Miss Wrong and Mr Right

  ‘I’m really embarrassed, getting into a scrap like that,’ I said finally to Nicky who was sitting patiently in the corner with a magazine.

  ‘She said some pretty horrible things to deserve it,’ said Nicky.

  ‘I didn’t know she has to wear a wig… I still feel cruel.’

  ‘You didn’t know… Jeez the things people hide. It feels a bit like it’s all getting out of control,’ said Nicky.

  ‘There’s something I have to tell you…’ I said. ‘You know when you asked me if anything was going on with Ryan?’

  Nicky put down her magazine and stared at me.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, I had a stupid one night stand. I slept with Ryan when he came to my sister’s christening… Of course it was a mistake,’ I added.

  ‘You think?’ said Nicky.

  ‘Do you know how horrible it is to go to family gatherings single? I didn’t mean for it to happen. We had such a good time, and then he had some of my mother’s trifle, which was packed with sherry.’

  ‘So you’re the reason he’s drinking?’ said Nicky.

  ‘The reason he is drinking is because he’s an alcoholic! Which I didn’t know about… Then today, he proposed to me.’

  ‘Ryan Harrison proposed to you?’ said Nicky disbelieving. ‘Well, I suppose he is an alcoholic.’

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ I said.

  ‘Why would you lie Nat, and not tell me?’

  ‘Because, at the time I thought it should just remain private. I don’t know who you sleep with.’

  ‘Excuse me. I sleep with my husband and no one else,’ said Nicky.

  ‘What does that mean? I’m sorry if I haven’t got a husband.’

  ‘You’ve gone down in my estimation Natalie. I’ve given up so much to start this theatre with you. Ryan Harrison was a big deal for us, we’ve worked so hard to get here, and you jeopardise it by jumping into bed with him when you’re feeling blue at a family gathering.’

  ‘It was my Gran who invited him…’ I shrilled, sounding like a kid.

  ‘Did she lift him on top of you too?’ said Nicky. She stood, rolled up the magazine and tried to stuff it into her tiny clutch bag.

  ‘I don’t think it’s going to fit,’ I said quietly. Nicky threw it on the bed.

  ‘I’m going home to get some sleep. There are plenty of people here who can look after you,’ she snapped.

  ‘Nicky!’

  ‘No, Natalie. It feels like you’re losing it lately, all this crazy stuff isn’t your style, and it certainly isn’t mine.’

  She slipped through the curtains and was gone.

  A moment later a doctor came in with my X-ray. He slipped it into one of those light boxes and pointed out the inner workings of my head.

  ‘You had a nasty blow, but there is no lasting damage, fracture, or swelling on the brain,’ he said pointing here and there with the end of a biro.

  ‘You seem to know more about what’s going on in my head than I do,’ I said.

  ‘We’d like to keep you in overnight, merely as a precaution,’ said the doctor flicking off the light box and taking the X-ray. When he’d gone I saw that it was almost two in the morning. I lay back but my head was now throbbing. A nurse came in and gave me some painkillers, and luckily I fell asleep.

  Boardroom drama

  I woke up at seven the next morning when a nurse came through the curtains and gave me more painkillers. My face was in agony as I swallowed them down.

  ‘Where’s the loo please?’ I asked groggily. She pointed me to a door opposite. I picked up my bags and padded over in my bare feet. I had a shock when I looked in the mirror. One side of my forehead and cheek were puffed up and swollen. What’s worse was that I had a black bruise which clearly read FAT.

  ‘Oh my god, you are kidding,’ I said gingerly touching the bruise and wincing as pain shot through my face. It wasn’t ironic enough being hit in the face by an award for Best Hair by someone who had no hair, but fate had decided that the only letters of FEMME FATALE which would imprint on my face were FAT.

  I came back out of the toilets and, keeping my head down, escaped into my little cubicle. I couldn’t get comfy on the bed in my dress with the fine beads. I saw the nurse going past and asked for a gown. She returned ten minutes later with a neatly folded white hospital gown.

  ‘You’ve been placed under observation until tonight, then the doctor will see if he wants to discharge you,’ she explained.

