‘How long?’
‘About six months.’
‘Six months! And didyouknow?’
‘No – none of us knew until you told us you were splitting up.’
‘I can’t believe it. Six months! And she just stood by and watched …’
‘Mike put her in an impossible situation,’ says Wendy. ‘And she feels awful about it.’
‘Yeah, but then to add insult to injury, she takes out her guilt, anger, hurt, and whatever else onme!’
‘I’m not excusing her, but according to her therapist, it’s a common reaction.’
‘She’s in therapy? But she always comesacross so confident, so comfortable in her own skin, so …’
‘Many of us do, sweetie but underneath …’ Wendy shrugs. ‘Please don’t let this cause an even bigger rift between you. Give her a call.Please.’
‘I don’t see why I …’
‘Please, hon. She’s not in a very good place right now,’ says Wendy, tapping her PIN number into the hand-held machine.
‘I’ll think about it,’ I reply.
Wendy escorts me to the bike rack. As I lean forward to release the padlock, I flinch.
‘Darling, you’ve got to give up this cleaning lark,’ she says, rubbing my back gently. ‘Surely there’s something else you could do – less physically demanding and better paid.’
‘I know. I promise once the run is over, I’ll hang up my Marigolds for good.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she says, sliding elegantlyinto her car. ‘Now go home, get some rest, and oh, do something about those nails, please. I can hardly believe that this is the same Emily Forsyth who was once awarded a distinction for Cabin Crew Grooming.’
I peer at my distorted reflection in my bicycle bell, face like a Cabbage Patch doll, messy hair poking out from under my cycle helmet. Was that woman really me? The one who had monthlymanicures, pedicures, and facials? The one who was photographed for the in-flight magazine, gracefully pouring tea into a china cup, and lovingly tucking in a sleeping passenger with a tartan blanket?
I pedal through the park, my tyres making a scrunching sound on the crisp, copper and gold autumn carpet. A startled stag bounds out of the bushes and off into the distance, a garland of fernstrailing from his battle-scarred horns. An unexpected rush of contentment floods through my veins. There’s definitely something to be said for this spartan life. Sometimes, like now, it gives me a fresh view of the world. I must have driven through this park hundreds of times in my nifty little sports car. Did I ever notice things like this back then? Did I ever smell the damp undergrowth, or stopto watch the heron balancing on one leg in the rushes?
Despite being flat broke, exhausted and spotty, I wouldn’t swap my life now. It’s a small price to pay to be allowed to act on a professional stage (albeit four wooden pallets shoved together, barely twelve feet long). No one ever said it was going to be easy. Most good actors start from the bottom, don’t they? It’s not as if I have dreamyaspirations of becoming the next Kristin Scott Thomas or anything; but so long as I can keep myself financially afloat, who knows what opportunities may come my way.
As for the Céline situation: it’s taught me I can’t change others, only myself. If she chooses to be with Mike then that’s her business. I did what I thought was right and it backfired on me, but I refuse to beat myself up aboutit, have a stand-up row, or allow bad feelings to fester. Am I going to allow Nigel and Mike to destroy our friendship? No way. I will rise above the hurt and anger by sending her an invitation to a performance ofThree Sisters.
This doesn’t mean I excuse her behaviour, or that I’m a walkover; it means I want to move on. I’m tired of playing the blame game and carrying a grudge. It’s weighingme down and is not good for the soul. If I am to survive in this crazy, turbulent, wonderful business, then I need all the inner calm and strength I can find.
* * *
‘Is that the excited chatter of an audience I can hear?’ says Susannah in disbelief.
‘OMG! Did someone say the wordaudience?’ says Ed, playing Chebutykin, sarcastically, cocking his ear.
‘Darlings!’ says Hugh, burstinginto the dressing room, beaming expansively. ‘Now don’t let it throw you, but we have a full house! I knew that review inTime Outwould do the trick. Good luck, everyone, and oh, this is your five-minute call.’
I take up my starting position and draw a deep, steadying breath. The atmosphere tonight is warm and vibrant, yet I’m the most nervous I’ve been throughout the run. Dean and his youngfriends, my friends, who regularly see the hottest Broadway shows, wouldn’t come to see an old, serious Russian play in a shabby pub had I not sold them the idea.
I think I can hear Wendy’s laugh. I dare to look through the spyhole in the drapes. My eye scans along the rows. In a space not much bigger than Beryl’s front room, having the audience in glaring proximity can be distracting enoughwhen you don’t know them, but … there they are: Rachel, Wendy, Faye, and … an empty seat. Disappointment floods my veins. I should have resisted the temptation to look. I mustn’t let it throw me. Concentrate.
All at once the door at the back is flung open. Bright light spills down the aisle. The silhouette of a female figure. She hesitates.
‘Over here!’ hisses Wendy.
