by S. Quinn
‘Okay.’
We look at each other.
‘Have you had time to think?’ Marc says.
‘About?’
‘About taking the part. How foolish it would be.’
I’m shaking my head. ‘I don’t believe this. Marc, do you even understand why I was so angry before?’
‘You didn’t like me making a decision for you.’
‘Exactly right.’ I go to the sink and wash mud from my hands. ‘Can’t you just apologise and we’ll move on?’
‘I don’t see why I need to apologise for keeping you safe,’ says Marc, taking a stool.
‘I know you only want what’s best for me,’ I say, ‘but you’re not my teacher right now. This is real life. You have to let me make my own choices.’
‘As long as they’re the right ones.’
‘No, Marc. You have to trust me to decide what’s right and wrong. I won’t always get things right. But you have to let me make my own mistakes.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ says Marc. ‘You’re clearly not in the mood to have a rational conversation. And until you are, we may as well put this discussion on hold.’
Oh, I’m fuming now. How dare he?
‘I am having a rational conversation. It’s you who’s not making any sense.’
‘Sophia, there’s no point talking about this. We clearly don’t agree.’
‘Davina Merryweather phoned me while you were out,’ I say.
‘She phoned you?’ He jumps from his stool, and it tips back and forth behind him.
‘Yes, she did.’
‘And what did you tell her?’
‘It shouldn’t matter to you what I told her. It’s my decision to make.’
Marc slaps his hands on the counter. ‘Are you saying you took the part to spite me? Sophia -’
‘Is that what you think of me? Thanks for your trust. No, I didn’t take the part. To spite you or for any other reason. I told her I’d think about it.’
‘It’s not safe for you to take that part. Not with Getty lurking around.’
‘Marc, he’s only a photographer -’
‘All I want is to protect you.’ Marc rocks back and forth on his shoes. ‘If you take this part, you’ll be in alien surroundings. Vulnerable. Alone.’
‘So you’re saying I can’t take care of myself? That unless I have you looking after me, I can’t do anything?’
‘Christ.’ Marc tips his head back and looks at the ceiling. ‘Sophia, don’t you understand? Now we’re out in the open, it’s dangerous out there. I brought you here so I can protect you.’
‘So I can never leave?’
‘For the time being, it makes sense that you stay here.’
I remember Giles Getty’s words again.
‘I’m a human being Marc, not a pet. You can’t keep me here because you’re scared.’
‘Sophia, you’re being a child.’
‘No. You’ve got that wrong. I’m trying to be an adult. And live a normal adult life.’ I charge past him. ‘I need to be by myself. Can you please ask Keith to give me a ride?’
‘Where are you planning on going, exactly?’
‘I don’t know. My dad’s house, maybe. I need space. I need to be somewhere where someone doesn’t try to control my life.’
‘Control your life?’ Marc frowns. ‘All I’m doing is trying to keep you safe.’ His blue eyes flicker with pain.
‘Really? Because all I see is someone who’s afraid. So afraid that he’s making decisions on my behalf.’ I put a hand to my forehead. ‘I need some space.’
‘At least let me arrange somewhere for you to go. It’s not safe at your father’s house. Getty can find you there.’
I hesitate. I don’t want my family dragged into all this. ‘Okay. Well. I’ll find somewhere else then.’
Marc takes a step towards me.
I look away from him. ‘Marc, please. I can’t -’
‘Ivy College is safe. Go back to your old room. Carry on with your studies. I won’t come anywhere near you if space is what you want. It’ll be like I don’t exist.’
I feel that pain in my chest again. I don’t want him not to exist. It hurts to even think about not seeing him. But I do need space right now. I can’t think straight while I’m here. And I know he’s right about Ivy College. I’ll be safe there.
‘Okay.’
40
I watch the grey road ahead as Keith drives me to Ivy College. We’re not chatting, like we usually would. Instead, I stare out of the window, watching London slide past.
It starts to rain – tiny patters at first, but then the sky turns blue-brown, and great torrents of water slosh over the car windscreen.
