Miss Wrong and Mr Right

by Robert Bryndza

  When I got back to the theatre, Nicky, Xander and I went up to the rehearsal room to watch a run-through of the first act of Macbeth. We sat on some folding chairs arranged facing a square marked out to represent the stage, as Craig and Byron bustled about checking the actors were all ready. Then there was a nervous excitement in the air as the lights in the rehearsal room flickered off, and we were plunged into darkness.

  There was a little shuffling around from the actors, and Byron’s chair squeaked as she settled down in the tech booth, then it was silent. A distant bell tolled, and the three witches slowly materialised in the gloom. We watched rapt as they performed the opening scene, casting the spell that would doom Macbeth.

  Even at this early stage, the play seemed to have energy and drew us in. And when Ryan entered as Macbeth, returning from the battle – and he was reciting his lines in a British accent! And it wasn’t a bad Dick Van Dyke cockney, or like the plummy one Madonna affected during her Guy Ritchie years; Ryan’s accent was strong, masculine. He was brilliant.

  ‘Look at Xander,’ said Nicky leaning across to whisper in my ear. ‘He’s in love…’

  We looked at one another and realised this play was going to be amazing. The first act was over all too soon and we gave them a loud applause. Then Craig took the actors down to the bar for a notes session. When they were gone, Byron joined us outside in the corridor. She had a serious look on her face.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ I asked. ‘That run-through was brilliant.’

  ‘No, this is more of a housekeeping matter,’ said Byron. ‘I hev a request from Mr Hirrison. He needs to move hoe-till.’

  ‘Hoe-till?’ repeated Nicky, confused. I was versed in Byron-speak so I understood it as ‘hotel’.

  ‘Yis. His hoe-till room is at the front of the building, and he’s been having real trouble gitting down for some kip…’

  ‘Sleep,’ I translated for Nicky. ‘Are all the fans camping outside his window?’ I asked.

  ‘Cimping, screaming, throwing up their brassieres… and they constantly chant obscenities, “shag me”, “do me now”, “I want to hiv your bubbies”. The poor chap is exhausted.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll sort this,’ I said.

  ‘Do you hev his pseudonym for the hoe-till?’ asked Byron. I said I did.

  Byron said thanks and went back into the rehearsal room. Xander went off home and then it was just me and Nicky in the corridor.

  ‘I don’t know about you honey, but today was certainly better than yesterday,’ said Nicky. ‘I’m gonna go home early. It’s date night for me and Bart.’

  ‘Yes, go and have some fun,’ I said. ‘I think I’ll go home early too. My Gran showed up last night.’

  ‘The crazy communist one?’ asked Nicky

  ‘Well, she’s not a communist, but yes.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s go home, have some time out, and make tomorrow an even better day,’ said Nicky. She gave me a hug and then I made my way home.

  When I got home there was a delicious smell coming from the kitchen. Gran was standing at my cooker stirring something in a huge pan.

  ‘Natalie! Darlink. I’m making my famous goulash!’ she cried. She was dressed in a smart pair of trousers, a red blouse, and was fully made up.

  ‘Lovely, I’m starved,’ I said giving her a hug.

  ‘I visited that very good butcher shop on Raven Street, and I vent to the greengrocer too,’ she said.

  I pulled my laptop and phone out of my bag and started to put them on charge.

  ‘Glass of vine?’ she said moving slowly to the fridge.

  ‘I can get that,’ I said.

  ‘Sit please, my darlink. The guest vill serve the host.’

  I went to the table and sat. She came over with two glasses of red.

  ‘Your butcher sells vine, can you believe it?’ she said. We clinked glasses and I took a sip. It was amazing.

  ‘Hang on, butcher? Do you mean the Rossi’s Organic Store on Raven Street?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. He did seem Italian,’ said Gran going back to the pan and stirring. A beautiful smell of spice, tomatoes, and wine floated across.

  ‘Gran, that place costs a fortune. I only left you twenty quid?’

  ‘And here it is,’ she said handing me back my money. ‘I opened an account.’

  ‘I didn’t know you could even do that?’

  ‘Darlink, I vore the gold, the furs, I vas a bit of a bitch. I got an account.’

  She went and opened the fridge. It was considerably fuller, with packets of cheese and sliced meats shining through greaseproof paper bearing the Rossi’s branding. She took out some plastic tubs of olives and stuffed bell peppers.

