The Way It Never Was (15 page)

The photo collage is also littered with pictures of Claire, a tactical move on my part to try and make her feel at home enough to pay me rent on time. To me, they also serve as a reminder to the both of us that whether we like it or not, we have shared history. Admittedly, they’re not exactly the best pictures as I took some scissors to Mr Happy, who she was normally snogging or draped around, so on occasion she looks a bit odd. At school they were the golden couple, he with his bleached mullet and stiff-haired Claire with her pastel pink lipstick. I then look closer at a large photo of Claire and spot Linda hovering in the background staring determinedly at the camera, looking young but still ever so slightly scary.

My phone then vibrates with a text from Liv asking for help at the Globe this afternoon. Sweaty and feeling cabin fever kicking in, I throw down this machine that’s rubbish at rubbish and decide that yes, I will help. After all, there is only so much light housework a girl can do – that or exaggerating the CV in the hope it might lead to something. It’s time to be in the real world with real people. As I slam the door behind me, I hear a picture fall to the floor.

CHAPTER 18 -
CULCHA-LITE

Wooden acting, clumsy dialogue and the props straight out of
Neighbours
– Anna’s play has been on for five nights straight at a little theatre in outer London. I sort of need Liv to hurry as we’re running so late, but she’s huffing and puffing already, dragging an overnight bag on wheels with the longest handle you ever did see and tripping up the general public in the process. Admittedly, it’s not Liv’s fault we’re left with no time to spare. In a weak moment at the café, I had agreed to Wayne setting up a phone interview with Linda’s travel company, as he gets M&S vouchers for recommending someone. And who am I to deny him a trip to the lovely food hall? To say the interview was poorly timed was an understatement. There I was at St Pancras Station, pacing around with my hand on my ear straining to hear over the din, while nearby Liv lay in trendy deckchair with fake grass around her feet, stuffing her face with crisps. It was all a bit surreal.

Wayne then called me for an update. ‘So?’ he asked, and I told him that it seemed to go okay. ‘The job is in the bag,’ he said confidently. ‘Linda thinks you’ll be perfect.’ I fear he may be right, as that is the way life tends to work. Just when you genuinely couldn’t give a toss, things go your way.

‘Well, let’s wait and see,’ I say, slightly panicking. I should be over the moon but I don’t feel that bothered at all. I now have this new-found clarity about what I now need from a job at the back of my mind, and it doesn’t involve booking bulkhead seats. ‘I need a bit more time to think about it,’ I know I sound vague.

‘Time to do what? You’re wasting valuable earning power. I’ll drop round a contract. With any luck your flatmate won’t be in.’ It would seem that while Claire may have forgotten who Wayne is, she still brings out a facial tic in him.

I’ve now got that horrible situation of actually not wanting a job being offered by someone I know and willing it not to happen, like when someone fancies you and it’s not reciprocated but you’re flattered all the same. The truth is that since my little epiphany while cleaning the kitchen floor, I’m no longer desperate to get any old work. Over the last few weeks, I’ve not been sitting around or going to demoralising agency interviews; I’ve been picking up the slack for Liv at the café. I proactively sold the idea to her based on the fact that I could not only do coffees
but
also bend down to pick fallen food up off the floor – proper multi-tasking – as Liv is getting larger by the day.

Besides, Liv is so over the moon at the idea of me helping to take some of the load off her, I couldn’t back out even if I wanted to, which I don’t. I’ve not quite got round to telling Liv that she is the one saving my bacon and not the other way round. Right now, I need something to make sense and this just does. At first, Paolo wasn’t very keen on the idea of me coming on board, but once when he realised I wasn’t going to be paid very much and it would free up some more family time, he perked up and promptly booked a day trip to Peppa Pig World. That man sure knows how to have a good time.

Unsurprisingly, Paolo is as scary to work for as he is to sip a coffee near, his moodiness now exacerbated by me being super nice to him in the bid he’ll be nicer back. I’m not sure why I’m bothering to try so hard as his café is far too quiet and if he carries on being a grumpy git, things will come to a natural conclusion. The fact that I don’t have to be working here brings with it a kind of freedom in itself – just think, at any point I can jack this in and do something sensible, something a little more conventional.