‘Lovely weather,’ Keith remarks.
‘Lovely,’ I murmur. Funny how life can change. This morning, I was full of hope. Marc and I had a future. Now, I’m not sure about anything. My lips feel like they have magnets in them, pulling them down, and there’s a burning in my stomach.
I want Marc, but how can things ever work if he wants to keep me trapped, never making my own choices?
I hear tinkling classical music and distractedly notice my mobile phone is flashing. It’s Davina’s number.
I take the call. ‘Hello?’
‘Sophia? Just checking in.’
‘Oh, hi.’ I glance at Keith.
‘Have you made your decision?’
I think about Marc and how he wants to keep me safe. And then I think about a life where I never make any decisions for myself. I don’t know what Marc will do if I take the part. Maybe he’ll break up with me. Or maybe it’ll make us stronger. Either way, I need to show him that I can make decisions on my own. Good ones. Decisions that help my future. I try not to think about Getty.
‘I’ll take it,’ I say. ‘Yes. I’ll take the part.’
‘Wonderful!’ A pause. ‘You don’t sound very happy.’
‘No, it’s just ... I have things on my mind.’
‘We don’t have much time. Can you come see us first thing tomorrow?’
‘Yes, great. See you tomorrow.’
I’m about to hang up, when I hear, ‘Sophia!’
I bring the phone back to my ear. ‘Sorry. Yes?’
‘Aren’t you going to ask where to meet? And what time?’
‘Oh. Right. Yes, of course.’
‘7am at the Tottenham Theatre. We’ll have a driver collect you. Just give me your address.’
‘Ivy College,’ I say.
‘Ivy College? You’re not staying with Marc?’
‘Not right now.’
‘Oh.’ There’s a pause, and I can almost hear the cogs in her brain working.
‘Is something wrong?’ I ask.
‘No, no. Actually, Ivy College is perfect. What’s your email? I’ll send you the script and some MP3s.’
I tell her.
‘Great,’ she says. ‘See you tomorrow.’
It’s still raining when Keith drops me off in the college car park. I thank him, pull my coat over my head and run across the gravel.
There are no students in the grounds, but the meal hall is all lit up. I guess everyone must be inside having dinner.
I should eat too, but I’m so not hungry, it’s ridiculous. My stomach is like a screwed up piece of paper, and sadness has crept right into my bones.
I hurry across the grounds, seeing gravel fly up around my feet, and feeling rain on my legs and face.
When I reach the accommodation block, I feel tears coming. What a difference a day makes ... isn’t that what the song says? This morning, I left this building hand in hand with Marc. Things weren’t perfect, but we had a future.
Now, I just don’t know.
My room is cold and dark, but it suits how I’m feeling, so I leave it that way. Changing into pyjamas, I climb under my duvet and let lazy tears slide down my face.
I don’t even have the energy to cry properly. Water is just sort of leaking out, and the tears feel cold and grey, like ever
ything right now.
When I realise sleep is impossible, I water my plants and check my phone.
Marc has called five times. And sent a text message.
‘Sophia, let me know you’re safe.’
41
My thumb is poised, ready to text back, but I hesitate. What should I reply? As I’m thinking it over, there’s a knock at the door.
The phone slides from my hand, falling with a clatter to the floor. I pull the duvet around me, jump to my feet and skid in my socks towards the door.
I told him to give me space. Doesn’t he get it?
‘What do you want?’ I snap, pulling open the door.
I see Tanya, the smile sliding from her pretty, pale face. There’s rain all over her cheeks and glasses. She’s wearing waterproof trousers, a V-necked beige sweatshirt and an anorak.
‘Sorry, Soph, I just –’
I shake my head. ‘No, no. Sorry, Tanya. I thought you were ... someone else.’
‘I saw you on the balcony,’ says Tanya. ‘Have you been hiding in here all day?’
‘No. I was with Marc before.’
‘I saw the newspapers. Pretty heavy, huh?’
I nod. ‘You can say that again.’
