It was late, well past 10 p.m., when she finally put her key in the lock and found Susan on her own with a big mug of tea in front of the TV, as Melissa had already gone to bed. It was dreary and damp outside, it had been drizzling rain all day, so it was a real treat for Nancy to come home to the warmth of a fire and the beautiful smell of something garlicky wafting in from the kitchen.
‘Hey there, roomie!’ Susan said, lighting up with a genuine smile as Nancy came into the living room and perched down on the sofa beside her.
She’d been reading, Nancy noticed, and was carefully putting away a book titled, My Journey Through Grief – Honouring Your Loved One and Learning to Live Again.
‘This was a gift from Eric,’ she explained, seeing Nancy noticing the title.
‘Ahh,’ Nancy replied. ‘Any good?’
‘The truth?’ Susan said with a wry smile. ‘Is that it’s basically a diary with a fancy title, where you write down memories you have of your loved one. All the bad memories, as well as the good ones. According to Eric, the most painful memories are the ones that are never expressed or explained. Which is certainly true in my case.’
‘And do you find it helps?’
‘At first I didn’t think it would,’ Susan said drily. ‘I thought this was just a big load of self-help nonsense. But actually, the more I write, the better I seem to feel. I wasn’t always honest with myself, but I’m certainly seeing big changes in my life, now that I’m trying to be.’
Nancy smiled. But then the more she got to know her new housemate, the more she was coming to like and respect her. Susan was a brave soul and she was working so hard on herself to really try to heal. This world would be a far better place, Nancy thought, looking fondly at her, if there were more people like Susan Hayes in it.
‘Anyway, never mind about me,’ Susan said, pulling her feet up on the sofa beside her. ‘How was your day? You’re so late home, you must be wrecked.’
‘Where do I start?’ Nancy groaned exhaustedly, peeling off her coat as the full force of exhaustion really hit her. ‘It’s production week for us, so we finally get onto the stage and the cast and crew get to work on the actual set for the very first time. Costumes, lighting, props, scenery – this is the week where it all comes together.’
‘Must be exciting.’
‘It is.’ Nancy nodded back. ‘But it’s bloody terrifying too. Generally everything that can go wrong, will – at least, that’s the rule of thumb. We have to work our way through every single sound and lighting cue for the entire play and really nail them down until everything is flowing perfectly. That’s just the technical end of it, though, because when that’s done, we move on to doing dress rehearsals and then our first few previews, to really bring performances up to speed.’
‘So a preview is a bit like a public dress rehearsal, then?’ Susan asked.
‘Exactly,’ Nancy told her. ‘But we get to gauge audience reaction, so we often do a lot of chopping and changing between the first preview and the actual opening night.’
‘You poor thing – that’s a gruelling week you’ve got ahead of you, by the sound of it.’
‘That’s the thing about being an assistant director,’ Nancy told her. ‘My job is a bit like being a plumber. When everything is ticking along nicely, no one should notice what I do – it should be invisible. But if even the slightest thing goes wrong . . . ’
‘Then the shit really hits the fan.’ Susan nodded as Nancy smiled back at her.
‘But hey! On the plus side, I get to come back to this beautiful home and spend time with you and Melissa. So I’m certainly not complaining!’
‘I’m so glad you’ve settled in.’ Susan smiled. ‘Melissa loves having you here – and so do I.’
‘That was one of the worst things about finding out I’d been taken for a complete ride by Sam Williams,’ Nancy said, wincing a bit at the memory.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well,’ she went on to explain, ‘when Sam Williams Senior told me to pack my bags, I wasn’t upset at having to leave that gorgeous house as much as I was at having to leave all of you ladies. My tiger lilies, as I call you now. You, Melissa, Jayne – you’ve all been like a second family to me since I moved to Dublin and the thought of having to move far away from you . . . I love being here on Primrose Square so much, you see. Not just for the fab location, but for its sense of community. You all care deeply about each other, you look out for each other and when I first moved here from London . . . well, for various reasons, that’s exactly what I was craving. A feeling like I really belonged.’
