Miss Wrong and Mr Right (28 page)

‘Natalie, that’s rubbish. You haven’t missed the boat!’

‘Can you honestly say you believe that?’ I asked. ‘Look at my track record.’

‘Oh Nat, you need to concentrate on what is good in your life. You’ve got your job.’

‘That’s a joke too!
Macbeth
opens next week, and our big star who I’ve gambled so much on isn’t fit for purpose!’ I snapped. ‘And to complicate things further, I shagged him!’

Sharon was silent and started to place dry plates back in the cupboard.

‘I think I’m done talking about this,’ I said wiping my eyes. ‘Here’s your lasagne dish. Thank you.’

Sharon took it from me.

‘Do you want me to stay over? I can,’ she said.

‘You go home, I’ve got work to do and that sofa bed isn’t very comfy…’

When Sharon had gone, I checked on Gran who was sleeping peacefully and then went and lay on the sofa bed. I turned on the TV and they were showing Disney’s
Cinderella
, just at the moment Prince Charming eased the glass slipper onto her foot.

‘You’re a stupid cow if you think that’s your life sorted,’ I said to the screen.
 

I switched it off, turned over, and tried to go to sleep.

What’s my line?

On my way to work on Thursday morning I ran into Nicky in Grande. They’d hired a new barista, who she was laying into for using sugar instead of sweetener in her coffee.

‘What if I were a diabetic? What if I have a sugar intolerance?’ she was shouting.

‘But you also asked for three pumps of syrup. That’s like liquid sugar,’ said the barista.
 

‘Are you
back talking
me?’ she growled.

‘I ain’t talking behind your back,
madam
. I’m saying to your face that your coffee is already loaded with sugar, so why ask for sweetener?’

Nicky opened her mouth to go nuclear, but I pulled her away and out into the street.

‘Nat! What are you doing? I tell you, that kid wouldn’t last three seconds back home in Texas…’
 

‘Let’s get coffee from the rehearsal room,’ I said.

‘What? That cremated stuff in the tin, with just hot water and milk?’

‘Yes, it’s how everyone else in Britain drinks their coffee,’ I said. ‘Maybe today we could keep some things simple…’
 

Nicky took a deep breath.
 

‘Yeah, I’m really on the edge Nat. This run-through of
Macbeth
…’

‘I know hun,’ I said putting my arm round her.

‘We’ve got five days until previews begin on Tuesday…’

‘A lot can happen in four days,’ I said.

‘Did you get Val’s email? We’ve had to refund eighteen percent of tickets now across the run…’

‘Yes, and did you also read that her brother bought her a new calculator for her birthday with a percentage button,’ I added.

‘The board are sending someone to watch the run-through,’ added Nicky.

‘What? Why?’

‘They’re real concerned about the state of Ryan, all these refunds. You know how slim our margins of profit are on this show…’ explained Nicky.

The run-through of
Macbeth
was a disaster. We sat in the rehearsal room behind Morag McKye, the fearsome little Scottish lady who heads our board of directors, and we watched as Ryan stumbled about the stage, forgetting his words and frequently having to shout out ‘line’ to Byron who sat with Craig in the sound booth, prompting.

Afterwards I went over to Craig sat in the sound booth.

‘I’m going to talk to Ryan,’ I said.

‘Do you want me there?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I said. I heard the door slam behind me and I looked round to see Morag McKye had left without saying a word. Nicky and Xander looked over at me with worried faces.

I went up to Ryan’s dressing room and knocked on the door. A quiet voice inside said to come in. Ryan sat looking in the mirror. He just had his kilt on.

‘Natalie!’ he said. I closed the door and went in. He came towards me and grabbed me in a hug. At first I stood with my arms hanging at my side, unsure of what was happening, then I hugged him back. His bare skin was warm and firm. He pulled away and leant in to kiss me.

‘Hey, what are you doing?’ I said pulling back. His face darkened. He broke away and went to the little fridge by the window, pulling out an already-opened can of Mountain Dew.

‘So when you feel bad I’m supposed to screw you, but when I feel bad…’

‘Watch your mouth,’ I snapped. ‘The only people you should feel bad for are the poor actors, crew and all the people here who are working hard to…’

‘Spare me the lecture Natalie.’
 