  ‘Tonight? It’s not even nine in the morning. I’ve got work,’ I said.

  ‘You had a nasty bump, you’re under observation for twenty-four hours,’ she said and left closing the curtains. I was pulling on the hospital gown, and trying to get it to fasten at the back, when my phone rang. It was Xander.

  ‘Hello Natalie, are you okay?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, and no,’ I said. ‘I’m still in hospital.’

  ‘Oh…’ he said. There was a pause. ‘So you don’t think you’ll be in today?’

  ‘No. What is it Xander?’

  ‘Natalie, I’m not sure what’s going on, but the board of directors are having a meeting here this morning. I’ve just had to prepare the agenda.’

  He paused again.

  ‘What is it Xander?’ I asked.

  ‘Okay, well I’ll have to be quick. Ryan was found in the doorway of the theatre this morning.’

  ‘Dead!?’

  ‘No! No! Not dead, just drunk and looking a bit like a tramp. He’s back at his hotel now, sleeping it off. Val found him when she came to open up… The Board of Directors are having a meeting to discuss firing him.’

  ‘They can’t fire him.’ I said. ‘I make that decision.’

  ‘There’s the other thing… I’m not supposed to tell you this, but they’ve had me put on the agenda that they want to discuss your position as theatre manager and artistic director.’

  My blood went cold. ‘Who asked you to do this?’

  ‘The email I got came from the head of the board, Morag McKye…’

  I thought about Nicky’s reaction last night, but I didn’t say anything.

  ‘Right. So this meeting in my theatre that I’ve not been told about, what time is it?’ I asked.

  ‘In about forty minutes.’

  ‘Thank you Xander. Don’t tell them I know.’

  I hung up and hurriedly put my dress back on. I passed the nurse as I was coming out of the curtain.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she said.

  ‘Sorry, I have to go,’ I said, and hurried past her.

  I was in UCL Hospital on Warren Street, only a short cab ride into Soho, but the roads were jammed. A huge square of Warren Street had been dug up and traffic was at a standstill. I crossed the road and darted into the tube station. It took ages to get down onto the platform, and then the train seemed to crawl through the three stops to Leicester Square, pausing at each stop for what seemed like ages. By the time I was in the lift at Leicester Square, clanking up to street level, I was feeling terrible and getting looks.

  I came out of the station, savouring the cool morning sunshine, and ran for it, across Leicester Square and through to Soho, making it to the theatre with about a minute to spare. I went inside, through the box office and up the stairs, stopping for a moment to look at the picture of me and Kim Cattrall… I gulped and carried on up to the top floor, barging into the conference room.

  At the long table were sat the full twelve members of the board. The four I was best acquainted with were William, Larry, Craig, and Morag.

  Morag’s presence worried me the most. She’s a tiny woman with cruel beady eyes. When I first started working in London’s Theatreland, I found a job as assistant to her husband, Leonard McKye, who was a successful theatrical agent. He was a kind, brilliant man, and became a mentor to me, even coming on board as an investor in the Raven Street theatre. When he died suddenly two years ago, Morag had taken his place on our board, and she hated me.

  They all exchanged surprised gla
nces at me barging in. Right behind followed Nicky, who looked equally surprised.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ I said.

  ‘I’ve just arrived and been told about this meeting. Nat? I thought you were in hospital?’ said Nicky.

  ‘Hospital?’ said William.

  ‘Natalie, it seems, was involved in a wee ruckus last night at the Albert Hall,’ said Morag in her clipped Scottish tones. ’One of several incidents it seems.’

  ‘So everyone decided to meet behind my back?’ I said.

  Xander sat in the corner, frantically minuting everything.

  ‘I called this meeting… and you weren’t invited,’ said Morag.

  ‘I wasn’t invited?’ I said in disbelief. ‘I’ve devoted the past five years to this place. I found it, put forward the proposal to renovate, and I’ve delivered healthy returns on all your investments thus far… So if you want to throw me out, or fire me, then good luck, because no one can run this venue like I can.’

  The board stared between me and Morag. She pulled out a pair of dark spectacles from a tartan case, gave them a polish and slipped them on.