‘You never really talk about your life back in London,’ Susan said gently. ‘In fact, you rarely mention it at all. I hope . . . well, let’s just say I hope everything is okay for you over there?’
Nancy had to compose herself before she could answer. This is the second time today, she thought, that I’ve been asked about my other life in London.
‘I had to get out of there,’ she eventually said, knowing that Susan was a good listener and could be trusted. ‘I just had to. It all happened so fast, but I knew I had to leave London behind, for my own sanity if nothing else.’
Then to Nancy’s own surprise, she started to tear up a bit, as emotional exhaustion finally got the better of her. She could never let it show at the National, where she kept her ‘work face’ firmly on at all times. But here was different. Here, with Susan, she felt safe. Protected. Minded by one of her fellow tiger lilies.
‘You okay?’ Susan asked her.
Nancy nodded back, unable to go any further for the minute.
‘You know what I think?’ Susan said, getting to her feet and walking over to the drinks cabinet beside her fireplace. ‘You and me need a glass of wine.’
Nancy smiled back at her.
‘Now then,’ Susan said, pouring two glasses of Merlot, handing one to Nancy and sitting back down again. ‘At St Michael’s, the one thing I learned was that talking things out is how we begin to heal. At first I thought it was a pile of bollocks, but now . . . I see the wisdom in it. So here I am, love. And I’m told I’ve become a good listener.’
Nancy gratefully took a sip of the wine and sat back against the lovely, plush sofa.
‘Bad break-up?’ Susan guessed.
A nod told her everything she needed to know.
‘Very bad. So bad. Imagine the very worst you’ve ever heard of and then keep on multiplying from there,’ Nancy said.
‘I knew it,’ Susan said. ‘It never made sense to me, you know. A gorgeous, vibrant woman like you, on her own? I had a feeling something was going on, but of course, none of my business, et cetera. All I’m saying is if you want to talk, here I am.’
There was a long silence before Nancy went any further.
‘His name was . . . I mean, is, Peter Wallace,’ she said. ‘He’s a director. Older guy, onto his third marriage by the time we met, well-known around the theatre circuit for decades.’
‘Go on,’ said Susan supportively. ‘How did you first meet?’
‘On a directorship programme that I won a place on a few years ago,’ Nancy told her. ‘It meant two years of good, solid work at the Kensington Theatre, and of course I was thrilled, not just at that, but at the chance to be mentored by someone like Peter Wallace, whose work I’d admired for years. And at first, it was brilliant – magic. We did four shows together, mostly classical plays, eighteenth-century comedies, that kind of thing, and audiences seemed to enjoy it, the box office was roaring and all was well. But then things began to shift a bit between Peter and me.’
‘He made a move on you, you mean?’ Susan asked.
Nancy nodded. ‘He told me he’d separated from his wife,’ she said. ‘I was such a fool ever to have believed him, but I suppose a large part of me wanted to by then. We’d worked together so closely, you see, and you’ve no idea how claustrophobic theatre work is – you’re together day and night, and all kinds of hothouse relationships develop that
maybe shouldn’t. But by then, I was mad about Peter – he was so gifted and attractive and full of charm, so when he asked me out, I said yes. This, I thought, is a man I really respect and admire – I thought we made a good team. We were together for just a few months, that was all, but then . . . ’
‘Already I hate the sound of this gobshite, Wallace, whatever his name is,’ Susan said tightly. ‘Without you saying another word, I want to wring his neck.’
‘What makes it all worse,’ Nancy said, taking a sip of wine, ‘is that all the signs were there, only of course I paid absolutely no attention. Peter would only ever meet me for dinner in out of the way places where we wouldn’t meet anyone we knew. And if he stayed over, it was always at my little flat, never at his. He never even introduced me to his friends, his family. And then, not long after, I found out through a mutual pal that he wasn’t separated at all. He was still very much with his wife. I’ll never forget it: the Olivier Awards were on TV and I was watching it from my sofa at home. And there he was on the screen, Peter with his third wife Camilla. Looking so loved up, I could barely process what I was seeing.’
