When the Curtain Falls

  ‘You said we were going to talk?’ Olive said, glancing over Oscar’s shoulder and watching Jane’s perfect straight hair swish away from them.

  ‘Now? Here?’ Oscar already felt clammy from the overcrowded coffee shop, but now he was being put on the spot he felt a wave of heat rush through his entire body.

  ‘It’s not like we have an abundance of opportunities! The only time I’ve really spoken to you today is on stage via a script.’ Olive tried to smile and keep her tone light and breezy, but she knew they had to talk now and they had to be quick.

  ‘True.’ He nodded.

  ‘So shoot.’ She prodded him playfully, worrying that she really was being too pushy.

  ‘I don’t know where to begin.’ He tried to rub the creases out of his forehead.

  ‘Well… what do you want?’ she prompted.

  ‘You’re forward!’ he laughed.

  ‘And you’re panicking. I just want to know where we stand and we don’t have time to not be forthright,’ Olive said, going up on her tiptoes to try and spot Jane’s imminent return.

  ‘I want this,’ Oscar gestured between them.

  ‘What is this?’ I wish he’d just say what he means, she thought.

  ‘Fun!’ I wish she understood what I meant, he thought, squeezing her hand.

  ‘Casual?’ she suggested. Olive’s father had always told her that when she wasn’t able to make a decision she should flip a coin. Not to see how the coin would land, but because you would always know what you truly wanted once the coin was in the air. Much in the same way that it was only until she suggested being casual that she realised she was hoping he’d say no.

  ‘I guess?’ He shrugged.

  ‘Right.’ She pulled her hand away.

  ‘Doesn’t have to be.’ He took her hand back and raised it to his lips, kissing it gently. ‘I just can’t do serious. Or committed. Not right now.’

  ‘Okay. We want fun, not casual and not serious,’ she said with a small but noticeable sigh.

  ‘Yes. That sounds right.’ He nodded, strands of his hair curling over his eyes.

  ‘So…… what is that?’ She sighed again.

  ‘Does it have to be anything? Can’t we just be us?’ Oscar felt a twinge of guilt twist in his gut when he saw her face change. It was only a small difference, but he could plainly see the idea of being casual didn’t appeal to her, and probably never would.

  ‘Doesn’t that feel a little fragile?’ She blinked slowly and breathed a little deeper.

  ‘Isn’t that half the fun?’

  ‘I… I guess.’

  ‘Who’s fragile?’ Jane bustled back over to them, jostling several people’s coffee cups as she went.

  ‘He is. Our poor Oscar here has a jippy tummy. Is the loo free? I think he might need to go.’ Olive started pushing Oscar in the direction Jane had just come from.

  ‘What the…?’ Oscar wriggled against Olive’s hands as her fingers tickled him.

  ‘Go on, before we need to get someone over here with a mop!’ Olive shooed him away, trying to hide her laughter from Jane. Oscar widened his eyes at her but couldn’t keep the smile off his own face.

  ‘You little…’ He raised a fist in mock anger but then he opened out his palm, kissed it and blew it in Olive’s direction.

  ‘Did he just blow you a kiss?’ Jane asked, as Oscar retreated to the bathroom.

  ‘Hmm? What?’ Olive rejoined Jane in the queue. ‘Oh, no! No, no. I think he had some dust on his hand.’ Olive opened her purse and absently flipped through her cards, but inside she was replaying how Oscar’s lips had moved when he’d kissed his palm and how she couldn’t wait to kiss him again when they were alone.

  ‘Because you know Tamara would be furious with you if he did,’ Jane tutted.

  ‘Furious that someone else blew me a kiss?’ Olive stepped forward in the queue.

  ‘Furious that you’re spending time with Oscar. Making him blow you kisses.’ Jane stared up at Olive with her black kohl eyes.

  ‘Hang on, Oscar’s spending time with me too and I’m pretty sure it was his choice to blow me a kiss.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Okay, Jane. You tell Tamara whatever you like. I’ll just be here. Living my life.’

  ‘What’ll it be, ladies?’

  ‘A flat white and a latte, please.’

  ‘Er… and a peppermint mocha —’

  ‘Oh, I’m getting yours too, am I? I don’t think so, after the way you’ve just spoken to me. Just the flat white and the latte, thanks.’ Olive paid for her drinks and walked to the collection counter whilst a flustered Jane had to try several attempts to get out the name of her coffee.

  ‘Everything all right?’ asked Oscar, wiping his hands on his coat.

  ‘Yep,’ said Olive, not looking his way.

  ‘You sure?’ he said, placing a hand on the small of her back, but Olive stepped forward, looking over the counter to see whether their drinks were any closer to being made.

  ‘Of course.’ She half smiled.

  ‘Olive, c’mon. I know we’re not best mates yet, but I can tell when something’s up.’ Oscar watched as Jane argued with the barista when her card wouldn’t work in the machine.

  ‘No, we’re not best mates. We’re not anything, really,’ Olive shrugged.

  ‘Don’t do that.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. I get it. We’re just us. Unattached and having fun.’

  ‘Is that not what you want?’

