Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Olly
Zeb and I successfully avoided each other at Wagamamas. About twenty of the cast all sat on one long big table and we sat at opposite ends.
It was weird, having neither Zeb or Tarun to chat with at lunch, but I got the side with Gabby and Jas, so I managed to pass the break without spiralling about what Zeb said. Just because Marty’s advice doesn’t feel right doesn’t mean it’s not correct.
‘Where’d Tarun go for lunch?’ Jas asks as we head back to the theatre. ‘Not seen the two of you apart in days.’
‘He stayed back at the theatre. Wanted some quiet time before our big afternoon, I think.’
Gabby nods. ‘Probably sensible. I don’t think any of us have got much vocal rest shouting over each other and the music.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. There’s a worry in the back of my head that he looked … off when I explained to him why Marty pulled us for a note, but I’m overthinking. He just wants to decompress.245
I still think I should head up to his dressing room and check in before we start rehearsals again, but we’re cutting it fine ourselves after it took an absolute age to divvy up the bill between all twenty of us.
His name’s right at the top of the sign-in sheet at the stage door and he hasn’t signed out since his first tick in this morning, so he must have stayed here.
‘Quickly!’ Sabrina urges, beckoning our breathless horde straight through to front of house, where we’re plunged into the dark auditorium while they’re checking the lighting plot.
I scan the auditorium for Tarun, but he doesn’t seem to be down here yet. He’s probably on his way.
‘Ah, Olly!’ Elaine says, grabbing me by the arm before I can sit down in one of the Stalls seats. ‘Can I get you to do your sound check for the final six first? I need someone who knows how they run to show everyone.’
‘Of course,’ I say as she ushers me back to the wings. ‘Happy to!’
While I’m strapped into my mic, she goes on stage and explains how we all get to run through our song, even though only the top six will get to perform.
Marty’s sat on stage, ready to accompany us on the piano. I’m given a few seconds to go over the tempo and holds in the song before going to the front of the stage, ready to perform ‘Lucky to Be Me’.246
But as the piano introduction begins, and I commit to ensuring Marty can’t poke any holes in my performance, or accuse me of not taking his note, I realise Zeb’s right.
My entire presentation feels hollow. I second guess every move, worrying about how the audience will perceive me rather than just telling the story to the best of my ability and thinking about all the times I have indeed felt lucky.
Like having Zeb and Gabby and Jas and Tarun come into my life.
Like seeing Bernadette Peters lie across a grand piano and perform ‘Fever’ for the first time.
All the things I’d usually imbue my performance with are memories full of the ‘gay’ parts of me that are against Marty’s code.
My sound check ends, and I feel nothing but disappointment. I swore I’d give everything to the competition this year, and yet there’s barely any of me in the performance I’ve just given. Marty gives me a nod of approval, and all that’s left is to leave the stage.
In a few hours, it will have been decided who the winners are of The Larry Awards. Last year, I couldn’t give my all because of things out of my control – Oisín taking my shirt and getting in my head. Will I look back this year and feel the same?
But if I do, the only person who will have taken my love and energy on stage away from me will be me.
Do I really want to have regrets again but only myself 247to blame? Would it be better to risk it all, but know that the audience saw all of me on stage?
Tarun
The key card to Room 709 beeps with a familiar ping for what’s going to be my last time.
Stepping into the hotel room, I exhale. It feels safe in here, for now.
It was the only place I knew to come after climbing out of the theatre’s fire escape.
I need to get my things and hide out until it’s time to call Mum and tell her that I’m not doing the final.
It can’t be too soon. It needs to be late enough that there’s no way to orchestrate me returning for tonight’s performance.
Our room is just as we left it this morning. My bed’s undisturbed since housekeeping made it yesterday, while the sheets of the king-sized bed are flung to one side, evidence of the one night I got to spend in Olly’s arms.
I should start packing. But the pull of my guitar takes priority. I take it out of its case and perch it on my knee. I don’t choose a particular tune, letting my fingers experiment and dance over the strings to whichever chords they feel like.
The world feels alright when it’s just me and my guitar.
The longer I play, the steadier my racing heart beats.
With 248my eyes closed, I start to pick out ‘My Favourite Things’ once again, the same song I was drawn to mid-panic attack on Monday night as Olly turned his back to me and proved how decent he is.
