Nate glanced out from centre stage at row upon row of happy, smiling faces and paced about reciting his lines. The floorboard that always creaked underfoot moaned as he circled the stage. He ended up at the same spot he always did, and the spotlight shrunk until only he was lit. An imperceptible change the crowd would barely notice, but it made what he had to say even more impactful. In a second, it would enlarge as the action moved on. Hell, it was hot. The old West End theatres didn’t have air conditioning – it was impossible to make any changes to the historic listed buildings – and he was boiling in his costume of heavy denim jeans and a thick shirt. Sweat soaked the back of his neck and ran down between his shoulder blades.
The words came to him as second nature, like breathing. They’d been said so many times every intonation was ingrained on his brain, just as every move was imprinted on his muscle memory. He’d enjoyed playing the part of George Milton in a new adaptation of Of Mice and Men, and the critics loved it, but he was secretly glad that the eight-week run was coming to an end as exhaustion was creeping in. The final push to the finish was always hard and it was the exhilaration of performing that carried him, and the rest of the cast, through the last few shows. Thankfully, there were only a few more days to go. He concentrated on his co-stars as they recited their lines.
Thanks to its reception, offers of work were flooding in and Robin, his agent, was busier than ever sending out audition tapes. His career was on the up and had reached the point where he was automatically asked to take some of the theatre industry’s main roles, even some TV ones, but not all of them. Robin assured him that would come soon. It was just a matter of time. At 38 his success had come a little later than he’d have liked, but his star was still rising. As he looked up to see one of the actors slightly raising his eyebrows at him, Nate realised his mind was wandering again. That was happening a lot lately. Since that regrettable night with Hannah Salgado he’d thought more and more about his career and his marriage, and everything he’d risked. Tonight, coming near the end of the run and with a choice of what to do next, he couldn’t stop worrying about it all coming out and everything he’d worked so hard for falling apart.
He’d been childish at first, blaming Hannah for their one-night stand two weeks before. Then he’d blamed his best friend Marcus, whose stag do it was, for letting him get so drunk he’d ended up in bed with her. But Nate knew there was no one to blame but himself. He was still a married man. Okay, he and his wife, Emma, were just about to start divorce proceedings but still, the ring remained on his finger and that should’ve stopped him. He and Emma had been married a long time, and together since university, but slowly she’d fallen out of love with him. Perhaps it had been the pressure of them both being in the industry. Certainly, as his career had grown while hers had stagnated, her jealousy had turned to anger and she’d drifted further and further away from him and into the arms of other men. It had broken his heart. They’d been keeping the marriage together for the sake of their careers, looking for the right time to announce an amicable divorce, and it had been hell.
The lighting subtly changed again to illuminate Nate against the now darkened backdrop, and that was his cue. The performance was reaching its dramatic climax and he focused on the words as he spoke. True emotion came forth, as it always did, until a voice from the depths pierced the silence that fell between him and the audience. A sudden wave of nausea rose inside him and every muscle tensed. He knew that voice.
‘Look at you giving it the big star, Nathaniel Hardy. Forgotten to return my calls, have you? Just been too busy? Or am I not good enough for you now?’ Nate paused, trying to figure out if he was mistaken. But no, he definitely wasn’t. Despite her Spanish surname, the voice that came from the dark was pure Essex. ‘What’s the matter, Nate? Got nothing to say this time? You thought you could palm me off, didn’t you? Thought I’d just disappear like some slutty one-night stand. Well, I won’t!’
The audience gasped. Nate swallowed down the bile, hoping he wouldn’t be sick. Saliva gathered in his mouth and his head spun. It was like being drunk. What the hell was Hannah doing here? The theatre was silent and the air thick and unmoving, lit by fractured beams of light. He’d thought Robin had dealt with this. Nate had told him and Emma about his indiscretion the very next day after realising what a fool he’d been. When Hannah had un-subtly mentioned the media finding out about what had passed between them, he knew he’d been used. At first Nate had thought they were just two lonely people who wanted a night of comfort. Only afterwards did it become clear she was after a career boost in hitching herself onto him. It had been a major error of judgement and one that he couldn’t undo however much he wished it.
