Fallout (27 page)

The second half. A falter, a trip in the flow of it, some mess-ups with the lines but then, again, it was off and away – and laughter, precious laughter, took it to the end.

In the crush of leaving, when the audience, loud and talkative, were funnelling through the doors and out, Nina followed the others down the long row, one after the other, with Paul behind her and Scott at the head of the charge, signalling like a flag-bearer, a shout of—

‘Come along!’ as they went.

‘Well done,’ she kept whispering, holding Luke’s hand where no one could see.

He was distracted and alight, with her and not with her. The others, whispering, glanced around to catch sight of the critics’ departure, then hurried down the sloping side aisle towards the stage. Nina stopped, tugging at Luke’s hand. Luke turned as Paul pushed past them.

‘Come on!’ said Luke, pulling her.

‘No, I can’t! I know half of them,’ she whispered in his ear.

‘Luke!’ Paul called from the end of the row.

Luke didn’t move. He said to Paul, ‘You go on.’ And then to Nina, ‘I’ll come with you. I don’t have to be there.’

She saw Paul staring, shocked.

‘Are you mad?’ she said.

‘Luke!’ snapped Paul, and a gesture, exasperated.

‘I’ll go to the pub,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait. I don’t mind.’

‘Then you’re staying?’ Luke asked. ‘Good, right, we can find a hotel and—’ His words were falling over themselves.

‘We’ll talk afterwards. Go!’

Like an animal released he was gone.

She put her collar up like a spy and went the other way out of the theatre and into the street quickly, elated, delighted with it all.

The theatre was almost empty as Paul and Luke hurried down the aisle.

‘Has she left him, then?’ said Paul.

‘I don’t know. I hope so.’

They went up the few steps on to the stage and crossed it.

Paul, in front, went off into the wings but Luke stopped, held by the charged air. All day, time had been out of step, racing away from him or falling behind. Now it came into sync. He looked out at the auditorium; the quiet rows of seats, repeating in their shallow arcs as they went back. Above, the gilded balcony and the big black lamps suspended, extinguished, cooling.

He stood behind the imaginary wall looking out at the world, and he felt he had come home.

Everyone was in and out of the dressing rooms, bottles opening, flattery and flirting, stupid relief instead of analysis, then into the bar – the dozen or so from Archery and the actors, one after the other. As the barmen cleared up and turned the lights up they took over the place. Luke couldn’t stop questioning, praising, pushing for absolutes, fast-running ecstasy outpacing order. Paul stayed close, occasionally resting his hand on Luke’s shoulder as if to keep him from disappearing.

They all said goodbye on the pavement beneath the dark canopy. Scott patted Luke’s back, winked, and left him without another word.

Luke and Paul were left alone.

‘It’s started,’ said Paul.

‘Critics,’ said Luke, suddenly cold. ‘Leonard Cubitt. Bloody hell, Kurtz.’

Paul shrugged. ‘No point thinking about it.’ He looked at his watch. ‘What are you doing now?’

‘Going to meet Nina.’

‘Want me to move out?’

‘We’ll find a hotel.’

‘Big spender now,’ said Paul.

Luke laughed. ‘I’ll sell my typewriter.’

‘No,’ said Paul, with sudden seriousness, ‘don’t do that. See you tomorrow. Be good.’

Luke turned and ran, the fastest he could run, jumping out into the street to avoid slamming into people – between the gutter and the night sky – street lights streaming in his vision.

Nina had found a hotel while she waited for Luke, standing with a drink by the pay phone with the Yellow Pages in the corner at the back of the pub. Last orders had been called before he came in.

He stood in the door and looked for her but she did not wave. She watched him, breathing hard in the doorway and looking round. She revelled in the secret observation of his face, alive with searching for her. As she watched, his expression changed, anxiety replacing joy. She couldn’t help it. She waited still, until she saw fear. Then, only then—

‘Luke.’

When he smiled, she smiled. He joined her.

‘I thought you’d gone.’

‘Did you? Look, I’ve found somewhere.’

He looked down at the phone book as if he’d never seen one.

‘I’ve called them. It’s called the Tower House. It looks nice. Small. I booked a room.’

