Authors: Sam Hayes
‘About as good as your fondness for heights.’ Petra patted Nina’s shoulder playfully, and the two women left the storeroom.
‘See you at lunchtime,’ Nina said. She headed off back to the dressing rooms, knowing they’d be empty. The cast had been called by the production team for a meeting on stage, giving Nina the ideal opportunity to experiment with a new type of quick-preparation wound for the war scene. During the play, she had exactly twelve minutes to massacre the faces and arms of three lead characters and wasn’t sure exactly how she would pull it off. Live theatre was always a challenge, but she loved the buzz and the pressure.
Nina went back to the smaller dressing room, and, just as she was about to enter, she thought she saw someone disappear down the passage leading up to the stage. ‘Hello?’ she called out, wondering if one of the cast needed her. She shrugged when there was no reply.
She went on into the room where she’d left her holdall and make-up cases. She always packed up and took them home at night, having learned the hard way over the years that absent-minded actors often helped themselves to her stock and usually forgot to return it. The products were too expensive to keep replacing.
‘Odd,’ Nina said, feeling for the light switch along the wall. It was pitch black in the windowless room. ‘No one
ever turns lights off around here.’ She assumed the production manager was having a clampdown on expenses. Running a company was a tough business these days and making a profit was hard. ‘Probably what the meeting’s about,’ she said to herself.
Her fingers found the switch and she clicked it on. At first, Nina didn’t notice the mess. Actors weren’t known for their tidiness and with quick changes between scenes, they relied on the assistants to sort out the costumes. Clearly the meeting had been called in a rush because not much of the floor was visible. Hanging rails bore empty hangers and most surfaces were strewn with clothing. Nina sighed.
‘Well, I’m not tidying—’
Then she saw her special effects case on the shelf below the spotlit mirror. She frowned. ‘What the hell . . .’ Anger swept over her. ‘I just don’t believe this.’ Foundation, pots of fake blood, packets of scabs and wound wax – everything had been tipped out of her bag.
This stuff is expensive, she thought. I can’t have anyone just helping themselves. She froze again. Reflected behind her, Nina saw the contents of her other make-up cases tipped out all over the floor. Her usually neat and organised corner of the dressing room had been upturned into mayhem. ‘Oh
no
,’ she cried. ‘Who’s done this?’
Nina crouched down amongst the tubes and tubs of theatrical make-up and brushes. She began to scoop them up but stopped. She wondered, fleetingly, if someone had broken in. She continued shovelling her belongings back into the bag. Thankfully, nothing seemed to be missing.
Why would anyone make such a mess of her stuff? Did someone in the theatre have a grudge against her?
She thought hard, suddenly recalling the temper tantrum that Rosalind had let rip last week when the director insisted she wear the grey wig – a suggestion made by Nina earlier during rehearsal. Vain Rosalind, not known for her quiet temperament, had gone out of her way to make the entire day miserable for Nina.
Rosalind. Nina shook her head at the woman’s childish behaviour. She would have a word with the producer later.
‘I just wanted to ask you if you knew where . . . Good heavens, what a mess.’ Petra stood in the doorway.
‘It must have happened while we were in the storeroom. What a nightmare.’ Nina’s voice shook and her mind raced. She was angry. ‘Someone here clearly doesn’t like me.’ She didn’t name names.
‘Are you sure the mess was deliberate?’ Petra winked. ‘You know what these thespian types are like. Just plain messy buggers.’
‘No. No, I clearly remember it being tidy when I left.’ She bent down and picked up a nineteen-forties dress. ‘How can anyone be so thoughtless?’ Nina stood, wondering what she would say to Rosalind next time she saw her.
Then, distracted by the predicted stampede off stage, Nina returned to her work. During the course of the day, she gradually tidied up. It was only as she was packing up for the night that vague thoughts began to stir.
‘What would you do,’ Nina began, ‘if Tom found out that you . . .’ She trailed off, unsure how to explain exactly what she meant. ‘Well, if Tom discovered that . . .’ Again, words failed her. She sighed and sloshed boiling water on to coffee granules. After the day she’d had, what she really wanted was a stiff drink.
‘For heaven’s sake, Nina, spit it out.’ Laura opened the refrigerator and took out the milk. Something was up. Nina never usually called round on the way home from work. ‘So? If Tom found out what?’ Laura snorted out a half laugh. ‘Tom wouldn’t notice if I was nailed naked to the kitchen table with another man sprawled on top of me.’
