‘Who are you then?’ Jayne was edging forwards on the stage, wary of the drop. Her voice echoed in the space. Dust kicked up, making her nose itch. Light strained to get into the space from the gap where they’d entered. She kept her torch beam directed towards the floor.
Mickey put his hands on his hips as he looked around the shadows of the derelict theatre. He was blinking back tears. ‘I am who I say I am, Mickey Ellis. But who I am isn’t good.’
‘What the hell are you on about? Come on, we’ve got to go.’
He put out his hand. ‘You’ll find all this out when I get to court, so you need to know. You want me to tell the truth?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘The whole truth and nothing but the truth?’
‘Stop this.’
‘I’ve lied to you.’
Jayne groaned as she imagined Dan at court, waiting for her to arrive with the star witness in tow. ‘What about?’
‘Seeing Lucy running from the yard.’
‘You better be joking.’
A car drew up outside, just a small rumble on the cobbles.
‘I’m not joking, and it’s not funny. You’ve got to know about me first, because you’ll judge me when you hear the truth.’
‘I’m already judging you. I’m judging that you’re messing up my morning, and perhaps the rest of Robert Carter’s life. Come on, go.’
Mickey started to pace, his head up, as if surveying his audience, just distant memories lost in the shadows.
‘Do you know why I became an actor?’
‘Oh, please.’
‘I’ve got to tell you.’
‘Okay, I’ll play along. All the clichés, like the audience applause, the smell of the greasepaint?’
He shook his head. ‘I thought it would help me understand people. For me, it was never about the audience or the story, but about the character. The appearance, the motivations, what drives them. People interest me. I study them. But what acting jobs have I had? Someone looking at a new table in an advert for a furniture shop. Dressed in a suit, pretending to be a lawyer in a commercial for no-win no-fee daytime stuff. What’s interesting about that? Where’s the motivation, the secret?’
A car door slammed closed somewhere outside.
Jayne grabbed his sleeve. ‘Yeah, I get it, your career hasn’t worked out. Boo-hoo. Come on, we’re going.’
He yanked his arm away. ‘No, because you’re not getting it, and all of this will come out in court. You’ll need to know it. Take you, for example.’
A cold shiver rippled up her spine. ‘What about me?’
‘You’re mysterious.’
‘Why does that concern you?’
‘That’s what you don’t get – it does. Things like that always concern me, because I need to understand people.’
‘Mickey, please, what has this got to do with anything?’
‘Because it all comes back to that night. Don’t you see?’
‘That night?’
‘When Mary died. I hear it all the time. Her scream. So much terror. So loud, so shrill. It replays in my head as if it’s on some kind of loop.’
‘But what about Lucy? You just said that you didn’t see her.’
‘It’s Mary I see. I see her all the time now, her lifeless face, in my head constantly. Her housemates were away, I knew that, and Lucy? She was never there, certainly not on a weekend. It was then or never.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Jayne started to back away.
‘I saw Mary go out. I was watching, like I always am, for the outline of her body against her curtains, or the pink of her skin through the frosted glass of the bathroom. It was meant to be, it had to be. It was so perfect. I could see everything from my window.’
‘Mickey?’
‘But that wasn’t enough. It never is.’