Chapter 4
The slap came before Bridie even realised she’d lifted her hand. It echoed louder than any line in the play.
A gasp rippled across the packed West End audience.
The orchestra faltered. For a frozen second, the world seemed to hold its breath – and then chaos descended.
Her co-star, with her glossy hair and sharp smile, lunged at her like a cat.
They grappled centre-stage, hissing words the audience couldn’t hear, the velvet curtain shuddering as the stage manager yanked it down far too early.
Bridie couldn’t stop herself. She had lunged, fingers tangling in the hair of her co-star; the very same woman she had discovered was sleeping with her fiancé.
Security intervened before the curtain could be dragged down, but the damage was already done. The headlines would be brutal.
By the time they were dragged apart backstage, Bridie’s cheek burned from scratches, her chest heaved with fury, and she knew she’d just destroyed the career she’d spent a decade building.
Worse still, it would all be over social media.
She’d caught a fleeting glimpse of the audience, phones held aloft, filming every second of her shameful catfight on stage.
She’d even thought she heard a small child asking why the fairy godmother and the princess were fighting when they were meant to be friends.
‘You’re finished!’ Julian’s voice cut through the noise of booing coming from the audience when they realised the show wasn’t continuing.
He stood, immaculate as ever, beside the wings.
Not rushing to her defence. Not even pretending to care.
His lips curled in disgust. ‘No one will hire you now, Bridie. You’ll never work in this town again. ’
Bridie glared at him. She had the impulse to laugh. It sounded like a line from a movie. Perhaps it was. But she didn’t laugh when she thought: His town. His world. His theatre. And what was she? Nothing more than a discarded actress who’d made a scene.
Back at their flat, she packed quickly, stuffing dresses and shoes into a suitcase, her fingers trembling.
She couldn’t bear to look at the details that had once made her feel at home: the wine glasses they’d clinked after her West End debut, the stack of scripts by his chair, the framed posters of shows he’d produced – all suddenly poisoned by what she’d discovered.
She picked up a photo taken on the opening night of the current show. They were raising their glasses of bubbly, toasting another successful production backstage, standing for the photo in front of the rest of the cast.
Who would have thought, a few short weeks later, that she’d be involved in a fight on that very stage, all because of that woman!
Bridie grimaced at the small crowd of performers gathered around them in the photo.
It wasn’t their fault that she’d got into a fight and the curtain had had to come down early.
Perhaps the show would go on. Not with Bridie, the star of the show, but with her understudy.
That depended, she imagined, on whether what had happened would pull in even bigger audience numbers after it had been posted on social media.
Perhaps people would choose to stay away in droves instead, cancelling their tickets and demanding refunds.
It’s not fair, Bridie thought. It wasn’t my fault – it was hers! She looked at the photo. She was there too, that woman. Bridie stabbed her head with her forefinger.
She stared at the photo, shaking her head.
The Saturday matinee performance had not got off to a good start.
Bridie had overheard a private conversation.
The moment she’d seen the two young performers huddled together backstage – they were all at least ten years younger than her, in their early twenties – she’d realised they were talking about her because they quickly hushed when they turned around and saw her.
But the damage was done; she’d overheard every word.
‘Do you think she knows?’ she’d overheard them say.
‘I don’t think so. Unless she saw what we saw – Stella making out with Julian.’
‘God, that’s awful.’
‘Don’t you fancy him? I thought everyone did.’
‘Well, I don’t. And I feel sorry for Bridie. How many do you think he’s slept with over the years? Someone needs to tell her she’s been made a right fool of behind her back.’
‘You tell her, then.’
‘No way! I’d rather keep my job. What if she doesn’t believe me and she goes to Julian and he denies it, and fires me … us?’
‘Oh, you’ve got a point. It’s hard enough getting a foot in the door without pissing off a producer. I think we should keep our mouths shut.’
‘A bit too late for that,’ Bridie said sarcastically, standing right behind them, arms folded, making them both jump in surprise at the sound of her voice.
They turned around, stared wide-eyed at her and scuttled off without another word.
At that point, Bridie felt she was going to be sick. It couldn’t be true. It must just be some joke they were playing on her. Then she saw him leaning in a doorway, speaking to the young woman.
Bridie had confronted him in the intermission. She recalled his words. ‘This isn’t the time or place to discuss it.’ But he did add that they’d been drifting apart. She didn’t know what he was talking about. She thought they just led busy lives because of their theatre commitments.
The look on his face had said that wasn’t it at all.
‘You’ve met someone else,’ she’d said flatly. She’d been trying to kid herself it wasn’t true, that the two dancers had been mistaken, and that he and Stella weren’t a thing.
‘Thank god you’ve guessed. It makes life so much easier.’
