Chapter 37.

For a moment, Jess thought she’d got through to Anna. She hung by her side, frozen perhaps with indecision, though Jess dared not look at her. The compulsion to reach out for her hand and tentatively curl her fingers around Anna’s was potent.

“Perfecting your role will help with stage fright,” Anna said quietly. “Also imagine what you would do in the event of all your fears. If an audience member came on stage for example, security would intervene. Visualise that and what action you could take. The preparation will ground you.” She hesitated as if she were both reluctant and tempted to help more. Finally she settled on, “We’re running out of time,” and turned and walked upstage.

Jess's heart and hopes plunged through the floor.

“Now,” Anna said, her voice filling the stage. “We will run through the scene, ensuring every word is clear and I want you to over-project, whether up to the ceiling or to the first row or the character talking to herself. It will feel forced, but I want you to throw your voice out, peppering the walls of this auditorium with your words.”

Jess didn’t move. The weight of the world seemed to pin her down.

“Then,” Anna said, “we will rein it in slightly with another run through, and you should find that the volume and clarity is good for the audience while feeling more natural to you.”

“OK,” Jess said. She breathed in, as if trying to fill her soul with the character so that she could cope with Anna, despite the disappointment.

She used her entire body, speaking from deep down, using her arms as Anna suggested to power out the lines. It was cleansing, as if she were shouting out her grief, and she could hear her voice at last carrying to every corner of the theatre.

“Brilliant,” Anna said behind her, brief but full of encouragement. “Again, but this time turn it down a little, full character, but keep that power and clarity in her voice.”

Anna retreated up stage. “Ready?” she said, and this time Jess wasn’t overawed by Anna’s voice. She could match it at last and she nodded.

“When did it begin?” Anna said with a quiet growl simmering with rage and jealousy.

“After you’d left,” Jess said, and this time fear came resonating from her body.

“How soon after?”

“Not straight away.” Jess's fear was real but she could send it all the way to the back of the stalls.

“Was it when the others returned?” Anna prowled closer.

“No.”

“Was it, when you thought I was dead?”

And there was something about Anna’s presence that thrilled and made Jess respond. Jonathon had terrific control of the role but Anna brought another dimension to it. She gave it a menace but also fragility and possibilities that Jonathon’s rendition couldn’t promise. Jess's whole being came alive, sensual with memory, prickling in goose bumps with fear and her mind on fire. The tension alone filled the auditorium.

“No,” Jess moaned from her throat so that a sonorous note rang out.

“What?” Anna gasped.

“When I knew you were alive and coming home for good.”

“But…”

“I wanted to know what it was like.” And as she said the words, their poignancy hit home.

“What?”

“Love,” Jess said with despair. The connection to her character pulsed through her. “I wanted to know what it was like to be touched by someone who cared.” And she closed her eyes, to hold back the tears. “I wanted, for one moment, to be loved for who I am, not whose sister or daughter or whose beneficiary. Just me. Who I really am.”

And the parallel between her character and herself rang painfully true.

Anna stood behind her. Jess could feel her warmth and also the chill of the threat. “And now?” Anna gulped, as if realising the irony too.

“I wish I’d never known,” Jess murmured, and a warm tear escaped and ran down her cheek.

The whole auditorium was centred on Jess, the weight of it, the drama, the desolation, Anna drawn in behind her. It was as if gravity was consuming the entire building and pulling everything into Jess's imploding body.

Anna moved a fraction towards Jess, her warmth soothing suddenly. Jess felt enveloped by her. She could hear Anna’s breathing, deep, quick and clearly affected. It was like Anna had already put her arms around her and Jess willed her to come closer.

“That was fucking amazing!”

Jess snapped out of her reverie. The voice, a familiar one, had come from the entrance to the auditorium. It was a sharp slap in the face and snapped her back to reality.

“Matt,” she groaned.

Her best-friend and producer ran out of the shadows of the stalls and bounded up the steps onto the stage.

“Seriously, fucking incredible,” he said, walking straight up to them.

Anna stiffened beside her and when Jess turned round the iciness had descended again, Anna’s face pale and stony and arms rigid by her sides.

“Matt Abramson,” he said, reaching out a hand to Anna. She took it as gracefully as ever, but Jess could see all the defences being built right before her eyes.

“I’m the producer of the Atlassia films,” Matt continued, seeming to disregard any frostiness. He could be insensitive at times, perhaps his enthusiasm getting the better of him here. He shook Anna’s hand with too much vigour. “I came in a couple of minutes ago and didn’t want to interrupt your flow,” he chatted on.

Jess feared how Anna would respond to that clandestine observation. She wouldn’t appreciate it at all, having someone watch her from the shadows.

“Anna Mayhew,” Anna said at last.

“Oh, you need no introduction,” Matt countered. “I have been a fan of yours for years. I mean years. I’m a regular in the audience at Stratford for a start.”

“Thank you,” she said graciously, remaining poised.

“God,” Matt said, holding Anna’s hand. “What a treat to see you on stage again. You still have that presence in spades. Jesus, you two,” he said and he glanced from Anna to Jess. “The energy of that performance. Anna here, I could never take my eyes off her. You could always hear a pin drop when she was on stage.”

Anna smiled and nodded her head.

Perhaps Matt couldn’t see it, but Jess could. The stiffness in Anna’s demeanour, the polite and forced smile.

“But fuck, Jess!” Matt laughed. He at last released Anna’s hand. He stepped beside Jess and put an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in with playful force. “That was fucking awesome.”

Jess wanted to die.

“I can’t believe that was you up there. Deborah said you were having trouble making the transition to stage. The woman’s talking out of her arse.”

“No, she’s not,” Jess said. “I’ve been struggling, and Anna….” Oh god. “Anna’s made a huge difference this morning.” Jess had hurt this woman, but she’d stayed and carried on with her job.

“I’ve simply reminded your body of what it can do,” Anna said, evenly, and she didn’t attempt any kind of eye contact.

Matt remained at Jess's side, his arm around her shoulders, and no matter how much she willed it away, there it remained. He buzzed beside her, full of excitement, the hug one of friendship and congratulation, but it divided them from Anna, and the gap between them seemed to grow and become colder.

“Sorry,” Matt said. “I’ll leave you in peace. I wandered in looking for Deborah and Jess. I’ll catch up with you at the end of the session.”

“No need,” Anna said coolly. “We’re done here.”

Jess wanted to cry out.

Anna retreated to the table and her coat hanging over the chair. She threw it round her shoulders as if she couldn’t escape quickly enough.

“But that was the first time I was anywhere near good enough,” Jess said, desperate to say something to make Anna stay. “Is your time really up?”

“You’ve made significant progress this morning. I will report back to Deborah in the remaining time and she can remind you of the points you need to improve upon.”

The formality of her words drained any hope from Jess. They couldn’t have been less personal.

Anna retrieved her bag and clutched it in her hands.

“You’re a good actress,” she said, all the life gone from her eyes, only a notional tilt of the head towards Jess. “Goodbye, Mr Abramson,” she said. And for a moment Anna paused, and her cold demeanour slipped.

Then, “Good luck with the play, Ms Lambert,” and she left the building.

The farewell couldn’t have been colder.