  ‘Nibbles? The goulash needs time…’

  ‘How big was this account he gave you?’ I asked.

  ‘Natalie, Natalie. I make this meal for you. Let me vorry about how it comes to the table. Just enjoy.’ She leant over and popped an olive in my mouth before I could complain.

  ‘Oh, hang on, I have to make one phone call for work,’ I mumbled through the olive. I went to the landline and dialled the number for the Langham Hotel. I explained that ‘Samuel Heathcliff’ aka Ryan Harrison needed to be moved to a suite at the back of the hotel, away from his screaming fans. The man on the desk promised he would have Ryan moved immediately.

  Over wine and nibbles, and Gran’s mouth-watering goulash, I brought her up to speed with everything that had happened.

  ‘And finally, Mum thinks I’m bringing Benjamin with me to the christening,’ I said, a gloom suddenly descending over me.

  ‘Natalie, Natalie, Natalie,’ she said grabbing me in a hug. ‘It’s okay. I’m here my darlink…’

  ‘Today was such a good day, and here I am worrying about a bloody man! I’m being silly aren’t I?’ I said, wiping a tear away.

  ‘No. You hev all these men making you feel like Miss Wrong, but you are Miss Right, don’t you forget that!’ said Gran.

  ‘It was really nice to come home and have someone cooking for me,’ I grinned.

  ‘It is a pleasure. Now, I didn’t get any dessert. I bought soap because it hev less calorie.’

  ‘We’re going to eat soap?’

  ‘No Natalie. I think you need a nice bath.’

  I had more wine as she ran me the water.

  ‘I put special boobles in,’ she said emerging wiping her hands on a towel. ‘For a nice booble bath…Your butcher also sells very good soap.’

  ‘You bought soap from Rossi’s, Gran? It costs a fortune!’

  ‘Shhh. As I said, instead of a dessert…’

  When I was in the bathroom I saw a wooden box of hand-milled soap sitting open on a chair beside the full bath. I’m pretty sure I had seen them in the shop priced at sixty quid. I slipped into the water and felt myself unwind in the warm soapy water. When I emerged an hour later I was sleepy and relaxed. Gran was just finishing washing up.

  ‘Natalie, why don’t you take an early night? I hev done the dishes, everything is done,’ she said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘You are a beautiful girl, but you must have your beauty sleep…’

  ‘I suppose I am a little tired,’ I said. ‘Goodnight, and thank you.’

  ‘Good night my darlink… Vould you mind if I make a few phone calls? They are not international.’

  ‘Course, the phone is by the fridge,’ I said. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Night darlink,’ she said, and gave me a hug. I crawled into bed and was asleep in minutes.

  The invitation

  The next morning I left Gran snoring, and went to work. Benjamin hadn’t got back to me, so I sent Xander out to get a key cut, and asked him to post it through my front door in an envelope. The rest of the day was a series of meetings, ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous.

  In the morning we had a staff meeting about whether or not we should reattach the anti-pigeon spikes to the roof, after the fiasco during the flash mob. It turned into a fierce debate about pigeons. Val f
rom the box office was dead against it, saying her husband kept racing pigeons and they are highly intelligent creatures – in fact she thinks they are more intelligent than her husband. Byron was also dead against it; she is a devoted animal lover and spends most of her wages sponsoring animals around the world.

  The theatre caretaker Len, along with Xander and Nicky, were all for it. Nicky hasn’t been able to think of pigeons in the same light after she went on a booze cruise to Dublin, and a tour guide told her that pigeons in the capital eat three hundred tonnes of vomit off the streets each year.

  I suggested that we look into more humane ways of keeping pigeons at bay. Craig proposed renting a bald eagle, and taking it up on the roof twice a day to scare them away, but we doubted the Arts Council would fork out for that.

  Then we had a meeting with Craig, and Mhairi, the set designer for Macbeth. She pitched the idea to us that blood could cascade down the back wall of the stage when Lady Macbeth killed the King. It sounded fabulous, but we had to try and work out how we could do it, and then how much fake blood we’d need to do it every night for five weeks. Mhairi estimated it to be six hundred gallons. Then Nicky started telling her about the pigeons in Dublin, and Mhairi tried to work out what three hundred tonnes of vomit would be in gallons, which made us both laugh and feel sick.

