Merida had long ago found that it was so much easier to play a part than to be herself. Smile here, frown there, look angry... Merida drew on her talent in real life.
When her father’s new girlfriend had made it clear she didn’t want a teenage Merida around, instead of showing hurt she had put on a mask. It was so much easier than revealing herself. And when her mother had remarried, and the awful Mike had treated Merida like a maid—well, that was exactly what she’d pretended to be in her head.
It had made making the beds kind of fun.
And now she got to forget about Ethan and the hurt and be Arrow for the night.
Merida landed on stage—deliberately awkward. She dusted herself down, turned, and found herself in the arms of Married Man. The audience laughed.
For the next two hours Merida forgot the hurt, forgot the pain and fed off the audience’s reaction.
Or rather she remembered the hurt and remembered the pain and gave it all to her acting, simply poured it into her performance.
‘You’re on fire tonight, Merida!’ Daryl, the director, told her at the interval.
And in the second act she set them ablaze.
Yes, it was an Off-Off-Broadway production, with probably just half of the sixty seats taken tonight, and yet for a short while she simply escaped into her part.
But all too soon it was over, and she was back in the dingy dressing room, peeling off her wig and trying to fathom the fact that it was now sixteen nights without him.
But then there was a knock at the door and finally, finally hope arrived.
‘Someone to see you,’ Daryl said. ‘You might want to sort out your hair.’
‘Who is it?’
‘Believe me, he needs no introduction.’
Merida raked her fingers through her hair and then put on some lipstick. Her heart seemed to jump into her throat, and when there was another knock at the door she felt a little giddy from trying to remain calm.
It had to be Ethan.
She wondered how to play her reaction—and then halted herself as realisation hit. When they’d made love, and on the delicious morning after, she hadn’t been playing a part with Ethan. For the first time in for ever she had been utterly herself.
And so she did not force a bright smile as the door opened—the last couple of weeks had left her too confused for that—and neither did she change her voice for his benefit. And so it was a little unsteady when she called out, ‘Come in.’
Shy, nervous, excited, she watched as the door opened.
‘Merida, your performance just blew me away!’
Merida was possibly the only actress in history who had visibly sagged when the eminent producer Anton Del Bosco introduced himself.
* * *
It was the oddest night.
For it was the night where the dreams she had dreamt for so long finally came true.
Merida had been invited to audition for the part of Belladonna in Night Forest—a new Broadway production due to open in the summer.
It was career gold, and once Anton had gone Merida took all the congratulations of her colleagues and went out for supper with them to celebrate.
Yet she was the only one not drinking champagne. Because she was rather certain that if she did she might break down and cry.
This, she kept telling herself on the cab ride home, was the best night of her life.
But instead of arriving home on a high, she wearily trudged up the stairs to her apartment and once there slumped in a chair with her coat still on, just staring out of the window, listening to the noise from the restaurant below and the endless sirens outside.
And then she did something stupid.
Merida went on her laptop and looked up Ethan Devereux.
He was out tonight at a gala function. The Carmody Ball, she read.
Merida clicked.
And she clicked again.
And she tortured herself over and over. Because of course—unlike her devastated self—Ethan had moved right along.
Blonde and beautiful, there was nothing to hate about the woman who had been on his arm tonight.
And was no doubt by now in his bed.
Merida felt sick.
More than that—she just made it to the toilet in time.
She knelt there, clutching the bowl with one hand and holding back her hair with the other.
Get over him and be happy, she told herself again and again.
After all, she had got what she’d come to New York City for.
She had a shot at Broadway.
Broadway!
Only the order of her heart had changed.
Broadway came second.
Ethan Devereux was now first.
She hadn’t fallen in love with Ethan; instead she had been lifted into it. Briefly lifted into a world that had felt brighter, lighter, just better, when it was shared with him.
And now the lights had gone out.
Now she had fallen.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IF EVER THERE was a cure for a broken heart, then rehearsing for a Broadway production came close.
Having served her notice at the gallery to a very moody Reece, Merida had gone straight into rehearsals six days a week. They were intense, and she should have no real time to think of Ethan.
Except she did.
More and more.
And it wasn’t just that she missed him.
There was another concern.
Merida knew she had every reason to feel wiped out when she arrived home each night, but she was more than tired. In fact, she was completely exhausted.
Usually being around the theatre energised her, but with each passing week Merida felt her energy being sapped.
The whole cast was feeling the pressure, Merida told herself. But she was worried—dreadfully so—as she awaited her period.
It never came.
And once Sabine, who played a forest bird in the chorus and was also her understudy, had caught Merida throwing up.
‘You okay?’ Sabine checked.
‘Sure.’
Merida tried to be okay, but her mind kept darting back to that morning, getting changed for her audition with Ethan waiting downstairs.
