Chapter 6
SIX
Olly
The glittering nighttime lights of the theatres and restaurants on the Strand illuminate beaming faces rushing to get back to the hotel. Everyone seems to agree with mine and Tarun’s assessment of the show, raving coming from separate pockets of conversation.
‘The whole thing gave me chills,’ Tarun comments; for the first time in two days he’s walking close by. His crew of Ella and Andrew slot in easily with me, Zeb, Gabby and Jas. ‘Are all West End shows that good?’
‘If you mean are all shows in the West End of that quality? With high artistic standards and morals? Absolutely not,’ declaims Jas to a snort of approval from Gabby.
‘There’s a lazy cash-in adaptation of a moderately successful movie for every brilliant original musical in the West End.’
The excitement on Tarun’s face shifts, becoming more subdued.
‘But that’s what makes a show like Sisyphus Rising so 98special,’ I say with a smile, aiming to keep his theatrical hope alive. ‘When all the elements come together perfectly, with love and care from the creative team, and audiences come out and support brilliant storytelling.’
‘Aye, and when the cast are all that unique and committed,’ Zeb says, pointing to one of the non-binary performers in the programme. ‘Their voice was otherworldly.’
‘And they all do that eight times a week?’ Tarun asks, his face now bright, open and excitable, his adorable dimples deepening into the lines of his smile, a world away from his taut face yesterday morning.
‘Yes!’ I say. ‘There are swings – off-stage understudies – who cover all of them, and the instruments they play, ready to step in at any moment. But for the most part the cast we saw do all eight shows.’
‘It takes incredible stamina to be a West End performer,’ Gabby says with authority. ‘They’re athletes.’
Tarun whistles softly, impressed. Jas is stalking the cast and creative team on social media as we walk the final stretch, and Zeb and I sing my favourite song from the show to bemused stares from tourists probably searching for the nearest Pizza Hut.
‘Do you want to come back to my room and practise your songs?’ Zeb asks when we reach the hotel. We’re presenting our two choices for what we’d want to sing if 99we’re chosen for the final six in rehearsals tomorrow, which people are rightly worrying about.
‘I’d love to but…’ I’m distracted by Tarun, who is vibrating with a positive glow from the show as he enters our room. ‘I think the best thing is to get an early night to be honest.’
‘Sure?’ he tuts. ‘I give fantastic critique remember… I’ll be wasting it on Hugo if you don’t come rehearse.’
I nod. ‘I’m feeling prepared, promise.’
‘Alright then,’ he sings, waltzing off towards his room. ‘Rest up, BFG.’
‘Night!’ I call after him. ‘Have fun with Hugo and Nate!’
He twirls in the distance, which I take as ‘I will’, and I push open the chrome handle to my room. Inside, Tarun’s kicking off his shoes at the end of his single mattress.
‘What are you singing tomorrow then?’ I ask, launching myself onto my lusciously soft king-sized bed.
‘I wanted to ask you about that…’
I sit up. ‘Okay?’
‘I … I’m not sure about my song choices. I kind of went with what I already knew but … I don’t want to stand out as having made basic choices next to all of you. I thought I could get your expert opinion?’
As loving and accepting as the theatre world is, it can also be judgemental, so he’s not wrong to be wary. ‘Go on, what have you chosen? I’ll tell you what I think.’100
‘Well, I thought “The Sound of Music” and then “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables” would cut it … because I was in them, so I know them well.’
He looks at me, hoping that I’ll be fully in support of his choices, but it would be wrong to lie to him. ‘So, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but “Empty Chairs” can’t be one of your final six options. It’s in the rules that you can’t do a song from your nominated musical.’
‘Oh,’ he says, a line appearing across his forehead.
‘And … they’re expecting you to perform the song in the original context, so unless you’re planning to play Maria to sing “The Sound of Music”…’
His face drops. ‘So … I need two different songs? By tomorrow morning?’
I grimace on his behalf, knowing this would prompt me to have a full crash out if I had to change my songs this close to performing. ‘If you can, it might be an idea.’
His eyes go wide. ‘Feck! What am I going to do?’
Tarun
This is stupid of me. I’m not even in with a chance of being one of the final six performers, not against the talent around me. Why change everything up now?
I guess because, after tonight, I want to take musicals 101seriously. I want to impress and tell a story as well as the actors in the show did. I may not be able to rival my fellow competitors, but I equally don’t want to stick out as not giving my performance the respect everyone else has.
And that’s why I asked Olly, because he’d know. No one holds the competition and musicals with more regard than him.
