by Katy Cannon
Mac shook his head. “Give the guy a break. He didn’t say that.”
“He thinks I want the drama.”
“He wants you to think about you and him, not other people. That’s different.”
I pulled a face. I hated it when people talked sense in the face of how I felt. “And the show. Either way, I feel like I’ll always be one mistake away from being that Grace again. The one you all thought was a complete bitch at the start of last year.”
Mac didn’t lie, didn’t say, “We didn’t think that.” Which I appreciated. Instead he said, “You’re not that person any more. You’ve changed. Any fool can see that.”
“But what if the fool I want can’t?” I sighed. “How did you do it, Mac?”
“Do what?”
“Convince people that you’d changed. That you were worth taking a chance on?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t. All I really cared about was that Lottie believed it. No one else mattered.”
“So, how did you convince her?”
“I’m not sure. I guess … we talked about a lot of things. I told her things I’d never told anyone.”
“Like?” Because that sounded interesting.
“Like about my past, and stuff. You know, my mum. My record. Why I set fire to that car when I was twelve, that kind of thing. But … I don’t know. Maybe it was just spending time together, doing things together, being the same person she hoped I was, day after day. Just showing up and being myself.”
Just showing up. Well, that I could do. Had been doing. Showing up every day and doing the job I’d been assigned, even if I was still hoping for the one I deserved. Until Yasmin needed me more.
“Of course, it could have been the chocolate brownies,” Mac added, and I laughed. “Hey, don’t mock. My double chocolate chip brownies are legendary.”
“They are.” I watched him as he started to mix the filling for his pie, rolling my eyes when I realized what it was. Lemon pie. Of course. “Mac?”
He glanced up. “Yeah?”
“Why did you set fire to that car?” I couldn’t help it.
He stopped mixing and put his bowl to one side. “If I tell you … you can’t tell anyone. OK?”
I nodded. “Of course. Lips sealed and all that.”
“And I’m only telling you because you’ve had a lousy day.”
“OK. So?”
“You know my brother, Jamie? He had this girlfriend, when I was about eleven or twelve, Beth. She was … gorgeous. Not just beautiful, but nice, too. She’d hang out with me sometimes when Jamie was working. And she was just one of those people you couldn’t help but like, you know?”
“Like Lottie.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He smiled at the idea, but then his face turned serious again. “Anyway, she had this ex who was a real piece of work and he wanted her back. One day Beth showed up with a black eye, and she wouldn’t tell Jamie what had happened. But she told me. And I went and set fire to his car.”
He sounded so matter-of-fact, like this kind of thing happened every day. Maybe it had, before he met Lottie. But he’d changed now. He’d still defend his friends, I knew, just without the violence or arson he’d resorted to before. Just like I was doing with Yasmin. And, I supposed, Connor thought he was doing with Ash.
Mac pushed himself up off the counter as the timer beeped and went to rescue his pie crust. “Happier now?” he called back over his shoulder.
I nodded. “A little.” Then, as a last minute thought, I reached into my bag. “Hey, Mac? I made something I thought you might like.”
His brows drew together in confusion as I handed him the apron. “I’m going to make them for everyone in Bake Club,” I explained, in case he thought it was weird for me to give him a gift. “But I’d like you to have this one.” Not that I thought he’d ever wear it or anything – he still grumbled about the plain white one he had to wear at work. But he’d given me something – a secret, and just maybe a little faith – and I wanted him to have something in return.
“Thanks.” Mac unfolded it and smiled. Then, to my amazement, he tied the straps behind his head and fastened the ones around his waist. “How do I look?”
“Like a changed man,” I joked.
Saturday was the technical rehearsal – something none of us were looking forward to. We’d all agreed to come in for the full day, though, even though it was the weekend, to get through the gruelling job of making sure everything worked right. Mr Hughes had picked up the costumes Connor and I had chosen from the National Theatre, so this was also my first opportunity to make sure everything fitted right. We’d tried to choose uniforms as close as possible to the actors’ sizes, since we knew this was one set of costumes we couldn’t alter to suit us. I’d find out in the break how well we’d done.
Most of the rehearsal would be done out of costume. Tech rehearsals are theoretically just a full run through of the whole play, with lights, sound effects and scene changes and so on. So you’d think it would only take as long as the play takes to perform. But no. I’d been to tech rehearsals that lasted two whole days. And I wasn’t very optimistic about this one.
“Grace, can you prompt for today?” Mr Hughes asked, and I nodded my agreement. It would be a nightmare, because with all the stopping and starting to check the lights and stuff it was pretty much guaranteed that everyone would forget half their lines. But at least it meant that nobody would bother me.
I took my seat in the prompter’s chair as Mr Hughes called the cast to the stage.
“OK, everyone. I know this might be a long and tedious day for us all, but it’s vital to making sure this show runs without a hitch next week. So, I’m going to ask you all to be patient with us. Hopefully we’ll manage a good run-through of the play, too, to keep it all fresh in your minds before next week. Now, let’s get going!”
The cast members who weren’t in the opening scene headed into the wings, and the four starters got into position. Lights started to change and focus. If I leaned forward just a little, I could see Connor at the lighting desk at the back of the hall, working with the tech guys to get everything perfect.