‘
Spare you the lecture
?’ I repeated. ‘You’ve been rehearsing for almost two weeks, and you don’t know your lines. You were shouting out ‘line’ more times than Kate Moss on a night out!’

He tipped the can back for a final swig and chucked it in the wastepaper bin under his dressing table. I moved swiftly, plucked it out of the bin and gave it a sniff, it stank of vodka.

‘What are you calling this,
Mountain Brew
?’ I asked.
 

‘I told you, I’m an alcoholic,’ he said.

‘And I’m a bloody chocoholic but I control myself! You don’t see me coming to work with Dairy Milk smeared over my bloody face!’

‘You should watch your mouth too. Just because we screwed, doesn’t mean you stop being professional,’ he said. I laughed coldly. ‘Oh, sorry, we made love, didn’t we?’ he said sarcastically. He went and pulled on a t-shirt. I was getting nowhere with him.

‘Ryan. Listen. I care about you, I really do… and what we had was special. I don’t know if we necessarily
had
anything, but I will always be a friend to you.’

He suddenly erupted.

‘Then where have you been? I was fired from my show… Do you know how much I wanted to come over to your apartment, and just chill, get pizza, not be alone?’

He slumped back into his chair.

‘I thought you hated me after what happened, with the papers, and that journalist?’ I asked.

‘I was angry.’

‘Ryan, I know guys like to hide their feelings, but you take it to a whole other level.’

There was a pause. Ryan came over to me and knelt down. I thought he was going to tie his shoelace, but he took my hand.

‘Natalie, I know this is crazy…’ he said looking up at me.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked, looking down at him.

‘Will you marry me?’ he asked. I waited for him to laugh; he didn’t.

‘What?’

‘Just hear me out Natalie. When I first met you I didn’t notice you at all…’

‘Right…’

‘Then you kind of started to scratch at my brain. I’d see you in the corridor, scratch, scratch, and then at the first rehearsal, scratch, scratch, scratch, and then you invited me to the christening and you turned into such an itch. An itch only relieved by spending time with you. We had the most fun, and you treated me like a normal person. You’re funny, you’re real pretty, and you’re really good at stuff in bed. And you remember when you told me the story of Benjamin, when we were in bed?’

‘Yes.’

‘I said I would never do that to you. That I would treat you right. I meant it. Let me treat you right.’

I looked down at him. Did he mean it? Or could he really act?

He pulled a plain silver band off his finger and held it out to me.
 

I stared at it…

I remembered Sharon telling me how Fred had proposed at the most unexpected time. It was an ordinary Saturday on the beach at Whitstable. Fred had gone to get chips and she was going to have a go at him when he got back, she had a cold bum from sitting on the sand, and he was taking ages… When he returned with her cone of chips there was a diamond ring on one of the chips. She’d not considered the possibility of marrying him, but instantly knew it was right.

Was this the same?

He was the second man to propose to me. How many more chances would I get?

And I’ve met a few of these feisty older single women, who tell stories of the numerous proposals they turned down. I never quite buy their belief that they made the right decision.

I looked down at Ryan, still kneeling. He had a shine in his eyes. Even slightly half-cut he was beautiful. Who could have begrudged me almost saying yes?

But I opened my mouth and the first thing came tumbling out was,

‘I’m afraid it’s a no from me.’
 

The light shining in Ryan’s eyes faded. He slowly stood up and slid the ring back on his finger.

‘Sorry, that came out wrong!’ I said. ‘You have to realise it would be crazy? It is crazy. Ryan? We’ve spent less than twenty-four hours together! You’re a decade younger than me, and you’re an alc…’

He went over to his dressing table, flicked off the bank of lights surrounding the mirror and grabbed his bag.

‘What are you doing? Let’s talk about this…’ I said.

‘I’ve been invited to Savile Row. They want to give me a suit for the
Femme Fatale
awards ceremony tonight.’

‘Do you think it's the best thing for you to go to? There’s going to be plenty of drink flowing…’

‘I’m being paid to present an award Natalie. It’s work,’ he said and he left slamming the door. A few moments later there was a knock, it was Nicky.

‘How did it go?’ she asked.

‘I gave him a good talking to. Told him to learn his lines,’ was all I could answer.

Shine bright like a diamond

I went home and Gran helped me pick out an outfit for the
Femme Fatale
awards. I told her about Ryan’s proposal.

