Chapter 10 #2
Zeb sighs, ushering the two men exiting the cubicles 171to wash their hands quickly, before he continues.
‘Okay. When the nominations came out last year, Oisín sent Olly loads of flirty messages. He kept saying how “hot” he thought Ol was and chatted the same stuff when they met at rehearsals. Olly … well no one had ever flirted with him before, so he was excited, seeing this cute boy who seemed to like him. Oisín said he was gutted they weren’t sharing a room, and even suggested they kiss on the first night.
But when Marty and Elaine praised Olly, he changed.
He was doing all kinds of shit to stop Ol getting into the final six. ’
‘Like what?’
‘Props would go missing, he’d call Ol “fatty” just before he was going to sing.’
‘That’s awful…’ I say, but Zeb isn’t done. He grips onto the counter, only getting angrier.
‘Then in the final, he got so in Olly’s head that he stumbled on his words in his medley.
He still had his solo at the end of act one to make up for it though.
But guess who “accidentally” wore Olly’s shirt, which was like a dress on Oisín?
We all wear the purple shirts for the group numbers.
All that was left backstage was Oisín’s small shirt, which of course Olly couldn’t fit into.
He had to choose either going on stage topless or not at all.
And when someone’s been calling you “the perfect casting for the whale in Moby Dick The Musical”, which do you think 172he was more inclined to do?
He missed his last solo, his last chance to impress the judges, and didn’t get into the final six as a result. ’
Olly – who has only ever been good and kind to people – made to feel mortified on his big night in the West End. I want to cry myself. ‘Why did no one tell Sabrina?’
‘Oisín said it was an honest mistake! There was no proof he wore the shirt on purpose, so she had to believe him. But after she’d gone, Oisín told Olly that his “plan” had gone “exactly as he wanted”.
So, if you like him, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but he’s pulling the same tricks all over again.
He wants to use your feelings to help him advance in the competition. ’
Zeb’s burning with rage and everything he’s saying … makes sense. But believing him comes with the crushing knowledge I’ve been used. The image I’ve built up of the fair-haired, freckly-faced boy who kissed me comes crumbling down in an instant. Was any of it real?
‘Thank you for filling me in. I needed to hear that. I can’t believe I let that dick fool me. Where’s Olly?’
‘An usher made him change seats because he was blocking someone’s view. I think they took him upstairs.’
‘I’m going to find him. Olly shouldn’t be the one alone tonight and I … I don’t know what I’ll say if I see Oisín right now.’173
Zeb pats me on the back. ‘I’ll make sure Oisín knows not to expect you back. Can I say you’re turning down his offer?’
I nod. Throwing away the competition to help Oisín progress more easily would be the most stupid mistake I could make. ‘Tell him I’ve gone to spend the evening with someone kind and honest.’
‘The complete opposite of him,’ Zeb says, and I laugh, before heading out to search the theatre for Olly.
I need to tell him our friendship’s more important to me than any crush I’ve had on a proper shitebag.
Olly
I’ve chosen to stay in my box of exile for the interval. The nudges and gazes of devotion between Oisín and Tarun in the auditorium would be too much.
Knock knock knock.
Who could that be? There can’t be another complaint: I’m def initely not blocking anyone’s view here.
‘Hello?’ I call out as the door slowly opens, and Tarun’s head peers through the gap.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, not getting my hopes up that Oisín has ballsed things up, because I know that would hurt Tarun most. I never want him to be upset. 174‘Why are you not with Oisín? It looked like your date was going … super well.’
‘The front of house lady said I’d find you here,’ he says, stepping into the box. ‘Zeb told me.’
‘Told you what?’
‘What Oisín did to you last year. The bullying and the stolen props and … and the shirt.’
‘Oh,’ I say, mortified that Tarun knows about my humiliation. ‘And you believe Zeb? And me? That he took my shirt intentionally?’
‘Of course I do. Please can I join you for the second half? I can’t sit with someone who’s that much of an arse. Especially to someone as … lovely as you.’
My heart sings. ‘I mean, of course you can! The view’s pretty restricted for your first time watching the show though…’
‘That’s alright. You said Billy Elliot is one of your favourites, didn’t you?
’ he says, and I nod, stomach flipping that he remembers my answer from the first day.
‘Well, if there’s anything I’m confused about because I missed stuff, you can fill me in after, can’t you?
