by A. E. Radley
“He is. What are you doing?”
“What are we doing,” Emily corrected.
She pulled Olivia into the bedroom and closed and locked the door behind them. All the lights were on, and in the centre of the bed, like the star of a horror movie, was Tiny. Olivia cursed herself for finding the only murderous kitten in New York. She’d seen videos online of kittens doing all kinds of adorable things. And yet, she had managed to pick out a monster who was content to rip things up and shit in inappropriate places. She’d still not told Emily about the faeces in the bathtub.
“Don’t just stand there, help me,” Emily instructed.
Olivia turned around. Emily was on top of the small set of steps, reaching into the back of the wardrobe’s top shelf. She heaved a box from the very back and lowered it down towards Olivia’s outstretched arms.
In a flash, Emily was down the ladder and had taken the box from Olivia’s hands. She placed it on a chair and picked up a decorator’s dust sheet and placed it on the floor in front of the bed.
Tiny was moved from his bed shrine and placed on the sheet. The box was placed beside him.
“Come, sit.” Emily patted the space beside her.
Olivia sat down, confused but fascinated with whatever was happening.
Emily lifted the lid on the cardboard box.
Olivia gasped. “You… but…” she started.
“No one knows about this,” Emily said seriously. “No one.”
Emily pulled a cuddly toy giraffe out of the box. It was Tiny, but new and wrapped in cellophane.
Olivia sat up and looked into the box. It was stuffed full of new Tiny toys.
“We just saw the demise of Tiny Mark Seventeen,” Emily explained. “This one has lasted the longest. The first Tiny you ever saw was Mark Fifteen. You don’t even want to know what happened to him.”
Olivia gasped. “Y-you’ve replaced Tiny since we’ve been together?”
“Twice,” Emily confirmed. She continued to unwrap the toy.
“And you never told me?”
“I didn’t know if you could be trusted.”
“We’re married!” Olivia cried.
“Less talking, more fluffing,” Emily thrust Tiny into Olivia’s hands. “He needs to feel soft, pliable. Get fluffing.”
“Fluffing?” Olivia held the new toy in shock.
“Fluffing. Bend him, punch him if you have to.” Emily sealed the box and climbed back up the ladder to replace it.
“What happened to Sixteen?” Olivia asked as she squished the giraffe.
“Left in Lucy’s garden and run over by a lawnmower. There wasn’t much to work with that time, so I had to do most of it from memory.”
Olivia winced at the mental image of Tiny being ripped through the blades.
“No, no, no,” Emily complained as she returned with another box. “You need to really go for it, this is a toy that has been around for years! He’s soft. If you keep on like that you’ll be at it all night.”
“But he hasn’t been around for years,” Olivia complained as Emily snatched the imposter away.
“But Henry needs to believe he has been.” Emily put the new toy on the ground and started to walk on him. “Open the box.”
Olivia tore her eyes away from her sweet, mature wife trampling a toy giraffe. She opened the new box that Emily had placed on the protective sheet and looked inside.
“What’s all this?”
“Mud, grease, grass clippings, paint, scissors…”
A light-bulb moment occurred. “We’re going to…”
“Recreate Tiny, yes.” Emily picked the new toy up and walked over to the en-suite. She placed the toy on the edge of the doorframe and then looked towards Olivia with a grimace. “You might want to look away.”
Olivia turned away and heard the sound of cotton stuffing being smashed between the door and the frame. She shuddered.
“As you know,” Emily said. “Tiny is a bit floppy in the neck.”
“You disturb me,” Olivia commented.
Emily dropped the toy down onto the sheet and sat next to Olivia.
“Yeah, yeah,” Emily muttered. “Now, get the jar marked fake blood. Henry cut himself and there’s a tiny drop of dried blood on Tiny’s left ear.”
Olivia dug out the jar and handed it over. She watched as Emily picked up a small paintbrush and started to drab the tiniest amount of fake blood onto the ear.
