Lucky Break (7 page)

Nell waited till it was over before going to bed. She and Cath were sharing a room, and as she lay reading, she watched Cath undressing out of the corner of one eye. Perfect, flawless, a head girl in white knickers and sports bra, a Snoopy on her thigh-length T-shirt, the faint smell of peach as she folded her clothes. Nell turned away. They had to be at the theatre by 10 the next morning. The show was opening for its first performance at 5. She let the book fall from her hands and just as she drifted into sleep she saw the horrified face of the waitress rushing towards her. ‘We don't have the amenities.' The woman's voice was high, and then there were Anish's blazing eyes as he spun away from the closed door.

 

Armed with bundles of slippery new leaflets, Nell and Cath trawled the city, jostling with jugglers and stilt-walkers, clowns, contortionists and fire-eaters, to thrust adverts for
A Hell of a Marriage
into the hands of passers-by. They walked from the Castle down to Hollyrood Palace, across to the Grassmarket and along the high terrace of shops that curved into the hill. They walked across to Princes Street and found to their surprise that here, in this shopping street, there were people, local people, real people, who hardly knew there was a festival on at all. They stared in surprise at the proffered leaflets, exclaimed over the early starting time, and muttered that they'd be at work then, or fixing tea. Nell and Cath walked back through the park, stopping to admire the clock of flowers, its face planted with pansies and primulas, its large hand clunking heavily as it ticked. They passed the railway station, pushing leaflets into the newly arrived hands of visitors, watching them pityingly as if they'd lived here all their lives.

As lunchtime approached, they took a short cut to the theatre, climbing a cobbled ramp that led into the street above, and as if the city really was theirs now, and everyone in it, they saw the bright-shirted figure of Dominic, walking towards them. ‘Girls!' he called, ‘good timing,' and he pointed out a group of figures above them on the corner, turned in on themselves as if in consultation. ‘Why don't you join Snakeskin for lunch? They're going to try The Stag.'

‘Oh.' Cath blushed. ‘I said I'd . . .' she looked back towards MacDillons. ‘That I'd meet Richard . . .'

Nell and Dominic both looked at her. That was quick. But neither of them said it. ‘Nell. You free?' Dominic patted her distractedly on the arm, and he nodded in the direction of the pub.

Nell swallowed. What would she be expected to do? To say? Her heart hammered high up in her chest, but even as she neared the group, she saw Anish turn and wheel himself through the double doors of the saloon bar, bursting them open like a cowboy in a film. Nell began to run, entering the pub just in time to see a solitary man pick up his pint and shuffle to the back of the room.

Snakeskin settled themselves around a cluster of small tables, adjusting their wheelchairs, laying down crutches and sticks. Nell sat on a spare stool. ‘Get us a pint of Guinness, would you?' Anish pressed some money into her hand.

‘Anyone else?' Nell could feel the place where Anish had touched her, the strength of his cool fingers, the callus on the pad of his thumb.

Amelia felt for her bag. ‘I'd love a lemonade, and a cheese toastie.'

‘I'm on toasties,' David, the tall boy, insisted. ‘Toasties can't spill,' and leaving his sticks under the table he staggered to the bar.

 

There weren't many people in the pub, but Nell could feel every inquisitive eye on them. Whenever she looked up, heads quivered and glances swerved. Snakeskin seemed oblivious. Their show was opening in three days. ‘I can't see,' Amelia started, ‘I mean I know I can't see, God,' the others giggled, ‘but what I mean,' she was choking on her lemonade, ‘is how it's going to work.'

‘It's not going to,' Anish cut in. ‘Unless we all make a superhuman fucking effort.'

‘I'm trying.' David was defensive.

‘Yeah. Not hard enough.' Anish stared him down. ‘Who says we do extra rehearsals from now on, every evening?'

Helen, a heavy girl, welded to her wheelchair, nodded. ‘I'm in.'