And the teary mess she’d been when she’d returned to the apartment later, after he’d ended things.
Whatever way she looked at things, the one time she had really needed it Merida had missed her Pill.
After the second time Sabine caught her throwing up, Merida stopped at a drugstore on her way home, telling herself she simply could not be pregnant, that there just had to be another reason for her malaise.
After all, she had a part in a Broadway show and nothing, nothing must get in the way of that.
Except something had.
Pregnant.
Merida had paid extra for the test that actually spelled it out: P.R.E.G.N.A.N.T.
She sat in her tiny apartment, listening to the Italians shouting in the kitchen below, and wondered what to do and who she could call for advice.
Merida thought about her mother for—oh, twenty seconds. She knew her verdict already—Don’t make the same mistake as me!
She’d glossed over things when she’d discussed her parents with Ethan, but the fact was her mother had been eighteen and straight out of school when Merida had been born. And Merida knew she was considered her mother’s biggest mistake.
She thought of calling her father, but could just imagine his wife rolling her eyes at the intrusion. No, she would not be going to her father for advice.
Her parents only wanted her around when she was babysitting. That was the truth and it hurt even now. Even with all that was going on, it hurt to sit in her studio apartment, above an Italian restaurant in another country, and admit that she wasn’t just h
ere for Broadway but to escape the hurt of being ignored.
She wondered if they’d even noticed or cared that she’d gone.
So who could she tell?
Naomi?
Merida did think about calling her closest friend. The problem was Naomi was a maternity nurse and very into babies.
She didn’t want either extreme.
And so Merida found a new role to add to her repertoire—a woman in complete denial.
* * *
With opening night nearing, rehearsals had moved to twelve hours a day. There was a full costume and make-up photo-shoot for the programme, and things were starting to really come together.
Merida’s costume was stunning, consisting of a black velvet dress the colour of atropa berries. Her eyes were rimmed with kohl and her lips painted a deep purple. Her hair wasn’t hidden beneath a wig, though. It was curled and backcombed and fell in snaky ringlets.
After the photos had been taken she sat at the mirror, smothering on the cold cream to get the heavy make-up off, and smiled as Sabine came in.
‘You look amazing,’ Merida said, admiring her shimmering costume.
‘I know—I don’t want to take it off.’ Sabine sighed as she undressed. ‘Hey, do you want to grab something to eat?’
They ended up in the noisy restaurant below Merida’s flat. The pasta was amazing, and it was nice to think she didn’t have far to drag herself home afterwards.
‘Shall we get a bottle?’ Sabine asked, but Merida declined.
‘I’ll just stick to water. I’ll sleep in otherwise.’
Sabine ordered a large glass of red, and as they twirled well-earned carbs around their forks Sabine asked another question. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Of course.’’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Sabine asked, and Merida looked up.
She could see the concern on her face.
‘Talk to me, Merida.’
Yes, the acting world could be bitchy, but it was cliquey too, and they had worked closely together for weeks.
‘I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can. How late are you?’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because we share a dressing room and I’ve heard you throwing up. Though that’s stopped now.’
Merida nodded.
‘I figured you’d had it taken care of. Merida, I’m not the only one to have noticed.’
Merida closed her eyes. If word got back to Anton she was sunk.
‘Is the father in the picture?’
‘It was just...’ Merida gave a tight shrug. Certainly she would not be revealing his name to anyone, but when the words came they stuck in her throat. ‘A one-night thing.’
One night that still had her heart in turmoil—one morning that she relived over and over in her mind, trying to see where it had so suddenly gone wrong.
It had felt like so much more than a one-night stand.
And it was.
The consequences were huge.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ Merida admitted.
‘That’s why I suggested we get supper.’
Sabine went into her huge bag and pulled out a card. ‘I saw him last year—he’s really good. Not cheap, but you get what you pay for. He’ll fit you in.’
She might be recommending a dentist, Merida thought. And though she appreciated her concern—she truly did—for the first time Merida wondered if she really had the single-mindedness that was required for an acting career.
‘What if I don’t want to go down that path?’
‘Then I get my name on the playbill...’ Sabine shrugged.
She said it without malice. And it was completely true.
With two weeks to go, no doubt the relatively minor part of Belladonna would go to the understudy.
But even though it was a minor part, it was major to Merida.
She thought of the glorious West End show she had had to pull out of at the last moment and was determined that an opening night would not be denied to her again.
One night.
And then she would tell Anton.
Then she would bow out gracefully.
* * *
It became her soul focus.
Merida’s energy returned, and so did her form, and a couple of weeks after she had found out, once she felt a touch calmer inside, she plucked up the courage to call Ethan.
