Theatrical

by Maggie Harcourt

  “It was me.”

  Everyone turns and looks towards the stall doors, where Tommy is leaning against the end seat of the last row.

  “Sorry,” he adds. He doesn’t sound remotely sorry.

  Rick folds his arms again, his toes almost on the very edge of the stage.

  “You?”

  Just like Tommy doesn’t sound sorry, Rick doesn’t sound convinced.

  “I came back to work on a scene. By myself.”

  “You signed out…”

  “Yes, I know. I came back. Later.” He raises an eyebrow at his brother. “And yes, I forgot to sign back in. Sue me.”

  “The producers might,” mutters Rick – just loudly enough to be sure he’s heard – then pins Tommy with a hard stare. All Tommy does is study his nails. It’s possibly the most Tommy thing I’ve ever seen, and Rick has absolutely no answer.

  “Well, then. If that’s all cleared up, I’ll hand over to Amy, and then we’ll get started. There’s one or two odd scenes I know she wants to go over one more time, but once we kick off the main rehearsal, we’ll be running straight through. Any concerns or questions, save them for the end. Have a good dress, everyone.”

  Amy takes over, running through all the usual health and safety warnings, a couple of points about some scenery that’s been brought up from the workshop…but none of it sticks. It flies in through one ear and out of the other, because all I have room for in my head is why? Why did Tommy lie – and why did he lie to cover for us? For me?

  I scramble past the desks to the end of the row, but before I can grab him, Amy calls my name. Reluctantly, I let Tommy go and watch as the door to backstage closes behind him.

  “Hope?”

  “Yes, coming. Sorry, Amy.” As I clamber onto the apron of the stage, I try not to look back over at the wings. I should have put everything away…

  “Did you get all that?” Amy’s voice cuts through my thoughts like a buzzsaw. I blink at her – and to my surprise, she laughs. “You’re tired, I know. This is how it feels at the end of every technical rehearsal period – it’s the same for everyone.”

  I nod. This is all she’s looking for, because she continues.

  “I’ve got something nice and straightforward for you this morning before we start the full dress. Tommy and George are working on that final quick-change – you know the one? In the crossover downstairs.” She holds out a stopwatch. “Tommy only has ninety seconds to get offstage after the blackout, get downstairs, change and then come back out onto the other side before the lights come up. Ninety seconds. That’s the longest we’ve got for the scene change. Thirty seconds each way up and down the stairs and to get clear of the wings, which means he’s got to do the complete change and the crossover in what’s left – and he’s got two fire doors to get through on the way. Can you take this down and time them?”

  “Time Tommy changing?”

  “God knows he needs the help.”

  As I kick the backstage door open, I wonder what all Tommy’s adoring fans outside would make of this…

  Neither Tommy nor George are particularly pleased to see me when I walk through the door downstairs to find George holding a bundle of clothes and Tommy standing shirtless in the middle of the corridor, with a shoe in one hand. “Faaaabulous,” he mutters sarcastically – but that’s nothing compared to what he says when he sees Amy’s stopwatch in my hand. Normally, this whole situation might be pretty cool (seriously: shirtless superstar) but right now all I can think about is getting this done. The faster this goes, the sooner we can get to the rehearsal, and the quicker that’s done, the sooner I can get home – hopefully before anyone (namely my sisters) has a chance to start talking about me behind my back, like they usually do. The only bright point is that at least if they’d seen the photos of me online, one or both of them would have been straight on the phone to Mum and as nobody’s called me to yell at me – not about that anyway – I must still be okay. Even so, I can do without all the predictable niggling little comments, especially right before opening night. Either way, today is going to be all about timing.

  “Sorry.” I shrug, trying not to actually look at him. “But you’ve only got thirty seconds to get from here…” I walk straight past him, right along the corridor to the far end, “to here and do a full change. And you’ve not done it in under forty-five so far.”

