Chapter 16
Sixteen
AUTUMN BLEW IN AND a new term began. Seeing the White Elephant that first morning, its legs in the air, felt like coming home.
When I entered the rehearsal room, Obi and I drew towards each other like magnets.
He laughed and gathered me up in his arms. Shannon, he sighed into the warm space of my neck.
He pulled away and smiled and I had that feeling again, that feeling from the piazza, like I was at the centre of the universe, or at the very least, the centre of someone’s universe.
But then Victoria entered, and Obi dropped me back down to earth.
After catching up with everyone about their summers, conversation soon turned to the hot gossip of the day: Lena Ogievich.
Lena was in the year above us, a Russian beauty with quick eyes and long dark hair.
Apparently, at the end of last year, Lena reported Piers Day, a boy in her class, to Frida and the senior leadership team.
Lena told staff that Piers had been stalking her for months.
She claimed he’d spiked her drink at a house party whereupon she’d passed out.
She said that when she woke up her bra was torn, her skirt hitched up, and that Piers was sleeping next to her.
The school had managed to keep it quiet at the time, but rumours soon took root and spread over the summer months. By the first day back, the entire student body was talking about it.
Jolly said he’d heard from another third-year that the school told Lena she didn’t have any evidence and that it wasn’t an RLSDA matter as it had happened off campus.
The third-year said that when Lena told Frida she was thinking of going to the police, Frida told her she’d be a fool to do so.
Apparently Frida said it sounded like a relationship that had gone wrong and that Lena shouldn’t risk disrupting her third year by pursuing a criminal case.
She said these things happen when you’re young, and that the best thing would be to just get on with things and stay away from the boy.
Lena asked how she was meant to do that when she had to see him every day and they’d already been assigned showcase scenes together.
To that, Frida replied that there’d be people in the industry who Lena wouldn’t get along with but who she’d need to be professional around.
She also warned her that news travels fast. Frida said that if Lena insisted on continuing with this witch hunt, she risked getting ‘a nasty reputation’.
I couldn’t help but glance over at Stefano and the small cabal of boys he’d surrounded himself with. He’d been ignoring me all morning.
Obi said he’d passed Piers in the corridor outside the cafeteria. He said he looked his usual self.
Victoria said she’d seen Lena ordering coffee from the stall outside. She said she didn’t look any different and that she certainly didn’t look like someone who was dealing with the fallout of a sexual assault.
Jolly said it wasn’t fair, that he’d been to loads of house parties but no one had ever bothered to hitch up his skirt.
All morning, in whispered gatherings, we picked and pulled at the story’s threads, so much so that by lunch, the whole thing felt rather stale. With not much more to say, we moved on.
‘So, Shannon, have you noticed Stefano’s new haircut? Drunk barber or a cry for help?’
‘Shut up, Jolly.’
Later in the year, Piers got offered the role of Edmund in King Lear at the National.
Ordinarily, officially, students weren’t allowed to audition whilst at the school, and they certainly weren’t allowed to take jobs.
But in third year, if the school got wind of the sniff of acclaim, they usually let the rules slide.
This meant Piers was allowed to graduate early and his final grades were awarded based on his professional debut.
So a thumbs up for Piers and the school. Lena, not so much.
COMEDY WAS THE ORDER of that eight-week term. Molière’s Tartuffe was our assigned text alongside a crammed timetable of commedia, music hall and, my favourite, solo comedy.
Every week, a different semi-successful comedian was invited to lead a crash course in their particular discipline.
We had classes in stand-up, improv, slapstick and clown.
Thursday afternoons became a rollicking four-hour goof-off, a chance to snigger, hoot and howl away from the gaze of our uncompromising tutors.
It turned out I was quite good at comedy.
Growing up, I was usually too shy to try and make anyone laugh.
But in those Thursday sessions, it wasn’t long before I had the whole class in stitches.
Not everyone was having fun though. Victoria was right.
If you’re funny, then you’re funny. And she was most certainly not funny.
Victoria glowered at me whenever I made the class laugh while simultaneously cosying up to whichever minor ex-Perrier-award nominee was teaching us that week.
She asked too many questions and tried too hard.