Emma couldn’t have cared less as long as it didn’t get out. She had irons in the fire that something like this could ruin, plus her dad, a big-name producer, would get caught up in it too, He’d do his absolute nut if this came out just now. Robin had advised Hannah to keep quiet for the sake of Nate’s and her own reputation. Though Nate’s marriage might be over behind closed doors, the world didn’t know that, and he couldn’t afford for them to find out. If this hit the papers, which it would now, all the offers that had been coming in so fast Robin couldn’t keep up, would disappear. He’d no longer be the sweet-hearted, loyal husband he’d always tried to be. The darling of the chat shows and women’s mags because he’d been with Emma since university – since before he was famous. He’d be a cheating bastard. They had no idea that things had changed for Emma and he’d slowly been coming to terms with it. They didn’t know she’d fallen out of love with him and he simply wasn’t what she wanted anymore. They’d planned to split in a month, announcing it through their respective agents before divorcing quietly. The papers would have been sympathetic then and it would have played out nicely with neither blamed, only each admired for their grown-up attitudes. Now a silly drunken one-night stand was going to ruin everything, and it would become a sordid mess.
‘Come on, Nate,’ Hannah began again. ‘You’re an actor, you must have something to say. You’re not exactly shy and you certainly weren’t that night at my flat.’ She was standing up, seven rows back. Even the ushers approaching her looked scared, her normally pouty face held in an angry grimace. She’d clearly planned for this moment. An expensive dress poured over her curvy figure, her make-up impeccable despite the heat, and long black hair hung down in curls that, he knew from Emma’s pre-awards-show routines, took an expert hand. Why was Hannah doing this?
Muttering crept forwards through the audience like a ripple on water, landing at his feet. Nate knew he should say something, but he had no idea what. His mind was gripped with panic at the consequences of his stupid actions, brought on by too much drink and far too much heartache. He’d loved Emma and admitting their marriage wasn’t working anymore had broken his heart. It had been exhausting putting on a brave face for the paparazzi. And then, one night, when he’d finally managed to get away from them, a chance meeting after one too many flaming sambucas had brought Hannah into his life. There she was, this gorgeous model telling him she’d just broken up with her boyfriend. Nate, fuelled by beer and shots, had let the pain and loneliness he’d worked constantly to keep at bay wash over him. The hurt of Emma’s rejection had finally become too much and he’d stupidly been swept away by Hannah’s flattery, by the little-girl-lost persona, and one thing had led to another.
The guy playing Lennie stepped forwards. ‘Excuse me, madam, I think you should leave. You’re ruining the performance for everyone else.’ Nate stared at him, knowing it should be him saying something. Every moment he kept his mouth closed he looked even more of an idiot. The audience – his audience – were agog.
Hannah folded her arms over her chest in a defiant stance, making sure her enormous boobs rested on top. ‘Do you know what this scumbag did?’ she asked, gazing around, playing to the crowd. Some people turned away, embarrassed, while others began filming on their phones. God, this would be all over the internet within ten minutes. His career was over. That was it. It was all going to fall into the toilet. The media wouldn’t be kind. It would be a highly publicised betrayal of his childhood sweetheart for a fame-grabbing model. They’d never know or understand the reality. He wasn’t an arsehole. Just an idiot. Robin would probably drop him. He wasn’t big enough news to weather a storm like this. And Emma would hate him even more. Hannah gleefully continued. ‘He told me he loved me. He told me he was going to leave his wife and—’
What? No! Jesus Christ on a bike. Had he been so drunk he’d said that? He had no recollection of it, and it didn’t sound like him, but the night had passed in a blur. Nate couldn’t even remember if the sex had been any good he’d been that drunk. Shit. This was all going wrong. So, so wrong. Why was she here now?
‘—and now …’ Hannah turned towards him and smiled. ‘Now, he’s trying to pay me off to save his reputation. Well, his agent is. Nathaniel hasn’t come near me since the night we spent together having sex! Lots and lots of sex. Which was crap by the way! But he’s too much of a coward to even face me himself, aren’t you, Nathaniel Hardy? Have you told your wife about us yet?’ Her head stopped wiggling and she glared triumphantly.
No, no, no, no, no, thought Nate. This wasn’t right. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, still being technically married, and he’d regretted it straight away, but did he really deserve all this? He couldn’t – wouldn’t – have said he loved her. Nate had only ever said that to Emma. And he was sure he wouldn’t have promised more than a single night of no-strings sex. She wasn’t his type. He’d never before been the sort to just jump into bed with someone. It was always the emotional connection he wanted. The curtain began to close, protecting him from the audience and Hannah.