‘You’re not quite as incompetent as you were a week ago,’ Paolo announced the other day. ‘You are truly terrible at waitressing, but I’ve noticed you are very quick with short orders.’

He then proceeded to tell me he was going to train me on the smoothie blender and the panini hot plate – no mention of making cappuccinos, not since that episode involving sprayed milk over a line of impeccably dressed commuters. ‘Oh and I am going to teach you how to create my secret salad garnish. Then my work will be done.’

Secret salad garnishes hey? Man, I was getting behind the scenes.

Although I am still not allowed near the coffee machine and cannot so much look at a customer directly in the eye on his watch, as soon as Paulo steps out the door, Liv lets me loose and there I am in the deep end, my mistakes laid bare, loving every second.

Right now, I’m so bone-tired I think I might fall asleep in the theatre. It’s not the mentally taxing feeling from feigning interest in mundane admin; it’s the familiar physical exhaustion from being up on my feet all day and having to smile at strangers. Just like I did working at the Sydney café, I spend a disproportionate amount of time wondering if I added to their day at all and whether my overall purpose is
this
. But I’m showing up, I’m doing my best, I’m participating in something.

‘What kind of title is
Touch
Me
I’m
Real
?’ asks Liv. ‘It sounds lame.’
It
sounds
just
the
sort
of
play
Anna
would
love
. A long suffering friend, I’ve endured all manner of Anna’s plays, some with no narrative, some with awkward audience participation performances, some productions that last four hours with no interval, others that are over in five minutes, even plays with two intervals. You name it; I’ve sat through it. I’ve long since given up working out whether Anna is actually any good or not. It’s a painful exercise pretending that just because someone else has a vocation, you’re supposed to enjoy it, but hey, that’s what friends do for each other. We stand for a moment on the steps so Liv can catch her breath and I turn my phone off for fear of another call from Wayne.

‘Kate, don’t judge me but I fucking hate the theatre,’ Liv admits, catching me off guard. ‘I just clock-watch until the interval where I can eat one of those tiny ice-cream tubs.’ She then sighs dramatically at the prospect of impending captivity. At least she is honest, unlike Claire who is always telling me that she is incredibly cultured as though watching
Biggest
Loser
on a loop or going to see
Mamma
Mia
six times counts. ‘Remind me again why we are here?’ she laments. ‘I do not even like Anna. She’ll think I’m supporting her.’ Just as I’m about to remind Liv that she was the one who said she was feeling like she was in the
Truman
Show
and needed to get out of Broadstairs, she grabs hold of my arm. ‘Stop a second. The baby is kicking me. Clearly it feels the same way about theatre as me.’

Anna always stresses that mainstream performances aren’t her thing and she’s exploring herself as an artist. As I gear myself up for what might be another sketchy theatre production, I dare to entertain the idea that it’s more that she’s not quite made the big time and this is the nearest thing she’ll get to having an adoring audience. Normally, Anna’s luvvy mates enjoy a pre-performance drink in the foyer. I’ve never been that keen on them as they’re a cliquey bunch who prefer awkward silences that go on indefinitely, as opposed to making good old fashioned small talk. My indifference to them is not helped by the fact that every time I see them they go through the motion of pretending we’ve never met before. According to Anna, these friends are so cutting-edge that ‘they actually set the trends themselves’ but I seriously doubt this as from what I can see they just like debating in that really argumentative way.

As we enter the building, the burgundy foyer that doubles up as a theatre bar is empty. This is strange as I was half expecting them to all be there. Looking down at my watch, I realise to my absolute horror that the play has in fact started – ten minutes ago.
Oh
no
! With absolutely no idea how we’re going to make a discreet entrance in such a tiny theatre, in the poor light I can just about make out a handwritten sign that has
Touch
Me
I’m
Real
scrawled in permanent marker, with an arrow next to it. Once inside the auditorium, I can just about make out Anna’s parents sitting a few rows down, Pamela smoothing down the back of her hair with her hands and Hugo slapping his knees repetitively. I then spy a few of Anna’s posse seated right at the top, near the exit. We decide to sit next to them and I tap Aiofe, whose name I can never pronounce or spell.

‘Oh, it’s only you. Hi darling,’ she whispers, clearly still not knowing my name. Seeing that Liv’s silhouette in the darkness is the size of a whale, they all reluctantly shift down one so we can sit on the end by the aisle.
The
best
seats
in
the
house
!

