‘So what exactly do you want me to do?’ Nate pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead.
‘Get in the car that’s waiting – it’s taking you to stay with an old friend of mine in a little seaside town where the press won’t bother you.’
Nate moved to the open window and closed it. The stage door was busier than usual, probably stacked full of reporters pushing past the fans who had paid good money to see the show and hoped for a quick photo or autograph with the cast. ‘And where’s that?’ he asked, unconvinced this plan would work.
‘Greenley-On-Sea.’
Greenley was always quiet at this time on a Sunday morning. The only people around were fishermen, walking towards the pier ready for the day ahead, their rods and nets slung over one shoulder and a great box of bait carried in the other hand.
Sarah met Lottie outside the theatre, ready to begin the next rehearsal of The Tempest. ‘Morning,’ she said, forcing the words out of her scratchy throat. Stopping beside Lottie, she took a final glance at the still, blue-green sea. At one corner of the beach, a bright ball of white light threatened to blind her where the sun rose at its own leisurely pace into the sky.
‘Hey, you,’ said Lottie, fiddling about trying to unlock the revolving doors. ‘How are you feeling this morning? You were a bit tiddly when you left last night, but then from the sounds of it you had to get a bit drunk to get through your disastrous date.’
‘If that’s a nice way of saying I was off my face and talking at a million miles an hour, you’re right.’
‘Umm … yes,’ Lottie replied, grinning, her blonde ponytail swishing as she turned her head.
A low groan escaped Sarah’s mouth and she rubbed her temples. ‘Urgh. I think the nice white wine you bought mixed with the God-awful vinegary stuff I had at the restaurant and caused some sort of chemical reaction. You know, like those volcanoes kids make with vinegar and bicarbonate of soda. My stomach’s all weird and bubbly.’ Right on cue it gurgled loudly and she repressed a burp. Lottie raised her eyebrows as she dropped the keys back in her pocket.
‘Was that you?’
‘Sorry.’ Sarah placed a hand on her stomach. ‘I feel like I’ve died and been re-animated, or at least my stomach has.’
‘Ooh, now there’s a thought. Maybe we should do Frankenstein one day?’ said Lottie, excitedly. ‘Mrs Andrews can be the monster.’ She giggled to herself then turned to Sarah. ‘I don’t know why you didn’t stay over. I’ve got two spare rooms and Sid doesn’t mind.’
Sarah didn’t know why she hadn’t taken up Lottie’s offer either. She wished she had now. The roundabouts on the taxi ride back to her house had acted like a centrifuge, rattling around the horrible wine and greasy food from the Szechuan Palace with the four Cornettos and two very large glasses of wine she’d consumed at Lottie’s. This morning her mouth felt like a small furry creature had setup home, turned it into a bedsit, then died. Even after a breakfast of Alka Seltzer and half a slice of buttered toast she wasn’t sure she’d make it through the rehearsal. A gentle summer breeze filled her lungs, making her feel marginally better, but then a sheet of used chip paper drifted up and wrapped itself around her ankle. She bent down, picked it up, then put it in the bin. ‘Where is Sid anyway?’
‘I left him in bed, snoring his head off.’ Lottie’s face always changed when she spoke about Sid, as if a light turned on somewhere in her soul and shone out like a beacon of pure joy. Sarah had been truly ecstatic when they’d got together. Although walking in on them full snog backstage after the opening night of last year’s Christmas pantomime had been a little embarrassing. ‘He said he’d meet us here.’
‘Okay.’ Sarah looked up at the old building admiring its Victorian elegance. The long square front of grey stone was mostly fixed up now, though they still needed to change the rotting poster cases. The windows either side of the door gleamed in the sunlight and the domed canopy above the elegant revolving door had just received a fresh coat of blue paint. ‘I love this place.’
Lottie pushed one of the large glass panels of the revolving door, and followed its circular motion inside. ‘I do too, it’s amazing isn’t it? But that reminds me, I’ve got to organise someone to clear the guttering before the summer’s out.’ Sarah was just about to grab her phone and make a note when Lottie tugged hers from her back pocket and did the same. Their love of organisation was one of the things they’d bonded over. That and both having lost someone close to them. Lottie had lost her beloved nan last year, and Sarah her mother a few years ago. Sarah was happy to speak about her mum, even though it was painful to remember her, but she quickly changed the subject whenever her dad was mentioned. That he was in prison was a fact of which she was deeply ashamed. He’d always been a respected accountant in the town but got greedy when he didn’t get as much of a bonus as he wanted. Then her mum had been diagnosed with cancer. Terminal cancer. Meaning he wasn’t there at the end. There were other things too, but those she had buried so deep she didn’t dare think about them, afraid of the hurt that would erupt. She hadn’t even told Lottie, studiously avoiding the subject whenever it came up. ‘Come on,’ said Lottie, leading the way. ‘We need to have a bit of a clean before we start.’
Sarah followed Lottie in and clicked on the light. The revolving doors opened into a small square balcony that had steps on either side leading down to the seats. The ceiling was painted in Greco-Roman murals, some a bit naughty, and each wall had floor-to-ceiling columns evenly spaced along it. Everyone commented on what an unusual set-up it was, but the Greenley Players all agreed it made their theatre extra special. Just like Lottie. Lottie didn’t act, admitting herself she was rubbish, but she was great at sourcing costumes, organising props and generally bringing it all together. To think that a year ago, before Lottie got involved, the building was falling apart, there was no amateur dramatics group, and the mayor planned to sell the theatre to plug a hole in the council’s budget was astounding, but now, it was a thriving part of their community, loved by everyone. ‘I still can’t get over how nice it smells when you walk in here,’ Sarah said, taking a deep breath. ‘It smells like cupcakes.’
‘That’s because I’ve got approximately forty-eight plug-in air fresheners on full whack,’ said Lottie, making her way down the central aisle to the stage. ‘It costs me a bloody fortune.’
Sarah followed Lottie down the aisle in the centre towards the stage, pausing to pick up a small scrap of paper left under one of the seats. ‘I’ve told you, you don’t have to pay for things out of your own money. The budgets have been re-done and we’ve got a special one for maintenance and cleaning that covers things like that. We’re doing really well, Lottie, you should make sure you get your money back.’ Lottie placed her handbag on one of the chairs and smiled at Sarah.
‘Okay, I will. I promise.’
‘Things seem to be going well with your plans to turn us into a charity. Even our beloved mayor’s on board this time, isn’t he? He was verging on positive the other night.’ Sarah had been at the meeting and the mayor was their most vocal committee member.
‘Oh, you know what he’s like. There’s a lot of paperwork to do and he much prefers being seen as the mayor, throwing his weight around and looking important, to actually doing mayor things and you know … helping.’
Sarah nodded. She knew only too well. Last year, during their campaign to save the theatre, Mayor Cunningham had been less than supportive. Now Lottie had these amazing plans for it to become a charity which would mean more funding