Becca sat in the dressing room, not able to remember a single one of her lines. It's first night nerves, she told herself. That's all. Relax and the words will be there. She made a conscious effort to ease her shoulders down. Eyes shut. Breathe deeply. And the first line was... She sat straight up in a state of electrified panic. What was it? What was her first line? She picked the playscript up and flicked through. Could she hide the script behind her fan? Pointless - the words made no sense. Every line, every word had gone from her brain amid the clamour of the other actors around her.
Becca scanned the busy dressing room, a simple white room more commonly used to store chairs, now transformed into a riot of colour by the first night good luck cards pinned up on mirrors and arranged on windowsills, and clothes scattered over the backs of chairs. Stiff brocade dresses battled with gravity and cheap wire coat hangers on a clothes rail while the other actresses adjusted corsets and petticoats, fishing around in bodices to arrange breasts so that they were authentically bulging but not actually indecent. Some were tying white stuffed sausages that Becca had learned were called bum rolls around their hips, to make the dresses stand away from the body.
Everybody else was cheerful, chattering and giggling, squeaking when their corset strings were pulled too tight, but wanting to go just that little bit tighter to reclaim waists that hadn't been so small since they were ten years old. Victoria was gargling in the corner, her face covered in white make-up, while Rosie judiciously applied a beauty spot at the corner of her mouth. Becca stared at her own face, white enough without the addition of make-up. This was such a mistake.
There was a tap on the door, and Lily peered round. 'Hiya, Mum.' She handed Becca a bunch of red roses. 'Good luck.'
'Oh, darling.' Becca hugged Lily, overcome by her thoughtfulness. 'You shouldn't have.'
'Yeah, well.' Lily disentangled herself. 'Are you looking forward to it?'
Becca pulled a face. She found a mug and filled it up with water from the tap in the corner for Lily's flowers.
There was a knock on the door. 'Five minutes. Beginners please.'
Becca closed her eyes. Oh god, it was going to happen. 'I feel sick,' Becca whispered.
'Mum, you're really nervous, aren't you?' Lily's voice was a mixture of amusement and incredulity. Becca nodded, wishing she was anywhere else in the world but here in this room. Why had she had such a stupid idea? Why in the world had she ever thought she could act? How could she have been so stupid? Lily hugged her. 'I love you,' Lily whispered in her ear. 'You're going to be great.'
For a moment Becca relaxed, as if she were the child being reassured by her mother. 'I'm worried I'm going to let everyone down.'
'You won't,' Lily said. She wagged her finger. 'Come on, Mum. You've done the work, now show them what you can do.'
Becca smiled, recognising her own pep talks. 'I'll try. Darling, thank you so much for the flowers. You shouldn't have spent your money on me.'
Lily looked pleased. 'I'd better go and grab my seat.'
She turned for the door as Becca remembered. 'Is Dad with you?'
Lily looked a bit sheepish. 'He wasn't back from work so I came in by bus. He's probably here by now.'
'Oh,' Becca said. She twiddled one of her ringlets round her fingers. 'You did leave the ticket somewhere where he'd see it?'
Lily nodded. 'Don't worry, he'll be along.' She paused at the door, thumbs up. 'Go, Mum. Go!'
The only place Becca felt like going was through the exit door with Lily. She inhaled deeply, feeling as sick as it's possible to feel when you're laced into a corseted bodice. She regretted getting Victoria to lace the dress so tightly. She looked across at her. Victoria, resplendent in brocade and a lace headdress that added a foot to her already imposing height, was doing what Becca assumed were vocal exercises. Either that, or multiple repetitions of 'Babbity Bee, Babbity Boo' were a sign of insanity caused by performance nerves.
A knock at the door. 'Enterrrrr!' trilled Victoria.
'Evening, ladies.' It was Paul. 'Just came to wish you good luck. We've got a good house tonight, so remember, enjoy yourselves, and they'll enjoy you.' He came into the dressing room and went first to Rosie with a word of encouragement, then Victoria.
Becca wondered if the good house contained her husband. She splodged powder over her face, thinking she'd never ever forgive Martin if he didn't turn up.
'How are you feeling?' Paid was beside her now.
'Terrified,' Becca said. She'd meant to speak lightly, but all lightness had gone from her.
He laughed. 'You'll be fine. Just enjoy it.'