Reception took a lot of persuading, but finally she was put through to a woman called Helene.
Merida cleared her throat. ‘Could I speak with Ethan Devereux, please?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Ethan Devereux...’ Merida repeated, wondering if her Internet search had cast up the wrong number.
‘I do know who he is.’
Oh, she loved New Yorkers dearly, but she wasn’t in the mood for this.
‘Could I speak to him, please?’
‘Regarding?’
‘It’s personal.’
‘Yet you’re calling him at work? And you’ve made a considerable nuisance of yourself with Reception.’
‘Could you please let him know that Merida...?’
‘Miss!’
She winced as Helene interrupted her.
‘I assume you are a miss?’
‘Yes.’
‘Take it from me. If Mr Devereux wanted you to contact him, then he’d have told you how.’
It let her off the hook, Merida decided. Now she could focus on the part of Belladonna.
And Merida did so. As best she could, Merida pushed all thoughts of Ethan and her pregnancy out of her mind and put her heart and soul into the part.
One night with Ethan.
One night on Broadway.
With opening night just a week away, Merida had her final costume fitting. It was all coming together. For all the blood, sweat and tears, it was finally coming together.
Back in her dressing room there was a copy of the programme, and she and Sabine turned the pages with delight.
‘Merida.’ Anton popped his head into the dressing room ‘Can I have a word?’
‘Sure,’ Merida said.
‘Excuse us, please, Sabine.’
As Sabine got up and walked out Merida gave Anton a smile.
It wasn’t returned.
‘I just spoke to Rhoda in Costumes. She said the bust of your dress has to be let out and that you’ve also lost weight.’
‘We’ve all lost weight,’ Merida pointed out.
The entire cast had. Weeks of strenuous dress rehearsals meant they were all looking a touch leaner than when they had started.
But Anton had seen it all before.
‘Don’t play games, Merida. In some of your scenes you’re harnessed...’
Merida swallowed.
‘Insurance won’t cover it.’
‘Anton...’
‘I want a note from a doctor, saying you’re fit to perform, or you’re out.’
‘Anton, please,’ Merida said. ‘There’s no reason...’
‘There are a hundred reasons, Merida,’ Anton shouted. ‘There’s one week until opening night. Take care of it or don’t perform. You choose.’
* * *
It was a hellish week.
The doctor wasn’t particularly friendly.
‘The date of your last menstrual period?’ he asked in a bored tone.
Merida closed her eyes as she tried to think back. ‘Ages...’ She couldn’t even remember when. ‘I was on the Pill...’
There was just a hint of an eye-raise from the doctor.
‘I know that I was late taking one.’
‘Well, to work out how far along you are we need that—or the date of conception...’
That was easy.
Merid
a gave the doctor the date.
In fact, she could have given him the very hour.
‘That puts you at fourteen weeks,’ the doctor said. ‘You’re into the second trimester...’
The doctor no doubt assumed from her tears that this wasn’t a planned pregnancy. ‘Have you thought about what you want to do? Because time really is getting on—’
‘I’m keeping the baby,’ Merida cut in. ‘But aside from that I have no idea what I’m going to do.’
Not a single one.
She left the doctor with a due date of December fourteenth and forms for blood tests and an ultrasound. Back home, she broke her rule about telling no one the father’s name and called her friend.
‘His name’s Ethan Devereux,’ she told Naomi. ‘He’s from a big New York family...’
Merida started to explain.
‘I’ve heard of the Devereux family,’ Naomi cut in. ‘Oh, my God, Merida, you need to come home and sort things out from this end.’
‘I know that. I’ve booked a flight.’
‘When?’
‘Friday night,’ Merida said.
She would be leaving on opening night—and that wasn’t by coincidence. Merida could not bear to be in New York City on the night the show opened and not be a part of it.
‘I have to tell him, though.’
‘I guess...’ Naomi said.
Merida thought she didn’t sound particularly convinced.
‘But can’t it wait till you’re back in England and at a safe distance?’
‘Safe distance? Naomi, I don’t know if I’ve given you the wrong impression, but Ethan was a perfect gentleman with me.’
‘For one night.’
Merida swore she heard the tear of the wrapper as Naomi tipped salt into the wound. The more she looked back on it, the less it felt like a one-night stand. It truly felt to Merida as if they’d been on a date.
More, it had been the best date of her life.
But if that were the case why hadn’t she seen him since?
‘You’d be better doing this from home. Merida, I deal with these types of people all the time.’
‘“These types of people”?’ Merida checked. ‘You’ve never even met him.’
‘I work for people who employ maternity nannies,’ Naomi pointed out. ‘I work for the supremely rich. And, believe me...’ She paused.
‘Go on,’ Merida invited.
The Innocent's Shock Pregnancy Page 7
