Stage Fright (12 page)

‘OK.'

‘Better now?'

‘Yep.'

I did feel better, more ready to believe that Melissa hadn't come to any harm. Joe had always been able to talk me down when I got into a state. When we'd first met he had seemed so much older, more worldly wise. Four years is a big gap when you're only twenty-one. Of course there was no earthly reason now to think that Joe knew better than I did – maybe there never really had been. But I couldn't help being comforted all the same.

That feeling evaporated the next morning when Stan rang me up to say that there was still no news of Melissa.

Chapter Eight

‘Y
OU
never intended to be back in time,' I said.

Kevin didn't reply immediately. I glanced up from my script. His face had a yellowish tinge and his slicked-back hair was greasy.

But when he did at last speak, his voice was firm enough.

‘Well, my dear, you've rather put yourself beyond the pale, haven't you?'

‘For myself I am past caring – I no longer even wish to marry you – but why should my child – our child – have to suffer for our sin?'

It was eleven o'clock the following morning and we were on stage at the Everyman. Over in his office Richard was busy on the phone trying to track down a substitute for Melissa. Kevin had asked me to read the part of Lady Isabel so that rehearsals could continue. It was strange to hear myself reading Melissa's lines, lines I'd written myself. Stranger still to realize that I was so used to hearing her speak them that I was using exactly her own intonation.

‘Hard lines, I agree,' Kevin drawled. ‘You can't suppose I'm pleased that my first son's been born a bastard. But you must see that it's quite impossible for me to marry a divorced woman—'

‘Kevin. Cradle,' Stan said in a low voice.

‘What?'

‘You were supposed to go over and look in the cradle during that speech.'

‘Oh Christ.' He thumped his forehead with his clasped fist. ‘But no, hold on, we changed that. It was too awkward getting back across the stage. We decided to move the cradle instead.'

There was silence.

‘So why
haven't
we moved the fucking cradle?' he enquired. ‘It's still on the other side of the stage.'

‘Sorry, Kevin. Can't think how that happened.'

I couldn't see Stan clearly, because I was wearing my reading-glasses, but I could tell from her voice that she was flustered. It wasn't like her to make this kind of mistake.

There was another silence. Then Kevin said:

‘I'm sorry I snapped. The situation's getting to me.' He walked across the stage and picked up the cardboard box that was standing in for the cradle. ‘OK, then. Cradle over here. I walk over to it, I pick up the baby…'

As Kevin moved back and forth across the stage, I let my mind wander. In my reading-glasses, everything more than a foot or two away was blurry, adding to the feeling of unreality induced by lack of sleep and anxiety. Kevin looked even more villainous as Captain Levison when he wasn't in focus. I took my glasses off and rubbed my eyes. The theatre was empty except for a smattering of people in the stalls. Stan, still wearing yesterday's clothes, was in the front row. A little further along Clive and Belinda were sitting next to each other. Clive had stretched his long legs out and had his eyes closed. Belinda was reading her script, her lips moving – going over her lines, I guessed.

I found my eyes straying up to the spot in the dress-circle where Belinda had seen the strange figure and Stan and I had found the seat down. There was no one up there today.

‘We'd better take it from the top,' Kevin decided.

I turned my attention back to my script. I was about to put my glasses back on when something flickered on the edge of my vision. I looked back into the auditorium. At first, I couldn't see anything. The contrast between the light on the stage and the dimness at the back of the auditorium was too great. I thought I'd imagined it, then just as I was about to turn away again, there was another movement. I could see now that there was someone standing next to the double doors at the back of the stalls.

I gave an involuntary gasp.

‘Cass?' Kevin was staring at me. Then he turned to follow my gaze down the centre aisle. The people sitting in the front rows of the stalls were also looking round.

‘Who's that?' Kevin said.

His voice was gentle, hopeful almost. He didn't sound as if he was challenging an intruder. Then I understood: he thought it was Melissa. Could it be? But no, the figure was advancing down the aisle now and it was too tall.

Then it spoke.

‘I do beg your pardon. The chap on the stage door said you'd be breaking in five minutes or so. He thought it would be OK if I slipped in the back.'