‘I haven’t seen Cecile yet, but when I do ...’ Tanya pounds a dainty little fist into her palm.
‘I saw her today,’ I say. ‘At the GMQ newspaper offices. Selling another story.’
Tanya rolls her eyes. ‘The poor little rich girl didn’t get Marc. And you did. So now she’s bitter. Are you going to let me in, or leave me standing on the doorstep like a Jehovah’s Witness?’
The tiniest of smiles tugs at my mouth. ‘Come in.’
‘Great.’ Tanya barges forward and flicks on the light. ‘It’s dark in here. And freezing.’
I shield my eyes.
‘Let me get a fire going.’ Tanya stoops by the grate and makes a little fire with a magazine and a few logs. ‘What are you doing here, freezing cold and in the dark? Are you okay? You look awful.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ I say, trying for a smile.
The firelight glows on Tanya’s pale cheeks, casting a shadow from her glasses over her forehead. There’s something so lovely about the way her cheeks bunch up under her eyes. So friendly. It’s good to see her.
‘You know me, I say it how I see it. What’s happened? Has that bastard done something to you?’ She shakes her glasses and wipes them on my duvet.
I bite my lip. ‘No.’
‘Are you upset about the newspapers?’ She moves a strand of red hair from her wet face. ‘Because none of us believed that crap. You do know that, don’t you? There’s no need for you to be hiding up here.’
‘It’s not that,’ I say, slumping onto the bed. ‘Sorry I didn’t return your calls. There was a lot going on today.’
‘We guessed as much. Don’t worry. It would take more than that to offend us. So? You’re not upset about the newspapers?’
‘I didn’t like what they wrote, but ... it’s fine.’
‘So what’s wrong?’ She pushes her glasses up her nose ‘You look like your whole family just died.’
I put my head in my hands. ‘Marc and I had a fight.’ I feel tears against my fingers.
‘What happened?’
‘I got offered a part in a musical. Beauty and the Beast.’
‘Beauty and the Beast?’ Tanya sits on my duvet and crosses her legs. ‘You’re kidding me. How come? Oh wait ... I get it. Because of lover boy.’ Her eyes drift towards the window.
‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘But Marc thinks it’s not safe for me to take the part. Because of all the journalists. He turned it down.’
‘He turned it down? Your part?’
‘I know. That’s what the fight was about.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I took the part. The director phoned me herself.’
‘Did you take it to show Marc who’s boss?’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘That’s not why. I ... guess I want to test him. Us. To test us. And to show Marc I can make decisions without him.’
‘You think this is a good decision?’
‘I ... hope so. It’s done now. I’ll just have to make it a good decision.’
‘So you’ll be starring in Beauty and the Beast.’ Tanya sounds distant, and her eyes are back on the window again.
I hear my phone and feel my pillow vibrating.
‘That has to be your phone,’ says Tanya. ‘Vivaldi’s Spring. That ringtone suits you down to the ground.’
‘Is that what this music is called?’ I say, watching the pillow. ‘I just picked it because I liked it.’
Tanya pulls my phone from under the pillow. ‘It’s him. Marc.’
I feel sick.
‘Do you want me to answer it?’ Tanya asks. ‘Tell him to get lost?’
‘No. But I’m too upset to talk to him right now. Just make it go to answer phone.’
She does.
‘Will you still go to his classes?’
‘He’s not teaching me,’ I say. ‘We agreed to that way before.’
‘That sounds smart. So. When do you start rehearsing Beauty and the Beast?’
‘Tomorrow,’ I say, catching my reflection in the French doors. ‘And I look awful.’
‘Well, if anyone can carry off the red-eyed, crumpled look, it’s you.’
‘Thanks.’ Tiredness overcomes me, and I let out a long yawn.
‘Shall I leave you to sleep?’ Tanya asks.
‘I guess I should try.’
‘You look so sad. Is all this just over one argument?’
‘Yes. Pathetic isn’t it? But that one argument was a big one.’
‘It’ll all come out in the wash.’ She pats my back decisively. ‘You’ll be fine. Will I see you tomorrow?’