‘The Tower House?’

‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel . . .’ she said.

‘What does that make me?’

‘Oh, the prince, I should think. Don’t get conceited.’

‘Doesn’t he get blinded in that one?’

‘By rose thorns.’

He looked down at the advertisement. ‘Well, I won’t – no roses in Ship Street,’ he said. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘I’ll watch you eat.’

‘Don’t want to,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

The man who gave them the room was in his dressing gown, nicotine stained and disapproving.

‘The lady said you’d be here before ten,’ he said. ‘It’s after eleven.’

‘Sorry,’ said Nina and she and Luke tried not to laugh and couldn’t look at each other.

He
shh’d
them as he led them up the creaking stairs and opened the door to their room.

‘Theatre people, are you?’

‘Yes,’ said Luke, revelling.

The man tapped the radiators, grumbled when they said it was cold, and told them breakfast finished at half past nine, as if people like them weren’t expected to make it out of bed at a decent hour.

‘There’s no tower,’ said Luke, to annoy him.

The man gave him a sour look. ‘You can see it from the window,’ he said.

When he had shut the door behind him they were alone.

‘He’s like someone out of your play,’ said Nina. ‘Your wonderful play, I mean.’

He smiled at her. ‘You don’t have to keep saying it.’

‘I do.’ She looked around at the chintzy bedspread, wardrobe and dressing table. ‘Well, it doesn’t smell,’ she said.

‘Are you tired?’ asked Luke, who felt he’d never sleep again.

‘No,’ said Nina, shivering.

He ran her a bath. She was shy and kept the door shut while she washed and Luke pulled back the bedspread and tried to see out of the window. The dressing table looked a good place to put his typewriter. He would be happy living here with her. He washed after her, getting warm too, and when he came out in a towel she was in bed, blankets to her chin, looking at him.

‘I feel a bit stupid,’ he said.

He got into bed. With all the hours ahead and no panic they were both intimidated, as if they had never been together alone before.

‘Will you put the light out?’ she asked.

‘Seriously?’

She nodded. He put out the light. Now they were both blind, just the two of them together in the dark. He kissed her. There was time for everything now, time to please her, time to wait, and hold her, and be in every second of the feel of her hair against his face, slim arms around him; time to run his hand slowly down the naked length of her and sense each quiet, heating moment of her gradual wanting. She opened her legs for him.

‘Don’t wait,’ she said. ‘Now.’

There was luxury inside her. Held in her warmth he could stop, and stay, just kiss her and feel her moving up to him, and around him, both of them breathing quietly and close, pressing the moment to its perfect tension – then further, finding what she wanted with all the strength and sweetness celebrated, until she trembled, and her soft breath became like weeping and she was broken apart for him.

And Nina, when Luke at last surrendered, felt a strange possessive joy, as if she had brought him down with her. She put her hand on the back of his neck as he drifted, his mind slipping into the quiet pause, waiting for the return to life that followed.

He was leaning on her shoulder and it hurt her arm.

‘Get off,’ she said, because she had no proper words to make sentences.

He went to the side and they resettled. He began to play with strands of her hair over her face, twisting them in his fingers and annoying her with them. She laughed. They held each other.

‘So have you left him?’ he asked, unconsciously echoing Paul.

‘No,’ said Nina.

‘When will you tell him?’

There was silence. Her mouth was near his chest, he could feel her breath stop-starting as she thought.

‘He knows,’ she said.

Several thoughts occurred to Luke, several feelings – relief, panic – then he said, ‘How did he find out?’

‘I think he found your postcards.’

‘Where?’

‘In my dressing room.’

His mind raced. It was getting difficult for him to keep still.

‘Cigarette,’ she said.

He sat up gratefully and not wanting to put on the light felt around in the dark for her bag on the floor. He had to get out of bed, then fell over, was forced to switch on the light. She hid her head from the glare under the pillow while he found the cigarettes and an ashtray and began to get cold again before jumping back into bed and returning them to darkness.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Safe,’ and she removed the pillow, put it behind her and sat up.

He felt his way to giving her a cigarette and watched her face illuminated as she lit it.

