Chapter 6
‘Wotcher, Sive!’ Sive turned to see Jack and Ciara behind her as she arrived at the rehearsal studio the following morning.
‘Hi, Jack. Morning, Ciara. What happened to you?’ she asked, frowning down at Jack, who was walking with a crutch. ‘Nothing too drastic, I hope.’ He wasn’t wearing a cast or boot, so she figured it couldn’t be too serious.
He shrugged cheerfully. ‘No one knows. Could be rickets, innit?’
‘Rickets?’
‘TB, polio maybe…’
‘Goodness! Really?’ She looked to Ciara, who rolled her eyes and shook her head as her son headed for the stairs ahead of them.
‘There’s nothing wrong with him,’ Ciara told Sive in a hushed tone, following Jack as he clambered slowly up the stairs one step at a time. ‘He’s getting into character.’
‘It’s me process,’ Jack called back over his shoulder, breathless from the effort.
‘Oh, right. Well, that’s … very admirable. I’m glad there’s nothing wrong with him, anyway,’ Sive said to Ciara as Jack reached the landing and disappeared into the rehearsal room.
‘It’s a pain in the ass is what it is,’ Ciara said wearily. ‘It took us half an hour just to walk to the bus stop this morning.’
‘Oh dear.’
When they entered the rehearsal room, Jack was already on the far side of the room, chatting to Sam and Mitch. Ciara made straight for the craft table and poured herself a coffee, while Sive made a green tea.
‘Still, I suppose at least it’s better than when he was playing the Dodger and he went around picking everyone’s pockets whenever I had people over to the house.’
‘He didn’t!’ Sive gasped.
Ciara gave her a wry look. ‘He got scarily good at it too.’ She leaned back against the table, clutching her cup in both hands. ‘It wasn’t badness. He gave all the stuff back … as far as I know anyway.’
‘Did he grow up in London?’
‘You mean the accent?’ Ciara gave a hoot of laughter. ‘That’s all Jack. He’s Dublin born and bred, same as me. But one of my brothers, in his wisdom, told him about Method acting and … here we are.’
‘Oh, gosh.’ Sive struggled not to laugh. ‘Well, hopefully he’ll get better on the crutch if he keeps it up.’
‘It’s going to be a very long couple of months otherwise.’
‘It’s a pity you won’t have Irene and Maria here with you most days,’ Sive said. ‘It must be a bit strange sitting through all these rehearsals when you’re not a part of it.’
‘I don’t mind.’ Ciara shrugged. ‘I’m used to it. And I enjoy watching – it’s interesting. Plus if it’s just me, I can sometimes get a bit of work done.’
‘Oh, what do you do?’
‘I’m an editor – freelance.’
‘That’s handy. Won’t it be hard to concentrate, though?’
‘I have my noise-cancelling headphones,’ Ciara said, patting the voluminous bag on her shoulder. ‘I largely went freelance so I could make my own hours and fit in with whatever Jack’s doing. I’m on my own, and there’s no way I could afford to pay a childminder to chaperone him at these things.’
‘He’s very lucky to have such a supportive mum.’
‘He deserves it. He’s a good kid.’ Her eyes drifted over to her son and she smiled. ‘This all means so much to him, so I want to do whatever I can to make it work.’
‘So you’re a single mother? That must be tough.’
Ciara shrugged. ‘It has its moments.’ Her gaze shifted to her son again. ‘But it’s totally worth it,’ she said with a gentle smile.
‘Okay, everyone, let’s get started.’ Alan’s deep, sonorous voice carried across the room.
‘Chat later,’ Sive said to Ciara. She felt a tingle of excitement as she went to join the rest of the company and start the first rehearsal proper.
The morning flew by, and Sive had never been more grateful for the distraction of work.
This was just what she needed – exhilarating, fun and completely absorbing in a way that waiting around on a film set could never be, demanding every atom of her energy and focus.
She threw herself into it wholeheartedly.
She sang, she danced, she stretched her limbs and exercised her voice, and she felt lighter and more herself than she had in weeks.
She was buzzing by the time she slid down the wall onto the floor in the first break, breathless and flushed.
She unscrewed the cap on a bottle of water and took a long drink.
Mimi came over and sat cross-legged on the floor beside her. ‘So what’s the story with you and Sam?’ she asked.
‘What do you mean?’ Sive whispered, whipping around to see who was nearby and relieved to find there was no one else within earshot. The rest of the cast were mobbing the craft table, loading plates with pastries and helping themselves to drinks, while others snuck outside for a smoke.
‘I never heard how your date went the other night.’ Mimi raised her eyebrows expectantly.
‘What date?’
‘When you went to see The Plough and the Stars at the Abbey.’
‘Oh, it was really nice.’ Sive smiled. ‘The play was great. I’m so glad I got to see it. But that wasn’t a date.’
‘Wasn’t it?’
‘No.’ Sive felt her cheeks heat, embarrassed now that she’d thought it might be a date herself. Her eyes drifted across the room to Sam, who was chatting with Cara and Mitch.