  ‘Natalie, we’re all a wee bit worried you’ve rather overexposed the theatre,’ she said peering over her glasses. ‘Hiring this American television personality to perform Shakespeare.’

  ‘He’s an actor,’ I said.

  ‘But he’s American.’

  ‘He’s bankable, Morag,’ said Nicky.

  ‘I for one can’t bear to hear Americans recite Shakespeare,’ said Morag. ‘They tend to chew over the dialogue like a tough piece of brisket.’

  ‘That’s your main problem? You don’t like to hear Americans recite Shakespeare? Do you know for certain how people used to recite Shakespeare when he was alive, Morag?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s there in the script dearie,’ said Morag looking around at the board with wry amusement. I went on.

  ‘Some people believe Shakespearian plays were spoken in an accent much the same as our American friends’, others think that old English was virtually impenetrable to our ears. Did you see the purist Shakespeare season Mark Rylance did over at the Globe in 2005?’

  ‘I did,’ said William. Craig nodded. Kyle, who had been silent in his shiny suit, also nodded, and crossed his legs nervously.

  ‘What were you doing Morag?’ I said. ‘No doubt stood at Hadrian’s Wall pelting some English ramblers with clootie dumplings.’

  ‘How dare you!’ said Morag.

  ‘No!’ I shouted slamming my hand on the conference table. ‘How dare, YOU. As well as giving this theatre huge press exposure, I’ve got schools coming in to watch this play. Some of the kids will be seeing theatre for the first time. Most will be seeing Shakespeare for the first time.’

  ‘What are you now Natalie? A UN ambassador?’ said Morag. I suddenly remembered why I did this job, and it filled me with a fire I’d lost over the last couple of weeks.

  ‘No, I’m someone who gives a shit Morag. Macbeth is on the school syllabus. Seeing someone like Ryan Harrison, who they can identify with, might help them understand the play, and pass their exams. I failed my exams and it has haunted me ever since… As we build up this theatre we’re going to have to make tough choices, to cast celebrities or do media stunts. But always, my aim is to stage vibrant groundbreaking theatre, and to bring people in who might not have seen a play before. To make this the best fucking theatre in London!’

  There was a silence. I realised I was leaning over the table at them. I stood back.

  ‘Natalie,’ said Craig softly. ‘I totally agree with you, but the fact is that Ryan has missed rehearsals and I don’t think he’s going to pull himself together and be ready… We open in a few days, and if he doesn’t pull it off, people aren’t going to want to see our understudy. We would have a colossal amount of returns at the box office.’

  ‘And this brings me back to my point Natalie,’ said Morag. ‘We’ve spent hundreds of thousands of pounds. And it’s highly likely that we will be forced to pay it back to ticket holders. I suggest we let this Ryan Harrison go. We have grounds to claim on our insurance policy. Isn’t that right Nicky?’

  ‘Well, yes…’ said Nicky cautiously.

  ‘And we would find it harder to get future insurance, our reputation would be badly damaged, we’d let everyone win!’ I cried.

  ‘I say we take a vote,’ said Morag.

  ‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘We have had some very trying weeks here at the theatre, but ticket sales are strong, isn’t that right Nicky?’

  ‘Yes… but we have had a lot of returns,’ said Nicky.

  ‘What if I said I can guarantee Ryan Harrison is back at rehearsals sober tomorrow?’

  ‘He was found slumped in the doorway this morning by a road sweeper!’ said Morag.

  ‘Just give me a few more days. If you’re going to claim on insurance and close it down, what does a few more days matter anyway? You can fire me too. Good luck finding someone who is happy to do two jobs for the price of one, who has the relationships at the Arts Council, who has a vision and passion for this theatre… I’ve just discharged myself from hospital with FAT stamped across my head!’

  There was a silence.

  ‘You’re saying you can guarantee Ryan will be here tomorrow and sober?’ asked Craig.

  ‘I’ll guarantee he’s here this afternoon,’ I said. Nicky glanced across at me.

  ‘And he will come to rehearsals over the weekend, and he’ll open next week word-perfect?’ said Craig.

