Chapter 24
SINCLAIR
‘I don’t know,’ says Eleanor, studying herself in the mirror. She’s wearing a pastel-coloured, floor-length dress. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit much?’
‘It’s perfect for Juliet,’ says Nathan, twitching at Eleanor’s corset slightly.
‘You look amazing,’ Marian assures her, and she’s right, but I can see that Eleanor doesn’t feel comfortable.
‘You don’t like it,’ Olive says shortly.
She’s sitting on a stool, next to the dressing room and, until now, she’s been watching in silence.
She’s changed out of the pleated skirt she had on earlier and is now wearing her hoodie with black gym leggings.
Olive’s always one of the first to get out of her school clothes at the end of classes and into her own things – usually sportswear, which she lives in when she’s not down at the pool.
Eleanor turns to her. ‘No, I do. It’s really elegant.’
‘But you don’t feel right,’ Tori adds quietly.
Eleanor nods slowly. ‘It doesn’t feel like me. It feels like a costume.’
‘It is a costume,’ Nathan points out.
Eleanor shrugs. ‘But it shouldn’t feel like one.’
‘It doesn’t fit with Sinclair’s outfit either,’ Marian admits. ‘If you wore that, he’d have to put the ruffled shirt back on.’
I groan. ‘Please, no. That was so itchy.’
‘It looked like a costume too,’ Tori murmurs. ‘This is way better,’ she adds, pointing to the loose-fitting shirt I’m now wearing with beige trousers. It’s white linen, slightly see-through and shows an awful lot of chest, but it works for Romeo.
Olive has stood up. ‘How about this?’
We all look over to her.
‘For Romeo?’ Marian asks dubiously, eyeing the dark red trousers – they’re in a flowing fabric and so wide-legged that at first I thought they were a skirt.
‘No, for Juliet.’
Eleanor immediately reaches for the trousers and holds them up experimentally. ‘Potentially quite cool,’ she says.
‘Don’t you think it would be more suitable to stick to a dress?’ asks Marian.
‘Why?’ Olive snaps back. The mood is still pretty tetchy after the argument over lunch. ‘Because she’s a woman?’
‘No, because it’s classic,’ Nathan comes to Marian’s assistance. ‘Like the play.’
‘They might as well wear their school uniform in that case,’ says Olive, drily.
Nathan doesn’t reply.
‘Well, I think the trousers are great,’ Tori says, into the silence that follows.
‘So do I,’ I add.
‘We’ve made my role so modern that I think it would fit to wear something bolder too,’ Eleanor says, raising her head. ‘Let me try it at least.’
The others nod and Olive hands her a white blouse that’s just as baggy as my shirt. Before she vanishes into the dressing room with Eleanor, to help her out of the dress, she exchanges glances with Tori. It seems to me that she looks a bit more conciliatory than she did earlier.
‘Ta-da!’ Eleanor steps through the curtains with a flourish and does a twirl.
The pleated trousers swing out around her long legs.
When she stands still, the way the fabric hangs means they actually look like a long skirt.
The white blouse has loose, long sleeves and Eleanor’s tucked it into her waistband. She looks stunning.
‘I love it,’ Tori says at once.
‘Yes, isn’t it great?’ Eleanor beams.
‘Sinclair, come and stand beside her.’
I do as Nathan says, looking into the others’ delighted faces.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ says Tori. ‘Do you both feel good?’
Eleanor nods right away and looks at me, and I follow suit.
‘I think we need a Juliet in trousers,’ Tori declares, which wins her nods of agreement. ‘Thanks, Livy.’
It’s ages since I’ve heard that nickname, and it makes Olive flinch slightly too. She mumbles something that sounds like ‘’S OK, no problem,’ and lowers her head.
‘Do you guys find the whole uniform thing really old-fashioned too?’ Eleanor asks, out of the blue. ‘I heard a couple of girls talking about it in the hall the other day.’
‘Yeah,’ says Tori. ‘We were only just saying so at lunch. I’ve been thinking for ages that we need to take a stand again.’
Eleanor looks down at herself. ‘Well, the performance will do it in a way, but we can start before that.’
