The accompanist stopped and she glanced at him. He frowned and then started the introduction again.
She opened her mouth… nothing. Her voice box felt closed. There was a lump in her throat that felt like the size of potato.
A male voice, tinged with impatience, came from the darkness: ‘Ms Baxter? We’re waiting.’
Lily’s cheeks burned. She could feel the eyes of the other auditionees boring into her back from the wings. A whisper floated across the stage: ‘Poor thing.’
No. No, I can do this.Lily cleared her throat, shooting an apologetic smile towards the judges’ table. ‘I’m so sorry. May I start again?’
Silence was the nod of approval and the accompanist, bless him, took her back to the beginning. Once more, the melancholic melody swelled around her.
Lily closed her eyes, summoning every ounce of emotion, every scrap of technique she’d honed over years of training. She opened her mouth, willing the words to flow from what she knew was her clear, powerful voice.
But her throat closed up, her chest tight with panic. The music played on, a cruel reminder of her silence.
In that moment, under the unforgiving glare of the spotlight, Lily Baxter realised that sometimes, dreams shatter not with a bang, but with a whimper – or in her case, with no sound at all.
She stumbled off the stage, aware of the looks from the women waiting for their turn to be Éponine, even for a moment, on the iconic stage. There were hushed whispers and pitying glances from some and bemusement from others, all of them feeling like pinpricks against her skin. She picked up her bag and ran away from the judgement and curiosity and took a moment in a dark corner backstage. She could hear voices coming her way.
‘God, I would die if that was me,’ said one voice.
‘She looked so perfect for the role. All those dark curls, she would have been ideal.’
‘Dark curly hair doesn’t help if you’re going to play the role mute,’ the first cruel voice said with a laugh.
Lily bit her lip at the stinging barb and, in the cramped area, searched for an escape. There – a gap between two costume racks draped with sparkling gowns. She ducked behind them, sinking to the floor in a crumpled heap.
She put the heels of her palms up against her eyes and pressed hard, and the realities of her world swam before her, faces and lights blurring into a dizzying whir as though she was on a theme park ride. She needed this job, more than she could have explained. She had rent to pay on her flat, bills. She had bought a new dress for this audition and now she couldn’t return it because she was currently sitting on the dirty stage floor. She was getting almost no shifts at the call centre, and even fewer at the restaurant where she waitressed, and she was tired. She was twenty-nine years old and was so tired that at times her bones ached. Every day was a hustle to survive and this was supposed to be the moment where she would finally break through into a role. Lily’s hands shook violently as she fumbled with her water bottle, spilling half of it down her new dress.
‘Deep breaths, lovey,’ she whispered to herself, her ninety-seven-year-old grandmother Violet’s oft-repeated advice echoing in her mind. But each inhalation felt like swallowing broken glass, her chest tight with unshed tears and bitter disappointment. She had let everyone down. Her parents had rung her that morning wishing her luck. Her best friend, Nigel, had sent her a voice memo reminding her to warm up and that he was saying a prayer to the patron saint of musicals – Patti LuPone – and Granny Violet had called last night to wish her the best for the day – and she hated talking on the phone.
‘Hey, are you all right?’ A soft voice burst Lily’s bubble of misery. She looked up to see a very young, willowy brunette peering down at her, concern etched across perfect features. Probably the next Éponine, Lily thought, trying to keep bitterness out of her thoughts.Don’t become bitchy,she reminded herself. Sometimes the world of theatre was so toxic.
‘I’m fine,’ Lily managed to croak out, the lie tasting sour on her tongue.
The girl crouched down, offering a pristine white tissue. ‘It happens to the best of us,’ she said, and she gave Lily a smile that might have been construed as sympathetic or maybe patronising. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. There’s always next time, right?’
Lily accepted the tissue with a weak nod, knowing full well there wouldn’t be a next time. Not here. Not after this disaster. This production company and this director would put her on the DNA list, Do Not Audition, and she would be persona non grata.
The brunette gave her shoulder an awkward pat before swanning off, no doubt to dazzle the judges and claim the role Lily had dreamed of since she was old enough to sing along with the original cast recording.
Alone once more, Lily pressed the tissue to her lips, muffling the sob that threatened to tear from her throat. In the distance, she could hear another hopeful’s voice soaring through ‘I Dreamed a Dream’. The irony wasn’t lost on her as the lyrics floated backstage. Lily had never felt more alone in her life. The bustling theatre, her nirvana of magic and possibility, now seemed vast and indifferent to her pain. The show must go on, she thought as she huddled deeper between the costumes but, perhaps for her, it had stopped for a moment. What was wrong with her voice?
Once the women had gone, Lily made her way out of her hiding spot and pushed through the heavy doors of the Theatre Royal, stepping out onto Drury Lane. The bustling energy of London enveloped her like a cold embrace. She had always loved living in London but right now it felt like the enemy. It wasn’t applauding for her anymore; it was a reminder that she was a no one and, for a moment there, she thought she would be a someone, at least on the West End.
Her feet began to move of their own accord. She had always walked when she needed to think. The further she walked, the further she was away from the scene of her humiliation. Walking was like her form of meditation. She couldn’t sit still in a room, waiting for the enlightenment. She needed to meet it halfway and walking was where she would often tangle the mess of confusion and worry. Pounding the pavement until the solution came or her mind was soothed by the endorphins and repetitive steps. She had once thought that walking away from a problem was so she could get a perspective of it from afar, but today, not even walking to Scotland could have taken away the shame she felt from the moment on the stage.
She drifted past the vibrant storefronts of Covent Garden, the lively chatter of tourists and shoppers a stark contrast to the hollow silence in her chest. Why had her voice failed her in such a spectacular way? She walked past a bakery, the scent of the fresh bread, usually so enticing, now turned her stomach. She tried to hum and the sound came, and she tried to sing a few words under her breath. Nothing came out. A croak and then nothing, as though her voice box had run out of charge.
She cleared her throat and tried again – this time not even a croak.
She clutched her throat and walked, trying to sing every few steps, but it was gone. She spoke words aloud and they were fine; she just couldn’t muster a note.
Before she knew it, Lily found herself on the Strand, the busy thoroughfare buzzing with afternoon traffic. When she had first moved to London from Carlisle to study music and drama at college, she had spent what rare spare time she had exploring London. Now she felt empty and she wandered aimlessly to the Victoria Embankment. The Thames flowed beside her, dark and implacable. She stood for a moment, looking down at the water, feeling tears fall down her cheeks. She was so close and she had frozen on stage. What would she say to her parents? Gran? Her friends? Everyone had been so excited for it.
‘It’s only a matter of time before everyone sees and hears how wonderful you are,’ her mum had said. ‘And the time is now with this audition.’
‘They won’t believe how wonderful your voice is until they hear it in person,’ Nigel, her housemate, had told her.
