The Perfect Fit

by Mary Jayne Baker

  That got a laugh, at least. I had to admire his quick thinking, registering no surprise as he pretended it was all part of the show.

  ‘What’s up with her?’ Marcus asked me.

  ‘Stagefright, I guess. Drop the curtain, Marc.’

  There was a five-minute break while we waited for Maisie to stop vomiting. Marcus and Lana were in favour of stopping the performance all together, but Mais promised she was fine to go on, blaming her dicky tummy on nerves.

  After the dancing scene came the Schrödinger’s Behind You, then the dames’ Hot Tub Girls number. My next big scene after that was Tomorrow, followed by a second interval before the Fairy Godmother turned up to send me to the ball.

  The Tomorrow scene. More than all the others, I’d been dreading it. After the night we’d spent together, the thought of Marcus touching me, telling me he loved me, filled me with horror.

  We managed to get through the song, although I could tell from the way Deano’s eye was going that my voice wasn’t up to its usual standard. But then it was the kiss.

  Marcus was sitting by me on the hearth, and I mentally steeled myself as he took my two hands in his. He looked like the same old Marc. He even smelled the same. But he wasn’t the same, because he’d done something I’d never thought he was capable of. He’d hurt me.

  ‘Don’t go to the palace, Cinders,’ he said earnestly. ‘Run away with me. I’ll take care of you, and you’ll never have to rake out a dirty grate again.’

  I gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Run away with you? But you’re as poor as I am. Where would we go?’

  ‘Anywhere. Then we could get married and…’ He gazed into my eyes, like the silver-tongued, bungee-boxered lothario he was. ‘I love you, Cinderella. I always have, you know.’

  My stomach lurched. He started leaning towards me and I hesitated, for what seemed like forever. I could see Deano nervously mouthing my next line from the wings. Oh Buttons, you know I could only ever love you as a friend…

  I don’t know what made me do it. Seeing Marcus there, so close, pretending he cared about me just like he’d pretended when he’d talked me into bed, something snapped.

  ‘Ok,’ I said.

  Marcus blinked. ‘What?’

  I shrugged. ‘Ok. I’ll run away with you.’

  In the wings, Deano started banging his head against the wall.

  ‘Er, will you?’ Marc said at last.

  ‘Yep. I mean, you’re completely right about that prince. Why should I go to the palace in the hope some over-entitled chinless wonder might deign to marry a common slob like me? Who the hell does he think he is, anyway?’ My voice was getting shrill. ‘Just sending out to bloody Dial-A-Bride like every woman in the land’s his personal property. Who wants to be with a bloke like that, right? I’d much rather marry you, Buttons: someone who actually loves and respects me. You wouldn’t treat me like a sodding takeaway pizza.’

  ‘But, er… don’t you want to be rich?’ Marcus fumbled. ‘Leave this awful life behind?’

  I folded my arms. ‘No. I want to be with you.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t, Cinders,’ he hissed, jerking his eyes towards the puzzled-looking journalists in the audience.

  ‘Oh yes I do.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t. Trust me, you really don’t.’

  ‘Oh yes I do. You aren’t the boss of me, mate.’

  ‘You don’t though,’ he said from behind a fixed grin. ‘You want to marry the prince. Seriously, you’re always wittering on about it.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Get back on script, Becks. Please.’

  ‘Right, I get it,’ I said, ignoring him. ‘You don’t want me any more. It’s just wham, bam, thank you Cinders, right? Get what you want then bugger off, when you know I –’ To my disgust, I burst into tears – ‘when you know I’ve been falling for you for months, you bastard, when you know I – I miss you, and I wish I’d never… oh God.’ I took the flower he’d given me earlier in the scene out of my buttonhole and threw it in his face. ‘Don’t come near me. Don’t speak to me. I can’t stand the sight of you.’ I ran off stage, past a horrified Deano, sobbing my heart out.

  Chapter 43

  ‘Becks!’

  I heard Marcus before I saw him. His voice soared up the street as I strode past Pie and a Pint, no idea where I was going except that I wanted to be away. Away from my house, with its memories of Cole. Away from the Temp, with its memories of Marcus. Away from bloody Egglethwaite all together.

