Chapter 7
Seven
“His blood, my blood, our bodies are as one, I still feel his kiss, his lips as sure as the morning, but he’s gone, the oceans
rise, and the winter calls without him.”
—“The Song of the Dead,” The Wooden Horse, Act Two
Jonah didn’t hesitate before answering his phone. When his mum’s face lit up the screen and sent vibrations skittering across
his dressing table, his hands were around it within seconds. He’d been waiting for her calls, eager to get them instead of
dreading her lovely round face appearing on his screen like usual, expecting bad news. A little over a month had passed since
their conversation in the kitchen and he could still hear her chest sucking in painful breaths as tears created rivers around
her home back in Cornwall. Weeks of her not finding a home for Dad. Weeks of excuses and empty promises. He sent her links
to nursing homes he found himself, nice places overlooking the sea where Dad could sit out in well-maintained gardens and
still hear the waves crashing against the edges of cliffs, but she found fault with them all.
The research, however, helped him take his mind off Edward and the seven months he spent fucking Wes while still fucking him.
He never thought dementia homes would quell the burning rage and heartache he could feel brimming in his core at all hours
of the day, but desperate times called for unusual desperate measures.
“Mum?”
“Sausage!” Her voice sounded surprisingly jovial. “I’ve got the girls round, and we were just talking about something totally outrageous that happened yesterday, and I just had to tell you.”
Jonah eyed the clock on the wall in his dressing room. He needed to be onstage for warm-up in five minutes, but he could hear
a slight slur in her words and his chest constricted as he thought of her and her friends sipping wine while Dad sat unaided
somewhere in the house.
“I’m at work. Mum, can it wait?”
“Why answer the phone if you can’t talk to me?”
Jonah bit down on the inside of his cheek before answering. “I always answer when I can in case it’s important, you know,
something up with you or dad. Did you look at the new homes I sent you links to?”
“Well, no, Jonah, I didn’t, because something rather awful happened yesterday.”
“What happened? I thought you said it was outrageous and now it’s awful? Are you both okay?”
The phone rustled and Jonah could picture her propping it against her ear with her shoulder while she busied herself with
something else as another woman laughed in the background. “There was a flasher down on the beach.” The sound of a cork being
popped from a bottle of wine interrupted her sentence. “Showed his willy to all the people down there trying to eat their
sandwiches.”
“Blimey,” Jonah said with a slight laugh.
“It’s not funny, Jonah. Agatha, you remember Agatha, don’t you? The woman who grows the broad beans? Well, she hadn’t seen
a penis in a decade, nearly gave her a heart attack. She choked on her scone, the poor thing.”
“Is she okay now?”
“A bit shaken. She had to give a police statement. Can you imagine going down the station and having to tell an officer about
the willy you saw on the beach?” He could hear the wine being poured into a glass. “When was the last time you saw a penis,
dear?”
Jonah made a strangled noise from the back of his throat. “Is that your way of asking me how my love life is? I told you Edward broke up with me. No penis viewings for me. And, Mum, seriously, I need to go, I’ve got to do warm-ups then get ready.”
“I just want to know why you can’t hold down a boyfriend, Jonah. You work in the theatre, it’s the prime place to meet someone.
Isn’t that where all the gays are?”
Jonah looked to the ceiling and let out a slow breath. “ ‘All the gays’?”
“Darling, I knew you were gay the moment you came down the stairs draped in my sequin cardigan and made me and your father
watch you perform ‘Don’t Rain on My Parade’ for us in the living room. You were seven. You’re telling me you’re the only gay
in the theatre?”
“It’s true, no homosexual can deny the call of Barbra Streisand.”
“Who?”
“I will not dignify that question with an answer. Look, Mum, you need to get back to me once you’ve looked at those places
I sent you—” The door to his dressing room opened and Sherrie’s usually smiling face frowned at him from the hallway. He waved
his hand at her, then pointed to his phone. “Mum, look I’ve got to go.”
“Fine,” she snapped, the wine-induced playfulness gone. “Go play pretend. It’s far more important than talking to me, isn’t
it?”
“Mum, don’t be like that. It’s my job, please—” She hung up. Jonah looked at his phone, momentarily bewildered, then placed
it down on his dresser.
“Parents, huh?” Sherrie said, pushing the door open more to let him out into the hallway.
