Sweet Sorrow(89)

‘Is she nice?’

‘She’s amazing.’

‘Attractive?’

‘I think she’s beautiful.’

‘So have you done it yet?’

‘No. Everything but.’

‘Everything but, eh?’

‘We’ve got a plan.’

‘Well, if you’ve got a plan. And you like her?’

‘Yeah, I really, you know. I love her.’

‘…’

‘…’

‘…’

‘…’

‘Well, you’d better get your beauty sleep, Charlie.’

‘Let’s finish this first.’

‘Top right pocket.’

‘Off you go.’

‘…’

‘…’

‘…’

‘Well done,’ I said. ‘You win.’





Workshopping


‘… and roll back up, one vertebra at a time, into a standing position,’ said Alina. ‘And now, before you go, here’s one final word from your director.’

‘Here we go,’ said Alex.

‘It’s the D-Day speech,’ said George.

‘It’s going to be very emotional,’ said Helen.

‘Sh!’ said Miles.

And sure enough, Ivor came to stand in the centre of the circle. ‘Well, what an experience. Three weeks ago, I thought – there’s no show. There’s nothing here, no one’s listening, no communication, it’s all a waste of time. But you’ve worked so hard, so, so hard and I don’t mind telling you, this has got the potential to be, well, something pretty great, something Shakespeare might watch and think, yep, that’s exactly what I meant. Now next week is going to be very technical, quite slow, boring in places and very hard work. I know, too, that it’s a big week for some of you, with your exam results coming out, and so we’re going to take a few hours off on Monday, to let the excitement die down.’

I wouldn’t look. I would stay in bed, pull the pillow down over my head.

‘But the scaffolding will go up while we rehearse, we’ll dress it. Tech on Tuesday and possibly Wednesday, Thursday dress rehearsal then that night … we’re on! There are still tickets, so please, get your aunts, your uncles, your cousins, your school friends along. Because I think they’re going to see something really …’ Ivor touched his knuckle to his lip, to contain the emotion. ‘Really. Special. Now. Go home!’

We were not going home.

‘Pub?’ said Helen.

‘Or are you running lines?’ said Alex.

‘No, we can go to the pub,’ said Fran. The pub was part of the plan. ‘But we’re on our bikes.’

‘Your bikes. You’re so wholesome.’

‘Aren’t we?’ said Fran.

‘Well, give us doublers,’ said Helen.

‘Doublers?’ said Alex. ‘I’m sorry, is this the Beano? No one calls them “doublers” They’re croggys.’

‘Croggys is just made up.’

‘No, it is a croggy,’ said Fran. ‘It’s the standard term.’

‘Must be a Chatsborne thing,’ said Helen.

‘If anything, it’s a back-y,’ I said.

‘Literally a back-y,’ said Fran.

‘Doublers don’t work anyway. We’re too big.’

‘Yeah, thanks, Charlie,’ said Helen.

‘No, we’re all too big.’

‘It works downhill,’ said Fran.

And so at the top of the lane the four of us clambered onto two bikes like a circus troupe, Fran and I taking the seats, Helen and Alex standing on the pedals. In passing, Alex noticed my rucksack – ‘Good Lord, what have you got in there? Are you running away from home?’ and I wondered if I should tell him, I’m spending the weekend with Fran, the whole weekend, just the two of us. We’re going to have sex – but already we were off, hurtling down the lane at terrifying speed; dead, surely, if we hit a fallen branch or met a car coming towards us. Dead and so close to having intercourse. ‘I don’t want to die!’ I said out loud. ‘Not now.’ ‘Faster!’ shouted Alex, and so we picked up speed, whooping and hollering, causing the rest of the company to split and scatter. ‘See you at The Angler’s!’ shouted Helen, as we passed. ‘If we live!’

We walked the rest of the way, the others joining us later in the pub garden. Conspirators, Fran and I were careful to avoid each other’s company. Instead, she talked to Polly, subtly drawing out the intelligence we’d need while I sat and listened to George and Miles bicker.

And still I couldn’t help looking at my watch, the aching slowness of the minute hand. So tedious is this day, as is the night before some festival, says Juliet, to an impatient child that hath new robes/And may not wear them. The play was stuffed with anticipation, talk of tomorrows, of sunrises and sunsets, hours and minutes, and if the characters had wristwatches they’d not just check them but tap the glass, longing for them to run faster. If I’d been going to college, it might have made an essay – ‘Time and Horniness in Romeo and Juliet: an Exploration’. I checked my watch again. Full sex. Of course it would be silly to think that there was nothing sexual about all the things we’d done so far, but this was full sex, like full volume, a full house, a full English breakfast; it contained everything, and after this there’d be nothing left to do except to do it again. I checked my watch repeatedly until eight p.m. when, as agreed, we said our goodbyes.