  ‘Becky, wait! Please!’

  I quickened my step, but his legs were longer than mine. I felt his hand on my shoulder just as I passed Holyfield Farm.

  ‘What do you want, Marc? I don’t want to talk to you.’

  ‘But I want to talk to you,’ he panted. ‘Please, just let me – we can’t leave it like this.’

  ‘You were happy enough to leave it like this last week.’

  He flushed. ‘I’m sorry about that. When you fell asleep, I just felt so… so guilty. I’d gone round to apologise, to – God, I don’t know why I went round, except I had to see you.’ He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t right. It was a mistake.’

  ‘Yeah, so you said. Well this is one late-night booty call you don’t need to worry about any more. The panto’ll be over in a fortnight and then you can forget you ever met me.’

  ‘Please don’t say that.’ He reached out to take my hand, but I jerked it back. ‘I’ve missed you, Becks. I wanted to call you. It was so hard to know what to say.’

  ‘What do you usually say to mistakes?’ I said. ‘Surely you’ve got a neat little one-night-stand speech saved up to let me down gently? I mean, I’m guessing I’m not the first.’

  He shook his head. ‘You’re taking it all wrong. I don’t mean you were a mistake. I mean what we did – well, no, what I did. You were upset, you needed to be with someone and I took advantage. That was the mistake.’

  ‘Not just someone.’ I blinked back tears. I wasn’t going to cry again, not for him.

  ‘Yes you did. You were hurting, and I’m supposed to be your friend and I did a bad thing. I wanted you and I was too weak to… Becks, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I’m not,’ I tried to say, but the words stopped in my throat.

  ‘And then when you said what you said – God, I felt like the worst kind of lowlife bastard,’ Marc said, staring at the ground.

  ‘Well thank Christ you handled it so well,’ I snapped. ‘I mean, running out on me and not getting in touch. Nice job.’

  He flushed. ‘I know. I thought… I don’t know what I thought. My head’s been all over the place since that night.’

  ‘And yet you just waltzed into rehearsal like you’d forgotten it’d even happened, didn’t you? Do you know how painful that was?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. Everyone was there, and there was the panto –’

  ‘Oh, bugger the panto,’ I snapped. ‘And bugger you, Marcus Teasdale.’ I turned to do the dignified exit thing, then changed my mind and spun back round. ‘And the pathetic thing is, there was nothing to feel guilty about. I had sex with you because I wanted to have sex with you, pure and simple. Because I actually fucking do love you, you bastard. I thought you felt the same.’ I gave in and let the tears pooling in my eyes slide down my cheeks. ‘I was wrong, wasn’t I?’ I whispered.

  ‘I… no. I don’t know.’ He rested a hand on my shoulder. ‘You have to give me time, Becks. I never realised you thought about me like that, or I thought about you like that, and now… I mean, this time two weeks ago you were engaged to someone else, I was still seeing Livvy and we were just panto buddies.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So I need time. Can’t you get that? Time to work out what’s happening in here.’ He tapped his head. ‘And here, I guess,’ he said, punching his chest where I assumed he thought his heart lived, although his
biology looked a bit off to me.

  ‘You hurt me, Marc. I never thought you could do that.’ I pulled my hand away. ‘Maybe you’re not who I thought you were.’

  ‘I am, honestly! I just… you said scary words and I panicked, all right? If it makes you feel better, I hate myself for it.’

  ‘I needed you. I needed you and you shagged me and then you fucked off. That’s not nice.’

  He cast his eyes down. ‘I know it isn’t.’

  I sighed. ‘Well, take your time to think or whatever. I’ll see you next week for opening night. Let’s try to stay professional for that, at least.’

  ‘Are we still friends?’

  ‘Not right now, Marcus. No.’

  ***

  ‘Thought we might find you here.’

  Lana took a seat next to me on her dad’s memorial bench up at Pagans’ Rock, Deano plonking himself down on the other side. I ignored them and kept on juggling.

  ‘Why did you think you might find me here?’ I said, watching one beanbag ball sail into the air as another landed in my gloved palm. Marc was right, it was good for stress relief. Focused the mind.