“Wouldn’t all of this dirt have been washed away in the machine?” Olivia asked.
“Some of it, some of it is so ground-in that it stays. That’s the real challenge, making it look like clean dirt and not just dirt. There’s a science to this. I’ll teach you.”
She’d never much rated Emily’s artistic skills, but, clearly, they were of an extraordinary level if they were on Tiny Mark Eighteen. She couldn’t believe that Tiny had been replaced twice and she hadn’t noticed.
“Does this mean I’m here to stay?” Olivia asked with a grin.
“Yep.” Emily popped the word. “Or I’d have to kill you to protect my secret.”
Olivia chuckled.
She picked up the battered Tiny and started to examine him.
“He’s a little bald on his backside,” Olivia commented.
“There’s a disposable razor in the box,” Emily said.
Olivia searched through the questionable arts and crafts supplies and found the razor.
She watched Emily work with such care and precision. The entire production was born out of an incredible love and need to protect her son as much as she could. Olivia didn’t think it was possible to love Emily any more. But here she sat, cross-legged on the floor of their bedroom, preparing to shave the butt of a toy giraffe.
33
Henry walked into Olivia’s office with Tiny clutched under his arm. Emily had been gone for an hour, and Henry had already claimed his eternal boredom several times. Luckily, he was none the wiser about the imposter Tiny, or so it seemed. Olivia was on edge, waiting for him to quiz her about the toy.
“Bored,” he announced.
Olivia looked up from the bank statement she was checking. Henry was laying spread-eagled on the ground and staring up at the ceiling.
“I wish I was in London with Mommy,” he sighed.
She glanced at her watch. “Mommy isn’t in London yet, she’s probably barely at the airport.”
“I wish I was at the airport with Mommy,” he amended.
“Yes, well, you have school tomorrow.” Olivia picked up her pen and returned her attention to the bank statement in front of her.
“Mommy is going on a plane.”
“She is.”
“Will I ever go on a plane again?”
Olivia kept her head down but glanced up at Henry. She’d tried to avoid this conversation, but Henry didn’t look like he was going to be distracted.
“I’m sure you will,” she said without making promises.
“You don’t like planes anymore, do you?” Henry turned onto his front and rested his chin on hands as he looked up at her.
She’d promised Emily that she wouldn’t tell Henry the gruesome details of the plane crash. They didn’t want him to be afraid of flying. But she couldn’t lie to him, it wasn’t in her nature.
“I don’t,” she agreed.
“Are you still scared?”
Olivia bit the inside of her cheek as she wondered about all of the ways the conversation could potentially backfire.
“Because I used to be scared of spiders,” Henry continued. “But you taught me that they aren’t scary.”
Olivia lowered her pen and removed her glasses. She smiled at him as she remembered the day they had spent in the garden seeking out spiders.
“So, maybe I can help you not be scared of planes?” he suggested.
“Maybe,” she allowed. “How do you think we could do that?”
Henry thought about it for a second. “We play airplane!” He jumped to his feet and ran around the de
sk to grab Olivia’s hand. He pulled her to her feet and dragged her towards the dining room.
He let go of Olivia’s hand and started to pull the dining chairs into the space beside the table. She helped him to straighten the chairs into four rows of two, similar to airline seats, as they had done the last time they played the game.
“Sit,” Henry commanded, pointing to one of the chairs.
She considered reminding him of manners but decided to let him get away with it just this once.
She sat down and felt a familiar constricted feeling in her chest. It was the same jet of panic that rushed her whenever she thought about boarding a plane.
“You need to sit by the window,” Henry told her. He pointed to the chair next to the one she was on.
She shuffled over.
“Look out the window,” he instructed.
She smiled to herself and turned to look out of the make-believe window. She noticed the carpet needed to be vacuumed.
“What do you see? And put your seatbelt on.”
