Acting Up (22 page)

Harry glanced down at Jazz and then looked back at the stage. Oh God, he was going to make this difficult.

'She told me about you and your aunt.' Her whispering was getting louder. Purple Glasses tutted again, louder still. Jazz flinched, but tried not to react. Purple Glasses was only doing her job. It wasn't her fault Jazz found her ridiculous.

This time Harry looked at Jazz and held his look. She wished it wasn't so dark, she couldn't make out what his face was doing.

'Oh,' he whispered almost inaudibly, nonplussed.

'Yes. And I wanted to say thank you.' Her voice was hoarse. 'I'm so grateful, I don't know what to say. You've,' here she gave up whispering and started speaking in a hushed, excited voice, 'you've saved my life. And I can only guess how hard it must have been for you to do. And I-I – it's
wonderful
.' The words seemed so insignificant compared to how totally indebted she felt to him.

Purple Glasses tutted once more. Before thinking, Jazz whirled on her and demanded: 'Is there anything wrong? Or have you got food stuck in your brace?' Purple Glasses stalked off, insulted. Jazz was mortified. Where did all her anger come from, for Christ's sake? She'd have to apologise later. Oh God, how hideous. After a moment of valuable time spent feeling guilty, she turned back to Harry; his wide smile was hidden by the darkness.

'And I wanted to tell you how dreadfully sorry I am for acting like a complete twat,' she concluded.

'There's no need to say sorry,' he breathed. 'It was done for purely selfish reasons.' He cleared his throat.

Further down in the wings, Mrs Bennet was adjusting her bonnet and straightening her cleavage. Jazz seriously contemplated tripping her up.

'What do you mean?' asked Jazz urgently, as Mrs Bennet trotted on stage.

Harry turned to her and she heard him take a deep breath. 'I couldn't very well fall head over heels in love with someone whose family was in a sex scandal, could I? I've got my career to think of too, you know.'

And in the darkness, she could see his eyes were bright with emotion.

'That's your cue, Jazz.'

Jazz almost ran on stage and stood there, blinking in the light.

* * * * *

When Harry joined her on stage five minutes later, looking like a great big solid hunk of loveliness, Jazz felt herself almost burst with emotion. She wanted to laugh out loud, it was killing her not to. She did make a couple of funny sort of gasping noises that Elizabeth Bennet probably wouldn't have made, but she didn't think anyone noticed. And anyway, her performance was set alight by the intensity of her emotions. She
was
Elizabeth Bennet: she felt sure of it. And Harry
was
her adoring Mr Darcy. The chemistry between them would have been embarrassing if it wasn't what was required.

It was wonderful. The scene they were playing now was when Mr Darcy proposed to his Lizzy a second, successful time. In the book, the characters had been walking behind the lovers, Jane Bennet and Mr Bingley. In this adaptation, Lizzy and Darcy had to stop by a make-believe bench while Jack and George were offstage, supposedly walking up ahead. Or snogging in the toilet, thought Jazz happily.

When Harry said the line, 'My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,' with such affection in his eyes, Jazz thought she was going to have to sit on her hands to stop her flinging them around his neck.

She didn't, of course, and tragically she was on stage all the way until the end of the play, except for a moment while the set was changed for the joint wedding and then she and Harry came on from opposite entrances.

Harry had worked it that there should be no final snog as such, but that the lights would dim as they all started to go for the clinch. Jazz was suddenly terrified. Should she? Shouldn't she? Would he? Wouldn't he? She searched his eyes for clues and got none. As she felt the lights start to dim, they slowly started to hug. It was a full-bodied, long hug that she never wanted to end. Harry's body was damp with sweat and his heart was pumping.

Before she knew it, the sound of applause started echoing and the rest of the cast came on stage in orderly lines and she, Harry, George and Jack exited sharpish.

They got into the wings where George and Jack started snogging furiously. She watched as Harry observed his cast. She might as well not have been there.

'Right, we're off,' he said and they all went to take their bows.