‘Oh Laura, I’m sorry,’ Nina said, thankful for the diversion. What she really wanted to say just wouldn’t come out right. Instead, she touched a hand on Laura’s arm as she took the milk.
Laura pulled away. ‘You can’t leave me hanging like that. Tell me what you were going to ask.’ Laura slurped her drink then emptied an entire bag of oven chips on to a baking tray. ‘Get this. Tom said he’d cook every other night to
share the domestic burden
after I asked him if he’d forgotten where he lived.’ She said it in a demented voice. ‘So far that’s amounted to him bringing home two takeaways in the last week and suggesting we eat out for his other shift.’ Laura shoved the chips in the oven and cracked the ring pull on a can of baked beans.
Nina watched her friend blast angrily through the evening’s domesticity. She found herself thinking back to last night and the prawn curry Mick had whipped up. He’d
even made his own naan bread. ‘Men are lousy cooks anyway,’ Nina lied, hoping it would make Laura feel better. ‘They make too much mess and we’re the ones left—’
‘I just can’t bloody take it any more, Nina.’ Laura slammed her mug on to the worktop and a circle of coffee pooled beneath it. ‘All I do is moan. It’s soul-destroying. And all my moaning is about him. It never used to be like this. There’s someone else. I’m sure of it.’ Laura’s brittle voice was desperate. Nina had never witnessed her so close to breaking. ‘It’s over, Neen. I give up. I want a new life.’ Laura briefly sank her face into her hands, let out three or four pitiful sobs before wiping her eyes and fixing a smile on her face. She was adept at burying her feelings. ‘Now, damn well tell me what you came here to get off your chest.’
‘Forget what I was going to say. It’s not important.’ Nina burned her tongue as she gulped her coffee. ‘Talk to Tom. Talk to anyone. Just get help.’
Nina helped by slapping sausages on a baking tray and snipping the twist of skin joining them. ‘Nothing like a bit of home cooking, eh?’ She laughed.
‘The kids like sausages,’ Laura said dismally. She took the greasy wrapper and chucked it in the bin. ‘It wasn’t meant to be like this.’ She dropped her arms against her thighs. ‘You know, sausages, arguments, two kids who grunt to communicate, and a husband whose personality warrants a search and rescue team.’
Nina threw her arms around her friend. ‘Oh Laura,’ she said. Their faces were close, a mass of tangled hair and tears. Laura let it all out on Nina’s shoulder.
‘You’ll get through this,’ Nina whispered. She held Laura at arm’s length and laughed when she saw the scribbles of mascara on her cheeks. ‘It takes me hours to achieve that look,’ she joked, but then she was reminded of what happened at the theatre.
‘I’d better get going,’ she said. ‘Hungry hordes at mine too, you know.’ She pulled her car keys from her trouser pocket.
‘Wait. Are you OK? Really?’ Laura asked, noticing Nina’s deep sigh.
‘Yeah. It’s nothing,’ she said, smiling brightly.
Laura shrugged. ‘Get out of my house and go back to yours. Hug Josie and Mick for me and send Natalie home when you see her. That girl would live at your house if she could.’ She gave Nina a tight squeeze.
‘I will.’ Nina went outside and got in her car. Laura waved and closed the front door.
The street, similar to Nina’s only a short distance away, was deserted apart from another vehicle about fifty yards along the road. The car was stationary so Nina continued rolling backwards out of Laura’s sloping drive. She wondered what was in the refrigerator at home.
Suddenly, her head was jolted as her car was clipped from behind. Her foot instinctively jabbed the brake as she was knocked sideways.
‘Christ! Watch out!’ she cried, rubbing her sore neck. The impact rang in her ears and it took her a moment to regain her senses. She turned and stared down the road, watching the big dark car driving off at speed. She saw 5 and 7 and M in the number plate, but that was all.
‘Stupid, stupid man,’ she wailed, pumping the horn way too late. ‘Damn him,’ she said, slumping forward, wondering if she could offer even a vehicle type to the police.
Shaking, Nina got out of the car to examine the damage. There was a dent along the rear quarter of her small red car, framed by a dark green streak of metallic paint. She ran her finger along it, as if it might give a clue to the car’s owner. Was it a Rover? A Jaguar? she wondered. Definitely a male driver, she recalled, trying to re-create an image of the face she saw flash past, but it had been too fast.