'I'm going to muck it up.' She stared at herself in the mirror and her eyes stared back, black as obsidian. 'I can't remember a single line.'
Paul sat on the chair next to hers and took both her hands in his. 'You are hugely talented. Don't forget that. You are going to go on stage and knock them dead in the aisles. Do you trust me?'
She nodded, her eyes mutely on his. They were a clear blue, the sky on a spring day, untroubled and serene. His hands were warm, she could feel his energy pulsing into her bones. 'I wouldn't have cast you if I didn't believe you could do it. They'll be starting soon, I have to go out front.' He stood up, touching her shoulder in farewell.' At the door he turned. 'Don't worry. I believe in you.'
- ooo -
Becca stood in the wings waiting for her cue. She could see the others on stage. She felt sick. Her head swam. Her heart beat against the cage of her corset. I can't do this, she thought. It's impossible. I want to run. I must run. And there was her cue. Oh god oh god oh god. She took a deep breath and...
- ooo -
They bundled offstage after the curtain call, giggling and laughing.
'You missed out the whole of that last speech!' Brian said to Victoria. His wig had half slipped off, giving him the look of a lopsided spaniel.
Victoria took a swipe at him with her fan. 'Don't be so silly, Brian, of course I didn't!'
'You did, you did,' Rosie chipped in.
'I thought something had happened,' Victoria conceded. 'It went very fast at the end.'
'No wonder, with you missing out bits!'
They surged into the dressing room, high on adrenaline, talking in excited voices, no sentences finished, conversations lost as everyone chattered, headdresses bobbing, faces animated. Becca chattered with the rest of them, feeling young, feeling alive, feeling relieved. She had done it!
'Mum, Mum!' Lily tumbled through the door and into her arms. 'You were great, I told you you would be.'
Becca hugged her tight. 'I made so many mistakes, you wouldn't believe it, it must have looked so awful.'
'No, I didn't notice anything. But the play - it's really rude. And it's old!'
Lily sounded so outraged that Becca had to laugh. 'They had sex in those days too - despite it being ancient times.'
'When you went behind the door with that bloke, were you supposed to be... you know?' Lily's eyes were round. Becca nodded, her eyes brimming with amusement. 'That's disgusting.' Lily sounded as appalled as any puritan.
Becca laughed and squeezed her shoulders. 'Never mind. Did you enjoy it?'
Lily nodded. 'It was fun,' she said in surprise. 'Though it's well out of order seeing your mum doing stuff like that. Honestly, Mum, you should have said. It's not right.'
'I see.' Becca gave her a hug, because she was Lily, and she loved her for being there and being so appalled at a 350-year-old play. 'Well, it's only for two more nights, and then like Cinderella, it's back to the kitchen.'
Lily obviously thought that was a reasonable proposition. 'That dress... it's a bit, well, don't you think you're a bit old for that sort of thing?'
'It's what they wore. And no, I don't think I'm too old for that sort of thing,' Becca said. She thought she looked rather good as a Restoration wench. 'Did Dad come?'
Lily looked shifty. 'I didn't see him. But that doesn't mean he wasn't there, there were loads of people. Really, loads, I mean I thought there'd only be about six people in the audience and there were masses,' she added, her face earnest, as if that was compensation for there not being a particular forty-four year old man.
Had he forgotten? Or could he simply not be bothered? Becca bit her lip on all the things she wanted to say about Lily's father. She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. 'Never mind. You came, and that's all that matters.' She gave Lily a hug. 'Now, I must get changed and take my make-up off.'
A knock at the door. 'Everybody decent?' Paul stuck his head round the door. 'Thank you, ladies, that was wonderful. Mr Wycherley will be happy in paradise tonight. I've just a few notes, so if you could all come tomorrow by six thirty so I can run through them, I'd be grateful. And there are drinks waiting for us at the pub, so I hope everyone can come along and raise a glass to the success of The Country Wife. See you there.'
His words galvanised the dressing room, and there was a flurry of unlacing and removal of dresses and petticoats.
'Wait for me, Lily, I'll only be a few minutes,' Becca said, taking her headdress off and throwing it onto the dressing table where it bumped into her only good luck cards, one from Lily, one from Paul. Martin hadn't even remembered that. The elation curdled in the pit of her stomach.