  ‘Of course it’s what I want, I just don’t like the uncertainty that comes with it.’

  ‘Uncertainty?’

  ‘Yes, uncertainty – especially when you’ve got so many other options.’

  ‘Options? Olive…’

  ‘Flat white and a latte!’ called another barista who placed their drinks down so quickly they would have toppled over had Olive not been there to catch them.

  Olive handed Oscar his coffee and darted back through the crowd with half a mind to head straight into the theatre without waiting for him, but her heart tugged her back. She heard the door of the coffee shop open behind her.

  ‘Hey, now. What’s all this? I thought we had things figured out?’ he queried as they slowly made their way back to stage door.

  ‘I don’t want to be a placeholder for you for when something or someone better comes along. I don’t want to be a crappy filler episode. I want to be a… a Christmas special.’

  ‘They’re usually terrible.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Then a season finale.’

  ‘That sounds serious…’

  ‘You know what I mean!’ Olive lightly punched his arm, which made his coffee slosh out the little hole in the lid.

  ‘I know! I get it, I get it. But what can I do? I’m not ready to delve into anything serious yet but… I like you. A lot. I haven’t had fun with a girl in ages. It always gets angsty and expectations get thrown around and I just can’t do that, right now. But I can do this. This is cool.’

  ‘But you’ve got —’

  ‘Options? So do you! You’re an extraordinary woman, Olive Green. That’s why I choose to spend my time with you.’

  ‘But Tamara —’

  ‘Tamara what? Fancies me? Let her! Doesn’t mean I suddenly choose her. I choose you.’

  ‘You choose me? What am I, a Pikachu?’

  ‘And you choose me too, right?’ Oscar ignored her joke and took her hand, pressing it against his face. When she didn’t answer, he pecked her palm with kisses over and over and over until —

  ‘I choose you!’ she giggled, trying to tug her hand away. ‘I choose you!’

  ‘Yes!’ Oscar swept her up in his free arm and nuzzled his face into her hair. Olive worried that someone might see them, but Oscar didn’t seem to care, which made her smile all the more. He offered her his arm and she gladly took it.

  ‘Er… HELLO?!’ Jane opened the door and it crashed against the wall with a loud bang.

  ‘Everything okay, Jane???
?

  ‘I didn’t get a coffee,’ she said to Oscar with a nod to Olive.

  ‘Didn’t fancy one?’ Oscar squeezed Olive’s hand where she had it rested in the crook of his elbow. Olive squeezed his arm back.

  ‘Well, I don’t have any money with me!’ she scoffed.

  ‘That seems odd to come out to buy coffee and not bring any money with you… almost as if you expected someone else to pay for you. But it’s all right, Jane. I know you’re a nice girl who would never do such a thing, would you?’

  ‘Well… no… but…’

  ‘And you’d never expect a man to pay just because he’s “the man”, right? Equality and all that! It’s okay, Jane. Next time, we know coffee’s on you. Come on!’ Oscar gave Olive a tug and turned her sharply towards the direction of stage door.

  ‘Don’t turn around! Don’t turn around! Just walk, walk, walk!’ Oscar whispered as he frog-marched Olive back through stage door.

  ‘Was that mean? That felt mean,’ Olive said inside the safety of the theatre as Oscar signed them in.

  ‘Olive, she’s young and never going to learn she can’t always get what she wants if people don’t teach her. That, out there, was Learning Not To Be A Spoilt Brat 101.’

  Walter lowered his paper a little to see the pair signing in and couldn’t help but chuckle. Olive glanced his way and could only see his twinkling eyes over the edge of the paper but still gave him a timid smile which Walter, after folding his paper, returned. Oscar held the door open for Olive but before he followed her through he also caught eyes with the stage door man and, wondering how much he had heard, gave him a small roll of the eyes and a cheeky smile.

  ‘You’ve made a smart move there, boy,’ Walter said to Oscar, nodding his head in the direction Olive had walked, and whilst the old man’s words were complimentary, Oscar noticed the smile had gone from his face.

  ‘I’m aware.’ Oscar nodded, not knowing why the man at the stage door seemed to be so serious with him. The lamp on Walter’s desk flickered, followed by the light above their heads and then the light further down the corridor. Holding the door open, Oscar followed the flickering until it eventually stopped.

  ‘Blimey. No wonder everyone thinks this place is haunted!’ he laughed, nodding his goodbye to Walter and following Olive up to her dressing room.

  Walter reached under his desk and turned his lamp off at the mains. Then he unscrewed the lightbulb and opening his desk drawer, brought out a torch which he taped to the top of his lamp. He turned it on, feeling pleased with himself until that began to flicker too.

  ‘You have no idea.’

  4

  Life and Death

  ‘Oscar, can we have you on stage, please?’ Michael called out to him from the stage as soon as Oscar and Olive stepped through the door. He didn’t wait for a response.

  ‘Technically we still have six minutes of this break left but… sure. Don’t drink my coffee,’ Oscar mumbled to Olive, shrugging off his coat and handing his cup to her. She took both to the far side of the auditorium, knowing that Jane would be walking through the door at any minute. She didn’t want to face her at all and definitely didn’t want to without Oscar.