Jazz had never bowed to an audience before. It was the most exhilarating moment of her life. She decided she'd audition for another play immediately. It made every-thing worth it. All the nerves, the rehearsals, the boredom. The clapping seemed to go on for ever. Now she could hear whooping. Harry took a step forward and the clapping got even louder. It was almost deafening. She could see that some of the audience at the left of the auditorium were standing up. She realised she was laughing. Then Harry took her hand and they were bowing together. She couldn't stop laughing, yet she couldn't even hear it over the noise.

Eventually the curtain went down and everyone started hugging everyone. Just as she was about to turn to face Harry, George appeared at her side and hugged the breath out of her. And everyone, she noticed, started hugging Harry. He got further and further away from her as people swarmed round him. He had never looked so dishevelled. As Wills took her in a firm, friendly hug, her eyes caught Harry's. He was being hugged by Sara and was drenched in sweat, his cheeks flushed and his hair messy. Jazz's stomach lurched.

'Right,' said Harry eventually and everyone shushed instantly. 'Everyone in the men's changing rooms.'

There was a charge to the dressing rooms.

Once there, everyone squeezed on top of each other's laps, kissing each other and talking nineteen to the dozen. As soon as Harry spoke though, there was silence.

'What can I say?' he started and they all laughed. He tried to compose himself.

'You have surpassed even my wildest dreams.' Some of the girls started sniffing. 'I can honestly say that I've learnt more from directing and acting in this play than any other piece I've ever worked on.' His voice cracked on the last few words. 'And I think you know I'm not talking about just the acting. Thank you all. I'll never forget this experience and I hope you don't either.'

There was a long pause and then Mrs Bennet started clapping and they all joined in. She gave him a big hug for which he was eternally grateful, because it wouldn't have done for them all to see he was crying. Eventually he pulled himself away and said hoarsely, 'See you at the party.' And everyone started rushing to get ready.

Jazz felt totally lost. She had the party – when he'd be surrounded by his family and friends – and then she'd probably never see him again. She ran to get changed.

The dressing room was abuzz with excitement. People were sharing deodorants and shouting at each other with bright, animated faces. She had to get out of there. She had to get to the party.

George insisted she wait for her, which was so aggravating that she almost lost her high. Maybe Harry falls for all his leading ladies, she thought as she watched George dress. Maybe he'd only said it to shut her up. Oh hell, she had to see him again. But she knew that the chances of getting him alone were now minimal.

Finally George was ready. They almost ran to the audience and saw people clustered round their own family member. Harry's family were sitting high up in the dress circle, now reunited with Dame Alexandra Marmeduke. Famous people were dotted around, but most had already left. George and Jazz spotted their family at the same time. Everyone was there. Even, to Jazz's astonishment, Michael. As they hurried towards them, a few people grinned their congratulations to them both. It was wonderful. Far better than any by-line. Before she reached her family, Jazz noticed Mark and Maddie sitting near the aisle, grinning inanely. They both looked so different out of the office.

She rushed up to them. Maddie gave her a big, warm squeeze and even Mark pecked her cheek. They both seemed very happy.

'You were amazing!' said Maddie.

'Fabulous. You never told us you could act,' said Mark.

'Oh, are you sure you enjoyed it?' asked Jazz, and the question almost echoed round the room, so many people were asking it.

'Loved it,' they said together, and then started laughing. Jazz sensed something a bit strange about them, but was too preoccupied to try and work out what it meant. Outside the office, Mark had shed his bravado completely. He was effusive and charming and Jazz realised how lovely-looking he was.

'By the way,' said Maddie, 'Agatha got a call this afternoon from one of her old journalist cronies – used to work with her on
Gossip!
Well, now she's got three children and she's desperate to come back to writing part-time. I think we may be able to persuade Agatha about you doing a job-share now. Then you can have your weekends back.'

Jazz couldn't believe it. It was all too perfect.

'Excellent!' she squealed. 'You are coming to the party, aren't you? We've taken over Flamenco's in Angel Street.'

'Wouldn't miss it for the world,' said Maddie.

'Strictly as guests – not as press,' said Jazz firmly.

'Yip,' said Mark. 'Scout's honour.'

She gave them the address of Flamenco's. Then she raced over to her family, walloping various people with her bags and baggage and apologising profusely to all of them.

