The orchestra was tuning up when I came into the auditorium to find Louise. I’d been backstage to deliver Will’s medication, take him a few extra things he liked – some energy drinks, some snacks, some cooling water spray for his face. I knew how hot the lights were. Plus I’d made him a little good luck card and slipped it in the bag, telling him to break a leg.
‘I’m not going to understand a word, you realise,’ Louise said, flipping through one of the programmes we’d bought in the foyer. ‘I was rubbish at English at school and haven’t read a word of Shakespeare since I was forced to for exams. And even then I didn’t have a clue what was going on.’
We both stood up, allowing our seats to flip up behind us as a couple squeezed past to get to the seats further along the row.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, laughing. ‘Take it from me, there’ll be two guys who want to kill each other – usually because they’re fighting over the same woman. Then someone’s father will die, most likely at the hand of one of the jealous guys. A woman will dress up as a bloke and inadvertently save the day, there’ll be feuding families, probably a war or a battle, characters falling on their swords, mistaken identities and a wardrobe full of amazing costumes. Of course.’
‘You and Margot involved?’
‘Did most of them,’ I said proudly. Then I leant across to the person the other side of me who was reading through the programme, looking at the cast list and their photos and biographies. ‘That’s my husband,’ I said, pointing at Will’s picture.
The man paused, pushing his glasses on further. Then he looked up at me. ‘Really?’ he said, smiling, flicking his gaze between me and the programme. ‘You must be so proud.’
But before I could say anything, how I was more proud than he could imagine, the house lights dimmed and the auto-announcement about mobile phones and recordings began. I nudged Louise as the audience fell silent.
‘You don’t think either of them would, do you, Lou?’ I whispered in her ear. ‘Will and Archie.’
‘Will and Archie would what?’ she whispered back.
‘You know… touch?’ I replied, wishing I’d kept quiet. Because, throughout the play – although I knew he was acting, that it wasn’t real life – all I could see was the undeniable chemistry between Will and the beautiful woman playing opposite him.
‘A-bloody-mazing,’ Louise said when the curtain had come down and the applause was subsiding. ‘I had absolutely no idea what was going on, of course, but to even remember all those lines – in that weird English – is a feat in itself. Respect to your good man.’
‘Told you,’ I said, beaming. My hands stung from clapping so much. ‘Though I thought I’d lost you in the interval. Reckoned you’d got bored and gone down the pub instead.’ I laughed.
‘Sorry about that,’ Louise replied. ‘There was a massive queue in the ladies and I just had to go. By the time I got back, the second half had already started and they wouldn’t let me in during the first scene, when it was all quiet. Some monologue or something, the chap at the door said. So he made me wait until a scene change and there was a bit of bustle.’
‘That’s the trouble with good seats like these. It’s distracting to the cast if stragglers come in late.’
‘Ha, stragglers indeed,’ Louise joked as we stood and shuffled our way up the aisle towards the exit.
The after-party was to begin in the green room, and Louise and I made our way around the front of the theatre and down the side lane, weaving between the throng leaving the auditorium and dodging waiting taxis. After a few drinks in celebration of the company’s best run yet, once the cast had stripped themselves of make-up and costumes, whoever was remaining would head round the corner to the Horse and Wagon, which served craft beers and did a cracking line in home-made pie and chips. Partners were welcome, and I had never missed one yet.
‘Wait up a moment,’ Louise said, rummaging in her clutch bag. She pulled out a cigarette and lighter, the glow illuminating her face.
‘Ah, so this is where you really disappeared to in the interval,’ I said, grinning. ‘If you’re trying to conceive as well, you’d better stop, you know. Doesn’t help in the least, and you don’t want to fall pregnant while smoking. Plus Archie wouldn’t approve. He’ll smell it on you.’
Louise shrugged. ‘Not sure if we are trying for a baby or not, to be honest,’ she said. ‘So let me at least enjoy the last of this packet, Mrs Killjoy. There are only a couple left.’ She took a drag. ‘And don’t tell Arch. It’s my guilty little secret.’