‘What do you mean?’ asks Olive.
‘We don’t have to make things unnecessarily complicated. We could all just wear trousers to assembly next Monday, instead of skirts.’
‘And get sent back to your rooms to change?’ asks Nathan.
‘That’s the whole point,’ says Olive. ‘Why are you allowed to wear trousers when we’re not?’
‘And why aren’t you allowed to wear a skirt?’ I add. ‘Which you might want to do, Nathan.’
‘Exactly,’ Tori says.
‘Why would I want to do that?’ he asks.
‘It’s the principle of the thing,’ Olive insists.
‘Totally. You’re welcome to keep wearing your trousers like always, but I’m not going to let them stop me doing the same any more.’ Eleanor shrugs.
‘Me either.’ Tori and Olive speak at the same time.
It’s quiet for a moment, they look at each other, then Olive breaks eye contact again.
I reach unobtrusively for Tori’s hand as I see the disappointment on her face.
There’s still something weird between them, there’s no denying it, but even if Olive’s the world champion at pretending she has no emotions, I get the impression they’re slowly edging closer to each other again.
‘We need our Romeo!’
I jump slightly as Mr Acevedo walks into the costume store. He stops in the doorway.
‘Oh, wonderful!’ He studies me first, then Eleanor. ‘An empowered Juliet and an easy-going Romeo. I knew I could rely on you all.’ He nods towards Olive, Marian and Nathan. ‘Could I borrow the two of you for a moment now? We’re rehearsing the next scene.’
TORI
Just about two hours later, the whole cast has their costumes and today’s rehearsal is over.
Olive and I didn’t get another chance to speak, but that brief moment during our uniform discussion felt like more progress.
Charlie asks if he should go on ahead as everyone leaves the theatre, and I’m sure he knows what I’m thinking.
This is my opportunity to talk to Olive.
I nod gratefully, giving him a quick kiss, then pack up my things extra slowly. Then I see that Olive isn’t even here. She must have left in the throng, without me noticing. Maybe I can catch her on the way up to our wing. Or has she got swimming training? What’s the time?
I go to take my phone from my back pocket and find it isn’t there.
It’s not in my bag either, and then I remember I put it down on a shelf in the costume store earlier.
The last few people are heading for the door as I slip backstage.
There’s still a light on in the storeroom and I can see my phone.
I reach for it and I’m moving to turn off the light when I hear a sound.
‘Hello?’ I say.
There’s no reply, but I take a few more steps. And then I see her.
Olive’s still crouching on the stool by the dressing room. Even if I hadn’t spotted the crumpled tissue in her hand, I’d know she’s been crying. Her eyes are red and glassy.
She throws the tissue away and jumps up when she sees me.
I come closer. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Fine,’ she says, wiping her hands on her leggings.
‘I just wanted to . . . uh . . . you know . . .’ There’s a look of concentration on her face and her head is bowed.
I know that look. The little ridge Olive always gets between her dark eyebrows when she’s putting all her effort into not bursting into tears.
I say nothing. I just wait. It’s quiet. Olive doesn’t move.
‘I miss you,’ I say, in the silence. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and then everything happens very fast. Olive’s green eyes fill with tears.
She lowers her head and buries her face in her hands as a quiet sob escapes her.
She just stands there by the dressing room as I walk towards her. And then I give her a hug.
Her shoulders shake, her whole body trembles. I only let Olive go so that I can dig a fresh tissue out of my bag. She bites her bottom lip as I hand it to her.
I wait until she’s blown her nose, but the tears keep running down her cheeks.
It seems to me almost like everything she’s been carrying around for the last few weeks has burst out of her.
It scares me, because I’ve never seen my friend like this.
Unlike me, Olive practically never cries.
She doesn’t cry at films, however sad or emotional they are, and she doesn’t cry when she feels unfairly treated.
The only time I’ve ever seen her cry was in the second form, when she fell in PE and everyone thought she’d broken her ankle.
It was only sprained, but it looked bloody painful.
‘What’s wrong, Livy?’ I whisper.
She shakes her head.