‘I might make Denise’s class in the afternoon. But I’m not sure yet.’
‘Okay.’ Tanya shuffles off the bed. ‘Look, I’m right downstairs. If you need anything, anything at all, just give me a call. Or Tom.’ There’s a pause, and I sense she wants to tell me something. But instead, she takes a roll of toffees from her pocket and offers me one.
‘Toffee?’
‘Thanks,’ I say, ‘but I’m feeling a bit sick.’
She takes one herself and begins to chew. ‘We’re here for you, Soph. Don’t forget that.’
‘I won’t.’
When Tanya leaves, I check my emails. There’s nothing from Marc, but Davina has sent over the script and some music files. She wants me to learn half the play by tomorrow. Whoa. That’s a lot of lines.
I’d better get started.
42
When I wake the next morning, I’m shivering. It takes me a moment to realise I’ve flung off the duvet in my sleep and am lying on the bed in just an old t-shirt and panties.
My chest feels heavy, and there’s a sickly feeling in my stomach. I have no peace from thoughts of Marc. They’re waiting for me before I even open my eyes.
I hug my knees to my chest and look out at the orangey brown leaves. In autumn, I love going early morning leaf kicking, but today it’s a struggle to sit upright.
I dress in old clothes lying on the floor and drink a glass of water, but I feel too sick for hot chocolate or food.
Sliding my phone from under my pillow, I check to see if Marc has called or sent a message. He hasn’t since yesterday, but as I scroll down the call list, I see missed calls from a London number.
Shit.
Davina. Tottenham Theatre. What time is it?
9am.
I hardly ever sleep in. Why did today have to be the day?
What time did Davina say? Seven. Shit, shit, shit. I call the number, but there’s no reply.
I’m about to try again, when my phone rings.
‘Hello?’
‘Hey babes, how are you?’ It’s Jen.
‘Not great. I should be at the theatre right now. I slept in.’ I rub my eyes.
‘You took the part?�
��
‘Uh huh. Told them I’d come for rehearsals at 7am today.’
‘So what are you doing talking to me? Get yourself to that theatre right now. Do you want me to call you a cab?’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll walk. It’s only a few streets away. A cab would take longer.’
‘I’m glad you said yes,’ says Jen. ‘You show them. Show them all.’
‘I need to show Marc, most of all.’
Inside, a little voice says, Marc says it’s dangerous. And you know you can’t sing.
‘You go, girl,’ says Jen.
‘I wish I had your courage,’ I say.
‘You’re braver than you think,’ says Jen. ‘Trust me. I’ve known you a long time.’
The Tottenham Theatre is a truly beautiful building. I don’t know when it was built, or anything like that, but it looks like a giant wedding cake – all pink and white, with little stone flowers stuck all over it.
I feel a pang of sadness as I realise Marc would probably love this building.
Even though it’s early, the main doors to the theatre are open, and I walk into the lobby, wondering where I might find Davina.
I needn’t have worried – she’s right there, pacing the red carpet, barking into a mobile phone. I recognise her voice immediately.
‘No, now,’ she shouts. ‘This is an emergency.’
She’s a very tall woman, with jet black hair cut into a sharp bob. She has a really straight fringe, a pointy little nose and bright red lips, and is dressed in a sort of woolly shawl and a long pencil skirt with tan leather boots. The shawl is probably really expensive, but it looks like something you’d see in a charity shop.
When Davina sees me, she drops her mobile to her chest.
‘Sophia!’ The way she says my name, I know she’s happy to see me, but also a little mad. ‘Where have you been?’
‘I called,’ I say. ‘I really am sorry. I slept in. I don’t usually -’
‘Do you realise how little time we have?’
She shoos me towards some wooden double doors. ‘We’ve been rehearsing without you for hours. Leo’s ... well, it would take a freight train to make him stressed, but it hasn’t been the easiest of mornings. You should have told us you were on your way. We had photographers ready.’
‘I did call. I should have kept trying. Sorry. Photographers?’