Nina glanced at Laura’s house but somehow couldn’t face adding to her friend’s troubles. She got back in the car and drove off, slowing at every dark car she saw in case it had a dented front and she could get a number plate.
At home, the kitchen was a mix of teenage giggles, something burning, and a laptop balanced precariously on the edge of Natalie’s knee as she sat on the worktop, swinging her legs and kicking the cupboard doors with an annoying beat. The girl was hunched over the screen, her fingers jabbing at the keys with the skill of a speed typist.
‘What’s that smell?’ Nina asked. She had dumped all her make-up kit in the hall. It could stay there until morning.
‘Toast,’ Josie replied. A shower of black crumbs rained on to the floor as she scraped the blackened bread. ‘It burned.’
‘No way,’ Natalie cried. Without looking up from the screen, she pulled the toast from Josie’s fingers and bit into it. ‘You’ll never guess who Kat’s going out with?’
Nina shook her head and went into the downstairs toilet. Her head was throbbing from the wretched day she’d had. The girls’ voices faded to distant whoops and incredulous laughter as she locked the door.
Nina flicked on the light and leaned against the wall. She just needed a moment.
‘You in there, Mum?’ Josie said, hammering on the door. ‘Hurry up. I’m desperate.’
Nina stood and flushed the toilet. She was being ridiculous. She was tired, stressed about her extra workload, even though it was exciting. And she’d not been sleeping all that well. Mick had been restless because of his new commitments. They were no different to many families she knew.
Nina splashed water around the basin and opened the door. ‘Sorry,’ she said, and she was squeezed against the wall as Josie rushed in.
Mick suddenly came through the front door.
‘Oh God, I’m so glad you’re back,’ she said, delivering a long kiss on his lips.
‘Mmm, I should go out more often.’ Mick hugged her fondly with one arm, dangling a shopping bag with the other. ‘I’ve been hunting,’ he said, pausing, frowning at Nina’s worried expression. ‘Chicken OK?’ he asked. ‘Come and help me prepare it.’
Nina followed him, glad of the distraction.
‘Christ, has there been a volcanic eruption?’ Mick asked, wiping the worktop free of black crumbs. Then, ‘Nina?’ He paused, hands spread wide on the laminate – clever, capable
hands that Nina just wanted to have encase her and keep her safe forever. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Sure. I’m fine.’ She snapped out of it and helped unpack the groceries.
Perfectly safe, she said over and over in her head as later, in bed, she tangled the sheet around her restless body. She was hot. She was sweating. She couldn’t sleep. Instead she listened to Mick’s gentle sleep-breaths as they bordered on a snore. She was, of course, perfectly safe.
Still my dad didn’t come to visit. ‘Been forgotten?’ the horrid man asked, shoving me back on the cold window seat where he’d found me. I cowered as he raised a hand, but he thought better of it as one of the female carers walked past with a bunch of kids in tow.
I stared out of the window, willing my dad’s car to appear. My eyes were still smarting from the glare of the light in that horrid room, and my heart pumped a rich mix of cold blood and fear. I gripped the stone window sill and stared down the drive, pressing my nose to the glass. I focused hard on the trees, the tarmac, the dingy grey sky, and prayed that my father would come to save me.
As dusk fell, so did my eyelids. Once or twice I dropped off – sweet oblivion where me, my dad and my mum were all back together. Vague memories of a slim woman with a ponytail, the scent of her skin – face cream and lipstick – teased me into believing she was still alive for several blissful moments even after I woke.
It was a smell that brought me round the third time I nodded off. It made me feel ill. Disinfectant overlaying the stench of fear –
my
fear – and that’s when I realised I’d wet
myself. Too scared to tell anyone, I crept off the dirty cushion and sloped off to the dormitory. As I peeled off my knickers, I realised that the ugly man had been right. I’d been forgotten. My dad wasn’t coming today, and he probably wouldn’t come tomorrow either. Or even the day after that.
So far I’d spent my time at Roecliffe Children’s Home ducking and diving, smiling sweetly, innocently, getting by any way I could. I longed to be a shadow, a picture on one of the grimy walls, a rat scurrying about in the basement. The other kids were harsh, sometimes sad, sometimes bruised, and sometimes screaming with laughter. They were a rainbow of every emotion, from the tots gurgling in their prams to the teenagers who punched the walls as they idly walked past. Me, I was somewhere in the middle. Trying to hide, trying not to be noticed. If my father didn’t come to fetch me soon, I vowed I would fly away. Ava, his skinny little bird.