body image.

  ‘This is it.’ Ginger stands at the Morgan Miller dressing-room door. She touches the tarnished gold star with Morgan’s name in the centre. ‘They never took it down?’

  ‘No. They’ve never taken the poster down inside either.’

  ‘I want my name in this star now,’ says Ginger.

  ‘Do you think they’ll change it?’

  ‘I’m Esme Black now, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  ‘Can we go inside?’

  Chloe tenses. ‘I don’t like going in there. I rarely do.’

  ‘Why?’

  Chloe wants to appear brave. ‘It doesn’t matter. Go in if you want.’

  I’ll follow you, she thinks. Like I always used to.

  Ginger opens the door. Chloe holds her breath, half expecting something to happen. Ginger’s heels are sharp on the tiled floor as she sweeps into the space, but Chloe has the feeling that this bold body language is somehow forced. Ginger stands in front of the original Dust poster.

  ‘It was magic, wasn’t it?’ she says softly. ‘I think I saw it the night after you, didn’t I? My mum said I sang the songs all the way home. And now…’ She seems suddenly overcome with emotion. Chloe wants to put an arm around her. ‘Now I’ll get to sing them for real.’

  ‘Is that why you auditioned? Because it’s … special to us?’

  Ginger nods. ‘It was to my mum, too,’ she admits. ‘She saw that they were auditioning for it in The Stage and rang me straight away. Said it could change my life. I already knew about it. My agent had told me.’

  Chloe smiles. ‘I remember her pushing you to be a big star. She must be so proud of you.’

  ‘She is.’ Ginger moves over to the mirror and switches on the surrounding lights, so that when Chloe joins her, they are both beautifully lit, flawless, side by side. ‘She’s a pain though. Never gives me a break. My dad’s getting sick of it … I think…’

  ‘What?’ asks Chloe softly.

  ‘I think he’s going to leave her.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’d leave her if she was my wife.’ Ginger glances at her. ‘Some of the biggest actresses didn’t want to audition for Esme, you know. They thought the part was cursed. But I felt like … I don’t know … like I’d been waiting all my life for it. That I had always known it would come to me. It might sound conceited, but I knew right away that I was going to get it. Before I even auditioned. In the taxi, on the way, I just knew.’

  The mirror lights flicker. For a split second, Ginger’s reflection changes. She is young Jess again, blowing a pink bubble, hair tied up in a scarf. The lights flicker again. Now she is Morgan Miller, head bloody, face deathly white. Chloe gasps. The lights flicker.

  Just Ginger.

  ‘Remember the Ouija board?’ says Ginger suddenly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It just came to me. We did a Ouija board that summer, didn’t we?’

  ‘A Ouija board,’ Chloe repeats in a whisper.

  She does remember. It’s as though she has never forgotten. Chester was right. We never forget. We choose not to remember. Just as she has chosen to forget that first incident here in this dressing room; the blood, the vision. But those shadows are dissolving, forcing her to face it, and she knows why. Because Ginger is here. Jess. And the incident involved her.

  ‘I can see it,’ says Chloe. ‘Now you’ve said it. These printed letters. Though it’s like I’m looking at them through a dirty window, if that makes sense. There’s a lot I’d forgotten until I saw you. It’s like your presence has unlocked it all…’

  ‘I agree.’ Ginger touches the mirror – her two fingers, the real and the reflected, could be meeting atop a glass tumbler. ‘I feel like, if we talk about the Ouija board, we’ll remember everything.’ Chloe wonders if she will start to, but Ginger changes the subject. ‘So, they never found out who killed Morgan Miller?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I read this article online that said she was scared of something before she died. That people close to her said she had the dressing room blessed before she played Esme.’ Ginger shrugs as though it is silly. ‘What do you reckon happened?’

  ‘Why would I know?’

  ‘You work here. You must hear stuff.’

  ‘It’s an old case. There’s been no new information about it for years, just endless speculation and exaggerated stories about her ghost. The caretaker and her boyfriend were cleared. Mind you, there’s a new usher who…’

  ‘Who what?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ says Chloe. ‘She was just here around that time.’

  ‘How do the people who work here really feel about Dust coming back?’

  ‘They’re excited. It will change everything.’

  ‘And you?’ asks Ginger.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘How do you feel about it?’

  It brought you back to me, so I’m happy.

  ‘Time will tell,’ Chloe says. ‘I guess you hold all the cards.’

  A crash behind them. They instinctively clutch one another. The dressing-room door has slammed shut.

  ‘What was that?’ Ginger tries to open it. ‘It’s stuck.’

  Chloe joins her. ‘It can’t be.’ She pulls on the handle. ‘Is that you Chester? Open it! This isn’t funny.’

  No answer. And she knows it isn’t him. A memory flashes into her mind. Another time when a door wouldn’t open. When it meant that she had to stay with Jess. And with Ryan. Don’t forget Ryan.

  ‘Does it always do this?’ Ginger kicks it.

  You shouldn’t do that, thinks Chloe, not sure why.

  ‘Only once,’ she says.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The dressing-room incident she has tried to forget. It won’t stay buried. It’s clawing its way out of the shadows. Not just coming back to her mind; coming back. The lights around the mirror fill with crimson, a gentle trickle that then swells. The room pulses red. It happened then, and it’s happening now.

  Ginger approaches the mirror, her face appearing burnt in the glow. ‘What is that?’

  ‘You see it too?’ whispers Chloe.

  ‘Of course, I do. It looks like blood. How the hell did it get inside there?’

  The bulbs appear to pulse like rows of fat hearts. Chloe can hear them: thum
p, thump, thump. Or is that her own?

  ‘It’ll stop in a minute,’ she cries.

  And then Jess will appear, dressed as Esme Black, white nightgown covered in blood too, and her mouth will open, and black liquid will pour out like venom, and then Chloe will pass out.

  But Jess is already here.

  Ginger is already here.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asks Ginger.

  And then it stops; the red drains away; the two of them no longer look bloody in the mirror. Chloe waits to see if Ginger appears as a ghostly, dying Esme. Nothing.

  ‘Thank God,’ she whispers.

  ‘Do you reckon it’s a fault with the lights?’ Ginger goes to the door – it opens easily, onto an empty backstage. ‘Maybe there was wind from somewhere that made it stick.’ She comes back to the mirror. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘We should go.’ Chloe feels sick. ‘We shouldn’t both…’

  ‘Both what?’

  ‘Be in here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just … have a bad feeling…’

  ‘Don’t say that.’ Ginger looks distressed. ‘I’m excited about being here.’