Her jokes made no sense, yet after each pregnant silence, she redoubled her efforts.
The more she tried, the worse she did, to the point where many of us hid behind our fingers as she took to the stage.
I hated seeing her flail about like that.
Her failure was starting to unsettle me.
Victoria was meant to be the best. She was meant to shine, to excel.
But when she messed up joke after joke, when she confused punchlines, when she laboured weak quips, I felt embarrassed by our friendship and ashamed of my admiration. Victoria was showing me up.
One evening, a few of us stayed late to rehearse after school.
Victoria was in a foul mood that day. Casper had berated her in front of the whole class that morning for some slip-up in Voice, and I’d seen her and Obi arguing in the cafeteria at lunch.
But we needed to go over some scenes, including the one where Elmire (Victoria) lets herself be seduced by Tartuffe (Jolly).
Jolly was unwell that day. He had an ear infection and, after he’d entered the rehearsal room only to lie beneath a pile of coats, we urged him to go to a walk-in and get an appointment. I told him I’d read in for his part.
We began walking through the blocking our director had suggested that afternoon.
‘You – well, Jolly – should start over there,’ Victoria said.
‘OK.’
‘And then we walk together arm in arm to here.’
‘Right.’
‘And then you walk and stand there,’ she finished.
I paused. ‘I thought I was meant to come around the table.’
‘No. You stand there.’
‘Are you sure?’ I asked.
‘Yes, I’m sure.’ She took my elbow. ‘We walk together arm in arm, then you walk on your own and stand there.’
I must’ve looked sceptical.
Victoria let out an exasperated sigh. ‘It’s really not that difficult, Shannon. Just walk and stand there. Let’s go again.’
‘I really think Tartuffe is meant to come around the table—’
‘God, Shannon, can you just do as I say?’
Obi looked up from his notebook. He was sitting next to Lola on the floor. ‘No, V, I think Shannon’s right. Tartuffe’s meant to come around the table.’
Lola glanced up from the split end she was peeling. ‘Yes, that makes sense,’ she added.
Victoria put her hands on her hips. ‘No, because then I’m in the wrong place for having my dress lifted.’
‘No, because you follow him and then he turns back on you,’ Obi continued.
‘But then the table’s in front of us. That doesn’t make any sense,’ Victoria countered.
‘No, see, you both go around the table in a loop so you’re in front of it,’ Obi said.
‘Then you do the dress lift thingy,’ Lola said, returning to her split ends.
Victoria’s colour was rising. A muscle pulsed in her jaw. ‘I think I’d remember, don’t you?’ she said. ‘I was the one who actually did the blocking this afternoon,’
‘Whatever,’ Lola sighed, not looking up.
‘It’s OK,’ Obi said. ‘You’ve got loads of blocking to remember for this scene. You’re bound to forget some things.’
‘Yes, I know I’ve got loads of blocking, Obi. But I’m also not an idiot who forgets something she rehearsed, what, like three hours ago.’
No one said anything.
Victoria glared at Obi, then me. ‘Well?’
‘I wasn’t in the room the whole time,’ I said. ‘I don’t remember.’
Victoria grabbed the script from my hand. ‘Brilliant, thank you.’ She threw it to the floor and stormed across the room. ‘Thank you so much for your help.’
Obi stood. ‘Hey, V, what’s up? It’s not Shannon’s fault.’
Lola drew spirals in her notebook.
‘Did I say it was anyone’s fault?’ Victoria said, slinging her bag over one shoulder. ‘Did I say a single thing?’
‘Look, why don’t we just go over the scene again? I can read in instead of Shannon, if you want?’
‘No.’ I saw her foot twitch, like she wanted to stamp it. ‘No, I don’t want that.’ She swiped an absent strand of hair away from her temple. ‘I’m tired and I’m hungry, and I’m going to go home.’
‘OK,’ Obi said, taking a step back.
She put on her coat and left. The door slammed shut behind her.
No one said anything for a moment.
‘She’s crazy,’ Lola muttered beneath her breath.
‘Leave it,’ Obi warned her. He grabbed his bag and stuffed the script inside.
