Fallout (34 page)

Nina held the script in one hand, looking at Paul, vulnerable.

‘
I’m sorry you saw my dad like that
,’ Paul read.

‘
Forewarned is forearmed
,’ said Nina. ‘
It wasn’t your fault.
’

And on. They read the scene through without stopping: the lines told of Tom’s embarrassment, Mary’s strength; the beginnings of their naïve pursuit of a home together. The lines told it, but it was not there.

Then there was silence.

‘Thank you very much, Nina,’ said Bridge. ‘Great.’

Nina looked from one to the other. She glanced at Luke. He smiled at her, trying to transmit something – encouragement.

‘I didn’t feel very – it didn’t feel right. I can do it without the script. I do know it. It might be better?’

‘It was great.’

‘Could we do it again?’

Maggie and Paul exchanged glances with Bridge.

‘Of course, darling,’ said Bridge. ‘Let’s go again. Are you all right with the scene?’

‘No, it’s wonderful,’ said Nina. She looked at Luke again. ‘It’s not the scene. Sorry, the sun is shining right in my eyes, I can’t see anything when I—’ She turned her face towards the window to demonstrate her discomfort. ‘Could we put the blind down?’

They did, with a lot of fumbling and arguing, while Nina apologised. They talked about the play a little, and then, in the warm shadows, she went again.

When she had left them there was a long uncomfortable silence as her footsteps receded down the stairs.

‘That was – very nice,’ said Bridge.

‘Yes,’ said Paul.

Maggie swivelled in her chair to look at Luke.

‘Sorry, Oddball,’ she said.

Luke shrugged it off. They were all looking at him as if he were meant to add the full stop to the sentence of her rejection. He shook his head. But he couldn’t say anything, there was nothing to say. They began to talk amongst themselves about lunch and where to go.

Luke got up and left, running down the stairs to catch up with Nina in the street.

She hadn’t gone far, she was waiting for him.

‘And?’ she said, eagerly. ‘So?’

‘Well done, fantastic,’ he said.

People passed them by, slow in the sun, with the traffic a distant rumble.

‘I don’t think it went very well,’ she said. ‘What did Bridge think?’

‘I just came down—’

‘What did
you
think? Luke?’

Luke didn’t know how to answer her. ‘How did it feel?’

‘How did it
feel
?’ Her voice rose, taking refuge in hysteria. ‘I had
you
pretending you didn’t know me. Paul
hates
me. That
Maggie
woman—’

‘Paul doesn’t hate you.’

‘Oh shit,’ she said, starting to shake. ‘Shit. They don’t want me, do they?’

‘They didn’t say.’

‘Why are you here? Why aren’t you up there? Talk to them. Luke!’

‘I’m just the writer,’ he said, to make her smile, feeling useless truth fading.

‘You think I’m no good!’ she said. ‘I hate readings. Some actresses audition well – I just don’t. I never have. But there’s so much more to find. Luke?’

‘I’ll see what they say,’ he said. ‘Nina, I don’t
know
what they think. I’ll call you.’

‘No,’ she said, wiping her tears, pulling away, hurt and challenging. ‘There’s no reason you should fight for me, is there?’

And he, of course, surrendered.

‘Every reason,’ he said. ‘You know there is.’

Paul went to dinner with Maggie and Bridge. When he got home, after midnight, Leigh was in the sitting room with some girlfriends, four of them, and the room thick with hash smoke.

‘Hello, girls,’ he said, going into the kitchen.

‘Paul!
Girls?
I’m thirty years old!’ shouted Tania, a pale woman with a huge round perm, sitting cross-legged by the window.

‘Christ,’ muttered Paul and opened the fridge.

‘There’s wine in the fridge,’ called Leigh.

‘I know; I can see it,’ said Paul to himself.

He heard a wave of female laughter in the other room. The butt of their jokes were often male but they were not laughing at him, they were oblivious to him; he wasn’t sure if it was better or worse to be insignificant in their eyes. He poured himself a glass, left it on the counter and took the bottle back in, offering it around but it was taken from him.
Thanks
, they said.
Cheers
.

Paul left them to it and stood in the kitchen with his drink. Leigh came in.

‘Sorry, they’ll go soon.’

‘Not on my account,’ said Paul.

‘Of course not. How are you?’ she said.

‘Yeah, fine,’ said Paul. ‘Nina came in to read for Mary today.’

‘For Mary? She’s all wrong for it,’ said Leigh.

‘I know. She wasn’t
bad
– just wrong. Luke wanted it.’

Leigh let Luke’s name fall unremarked upon between them.

‘So have you found anyone?’