My heart still bumped a little against my insides when I saw him, even after everything. I wanted to run out there and kiss him … but I was also a little scared. How could we be together when we were so different?
We stumbled on through the first couple of scenes with only one prompt, until Mr Hughes called a pause to fix something or other to do with the lighting plan, and we all sat around waiting to start up again.
Ash was on stage, his face still glum. It was hard to tell in a tech rehearsal, but he didn’t seem to be giving the character of Benedick much feeling today, either. I wondered if he was as broken-hearted as Yasmin was. Was he just too proud to admit that he was wrong?
On stage, Violet came and sat beside him. They weren’t in costume, but she was wearing the 1920s-style headband I’d made for her anyway, the sparkly beads and sequins flashing in the changing lights. She’d hugged me when I gave it to her the week before and had barely taken it off since. I was starting to regret making the damn thing.
I watched as she smiled a sickly, sympathetic smile, resting a hand lightly against Ash’s arm as she spoke to him.
Suddenly, I had a very clear idea exactly who might have wanted to split up Ash and Yasmin, and why. And I also knew that no one would believe me if I told them. They’d just think I was trying to discredit Violet out of bitterness that I couldn’t win back the role that should have been mine. And Connor… I was most afraid of what Connor would think. At best, that I was seeking drama. At worst, that this was some sort of last-ditch attempt to win the part of Beatrice. I knew that he said he’d been wrong about me when we’d first met, but he hadn’t been, not entirely. What if he realized that and decided he definitely was better off without me?
Because if Violet was behind things and I tried to prove it … that was pretty much the opposite of keeping things drama free for the
good of the show, like I’d promised. But if it would clear Yasmin’s name, how could I not?
I couldn’t stop staring at them, my mind whirring with possibilities and plans. Violet lived three doors down from Ash, I remembered. Their families were probably friends, which meant she’d almost certainly know all about the circumstances around Ash’s parents’ divorce. It had to be her.
But there was no way I could prove it. And without proof … Connor might just think the worst.
I was so engrossed in my thoughts, I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me, and jumped at the sound of Jasper’s voice coming from just behind my left ear.
“Hey. Your phone was off, but your dad said you were here.” He crouched down beside me. “What’s going on?”
“Deathly boring tech rehearsal. What are you doing here?”
“I needed to talk to you.”
“About?” I kept my gaze firmly on the stage, in case we started up rehearsals again, but that didn’t seem likely for a while anyway.
“Izzy.” Of course. What else did Jasper have on his mind these days? “I really want to make things up to her. For being, well, you know…”
“Kind of rubbish for the last six months?”
“For things not going as well as I’d have liked,” Jasper said. “I want to do something really special for her. To show that I want to start something with her, despite everything that’s happened.”
“Like you going on about Ella for months, being totally oblivious to the fact that Izzy liked you, then pushing her away when she tried to kiss you?” I only said it to make Jasper blush, which he did.
“Yeah, that,” he said. “So, will you help me?”
“Of course I will. Just let me know what you need me to do.”
“I will. As soon as I’ve figured it out myself. I was hoping you’d have some ideas.”
All of my ideas seemed to focus on finding a way to prove that Violet was the one who’d started the rumour about Yasmin. “I’ll think about it,” I promised Jasper. “And, in the meantime, you can do something for me.”
Jasper groaned. “I should have known you agreed far too easily.”
Ignoring him, I pointed my script out on to the stage. “Look at those two. Do you think that Violet looks like someone with a motive to want Ash single again?”
“Definitely. Wait, that’s Violet?”
“Of course it is. She’s the year below us.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve heard you talk about her a lot, but I hadn’t really put it together who she was.” He frowned and shuffled closer to the stage.
“What? What is it?”
“That headband … does she wear it a lot?” Jasper asked.
“Pretty much constantly since I gave it to her,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Why?”
“The way it flashes in the lights… I remember, when I was at the bakery with Yasmin, I saw someone through the window and the street lights were doing the same to something on their head.”
“You think it was Violet?” Did that count as proof? I was pretty sure no jury would convict on the testimony of the sparkly headband. But we didn’t have juries at school. All we had were rumours.
“It definitely could have been.” Jasper turned back to face me. “So, what do we do about it?”
I chewed on my lip while I considered. I needed to get Violet to confess. But how?
“I’ll talk to her after the rehearsal,” I decided. No point in making this endless day any worse by upsetting the lead early on. Besides, it gave me time to figure out what on earth to say to her. “Maybe I can hint that you saw more than just her hairband.”
“Yeah. Good luck.” Jasper got to his feet. “Will you let me know how it goes?”
“Of course. Don’t suppose you want to stay around and help, do you?”
Jasper grinned. “Sorry,” he said, not at all apologetically. “I’ve got a fair maiden to woo.”
I rolled my eyes. “Go on, then. I’m sure you’ll come up with some spectacular plan guaranteed to make her fall at your feet.”
“That’s the idea!” Jasper waved as he walked off and, finally, Mr Hughes called for us to start up rehearsals again. I turned my attention back to the script – but my mind was already planning my conversation with Violet.
