‘What? Now that I’m on the shelf, you mean?’ I say in a half-jokey way.
‘Why you gave up flying and your lovely little flat, I’ll never know.’
‘Because life’s short, because I wanted new experiences and don’t want to look back when I’m old and think I wish I’d tried that, because … because …’
‘Look, if you got a steady job you could do amateur dramatics in your spare time,’she continues. ‘Then you’d have the best of both worlds, wouldn’t you?’
‘Oh, Mum,’ I groan.
‘You’re capable of so much more. With your degree you could have worked for the Foreign Office or the United Nations even. Couldn’t she, Brian?’
‘Come on, Brenda,’ says Dad, getting up and gently guiding her to the door. ‘That’s enough. Let’s go to bed. You’ve said your piece. It’s Christmas.Don’t spoil it.’
‘We just want you to be happy, love,’ says Dad, lightly kissing my forehead.
‘I know.’ I nod.
I get why they’re saying these things – because they love me and are trying to help – but I don’t need rescuing. I’m leading the life I want, and if they can’t accept that, then there’s nothing I can do to change it.
I pour myself the last of the port, snuggle up on thesofa in the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights, and put on my favourite Christmas movie,It’s A Wonderful Lifewith James Stewart. Its powerful messages about love, family, and friends, about putting your heart and soul into what you believe in despite not getting instant results, hold even deeper meaning for me now.
* * *
5th January, Richmond
This is it. No backing out now.
I park my bike in the usual spot. It takes several attempts to secure it as I keep dropping the key. I remind myself that if I can survive weekly rep without only a few hours’ rehearsal, then this should be a breeze. But who am I kidding? If it all goes wrong, I can’t blame the material, because I wrote it, nor can I blame the actors, because the actor is me.
Will I be able to show my faceat Il Mulino again after tonight? There are people, loyal, valued customers, who are paying good money for this. And what about my friends and Luke, giving up their precious time, just so I can indulge myself in some self-promotion?
I feel sick. I’ve had three acceptances only to my invitations, and there was I hoping sixteen at least would turn up. What was I thinking of? Tension tightensits grip further as I come face to face with the sandwich board outside the door:
TEATRO A CENA!
Questa sera:
Winging It
by
Emily Forsyth
A comedy
Una commedia
19.30
I tap on the window and Luigi appears, dressed in a navy blue suit.
‘Buonasera!’ he says, kissing me on each cheek, his aftershave burning my nostrils.
He never wears a suit.
‘Luigi!How handsome you look!Che bello!’
‘Tonight is a very important night,’ he replies, waggling his fist.