She buckled the imaginary belt and peered out of the non-existent window.
“Clouds.”
Henry sighed. “We haven’t taken off yet.”
“It’s a cloudy day,” she amended.
Henry walked up to the front of the chairs and placed Tiny on the floor. He walked back down the rows and sat on the chair next to her and fastened his seatbelt.
“Is Tiny the captain again?”
Henry nodded.
“Don’t you want to be the captain?”
He took her hand. “No, silly. I need to hold your hand because you’re frightened.”
She looked at their joined hands and swallowed awkwardly.
Just like the last time they had played, she was taken back to the first time she saw Henry. He looked so small in the first-class seat across the aisle, clutching onto the giant armrests and looking fearful. And he had a lot to be fearful of, his first time on a plane, flying to another country for surgery.
Olivia had instantly wanted to soothe him, and Emily, too. Inviting the small boy over to sit with her, have dinner with her, was the first step in what had become her future.
Things had changed. Now she was the one frightened and Henry was here for her, holding her hand and animatedly chatting about everything and nothing to keep her composed.
She turned to look out of the imaginary window. Henry kept chattering next to her, talking about a future business plan of his that involved crash helmets for bees. She tuned him out and imagined being in the air, clouds floating by and the sound of the engines whirring away in the background.
Flying had always been a pleasure. Especially flying first-class. While she wasn’t an aviation buff, she had a fascination and a respect for the dynamics of flight. The crash had been horrific, but she was aware of the statistics enough to know that it was a rarity.
“Olivia?”
She turned to look at him.
“If we ever went back to London, I think I’d like to go to the zoo again.”
Olivia licked her lips nervously. Sitting on some chairs in the dining room was very different from actually flying.
“We’ll see,” she said diplomatically.
34
Emily walked up the spiral staircase to the top of the theatre. The auditorium was becoming too loud and hectic to work in. As fascinating as it was to see the inner workings of the theatre, she didn’t need to hear the director screaming at the actors for hours at a time.
Hannah had told her about the old admin rooms at the top of the building. Behind a door marked “private” and up a few flights of concrete stairs, and, suddenly, it was like she was in another world. The rooms were painted white and had windows that overlooked the city. It was like being on a movie set, seeing all of London laid out before her.
Seamstresses busied themselves in a couple of the rooms, needing the natural light to see what they were doing. Another room contained an old piano, which had Emily wondering how on earth anyone had gotten it in there. At the end of the corridor were two rooms, one being used by a poor marketing intern who was stuffing envelopes, and the other for Emily’s use.
At this late stage, the changes were few but frantic in their pace. The actors would run through one scene at a time while the production management team mulled over each sentence they spoke. If they required changes, Emily had only a couple of hours to make them.
Luckily, she was good at thinking on the spot and didn’t buckle under pressure. She understood what people meant when they said there was a buzz to working in the theatre. The atmosphere was electric. Armies of people rushing around to bring together what seemed impossible. And yet there was an air of certainty that everything would be all right on opening night, even if it was held together by string behind the scenes. The illusion of the show was everything, the need for perfection in the eyes of the audience was essential.
She opened the door to her makeshift office and dropped her notepad and papers onto the small desk. She walked over to the window and looked out at the amazing view of London’s West End.
“Hi, Emily.”
She spun around and saw that Carl had entered the room. He must have been right behind her coming up the stairs. She wondered if he had followed her or if he had already been on his way to the room.
“Hey,” she tried to sound casual.
“I have an extra ticket for the preview on Wednesday, I wondered if you wanted it?” Carl asked.
Everyone had been allocated four tickets for the preview. It was the day before the actual opening night with paying guests and a good way to run through with a real audience without running the risk of bad reviews if anything went wrong.
Emily had already returned two of her four tickets. The only people she knew in London other than Nicole were Simon and Sophie. Any unused tickets were to be given back to the box office to be handed out to people who had requested more. The chance to see a West End show for free was highly sought-after, and the list for extra tickets was known to be enormous.