  “Well, I can’t. It’s ludicrous,” Tommy snaps, dropping the shoe and shoving his foot into it so hard that the elastic laces make a loud twang. “Why can’t I just use the crossover behind the backcloth instead of all this sprinting up and down stairs?”

  “Because the crew will be using it at that point. You’ve seen how much set there is to clear, and you know how long there is to do it. The best way is just to push everything back…”

  “Even if that means I have to do this?” He flaps a shirt at me so hard that the sleeve snaps out through the air like a whip.

  “Over and over and over. Ready?” I hold up the watch as he wriggles back into the shirt. “Ready, George?”

  Both of them roll their eyes, and I ignore them both.

  “Reset… And three, two, one…”

  “This is ridiculous!” Tommy’s howl of frustration bounces off the bare concrete of the corridor as he kicks the wall. Hard.

  “That time was better – it really was. You got it down to…” I check the watch and decide it’s probably best not to be too specific. Not since Tommy is now resting his forehead against the wall and muttering a long soliloquy of swear words at it, like it’s somehow the wall’s fault. I almost feel sorry for him.

  “Look, we haven’t got time to do another run right now. Rick wants to get the dress rehearsal started in a couple of minutes, so you’ll get another chance at the end of that anyway.” Nothing I say seems to be making any difference, good or bad. Tommy’s not listening.

  Now’s my chance. I take a step closer, and even if he didn’t hear me before, he obviously hears that, because he opens one eye and half-turns his head towards me.

  “What now?”

  “Tommy…”

  “Spit it out, will you?”

  “Earlier. When Rick said about someone being here last night…”

  Was that the smallest glimmer of a smile? Or a flicker of triumph? It’s gone too fast for me to be sure. I lower my voice. “You know, don’t you? You know that I was here with…”

  “With lover boy?”

  Everything going through my head must be visible on my face, because he laughs quietly – but not unkindly. “Oh, yes. I saw you. I did come back to work on a scene, funnily enough. I felt like I needed to clear my mind after…well, you know. That tabloid nonsense. So I thought I might as well do that. And I found the stage…shall we say, occupied?”

  From the inside, my face feels hot enough to fry eggs on. I want the concrete to swallow me up and close over my head. Bury me under the theatre and have done with it. Tommy grins and shakes his head, pushing himself away from the wall. “You covered for me at the costume parade, didn’t you? George told me that was all you. So look at this as my repaying the favour.”

  And with a flick of his head, he scoops up his shoes and pads away barefoot down the corridor without another word.

  I didn’t realize I’d done him a favour – I was just trying to do my job and keep everything and everyone running to schedule. Either way, though, I suppose it’s worked out okay.

  “What was all that?” George folds the second costume over his arm, ready to take it away for pressing.

  “Just Tommy being Tommy, I think.”

  George nods as though he’s listening, but he isn’t really. He’s nervous: nervous about the dress rehearsal, about the quick changes, about all his work finally needing to be on show, and he babbles away at me as we walk back over to wardrobe. Nathalie’s already busy with someone in the make-up chair, and the radio’s playing quietly in the background.

  “Looks like I’d better give these to Jonna and get to work
,” George says, lifting his armful of clothes. I’ve got to know him well enough by now, even in this short time, to understand what the look on his face means, and I reach for his hand under the bundle, taking it in mine and squeezing it.

  “You’ll be ace. It’s only the dress rehearsal – that means for you too. And they’re only wigs. You’re not fitting…I don’t know, pacemakers or something. It’s not life and death.”

  He blinks at me, then sniffs. “You know as well as anyone that theatre is much more important that that.”

  But as he says it, he squeezes my hand right back.

  While Amy and Chris run through the fly cues one last time, I duck into a seat at the back of the auditorium. Sliding as far down into it as I can and resting my feet on the back of the seat in front, I call Priya.

  “Hello, stranger.”

  “Funny.”

  “No, no. I don’t know who this is. I mean, I thought it was my mate, but that was before she neglected to tell me she was hanging out with TOMMY KNIGHT. I had to find out like everybody else.”

