28
Saskia
When I was eleven, I was in a musical version of ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’ at school.
I was so nervous, and right before I was about to go on, I told Miss Wootton that I couldn’t do it.
I was too scared, couldn’t remember a single line, and I just wanted to go home.
Poor Miss Wootton didn’t know what to do.
Her Snow White was in floods of tears, crippled with stage fright, when who should appear but my dad, who knelt beside me.
‘Hey, Sassie, what’s going on?’
‘I can’t go on, Dad. I’m too scared,’ I blubbed, tears cascading down my face.
‘What? Why? You are by far and away, and I mean by about ten squillion miles, the best actor and singer I have seen in my entire life.’
I looked at my dad, wiping my snotty face with the sleeve of my Snow White costume.
‘Squillion isn’t a word, Dad.’
‘Sure, it is. I’ll use it in a sentence. You are about ten squillion miles the best actor in this play, and I love you a squillion times more than anyone else in the entire world.’
‘What about Mummy?’
‘Obviously, I love your mum the same.’
‘What about Frank?’ At the time, we had a rabbit called Frank Peter Johnson.
‘I love Frank, of course, but not as much as you or your mum. Look, love, you have no reason to be nervous because every single person out there, sitting in that audience, is going to be blown away by how amazing you are because you are, Sassie.’
‘But what if I make a mistake or forget my lines?’
‘Then find me in the audience, look at me and pretend it’s just us, and we’re doing all the lines just like we did at home.’
‘Okay, Dad. I can do it.’
‘Of course you can, love. You are the most talented girl in the world, and there is nothing you cannot do.’
‘I can’t fly, Dad.’
‘True, you cannot fly.’
‘Or eat shellfish because I’m allergic.’
‘Or eat shellfish because you’re allergic. But apart from flying and eating shellfish, there is nothing you cannot do.’
‘Okay, Dad.’
‘Say it,’ said Dad, looking at me with that slightly crooked smile of his.
‘There is nothing in the world I cannot do.’
‘That’s right, love. Now go out there and break a leg!
’ said Dad, before he kissed me on the top of my head.
As soon as he was gone, Miss Wootton told me it was time to go on, and I did.
Mum and Dad were in the front row, and whenever I was nervous, I would look at Dad and I knew it was going to be all right.
I went out there and gave what Miss Wootton described as ‘the best performance of her teaching career’, which to be fair, had only lasted two years because she was quite new.
I am standing backstage waiting to go on, and I am nervous again.
I wish Dad were here just like he was before ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’.
This is it, the biggest gig of my life, and what am I thinking about?
Ben, of course. I couldn’t believe it when he told me we couldn’t speak to each other anymore.
Don’t get me wrong, I understand, and if I were in Jemma’s shoes, I would have done the same thing.
I don’t blame her, but that didn’t stop it from hurting.
I have felt the pain of it all day, coursing through my veins like it was on a drip, and whenever it started to lose some of its intensity, another wave of it would shoot through my body.
I know this is it, the gig that could change everything, and I should be ready to go out there and put on the show of my life, but I am struggling. I need Dad again.
Beyond the curtain, all my friends and family are there, and somewhere in the audience, Fudge Cake are watching me.
I look to my left and I see Joe Thompson, and he gives me the thumbs up.
I imagine this means that Fudge Cake are in the building.
It’s time. I have to put Ben out of my mind.
I hear my name being called, and then I start walking out onto the stage.
I hear claps, cheers, and there is a single light in the centre of the stage.
I walk into the light, pull the microphone a little nearer, and I look out at the crowd.
It’s bigger than usual. I see Mum, Brian, Jess, Aaron and Brad, and I am looking around, but I don’t see Fudge Cake anywhere.
Maybe they are watching from the wings with Joe.
They probably don’t want to draw attention.
This is it. I’m thirty now. No excuses. I launch into my first song.
I do the best gig of my life. I give it everything, perform my best songs, a few covers and for thirty minutes, it feels like I have the audience in the palm of my hand.
They clap and cheer every song, and it feels like Dad is standing next to me the whole time.
If this is my big chance, I know there is nothing more I could have done.
‘Thank you and goodnight!’ I finally say to huge applause, and I walk off stage, sweating, emotionally drained, and I just hope it’s enough.
‘That was awesome, Sas!’ says Joe as I walk past him. ‘Best gig of your life!’