  Lana shrugged. ‘Pretty much because we’d tried everywhere else. You going to put your balls away?’

  ‘No. It’s relaxing me. Ugh!’ I reached down to pick up the one I’d dropped. ‘Fine,’ I said, putting them back in my jacket. ‘What do you two want then? Come to bollock me about cocking up the press showing?’

  ‘Come to see if you’re ok,’ Lana said, putting her arm around me.

  The clawing wind, blowing across the moors from Lancashire, filled my eyes with tears. Below me, hardy walkers, huddled in fleeces, made their way over Egglethwaite’s famous viaduct, and a thin crackle of ice glazed the reservoir behind.

  I choked back a sob. ‘Been better.’

  ‘So we all noticed you seem to have shagged my brother,’ Deano said, putting his arm around me from the other side to create a sort of three-man cuddle.

  ‘Yeah. Sorry it ruined your panto.’

  ‘It’s fine. Well, no, it’s not fine because I bloody love that panto. But you’re upset so I’m lying to you.’

  ‘Great job,’ I said, smiling weakly. ‘What do you think the papers’ll print about my little meltdown then?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that, I squared it,’ Deano said. ‘They’re holding back on write-ups in exchange for a free ticket to opening night.’

  ‘Seriously? How did you manage that?’

  ‘Begging on my knees may’ve been involved. I had to offer them my body, obviously.’

  ‘Any takers?’

  ‘One. I’m sending him a voucher.’ He shrugged. ‘They were pretty amenable to coming back another time, to be honest. Most of them only turned up to see Brady. When he wasn’t there, your thing barely registered.’

  ‘Is he ok?’

  ‘Yeah, Jamie Collingwood’s dropped the charges now,’ Lana said. ‘Rodge told his mum what he said about Maisie and she’s grounded him until he can learn to treat women with a bit of respect.’

  I couldn’t help smiling. ‘Good for her.’

  ‘So what about you and Marc?’

  ‘There isn’t a me and Marc. There’s just me and then Marc.’

  ‘You looked ready to lamp him at the end of that Tomorrow scene.’

  I gave a wet laugh. ‘Felt like it. Sorry I made such a mess of things, guys. I’ll be fine for opening night, I promise.’

  ‘What happened, Becks?’

  ‘It was the other week. He came round to apologise for something and… one thing led to another, kind of thing.’

  Lana was smirking.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, forcing her face straight. ‘I know it’s not funny. Just wondering how the pair of you managed to turn an apology into foreplay.’

  ‘I was upset. He was comforting me.’ I blinked hard. ‘Truth is… I’ve kind of been falling for him for ages. I didn’t realise quite how hard until Cole made me face up to it, the day we – when he left.’

  ‘Yeah, we worked it out too,’ Lana said.

  ‘You and everyone else apparently. Everyone but me and Marc.’

  ‘What does he think about it?’

  I poked my finger into a rip in my Cinders tights and wiggled it, watching the hole grow. ‘Says he wants time to think. Trying to let me down gently, I guess.’

  Deano shook his head. ‘He’s not like that.’

  ‘Like you, you mean?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s little brother’s prerogative to be sexily irresponsible and devil-may-care. Marc doesn’t get his magic wand out for just anyone, you know.’

  ‘Then why’d he walk out on me straight after, Deano? Why didn’t he call? Even if he did see it as a casual thing, I thought we’d still be mates.’

  ‘He’s confused,’ Deano said. ‘Honestly, before he kissed you in rehearsal I don’t think he realised he had any romantic-type feelings for you. The rest of us did, but not Marc.’

  ‘Talk to him,’ Lana suggested.

  I shivered, hugging myself. There was an icy tang in the winter wind that was freezing the tears to my eyeballs. My legs, sheltered from the elements only by my thin panto tights, had gone numb.

  ‘I did. I told you, he asked for time to think.’ I gave a damp snort. ‘God, how could I let myself get into this mess?’

  ‘Really got it bad, haven’t you?’ Deano said gently.

  ‘Yeah. Fucking true love, isn’t it ridiculous?’ A tear dropped onto the patched skirt of my Cinderella dress. ‘I guess that’s what you get for immersing yourself in fairytales.’