  Ah.

  “Look, I thought we’d sorted that…” It certainly felt like it after an hour messaging back and forth about Tommygate last night. The plus side is that because it’s on SixGuns (which neither of them would ever dream of reading) at least it seems to have passed my parents by – which means that hopefully I don’t ever have to have that particular conversation.

  “And like I said, I get that you couldn’t tell me it was Piecekeepers…”

  “I knew you’d figure it out…”

  “But you could have told me that you and Tommy were friends now.”

  “That wouldn’t exactly be true.”

  “Seriously?”

  I shuffle in my seat. “I’m sorry – they had me sign a confidentiality thing. I couldn’t tell anybody. It wasn’t just you, honest.”

  There’s a long silence, then a sigh. However pissed off at me she may be, I know Priya will understand that.

  “Fine. So how’s it going at your secret theatre on your secret show with your secret star-slash-new best friend?”

  I’m forgiven. For now… “Remind me what it’s like to be outside? People keep talking about this thing called ‘daylight’, but I think that’s a lie and it’s all just another lighting filter.”

  There’s a crash from somewhere behind the stage backcloth, but when I peer across the auditorium, nobody else is moving so I decide to ignore it.

  “Don’t pretend you’re not loving every minute of it, Parker. And if you’re not, I’m more than happy to trade places with you.”

  “Why? What are you doing?”

  “Guess who – seeing as she apparently has nothing better to do during her Easter break – is helping her grandparents clean out their attic?” She shifts her phone, and something in the background crackles. “You have no idea what this place is like. There are spiders everywhere, and I just found a pile of magazines from 1982. Actual magazines that are older than I am. In the attic. And from the way my grandfather freaked out when I threw them down the ladder, they’re apparently more precious than I am, too.”

  “You’re taking them for the Square Globe props store, aren’t you?”

  She just laughs – of course she is. It’s what we do. We scavenge, we borrow, we liberate.

  I think back to my clunky old ex-Earl’s headset at the Square Globe, and instinctively, I touch my ear where my current one should sit.

  “Listen, Pree…I need a favour.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “I might need one, anyway. I don’t know yet…but can you cover for me again?” I can practically hear her rolling her eyes, so I add: “Because you’ve done such a good job of it so far, and I’ll owe you for ever?”

  The crackling sound in the background stops. “Does this have anything to do with a certain leading man…?”

  Seeing as I’ve been keeping her up-to-date about Luke in our messages, this conversation could go either way.

  Not that I told her much, just his name. And what he looks like. And sounds like. And smells like. And how he acts. And…

  I pretty much told her everything.

  And then, of course, I remember that I’m talking to Priya, so she almost certainly meant Tommy.

  “It’s the dress rehearsal today, but Mum’s ordered me home early to help her with dinner.”

  “They’re definitely coming then?”

  “Yep.”

  “You could always fake your own death. Get George to help you.”

  “It’ll be fine. It’s just…not a good time, you know? My head’s full of stuff and…” I rub a hand over my face. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss having Priya in the theatre with me, but suddenly the fact she’s not there makes me feel overwhelmingly alone.

  “Hey. Hey!” I can hear the boards of the attic floor creaking down the phone. “Don’t you flake out on me. No way. You’re doing this – you’re at the Earl’s. Just like you always wanted.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not here.”

  “And if I were in your place, I guarantee I wouldn’t be chatting down the phone to you. I’d be living my actual best life in a professional theatre, just like you’re going to do when you get off the line. Right after you get Tommy Knight’s number for your oldest friend.” She coughs pointedly.

  “So if the rehearsal goes long, I can say I’m with you?”

  “Sure. Or…and here’s a revolutionary thought – are you ready? You could tell your mum what you’re doing and make everything easier? She’d probably love it, you know.”

  “That’s the problem. She would, and then she’d want to help, and I’ve had to dodge her once already when she turned up here…”

  “You what? You didn’t tell me that! She’ll be so upset when she finds out!”