‘And me.' Amelia tilted her head. Her blind blue eyes were opaque as cloud, wide-spaced and plaintive in her heart-shaped face. She had the look of an old-fashioned minstrel, a lute-player from a ballad. Nell found herself wondering if she knew that she was beautiful. If she sensed with her fine fingers the clothes she was choosing were the right light colours for her skin. David leant into her and whispered in her ear, his thin legs bent at an odd angle. ‘All right,' he conceded. ‘If you think it'll help. But I don't want a repeat of
Backerjack
. I was ill afterwards for a month.'

‘You'll be fine.' Anish shrugged. ‘Be a man.' And he held up his pint. ‘Cheers. Here's to a Fringe First. Here's to us.'

‘Cheers,' the others agreed.

The toasties, when they finally came, were delicious, or maybe it was simply that there'd been nothing for breakfast in the Castle Terrace flat. Nell bit into hers, burning her tongue, soothing it with the cool swirls of cucumber arranged on a scattering of cress.

‘So,' Nell looked up, ‘what's your show about?'

Anish wiped the froth of Guinness from his top lip. ‘That's a very good question.'

‘To be honest,' David said, ‘we're not quite sure.'

‘To be really honest,' Helen added, ‘no one has any idea.'

‘Now children,' Anish shook his head, ‘enough of that. There's still time to re-cast rebels. There are plenty of other wannabe Snakeskins out there who'd kill for your jobs.'

‘Sure,' said Amelia, ‘but it's just getting them up here. It's taken us most of the morning to find this pub.' And she, David and Helen shook with laughter.

‘OK.' Anish took another swallow of Guinness and turned to Nell. ‘It's a sort of philosophical meditation . . . a soul-wrenching, but entertaining extravaganza, a rollercoaster journey . . .'

Nell nodded solemnly. ‘Right.'

‘Is it fuck.' He grinned at her, and he drained the last of his Guinness. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot to give you these.' He leant down and retrieved a brown paper package from a bag attached to his chair. ‘We're relying on you now, for our audience.'

Nell saw that they were leaflets, at least 500 of them. She slipped her hand in and drew one out.

‘I don't know about you lot,' Anish stretched, ‘but I need another drink.'

‘Right.' Nell stood up. ‘Anyone else?'

The others shook their heads.

‘Oh and another toastie, go on then.' Anish smiled.

‘Greedy pig,' Helen goaded him.

‘I'm a growing boy. What's that expression? Oh yes.' He winked at Nell. ‘I must have hollow legs.'

Before she could stop herself she laughed. ‘That's terrible!' She clapped a hand over her mouth, and turning away, hurried to the bar. As she waited for her order she glanced down at the leaflet.

 

Like nothing else you'll see all year.

A new play by Snakeskin.

Don't Look Away.

 

‘How was lunch?' Cath asked her as they waited in a queue at the Fringe Office to collect any unsold tickets.

‘All right. How was . . . Richard?'

‘Nice.' She frowned. ‘He wanted me to run through his lines. He's really nervous about tonight.'

‘Really?' Nell couldn't imagine any of the cast of
A Hell of a Marriage
being nervous. They seemed so assured. She wondered if any of them had even needed drama school, or if they'd been born like that, swishing through life, saying darling, running over lines.

‘I'm definitely going to see Snakeskin when they open,' Nell said.

Cath shivered. ‘What will it be like? I can't imagine.' She lowered her voice as the queue moved forward. ‘Just think.' She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘If we'd been born a few years earlier . . .'

‘Yes.' Nell exhaled. ‘My mother was sick as a dog when she was pregnant with me.'

‘They might have given her that pill too. Thalidomide.' Cath's face paled. ‘If she'd asked for it. Or even if she hadn't.'

Yes, Nell thought. How odd that even if they had, she might still have wanted to be an actor. They shuffled forward in silence.