‘Do you think Fudge Cake liked it? Where are they? I had a look around the audience and couldn’t see them, so I thought they’re probably backstage somewhere.’ The adrenalin of the performance and of what it might mean is still coursing through my body.
‘Yeah, no, so actually, Sas, they couldn’t make it.’
‘What?’ I say, suddenly feeling the ground moving beneath my feet, and all the blood that seconds ago was surging through my veins, spurred on by the adrenalin of my performance, is gone from my face and I feel sick to the stomach.
‘Yeah, something came up, eh. Last-minute.’
‘So, that’s it? My one chance to perform in front of Fudge Cake and they couldn’t make it?’ I say, my voice cracking with emotion.
‘Sorry, Sas. You look devo, and I get it, yeah. Let’s get a drink and we can talk about it,’ says Joe, stepping closer, reaching forward and trying to hold my hand, but I push him away.
‘What the fuck, Joe? Can I perform in front of them again?’
‘Yeah, no. I heard they already filled the support act slot. Some band from Darwin.’
‘You already knew?’ I feel waves of anger and sadness crashing through my body, and I know I am going to cry. I hate that I’m going to cry in front of Joe Thompson.
‘Didn’t want to ruin the night. Come on, let’s get a drink,’ says Joe, trying to grab my hand again, but I push him harder this time. ‘What the fuck, Sas? On your period or something?’
‘Fuck you, Joe!’ I scream at him, and he just smiles.
‘If you want to know the truth, they were never coming. I just wanted to get in your fucking undies, eh.’
‘What?’
‘It was all a setup,’ says Joe, and this is when I lose it.
I punch him square in the face as hard as I can, which feels amazing – momentary thoughts of my conversation with Brian about Yvette breaking that guy’s nose shoot through my mind – and then I walk away towards the green room, my whole-body trembling in shock, anger and sadness.
Joe stumbles backwards, holding his face.
‘You were shit in bed, anyway! Fucking bitch. See you around … oh no I won’t because I’ll be on tour with Fudge Cake!’ shouts Joe, but I don’t look back.
I slam the door of the green room shut, and immediately I fall to pieces and start sobbing my heart out.
It was all a fucking scam. Fudge Cake were never going to see me perform, and why would they?
I’m a gullible idiot, and Joe Thompson played me and toyed with my dreams just because he wanted to screw me – and he definitely did screw me.
I slump down on the crap, stained sofa, my guitar next to me, and this feels like it.
My career is going nowhere, I’m thirty, and the man I thought might have somehow been the love of my life has just told me he can’t speak to me anymore.
This is officially the worst birthday ever.
All the gigs I have performed over the years, all the songs I have written, all of it feels like a waste of time.
I feel like such a loser, and this is when my phone rings.
I look down and it’s Marrickville Retirement Village.
They only call when it’s important and especially at this time of the night. I wipe my eyes and answer. It’s Rhonda.
‘Sorry to call so late, Sassie, but it’s Lou.’
‘What’s happened? Has he—’
‘Not yet, but he’s close, and he’s asking for you. Do you think—’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ I say, and then we hang up.
Lou is dying, and nothing else matters right now because I need to say goodbye to him before it’s too late.
I get my things together, and start to dash out of the room, but as I open the door, I am greeted by Mum, Brian, Jess, Aaron and Brad, and they’re all excited to see me.
‘Sas, love, you were brilliant!’ says Mum.
‘So good!’ squeals Jess.
‘I thought I was at a Taylor Swift concert!’ says Brian.
‘What did Fudge Cake say?’ says Brad excitedly.
I take one look at them and then I say, ‘Sorry, but I have to go.’
Then I walk past them, through the corridors of the venue, and then finally outside. I order an Uber, and I am soon being driven through the Sydney suburbs towards Marrickville Retirement Village, hoping to see Lou Sanders one last time before it’s too late.
The nurse explains everything and how they had wanted to move Lou to the care facility yesterday, but he became a bit aggro, and despite some quite heavy medication, still told them to ‘fuck off and leave him to fucking die in peace, eh,’ which makes me laugh, despite the seriousness of the situation.
Eventually, after a quick chat with Rhonda, I walk into Lou’s room for the last time.
It’s dark, and it has a strange smell, which is probably a combination of the drugs, Lou and the fact he’s dying.
I miss the smell of his horrible aftershave.
In a way it symbolised exactly who he was – not for everyone, quite aggressive and likely to cause offence.