I grinned again, plucking the lipstick-stained cigarette from between Louise’s fingers and inhaling deeply. ‘Takes me back,’ I said, staring up at the austere brick wall of the back of the theatre while hugging myself with one arm against the chill. The lit-up stage door sign had several bulbs blown and so looked like ‘age do’. ‘Standing out the back, waiting for Will to finish, all pumped up from a performance. I love theatres – the smell of them, the anticipation, the cacophony of noises, everyone rushing about looking manic yet knowing exactly what they’re doing, where they’re going, whether they’re cast or crew. The number of times I’ve literally had a needle and cotton attached to an actor’s hem the second they’re about to set foot onstage.’ I smiled, handing the cigarette back to Louise.
‘You’re such a romantic,’ Louise said, taking a last couple of draws before squashing out the butt in the gutter. She turned to head inside. ‘Come on, let’s go congratulate your man. He did good.’
‘Lou, wait,’ I said, taking hold of her wrist. ‘Tell me I’m mad, but—’
Louise stopped. ‘Yes. You’re mad. Loopy as a box of frogs. Satisfied?’ She laughed, heading towards the stage door, shivering, her coat only draped around her shoulders.
‘No, listen to me. Did you see it too?’
‘See what?’
‘Onstage. Will.’
Louise rolled her eyes. ‘No, I was asleep the whole time.’
‘You know what I mean.’ I looked away. It was going to kill me to say it, but if I didn’t it would sit inside me all night, lodged in my gullet either ruining the rest of the evening or spewing out to Will in a way I couldn’t stand. I’d never felt like this before, and Louise and I discussed everything anyway. This was no different.
‘Will and that woman, the queen whatever her name was. The one with the white, made-up face and big crazy wig.’
‘Yes, and?’
‘Did you think they looked…?’
Louise tilted her head to the side while one hand reached into her bag for her packet of cigarettes.
‘No,’ I said, touching her wrist as she was about to take one out. ‘No need for another. But did you think they looked, you know… as though they were into each other? Christ, this is going to sound crazy, but to me it seemed as if they had this thing going on between them. An unspoken thing. As if they knew each other offstage as well as on.’
‘Of course they know each other offstage. How long have they all spent rehearsing together?’
‘Lou, listen to me. I mean… chemistry. The way they looked at each other. The way he touched her. Held her. And then that kiss. Just the two of them onstage. I’ve seen Will perform dozens of stage kisses before and none has got to me like that before. There was this moment afterwards when… when it seemed as if they were the only two people in the world and we were just voyeurs. That they were completely oblivious to our presence.’
Louise put her cigarettes away and faced me squarely. She took me by the shoulders. ‘That, my dear friend, is called good – no, excellent – acting. Now, come with me, let’s find your poor oh-so-sick husband and get a drink.’
It was hot, crowded and noisy in the green room. I gripped Louise’s hand as we walked in, trailing behind her. I went up on tiptoe, trying to spot Will and it didn’t take long – he towered above the others across the far side of the room. I raised my hand to get his attention but he had a crowd of people around him – actors still in costume as well as c
ast and crew. He didn’t notice me. Or if he did, he didn’t show it.
‘Drinks table’s this way,’ Louise called over her shoulder, weaving between the bodies. When we reached the other side of the room, Louise grabbed a ready-poured plastic beaker of Prosecco and handed it to me, taking another one for herself. ‘Cheers, lovely,’ she said, raising it and grinning, shouldering the bump she got from someone sidling past. ‘Will’s over there, look. Come on.’
Again, I followed, wondering why I felt about three inches tall. I’d had a hand in making or at least altering half the costumes in the room and knew most of the faces, smiling and nodding and congratulating people as we passed. But still, I felt as though I didn’t belong, as if everyone else knew a secret apart from me.
‘Oh, my liege,’ Louise said in a silly voice as we approached Will and the group he was with. She gave a flamboyant bow, managing to hold her drink high and keep her coat and bag on her shoulders as she dipped down. ‘What a mighty performance you gave. May I raise my drink in your honour?’ And she did just that.
