The bleeding had provided a good excuse. Every night she would slip into bed beside him in her armour of underwear, pads and long T-shirt. Even now, as the flow seemed to have stopped, she hoped to spin it out for a couple more weeks.
But today, in the glare of Stephen’s
what-if
, she couldn’t imagine how she could ever touch Marcus again.
She watched him across the booth as he read the diner menu, a sunburned pinkness vibrant between his freckles and gingery beard growth. What once had been confident and attractive in him had decayed into a sort of paranoid vanity. She remembered his wooing of her – she so young and he so apparently sophisticated and seasoned. She so believed he could show her the world in all its glory that she handed herself entirely over to him.
How she had adored him. His hair seemed full of flame back then. After their fourth month together, he got down on one knee and proposed to her. And she had accepted. Just like that, swept away by the romance of it all. The wedding followed in under four weeks.
Lara realised now that she should have asked herself why, at thirty-one years of age, Marcus hadn’t shown a bit more sense.
It was only at their small, almost secret, registry office wedding – Lara hadn’t invited her parents who, having met Marcus just the once, had amply implied that he was too old and not good enough – that she discovered the truth.
His old school friend Rufus played best man. It was the first time Lara had met him. Where Marcus’s public-school demeanour had mutated into a generic actorliness, Rufus, a barrister in London, had retained every ounce of plummy hooray ingrained into him at Stowe.
‘I’m so pleased for you both,’ Rufus said at the budget reception in the Dirty Duck as he kissed Lara tipsily on the cheek. ‘I thought he was doomed to bachelordom after Sophie.’
‘Sophie?’
‘You don’t know about Sophie? Oops,’ he said, throwing a peanut into the air and catching it in his teeth. ‘You’d better ask Marcus. Me and my big mouth, eh?’
‘Who’s Sophie?’ she asked that night as they lay in bed in Marcus’s digs. They could afford neither the time nor the money for a honeymoon, since Marcus was in the middle of a run.
He quite literally jumped.
‘Who told you about Sophie?’
‘Rufus.’
‘The
bastard
.’
‘He didn’t mean it. It just sort of slipped out.’
‘My arse it did.’
‘Who is she, then?’
And, reluctantly, Marcus told her about the girl he had lived with since drama school and who, just eight months earlier, had left him for a younger man, an actor in the play she was starring in.
‘It was bloody at the time,’ Marcus said, aiming for sympathy. ‘I even thought about finishing it all. But,’ he added quickly, ‘in the end it was a good thing. Because if it hadn’t been for her going off with that little prick upstart, I wouldn’t have met you, and we wouldn’t be here now.’
Lara might have been only a green nineteen, but she could see how things stood, and she had to hold her hand from slapping her forehead for being so stupid and so naive. Over the next couple of weeks she tried to convince herself that Marcus had fallen head over heels in love with her, but she couldn’t escape the thought that she was in fact his way of telling Sophie that he didn’t care, and that he could pull a young one too. Lara was just his rebound option.
And it was just at that low point that the youthful Stephen Molloy came to Stratford, to join Marcus in the lower ranks of the Royal Shakespeare Company.
‘Ah, here they are,’ Marcus said, looking up from his menu as the buzzer in the diner door sounded and Jack pulled Bella in, followed by Olly. From the look of it, the twins had been arguing again.
‘Where on earth did you get to?’ Lara asked, moving along to make a space for them.
‘I went to find Olly—’ Bella started, but her brother cut in over her.
‘Lover boy was at the pool, in fact,’ Olly said, sitting down next to Marcus. ‘She couldn’t drag herself away.’
‘That’s such bollocks,’ Bella said.
‘Fella on the map?’ Marcus smiled up at her. ‘Watch out you don’t follow in your mother’s footsteps, or you might wind up with someone like she got stuck with me!’
Bella said nothing and sat down, at the opposite end of the table to Olly.
‘He’s caught the sun,’ Lara said, looking down at Jack’s bright red cheeks.
‘I put sun cream on him after our swim,’ Bella said. ‘Olly should have put it on him before he took him out.’
‘Jesus,’ Olly said.
‘Well hello there,’ Leanne the waitress said, bringing a pitcher of icy water and three more menus to their table. ‘Pleased to meet you. How you doin’?’ She filled everyone’s glasses.
Bella and Olly both just sat there, not responding, glaring at the red-checked vinyl tablecloth. Olly’s fingers drummed against the table top.
