Chapter 5
FIVE
Olly
Rehearsals come to an end after a day of drilling our performance medleys into some form of organised chaos, each of the finalists in my group definitely playing a game of ‘who can sing the loudest and longest’.
If there are concerns about how well we all blend as a group, nobody is making that their priority yet.
Although cohesion is always going to be a struggle when the Phantom of the Opera, Anne Boleyn and Spongebob Squarepants are sharing a stage.
We’re rushed back to the hotel and have twenty minutes to change out of our rehearsal wear for our first trip to the theatre this evening.
Now that we’re settled in, for the next three nights, we get taken to see some of the West End’s best offerings completely free of charge. A delightful perk of the Larrys!
‘How nice am I meant to be dressing?’ Tarun calls from outside the bathroom door while I dry myself off from the quick shower I took to wash off my long day of dancing.81
‘Semi-casual, you know, the usual stuff you wear to the theatre,’ I shout back.
‘But this is the West End! Doesn’t everyone wear suits and dresses for the West End? I’ve never been, but that’s what I always thought…’
I swing the bathroom door open before I can consider the fact that I’m only half-dressed for the evening. ‘Your first West End show?’ I ask, bubbling with excitement.
As he nods, his eyes look anywhere but my torso. Oh! I was trying to avoid us having to deal with bare bodies by taking my outfit into the bathroom to change but have come out before my shirt has even been put on.
‘You’ve seen shows back home, right?’ I ask, as I cross my arms to cover as much of my body as possible, seeing as I’m famously ‘too fat to fancy’ according to Oisín.
Not that it should matter, seeing as Tarun is straight, right?
That’s what Oisín suggested, and they’ve known each other for a year, so he’d know.
If I was standing topless in front of a gay guy as good looking as Tarun, I’d be stressing out big time.
‘Aye but mostly stuff the adult section of Foyle Players have put on, and panto at Christmas. Mum and I are booked for when the tour of Blood Brothers visits Derry, but this will be my first professional musical, I think?’
‘I can’t believe I get to be here to witness your first West End show!’82
He shifts his weight, looking at me properly now. ‘I don’t want to look out of place… Will jeans be okay? Or is that too scruffy?’
‘Jeans are perfect! I’m wearing jeans, and you could even wear a t-shirt if you want.
I’m putting a shirt on, so I feel fancier, but you don’t have to.
It’s not the opera or anything – it’s just like the theatres you’ve been to back home.
Only rules are: turn your phone off, don’t sing along and save your cough for an applause break! ’
This seems to set his mind at ease. ‘Okay… Grand. And do you know what this show we’re seeing is about? Syphilis Rising?’
I bend over laughing. ‘Sorry! It’s Sisyphus Rising not Syphilis… That’d be quite a different show from what we’re going to see.’
His eyes go wide, bringing his hand to his mouth as he starts to laugh too. ‘I’m sorry? I can’t be the only person to make that mistake! Have you seen it before?’
I shake my head. ‘It’s only just opened since my last trip to London, but I love the writers’ previous shows, and everyone’s been raving about it, so I can’t wait to see it.’
‘You’re so knowledgeable… Knowing their other shows and everything. How long have you been like this about theatre?’
I shrug. ‘For as long as I can remember. I was lucky I had parents who saw how much I loved putting on shows 83in the living room as we watched musicals and let me put everything into it. They never pushed me to take part in football or rugby – even though PE teachers are always saying I should be a rugby prop, until they see me throw or catch. My parents encouraged me to follow what makes me passionate.’
Tarun picks up a shirt from his drawer and smiles, but there’s sadness in his eyes. ‘That sounds nice… We should get dressed.’
I look back over my shoulder at my shirt hanging in the bathroom. ‘Yeah, don’t want to be late.’
‘No, not to finding out how you turn an STI into a full musical…’
I grin at his joke. ‘I promise you it’s not about bloody sexual health clinics! It’s a Greek myth, and it’s going to be a great first West End show for you!’
‘Okay,’ he says, holding his hands up in surrender, but smiling as well. ‘Let’s see if this show is all you’re saying it’s cracked up to be.’
‘When it comes to theatrical recommendations, You Can Always Count on Me,’ I sing with gusto, letting my hands drop from covering my chest as I do a jazzy dance. Tarun mimes his hand going over his head, and I laugh as I head back into the bathroom.
I put my burnt-orange shirt on, hopeful that tonight is the first experience of the West End that Tarun deserves.84
Tarun
‘Olly said it’s meant to be really good,’ I tell Ella as we walk towards the theatre, and she grabs me by the arm.