Honestly, I don’t want to even look at Oisín right now. ’
He really seems to care. ‘I wish I’d told you when you asked for my dating advice. You just liked him so much and I didn’t want to spoil that for you.’
‘I don’t blame you at all! I see how manipulative he 175can be. He only flirted with me today as a strategic move.’
‘He did?’ I ask, digging my nails into my arm rest, hoping my worst suspicions aren’t about to be confirmed.
‘Aye. I don’t know why he made out with me at the after party, but he basically flirted with me today so he could offer me a “summer of fun” if I mucked up the finale on purpose.’
‘That bastard.’
‘It’s so stupid. He said he didn’t want me to “steal” a spot in the final six from someone who needs it, but how is that going to happen when there’re properly talented people like you and Zeb?’
‘You are properly talented too, Tarun! He’s just a self-obsessed fucker who can’t see anything past the end of his nose. Come on then. We can’t have you sitting with him, so let’s figure out the best way to fit our seats into the viewing gap…’
I shuffle my seat as close to the far wall as it will go, and Tarun pulls up a chair next to mine. We’re closer than even regular theatre seats would be. A text from Zeb lands on my phone, and I type a reply.
Where are you? Has Tarun found you?
He has! You did the right thing telling him.176
Can I catch up with you later? Tarun and I have stuff to talk about <3
‘Is this alright?’ Tarun asks. ‘I can see about half the stage from here.’
Our legs are touching, and my arm keeps bumping his, but being this close will provide the best view possible.
‘Of course. Sorry if I knock you at any point.’
He shrugs. ‘Same if I bump you.’
We smile at each other, happy to be back in our usual theatre arrangement, even if we’re tighter, closer and have a significantly worse view than we’re used to.
Tarun
The second act starts off weirdly with a song about Maggie Thatcher, but the rest of the show is so beautiful it makes me hold my breath for what feels like minutes at a time.
Watching a community, and a dad, come together around a little boy and his dream, feels …
like a fantasy for the child I once was.
When the boy playing Billy (Aayush Patil, Olly’s programme informs me) shows the Royal Ballet panel what it means to him when he dances, I grin from ear to ear.
Being so close to Olly in our seats should be 177uncomfortable, but it isn’t. I’m not even worrying about invading his space. We’re sat like this to get the best view possible, but it feels natural. We’re used to each other already.
Towards the end of the show, I get why this might be one of Olly’s favourites. Like Olly, Billy’s mum is dead, but her ghost appears to him throughout the show. After Billy’s been accepted into the ballet school, he has a last conversation with his mum before he moves from County Durham to London.
When he says that he’ll see her soon, she looks at him with tears in her eyes and says that she doesn’t think he will. And the young boy, so bright and expressive on stage, nods and says he probably won’t. He’s ready to move on from his grief.
Olly’s crying. They’re not big tears or anything, but being so close to him, his quiet breath change is clear.
Our eyes meet. As Billy sings a reply to the letter his mum wrote to him before she died, his crying becomes heavier.
We both lean on the arm rest between our chairs, and I surprise myself by gently putting my hand in his. It feels weirdly more intimate than my kiss with Oisín a few months ago. He smiles as he squeezes back.
We sit there, our hands interlocked until the show finishes.
I could let go, but I don’t want to. Having his big 178soft hand in mine isn’t awkward at all.
It feels like my hand naturally fits inside his.
We stay connected for a few minutes at the end, until the big finale number when we both rise to our feet and clap along with the rest of the audience.
After the final bow, I’m about spent from whooping and cheering the cast as loud as I can. The magic of the show’s over, but I still feel like I’m floating. We’re picking up our belongings and moving our chairs back when Olly turns to me and says, ‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’
‘For being with me. For…’ He pauses, leaving the thought unresolved. ‘It means a lot.’
Pulling on my jacket, I shake my head. ‘I was glad to be with you. A lot better than sitting with Evil McIlhenny.’
He laughs and holds open the door of the box, where there are loads of people walking down the many stairs from the high balcony seating to the entrance. We’re walking closer than we normally would, pushed together by the crowd. About halfway down, his hand brushes mine and I shiver.
‘Sorry, bit cramped here,’ Olly apologises.
‘No, you’re all good.’
And I’m not just saying that. I believe myself. Because I think Olly’s better than good.
I think he’s great.