Mimi followed her gaze. ‘But you wanted it to be?’
‘No, I—’
‘Ello, ‘ello!’
‘Hi, Jack!’ Sive smiled up at the eight-year-old, grateful for the interruption.
‘Mind if I join you, me ol’ muckers?’
‘Not at all.’ Sive patted the space on the floor beside her, and Jack sat down, cross-legged.
‘Please tell me that’s not coffee you’re drinking?’ Sive asked, nodding to the cardboard cup in his hand.
‘Nah, I got it for you, innit?’ He handed it to her.
‘Oh, thanks. That’s very nice of you.’ Sive smiled, wondering if he’d really got it for her or if he was improvising.
‘Well, I’m off to get some of that, since some of us clearly have to serve ourselves,’ Mimi said, standing. ‘But this isn’t over,’ she added in an undertone to Sive. ‘We’ll talk about it later with Aoife.’
‘Wot’s that about, then, eh?’ Jack asked, nodding at Mimi’s retreating back.
Sive shrugged. ‘My sister’s just giving me grief about my love life.’
Jack shook his head sagely and sighed. ‘Skin and blisters, eh?’
‘What about you, Jack? Do you have any, um, skin and blisters? Or… I don’t know what the Cockney rhyming slang is for brother?’
‘Manhole cover,’ Jack supplied readily. ‘I’ve got one. No skin and blisters.’
‘Older or younger? Your … manhole cover?’
‘Older. ’E’s in sixth class.’
‘So your mum tells me you’re trying Method acting?’
‘Yep.’
‘And you’re using the crutch all the time now? To get in character?’
Jack nodded, taking a bag of Haribo from his pocket. He stuffed a handful into his mouth and offered the bag to Sive.
‘No, thanks. Are you keeping the accent up all the time too?’
‘Cor blimey, I sure am,’ he said with a grin, larding it on. ‘Drives me bruvver nuts, it does!’
‘I bet. Your mother too, I think.’
‘I ain’t allowed do it at school, though.’ He popped another couple of sweets into his mouth. ‘Anyway, they won’t have to put up with it much longer. Don’t want to get typecast playin’ Cockney urchins for the rest of me life, do I? This is my second in a row. I need to do somefink different.’
‘Very wise. Are you up for anything else at the moment?’
‘Nah.’ He shrugged. ‘Ain’t nothin’ much goin’ at the moment. You know wot it’s like in this game.’
‘Yeah, it’s tough finding good roles.’
‘You fink you ‘ave it bad, darlin’? Try bein’ my age.’
Sive suppressed a smile.
‘But they’re doing Annie at the Gaiety next year. I’m goin’ to go for that.’
‘Oh? What part?’ She hadn’t seen Annie in years, but as far as she remembered, all the children in it were girls.
‘Annie.’
‘Oh, you mean… Annie? The lead?’
‘Yeah, course.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m a good singer.’
‘Right, but she’s—’
Jack nodded. ‘A ginger, I know. But slap an orange wig on me and Bob’s your uncle.’
‘But Annie’s a girl.’
‘So? When I auditioned for the Dodger, there was a few girls tryin’ out for it. So I don’t see why I can’t play Annie. Only fair, innit?’
‘I suppose so. It’d certainly be a change from Cockney urchins …’
‘Well, that’s us back to work,’ Jack said, as the rehearsal break ended. He put the last Haribo into his mouth and scrunched up the empty bag. ‘No rest for the wicked, eh?’
Sive was on a high by the time the rehearsal broke up. It was like falling in love again and she was giddy with it, floating on air. She could tell Sam felt the same, his face flushed with excitement, his lips stretched in a broad smile. His whole being seemed to exude energy.
‘That was awesome!’ he said, hitching a rucksack onto his shoulder. ‘I can’t believe I get to do this as a job.’
Sive smiled, loving his enthusiasm. ‘I know. It’s crazy, right?’
He shook his head wonderingly. ‘Even better than being Jack of all trades at the theatre. Not that I don’t love humping scenery around and sweeping the stage at Halfpenny Lane. But this is on a whole other level.’
Sive laughed, making a show of examining his lovely face, glowing with excitement. ‘Yep, you’ve got the bug. Completely stagestruck. You’re a goner. There’s no hope for you now, my friend.’
‘I can vouch for that,’ Ciara said wryly as she and Jack joined them.
‘There’s no known cure,’ Mitch said, cheerfully, picking Jack up and lifting him onto his shoulders. ‘Like Tiny Tim’s ailment.’
Sam grinned. ‘I’ve had worse addictions,’ he said as they all headed for the door. ‘Speaking of which,’ he glanced at his watch, I’ve got a meeting to get to.’
‘AA?’ Shay, their Mr. Fezziwig, said behind him, overhearing their conversation. ‘I’m nine years sober myself.’
‘Good for you!’ Sam turned to him. ‘But it’s Gamblers Anonymous for me. Three years bet free.’
‘Good lad.’ Shay clapped him on the shoulder.