I hope he’ll understand why I’ve left. I’m not na?ve enough to pretend that I’m not doing this for me – protecting myself from an anxiety attack on stage and from Dad’s shame.
But I’m also doing it for him. For the boy who’s shown me nothing but kindness, while I’ve proven nothing but a distraction for his dreams coming true.
All around me there are items to remind me of him: his cast-aside towel that covers his bottom half while I get to drool over his torso; the bag of laundry in the corner, containing the show t-shirts he’s worn this week of his favourite MT flops.
But then there’s something I’ve not seen before. A flat, square package on his bedside table and, when I get closer, I realise my name is written on it. Did he … get me a gift?
I carefully unwrap the plain A4 photocopier paper that he’s covered the object in, in case it’s intended for a different Tarun in his life. But as a CD slips into my hand, I know it’s not.
‘Olly…’ I say aloud to the silent room, the signed Sisyphus Rising album shaking in my grip. ‘You shouldn’t…’
My first ever gift from a boy. It feels more romantic 249than I deserve. He must have bought it from The Green Room before we even kissed. Before we even confirmed we like each other. I hold it close to my chest and cherish it.
I left the competition knowing there’s a risk Olly may never forgive me.
It’ll be easy for him to think I’m letting the cast down.
But I really hope that a window opens after the door I’ve shut.
Because I like him so, so much. Surely he’ll understand that I’m not letting the cast and him down, I’m releasing them.
I was a burden who didn’t belong. Now they can all shine.
I put the CD carefully in my rucksack before stuffing the rest of my clothes and toiletries in it.
You coming down? Lunch finished 5 minutes ago – I’ve already done my soundcheck!
Olly’s messaged, but he doesn’t know I’ve gone for good yet. I pocket my phone and strap my backpack and guitar over my shoulders. Because I don’t know how long it’ll be until they realise I’ve gone. And I need to be far away from places they’ll expect me to be before that happens.250
Olly
Five minutes have passed, but Tarun hasn’t replied to my text or turned up in the dark auditorium yet.
I have my phone on as low brightness as possible, so my face isn’t illuminated while the sound checks are happening. My eyes keep flicking back to the screen every few seconds, the rest of the time looking around to make sure Tarun’s not appeared in the auditorium.
Where is he?
‘It’s Olly, isn’t it?’
I catch my phone at the last moment as it very nearly drops out of my hand in surprise.
‘You know my name?’ I ask, staring up at the famous star who is looking down at me from the aisle.
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ Rob Harrison chuckles, nearly giving me a heart attack as he sits down next to me. ‘How are you finding the competition?’
I’m normally very able to keep my composure around those I idolise.
Hell, I didn’t even cry when I met Bernadette at the stage door after her London concert!
But having someone I’ve looked up to for years talking directly to me?
‘Sorry, I’m just freaking out a bit that you know who I am!
I won the primary school talent show singing “The Words I Write”.
I had your Attitude magazine cover on my wall when I was thirteen! ’251
‘Oh God.’ He groans, putting his head in his hands. ‘My husband’s always ribbing me for that. I promise it was the stylist who made me undo quite so many shirt buttons.’
‘It was the exact right amount of buttons,’ I say, remembering it being one of my first introductions to a hairy chest, before panicking. ‘I didn’t mean to say that out loud! Sorry! Back to your first question, I’m having the best time at the Larrys.’
‘Good. I’m glad a lad as talented as you is getting this kind of showcase.’
‘You … you think I’m talented?’
‘Absolutely! Great voice, but it was during “You Will Be Found” in the dress run that I couldn’t stop watching you. You were so electric on stage and passionate… Why were you not the same during your sound check just then?’
I sit on my hands to stop them shaking. ‘I … I’ve been given some conflicting notes. About how “gay” I should let myself come across on stage…’
‘Ah,’ he says with a knowing nod. ‘That old debate.’
‘How have you found it? Being a “gay” leading man?’
He shifts in his seat. ‘I come to this from a position of privilege, you understand? I managed to “pass” as a housewives’ attainable dream man for years – my managers wouldn’t have it any other way when I started my career.
But it was never a secret in the rehearsal room; people met my boyfriends and partners, and directors 252would tell me to “be careful with your mannerisms” and everything that I’m sure you’re dealing with right now. ’