It was Tim Fisher. I'd been holding my breath. I let it out in a sigh.

Fisher reached the front of the stalls. Kevin stared down at him. ‘I thought for a moment,' then, his voice quickening, ‘You haven't…?'

‘I'm sorry, no, we haven't found her. Not yet. I'm afraid there are a few more questions I need to ask you. Perhaps we could have a word in private? And I'd like to see Miss Meadow's dressing-room.'

‘Of course.' Kevin hesitated. ‘I'll take you up there. We can talk there, too. There's only one thing. Richard's going to be here in a few minutes, and the rest of the cast and the crew. We've got to explain what's happening.'

‘No problem. I'll just wait here, shall I?' Fisher took a seat in the front row.

Kevin went over and sat down on the sofa at the side of the stage. I went down the stairs and sat next to Stan. She gave me a conspiratorial grimace. No one spoke. Soon people began to drift in. They were a scruffy lot: cast and crew alike wore washed-out T-shirts, badly cut jeans and baggy cardigans. And yet one could immediately tell which were the actors; there was something in the way they dropped into their seats or perched on the edge of the stage, in the way that they frowned and murmured to one another. Their concern was genuine, but they were always acting just a tiny little bit, I thought, always projecting themselves even when they were at their most sincere.

Richard appeared on the stage. He was a big, heavy man, with a high-domed forehead which he was now mopping with a large white handkerchief. Jake and Geoff were close on his heels. All this excitement and drama: it must be money from home for Jake, I thought. Richard headed for Kevin. He seemed suddenly to realize that Jake was right behind him, and flapped his handkerchief at him like a man shooing away a wasp. With evident reluctance Jake backed off and signalled to Geoff. They retreated to the side of the stage.

Richard sat down next to Kevin and spoke quietly in his ear. Kevin nodded. He got up and went to the front of the stage. There was an immediate hush.

Kevin cleared his throat.

‘All of you will know by now that Melissa has gone missing. I won't need to tell you how desperately worried I am. I'm hanging on to the hope that it's all been too much for her and she's gone away somewhere for a few days to rest and recuperate.' There was a murmur of sympathy. ‘In the meantime,' he paused, ‘we're going to carry on as best we can. Richard has arranged for Phyllida Haddon to come up from London to take over as Isabel.'

The faces around me registered mingled concern and relief.

‘We didn't expect to get someone like her at such short notice, but she just happens to be free,' Kevin went on. ‘Something to do with a change in a filming schedule. We've got some bloody hard work ahead of us. But I know I can rely on you. This afternoon I want the entire cast here. We'll have a complete read through with Philly, and then we'll go through the blocking with her. I'm breaking now for…' Kevin looked at Fisher. ‘Twenty minutes?' he asked.

Fisher nodded. It was oddly as though their roles were reversed, and it was Fisher who was the director, Kevin merely an actor.

‘OK, twenty minutes,' Kevin went on. He looked at his watch. ‘Then we'll go on rehearsing Act Three, Scene One. Everyone else back here at two o'clock sharp, OK? But before we break, Richard wants a word…'

Richard joined Kevin at the front of the stage.

‘The press,' he said. ‘There's no way we're going to keep them off our backs. We've already had the
Sun
on the phone. I don't want them to get hold of a lot of idle gossip. That's not going to help Melissa – or Kevin. I'm not suggesting that we keep it quiet – couldn't do that if we tried, actually, but I want everything, and I mean everything, to go through the press office. Understood?' Everyone nodded. ‘OK, that's it, folks.'

‘Phyllida Haddon,' I said to Stan. ‘The name rings a bell.'

‘She's done a lot of period stuff. There was one of those Henry James adaptations.
The Spoils of Poynton,
was it? And that movie version of
Our Mutual Friend.
'

I remembered her now. ‘Oh, yes, of course, she played Bella. Blonde hair, one of those rather bland, doll-like faces.'

‘Kevin was right. We're lucky to get her at such short notice.'

I detected a reservation in her voice. ‘You don't sound very sure.'

