Chapter 10
Ten
They gave us homework, though we were never home.
They asked us to learn lines, to rehearse scenes, to fit it all in, to cram every inch of our brains with theatre theatre theatre.
And if you didn’t, you were a bad person, or worse, a bad actor.
You were letting the side down, letting yourself down, wasting your time, wasting a space at this revered institution, you might as well quit, might as well crawl back to your underwhelming life and give up on your dreams. If you couldn’t make it fit, then you were a failure, and if you didn’t leave of your own volition, then you faced the threat of being asked to leave by Frida.
I don’t think I ate a proper meal in that time.
I was always scarfing down a sandwich as I hurried through some corridor, sneaking a coffee into my five-minute break for a brief hit of energy or wolfing down a McDonald’s at midnight just to get some hot food in my belly.
There wasn’t time to stop, to sleep, to unwind, to reply to loved ones.
In that first term, three of my classmates broke up with their long-term partners.
Occasionally I’d see a name flash up on my phone – Mum, Dad, Grandma – and, dripping with bone-weary shame, wait out the seconds until the screen went dark again.
Sometimes I’d glimpse an unfamiliar city from the school windows and be reminded of the fact that I apparently lived in London now.
Other times I caught sight of myself in the girls’ bathroom and was jolted by my appearance, by the dark hollows beneath my eyes, the layers of adolescent puppy fat that had melted from my face.
I closed the laptop. My phone buzzed. A voicemail. I brought it to my ear.
‘Hi Shannon, it’s Dad. I hope you’re all right and school’s going well.
Did you see that Mum sent you an email? We just wondered if writing might be a bit easier than chatting, you know, if you’re a bit tired and that.
But no pressure. We know you must be busy .
. . We can’t wait to hear what you’re up to.
Anyway . . . we miss you . . . Your grandma’s doing all right, by the way.
She had an appointment last week for her knee.
Nothing to worry about. Just routine stuff.
But you’ll see that if you read the email .
. . Right then . . . I’ll try you again at the weekend.
Don’t be a stranger, love . . . All right . . . Bye, chuck.’
The screen went dark. I drank a glass of water. I lay down on my bed and, finally defeated by exhaustion, I went to sleep.
I SAT ALONE WITH Victoria outside in the quad.
The quad. It sounds rather grand for what was really just a scrappy patch of grass outside the main building.
Green space was at a premium in that part of London though, so we often hung out there, sunbathing or eating or learning our lines.
It was a bright September morning. Summer was still clinging on, despite the ochre leaves blowing from the sky.
That day, we’d just been given our casting.
Each term, we studied and performed a different play. This term was Chekhov’s The Seagull.
‘I’m so jealous you’re playing Masha,’ Victoria said, shielding her eyes from the sun.
‘But you’re the lead,’ I shot back.
‘Am I?’ Victoria thought for a moment. ‘I mean I guess you could argue Nina’s the lead but like, come on, the ingénue? It’s so predictable.’
I felt an unfamiliar flash of irritation towards her then. Victoria knew she had the better role. ‘Nina’s a great part.’
‘Yeah, I mean, I guess it’ll be fun. But Masha. You’ll get to be like all dark and twisted and depressed and stuff. A proper weirdo.’
All the female roles had been divided up, there not being enough good parts for girls. Victoria and Lola were sharing the role of Nina, while Masha (a smaller role) had been divided between myself and Poppy.
‘You’re going to be fantastic,’ Victoria said, lying back on the grass.
‘Thanks. So are you.’
Jolly emerged from the building and came over.
‘What are you guys up to?’
‘Just making the most of the weather,’ Victoria said, propping herself up on one elbow. ‘Where’ve you been?’
Jolly puffed out his cheeks. ‘I just had the pleasure of a meeting with Frida.’
‘How come?’ I asked.
‘She wanted to talk about the play.’
Jolly had been given the role of Konstantin, the tragic hero. He would play him in the first half while Matt, a friendly, broad-chested Scot, would play him in the second.
‘So apparently Frida’s casting decision wasn’t entirely benevolent.’ Jolly picked at a tuft of grass. ‘She told me that she wanted to see if I could “play anything other than gay”.’
Victoria sat up and frowned. ‘Really?’
He nodded, his expression guarded. ‘Yeah, apparently she’s worried. She said so far she’s not seen anything in me that demonstrates versatility.’
‘But it’s like week three, how can she say that? Also, you’re super versatile.’
‘Thanks. I mean, I know that, but . . .’ He shrugged and sprinkled grass over his shoes. ‘Anyway, well done on getting Nina, V.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Who are you again, Shan?’
‘Masha.’
‘Ah, figures.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘Why does it figure?’
‘Well, you know . . . I’m depressed. I’m in mourning for my life,’ Jolly intoned.
Victoria laughed.
‘I don’t get it,’ I said, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
‘Well, I mean, come on,’ Jolly laughed. ‘You’re kind of serious.’
‘Am I?’
I saw a glance pass between them. ‘Well no, not all the time, obviously,’ Jolly said, scrabbling for the right words.
‘Sometimes you just look a bit stern,’ Victoria explained matter-of-factly.
‘Oh.’
‘There, see,’ Jolly said, pointing at me and grinning. ‘You’re doing it now.’
I turned away from them and tried rearranging my features into something more acceptable, but it was pointless. I felt another look pass between them, behind my back.
At that moment, Obi came through the front gate.
Jolly, all too happy to change the subject, called out to him, ‘What about you, Obi? Who’re you playing again?’
He came over. ‘What’s that?’
‘Who are you playing?’ Victoria repeated.
‘Yakov,’ he replied with a sigh.
‘Remind me?’ Victoria said.
‘Oh my God, V, you have read the play, haven’t you?’ Jolly said.
‘I skimmed it.’
‘He’s a workman on the estate,’ Obi said. ‘I’ve got like three lines.’
‘Oh.’
There was an uncomfortable pause.
Obi, noticing this, shook his head. ‘It’s fine. I can take this term easy.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I just hope they don’t have me playing servants for the entire three years.’