‘Let me be your rep coach – I love thinking of the perfect song to perform! What other musicals do you know?’ Olly asks, shuffling to the edge of his bed.
‘A few … like Hairspray and Dear Evan Hansen…’
He looks sympathetically at me again. ‘Because we’re doing songs from those as our group numbers, they’re considered kind of off-limits. What else?’
There’re all the Bollywood musicals I’ve watched with Mum, but my Hindi is nowhere near good enough to try and get through one of those. ‘I like Singin’ in the Rain?’
‘Of course you do! It’s the best film ever made. We can pull something from that: are you feeling “Make Them Laugh” or the title song?’
‘The title song,’ I reply, because coming up with a whole comedy routine in the next eight hours of sleep sounds like a recipe for disaster.
‘Great!’ he says, his enthusiasm for figuring out my problem kind of too much, but another indicator that he’s 102good craic. ‘Just need another song now… How about something from a jukebox show?’
‘Jukebox?’
‘You know, when they write a story around existing pop songs, like Mamma Mia for ABBA? Or do a life story on stage, like Buddy Holly and Tina Turner.’
‘There’s a Queen one, I think?’
Olly nods. ‘Yes! We Will Rock You.’
‘I could do a Queen song… We listened to them all the time growing up. It was one of the few things my parents ever agreed on. Dad loves rocking out, and Freddie’s a Desi icon to Mum. Is “Under Pressure” in We Will Rock You?’
‘It certainly is,’ Olly says, getting his phone out and searching something.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m giving you Nate the ASM realness and finding a backing track, so you can practise. Or would you prefer to accompany yourself on the guitar?’
I seize up. He wants me to perform just for him? In our bedroom? ‘I’m not sure…’
‘It’s up to you. But I’d want to run through it at least once before performing in front of Elaine, Marty and everyone else.’
He’s right, of course. If I want to show I’m taking this seriously, trying to learn as much as I can while I’m here, 103I should push through my embarrassment. ‘Okay. I’ll do it to a backing track. Just … just promise you won’t laugh at me?’
His eyes narrow. ‘I would never. I know how exposing performing is. And what would there be to laugh at anyway?’
He really likes proving that I judged him too quickly, doesn’t he? ‘Okay. I’ll do it. But first … I’m sorry for snapping at you yesterday. I shouldn’t have taken my anxiety out on you.’
‘That’s alright,’ he says, holding my gaze. ‘I didn’t help by bombarding you with all my stagey-ness first thing.’
‘You were just being yourself.’
‘Yeah, sure. But you don’t need to be sorry for being nervous on your first day in a new environment with loads of people giving main-character energy, okay?’
I chuckle. ‘I’ll try… I’m glad we’re getting to know each other now, rather than the assumptions we were making…’
‘Yeah, it’s good to have one less drama to think about.’
‘Do you mean the Oisín thing from last year?’
He pauses, surprised. ‘He told you as well, did he? Just know we have quite different recollections of what happened.’
‘Really? I mean, all he said is that you had a crush on him, and he turned you down.’104
He laughs. ‘He hadn’t added the part about me being “too fat to fancy” at that point then?’ he says, fiddling with his thumb.
What? That doesn’t sound like the assured company leader I know from back home, but Olly is legitimately hurt. ‘Did he say that? Why would he?’
Olly shrugs. ‘Why not? Obviously, lots of people think that but it’s not nice to hear.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look at me!’ he says, indicating his solidly built body, as if that answers my question. From what I saw when he came out of the shower earlier, his broad shoulders, solid chest and belly are … definitely fanciable. They suit him, his height and his larger-than-life charisma.
‘Sorry,’ he says, probably interpreting my silence while I visualise his torso as awkwardness. ‘Oisín’s your friend from back home. It’s not cool of me to go off about him to you.’
‘I mean … he’s a castmate rather than a friend back home,’ I say, speaking the truth now the hope our relationship might grow into something more has been squashed. ‘I thought he might stick with me more, with us both being from Derry, but we’ve not chatted that much.’
Olly’s head tilts, taking this in. ‘You’ve made your own gang now though with Ella and Andrew.’
‘Aye … they’re great.’105
‘Shall we get to this practice run then?’ he asks and waits for my nod before pressing play on a karaoke track for ‘Under Pressure’. The introduction starts, and my hands shake, wanting so badly to not be bad. To impress Olly a little.
And then I sing.
Olly
Bloody hell! No wonder Tarun’s been nominated.
He’s nervous at first, underselling the famous Queen collaboration with David Bowie both physically and vocally, but then he loosens up. His voice soars into the stratosphere with impressive ease – especially for 11 pm in a hotel bedroom.