‘What a complete bastard! So what did you do?’
‘He called me the night after the Oliviers, but I told him I never wanted to see him again.’
‘And did he keep pestering you?’
Nancy nodded. ‘It went on for months. He saw no reason why we couldn’t still continue “our little fling”, as he so romantically put it, even though I spelled it out to him in six-foot high letters. “You’re married,” I kept telling him, “and you lied to me. You’re unavailable and the answer is a very firm no.” I thought Peter would be professional enough not to let it interfere with work, but boy, was I wrong. Because from that day on, doors that had opened for me suddenly started slamming in my face. I was supposed to start work as assistant director on a Shakespeare play at the Kensington, but I was dropped at the last minute. And I knew without being told that it was because of Peter.’
‘He sounds like a very powerful man in your world.’
‘He is.’ Nancy nodded. ‘And now I was seeing what it was like to be out in the cold. Not only that, but then he started putting out all sorts of rumours about me, that I was difficult to work with, a diva, unprofessional, a has-been.’
‘Jesus, Nancy, this is horrendous!’ Susan said, getting incensed.
‘Worst of all,’ Nancy said, taking another badly needed sip of wine, ‘he took my good name down with him. All manner of horrible stories started to get back to me, through the few pals I had who believed my side of the story. Camilla, his wife, had found out about us, but Peter made it out that I was the one who’d been harassing him. That I’d thrown myself at him, and was now acting like some kind of dumped, vengeful ex from hell. All complete fiction, of course, but, you see, the theatre world is a tight-knit one and the story gained traction so fast, it terrified me. Even close pals started to ask me if it was true, that I was effectively stalking Peter – whereas the truth was, it had been the other way around.’
Nancy broke off there, too gutted to say more. Reliving it was painful beyond words for her and so many sabre-sharp memories came back. How deeply she’d cared for Peter, trusted him, believed all his lies. How he’d strung her along and messed with her mind, then cast her aside when it suited him. The emotional cost was one thing, but was it fair that she had to pay a professional cost too?
‘I could kill him,’ Susan said, sounding angry on her behalf. ‘I could actually kill him for doing that to you.’
‘Then this job in Dublin came up,’ Nancy went on, ‘so of course, I grabbed it with both hands.’
‘And I, for one,’ Susan said, ‘am bloody glad that you did.’
‘I am too,’ Nancy said sincerely. ‘You’ve no idea what working here has done for my confidence and self-esteem.’
‘In spite of the whole Sam Williams thing?’
‘Well,’ Nancy said, ‘in retrospect, a lot of that was my own stupid fault. The Sam I thought I was in touch with was safely in Shanghai, over five thousand miles away. Enough distance, I thought, so that he could never hurt me again, like Peter had. So I suppose I let myself fall for the idea of him, if nothing else.’
‘Makes perfect sense.’ Susan nodded wisely.
‘I came here to Dublin to get away, little knowing that I’d never want to leave you all. But meeting and coming to live among you ladies has been better than anything. Like a kind of balm to the soul, as they say. You all took me under your wing right from the very start and you made me feel like . . . well, like family, really. I was so lonely when I first came here, you know,’ she added, ‘and now, the truth is, I don’t know how I’ll ever go back to London.’
Susan sat back, wrapped in thought.
‘But you’ve got to go back, Nancy,’ she eventually said. ‘You can’t hide from this forever; you’ve got to right it.’
‘That’s the whole thing, though,’ Nancy said with feeling. ‘I couldn’t then and I can’t now. It’s effectively Peter’s word against mine, and because he’s the big marquee name, lots of people in the business are taking his side—’
‘But that’s crazy!’ Susan interrupted. ‘That Peter guy harassed you and it cost you work, and it’s just wrong on so many levels. You don’t have to take this lying down, Nancy. You can fight this!’
It took a long time before Nancy could answer her.