Stan heaved herself to her feet. Her hair, which had been screwed into a rough bun, was listing to one side. She rolled it up and skewered it into place with a pencil.

‘Well, between you and me she has a reputation for being difficult to work with. And that's the last thing we need at the moment. As long as she turns up on time, says her lines and doesn't bump into the furniture, that's all I ask.' Stan yawned. ‘I'm gagging for a cup of coffee. Come on.'

We made for the green room.

‘Are you going to go home at lunch-time?' I asked.

‘Probably not. I'm OK actually. Brushed my teeth and changed my knickers. Those are the main things. I always keep a bag with a few spare things in the car. You just never know in this job. I once had a technical rehearsal that went on all night. Don knows to expect me when he sees me.'

‘I'd offer to collect Agnes from the nursery, but I've only got one car-seat.'

‘All sorted. Don't worry. They'll keep her until six and we'll bring her back to the theatre. I'm going to get my eldest, that's Tilly, to come and baby-sit. Kevin'll be here until God knows when. It's going to be all hands to the pumps.

‘That reminds me,' she went on. ‘I'll have to go over to the car-hire place – sort out a car with a baby-seat, otherwise Kevin won't be able to take Agnes home. Will you be a love and drive me over to Mill Road later on, so that I can drive it back here?'

‘'Course I will.' I looked at her with affection – and a touch of envy, too. Was there anything she couldn't cope with?

‘Have you ever thought of running for prime minister?' I asked.

She grinned. ‘Nah, wouldn't be enough of a challenge.'

There was no one in the green room. I filled the kettle and Stan dropped into one of the leatherette chairs. There was a knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, Jake poked his head into the room.

‘OK if we come in?'

Stan looked at me and rolled her eyes.

‘If you must,' she said.

Jake slipped into the room, followed by the silent Geoff. He propped his bum on the edge of the table and began leafing through the latest copy of the
Stage.
Geoff leant against the wall, his camera resting on his chest. He was wearing beige trousers and an off-white shirt. With his tow-coloured hair, he was almost camouflaged against the cream-painted brickwork. I realized that I'd almost stopped noticing him. He had a talent for effacing himself.

I made the tea and sat down in the other armchair. I flipped over the pages of my scripts, looking ahead to the next scene I'd be rehearsing. Stan heaved a sigh and wrapped her hands round her mug.

No one said a word.

Jake tossed the
Stage
on to the table. ‘This is about as interesting as watching paint dry,' he said.

‘I'm not feeling very chatty,' Stan said.

‘Me neither,' I agreed without looking up from my place.

‘Of course, I know everyone's upset,' Jake said. ‘I hardly slept last night myself.' His voice was full of emotion. I looked up in surprise. It was true: there were shadows like bruises under his eyes. Perhaps I'd misjudged him.

‘It could have meant the end of everything,' he continued. ‘I haven't got nearly enough in the can. And worse than that: if the play doesn't actually open, the company'll pull the plug on the documentary.'

‘And goodbye, to Jake's dream of being the brightest star in the documentary firmament,' Stan said. Her voice was rich with contempt.

‘A woman goes missing, leaving her baby behind, and that's all you care about?' I said incredulously.

Jake flushed. ‘Well, no, I'm worried about Melissa, of course I am.'

Stan got up. She went over to Geoff and put the palm of her hand over the lens of his camera.

Geoff prised himself off the wall. ‘Careful,' he muttered, ‘you'll scratch the lens.' It was the first time I'd heard him speak. He had a Scottish accent of the soft, West Coast variety.

‘Turn it off,' Jake said.

‘No, on second thoughts,' Stan said. ‘Let's have this on tape.' She put a hand on the camera and swivelled it towards Jake. ‘Can I point out, Jake, that there's more than one way of looking at this? An injection of drama is just what you need to make your documentary go with a swing. So don't be surprised if you find the police taking a long, hard look at you!'

Now it was Jake's turn to look outraged. His eyebrows shot up. His mouth fell open.

‘No one could think … I wouldn't…' He turned to me. ‘Cassandra, you don't think I had anything to do with this?'