'But aren't you going with the others for a drink?' Lily said. Becca shook her head. 'I'm not in the mood, and how will you get home otherwise? I'm not going to send you back alone on the last bus. I can have a drink with the cast another night. Go and wait for me in the foyer, and I'll be along in a sec.'
Lily left the dressing room, and Becca quickly changed, glamorous Becca peeling off with the white make-up, leaving ordinary Becca behind deflated like an overblown balloon. Martin hadn't even bothered to show up. Her mouth in the mirror had settled into an upside-down crescent of disappointment. No wonder Lady Fidget wanted to run off with Mr Horner, she thought, when stuck with boring, stupid, careless Sir Jasper. She hung the dress on the hanger, and the sleeves hung down, the cheap fabric limp and tawdry. Hey ho, back to real life.
She made her way upstairs to the foyer, which was full of people in winter coats talking with animation and laughter. Everybody had had a good night out. She spotted Lily's black tufty hair, and next to her was Martin. Becca's heart lifted as he came across and gave her a hug.
'You came! How did you miss Lily in the interval? Did you like it?'
'I've only just got here.' Her pleasure at seeing him swept away. 'I got held up at work, I couldn't avoid it.'
She gave a taut smile, wanting to hang on to some of the remnants of her happiness at the performance. It was a reasonable explanation, except he always managed to get home on time if it was a running evening. 'It doesn't matter, Martin. Really. It's just a play.'
'Becca, I'm really sorry. By the time I got home, I knew I'd missed the beginning, and there didn't seem any point rushing in for the second half.'
She couldn't keep the anger and bitterness under control, they had to burst out. 'You knew how much it mattered to me.' She stopped, trying to control the sour cauldron of feelings swirling inside her.
'I was held up - it was a work problem, I had to talk it over.' He didn't sound particularly sorry. Probably grateful for the delay, Becca thought darkly.
'Mum, Dad. Don't quarrel,' Lily said, putting one hand on Becca's arm, her forehead puckered. 'He's said he's sorry.'
'We're not quarrelling,' Becca said, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. She wasn't going to squabble in front of Lily.
Martin put his arm around her shoulder. 'Look, why don't we all go out for a meal and celebrate.'
She twisted away so his arm fell, not quarrelling in front of Lily forgotten in the fatuousness of what he said. 'Celebrate what? My performance, which you couldn't be bothered to come and see? Besides, we've all eaten. At least, Lily and I did earlier, and I left your dinner out for you.'
'Yes, I ate it, it was very nice. Delicious, in fact.'
'So what's the point of suggesting we go out for a meal?' Becca put her hand over her mouth to stop more harsh words coming out. Lily's face was pinched.
Martin's face crumpled like a Labrador puppy's that's widdled on the carpet and is waiting for a smack from a rolled-up newspaper. 'I'll make it up to you, I promise. I can't come tomorrow, but I'll be at the next night, I promise.'
Becca felt exhausted, hating herself for upsetting both Lily and Martin, but also feeling it was all Martin's fault and somehow he'd twisted it so she got the blame. 'Whatever. I just want to go home now.'
She searched for her gloves in her coat pocket when she felt a tap on her shoulder. 'Are you coming, Becca?' Victoria joined them and tucked her arm in Becca's.
Becca shook her head, politely smiling. 'No, I'm off home.'
'But you can't! First night drinks is an absolute tradition. You can't not come with us.' Victoria boomed. She turned to Martin and wagged a finger at him, obviously carrying the performance of Old Lady Squeamish into real life, like a bona fide Method actor. 'Tell her she's got to come with us, it's compulsory.'
'Why don't you go and have a drink with the others?' Martin said gently. 'I'll take Lily home.'
All Becca wanted was to get home and have a shower, where no one would notice if she was crying, not even herself. She shook her head. 'I'm not in the mood.'
'Go on.' He gave Lily's shoulders a hug. 'We'll be OK, won't we, Lily?'
'Yeah, you go, Mum. You deserve it.'
'I really don't want to,' Becca said, feeling trapped by Victoria's beaming presence, trapped by Martin being so apologetic, trapped by Lily's anxiety.
'Oh don't be so silly,' Victoria said, thumping her on the back. 'You've got first night blues, that's all. What you need is a decent drink or three inside you. See you in the bar!' And Victoria sailed off, roughly the same shape as a Russian doll in her winter coat and scarf.