‘Of course I guessed. I overheard talk, and then I saw you with her.’
Bridie had had trouble believing what she was hearing. His responses were all so matter of fact. She gaped at him. ‘I’m sorry, what do you mean – it makes life so much easier?’
‘Now we can make plans.’
‘Make plans? You and that … bimbo?’
‘No, you and me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Obviously we can’t continue living in the flat together. We’ve been ships passing in the night.’
When she looked back on it now as she packed her suitcase, she couldn’t believe how blind she’d been.
He’d been staying late at rehearsals, which hadn’t made sense; they were doing the same play, so there was no need for more rehearsals, as far as she was concerned.
But he’d said there was still some choreography that needed working on with the dancers in the show.
Choreography, my arse, thought Bridie. How many times had she heard that before, on other shows? Oh, my god. Those two dancers she’d overheard backstage were right: Stella wasn’t the first. And she wouldn’t be the last.
Bridie paused her packing and slapped her forehead.
How could she have blindly believed everything he’d said?
He was the producer. Why did he need to be there personally in those rehearsals?
Now, she knew why. There were no rehearsals, unless you counted rehearsing for this – the breakdown of their relationship and how he planned to finally tell her it was over.
She had been asking why he’d been coming in late and sleeping on the sofa.
He’d said, ‘I’m being considerate. I don’t want to wake you.
’ At first, she’d stupidly believed his excuses.
But then she recalled asking him if it was all right if they collected her grandad and took him with them to her dad’s retirement party in Suffolk.
Bridie paused to zip up her suitcase, recalling that conversation …
‘Sorry – what?’
‘The retirement party. I told you about it months ago. And then reminded you when I went for dinner at my brother’s house yesterday evening to set a date.’ He hadn’t come with her to dinner because he’d arranged another late-night rehearsal.
‘That’s come round fast. Look, I can’t make it,’ he’d said. But he hadn’t even known the date – she hadn’t told him.
‘Why?’ she’d asked. ‘I know we’re both free that weekend. I arranged my understudy for that one day, and you’re the producer. It’s not like you’ve got to be there all the time.’
‘I’ve got to be honest. I don’t want to go.’
She didn’t have to ask why not. Her family didn’t like him. In fact, she imagined if he was the same person, but he worked in investment banking or as a lawyer or in insurance like her dad, they’d get on like a house on fire and roll out the red carpet.
‘Your family – they don’t like us.’
‘You mean because you work in the theatre.’
‘Yeah – it’s just weird, like they’ve all got some sort of grudge against artists. It comes from your mum, I just know it.’
‘But you know my grandad isn’t like that.’
‘Yeah. No wonder he’s estranged from your dad. If I was him, I would be. So bloody uptight, and talk about look down on people who don’t match their dizzying salary heights.’
She hadn’t expected him to openly criticise her family like that. In hindsight, she realised why. He’d already left her; he just hadn’t told her.
The conversation had petered out. But what did it matter now? She didn’t even know why it had come to mind. But what she recalled next was the last conversation they’d had straight after the fight on stage.
‘It’s time you moved out of my flat.’
‘Your flat? But we rent together.’
‘Well, not technically. The rental agreement is in my name, and I’ve been paying it, remember?’
‘Yes, and I’ve been paying for food and bills. It was agreed.’
‘Look …’ He’d paused while some dancers walked by before continuing, but with his eyes still glued to their behinds. ‘You can go back to your parents’ house for a bit, while you sort yourself out.’
‘My parents? They live in Suffolk. How am I going to get to work?’
‘Commute. It’s doable. Isn’t Suffolk an hour or so from London?’
Bridie recalled not quite believing she was having the conversation. ‘Well, yeah, by train from Ipswich. But first you’ve got to get to the mainline station, and do you know how much commuting will cost?’
She didn’t even know why they’d been talking about it.
What did he care? And now she thought about it, she’d been ignoring the signs.
She’d seen him before, paying special attention to the dancers, the young dancers, thinking how that had been her when she’d first starred in his shows ten years earlier as a fresh-faced twenty-something.
Her thoughts turned to her grandad. She’d intended to surprise him, not letting on when she would be turning up to collect him for her dad’s retirement party.
It was going to be a surprise all right when she turned up, but not for the reason he imagined. Still, at least one person would be pleased to hear the news – that she and Julian had broken up.
Her grandad had always believed in her, even when her parents had said she was chasing shadows.
She thought of all the times she’d visited his London flat, and he’d told her bluntly she’d be better off moving in with him than with that slippery producer.
He’d never hidden his dislike of her fiancé, and though Bridie had bristled every time, she knew now that he’d be very pleased by the split.
She slammed the case shut, pulled on her coat, and headed out into the cold London night.