Lola started gathering her things too. Apparently the rehearsal was over. I followed the two of them out of the room. We passed the janitor in the corridor. He was chuckling to himself. We ignored him.
After Lola disappeared inside the tube station, Obi and I made our way to the bus stop where we waited, our breath steaming in front of us. I saw his bus in the distance.
‘Hey, it’s still early,’ I said. ‘Do you want to go to the pub or something?’
Obi glanced at me, then down at his watch. ‘Sure, I could do with a drink.’
THE MASONS WAS HUMMING. As we entered, the landlord rushed past us, a quad of glasses splayed between his fingers.
One of the ageing regulars drooped from her stool.
A swarm of first-years were huddled around the bar.
They greeted us starry-eyed and urged us to push in front of them, in awe of our second-year status.
After buying our drinks, Obi and I found an empty table in the corner.
He sat down opposite me and we sipped in silence.
Although we’d been back a few weeks, this was the first time we’d been alone together since Victoria’s house party.
I didn’t want to mention that night or my bungled attempt at a kiss, but nor did I want to paddle in the shallow waters of small talk with him either.
I wanted to talk to him, really talk to him.
Obi looked over his shoulder and the silence grew.
Eventually I gave in and asked him about his summer.
Visibly relieved at the break into conversation, he told me about the cushty job he’d found chaperoning at-risk children on day trips out of the city, to beaches, forests and farms.
‘It was fun. They were good kids. The money wasn’t bad either,’ he added.
Like the student union job, Victoria had helped him find this one. Her brother’s firm worked with the charity, he knew someone who was in charge of hiring; sure he could get Obi in, no problem.
‘So basically I owe V big time.’ He gave me a thin smile and played with the silver chain around his neck. ‘Anyway, enough about me. I never got to hear about your summer. V mentioned that she gate-crashed Rome.’
I told him about the trip and Victoria’s brief visit, doing my best to skirt around her bad behaviour and the fact I’d gone with Stefano.
Obi knew we’d been together, of course; everyone knew.
The awkwardness between us was still palpable in class, and – despite Victoria and Stefano seemingly having patched things up – we no longer really hung out as a fivesome.
But I didn’t want to talk about all that, not with Obi.
I also left out the part about the violinist in the square.
I trusted him, but I still couldn’t trust the story not to find its way back to Victoria, who’d no doubt twist the memory into something unsavoury.
Instead I told him about how my grandma had loaned me the money for the flight.
I said it confused me when I heard people complaining about being completely broke all term, then seeing them living it up on Facebook, travelling the world and taking road trips across New Zealand and America.
Obi grimaced. ‘I hear you. Victoria asked me to lend her a fifty last week.’
I nearly spat out my drink. ‘She did?’
He nodded.
‘Doesn’t her dad own like twenty insurance firms?’
‘Something like that.’ Obi shrugged. ‘It’s fine. I know she’ll pay me back.’
‘Wait, you actually gave her the money?’
‘Of course I did.’
I stared at the scratched table, careful not to say anything.
‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘She always returns the favour.’
I nodded.
‘She’s having a hard time at the moment.’ I wanted to ask why, but he quickly changed the subject. ‘Anyway, it’s good to be back in the routine of things – school, rehearsals,’ he continued. Then, leaning forward on his elbows and lowering his voice: ‘I missed you over the summer, you know.’
The room quietened. It was as if someone had turned the volume down. I swilled the remaining liquid around my glass and stared at my hands, searching for the right words. Obi was looking at me, waiting for an answer. I cleared my throat. ‘Nah, I bet you missed everyone.’
He thought for a moment. ‘No, not everyone. Just you.’
I glanced up at him. He was smiling at me. I looked away and quickly downed the rest of my drink so I wouldn’t open my big stupid mouth and have a repeat of Victoria’s garden.
Obi’s phone buzzed. He slid it away from me, but not before I saw her name.
Incoming call: Victoria.
He sighed heavily. ‘Sorry. I should get this.’ He got up from his chair and disappeared around the corner. ‘Hey – no, of course I’m free to talk.’
I sat and cradled my empty glass.
I waited five minutes, then ten.
After twenty, I collected my things and left.