He kissed her cheek. ‘Think of it as a new start. You’ll bounce back, you’re made of tough stuff. It’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you.’
Stung, she stepped away from him. ‘Wow, just what every girl longs to hear. How much she’s admired. Lucky me.’
He opened the door. ‘Take care, Charlotte. Good luck.’ And with that he was gone, wheeling both suitcases towards the lift.
She’d need more than good luck. In the space of one morning, she’d lost everything. Her career, her boyfriend, her home. She had nothing left.
Slamming the door behind him, she sagged against it, fury giving way to heartbreak as she slumped to the floor. Angry tears ran down her face. She hated crying, it always made her feel so out of control, so untethered, but she couldn’t stop the onset. She was hurt, mad, shocked. Her perfect life was gone. Shattered. Wiped out.
What the hell was she going to do?
Tuesday, 17 May – 14 weeks till curtain-up
Barney Hubble leant against the iron railings and drew in a breath of salty air as he watched a fishing boat drag its nets from the water. There was nothing remarkable about this particular Tuesday evening in May, and yet the sight of the water sparkling under the fading daylight and the rush of waves ebbing and flowing over the sandy beach below, was strangely hypnotic. How different his life was now compared to back in London.
For a start, he walked everywhere. He’d never walked anywhere in London, other than endlessly marching up and down hospital corridors. And he swam most days, relishing the battle of challenging riptides and the exhilaration of diving into freezing-cold water, feeling his skin contract beneath his wetsuit. He was also able to indulge in his passion for music. He didn’t earn much from his gigs, but he enjoyed it and it made him feel alive … unlike when he’d worked on the hospital wards and he’d felt permanently dead.
As a kid, he’d learnt both guitar and piano at school before progressing to singing in bands. He’d never ventured into acting before, but last summer his housemates had coerced him into joining the local amateur dramatics group. Despite his initial reluctance, he’d discovered that it was a great way to make new friends and ingrain himself into the local community. Something he hadn’t even known he’d wanted, and certainly something he’d never experienced in London.
His parents had never been big fans of hobbies. It was all work, work, work, for Henry and Alexa Hubble. A philosophy they’d tried to instil into their son. Not that he was against hard work, he just wanted more from life. Maybe it was selfish, but specialising was his parents’ dream, not his. He’d given med school his all, but nothing had prepared him for the relentless onslaught of being a junior doctor.
So, he’d taken a gap year. But the year was now up and his parents wanted to know when he was returning to his studies. It was a reasonable enough request. Trouble was, he wasn’t ready to leave Cornwall. He was still working out what he wanted out of life. He loved living by the sea, he was rediscovering his passion for music, and he was trying out new experiences … like playing Oberon in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
The sound of voices rose above the crash of waves below. He turned and watched his mates Nate and Paul cross the quayside to join him.
‘I can’t believe I’m being forced to wear a dress again.’ Nate slung his worn leather jacket over his shoulder. He’d never forgiven the last director for casting him as an ugly sister in Cinderella. For everyone else, the sight of a tattooed, bearded twenty-five-year-old dressed to look like Amy Winehouse was hysterical. Nate had never enjoyed the joke. ‘I mean, seriously, which part of me screams love-struck damsel in distress?’ He held out his tattooed arms. His biker T-shirt was stained with grease, and his normally spiky brown hair flattened from wearing his crash helmet.
Paul shrugged. ‘Comic irony? No one would ever mistake you for a girl, even in a dress. Ergo, visual humour.’
Nate didn’t look convinced.
‘And anyway, men have often played female roles in the theatre,’ Paul said, heading up the hill towards the hall, looking dapper in his blue Ben Sherman suit, complete with narrow tie and pointed shoes. ‘Where do you think the word “drag” comes from?’
Nate looked blank.
Paul gave him a questioning look. ‘It stands for “dressed as girl”. It began during Victorian times to denote a male actor playing the part of a female for comic effect.’
Nate shrugged. ‘I never knew that.’
Paul raised an eyebrow. ‘Unsurprisingly, I did.’
Unlike his mates, Barney didn’t feel as though he had a specific style. He favoured jeans and T-shirts, wore leather flip-flops in the summer, and owned a few Fat Face shirts. Not exactly the height of fashion. He’d often been told he was a dead ringer for Elvis Presley, but he couldn’t see it himself. It was probably his Hawaiian heritage on his mother’s side. Whatever the reason, he imagined the three of them made an unusual sight when they went out together, especially when Dusty joined in the fun.
‘At least I get to play Demetrius as well as Thisbe,’ Nate said, as they reached Bridge Street Hall. ‘But I’m still not happy about playing a girl.’
Paul patted his shoulder. ‘That’s life, I’m afraid. Others don’t always see us the way we see ourselves.’
Barney picked up on the sombre note in Paul’s voice. ‘I thought you were pleased to be offered the part of Helena?’
Paul smiled. ‘I’m delighted, dear boy.’ But his response lacked conviction.
Barney was prevented from questioning him further by the noise coming from the hall. As they pushed through the wooden doors, they were greeted by the distinctive odour of stale sweat and smelly feet, a constant no matter how thoroughly the place was cleaned.
Most of the village got involved in the productions, even if it was just selling programmes or helping backstage, but getting enough people to audition was always the tricky part, hence the multiple roles. The summer production was performed at the Corineus Theatre, a beautiful outdoor amphitheatre cut into the Cornish coastline. With its stone walls and clifftop views, and a backdrop of crashing waves and swirling winds, it was a stunning location. Performing there was magical.
Barney didn’t need to be told that Lauren Saunders had also arrived at the hall. He could tell from Nate’s body language: his eyes homed in on her like an FBI tracking device. There was nothing subtle about the way Nate gazed longingly at her. And there was no way Lauren was as oblivious to his interest as she made out. Whether she felt the same remained a mystery. Sometimes Barney sensed she did, other times not so much.
Tonight, she was wearing a grey tunic dress over leggings, her long hair tied loosely at the base of her neck. ‘Freddie! Stop pulling Florence’s hair!’ she yelled, her expression softening as her twin eight-year-olds ran across the hall, their startling red hair and freckles a contrast to their mother’s pale skin and dark hair. Both kids were eagerly talking and laughing. They each drew in a big breath, then simultaneously told their mum they’d been cast as fairies in the play.
Unlike Nate, Freddie seemed delighted to be wearing a dress. ‘It’ll have a skirt made of petals and everything,’ he gushed.
Paul ruffled his hair. ‘Good for you, mate.’
They were joined by Lauren’s dad, who was followed into the hall by his two lady admirers, Sylvia Johns and Glenda Graham. No one could work out whether Tony Saunders was genuinely clueless that both women were into him, or whether he was just stringing them along, enjoying the attention. Either way, it was amusing to watch.
Barney nodded a greeting. ‘I’m assuming you got cast in the show, Tony?’
Tony