  On stage, Oscar was immediately handed a gun.

  ‘You’re the murderer, then?’ said a man who by the looks of his white and tufty hair must have been in his sixties but from the looks of his green velvet tracksuit, he thought of himself as a lot younger.

  ‘Oscar, I’d like you to meet Toby. Our go-to stunt and weapons man. You’ll be handling a gun in this production so we thought it’d be wise to get you acquainted with your weapon.’

  Oscar turned the gun over in his hands. The handle was wooden but the hammer and trigger were gold, while the cylinder and barrel were silver with gorgeous swirling patterns carved into the metal.

  ‘Is it real?’

  ‘Looks like it, dunnit?’ said Toby. ‘This is a Colt 45 Peacemaker revolver replica. This model dates back to eighteen-seventy-three but Michael here insisted on this one because it’s “pretty”.’ Toby rolled his eyes.

  ‘I think it makes an impact, don’t you, Oscar?’

  ‘I bet it certainly would make an impact…’ Oscar took the gun by its handle and pointed it towards the back wall of the stage.

  ‘A real one might. But this one is what we call a “blank firing gun”. The barrel is blocked off so nothing’s gonna come out the end and even then we use blank bullets that don’t have what we call a “projectile”. There’s no bullet. Just a cartridge with a bitta gunpowder. You pull the trigger, the hammer hits the primer, the primer ignites the gunpowder, the gunpowder goes bang, give the audience a flash and, hey presto, no one gets hurt and you’ve got yourself a show!’ Toby took a bow.

  ‘Yes… well, Oscar isn’t actually going to be the one loading the blank into the gun every night. That will be a job for the assistant stage manager. All Oscar needs to know is where to aim and how to fire it.’

  ‘He won’t be the one loading it?’ Toby asked.

  ‘No.’ Michael shook his head but Toby covered his mouth and chuckled.

  ‘Well then, I feel sorry for whoever’s playing the lady in this show. Whaser name?’

  ‘Olive,’ said Oscar.

  ‘Eliza,’ said Michael and Oscar felt himself blush.

  ‘Why?’ Oscar said, glancing over at Olive in the auditorium, flipping through her script.

  ‘Well… ’cause of what happened.’

  ‘Toby, I don’t think this is the best time for this…’ Michael warned.

  ‘Nonsense!’ Toby gave him a playful yet forceful shove. ‘It’s only a story, big boss man.’

  ‘It really did happen, though,’ Michael said, turning away from Oscar.

  ‘Yeah, but it’s not gonna happen again! Not if everyone’s careful! And there’s no harm in telling the fella! Probably best to, actually. Scaring him into doing things prop’ly. Come over ’ere.’ Toby led Oscar through the black curtain into upstage wing on stage left. ‘Now, we don’t usually allow people up the ladder but on this occasion I think we can turn a blind eye. Eh, Michael?’

  ‘Well, I just don’t think it’s —’

  ‘Up you go!’ Toby roughly took the gun out of Oscar’s hands and handed it over to Michael who held it out at arm’s length before dispensing of it on the quick change table. Oscar started to climb the ladder until he reached a metal grated walkway which he hopped off onto, closely followed by the old man.

  ‘You believe in ghosts, mate?’ Toby asked, dusting down his tracksuit. Oscar sighed.

  ‘No, but I think I’m the only one around here who doesn’t.’

  ‘Yeah, probably best not to give stock to old fairy tales but… even so… interesting, isn’t it?’ Toby gestured to a wooden case fixed onto the wall. Behind a glass panel was a revolver, much like the one Oscar had just been holding, except this one was black and this one was real.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Well, issa revolver,’ Toby shrugged.

  ‘I can see that, but why’s it all the way up here?’

  ‘Last time this production was done, right here in this very same theatre, someone died, din’t they?’ Toby wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Oscar recalled the conversation from the rehearsal room.

  ‘Oh, yeah. Someone mentioned something about this. Is this the gun that killed them?’ Oscar got up close to the case.

  ‘Yeah. They used a real gun in the show. Bunch of idiots, the lot of ’em. Used hollow wax bullets with a bit of gunpowder in ’em. Usually when the trigger is pulled the little bit of wax would disintegrate. Harmless, but still stupid to use a real gun.’

  ‘So what happened? What went wrong?’

  ‘What always goes wrong when you’re playing with fire. They got burned! Some idiot put something down the barrel of the gun. Playing silly buggers, I s’pose. Dunno how this poor girl ended up getting shot in the side of the ’ed. She wasn’t even s’posed to be in the line of fire but… she was. D
ied on stage. Brain blown out. In front of an audience. For everyone to —’

  ‘Yeah, okay, I get it. “Fawn Burrows. 1931–1952”,’ Oscar read on the little gold plaque underneath the gun.

  ‘So, I’d suggest you keep a close eye on this ASM loading your gun every night and I’d also suggest checking it before that final scene.’ Toby tapped the glass. ‘You don’t want that revolver downstairs getting put in a case like this one.’