‘This is my friend Liv,’ I whisper. Aoife looks at her blankly before turning towards the stage again. One more name for her to forget.

Sitting in the darkness for what feels like an eternity waiting for Anna’s entrance, is an experience not too dissimilar from being at a pop concert and waiting for that one song you actually know.

‘Do we know how long this play is?’ Liv says loudly. I shake my head as this play is starting to feel like Shakespeare where you’re unfamiliar with the story.

Barely fifteen minutes later, Liv pinches me. ‘So I take it this is as good as it’s going to get?’

She might have a point here as Anna still hasn’t appeared and I’m not sure I can endure one more minute.

‘Shall we go get a drink?’ I find myself whispering. I normally pride myself on being able to sit through hours of drama but tonight my tolerance levels are non-existent. I’m half expecting to get a shake of the head, as Liv looks all too comfortable sitting in the way that pregnant women sit to avoid the chafing, but instead she nods enthusiastically.

‘Fucking fantastic idea.’ We then stand up, prompting Aiofe to slowly shake her head at us like a disappointed parent.

Once out in the foyer, we spy a few more of Anna’s friends that must have got there first – that or they never went into the actual auditorium in the first place.

‘What you doing out here?’ I venture, as someone gets up to give Liv a stool. Thanking them, Liv perches as though she were on some sort of game show and I buy a glass of wine from the extensive list (‘red or white’) and an orange juice for Liv.

‘Anna’s been awfully vague about what she does in this play you know, I’m starting to think she might be on for five minutes,’ moans the girl with the poncho. I take a sip of wine and visibly wince at the taste.

‘Anna exaggerating, you surprise me,’ murmurs Liv under her breath. I then turn to the group who are currently talking amongst themselves in that really intense way. ‘I was thinking you’d be in the production as well?’ I say to the girl with a ridiculously short fringe and thick spectacles containing no glass.

‘Sometimes you have to be seen but it doesn’t mean you have to see, do I make sense?’ I’m not sure she does but I clink glasses with her nevertheless.

‘Besides,’ declares the Harry Styles lookalike with ill-advised beret. ‘Anna won’t mind. Let’s just say she has her hands full these days.’ Just then, with that cryptic sentence hanging in the air, Anna’s dad appears in the foyer.

‘We just popped out for some air. It’s boiling in there. Liv is heavily pregnant,’ I quickly say, using the pregnancy card to explain to this father of hers why we’re not sitting gripped in suspense watching his daughter’s play.

‘Do not worry my darling. Doing the same thing myself. Another bloody painful enterprise,’ Hugo sighs, downing a glass of wine in seconds as we all watch in awe. ‘And no storyline either. What’s she trying to do, kill me? A large glass of that red muck again please.’ The barman nods and obliges as though it were just your average polite request. ‘I’ve had to watch every performance she’s ever done,’ Hugo says. ‘The only time I got out of it was when she was in Australia – I said to Pamela that it was worth the price of an air ticket alone. Couldn’t she have been a nice dull secretary and be done with it?’

As I try to process Hugo’s somewhat blunt take on his own daughter’s burgeoning career, from behind me I hear a voice. ‘Kate’s been a secretary for a long time and I’m sure she’ll tell you it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.’

I turn around to find out who exactly is using me a benchmark for what not to do. There stands Stan, straight from work, looking handsome in a navy blue suit and stripy shirt with no tie.

‘Well, you’re not the least bit dull darling,’ Hugo winks at me and shakes Stan’s hand. This is as good as telling me I have a great personality and my heart is in the right place. Plonking his glass down on the table, he takes a deep breath to compose himself, before walking back into the performance, serving as a cue for the rest to reluctantly trail in after him, leaving just me, Stan and Liv.

‘Well girls, I got held up at the office and missed most of the play so I’ve given up. Can I get both of you another drink?

Liv squeezes his arm in affection. ‘Yes Stan, I’d love an exciting glass of water,’ she says then stands up. ‘I’m just off to the loo. Baby pressing on my bladder.’ Off she waddles through a random door, before coming back into the foyer and going through another.

With Liv out of the way, I gently punch Stan on the arm. ‘Thanks for the endorsement mate. Nothing I like better than hearing that I’m a boring secretary. It never wears thin.’