‘Yes, her ladyship, yourmother … who has been upstairs … bedridden these ten years since,’ I reply, tripping up the stairs. ‘God love ’er.’
‘Butwerequire you to pour the tea,’ says Margo firmly, grabbing the hem of my skirt through the spindles. ‘Nowww.’
‘Begging your par-don, ma’am,’ I continue, wrenching myself free, ‘but I shan’t be a moment.’ And I disappear out of sight, onto ‘the landing’.
‘Pssst!Abi!’ I hiss, waving my arms in the direction of prompt corner.
Abi looks up, removes her cans and says in a loud whisper, ‘What are you doing up there? Get back on stage.’
‘What’s my line?’ I mouth exaggeratedly.
‘What?’
‘What’s – my – line?’
‘How should I know?’ she replies, frantically flicking through her script. ‘You’re in a different play to the rest of us.’
Partof me is tempted to climb down the backstage scaffolding and retreat to my dressing room, leaving my fellow actors to it. After all, this is Margo’s fault for skipping two pages of dialogue in the first place. But then Portia’s words ring out in my head: ‘Acting is all about teamwork and being a supportive company member.’
With this in mind, I come to Vince and Margo’s rescue by hystericallyscreaming an improvised exit line: ‘Lawks! Sir, Madam, come upstairs right away! Her ladyship is … DEAD!’
They scuttle upstairs and we huddle together on the tiny ‘landing’ until Abi has no alternative but to bring the curtain down.
* * *
I emerge from the stage door and thread my way through the hordes of eager autograph hunters waiting for Margo. Someone taps me gently on the shoulder.
‘Excuse me, please will you sign our programme?’
I turn forty-five degrees and promptly burst into tears, as Wendy, Céline, Faye, and Rachel, arms outstretched, shroud me in a group hug.
‘Hey, don’t cry,’ says Wendy, wiping my cheeks with her thumb. ‘It was supposed to be anicesurprise.’
‘Oh, itis, believe me,’ I blub, my Poundland mascara smudging the collar of Céline’s whiteChanel blazer. ‘It’s just the relief of seeing your familiar faces. It’s all been too Mr Bean for words. I’ve aged about twenty years in the last few weeks.’
‘Rubbish. You have lost weight, though,’ says Wendy, laying a gentle hand on my arm.
‘You were sohilarious as the maid,’ chips in Céline. (She has this charming way of emphasising the ‘h’ of English words.)
I flinch. ‘I neverbelieved those people who said the stress some actors experience during performance is the equivalent of a small car crash – until tonight. Tonight, let me tell you, I felt like I was in a multiple pile-up on the M25. Anyway, it’s over and you’re here. Time to celebrate,’ I say, slotting my arms through theirs. ‘Let me buy us all a drink. I’m afraid there are no decent wine bars in this town, justThe Lobster Pot. Their house white isn’t bad though.’
‘I know a place overlooking the sea that stays open all night, where we can drink champagne from crystal flutes, and eat smoked salmon by candlelight,’ says Wendy.
I look at her, puzzled.
‘Ta-raa!’ She beams as she produces a cool box from behind her back. ‘Come on. We reserved a bench on the prom.’
* * *
‘Ahem! I’d liketo propose a toast,’ I announce, rising unsteadily to my sandy feet, the bubbles in my glass fizzing. ‘Be we in Branworth or Bermuda, may our friendship last for ever!’
Overcome with emotion, exhaustion, and alcohol, I burst into tears again.
‘I know we don’t see one another much these days, but please don’t ever think I’ve forgotten you. The last few months have changed me, and have mademe truly appreciate having old friends like you in my life.’
‘Less of theold, eh?’ says Wendy, placing her arm around me. ‘But you’re happy you made the move, aren’t you?’
‘Sure. It’s not easy at times, scary even, but I’m learning that sometimes throwing yourself into unfamiliar situations can lead you somewhere unexpected, somewhere you never thought of going.’