‘I’d say you look like an oil painting but you’re lighting a fag,’ he said. ‘It’s the light and dark. Chiaroscuro, love. It’s like a Rembrandt.’

‘Big nose and bad teeth?’ she said.

‘Leonardo then.
Madonna and Child
.
Madonna and Fag
.’

‘Divine.’

‘You are. So if he knows . . .’ He couldn’t finish. He tried again: ‘Well, if he knows, what did he say?’

Nina smoked in the dark, and was silent.

Luke sat up so that he was next to her, burnt by jealousy, extreme pain that he had not asked for and could not explain. He didn’t think he had the right to demand anything but felt still all the rage and distress of the betrayed.

‘You aren’t going to tell me what he said?’ he waited. ‘Nina, what did you tell him about me?’

Nina heard his honest hurt and again, she was surprised by him. He wasn’t even trying to hide it from her, he laid himself open and defenceless.

‘Was he angry?’ he said. ‘Was he – upset?’

She thought of Tony, and what had happened between them that night – his tastes and his persuasions. It was disgusting to even have it in her mind while she was there with Luke, but at the same time it was almost as if it had happened to somebody else.

‘Tony seems to think it’s all right,’ she said, hating the words, almost a whisper.

‘
Seems to think it’s all right?
’

She heard his shock. She felt older than him not younger; older and full of shame.

‘What’s
all right
about it?’ he said loudly. ‘How can he think—’

‘Luke – please, can we not? I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Right. Okay. Except – no. Because I don’t understand. I don’t understand what you’re doing here then. He knows; you’re here. It was my . . .’ He gestured in the dark towards the window, as if he were going to say something about the play but then, with too many things in his mind to articulate them, stopped.

After a moment he said, ‘Nina, what the fuck is going on?’

And then he stood up, quickly, just to get away from her, and turned on the light in the bathroom.

She put out her cigarette with fumbling fingers, watching him as he washed his face, turning the taps on full and splashing handfuls, vigorously, then the towel – all over his face and neck. Even knowing he was angry – upset – she loved watching him.

He came back and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the covers across to protect his nakedness. The light from the bathroom fell across them.

‘It’s fucking freezing in here,’ he said.

‘Get back into bed.’ She touched his shoulder but he pulled away. ‘Please?’

He turned to look at her directly but it wasn’t the anger she expected, it was truth. She had hurt him. She was hurting him. She hated it – but also, somewhere deeper, she felt delight that she could matter so much, and was ashamed.

‘What are you doing here with me?’ he said. ‘What is this?’

Nina was silent.

‘I’m not here for fun,’ he said urgently. ‘I’ve done that. I’ve . . . girls, I mean. I don’t know what
you
think we’re doing, but I’m not here to mess around. I want you.’

She looked away, wishing he’d stop, hugging herself with her arms, but he didn’t.

‘I know I haven’t got a place of my own,’ he said. ‘I haven’t got any money—’

‘Luke—’

‘But I’m not broke or anything. I’ve got my advance and—’ He gave a quick laugh, mocking himself. ‘I binned the bins.’ She looked away, uncomfortably. ‘But I don’t know how the play is going to do, so I can’t make any – promises about the future.’

‘Stop it, I don’t want you to,’ she said harshly.

He was silent. She started to cry. At first the tears just came fast, and fell, but then the pain in her chest made her sob, and she hid her face. She couldn’t tell him how the corrupt bargain with Tony had been struck; she had not admitted to herself until now that she had agreed to it.

Everything was spoiled. What had been perfect was wrong and bad, and it was she who had done it. She had run from Tony, from him and from her mother, into Luke’s sanctuary, thoughtlessly.
She was to have her friends and he was to have his
. She didn’t want it like that. She wanted to be clean and to be able to give to him. She cried and found she was rocking, breathing hard and rocking, her head light, and misty hysteria blurring the edges of her misery.

‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Don’t do that.’

She couldn’t stop. High sounds from her throat, growing panic. He moved across to her, put his arms around her rigid body.

‘Nina . . .’

He hushed her, and wiped at her tears as if she were a broken toy he was trying to put back together.

‘Don’t do that,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t know how to do anything,’ said Nina. ‘I can’t do anything right.’