‘Not yet. Karen Melrose tomorrow morning.’

‘That could work.’

‘Yes.’

They didn’t hug. They didn’t kiss, and Leigh stood awkwardly in the doorway as another wave of laughter from the sitting room broke over them.

When Leigh read
Diversion
, she had cried. Paul had read it first, of course, and left it for her, but she hadn’t picked it up – hadn’t touched it – for days. Seeing Luke himself was one thing, and the three of them together, not as they had been but a reminder, like hearing an old loved song. But reading his play felt dangerous. She resisted that close-up glimpse of him. She finally read it when Paul had gone one morning, before coffee, when her mind was open and vulnerable, before common sense could guard her. She read it and was filled with pride for Luke; that he had come so far and for the risks he was taking. She almost held her breath – had to remember to breathe. She read jealously, in self-damning recognition of his art. She read it and cried. She cried because she missed him. And because the play was so good. And because she did not know if she would ever have enough guts to make anything at all of her own.

She had carefully left Paul and Maggie alone with the play, and from her prosaic place at the Duke of York’s found real delight in watching Paul do something so important, the thing that he had always wanted to do. She supported him from the background as though she felt she owed it to him.

The evening after her audition for the Depot, Tony found Nina curled up on the chaise in her little room at the back. She was crying. There was a nearly finished bottle of champagne and her small silver pillbox of Valium next to her on the table.

‘Darling,’ he said. ‘Darling, what is it?’

He went and sat next to her. Her face was hidden.

‘I won’t get it,’ she said. ‘They don’t want me for it.’

She kept crying. She was like an abandoned child, abject. He soothed her and stroked her hair.

‘Darling,’ he said. ‘My poor darling girl. Look at me?’

She turned; reluctant, tear-stained and ugly.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked and she nodded.

‘Why don’t I run you a bath? Come along, up we go.’

He took her hand and helped her up the stairs. He ran a bath and laid out her night things on the bed. When she came out of the bathroom he unwrapped the towel from her damp body and held out her nightdress and robe for her, then he tucked her into their bed.

‘Shall I bring you a nice glass of champers?’ he asked.

She nodded.

‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered, ‘everything will be fine, I promise.’

And Nina did not call Luke.

Three days went by.

Four.

He tried to call her but she did not answer the telephone. He waited. There was nothing else. Just the waiting. Not work, not sleep. Just the gap she cut from him. The blank notebooks on his tidy desk remained. There was nothing to put down, nothing to say but that he needed her. He wrote her name just to fill up the pages, disgusted at the banality of his longing. He wrote her letters, pleading with her, prayers and promises – as if by writing he could summon her. He wrote in English, French and Polish to beg her with all of himself and then, scared by his own derangement, threw them all away.

On the fifth day the phone rang.

‘Luke, Lou Farthing,’ said Lou’s voice – no Melanie putting him through, just him.

Luke adjusted. Caught up. Did not speak.

‘Lou Farthing,’ said Lou again. ‘How are you, my boy?’

‘Fine, thanks,’ said Luke and right away he knew.

The last few days had been preparing him so that when the way out was offered him he’d take it gratefully, and be free.

‘Good. This play of yours. Have you signed contracts with Maggie O’Hanlan?’

Luke was beaten before he answered. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘They’re going back and forth.’

‘Lawyers and agents! My God.’

‘Yes.’

‘All right then. I won’t ask again, Luke. I don’t play games. For now – just now – my offer of the Trafalgar is still good. If you like, we can meet you with your agent to discuss it. Are you there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Just one proviso. We have some casting obligations.’

‘I understand.’

‘We think Nina Jacobs would be perfect in the role of the girl . . . the girlfriend?’

‘Mary,’ said Luke quietly.

There was a pause.

‘Yes, Mary. You haven’t signed anything yet, so we’ve got time. Let me know when you’ve made up your mind, eh?’

‘No. You can have it.’

‘What did you say? I beg your—’

‘You can have the play.’

‘That’s marvellous. the Trafalgar is the best place for it. You’ve written a big play. We can do it justice. You should be pleased.’

‘Yes.’

‘A deal, then? Shall I call Ben?’

‘A deal,’ said Luke. ‘No. I’ll call him.’

Before Lou could say anything else he put the phone down.

He sat at the desk by the empty notebooks and tried to form the sentences he would say to his agent. His mind felt as if it were not his own.

In a very short time the telephone rang again.

‘Luke?’ Nina’s voice was breathless. ‘Darling?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it all right?’

‘Of course.’ He felt far away.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t ask them to, you do know that? I’m so
sorry
. Your lovely Paul and everything – it’s horrible. Do you want me to turn it down?’