“Thanks, but I already had to return two of mine,” Emily explained.
“Oh, yes.” He gently smacked himself on the forehead. “Of course, you don’t really have anyone, do you?”
Emily bristled. “Not in this country,” she replied.
Carl winced. “Sorry, didn’t mean that to sound bad.”
“It’s fine.” Emily picked up her pen from the desk. “Thank you, but I don’t need the tickets. Was there anything else? I need to get these changes done.”
“Do you want some help?” Carl offered.
Carl was supposed to be working on a new production for the company. A fact that had caused Emily to breathe a huge sigh of relief. While he had helped her to learn the ropes, he was also uncomfortable to be around. More so now that Emily was convinced that he was the stalker.
“No, it’s fine,” Emily replied. “Just some last-minute things. Jonathan is being a diva again.”
“Yeah, that’s Jonathan for you. Be warned, he usually has a strop right before show time as well.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Emily said frostily. “I’ll be fine.”
“Sure? I don’t mind helping.” He edged forward, and the room suddenly felt a lot smaller.
Emily wondered if the marketing intern next door would hear her if she screamed. Or maybe Carl would back off if she did. Maybe if she told him that she knew it was him, told him that she’d report him to the police, he might leave.
“Ah, here you both are,” Nicole said as she entered the room.
Emily felt relieved to have company
“I have a spare ticket for the preview,” Carl explained. “I wanted to see if Emily wanted it, but she doesn’t.”
“I’ll have it,” Nicole said. “I was just speaking to Amy, and she needs another seat. Can you drop it into the production office?”
“Sure.” Carl nodded and started to leave the room.
“Thanks, Carl, you’re a darling,”
Nicole called after him.
Emily licked her lips. She wanted to say something, but it was clear that Nicole was fond of Carl. While she was sure that Carl was the stalker, she didn’t have any evidence and she didn’t want to rock the boat. Nicole was her agent, and Olivia’s friend.
“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Nicole said.
“Fine, just skipped lunch,” Emily replied quickly.
Nicole didn’t seem convinced, but luckily, she didn’t seem to want to push the issue either. “I just wanted to check if you had received the paperwork for the dual taxation thing?”
Emily nodded. “Yep. Didn’t understand a word of it,” she said jokingly.
“No one does, darling. That’s why accountants are filthy rich. The rest of us haven’t got a clue what we’re signing.” Nicole smiled.
“The trick is to marry one.” Emily chuckled.
“I’m trying!” Nicole bemoaned good-naturedly. “Anyway, I’ll let you get on. I know you must be swamped.”
“Yes, these minor rewrites are coming in thick and fast,” Emily said. “You weren’t kidding when you said it got hectic as we get closer to opening night.”
“Preview night will be the worst,” Nicole stated. “That’s when we have the audience in and we can see people’s reactions. From preview to opening night there will be a lot of changes.”
“Carl mentioned that. I’ve put aside some extra hours, and I’ll be in early on Thursday.”
“Fantastic. I’m glad Carl prepared you for the horrors! Stick close to him, he knows everything there is to know about the writing side of the business. And if you need any assistance we can always pull him off his current project. This is more important.”
Emily tried to fix a smile on her face. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Lovely, just keep it in mind. I don’t want to work you into the ground in your last couple of weeks.” Nicole’s phone beeped, and she looked at the device that she’d been holding. “Better get back to it, I’ll catch up with you later.”
Emily said goodbye and let out a sigh. She’d be gone in less than two weeks, so there really wasn’t much point in saying anything to Nicole about Carl. Presumably this situation had never occurred before or Nicole would have mentioned something. And while Carl was creepy, he was never pushy when they were in the same room. Almost as if he was frightened of her. Emily assumed he was one of those men who was full of bravado and swagger up until he was in front of the woman he was trying to impress. And then he crumbled.
