Loveless(62)

She’d had another of her nights out last night.

‘Get me a coffee!’ shouted Pip as Rooney went to leave.

‘I would literally rather stomp on a nail!’ Rooney shouted back, and I was interested to see that this made Pip laugh instead of her usual gritted-teeth annoyance.

Jason and Sunil were amazing. Jason was well-practised, having done a lot of Shakespeare before, and Sunil was equally good, despite the fact that the only acting he’d done was a minor role in a school production of Wicked. Jason was all, ‘Once more, Cesario,’ and Sunil was all, ‘But if she cannot love you, sir,’ and, overall, it was a very successful run-through.

I sat and watched, and it almost took me out of my head, making me forget about everything that had happened in the past couple of months. I could just live in the world of Viola and Orsino for a while.

‘I am all the daughters of my father’s house,’ said Sunil. One of the final lines of the scene. ‘And all the brothers too.’ He glanced up at me and Pip with a smile, momentarily breaking character. ‘That’s such a good line. New Twitter bio.’

Sunil really seemed to be enjoying being in the production. Maybe more than any of us, to be honest. He and Jason went off to work on the scene on their own, and with nothing to do, I stayed sitting against the wall, knees tucked up to my chin waiting for Rooney to come back from her tea run.

‘Georgia?’

I looked up at the voice to find Pip scooting over to me, her open copy of Twelfth Night in one hand.

‘I had an idea,’ she said. ‘About what you could do in the play.’

I was really, really not in the mood to actually do any acting today. I wasn’t sure I could act as well as I’d thought, anyway.

‘OK,’ I said.

‘There’s another character in Twelfth Night who has quite a big thematic role – the clown.’

I snorted. ‘You want me to be the clown?’

‘Well, that’s just what he’s called in the text. He’s more of a court jester.’ Pip pointed at the scene in question. The clown had some lines leading up to the scene that Jason and Sunil were currently working on. ‘I thought it might be really cool to have you do some of these bits before this Viola-Orsino scene.’

I read the lines, sceptical. ‘I don’t know.’ I glanced at her. ‘I … my acting’s been pretty shit lately.’

Pip frowned. ‘Dude. That’s not true. Those roles just … weren’t right for you. You’re not shit at anything.’

I didn’t reply.

‘How about you just give it a go? I promise I will be nothing but supportive. And I’ll throw something at Rooney if she says anything negative about you.’ As if to demonstrate, Pip pulled her boot off and held it aloft.

This made me laugh. ‘OK. Fine. I’ll try.’

‘I’m back!’ Rooney galloped into the room, somehow not spilling hot drinks everywhere. She slumped down next to me and Pip, putting her tea on the floor, and handing a coffee to Pip.

Pip stared at it. ‘Wait, you actually got me one?’

Rooney shrugged. ‘Yeah?’

Pip looked up at Rooney, genuine surprise, and something almost akin to fondness on her face. ‘Thanks.’

Rooney stared back, then seemed to have to wrench her head away. ‘So how’s the scene going? It’s only two weeks until the Bailey Ball, we need to get this one locked down before then.’

‘I had an idea,’ said Pip. ‘We could add in the clown.’

I half-expected Rooney to immediately protest this, but instead, she sat down next to Pip and leant towards her so she could read her copy of Twelfth Night. Pip made a face of moderate alarm, before relaxing, though not without very quickly adjusting her hair.

‘I think that’s a good idea,’ said Rooney.

‘Yeah?’ asked Pip.

‘Yeah. You do sometimes have good ideas.’

Pip grinned. ‘Sometimes?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘That means a lot.’ Pip nudged her. ‘Coming from you.’

And I swear to God Rooney went redder than I had ever seen her.

It’d been a long time since I’d stood on a stage alone. Well, it wasn’t technically a stage, but the way the other four were sitting in front of me, watching, while I was standing in front of them, had the same effect.

In Twelfth Night, the clown, whose name is actually Feste, shows up periodically to either provide some light comic relief, or to sing a song relevant to the themes of the story. Right before Jason and Sunil’s scene, Feste sings a song, ‘Come away, death’, about a man who dies, possibly of heartbreak because a woman doesn’t love him back, and he wants to be buried alone because he’s so sad. It’s basically just a fancy way of saying that unrequited love is pretty rough.

We all decided that I should recite it as a monologue rather than sing, which I was grateful about. But I was still nervous.

I could do this. I wanted to prove that I could do this.

‘Come away, come away, death,’ I began, and I felt my breath catch in my throat.

I can do this.

‘And in sad cypress let me be laid.’ I kept my voice soft. ‘Fly away, fly away, breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid.’ And I read the rest of the song. And I felt all of it. I just felt … all of it. The mourning. The wistfulness. The fantasy of something that could never happen.