  I hadn’t actually thought about it like that.

  But right now, with Amy striding across the stage and giving a thumbs up to Rick, it’s not the time to think about it either.

  “Pree, I’ve got to go, okay? I owe you – I’ll make sure there’s a ticket for you – I’ll message you.”

  She shouts goodbye just before I hang up, and I stuff my phone into my pocket and slip back into the aisle.

  I drop into a seat behind the prompt desk. Amy’s cueing the dress rehearsal, so just for once all I have to do is sit here and watch.

  The lights go down, and the stage is dark…and it starts, and oh, my heart. Suddenly, everyone knows the steps, the notes. All the pieces have dropped into place and you can’t see the hours, the weeks and months that have gone into it. It looks like everyone up there is saying the first thing that comes into their heads – not lines they’ve spent for ever learning, practising, trying with first one inflection and then another. Every time Jamie and Lizzie touch, it’s like they can’t not. Luke, my Luke, is not Luke at all, but Lancelot, pacing the floor of the Piecekeepers’ tower and full of doubt and rage and despair… And even though I know he’s under there, buried beneath someone else’s soul, I feel almost guilty for the flutter in the pit of my stomach when he comes right to the front of the stage and stares into the auditorium. I can feel his voice echoing through every layer of my skin.

  It takes me until the second half to realize I’ve stopped seeing Tommy and Juliet up there. I’ve stopped knowing that when Jamie runs a hand through Lizzie’s hair, that pause – that tiny, tiny pause that lasts less than a single breath – isn’t hesitation, it’s Tommy keeping his hand from catching in Juliet’s long wig. It doesn’t look anything other than real.

  And when it comes to an end, and they stop – that last line left hanging unsaid for luck – everyone else feels it too. It’s like the building has come alive, like it’s somehow smiling. Like the air’s full of sparks or snow or…something magical.

  When Rick stands and asks for the house lights, people trickle back onto the stage. He’s smiling, and one by one, I see that same smile spread across every face up there; every face out in the auditorium. />
  Amy shuffles her notes together and sits back in her chair.

  “We’re there,” she says.

  I wish I could tell Luke how good he was, how good he is; I wish I could be waiting for him when he comes back up from the dressing rooms, but there isn’t time. So I type a quick message to him, which is basically just a long string of exclamation marks and a heart…then I delete the heart. Then I put it back again, and add another one for good measure, before hitting send and stuffing my phone into my bag. Then I scoot from one side of the wings to the other, sweeping up bags, hats and assorted other bits of abandoned costume and throwing them all into a laundry basket from the quick-change area. All I’ve got to do is deliver this to George, pick up a folder from the office and I’m gone. And I’m not even that late. Sort of.

  Wedging the basket under my arm, I shove the production office door open – and stop. All of the lights are off except one, right over in the corner – the one over the model box. Two little figures stand in the middle again, holding hands like before…but now they are turned to face one another, and above them is a tangle of thick red threads and tiny little golden globes.

  Even when he isn’t here, he is.

  I smile and grab my folder, then flick off the light, leaving them alone together.

  “You want to come hang out in the laundry?” George swings back and forth in the open doorway. “I’ve got some trousers to age with a cheese grater.” He waves it at me to prove he’s not making it up.

  “Mmm. Tempting, but I’ve got to run.” I shake my head and toss the basket of bags, hats and other bits of abandoned costume to him, checking my watch. “My mum’s invited both my sisters home for a few days, so I’ve got an evening of family fun ahead of me and I’m already late.” I stop wriggling into my coat and peer around him at the rack of costumes that need attention before tomorrow night. “Actually, do you want to swap? I’ll take an entire night of ironing and trouser-grating if you’ll go deal with my sisters…”

  “Trouser-grating?”

  “It’s been a long day, George. Let it go.”

  “Mmm. Anyway, no deal. I’ve got enough sisters of my own, thanks, so a quiet night in an empty theatre is my idea of a good time.”