‘I hev had many proposals since your grandfather died,’ said Gran, as I pulled on a blue dress.

‘You have? How many?’ I asked.

‘Seven gay men, and three straight,’ she said. She looked at me then shook her head. I unzipped the dress and chucked it on the growing pile next to her on the bed. ‘I said no to all the straight ones, but I could hev married the gays…’

‘Why didn’t you then?’ I asked pulling a black beaded dress off its hanger.

‘Vell, I believe that marriage is about love and it should be for life. I loved your grandfather. He was the only man for me, forever…’

I paused; she wiped a tear from her eye. I stepped into the black dress and zipped it up

‘Ah yes,’ she cried clapping her hands. ‘Natalie, that is the dress! You look beautiful.’

I smoothed it down and turned looking in the mirror. Gran had very good taste.

‘But how many women get one man proposing to her, let alone two?’ I asked.

‘Just because a man proposes, doesn’t mean anything. It’s vat
you
vant… Now, bring me your jewellery box.’

I went to the bathroom and grabbed the little wooden box I keep bits and bobs in.

‘But what if Ryan is the one? And I don’t know it?’ I asked bringing it back and handing it to Gran. ‘But I did know it, because I didn’t say yes, yes?’
 

‘Natalie you are answering your own questions,’ said Gran giving me a look. There was a pause as she raked her fingers through my jewellery box. She started tutting.

‘Natalie, diamonds are a girl’s best friend, all you have in this sad little box are enemies! Go and get my jewellery box, it’s behind your television.’

I went and retrieved it from the top of her suitcases, still sitting unpacked, and brought it back. It was a huge heavy box of varnished wood with a built-in combination lock. I turned away politely as she entered the code. There was a click and a creaking sound. It was inlaid with purple, and three tiers popped up when the lid opened.

‘Now, let me see,’ she said sorting through an impressive array of jewels. ‘Ah, yes. You
must
vear this.’

She held out a necklace inlaid with diamonds.

‘Wow,’ I said. ‘I can’t, they must be worth a fortune. Are they real diamonds?’

Gran snorted. ‘This is white gold inlaid with
flawless
diamonds, exceptional purity,’ she said. They blazed in the light from her reading lamp above.

‘Where did you get these?’

‘I vas courted by a rich Arab once. Gay proposal number two,’ she said.

‘And he let you keep the necklace?’

Gran snorted again. ‘I got these on our second date. The engagement ring, I didn’t keep. I could never hev gone through vith it. I could never hev vorn a burka. I used to get panic attacks ven I vore my snood!’

‘You should write a book about your life,’ I said.

‘No. Writing about my life would mean it’s over. I still have many chapters I want to live through. Now try it on,’ said Gran. I leant down and she fastened it round my neck. I went to the mirror. It looked stunning with my dress.

‘I vant you to be the last person to vear this, and this awards show is the perfect place,’ she said.

‘Last person, what do you mean?’

‘I am going to sell it. I can pay the remainder of my debts and find some place to live.’

‘Gran, you can stay with me as long as you like,’ I said.

‘I know my darlink, but you hev a life, and hopefully I vill hev one again soon.’

I turned back to the mirror.

‘Just don’t go valking about in the street. They vould be a mugger’s dream,’ added Gran.

Nicky and Xander arrived in a taxi just before seven, and we made the short journey over to the Royal Albert Hall.
 

‘You look a lot better than you did at today’s run-through!’ said Nicky admiring my outfit. She had on a fabulous red gown which showed off her curves. Her dark hair was loose down her back, and she had accessorised with dramatic red-framed glasses.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I’m just trying to blot it out of my mind.’

She leant closer.

‘Are those diamonds real, honey?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I borrowed them from Gran.’

‘My God, what are they worth? They’re proper Jackie O shit!’ cried Nicky.

‘Who’s Jackie O?’ asked Xander who was sat beside her in a smart little tuxedo. We both screamed.

‘This is what happens when we hire someone who thinks 1992 is in the past,’ said Nicky.

‘I wasn’t born until 1995,’ said Xander.

By the time we’d explained who Jackie O was, we were sweeping up to the Albert Hall. It sat like a colossal stack of terracotta sponge cakes, all lit up with blues and pinks. The road and the steps leading up to the pillared entrance were crawling with photographers and screaming fans.