‘Yeah, it’s been nominated for, like, a hundred Olivier Awards!’
It’s only a short journey from the hotel to the theatre, where there’s a big, illuminated sign announcing, Sisyphus Rising.
Sabrina and her few remaining pastoral helpers meet us at the theatre and hand us named envelopes with our tickets inside.
I pull out mine, made of thick, premium card, which reads:
SISYPHUS RISING
March 21st– 19:30
STALLS – G22
‘Ah, Ella and I are in the Dress Circle,’ Andrew sighs as the three of us compare tickets. ‘I think they’ve sat us with our roommates.’
‘Grand,’ I say, and Ella meets my eye, I think to make sure I’m not being sarcastic.
I give her a nod to assure her I’m happy sitting with Olly.
I mean, if I can get through an actual conversation with him while he had his distractingly stocky rugby player’s physique on full display 85(despite him apparently having never played), sitting quietly side by side should be a breeze.
We join the queue to get into the theatre, and a man wearing a waistcoat checks my ticket and lets me into the foyer.
Olly said the theatre wouldn’t be fancy like an opera, but this makes the theatre we perform in at home look like a rubbish dump. Everything is gold and expensive-looking; the walls have elaborate plaster panelling, and there are three chandeliers in just this room.
‘The West End is a bit swanky, isn’t it?’ Ella says, as I let my jaw come back to its normal resting position.
‘Just a bit…’
The glamour even extends to the concession stand – rows of sweets, chocolates and crisps lined up on mirrored shelves.
‘How much for a bag of chocolate buttons?’ I ask the woman behind the counter.
‘￡5.75,’ she replies, and I don’t believe my own ears.
‘￡5.75?!’
She nods. ‘That’s right! Would you like them?’
‘I’m alright, thanks…’ I say, disappointed as I leave the stand behind. I guess with the luxury of the West End comes premium prices, but the same bag is a quid down the road in Tesco.
Once Ella and Andrew have headed upstairs to their 86seats, I take a moment to myself, wandering around the front of house and committing to memory the details of the building, so I can remember how cool it is that I get to be here for free.
‘Tarun!’ Oisín says, bumping into me as I round a corner, a bag of chocolate buttons and a programme in hand.
‘Oh hey,’ I say, looking around. For the first time since yesterday morning there’s no one from the competition to overhear me, and I should take my chance. ‘Can we talk?’
His eyes narrow. ‘About the closing night of Les Mis?’
‘Aye. I know I’m not out of the closet, but I was wondering if you might want to…’
He puts his hand on my arm. ‘Tarun, I think maybe we should … leave that in the past? It was nice, for sure, but I’ve got to focus on doing my best this week. Put my career first. You get it, don’t you?’
I nod, determined not to be disappointed. Of course he’s right. It was stupid of me to think we could develop something more when he’s got so much pressure on his shoulders to do well. ‘Sure!’
‘Thanks, mate. Don’t worry, I haven’t told anyone,’ he says, patting me on the arm. ‘You never told anyone whether you were into guys or girls or whatever at rehearsals, so I assume you’re still figuring stuff out. I even covered for you with Hugo, didn’t I?’
‘You did,’ I say, making sense of why he pretended I 87was doing am-dram to pick up girls yesterday, when he knows full well I’m not. ‘Thanks for that…’
‘We’re grand then! See you later and enjoy the show,’ he says, hurrying up to the Dress Circle breezily, as if turning me down was the easiest thing he’s ever done.
I follow a sign for the Stalls in a glum daze, ambling down the aisle.
When I find row G, Olly’s sat in the middle with an empty seat next to him.
He waves me over, smiling brightly like his profile picture again.
There are people already sitting between us who get up to let me pass, meaning I can only crab walk my way along the row to get to my seat.
‘Hey!’ says Olly, but I’m still processing what Oisín said. ‘Tarun?’
‘Sorry,’ I say, coming back to earth and seeing just how cramped his legs are behind the row in front. ‘Are you not in pain sat like that?’
He looks down at his legs and laughs. ‘I’ll be honest: a little. But they’ll go dead in fifteen minutes, and I won’t be able to feel them anyway.’
‘Is the legroom this bad at every West End theatre?’
‘Depends on when they were built – most are over a hundred years old, but they’ve got a lot better with the few built this century. If I’d booked for myself, I’d go for an aisle seat at the back. I’ll suffer any pain necessary to see a good show though.’88
‘You go to the theatre a lot then?’
‘Oh yeah, once or twice a month at least,’ he says happily.
I can remember all seven of the shows I’ve seen live, but he’s seen so many over the years they must blur into a big lump.