  I realised again that without my wonderful, unpredictable job, I would be lost.

  Later in the afternoon, I was surfing the net to find competitively priced fake blood suppliers, when I realised I still hadn’t phoned Mum to explain I would be coming to the christening tomorrow without Benjamin. I reached for the phone, but there was a knock at my door.

  ‘Come in,’ I said. The door opened and it was Ryan Harrison. He was dressed in jeans and a checked shirt, his hair fashionably tousled. He had a record bag over his shoulder. He looked like a student, a rather cute one at that.

  ‘Ryan, hello,’ I said. ‘Is everything okay? Is Byron with you?’

  ‘Yes, and no, it’s just me,’ he said.

  ‘Is your new hotel room okay?’ I asked. ‘They said it would be overlooking the park.’

  ‘Yeah, and it’s a suite, it’s so much better. I slept!’

  ‘That’s great,’ I said. He was quiet for a moment and started to straighten up some books on my desk.

  ‘You know, London is kinda weird, especially the weekends…’ he said. ‘I have friends here, but they’re in the industry too. They wanna go to parties and… I’ve been and seen loads of shows. Have you seen Matilda?’

  ‘Yes, it’s fab,’ I said. ‘And I remember when I first came to London, how overwhelming it was, and that’s for people who aren’t famous!’

  ‘Yes, that’s why I really appreciate the invitation,’ said Ryan.

  ‘Invitation?’

  ‘Yeah to um, Micky’s christening.’

  It was the weirdest moment, to hear my sister’s name come out of Ryan Harrison’s mouth. He went on.

  ‘Your grandma, Anouska, sure is a character… Did she really grow up in Hungary with Zsa Zsa Gabor?’

  ‘Apparently yes,’ I said, with a fixed smile on my face.

  ‘And did she really escape the Nazis?’

  ‘Yes. Although sometimes we wish…’ I shook away the thought. ‘So, she invited you to the christening?’

  ‘She said I should experience an “oldie English village and an oldie English church”, but that she was no oldie! She’s funny… She said you’d come by my hotel tomorrow morning at seven.’

  ‘Of course, we’ll see you at seven,’ I said the smile still fixed to my face.

  ‘Do I need to bring anything?’ he asked. I was tempted to ask him to pick up a rotary chicken and a bottle of ham, but I wondered if he did his own shopping anymore, or if he even handled cash?

  ‘Just bring yourself,’ I smiled.

  ‘Great, thanks Natalie,’ he grinned and slipped out of the door.

  I stormed back to the flat and found Gran lying on the sofa. She had a cold flannel pressed to her forehead.

  ‘Natalie, I had a funny turn!’ she said dramatically. I rushed to her and took her hand.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Angina. I think I overdid it hoovering.’

  I looked around, but I couldn’t see the hoover.

  ‘You don’t have to clean the flat,’ I said.

  ‘I am your guest Natalie, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.’

  I went and made her a cup of tea, no milk just a slice of lemon, and came back to where she was lying on the sofa.

  ‘Oh that’s better,’ she said sitting up and taking a sip. ‘I forget I am old. It sucks to be old.’

  ‘Gran. Did you invite Ryan Harrison to Micky’s christening?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said taking another sip of tea and coughing.

  ‘Why? And how? And didn’t you think you should ask me first?’

  Gran looked thoughtful and sat up a little.

  ‘Natalie. You get dumped by this Benjamin, before you can introduce him at the christening – vich ve both know is about as desirable an invitation to view an execution on death row…’

  ‘Okay,’ I said.

  ‘However Micky and your mother think it’s the next royal vedding…’

  ‘Where are you going with this?’ I asked.

  ‘Do you vont to turn up man-less again? To see their pity?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Of course not… And yet here you have vorking in your theatre, Ryan Harrison! A huge heart-throb!’

  ‘You said you didn’t have a clue who he was?’

  ‘Vell, I looked at the goggle. On the computer… I goggled him,’ she said.

  ‘You googled him,’ I corrected.

  ‘Yes, he is certainly vat the Americans call candy for the eye.’

  ‘Eye candy.’

  ‘Yes, he’s no Sean Connery, but there vill never be another Sean. However, those pictures of Ryan in the swim suit are hot stuff, no?’