‘Nate,’ whispered Lennie now they were shielded. ‘What the fuckery is going on? That silly tart’s ruining the bloody show.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, his brain slow and sluggish. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she was here. I thought it was all dealt with. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry …’ Nate’s legs wobbled beneath him and he collapsed onto one of the hay bales used to set the stage. In the play he was on a farm in California. He’d been there recently. LA, to be exact. For a small film role. He wished he was there now, or anywhere else for that matter. The erratic breathing returned, not helping his light-headedness at all. The lights seemed to be moving and Nate held his head in his hands trying to stop the flashes drifting across his eyes.
One of the female cast members tutted and turned her back on him. She thought he was a cheating bastard. And he was. Technically. But he couldn’t break his agreement with Emma and tell the truth of her numerous affairs now.
‘Nate,’ the theatre manager said calmly, as if this happened every night of the week, ‘after we remove her from the audience, are you okay to carry on?’
Was he? He had no idea right now. His world was tumbling down around him. Could he perform after this? He thought of his training, and something inside him clicked. He nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’
Hannah’s voice could still be heard in the background as what sounded like three or four different ushers tried to remove her from the stalls. ‘Get off me, you fucking idiots. Do you have any idea who I am? Don’t push me. You can’t do this. Oi!’ Her screeching faded and the theatre manager spoke once again to Nate.
‘Are you sure?’
Nate looked around at his fellow actors. He couldn’t let them down, or the audience who had paid good money to come and see them. The play had been ruined enough for them already because of him, he wouldn’t cheat them out of the last twenty minutes. That was his only good bit of luck. They’d been so near the end when she’d started shouting, he didn’t have long to get through. The sneaky minx had obviously been waiting for the pivotal moment of the play. Pulling his shoulders back, he said, ‘Yes. I’m sure. Just give me a few minutes to get myself together.’
‘Okay.’ The theatre manager deftly moved the curtain aside and stepped onto the stage. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m terribly sorry for the disruption to tonight’s performance. We’re going to have a fifteen-minute interval and then the play will continue. Thank you all for your patience and your support.’
The quiet mumbles erupted into a loud chatter that filled the room. Nate couldn’t help but wonder what they were saying about him. Nothing good, he was sure. Lennie turned to him. ‘Are you okay, mate?’
‘Not really,’ Nate replied, studying his visibly shaking hands. ‘Just give me five minutes.’
Nate rushed from the set, through a door at the back and down the steps to the dressing rooms. Using his hand to steady himself, he sped along the corridor and burst through the door. Collapsing into his chair he let his head drop into his hands. It was stifling in the small, messy dressing room. The London air was dense with heat and there was no breeze to cool him, only the whirring of a small desk fan that did nothing but blow droplets of cold sweat across his forehead. Nate’s face was ashen as he stared at his reflection in a mirror brightly lit by the bare bulbs encasing it. He wasn’t really seeing himself, just a pale version of the man he’d been when everything was going well. It was like he was looking at someone else now. Nate swigged from the bottle of water beside the abandoned make-up brushes, tossed aside as the thrill of the five-minute call and the eager anticipation of performing filled him. A buzzing from his jacket, hung on the back of the door, told him he had a phone call. Grabbing it, he saw it was Robin. Word was out already.
Repressing the urge to ring back, Nate closed his eyes and recalled the lines he was about to recite, mumbling them to himself. At the start of his career he’d thought the phrase ‘The show must go on’ was a joke but right now, he really wasn’t laughing.
***
The applause was subdued during the final bows and once the curtain had finally closed Nate didn’t wait around for the rest of the cast as he normally did. Tonight, there would be no congratulations on a job well done. Not for him anyway. Instead, he did his best to get back to his dressing room without speaking to anyone. The cast didn’t know what to say to him, which was funny considering they were actors. They simply exchanged awkward glances that they thought he didn’t see.
A horrible queasiness rocked his body as he closed the dressing-room door and took his mobile phone from his jacket pocket. He had several missed calls, text messages and voicemails from Robin. Nate was beginning to feel angry now and wanted to know how everything had gone so horribly wrong. He felt so guilty, but Robin had promised he’d sort it. It took a ridiculous amount of time to find Robin’s number because his fingers felt like they were wrapped in cotton wool and wouldn’t go where his brain directed them. Several times he scrolled too far one way then the other. His whole body was shaking so much it took every last bit of energy to concentrate on what he was doing.