Martha got to her first but it felt like they were all hugging her at once. Jazz pulled Josie aside. 'What's Michael doing here?' she demanded.

Josie grinned. 'Well, he said he wanted to see you in the play as you were still officially a relative of his. Then when he came to pick me up and drop off the sitter, he told me that ever since he'd known about me and William he'd been feeling ill. It had made him realise how much he loved me and how near he'd been to losing me. So you can stop feeling guilty now, honey. It looks like you might have saved my marriage.'

Jazz couldn't believe her ears. She hugged Josie till it hurt. Michael came over to them.

'Hi sis,' he said, a little nervously.

'Come here, you,' she said and gave him a hug that was only slightly less painful.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered.

'Me too,' she whispered back, grinning at Josie over his shoulder.

And then she spotted Harry walking over very slowly. He almost stopped when he saw her hugging Michael, but as soon as their eyes met, she let Michael go. Harry reached them and no one really knew what to do.

George did the introductions. Jazz suddenly felt very guilty, remembering with a stab of horror that the only thing she'd ever told her family about Harry was how rude and arrogant he was, and that he'd called her The Ugly Sister. She wished she'd had a chance to tell them all the latest development . . . then they'd know that it was only thanks to Harry Noble that their family name wasn't mud.

She cringed inwardly when she saw how muted her parents' greeting to him was. It was also very embarrassing to see how much in awe of him they were. He must get this all the time. It was as if they were a lower caste than him or something. No wonder he had become so arrogant. It must be impossible not to. He shook all their hands and then said to her parents, 'You have very talented daughters.' Martha beamed majestically at him. 'Are you all coming to the party?' he asked with a little cough.

Josie and Michael said yes, Martha and Jeffrey laughed at the very idea.

'Well, it's been a pleasure to meet you,' he said, and raised his eyebrows at Jazz. 'See you at the party,' he said to her and wandered off.

* * * * *

Just when George, Josie and Michael were finally ready to go, Jazz suddenly remembered she'd left her make-up bag in her dressing room. While the others went to get the car, she hurtled back through the auditorium, picked it up and whizzed back. As she forced open the doors into the foyer, she saw an old woman sitting on an upright chair against the wall, waiting patiently for someone, her right hand resting on an imposing-looking gilt-edged cane. The woman looked at her and gave her a beautiful smile that lit up her entire face. She must have been a beauty in her day.

'Ravishing, my dear,' she said dramatically. 'Simply ravishing.'

Jazz felt embarrassed.

'Thank you,' she smiled and kept on walking.

'I've seen some chemistry in my time, believe me,' the woman continued in a rich, mellow voice, her dark eyes sparkling, 'and that was
some
chemistry.' Then she stopped smiling and looked intently at Jazz. 'Never lose that spirit, girl,' she said. 'Never lose that fire.'

The old face suddenly saddened, and her eyes looked distant. 'But never let it control you,' she said softly, almost to herself.

Jazz's eyes drifted to a black and white still shot, framed and displayed above the woman's head. Olivier, playing Hamlet, was holding his Ophelia – a radiantly young Dame Alexandra Marmeduke. Jazz's body went cold as she realised that the same face was before her now, in living form.

The woman saw her look and nodded graciously, closing her tired eyes.

Exhilarated, Jazz mumbled something about being ever so grateful and ran out into the cold, night air.

Five minutes later, George was driving Jazz, Josie and Michael from the centre to the north of London where the nightclub was. The windows were open, the music was blaring and Jazz felt on top of the world. But she wished George would drive faster. Every time they got stuck in traffic, she wanted to hurl abuse at the other drivers.

After an eternity, they arrived at the club. It seemed they were the last there. Suddenly Jazz didn't feel so confident. At first she couldn't see anyone from the cast and went to the bar. Mark was standing there, waiting for a drink.

'Hiya,' shouted Jazz.

He smiled at her, bought her a beer and then motioned for her to move to the door. He wanted to talk to her. Oh no, she thought. He wasn't going to embarrass himself, was he? She realised he was a bit drunk.