  Chapter 44

  I stared up at the towering sandstone front of the temperance hall, blackened by centuries of mill smoke.

  ‘This is all your bloody fault,’ I muttered to it.

  I’d always thought of the Temp, austere and bleak though it might seem to outsiders, as a happy, welcoming place. But not today. Today, it loomed. The huge wooden doors looked maw-like and hungry.

  This was it. Opening night.

  My nerves were in my throat as I made my way in, past the volunteers selling tickets, through the fast-thickening crowd of excited kids and families, to the backstage area.

  Top of my worry pile was Marcus. I hadn’t heard from him since the last rehearsal, and my feelings towards him were currently ticking between anger and bereavement. How I was going to get through our week-long run without either slapping him or bursting into tears I didn’t know.

  Second in the pile was – well, everything else. Maisie’s burgeoning morning sickness. Deano’s burgeoning insanity. Lana’s inability to remember her lines. The kids in the juvenile chorus and their Pikachu tails. Harper. The journalists in the audience. Everything.

  When I got backstage there was one weight off my mind, at least. Harper was already there, perched on a stool with Maisie on his lap.

  ‘Becky!’ He beamed round the throng of cast and crew. ‘Hey, it’s Becky, everyone! Here, love, have some of this.’

  He poured me a fluteful of something fizzy from a bottle under his stool. One of several, I noticed.

  ‘Er, thanks,’ I said as I took it from him. ‘I think we might be a bit premature with the bubbly though, Harper. I’m as chuffed as anyone that you’ve managed to get here without being arrested this time, but not sure it really warrants –’ I glanced at the bottle by his feet – ‘bloody hell, Veuve Clicquot?’

  ‘Well I’m not going to celebrate with that dishwater prosecco from the Fox – er, no offence, Yo-yo,’ he said, nodding apologetically at the pub’s new landlady. He leaned forward to rub noses with Maisie, in a way that would’ve been nauseating if they hadn’t looked so blissfully happy. ‘Not when my beautiful wife here’s having our baby.’

  Ah. So Maisie’s secret was out. She sent me a raised-eyebrow look, and I fixed my face
into my best expression of shock. I was an actor, after all.

  ‘Wow, that’s amazing news!’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Stew clapped his cousin on the shoulder. ‘Both of us graduating to proper grown-up in the same year. Mum’ll be so proud.’

  I came forward to give Harper and Maisie a hug each. ‘Congratulations, guys. So pleased for you.’

  Maisie beamed. ‘Thanks, Becky.’

  I jerked my head at Stewart. ‘Stew, can I have a word in private?’

  He followed me into the wings. ‘Everything ok, Becks?’

  ‘Yeah. I mean, great news, obviously.’ I held up my glass. ‘But this stuff’s bloody strong. How much has everyone had?’

  ‘Only a glass each. Maisie just told him so he’s all excited.’ He smiled fondly in Harper’s direction. ‘Look at his little face.’

  ‘I am looking at his little face. And what I’m seeing are the saggy features of a man who’s half-cut. He has definitely had more than a glass.’ I groaned as Harper topped up his champagne. ‘Oh God, he’s having more.’

  ‘Give him a break, Becks. It’s not every day you find out you’re going to be a dad.’

  ‘Can’t he do his celebrating afterwards? We’ve got a panto to get through, and there’s a load of journalists who’ve come for the sole reason that we’ve got Harper Brady on the bill. I can’t see them being too impressed if we have to drag him out unconscious.’

  ‘He’ll be fine. He’s a professional.’

  ‘A professional actor or a professional Champagne Charlie?’

  ‘Both.’ Stew slapped my back. ‘I’ll have a word, ok? You try to relax.’

  ‘Right. Yes. Relax.’

  I threw my shoulders back and tried a few breathing exercises. They didn’t help much.

  I was on first with my opening monologue. Peeking through the curtains, I could see we were looking at a full house. Cynthia was there, and Tom and Cam and Pip, Kit Beeton, Gav with his video camera capturing it for the nation, plus all the journalists from the last rehearsal. If this panto was going to die on its arse, it was going to make sure it achieved maximum humiliation in the process.