  I nodded.

  ‘This is getting tiresome, let’s take a vote,’ said Morag. ‘All those in favour of cancelling the Scottish play starring the drunk American television personality…’

  Morag raised her hand. So did two other members of the board. She looked shocked.

  ‘All those against,’ she said. Nine hands went into the air. William Boulderstone gave me a wink.

  ‘Right then. Well, that seems to have delayed the hangman’s noose… I look forward to personally handing over your P45 Miss Love,’ snapped Morag. She pushed herself away from the table and stalked out of the conference room. Everyone followed after her staring at my forehead as they passed. Craig stopped to give me a hug on his way out.

  ‘Nine am tomorrow, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ I smiled. When everyone had gone, leaving Nicky and Xander, I sat down.

  ‘I didn’t know about this meeting,’ she said. ‘Nat. You really impressed me with what you said, when we’re watching stupid award shows and haggling over the price of beer for the bar, you forget why you work at a theatre.’

  ‘I meant it all,’ I said.

  ‘Just one question,’ said Xander. ‘How are you going to get Ryan on stage and sober?’

  ‘I have to make a phone call,’ I said.

  Sharon’s lodger

  I was dreading giving Gran back her diamond necklace, which was now in pieces in the grease-spotted McDonald’s bag. When I got back to the flat, she seemed excited that I had stayed out all night.

  ‘Did you get lucky, as the saying goes?’ she asked.

  I thought it best to tell the whole story, building up to the broken necklace. I made her laugh when I described the awards ceremony, and then gasp when I pulled off Tuppence Halfpenny’s hair.

  ‘My God! She’s bald?’ asked Gran.

  ‘Yes, as a coot…’

  ‘How did she react to you unmasking her?’ Gran asked.

  I placed the McDonald’s bag on the breakfast bar. She looked puzzled and opened it. Her face clouded over as she pulled out the parts of the necklace. A few diamonds came skittering loose over the surface of the breakfast bar.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I’ll get it fixed… It will be as good as new. There’s a guy in Hatton Garden I’ve looked up,’ I said. Gran’s mouth was set in a grim line.

  ‘That bald bitch,’ she growled finally.

  ‘She can’t help that,’ I said. Gran noticed the bruise on the side of my face.

  ‘Vat happened her
e?’

  ‘She hit me with her award, for Best Hair…’ I said.

  Gran stared at the bruise for a moment, and started to laugh. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she had to grab at a box of tissues and blow her nose.

  ‘You couldn’t make this stuff up Natalie!’ she said, still laughing. ‘Aren’t you glad I brought you to London, all those years ago?’

  ‘There’s never a dull moment,’ I said. ‘Are we okay, about your diamonds? I’ll get them fixed.’

  ‘Of course. Diamonds are the toughest material known to vooman, your head is far more important. You should lie down.’

  ‘I will do, but first I have to go and see Ryan…’ I said.

  I took a shower, got changed, and after a bowl of Gran’s goulash felt better. Despite our best efforts with make-up I couldn’t quite cover up the FAT bruise emblazoned on my forehead.

  ‘I used to know a mortician from Whitechapel, but he killed himself drinking embalming fluid,’ said Gran.

  ‘How does that help me?’ I asked, gently building up a layer of liquid foundation over the bruise.

  ‘He could take a middle-aged car crash victim and make him look seventeen again… not that you’re middle-aged my darlink,’ she added.

  I turned to show her my handy work.

  ‘You look like a very beautiful girl with a touch of the mumps,’ she said.

  I drove over to the Langham Hotel, and went up to Ryan’s room. When he answered the door, it was a tip of takeaway cartons and pizza boxes, cans of beer and empty bottles. He was bleary-eyed and still wearing the shirt and trousers from last night.

  ‘Can I come in, please?’ I said. He gave me a look and then let the door swing open. I followed him in. He went and sat down on the end of the bed. I opened the curtains, and saw the beautiful view across Green Park.

  ‘We need to make a decision,’ I said.

  ‘About us?’ he said shielding his eyes from the sunlight streaming in.