Walking back to the flat, we paused at a little gazebo which was, surprisingly, uninhabited by teenagers snatching moments of secret sex. Dan took my hand and held it as we gazed out over the sea: two mature people recapturing the romance of their early days. Except these were our early days, possibly our only days, and it was far too cold for any sort of cocktail.
‘How was Edgware?’
‘I didn’t go. I went to see to see Claudia. My wife.’
‘Oh.’
‘She wanted some money.’
‘Oh.’
‘So I went to the bank. All my direct debits have been cancelled. And I have an overdraft.’
‘Why?’
‘I haven’t been paid.’ He ran his fingers over the palm of my hand. I hoped he wasn’t going to ask for a loan. ‘So after last night’s performance, and I don’t mean the one on stage, I’m not feeling very generous towards our producer.’
‘You know he tried to get the company to ask you to walk off the production.’
‘Yes. And if I did I’d forfeit what he owes me. Maybe it’s his idea of economy.’
I tried to reassure him by telling him about my conversation with Izzy, but left out the question mark he’d put over Dan’s health.
‘You’ll stick with it though, won’t you, Dan?’
He stood up and pulled me to him. ‘For you, Eleanor?’
‘No, for the money, you daft bugger.’
‘You don’t like romance, do you?’
‘I’m not used to it.’
We broke apart and walked down the hill in silence. By the time we reached the bottom, the beauty of the night, thoughts of Gabriel, now a pile of cold ashes, David, the whole situation with Izzy and my confusion over Dan overwhelmed me.
I didn’t like romance? Oh, I did, but it just hurt too much. Dan stopped and wiped away the tears. Another romantic gesture, ruined by my nose running and no hankie.
‘Do you want to come in?,’ I asked, sounding as if I’d prefer root canal work.
‘No, you’re tired –’
‘No, I’m not, I –’
‘Just for a drink then.’
‘Yes. All right. Just for a drink.’
•
Two hours later we lay back wet with sweat. Dan, the gentle and considerate lover, had persevered until, taking pity on him, I made the expected noises and did the hooked trout impression quite convincingly, allowing him to come in a rictus of gratitude.
He fell asleep, murmuring my name.
I looked at his beautiful pale face and saw, as I had each time I closed my eyes that night, or felt his fingers, or tasted his tongue, Gabriel. Black-bat thoughts flittered round my mind. What was I doing in bed with my director? What was I doing in this show? I’d had my chance, a moment of television notoriety, and that was it, the carousel of horses was full of new faces now. The rest of my life would be spent circling the country in dubious tours trading on a TV programme name not even recognised by audiences under fifty. And then, after a twilight of anecdotes in Denville Hall, a short obituary in The Stage. An almost-ran. A small talent promoted above its ability. A talent never fulfilled. A performer more than an actor.
How many paracetamol would it take to join Gabriel? But what right did I have to think about death when life had done nothing to offend? Yes, it had. The absence of unhappiness was not happiness. Life stretching ahead as a featureless landscape of mediocrity must be a form of death. Atrophy until it was too late to call upon muscles left too long unused. I longed for Dan to wake up and listen to my misery. Finally, disturbed by my restlessness, he woke at four a.m., but the time for talking was gone.
We padded into the hallway, pausing by the open front door for a last kiss. The lights went on like a PoW camp yard during an escape. The landlady stood at the top of the stairs, holding her walking stick aloft. I braced myself for a telling off: ‘No gentlemen callers, Miss Eleanor. This is not a knocking shop.’ She scowled down at us, then her face broke into a wrinkled mass of smiles. We weren’t young thieves come to kill her.
‘Oh, have you been for a curry? Lovely. They do make me fart though.’
The three of us laughed until we ached. The dirty cobwebs of the night blew away. There were just two shows to go, then it would be Sunday. We’d hire a car, drive to Burgh Island for art-deco sex and Izzy amnesia. Cut off from the world when the tide came in. Just another eighteen hours.
I went back to bed and slept. I was still asleep when aliens started firing thermonuclear shells at the window.
‘Nellie, you dozy cow. It’s me, KT. Get the kettle on.’
Realising I wasn’t about to be vaporised, I staggered to the door, bashing into various bits of furniture on the way, my knees skinned in a way they hadn’t been since I was ten.
‘N’em mind, love, think of the fun you’ll have with the scabs.’