'Listen, I'm sorry I've been a bit of a plonker for the past . . .' he paused thoughtfully.

'Year?' said Jazz helpfully, then felt guilty when she saw how taken aback he was. He was obviously more sensitive than she'd thought. She assured him it was a joke.

'I've got a bit of a confession to make,' he said. Oh no – not here, not now. Not when she had to get to Harry.

'I've been hopelessly in love for a whole year,' he said. 'It's been doing my head in.'

'Oh,' said Jazz.

'She just didn't know I existed,' he was going on. 'Bloody IKEA excited her more than Yours bloody truly. It's been hell, Jazz, hell.' He didn't notice that Jazz was staring at him wide-eyed. He was too busy confessing.

'Anyway, I've decided. I'm going to tell her tonight.'

'Tell who?' asked Jazz.

'Maddie, of course. Maddie,' he said, imbuing the name with heartfelt emotion, as he watched her chat to someone.

Blimey, thought Jazz. She'd managed to miss that one completely. Had she ever got anything right at all?

'Perhaps you should slow down a bit,' she said, looking at the bottle in his hand.

'Oh yeah,' he said. 'Thanks, Jazz. You're a pal.' And he actually hugged her. As he did so, she caught Maddie's eye. Her boss stared back with a none too friendly expression and suddenly a year's worth of office politics clicked into place in Jazz's head. Maddie and Mark!

Thinking on her feet, Jazz guided Mark to the dance floor where he started doing a movement not unlike an epileptic hoeing. She beckoned Josie to join them, introduced them to each other and left them to it. She had to tell Maddie her latest information. Fast.

As she made her way through the bodies on the dance-floor, she saw something that made her heart sink. Sara Hayes was dancing with Harry. They made a very handsome couple. Unlike any man she'd ever seen on a dance-floor, Harry didn't dance like a gibbon. He didn't move much, but what he did move looked bloody sexy. Sara kept touching him. She looked amazing. She was wearing platform heels that made her almost the same height as Harry and a mini-skirt so short you could almost see her bottom. Her legs must have reached Jazz's shoulders. The chemistry between herself and Harry felt like years away. The Harry who had stood next to her backstage was so different from the one she was watching now. Jazz almost left the party there and then. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have ever thought that she was in the same league? How could she kill Sara without witnesses?

Someone thwacked her on the shoulder. It was Mo.

'Now that
is
too skinny,' she yelled in Jazz's ear. Damn, had she been that obvious? They started dancing together and Jazz managed to pretend to ignore that Harry was behind her. She loved dancing with Mo, though now her smile was forced and her usual easy movements came hard. Eventually, Mo started miming drinking a beer.

As they pushed their way to the bar, a woman who looked strangely familiar appeared in front of Jazz.

They stared at each other and the woman, who seemed to recognise Jazz, pushed rudely past her. Who the hell was it? Her eyes were a watery pale, mud blue and she'd put heavy mascara on her four eyelashes. It looked like a spider had donated its legs for her vanity. Suddenly Jazz realised who she was. Purple Glasses! Without the glasses! She followed after her, trying to remember her name.

'Fi!' she called out. Purple Glasses looked round and stared a very hostile stare at Jazz. She waited. At first the words just wouldn't come out, but after what felt like an eternity, Jazz managed to blurt out: 'I – I wanted to say sorry for how horrid I've been during this play.' A fraction of her black mood lifted. 'I've been quite stressed over the past few months, but––'

'Well, haven't we all?' said Watery Eyes.

'Yes, well, I was just about to say that that was no excuse.' Jazz tried to keep her tone measured and calm. 'And I'm apologising now, and saying that I think you're marvellous at your job. Which is a brilliant job, by the way. So – sorry. And thank you. But mostly sorry.'

Watery Eyes just stared at her. Then she said slowly and very clearly, 'I've worked with some horrid people in my time, but you, Jasmin Field, were the absolute all-time worst.'

Oh, thought Jazz. Glad we've got that sorted out then.

'Does that mean I get a medal?' she eventually asked in a small voice.