Martin kissed Becca's cheek. 'I'll take Lily home, and you go with your friends and have a nice time.' He paused, and she knew she should say something to stop him looking so worried, but she couldn't. It was his fault, and saying sorry didn't make it better. And he hadn't sent her a Good Luck card. He squeezed her upper arm. 'I am really sorry.'
She couldn't bear the look in his eyes and nodded. 'I know you are.' She kissed Lily. 'Thank you for coming, darling, and thank you for those lovely flowers. I'll see you back at home.'
Martin and Lily went through the doors, leaving Becca stranded in the foyer. There were still people milling around, and several times she was asked if she was going for a drink. She gave a non-committal shrug and shake of the head that could mean anything. She didn't want to be with the rest of the cast, with their bouncing good humour, taking part in a noisy post mortem of the performance. She didn't want to go home, to Martin's apologies which good manners said she had to accept and forgive. She decided to take the car and drive somewhere, anywhere.
She rummaged in her bag for her car keys, and then remembered Lily's flowers. So sweet of Lily to think of them, and she'd left them in the dressing room. It would be nicer to have them at home, where she'd enjoy them more. She headed downstairs to the dressing rooms again. It was strange, seeing them empty after all the earlier activity. Victoria's dress had slid off its wire hanger, so Becca put it back, smoothing out the creases. She felt in limbo; the argument with Martin had unsettled her, bursting into her elation and destroying her sense of achievement. She made an effort for his things, why couldn't he make an effort for hers? Because he doesn't care, the answer came winging back. He doesn't care.
The door opened and she turned away to hide her tears from whoever it was.
'Becca? Victoria said you weren't coming on for a drink so I hoped I'd find you before you went.' It was Paul. 'Hey, what's the matter? It's not about the play is it? You were really good, there's no need for you to be upset.'
'It's not that.' Becca sniffed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her mouth quivered, she gulped back a sob. 'Something else.'
Then Paul's arms were around her, and his voice was murmuring in her ear as though he were soothing a child: 'Shh, don't cry. It'll be all right. Don't cry. Shh.'
She hung on to him, finding his arms around her comforting. He was taller than Martin so she nestled into his chest, his smell strange and unknown but exciting. It was tempting to stay like that forever, but her sensible self emerged. 'I'm sorry,' she said, pulling away from him and wiping her face with her hands. 'I think I'm just a bit overtired.'
'It's not about the play?' His face was concerned.
She shook her head. 'No, the play's the one good thing in my life at the moment. It's all the other stuff.' Like Martin. Like June. She tried a smile. 'I hope I haven't got mascara all over your chest.'
He glanced down. 'Looks OK. Anyway, I'm sure it'll come out in the wash.' He grinned at her, but his eyes were sympathetic.
'Send me the dry-cleaning bill, if you want.'
'I meant to give you this earlier, but you were busy. A first night present is a tradition in the theatre. Here.' He handed her a small package wrapped in black paper with a black and white ribbon tied around it. She took it, realising she'd seen some of the other cast members with similar looking packages before they'd started the play, but she'd been so preoccupied with her nerves it hadn't registered before. She carefully undid the package, smoothing the paper out with her fingers. Inside was a book, hardback with gold along the edge of the paper. 'Shakespeare's Sonnets' was written on the front in gold lettering.
'It's lovely, thank you.' Becca smiled up at him, then dropped her eyes, suddenly shy. She turned the book over in her hands. There was a purple satin bookmark and she opened it between Sonnets 22 and 23. 'As an imperfect actor on the stage...' she read aloud. She finished the sonnet, her whole body glowing with the richness of the language, then looked inside the front cover. Paul had written in it, his writing looping extravagantly around the Bs and the P: 'To Becca, Break a leg! You'll be great. With best wishes, Paul Fitzwilliam.'
Becca clasped the book tightly. 'Thank you,' she whispered, nodding, feeling she might be overwhelmed by emotions.
'Don't be sad.' He touched her cheek with one finger. One finger, that's all it took for all thoughts of the outside world to vanish, one stroke of a cheek, for Lily and Martin and June and Frank and everything else to evaporate, one slide of skin against skin for her whole being to focus in on what was happening between them, between Paul and her, right there, right now, no past, no future, just present. Then Paul tilted her chin with his hand, and kissed her.