Robin answered straight away. ‘Nate?’
‘Robin, what the hell has happened? I thought you’d dealt with it?’ Nate began to change out of his costume, undoing the dirty, dusty jeans his character wore, pulling them off and with one hand slipping on his own smarter ones. Where the hell was his top? Robin sighed and Nate could picture him scratching his forehead, like he always did when he was stressed. His thick cheeks would be red, his blood pressure rising. ‘Robin, she’s here saying—’
‘Yeah I know. I’ve seen but I did handle it, Nate. I told you, it was made clear that she needed to keep that night strictly between you two. No press and no further contact. She was … compensated accordingly and I thought she’d taken it well.’
‘Well, she clearly bloody hasn’t.’ Nate tilted his head and pinned the phone to his shoulder then undid the cuffs of his shirt. Taking the phone again he pulled the top over his head and grabbed his own T-shirt, threading through one arm, then the other. He knew he sounded like a complete dick but controlling the panic was proving difficult. Robin’s voice was so loud Nate could hear him even when he moved the phone away to pull the top over his head. Nate sat down and pushed back his dark hair. ‘Has anyone told Emma? I can ring her now. I just don’t want the first thing she hears about this coming from her agent, or worse, some shitty, insensitive reporter knocking on the door.’
‘I’ve already called her,’ Robin replied, calmly. ‘I told her I’d deal with it and that everything else remains as you guys agreed. Suffice to say, she went off like a rocket.’
Nate pinched his temples. ‘What do I do now, Robin? This is going to be all over the net tonight and then in the papers tomorrow. They’re going to think I’m a complete scumbag.’ Nate’s voice cracked slightly. Emma already did, and he hated himself for still caring so much about a woman who hadn’t loved him in years. ‘I’m surprised she’s not taking the opportunity to put it all on me and get out while she can.’
‘Think about it, Nate, if the press go digging about in your private life to find out if you’ve done this before, what else might they find? Her affairs could be uncovered. She’s better off letting this die, but she doesn’t want you to come back to the house tonight.’
‘What?’ It felt like a punch in his ribs.
‘She said she doesn’t want to see you right now. Not until she’s processed what’s happening.’
He paced around. ‘Processed what’s happening? It was a drunken one-night stand after our marriage was over! She had an affair with one of her co-stars for nine months before I even knew we were in danger.’
‘Never mind about that now,’ Robin replied. ‘The paparazzi will already be outside the theatre and you can’t go home so I’ve arranged for you to go somewhere else.’ Nate blew out his cheeks. He felt a stinging in his nose and gritted his teeth, refusing to let his emotions get the better of him. ‘But listen, I’m sure we can still work this to our advantage.’
‘How? How can we possibly do that? I look like some shady love rat. Like Hugh bloody Heffner.’ There was no answer for a moment and Nate opened his mouth to speak but then Robin began again.
‘I’ve arranged for you to go somewhere and I’ve got a car waiting outside. I’ll pack you some stuff tomorrow and send it on.’
Nate shook his head. ‘I can’t just leave the show. There’s still three nights left.’
‘Your understudy can take over. We’ll say you’ve got pneumonia and you’re recovering. You need to distance yourself from this.’
‘Pneumonia? But it’s July.’
‘You can still get pneumonia in July. Stop being difficult.’
Outside his dressing-room door, the theatre came to life again as costumes were collected, props were organised for the next day and people bustled around. ‘I’m not being difficult, but no one’s going to buy it. And I haven’t even got clean pants.’
‘What are you, the Queen of bloody Sheba? Just wear the ones you’ve got on now. Turn them inside out or something, I don’t bloody care! And I don’t care if they buy it or not. The story will die quicker if they can’t twist your words.’ Robin sighed heavily. ‘We just need you out of the way for a week or two until they find something else to write about, which they undoubtedly will.’
‘So what exactly do you want me to do?’ Nate pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead.
‘Get in the car that’s waiting – it’s taking you to stay with an old friend of mine in a little seaside town where the press won’t bother you.’
Nate moved to the open window and closed it. The stage door was busier than usual, probably stacked full of reporters pushing past the fans who had paid good money to see the show and hoped for a quick photo or autograph with the cast. ‘And where’s that?’ he asked, unconvinced this plan would work.
‘Greenley-On-Sea.’