Watery Eyes sighed and then said in a painfully patronising tone, 'Jasmin Field, you're
very
lucky I'm in a good mood. That's all I can say,' and walked off.

What, no hug? thought Jazz with a bitter shake of her head. Standing in the middle of the crowded nightclub, she had a quick word with herself, explaining, not for the first time, that life would never be anything like
Anne of
Green Gables
, and she had better get over it once and for all. Then she went to join Mo.

'I have a very important question,' Mo said, as soon as she got there. Was she going to ask her to vacate the flat? She didn't want to hear it. She seriously didn't think she'd be able to cope just now. At that moment she spotted Maddie at the bar.

'Hold on a mo, Mo,' said Jazz, and then sniggered. 'I'll be back in a mo.' Hey – how come she'd never thought of that joke before?

She rushed over to Maddie.

'Hiya,' she said.

'Hi,' said Maddie shortly.

'Mark just made a confession to me,' continued Jazz.

'Mmm?'

'Mmmm. It appears he's been hopelessly in love – that was how he put it – with a certain Features Editor whose spiritual home is IKEA.'

Maddie's face lit up. 'You're kidding.'

'Nope. Did you have any idea you've been putting your junior through living hell? What kind of a boss are you anyway?'

Maddie was grinning from ear to ear. 'A happy one,' she said.

'Well, go and give your employee a full de-briefing. It's way overdue.' Maddie gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and grappled her way to the dance-floor.

Mo came over. 'Finished?' she asked.

'I'm just sorting out everyone's love-life,' Jazz told her. 'Because I'm so good at sorting out my own, ha ha.'

Mo followed her eyes to where Harry was now dancing with Mrs Bennet. The latter was pretending to do a striptease, starting with her scarf, which she had draped over Harry's smiling face. Sara was standing next to him, taking the scarf off and giving it back to its owner, pretending – badly – to find the lark as funny as he did. Harry didn't seem to mind.

'He spent the whole week saving your life,' said Mo.

Jazz sighed. 'Yes, but only because his reputation rested on it,' she said in a hollow voice.

She was so angry with herself she could cry. She'd always scoffed at George for getting so involved in a part that she regularly fell for her co-stars, and yet she had done exactly the same thing. In the past few months, she had felt so empowered by Lizzy, so strengthened by her that she had managed, for a few foolish hours, to get carried away and convince herself that she too could have Lizzy's happy ending. She looked miserably over to Harry as he laughed and joked with Mrs Bennet, and she felt too melancholy to look away when his eyes met hers. Had he said he was in love with her merely to bring out the best in her performance? He was probably that much of a perfectionist – and he was also a convincing actor. If that was the case, had she been
that
easily readable?

She was drowning in self-pity and humiliation. This is real life, she thought unhappily. This is not some stupid play.

'Listen, give the guy a break,' said Mo. 'Remember how terrifying you are. He's probably scared stiff of you.'

'Oh, don't be ridiculous,' said Jazz.

'I am not. You can be truly terrifying. Remember that Scout and Guide camp we went on when we were fourteen? You fancied Jonny Smith.'

Jazz frowned at her. What did that have to do with anything?

'Jazz,' said Mo slowly, 'you set fire to his rucksack. And then wondered why he didn't ask you out.'

Jazz smiled in amazement at the memory. She'd forgotten about that. Had she really done something so dangerous? At the time, she'd thought her heart was going to break.

'Well,' she said stubbornly, 'that certainly taught him to ogle Melanie Margate instead of me during exercise.'

'Yes,' agreed Mo. 'It also taught him how to extinguish a burning T-shirt while still wearing it, and how to sleep on his stomach for the next six months.'

Jazz grimaced and put her head in her hands. It felt heavy. 'I didn't think it would take so well,' she said in a muffled voice.

'Face it, Jazz,' said Mo kindly but firmly. 'You don't realise how scary you can be sometimes.'

Jazz faced it. 'So what do I do? I've already apologised for being a bitch. If he doesn't want me, he doesn't want me. Fact. I'll just kill myself. It's the simplest thing for all.'

Somehow just saying that out loud made her feel better.

Mo sighed and put her hands on Jazz's burning cheeks.