Fifty-five tickets had been sold for that night's performance of
A Hell of a Marriage
. The venue held seventy and they might sell more on the door. ‘Wouldn't it be great if we sold out on the first night?' Cath said, and buoyed up with this thought they thrust spare leaflets into people's hands, gaining in confidence, hollering as they went: ‘First night tonight. Be there or you'll regret it. Only one hour long.' With every leaflet they handed out, Nell included another one for Snakeskin,
Don't Look Away
. And under the title, the picture of a snake, its mouth open, and out of its mouth, a perfect naked child.

 

Nell met up with Snakeskin again the next day for lunch. ‘How are rehearsals going?'

‘Bloody awful.' Anish shook his head. ‘The show's going to be a disaster.'

‘That's not true,' Helen put in. ‘You're just such a perfectionist.'

‘Listen,' Anish spat back. ‘People will be paying to see us from the day after tomorrow. It's not a charity. It's a theatre company. I don't know about any of you, but I'm not after pity.'

They sat in silence. Nell wondered if there was anything she could do to help. She shook her head. She could offer to go through his lines?

‘Sweetheart,' the touch of his hand startled her, ‘would you mind getting me a juice?'

‘No Guinness today?'

‘No, not today.' He looked at her sadly.

David came too and ordered more toasties. ‘Don't mind him, he's . . .' David paused. Nell waited expectantly. A frustrated genius? In terrible pain? David sighed. ‘A self-indulgent twat.'

Nell set the drink down in front of Anish. ‘You'll be there on the first night, won't you?' He leant towards her, and she felt her heart quicken as his fingers grazed her hand.

 

Snakeskin were performing at a hall on the other side of the Grassmarket. Their show started at seven. Dominic and the actors headed off as soon as they were changed, but Nell and Cath had to stay and tidy up. Props had to be put away, chairs stacked, floors swept, the theatre left ready to be transformed into a nightclub.

‘Done?' Nell called optimistically, but the stage manager wasn't finished. He took a last look round, knelt down for a fleck of dust, found the weapon of the stiletto hidden behind a pillar and then, finally, reluctantly, let them go.

Nell ran, stopping occasionally to wait for Cath, glancing at her watch, dreading the thought she might be late. ‘Where are we?' They'd reached the Grassmarket but there was no sign of the theatre. She looked round for someone to ask, consulted her flimsy, disintegrating map, and then remembering it was above the Grassmarket, they set off, climbing up towards the main road, pounding along the pavement, until they found themselves outside a church hall, a ramp over its steps, a large poster pasted across its noticeboard.

The hall was half full. Richard turned to wave at them, to wave at Cath, and he moved along the row of chairs to make room. The lights dimmed. There was silence and then Anish wheeled himself on. Slowly he circled the stage, a showman, sombre in his ring, his short broad body, his powerful arms, his face austere in the dim light and then, he spun around, straight on to the audience and grinned. The lights came up. The audience smiled back. It was audible. The relief. ‘Welcome, ladies and gentlemen.' There was a dangerous glint in his black eye, a cruel twist of his mouth, and everyone sat back. It was clear he was in charge. Behind him, in a pool of light, Amelia began to sing. She let her eyes roll upwards as the pure high song poured out of her. Anish put one finger to his lips and slipped into the shadows and Helen, who'd appeared silently, slid from her wheelchair, and using her hands and the strong muscles of her shoulders she began to dance. She danced unlike any other. She rolled and arched and slithered. A mixture between break dance and ballet. David swung himself on. He stopped, and letting his crutches fall, he braced his legs and held his hands out to Helen, who lifted herself up like a mermaid. They danced in slow motion, their fingers interlinking, slipping, catching, turning, while Amelia stood behind them, her voice filling the hall, an angel singing, until just when the audience had fallen into a trance, Anish uncoiled a circus master's rope and flicked it across the floor. It snapped, cracking, and the actors froze, a tableau of tenderness and beauty, just for a moment before the lights blacked and the low harsh thud of the bass began.

 

There was a party afterwards at Snakeskin's flat. Dominic had provided beer and Ellie the wardrobe mistress was in the kitchen making sandwiches, pouring crisps into bowls.