  I nodded in agreement.

  ‘But this is Dexter’s christening, Gran! It will be full of people from Sowerton…’

  ‘Natalie, ven I vas your age I fantasised about coming back to my hometown in Hungary, with Sean Connery on my arm. That vould have shown all those potato-faced bitches who called me a slut! Ha!’

  ‘He won’t be on my arm. I work with him. He might even be gay! Anyway, how did you get him to agree?’ I asked.

  ‘Natalie. You phoned his hotel in front of me last night. Ven you vent to bed I dial 1471, called the hotel and ask for Mr Heathcliff! He is very keen to experience a little of England…’ she gave me a wink.

  ‘Gran, he’s virtually a teenager, and…’

  ‘Oh Natalie. You are too shy! Now, I von’t hear anymore. I vill microvonk some goulash and ve vill decide vat you must vear.’

  She got up off the sofa.

  ‘I thought you had angina?’ I said, seeing she suddenly had much more energy than when I’d arrived.

  ‘It comes and it goes…’ she said vaguely.

  Despite my protests she fed me goulash, and this time didn’t let me drink, so I could look my best. She went through my wardrobe and found me an outfit and then she sent me to bed, for my beauty sleep. I lay there in the dark for an hour, with my brain whirring. Unable to sleep, I phoned Sharon.

  ‘What?’ she cried when I’d told her everything. ‘Life is so unfair! You know what I’m doing tomorrow? Taking Fred’s dad, Giuseppe, to Lewisham hospital to get his ears syringed…’

  ‘Sharon, it’s going to be so embarrassing… Ryan Harrison meeting my weird family, and Gran will be trying to matchmake the whole time…’

  ‘You get no sympathy from me,’ she said.

  ‘It’s going to look desperate, isn’t it?’ I asked. ‘Showing up at Dexter’s christening with Ryan Harrison. Maybe he’s gay?’

  ‘Dexter? I don’t know Nat, he’s only two years old,’ said Sharon.

  ‘Not Dexter, you twit, Ryan! If Ryan is gay, people mi
ght assume he’s my GBF.’

  ‘Wash your mouth out with soap and water, Natalie Love! He is not gay,’ insisted Sharon.

  ‘Let’s look at the evidence,’ I said. ‘He’s far too handsome to be straight, his dogs are named after Twilight characters. And I did hear a rumour he’s dating someone on Manhattan Beach.’

  ‘Who?’ demanded Sharon.

  ‘It’s just a vague rumour…’

  ‘WHO?’ she growled.

  ‘The guy who plays his best friend…’

  ‘Jodie Pitch? Who plays Mitch Fitch, who’s married to the rich bitch? NO WAY! Oh my god!’

  ‘I hasten to add Sharon, that this is just a rumour. Anyway, if Ryan is gay, he’s not going to out himself at a random family christening,’ I said.

  ‘Also Ryan does look good in Speedos,’ she agreed. ‘Not many straight guys look good in Speedos. Well, apart from Olympic divers… I am jealous as hell Nat. You have to take photos, document everything. Oh my God, I’ve just had an idea!’

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘You could make me my very own personalised Ryan Harrison calendar!’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come on, you’re always asking for ideas for what to get me for Christmas! And it’s a family occasion. It’s perfectly normal to have a camera at a christening. January could be Ryan with one of the llamas on your farm… Hot guys look so cute with cuddly animals.’

  ‘No Sharon…’

  But she wasn’t listening.

  ‘February could be Ryan on the green outside the Ramblers Rest pub, shirtless… I’ll check the weather forecast for tomorrow. I’m sure he’d take off his shirt if it was hot. March could be…’

  I finally got off the phone after fending off Sharon’s requests for Ryan photos; she assured me she knows someone at Snappy Snaps who can be discreet. And Byron thought bunny boilers would be the strangers in the street!

  Super Gran

  It was a beautiful day when we left the flat early next morning. Gran had shown remarkable taste, helping me to choose a pair of skinny jeans and a cream-coloured sleeveless top, which showed just the right amount of cleavage for a christening. She had opted for a cream pair of close-fitting slacks with black patent heels, a matching cream blouse, a string of pearls, and a cashmere cardigan thrown around her shoulders. As we stepped into the lift down to the garage she slipped on a huge pair of Jackie Onassis sunglasses.