'I have two things to ask you. One: will you be my Best Woman at my wedding? And Two: when you start going out with Harry Noble, will you still remember me?'

'You're getting married!' Jazz whispered, as though this was the first time she'd been told. 'I haven't even asked about the proposal. Tell me
everything
.'

Mo's face went all dreamy. 'It was wonderful,' she confided. 'He took me to lunch at the Pont de la Tour. And then afterwards, when we were standing by the Thames at dusk, he proposed.'

They both sighed together. 'And what was it like?' asked an enraptured Jazz.

'Well,' started Mo, 'for hors d'oeuvres, we had the most amazing––'

'Not the food, Mo, the proposal.'

'Oh.' Mo went all dreamy again. 'He got down on one knee – I had no idea he was going to––'

As Mo went on, Jazz maintained her smile, while marvelling that at the turn of the new millennium, intelligent, educated, responsible women still relied on men to decide when, where and how the most important decision of both of their lives was to be made.

'You'll have to help me diet for the big day,' said Mo, when she'd finished her story. She wasn't smiling any more – she had come crashing back to reality.

'Bog off,' retorted Jazz. 'Why would I do that? I love you.'

'I mean it,' said Mo. 'I've put on loads of weight since I started going out with Gil.'

'I mean it too,' said Jazz equally sincerely. 'He doesn't know how lucky he is.' Then she added, as an afterthought,' I'm so happy that you're happy, Mo.' It was the nearest she would ever be able to get to saying 'I'm happy you're marrying Gilbert.'

Mo looked at her and gave her a long, slow smile. 'Thanks, Jazz,' she said quietly. And then she returned to her diet stories. 'It's not so much a case of how much I eat,' she pondered – convinced, as all dieters are, that other people gave a flying fig-roll about their diet tales – 'but how short a time I do it in. If I only had more
time
to eat what I want to eat, I'd be fantastically slim.'

Fascinated though Jazz was by the conversation, she noticed Harry come over to the bar near where they stood and get himself a drink. Her palms started to sweat. Mo noticed too and without so much as a glance at Jazz, she rushed headlong on to the dance-floor. Jazz almost wished she hadn't gone. Almost.

Harry was standing just too far away for Jazz to be able to speak to him without moving, yet too near for her to pretend she hadn't seen him. He took long, slow gulps of his beer. Jazz watched his Adam's apple as he gulped. She'd never noticed before how masculine an Adam's apple was. She looked at it in the mirror behind the bar for a while and then realised he was watching her. She felt herself go crimson with embarrassment. She forced herself to smile at him. He tried to smile back while still drinking and beer dribbled down the side of his mouth.

'Nice!' mouthed Jazz at him in the mirror. His shoulders started shaking with laughter and he wiped his face with his hand. He looked so much nicer when he smiled.

She picked a napkin off the counter and handed it to him. She was now standing next to him. 'Still a bit of work to do on the old hand-to-mouth co-ordination, eh?' she asked with a grin.

He laughed again. 'And I thought I'd just got that sorted,' he said, using the napkin.

He ran his hand through his hair and coughed. Jazz's insides tried valiantly to steady themselves. She just stood there, leaning against the bar, looking up at him. How long did she have before Bambi-legs appeared by his side? She'd better get her apologies out as fast as possible.

'Listen,' she started, 'I'm really sorry my family weren't very warm to you.'

'You can stop saying sorry any time now,' he said.

'No, I mean it. I must explain. You see, they have no idea how much they owe you. The only thing they know about you is that you once called me The Ugly Sister. Naturally, they feel protective.'

Harry looked at her blankly. 'When did I call you that?'

'At the audition.' She looked a bit sheepish. 'I was standing outside. I overheard you.'

Harry clapped his hand to his head. 'Jesus, no wonder you acted like I'd raped your mother.'

'Well, something like that, yes,' said Jazz, recoiling from the image. Had she been that bad? Was she really as terrifying as Mo had said? She'd had no idea. Perhaps Mo was right. Perhaps Mo should have the column instead of her. It was becoming more and more obvious to her that whereas she thought she knew everything about people, she did in fact know less than nothing.