‘For the longest time, though, I felt like I couldn’t. Because I wasn’t some ingénue actress being targeted. I was complicit. I dated Peter, actually properly dated him, when I thought he was separated. My dad wanted to wring his neck, he was so angry, but my mum was different. She and I both felt that my case was a muddy one – it’s different to the ones you read about, isn’t it? So when this job came along, Mum was one hundred per cent behind my taking it and putting it all behind me. “It’ll be a fresh start for you,” she kept saying, and I could only agree.’
‘Harassment is harassment!’ Susan said firmly, ‘and abuse of power is just that, no matter how you dress it up. You did absolutely nothing wrong, Nancy, and the cost to you was your career in London. And you know what? It’s not good enough. You were blameless in all this and you’ve got to do something.’
‘I know,’ Nancy sighed. ‘Mbeki in work has been saying exactly the same thing too. But where do I even begin to right this?’
‘By telling the truth,’ Susan said. ‘Your truth, your way. And by starting right now.’
Jayne
19 PRIMROSE SQUARE
At exactly the same time, a conversation of a very different sort was taking place in number nineteen Primrose Square. Up in Jayne’s bedroom, to be exact, as Jayne lay tucked up in her own bed with Eric beside her, their limbs in a huge tangle under the duvet as he cradled her tightly into his chest.
‘Oh dear God, Eric,’ she said, sitting up with a sudden jolt, completely shattering the lazy, cosy spell that had held them in thrall for the past few, blissful hours.
‘Hey honey?’ he said through the drowsy half-darkness, looking down at her as she writhed away from him. ‘What’s up? You okay?’
‘I’m not a bit okay,’ she said. ‘I’m only mortified!’
‘Why is that?’ he asked, genuinely worried now.
‘Eric, would you look at the state of the bedlinen! If I’d known I’d be having company up here, I’d at least have put clean sheets on the bed. And hoovered up a bit. I never thought for two seconds I’d be entertaining company up here!’ She could have added something about her hairy underarms and the fuzz on her legs, but prudently decided that it was probably best not to even go there.
‘Aww, honey, listen to you . . . ’ Eric said soothingly, wrapping his arms around her. At that, she sank back into him, loving the feel of strong arms embracing her. Loving his vitality and warmth and, if it didn’t sound too mad, the rude good health emanating from the man. Just goes to show you, she thought to herself, there’s a lot to be said for the teeto
tal, yoga-loving, organic lifestyle, no matter what anyone said.
‘You think I care about stuff like your bedsheets?’ Eric teased. ‘You know all I care about is you.’
‘And I care about you too,’ she said softly. Except when she said ‘care’, what she really meant was ‘love’. And the weird thing was, she knew exactly that that was what he had meant too.
They stretched out together. Eric nuzzled into her neck in a way that did all manner of funny things to her, and she was just about to lean even deeper into him when, out of nowhere, the phone on her bedside table began to ring.
‘Oh, just let it ring,’ Eric whispered hoarsely, kissing her more deeply now, and as much as Jayne was loving all the kissing, part of her still fretted that this could be important. Maybe it was Susan or Melissa or someone who needed her?
‘Oh my God, it’s Jason,’ she said out loud, as she stretched over Eric to fumble for the ringing phone. ‘What can he want?’
‘Take the call, honey,’ Eric said with a smile, helpfully handing the phone to her. ‘I know my girl. You won’t relax till you know there isn’t someone somewhere who needs help.’
‘Hello?’ Jayne said, answering. ‘Jason, love, is that you?’
She cradled the phone in between herself and Eric, so he was able to listen into both sides of the chat.
‘Ehh, yeah, how are things with you, Ma?’ said Jason, sounding like he was ringing from home. Jayne could clearly hear the twins in the background, fighting over a top one of them had borrowed and seemed to have got deodorant stains on.
‘All well here,’ Jayne said, trying not to giggle. ‘Nothing strange or startling to report.’
‘Ahh, great, great,’ said Jason. ‘Anyway, the thing is, Ma, me and Irene would like to invite you and Eric over for dinner this weekend.’
‘A proper, formal dinner, tell her!’ Jayne heard Irene say crisply in the background. ‘In the dining room. Like a Christmas dinner, be sure to say that to her.’
The Secrets of Primrose Square Page 31