‘Stop that,’ Marcus said.
‘They’re all good,’ Lara said to Leanne, feeling she had to translate and intervene on behalf of her moody offspring.
‘Cool! I’ll be back in a second to get your order before those other guys arrive and the kitchen goes crazy. Just whistle when you’re ready.’
‘Mum, he dumped Jack on me and disappeared,’ Bella said, once they were on their own again.
‘Oh, Olly,’ Lara said.
‘I was hanging with my homies,’ Olly said.
‘Excuse me?’ Marcus said in an exaggerated English accent.
‘My dudes,’ Olly went on.
‘Morons, you mean,’ Bella said. ‘They look like a bunch of hillbillies.’
‘Keep your voice down, Bella,’ Lara said, looking around. ‘Cultural sensibilities.’
‘Whatever,’ Bella said.
‘Now then, what are you lot having?’ Marcus clapped his hands together. ‘Blueberry stack, bacon and maple syrup? Pizza burger and home fries?’
In the name of research they each ordered a different dish from the menu. Leanne was just making her way across the diner with their plates when the door burst open and the place suddenly sprang alive with the sound of actors high from release from a morning notes session.
‘I can’t believe James didn’t notice that corpse,’ someone said.
‘I’d rather stick
pins
in my eyes,’ another person shrieked.
‘Watch out,’ Marcus said. Then he got up and swept across the room towards James, who was resplendent in a vintage rose satin smoking jacket over his customary white linen, a tan leather satchel bulging with papers and books tucked under his arm.
‘James darling,’ Marcus said. ‘How were the notes?’
‘Theatre bollocks alert,’ Olly muttered as Leanne put five laden plates down on the Wayland table.
‘Thank you,’ Lara said.
‘You’re welcome,’ Leanne said, casting a stern eye over the twins, who were, it was clear, not doing politeness today. On her way back to the kitchen, the crowd of Trout Island players hailed her with the familiarity of tourists greeting natives.
‘There’s nothing green at all here,’ Bella said, looking at the food.
‘So
that’s
what biscuits are. Sort of savoury scones,’ Lara said, poking at the fluffy white objects on Olly’s plate.
‘They’d better be savoury, with all that chicken on the side,’ he said.
‘I put a rocket up their arses,’ James said to no one in particular. He took his place on the banquette next to theirs, and the other actors filled the remaining booths. ‘Waylands, did you meet Tony Marconi last night? He’s your Banquo, and he’s Heavy Dan in the musical.’
‘Ah, so this is your daughter then, Marcus?’ Tony said, shaking Bella’s hand. ‘We met last night, remember? Down by the pond?’
Bella blushed and looked away.
‘And didn’t I spy you at the pool this morning while I was doing my fifty laps?’ he winked. ‘Hanging out with our best boy?’
‘Too right you did.’ Olly leaned back and unsmilingly watched his sister squirm.
James stretched his arm up and waved. ‘Leanne, my darling, do you think I could have a coffee? Thank you my sweet.’
Lara thought she saw the shoulders of double denim guy at the counter stiffen at the sound of James’s camp twang.
‘Oh my Gawd, darling, what in hell’s name is that?’ Betty said, pointing to Lara’s plate as she squeezed in next to her. Today she had on a combination of lumberjack shirt, baggy Levis, five o’clock shadow and full high hair and make-up. She looked like Jane Russell on testosterone.
‘It’s supposed to be macaroni salad,’ Lara said. ‘But it looks more like a plate of curdled mayonnaise.’
‘Trout Island Five, here you come,’ Tony Marconi called over from his seat among a group of excitable young actors.
‘Trout Island Five?’ Lara said.
‘The number of pounds an actor gains working a show here,’ Betty explained. ‘We earn in calories.’
‘You don’t happen to know if we left Jack’s teddy bear at your place last night?’ Lara asked her.
‘I couldn’t tell you. The place looked like a bombsite when we left it this morning,’ Betty said. ‘I’ll ask Trudi to keep an eye out – she’s working her magic there all day today.’
‘Can’t we cancel tonight? My head,’ the tousle-haired boy next to Tony said, his heavy eyelids drooping over bloodshot eyes.
‘Doctor Theatre, darling,’ James said. ‘You’ll be marvellous. Thank you Leanne, thank you sweetness,’ he said as Leanne went around the tables pouring glasses of iced water.
‘You all drank far too much last night, children,’ Betty said. ‘You need to show a little more restraint. A little self discipline.’
