It’s 8am and I’m wide awake. I came home to an empty flat last night, I guess Nick is keeping out of my way too. Weirder still, I haven’t heard from Millsy at all. I texted him last night and then again this morning, but I haven’t heard a peep. Millsy is like me, his phone is never more than a few feet away from his body, so I know something is up.
As I ponder why on earth he might be avoiding me, my phone springs awake. It’s a text from Millsy.
Millsy: At rehearsals. Speak later.
Seriously? That’s all I’m getting? I’m not having that. If he thinks he can agree to plans and then go rogue, backstabbing me along the way, he can think again. It’s like when Macbeth plans Banquo’s murder – except worse, because now he’s tainted my favourite Frankie Goes to Hollywood song forever.
I jump out of bed, throw on some clothes and before I know it, I’m marching up the road to the theatre. He thinks he can ignore me? No way, mate.
‘Hello,’ I greet the woman at the box office. ‘My friend is rehearsing for Macbeth at the moment, but I really need to see him.’
‘The director doesn’t like to be disturbed,’ she tells me.
‘But it’s an emergency,’ I tell her, forging the most worried face imaginable.
‘Wait here, I’ll find out,’ she says sympathetically.
‘Take your time,’ I say to myself as soon as she’s gone. I glance around, taking in my surroundings. The stage is that way, so if I go through this “staff only” door…and along here…
I push open a double-door and suddenly I’m in the wings of the stage, and I can see Millsy centre-stage, rehearsing. It only takes a few seconds for him to spot me before he starts fluffing his lines.
‘Erm, can I just take a break, please?’ he asks.
‘Fine, hurry up,’ the director barks.
Millsy rushes over to me.
‘Rubes, what are you doing here? I’m working. Our opening night is tonight.’
‘I know, but I needed to talk to you,’ I insist.
‘Didn’t you have a good night last night?’ he asks.
‘Not really,’ I reply. ‘Not £40 worth, anyway.’
‘Fuck,’ he replies. ‘Look, I just wanted you to see that there are plenty of men out there and that you shouldn’t be so fixated on Nick.’
‘We’re best friends, Millsy. I can’t believe you’d try to trick me like that. Me.’
‘I’m sorry for the way I went about it, but I think it’s for the best,’ he assures me.
‘What’s for the best is if you tell me what happened last night,’ I demand.
‘Oh, Mr Mills, in your own time,’ I hear the director call.
‘Rubes, I’ve got to go, please,’ he pleads.
I give him my best resting bitch face.
‘You owe me.’
‘OK, look, I did as you asked, I took Deano out, we “bumped” into Heather, we had a few drinks and, you’re right, she was all over him. But then it seemed like they were getting on really well, like they really liked each other. We wound up going to a club – Saturn – until 3am, so forgive me for not feeling on top form today, OK?’
‘She was in a nightclub with you and Deano until 3am?’ I ask in disbelief.
‘Yes, but, look, we’ve got a problem: they kissed. Not only did they kiss, but the club photographer took a picture.’
‘Holy shit,’ I cackle. ‘He led her astray. This is amazing. How do I get a copy of this photo?’
‘You can’t,’ he tells me. ‘The photographer puts them live on their Facebook page at midday. You can request them taking down, but only once they’re live. So Heather is at home, waiting for it to go up so she can get it down ASAP.’
‘Millsy, she’s cheated on Nick. He has to know about this. I have to save this photo before it gets taken down.’
‘Ruby, you can’t. Look, if you just storm Nick with a photo of his girlfriend cheating on him, you’re going to crush him. And he’s going to go from loving her to hating her – but he’s going to hate you too, because you couldn’t wait to stick the knife in and twist it the second you had dirt on her.’
‘Fair is foul and foul is fair,’ I remind him.
‘Stop quoting the Scottish play,’ he snaps. ‘Look, I know I was on-board with this at the beginning when I thought we were just messing with him, but I’m worried about how obsessed with Nick you are. You’re only going to hurt him too. It’s wrong.’
‘Wrong?’ I echo. ‘Wrong? What’s wrong is you paying someone a measly £40 to hit on me. Wrong is Deano kissing Nick’s fiancée. And wrong is you insisting on calling it the Scottish play when it’s called fucking Macbeth.’
As I fling my arms out wildly for dramatic effect, I lose my grip on my iPhone. I feel it fly from my hand, and watch as it travels through the air in super-slow motion. Before I have the chance to warn him, it hits a stagehand in the face. He instinctively lets go of the rope he’s holding and grabs his nose in pain. Suddenly, there’s a deathly scream.
‘What the fuck is going on?’ the director shouts. As I peep out onto the stage to see what all the commotion is, I realise that something has fallen from the ceiling and landed on Lady Macbeth’s head.
‘And that’s why we call it the Scottish play,’ Millsy tells me. ‘Quick, get out of here,’ he insists. ‘Before you get in trouble.’
I hover for a second, holding eye contact. I don’t know what to say to him.
‘Ruby, seriously, go. You’re going to be in big trouble if you don’t.’
I dash from the theatre as quickly as possible, running all the way home because, about thirty seconds after I left the theatre, I realised I’d left my phone in there. If I’m going to have any chance of saving this photo before Heather has it removed, I’m going to need to get on my laptop and wait for it.
I get inside, switch on my laptop, load up Saturn’s Facebook page and wait. Just fifteen minutes to go and the evidence of what a bad person Heather is will be all mine.
Alone with my thoughts, I think about what Millsy just said. Am I obsessed? OK, so I do want Nick for my own, but if Heather has cheated on him then surely he deserves to know. I know it’s not going to feel good for him, when I just present him with a photo, but seriously, what else can I do? I can’t turn a blind eye.
The door buzzes. Crap. Whoever this is, I need to get rid of them ASAP so I can get back to my post. I only have five minutes to spare now.
Whoever it is, I buzz them in, and hover at the flat door waiting for them.
‘Deborah, hi,’ I babble, surprised. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Oh, Heather, it’s such a mess,’ she tells me, tears in her eyes. ‘Arthur, Nick’s dad, they think he’s had some kind of heart attack. Is Nick not here?’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ I tell her. ‘He isn’t, he’s out somewhere.’
‘I got the call while I was shopping in Harvey Nics, I’m headed straight back there. But I’ve got to pick up my grandkids on the way, and I’ve no one to leave them with, and I can’t have them running around the hospital unattended – oh, it’s such a mess.’
I place an arm around her, giving her shoulder a reassuring rub.
‘Look, it’s going to be fine. Your husband is in the right place, you’re on your way over there, you’ll be with him soon enough,’ I reassure her. And then it hits me – exactly what I need to do. Well, I have two options: sit at my laptop and wait for the incriminating photos of Heather and Deano to go online, or help Deborah out when she really needs it. There’s only one option really.
‘I’ll come with you,’ I tell her. ‘I can watch the kids while you figure out what’s going on.’
‘Are you sure?’ she asks. ‘He’s at a hospital not too far from Ilkley, I’m driving over anyway.’
‘Of course I’m sure,’ I tell her. ‘Just let me grab my coat.’
I close the lid of my laptop, grab a jacket and head for the door with Deborah.
OK, so I’m not going to get the smoking gun I needed to break up Nick and Heather, but some things are just more important.