I just needed to find a way to make her confess the truth to Ash without Connor ever realizing I’d been involved. How hard could that be?
What you need:
Velvet fabric
Thick elastic in a matching colour to your fabric
Feathers, sequins and sparkly buttons to decorate
What to do:
1. Measure from the bottom of your left ear, over your head (where the headband will sit) to the bottom of your right ear.
2. Cut your velvet into a rectangle to fit this length, and twice as wide as you want your headband to be, plus 2cm.
3. Fold your rectangle in half lengthways, with the right sides together, and pin then sew in place with a 1cm seam allowance. Turn the right way out.
4. Figure out where the middle of your headband is, and sew decorations to one side for an authentic 1920s look.
5. Measure around the back of your head, from ear to ear, and cut your elastic to that length.
6. Tuck the ends of your velvet inside for a neat finish, then slip one end of the elastic into each to complete your headband circle. Pin and sew in place.
The tech rehearsal went on through the afternoon and into the evening. We took breaks for meals, and Connor took orders for a fish and chip shop run when it became obvious none of us would be home in time for dinner. I was beginning to despair of ever getting to talk to Violet alone. She’d clung to Ash’s side all day, even when I was quite sure he didn’t want her there. Connor was starting to look a little askance at her – not that I was watching Connor or anything.
Oh, OK, I totally was. And, I had to admit, I was impressed. I definitely had no doubts about why Mr Hughes had chosen to appoint his stepson as stage manager. He kept the tech rehearsal entirely calm and as stress free as possible – something I’d never seen done so well before. He’d be a great asset to any professional theatre.
“Just the curtain call to rehearse!” Mr Hughes called out, far too cheerfully. Everyone on stage and backstage groaned in unison, and he laughed. “OK, OK. We’ll save that for Tuesday afternoon, after the dress rehearsal. Then we open that night, and I want everyone on top form for all five performances. Rest up tomorrow – next week is going to be a long one.”
He didn’t know the half of it, I thought. And neither he nor Connor knew that my day wasn’t even over yet. I had one more very important thing to do first.
I waited until most people had started to drift off down to the hall to gather their things, then I struck, just as Violet looked like she was about to swan off with Ash.
“Violet?” I called, and she turned to face me, annoyance plastered across her face. “Can I borrow you for a moment?”
“Can’t it wait?” she whined. “I’ve had a really long day.”
We all had, but I didn’t mention it. Instead, I said the one thing I could guarantee would get her back to the drama room with me. “I’m sorry. But there’s a slight problem with your costume for the last scene. Could you just come and try it on for me one more time so I can get it fixed? I’d hate for you to have to go on stage next week in something that made you look bad.”
It worked.
I’d stashed her costume in the drama room during the dinner break, in anticipation of this. I handed it to her and let her change behind one of the screens we’d set up, ignoring her grumbling about incompetent stage hands.
I wasn’t a stage hand, I reminded myself. I was the wardrobe mistress. And I was far better at my job than she was at hers. In fact, I was better at hers, too.
“It looks fine,” Violet said, stepping out from behind the screen in her simple white wedding dress. “What’s the problem with it?”
I squinted as I looked her up and do
wn, pretending to find a fault. “Let me just check that back hem,” I said, moving behind her with a tin of pins in hand. “So, how’s Ash doing? I saw you were trying to cheer him up today.”
“He’s coping really well,” Violet said. “I mean, obviously he was hurt by that…” She seemed to remember who she was talking to and changed her tack. “Hurt by everything that happened. But he’s not the sort of guy to sit around and mope.”
“No, I suppose not.” I stuck a few pins in the hem of her dress to make it look like I was doing something. “What I don’t understand is who would want to spread such a vicious rumour in the first place. I mean, it would have to be someone who really hated Yasmin. Or really wanted Ash.”
Violet flinched, and I narrowly avoided stabbing her with a pin. As satisfying as it might have been, it probably wouldn’t have helped win me a confession.
“I imagine whoever saw them just thought that Ash had a right to know,” she said airily.
“But that’s the thing, isn’t it? There wasn’t anything to see. Whoever told Ash made it up. But for some reason, he’s reluctant to say who told him. I suppose they must have asked him not to, in case Yasmin – or her friends – came after them to make them tell the truth.” I paused, carefully planning my next words. “But I figured that whoever had started the rumour must have seen Yasmin and Jasper at the bakery that day, at the least. Yasmin was too upset to remember anyone who was there. But Jasper… Jasper remembered a few things.” Another pause. Nothing like a bit of dramatic tension to build up to a confession. “Like a very unique 1920s headband sparkling in the street lights outside.”
Violet’s hand flew up to her head, as if to check the headband was still there. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”
“I’m not insinuating anything.” I straightened up, all pretence of pinning over now. “I’m telling you that Jasper saw you outside the bakery that night. I’m telling you that I know it was you who lied to Ash. So the only question is, am I going to tell him the truth – that you made it up so you could try it on with him yourself – or are you going to call him and tell him that you made a mistake? That you didn’t see what you thought you saw.”