‘Of course not.’

‘You’re sure? You sound strange. I should turn it down. I will.’

She was upset. She meant it. He stood up and began to pace, the long cord trailing after him, tugging, and her gentle voice in his ear.

‘No. Don’t,’ he said, and then the lie, ‘It’s fine.’ And again. ‘It’s fine. It’s wonderful.’

‘When can I come?’ she said, alight. ‘I can’t be happy until I see you.’

‘Come now.’

‘I can’t
now
,’ she said immediately. ‘Tony—’

Luke stopped pacing.

He sat down, bent forward around the telephone.

‘Whenever you want,’ he answered her quietly, bowed. ‘I’m here.’

In the moments after he put down the telephone he realised he had to speak to Paul, before anyone knew, before the agent’s call, the coldness of the battle that would follow.

He took his key, left the flat, and ran out into the street to find him and confess.

Maggie was speaking to Christopher Morgan’s agent offering him the father’s role and Paul was on the other phone talking to Bridge about set design and budget. His feet were up on the desk and he was sifting through index cards while reassuring him the Depot would be ready. When Maggie put down the phone it rang again, immediately.

Paul knew at once that something had happened. He tried to take in what Bridge was saying to him and listen to Maggie’s conversation at the same time. He couldn’t work out what was wrong.

‘You are joking,’ she said. ‘Jesus fucking Christ, Ben, tell me you’re taking the piss—’

Paul thought it must be Ben Ryan, the electrical engineer from his father’s office, and wondered what new setback he must overcome now. He imagined sparking wires, deaths, falling rigs. Maggie gestured violently for him to get off the phone.

‘Bridge, something’s come up. I’ll call you back,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

He put down the phone as Maggie got to her feet, still speaking into the phone.

‘All right,’ she said shrilly and Paul pitied whoever it was on the other end. ‘Well, I can imagine you are. It’s appalling. Yes, do, you tell him. And you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.’

She slammed the phone into the base, making the bell reverberate.

‘What?’ said Paul, laughing with nerves. ‘For Christ’s sake, what?’

‘You’re going to love this,’ said Maggie. ‘That was Luke’s agent.’

‘Ben Greene?’ said Paul, slow-wittedly.

‘Luke has
given the play
to L. M. Farthing—’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He’s given
Diversion
to Farthing.’

‘He can’t have done.’

‘Well, he fucking has.’

‘But what—’ Paul began and then stopped, wondering. As Maggie started to speak again they heard quick footsteps on the stairs, a knock at the door, and then, like a physical manifestation of betrayal, Luke came in.

He was hot and out of breath, looking from one to the other.

‘What have you done?’ said Maggie, immediately rounding on him as if he had been there all along, as if they were already arguing.

‘What’s going on?’ said Paul. ‘Luke?’

Paul waited for Luke to deny it or explain but Maggie exploded viciously.

‘What’s going
on
is that your
friend
has decided the Trafalgar is the best place to showcase his girlfriend’s limited talents and, not having
signed a contract
yet, has spoken to Lou Farthing and given his word the play will go to him,’ said Maggie. ‘Oh, and by the way,
her husband
is running the Trafalgar now, right, Luke? So that’s all
very
cosy. How lovely for you all.’

Maggie and Paul both stood, staring at Luke, waiting.

In the short pause before another word was spoken Paul had the incongruous thought occur that something was wrong with Luke, and that he needed his help, but it evaporated into nothing when Luke said only, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry?’ said Paul.

‘I wanted to tell you first,’ said Luke. ‘I’m sorry.’

Maggie sat down, pulling herself back from the conversation to observe the two of them coldly.

‘Because of Nina?’ said Paul quietly.

Luke nodded.

‘Right,’ said Paul. ‘I get you. It’s done, is it?’

‘Yes,’ said Luke. ‘It’s done.’

Paul didn’t move. ‘That’s that, then,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing more to be said, is there?’

Luke began to speak but Paul stopped him. ‘No. No. I’ll speak to your agent.’

‘Paul—’

‘I’ll deal with Ben from now on. Understand?’

‘Of course.’

Luke had the grace at least not to justify himself. It was Maggie who had the luxury of insults, and bile.

‘You self-serving, sneaky little
shit
,’ she said, and Luke nodded with a half-smile that was like agony, then looked up at her again. ‘You absolute bastard, you shafted us – and your play.
Your play!
’ she said.

And he stood quietly as her insults rained upon him, rightfully acknowledging them as his due.

When Luke had gone there was silence. Marigold went to Maggie and rested her wet muzzle on her lap. Maggie stroked her head. Then Paul said, ‘I’m sorry.’