‘Twit as ever, Lou,’ Will said, leaning forward to dot a kiss on each of her cheeks. ‘But thank you. Much appreciated and fandom noted.’ Will’s smile was broad, his white teeth glinting in the fluorescent light. ‘Shame Archie couldn’t be here.’
‘Hey, love,’ I said, attempting to get closer to Will, to edge in between him and the person next to him. ‘Great performance.’ It was only when we’d bumped shoulders several times that I realised it was the queen from the play preventing me getting near to my husband so he could hear me, or at least even acknowledge I was there. Which he’d not yet done.
Up close, the woman’s white-painted face was stark and ugly, her wig a wiry mass of grey sitting precariously on her head. Her black-rimmed eyes looked like sinkholes, the false lashes on one eye peeling off at the corner, her lips smudged scarlet – presumably from kissing my husband.
‘You were great, Will,’ I said, looking hopefully at him. But the queen turned her back on me, talking to Will herself.
I tried to edge round the other side of the queen, squeezing behind her back. I wondered if the actress – whoever she was – could feel my breath on her bare shoulders. I noticed the pale nape of her neck, the very spot where Will’s dark hand had reached around and drawn her in for the kiss, the contrast between them stark onstage. There was a mole on her neck and I wondered if Will had felt it as he’d touched her. Or if he was more focused on their lips meeting, was even aware of the little moan he let out, picked up by the sensitive radio mic taped to his cheek. It felt like a game of real-life chess – onstage as well as off as I tried to outmanoeuvre the queen.
Checkmate, I thought, relieved, finally sliding up to Will and giving him a long kiss.
Thirty-Three
Now
‘You must be wondering why I’m back.’
‘Oh…’ Jo says as the pair of them watch Spangle charge around the empty beach. ‘Well, that’s none of my business. What I’ve learnt so far from the house-sitting website, other people’s reviews and that kind of thing, is that you’re there to do a job. Not stick your nose into other people’s lives.’ Jo clears her throat. Looks away. It’s exactly the opposite of what she wants to do.
‘And I’m sorry to hold you back if you fancied a long walk. I can possibly make it down to the shoreline, if you like?’ Suzanne leans heavily on her stick.
‘Don’t be silly. Spangle’s doing a fine job of taking himself for a walk, look.’
The dog zigzags across the sand, occasionally stopping to wrestle with a clump of seaweed.
‘I’m happy to stay up here with you and watch. Plus we’ve got these.’ Jo raises her paper cup of hot chocolate they’d picked up from a kiosk.
‘To cut a long story short, the reason why I’m home early is that I checked in… somewhere. Then I checked myself out. It wasn’t working for me.’
Don’t say anything. Just let her speak. She’ll open up to you and tell you all about Will, her affair, where he is now…
‘Oh, OK,’ Jo says immediately. ‘I thought you’d gone away for work?’ she adds, unable to stay quiet. She remembers Simon telling her about the theatre, what Suzanne does for a living. The coincidence with Will’s profession is too great. But he also said she’d gone somewhere to ‘recover’.
‘Sadly, not work. Look, I know we’ve only just met, and after a very strange entrance by me, but I feel…’ Suzanne looks at Jo a certain way, her eyes narrowing into thoughtful slits, as if she’s trying to recall something. ‘What I’m trying to say is that you have kind eyes. And I feel I can talk to you. That you’re non-judgemental. Almost as if I know you already.’
All Jo hears is ‘mental’. Oh, you’re mental all right, aren’t you? Your best friend thinks you’re crazy and your mother believes you’re mad. Even Will thought you were obsessive, fixated… your only aim in life to be pregnant…
Jo looks away again, pretending to look out for Spangle.
‘I’ve had some… some emotional stresses lately,’ Suzanne continues. ‘Things were getting on top of me after… well, after a trauma I had a while ago. I’ve been diagnosed with PTSD and, despite all the medical help and support I’ve received, things haven’t been improving as fast as I’d like. My life feels on hold.’