His eyes fell on Bastien’s closed door, and he went to knock before Sherrie stopped him. “What? He didn’t wait for me?”
“The fact you two have to walk everywhere together around here is slightly concerning,” Sherrie quipped. “But, no, Bastien’s
sick.”
“He is? He didn’t tell me.”
“He’s got the flu, his boyfriend had to call in for him, apparently he’s, like, really ill with it.” Jonah hesitated; the
thought of going back to get his phone to shoot him a text passed through his mind, but Sherrie linked her arm with his and
guided them both forward. “And, well, it’s not just Bastien who’s ill either. We’ve got seven cast members off.”
“Seven?” Jonah’s attention was suddenly piqued. “Seriously? Who?”
“Bastien, Lucie, Nate, Lucian, Elliott, Luca, and Toby,” Sherrie said, counting off the names on her fingers.
Jonah tried to piece the names together in his head. Three main cast members, three ensembles, and one swing. His mind started
trying to work out who would cover who, and within seconds he’d run around in circles and looped a rope around himself only
to trip over his thoughts.
“They haven’t canceled the performance?” he asked, though the fact he was on his way to warm-ups answered the question for
him. “We don’t have enough cast to cover the leads.”
“You’ve got Lennon stepping in,” Sherrie said, her voice careful, restrained. “And Sarah covering Lucie.”
Jonah gave a nod. Lennon and Sarah were two of the best swings he’d ever worked with, falling seamlessly into whatever track
they were given, even on a minute’s notice. He didn’t know how they did it; they were the unspoken heroes of the theatre,
brave, immensely talented, and with memories capable of absorbing countless roles.
“So, just a small ensemble tonight, then?” Jonah said. “Is Lennon on as Patroclus?”
Sherrie shook her head. “No. Odysseus.”
They moved through the wings to the stage where Evie, their stage manager, stood with her hands on her hips, overseeing her
cast as they stretched in front of her. She glanced at Jonah and waved him over, her movements choppy, as if she couldn’t
shake off the tension building in her muscles. As he approached, Sherrie went to Sarah and spoke quietly with her, their words
light and friendly, and Jonah wished he could be with them rather than with the clearly frazzled Evie.
“Slight issue,” she said as Jonah reached her, and he noted just how frizzy and large her usually neat dark hair had become.
“You might not have a Patroclus tonight.”
Jonah laughed, not knowing how else to respond, but when her pinched expression didn’t change the joy seeped from his tone.
“But we can’t do the show without him.”
“I know,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I called Colbie, and she’s made some calls. I’m just waiting on a response and hopefully we can go ahead, but I need you to be on your A game tonight because you will have to carry someone who is unfamiliar with the track.”
“Oh, yeah. I mean, of course.”
“Fabulous.” She forced a smile. “Now warm up with the others, we’re going to make this happen, I’ll be damned if we have to
cancel the show tonight.” She waved Jonah away with a small, dismissive jerk of her hand.
Jonah took his space on the stage and moved with the others, all of them watching Omari as he led the stretches. Jonah marveled
at the man, the way he moved, so fluid, effortless, never breaking a single bead of sweat, and it pissed Jonah off to no end
that someone could be so frustratingly perfect. But despite Omari’s best efforts to energize the cast the mood became subdued.
They knew the likelihood of a performance tonight was slim; there would be no show without a Patroclus. Evie’s voice kept
interrupting them as she spoke on her phone, becoming more of a distraction when they were running their vocal warm-ups, her
tone shrill, desperate, until finally she stuffed her mobile into her pocket and clapped her hands together loudly.
“Because I am the best person in the entire world, I have a cover coming in for Patroclus. Please continue to get ready and,
Sherrie, I need you and the wardrobe team ready to make some adjustments to the first cover costume and make sure he’s looking
fabulous for stage.” She then let out an uncharacteristic squeal. “Tonight is going to be huge!”
“Who is our hero, then? Who stepped in to save us last minute?” Sarah asked, crossing her arms over her chest with a smile.
“Don’t leave us hanging.”
Evie smirked. “Dexter Ellis.”
Jonah hadn’t seen Dexter since the incident on the tube. He’d expected him to show up for yoga, but he didn’t, and he kept
an eye out for him during and after the shows in case he popped up to tell Jonah about all the mistakes he made again. He