Chapter 28 #2
She lowered her eyes and focused on her new friend, who was trying his best to fill her with some confidence. It wasn’t working. She glanced at Mabel and Marjorie. ‘Since when did you take their side?’
He glanced at the sisters too, and whispered, ‘Ah, you’ve heard about our friendly rivalry.’
She’d heard it hadn’t always been friendly. She nodded all the same.
‘I’m actually impressed that two octogenarians feel up to the task of joining us this evening.’
Bridie smiled. She was too.
‘And you know, if they can put some elbow grease into it, then so can you.’
‘You’re making me feel bad.’
He grinned. ‘That’s the idea. Now, may I suggest that you return to the foyer and start with that colossal pile of paper on the floor?’
She was just about to do just that, hoping that by clearing all the old flyers, newspapers, and rubbish, she’d be rewarded with finding a letter addressed to the previous owner.
She turned to leave the auditorium.
‘Wait!’
Bridie did an about-turn.
‘You’re going to need two!’
She stood watching Reggie unfurl another black bin liner. He said, ‘I hope you find what you’re looking for.’
Bridie doubted she would. She retreated to the door and was about to walk into the foyer when she turned around to look at them all again. All the people there to support her.
The two sisters, who had rolled up their sleeves, began sweeping up rubbish into piles. They were also busy organising everyone. It was like watching a pair of tiny, elderly generals take command of a battlefield.
The others joined in almost immediately.
Joss tackled a fallen lighting rig. Thea set to work sweeping the centre aisle, stirring up clouds of dust that made her sneeze.
Oliver investigated a section of wall and made a face that suggested he wished he hadn’t.
Hannah, ever prepared, wheeled in her small coffee machine, which she’d put on the usherette tray along with the tin of biscuits from her shop, and started setting up a little refreshment table.
It was like a pop-up café in the midst of ruin.
Bridie was still amazed. These were people who barely knew her. And yet they were there, mucking in without hesitation, filling bin bags, making jokes, getting on with it – as if her theatre was their problem too. Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
‘Here,’ Hannah said, pressing a warm takeaway paper cup into her hands. ‘Drink this before you faint. Or cry. Or both.’
Bridie let out a wobbly laugh and wrapped her fingers around the coffee cup. The familiar warmth grounded her a little.
Somewhere near the stage, Thea called out, ‘Look at this!’
Bridie walked over with her coffee in one hand and the two empty black sacks Reggie had given her in the other.
Behind a mouldy curtain, propped against the wall, was an old poster board.
The colours were faded and the paper curled, but she could still make out the title of a long-ago production, way before her time, and the smiling faces of the cast. She didn’t remember seeing it when she had been there years earlier.
But it must have been in the theatre all along.
She reached out and brushed the dust from its surface. Something flickered inside her. The old love she’d buried under fear and exhaustion. Her love of the theatre. She felt it – just for a second – the spark she thought she’d lost. Julian had nearly taken it away from her.
Mabel appeared beside her, hands on hips. ‘See?’ she said. ‘It’s looking better already. There’s life in these walls yet.’
Bridie didn’t answer. But her fingers lingered on the poster. Maybe there was. Maybe she had more life left in her, too. What had happened to her in her last show had knocked her confidence so much that she’d doubted whether she’d ever work in theatre again.
‘Reggie appeared beside her. ‘See, I told you. You look like her.’
‘Look like who?’
Oliver appeared too. ‘Hey, I don’t remember this old poster.’
‘That’s Isobel,’ Reggie said, pointing.
‘Isobel Raine?’ Oliver asked.
‘You know of her?’ Reggie replied.
‘The ghost,’ Bridie breathed.
Oliver shook his head. ‘No such thing as ghosts, Bridie. Remember I told you that I did a bit of sleuthing and discovered that although she disappeared, that’s not to say something bad happened that night, like she fell into the sea and drowned or something.’
‘She just disappeared,’ Bridie and Reggie said in unison.
‘Reggie’s right about one thing,’ Oliver said, turning to the poster. ‘You look just like her.’
‘Hey, you lot. Stop dawdling!’
‘Oh, better jump to,’ Oliver said, offering Marjorie an apologetic grin. ‘My goodness! I’d love to bring Mabel and Marjorie to school with me. I think they’d sort out some of the bad behaviour.’
Bridie smiled. When she turned back to the poster, her similarity to Isobel Raine wasn’t the only surprise. ‘Hey …’ she turned to Reggie. ‘That’s you, in the cast.’
‘Yep, that’s me, looking very handsome, if I do say so myself.’
She smiled at Reggie before turning her attention to the poster once more. Studying the rest of the cast, Bridie nearly dropped her coffee when she spotted another familiar face. ‘Dad? What the hell …?’
‘Did you just say Dad?’ Reggie asked.
She stabbed her finger at the poster. ‘That is my dad – I think.’ She paused, ‘Actually, it can’t be.
’ Her parents hated the theatre. And this cast photo was from many years earlier.
Didn’t everyone have a doppelg?nger? She shook her head.
It had been a very long day – visiting the solicitor, then returning to work in the shop before heading to the theatre.
She wasn’t thinking straight. Of course it wasn’t her dad – was it?
Reggie peered at her. ‘What is your last name again?’
‘Hart – it’s Hart.’
‘Well, I’ll be darned! You’re the daughter of Rufus Hart! I always wondered what became of him.’