‘That sounds rough,’ Jo says, forgetting her own issues for a moment. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
Jo balls one hand into a fist by her side, trying to stop herself blurting something out that she’ll regret. All she wants to do is take Suzanne by the collar, pull her up close and demand answers.
‘They stopped me driving. I have to take the train and taxis everywhere, though Simon’s been great when he can. But his job is so demanding. And I find it almost impossible to work now. My memory is shot. It seems as though my symptoms are getting worse, not better.’
Jo sips her hot chocolate to stop herself talking.
What is it about her? You’ve known this woman all of a couple of hours, yet…
Jo shakes the thought from her head, silencing herself. She needs to keep her mind clear, listen to what Suzanne tells her, spot the signals she gives off, clues, anything. Not succumb to voices in her head rife with suspicion.
‘Do you have a partner to help?’ Jo says, rather more directly than she’d intended. She puts her cup on the top of a bollard for a moment, zipping up her padded jacket. She’s not sure if it’s against the wind or against what Suzanne might be about to tell her.
‘Ahh,’ Suzanne laughs, tipping back her head. Her long wavy blonde hair, lightly flecked with the first threads of silver, billows around her face, getting in her mouth. ‘Men, men, men…’ She pulls it back with long, elegant fingers.
Jo’s heart thumps. Her mouth goes dry. When she sips more hot chocolate, it might as well be powder. ‘That’s a no, then?’
Suzanne turns away from the sea to face Jo, forcing one leg to move, leaning heavily on her stick. ‘There was someone…’ she says, one finger sliding a strand of hair away from her cheek. ‘But he’s no more. It’s almost like…’ Suzanne glances up at the sky for a second, making Jo do the same, as if all the answers are up there. But all Jo sees is a bank of swirling yellow-grey clouds rolling in, indicating rain. ‘It’s almost like he never existed. Do you know what I mean?’
Jo feels the heat of Suzanne’s stare. ‘Yes. Yes, I know exactly what you mean.’ Jo’s words are crisp and clear but the stiff breeze still manages to sweep them away.
‘I loved him. He loved me. There’s nothing else to say.’
‘But that’s like a story without a middle,’ Jo says. ‘Almost as if you’ve blocked it out because it’s too painful.’
‘Oh, it’s too painful, all right. But the thing is, Jo, my mind doesn’t work the same any more, so you’ll have to forgive me. See, I can look at you and think, I know her. We’ve met before. My mind plays tricks and sends me down memory pathways that have nothing to do with you. It could be the same with anyone
– a random stranger in the street. But then…’
Jo listens, failing to understand what this has got to do with the man she loved. Or Will.
‘And it’s not actually the middle of my story that’s missing, you see. It’s the end.’ Suzanne laughs, whistling loudly to Spangle, who has run far down the beach. Instantly the dog turns and charges towards them, ears flapping, sand kicking up from behind his back legs. ‘Anyway, turns out he was never mine to begin with. He’s gone, and that’s that. Not the ending I’d hoped for. Meantime, I’m left with this bastard brain of mine that lies to me more than he did.’ She lets out a wild laugh then, probably to indicate that she doesn’t care, Jo thinks, although she can see quite clearly that she does.
‘Come on, I’ll buy you lunch,’ Suzanne says after a moment. ‘There’s a dog-friendly place nearby.’
‘So what was he like?’ Jo says when they’re seated in the pub. A dry and rubbed-down Spangle is asleep at Suzanne’s feet under the table, his head rested on her chunky boot. On the other foot, she wears a white trainer. ‘And was he… was he something to do with your accident? Simon mentioned that.’ She’s pushing as far as she dare – already too much for a virtual stranger.
‘Questions, questions,’ Suzanne says, peering over the top of her red-rimmed glasses. ‘I recommend the chowder. They make it here, along with the sourdough.’ She’s well spoken, but Jo notices something else in her voice – not a slur, exactly, but something close to not being able to form every word properly.
The Happy Couple: An absolutely unputdownable and gripping psychological thriller Page 18