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ a long slender girl who looked like a young Natalie Wood said.
‘And what is that supposed to mean?’ Betty drew herself up and took a regal sip of her water.
‘You’ve had all those years of being the wild thing,’ the girl said.
‘All those years? All those years? What is that supposed to mean?’ Betty said. ‘You don’t know the half of it, honeys. I have worked harder with my little finger than you have with all your bodies put together. Discipline is my middle name, sister.’
This set Olly off sniggering and Betty’s nostrils flared. It was hard to tell if she had meant her outburst as a risqué joke or a serious telling-off. Lara didn’t much understand theatre people, and all this noise and clamour was too much for her. She wished she were back alone in the dusty house, daydreaming and putting things to rights.
‘Well then, ladies. Let’s try to be civil, shall we?’ James said. Then he stood up and addressed the room. ‘Is everyone ready to order? May I remind you we have six hours exactly until you are back on that stage. Do
not
overeat, dancers!’
Leanne was joined by another woman who emerged from the kitchen door wiping her huge hands on her apron. The two of them worked the room, taking the orders. The second woman shuffled around, grey pop-socks wrinkled around her bloated purple ankles, stringy salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a ponytail, revealing a grey neck. Lara didn’t feel much like eating anyway, but the thought that this might be the cook put her off her macaroni salad altogether.
‘Olly, will you pull yourself together, mate,’ Marcus leaned forward and hissed at his ostentatiously bored and twitchy-looking son. A tiny vein bulged in his forehead and Lara was again reminded of Marcus’s father, who was equally red-headed and similar in stature. Her joke to friends was that he and Marcus were so alike she didn’t have any surprises in store for her. She always followed this, however, with a silent prayer that she wouldn’t end up like Marcus’s mother; a desaturated little mouse, thin as paper, run ragged by her overbearing husband.
But of course she wouldn’t end up like Moira Wayland. She had none of that pale blood in her veins. Her own mother, though, made an even worse template for her older self. The thought that she had the power to make her own future, independent of either genetic legacy or other people’s expectations, hadn’t struck Lara until very recently indeed.
‘How are you liking our little village?’ Betty asked her.
‘It’s very pretty. The heat’s a bit of challenge.’
‘We’re building up to a storm. It’s like
The Tempest
here in August. Gets so you can’t bear it, then the rain and the thunder and the lightning come and you can actually
breathe
. Until the next one gets going.’
‘Let it come down,’ Lara said.
‘I like what you’re doing there, Lara dear,’ Betty said with a wink. ‘But let’s not get too carried away with our Scottish Play quotations. It’s not awful good luck. Now then. How’re the digs?’
‘Fine,’ Lara said. ‘A bit dusty, but we’re giving it a good scrub.’
‘Oh,’ Betty said, a note of disappointment in her voice. ‘We paid some guys to clean it just a couple weeks ago.’
‘I suppose if it’s standing empty the dust just settles quicker,’ Lara said. ‘I wanted to ask, though: could I get rid of the carpet in the hallway?’
‘Carpet?’ Betty frowned.
‘The one with the stain? I’d like to pull it up.’
‘I don’t remember any carpet in that house, honey,’ Betty said. ‘But then I’ve just been all about
Set Me On Fire!
for the past three months. I’ve barely noticed anything else. But sure, if it’s stained, just rip it up.’ She waved her fingers in the air. ‘The owner said we could do what we want with the place.’
‘Thanks,’ Lara said. ‘And,’ she hesitated a second, ‘thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.’
‘Flowers?’ Betty said, raising an immaculately shaped eyebrow. ‘Not me, honey.’
Lara frowned, and pondered this.
‘How did you like our little musical, Olly?’ James put one elbow on the table, rested his chin in his hand and swerved into Olly’s personal space.
‘Um …’ Olly muttered.
‘He thought it was great!’ Marcus boomed. ‘Didn’t you, mate?’
Olly mumbled an assent.
‘And Olly usually
hates
the theatre,’ Marcus went on.
‘Load of bollocks,’ Olly said under his breath. Lara hoped she was the only one to hear this.
‘How are you feeling after your little surprise last night?’ Betty asked Lara as the rest of the food arrived and Marcus and James settled into an animated discussion about staging ideas for
Macbeth
.
‘Fine,’ Lara said. Even if she trusted Betty, which she wasn’t quite sure she did, giving voice to anything right now would start to make it real, and she certainly wasn’t ready to do that.