News
Overtired and shaky, I sat on the Central line, closed my eyes, and tried to remember something – anything – about the last time I saw Sander, about the men across the road.
It was only two days ago. The memory should have been fresh, but it was like looking at a reflection on rippled water.
I couldn’t hold anything in place. Skin colour?
White, possibly. Age? No idea. Expressions? Grave.
Had Sander got mixed up in something unsavoury? Drugs? It was a horrible thought, so at odds with who he was – who I’d thought he was – but it would go some way to explaining his superhuman dancing feats.
Or would it? My knowledge of drugs was limited to glimpses of subtle transactions on someone’s doorstep and white lines disappearing off dark coffee tables, but even I knew that it would take a staggering and free-flowing amount of coke or speed to make someone capable of the things Sander did day in, day out.
And when he wasn’t dancing, he was always the most serene person in any given room.
That didn’t exactly square with habitual stimulant use.
‘Morning, Miss Errington,’ Frank said as I stepped through the stage door. He did a double take at my face. ‘You all right, my dear?’
‘Frank, the evening before last, after we were through with the dress rehearsal… do you remember two men who came in with Sander, just after six o’clock? I didn’t get a good look at them, and I don’t know their names, but I was hoping you might have heard something when they came in?’
He glanced off and frowned, as if trying to sketch outlines in the doorframe. ‘Uh… gosh, the old noggin’s not what it used to be. I do remember you all leaving around six, but… no, I think I’d remember two men coming through, if they weren’t known to the company. Fans? Journos?’
I turned my hands over, helpless. He shook his head apologetically.
‘Oh. Well. Never mind. I’m sure I can find out. I’ll ask Jackie. And Nick. I’ll— Thank you anyway.’
When I reached Nick’s office, he and Jackie were mid-conversation, sipping from mugs.
‘Morning,’ I said, my exhaustion lifting at the sight of how calm they were.
‘Good morning, Trix.’ Jackie blinked at me in surprise. ‘What on earth’s brought you in this early? I’d have thought you’d want a little more beauty sleep after opening night.’
‘Have you heard anything? Is there any news?’
Nick gestured to a stack of morning papers. ‘I was just about to do my usual post-opening night perusal. You’re welcome to read along with me, although I hardly think you need to be told by now that you were sublime.’
‘What? No, not the reviews. I meant news about Sander. Has he turned up? Has he phoned? Anything?’
‘Hm?’ Jackie glanced at Nick, then back at me. ‘News about who?’
‘Sander,’ I repeated, louder.
‘Sander?’ Jackie turned to Nick again, but he shrugged. ‘Sorry, dear, remind me who you mean?’