‘Please, talk to me.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Has something happened?’
Olive swallows hard and shrugs her shoulders.
‘Olive.’ I choose my next words with care. ‘Has someone hurt you?’
She shakes her head in silence, so I dare to believe her.
‘I saw something a while ago,’ she says, in the end.
Her voice sounds choked. I can hear the way she’s pulling herself together so as not to cry again.
‘In the autumn. I’d been round to Grace’s after study hour, and I was walking back for dinner.
It was dark, but a few streets along, I saw .
. .’ Olive shuts her eyes and her voice breaks ‘. . . I saw Mum’s car outside one of the houses.
I didn’t think anything of it at first because she sometimes does home visits in Ebrington.
’ Olive’s mum is a midwife. ‘Normally she tells me, in case we get a chance to meet up. But she hadn’t said anything.
And then I knew why. Because she wasn’t there for work.
’ The hardness creeps back into her face as her eyes fill with more tears.
She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand.
I pray silently that this isn’t what I think it is.
‘She was coming out of the house. With a man. She kissed him goodbye.’
Silence. For a couple of seconds. Then I whisper, ‘Shit.’
Olive presses her lips together, then nods.
‘It might have just looked like a kiss?’
‘Unfortunately, it was very clear.’
‘Does your dad . . .?’ I begin.
She shakes her head. ‘She saw me and came after me. She promised me it was a one-off, and told me not to say anything to him.’
‘But that’s . . .’ I stop, because there are so many possible words for it. Wrong, dishonest, manipulative.
‘Yeah.’ Olive gives a bitter laugh. ‘That’s what I said.’
‘Have you told him?’
I can see how much the question is tormenting Olive.
‘No. I was going to, but then . . . I saw him in the sick bay the next day and I couldn’t.
He loves her – he’d do anything for us. He doesn’t have the faintest idea and .
. . I just couldn’t. I wish I’d never seen it.
I wish I was as clueless as him. Then I wouldn’t feel like a fucking traitor. ’
‘You’re not a traitor, Olive,’ I say, although I know perfectly well that I’d feel the exact same in her shoes.
All she does is shrug.
‘I’m really bloody sorry,’ I say.
‘I don’t know what to do, Tori.’
‘There’s nothing you can do.’
‘What if they get divorced?’
I daren’t promise her that won’t happen. I know only too well how quickly that fear can become a reality. ‘If they do, you’ll survive,’ I say. ‘And you know why? Because you’re not alone, Livy. Even if it feels like you are.’
Olive takes a deep breath and tips her head way back. Then she looks at me. ‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice is quiet, but I hear what she says. ‘I’m really sorry, Tori.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I didn’t want anyone to know. News always gets out here and Dad would have heard rumours.’
‘I won’t tell a soul,’ I promise.
‘OK,’ Olive says. ‘Thank you.’
‘And I’m here for you, Livy. Always.’
‘I know,’ she whispers. ‘Even though I don’t deserve it. I’ve been a crap friend. What I said to you that time in the corridor, and in the dining room . . .’
‘Long forgotten.’
‘No, it was out of order. It wasn’t fair on you.
And I wasn’t fair on Emma either.’ Olive is visibly wrestling with herself as she continues: ‘I couldn’t bear it.
I was desperate, and so angry with Mum. I didn’t want to be in league with her, just standing by while she cheated on Dad.
And then Emma came along and I thought, now it’s happening all over again with her, Grace and Henry. ’
At that moment, I understand. It’s like all the puzzle pieces are coming together in my head, forming answers to the questions I’ve been asking since last autumn.
‘Emma didn’t do anything wrong, Livy,’ I say quietly.
‘I know. It was unfair of me to judge her. But I was raging. And nobody understood.’
‘I do.’
‘I didn’t want this,’ Olive whispers. ‘For things to get like this between us.’
I swallow. Part of me wants to be hurt and upset. Insult her, make her feel the way I felt. All the rejection and despair. But a bigger part of me is just relieved that Olive is speaking to me again. That there were reasons for the way she acted. Reasons that aren’t to do with me.
‘It’s not too late to change that.’