He swept past me into the kitchen where he unloaded a bag of croissants.
‘I cannot begin to tell you what I had to do to get these in Plymouth. God, have you been further than the High Street? They’ve only just started walking upright some of them. Plymouth – so good they named it once.’
We loaded up a tray and went back into the main room. KT barely flicked a glance at the bed, but I knew he’d seen double-occupancy. I pulled the concertina doors closed, and we sat in the bay window drinking instant coffee, eating his largesse.
‘You missed a good night in the pub,’ KT said, picking flakes off his plate.
I nodded, not really listening, thinking about Dan and the possibility that maybe, when I finally found the courage to face David, I might just have something, or someone, to fall back on. The sun was shining, sparkling on the sea and making a Renoir study of even the ugliest passer-by. Happiness tasted like Nescafé with long-life milk.
‘Here, you’d better be listening to this. Susan – that Hag of Hell – surpassed herself. She got pissed on Bacardi Breezers – cos she doesn’t really drink, you know – and she said…’ KT paused, ‘…that you were a manipulative witch who was trying to ruin the show by sleeping with Dan. See, because he’s concentrating on servicing you, he’s neglecting everyone else, to the detriment of the show. Actually, she didn’t say detriment, because anything more than two syllables gives her a migraine. Anyway, Lee agreed with her, said he hadn’t had any direction at all and, although you needed more help because you’re not a musical artiste, it was a disgrace.’
The sun went in and the passers-by were common, loud-mouthed proles.
‘What did you say to that?’ I made a pathetic attempt at nonchalance.
‘I didn’t get a chance. Glenda threw a glass of red wine over her and called her a jealous cow in Spanish. God translated – cos his English is getting better, you know. I just added, very nice like, cos you know I’m very nice, that we all thought she, Susan, was sleeping with Dan, and at his age he couldn’t possibly be shagging both of you.’
‘What happened then?,’ I asked, automatically, wishing I was an anchorite on Benbecula.
‘Most of the kids were embarrassed, but Susan’s been doing overtime with the South African ingénue and she got all hysterical and said we were all jealous of Susan’s massive talent. Glenda said she certainly wasn’t jealous of her massive arse.’
I wanted to go home. Not to the house with David, but to the place where the school bully didn’t exist. What was her name? Sara Harrison. Hopefully now an abandoned failure with the continuing problem of excessive hair-growth.
‘So what should I do? Should I talk to her?’
‘No, love, that’s what she wants, she wants you frightened of her.’
‘I am. She’s obsessed with me.’
‘Do you think she fancies you?,’ KT asked in mock-outrage.
‘Don’t be daft, she’s a nymphomaniac, isn’t she?’
‘Well,’ said KT, leaning towards me like Auntie Ida when she discovered who’d nicked her smalls off the line, ‘she has been known to dabble. She has been known to do a bit of muff-diving.’
‘She’s a lesbian?’ I yelped, not shocked at the condition but as if a member of the Ku Klux Klan could be black.
‘No!,’ said KT, shocked. ‘She just helps out when they’re busy.’
He paused to finish up a croissant.
‘Listen,’ he said, suddenly serious, his hands shaking. I’d noticed they shook more these days. Nerves? Drink? I was so full of my own problems I gave no more thought to his than to a reflection in a shop window. ‘We need Dan completely back on board and in ego-stroking mode. Cos otherwise we’ll have a civil war on our hands. There’s bitchiness breaking out on all sides, and half the cast hate Glenda and God cos they’re never on time and wouldn’t know the word discipline in any language.’
‘KT, they’re not chorines. They think a good company member is God’s cock.’
‘Well, I’ve seen it, love, and I tell you, if that went through the Rotherhithe Tunnel, they’d have to repoint the brickwork. Anyway, a lot of the others are falling for Susan’s “I’m a professional, I just want to do my job” act. I tell you, she’s taken in quite a few of the youngsters.’
I couldn’t believe she was more intelligent than I’d thought. Life with David had taught me to weigh an IQ better than I could a pound of carrots.
‘No, you’re right, she is stupid,’ said KT. ‘Stupid but cunning. Watch her.’
KT and I had never been touchy-feely, but as he stood on the doorstep, preparing for the hike back up the hill, I reached out and hugged him. I had no idea how many friends I had in the company but I was sure of him. A foul-weather friend. All the rest are just acquaintances.