Pride, Prejudice and Jasmin Field (25 page)

So she just pretended it wasn’t going to happen. She’d deal with the play first, then Gilbert’s piece second. One trauma at a time. And she’d keep writing her columns until she was told to stop. For some reason, Gilbert was taking his time over publishing his story. Either he was in a price war with the papers - he had so many tabloid contacts he was probably auctioning it - or he was waiting until the morning after the play, so that the piece would be newsworthy. Either way, Jazz was living on borrowed time.

She began to notice over the next few days that her writing style had changed. She was far less brash now. Her columns had a moving humility that she just couldn’t shake. And she had to admit, it added resonance to her writing that had never really been there before. Within days, Jazz and Josie started getting fan mail from readers of the News.

*

The dress rehearsal was crap. Jazz was beginning to find everything about the play nightmarish. Everyone had made their own spaces in the changing rooms - narrow rooms with naked bulbs round the vast mirrors - and she had thought it would help if she went in the far corner with George. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Everyone was hysterical with nerves and excitement, and she was stifled by it all. She felt suffocated. She could hardly dress herself, her hands were so cold. And the first time she looked at herself in the mirror in her costume, she hardly recognised herself. In the low-cut Empress-style dress

she could actually see the palpitations of her heart.

Backstage was suddenly a dark, terrifying place. As were Jazz’s bowels. She wondered if she could hide

a toilet under her petticoat.

When all the women had finished putting on their beautiful dresses and putting up their hair, they sat on their make-up desks, chewing gum or drinking bottled water and laughing boisterously. Weirdly enough, everyone felt far more comfortable in their soft, easy-flowing costumes than in tight modern dress. And, to Jazz’s delight, everyone with tans looked decidedly odd. Her paleness looked most becoming, she thought with a tired smile. Everyone was too impatient and excited to listen to Mrs Bennet’s anecdotes any more, but she still insisted on delivering them. Every time she realised no one was listening, she pretended she’d lost a hairclip or something. Jazz found everyone pointless and ridiculous.

There was a knock on the door. Harry’s voice sounded from the corridor. ‘Are you all decent?’

Jazz and George were the only two who didn’t try and say something funny to this. George was sitting staring at herself in the mirror, focusing. Jazz was staring at herself in the mirror, feeling nauseous.

Harry walked in. Everyone hushed.

He was wearing a white shirt tucked into breeches. His black leather boots went up to his knees. He hadn’t put his tie or his frockcoat on yet and the loose collar of his shirt revealed a beautiful chest. The words ‘gorgeous’, ‘dead’ and ‘drop’ came to Jazz’s mind, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember what order they should be in. Her mind was slush. She looked in the mirror to check that it wasn’t

oozing out of her ears.

Harry spoke quietly and calmly, with warmth in his voice. ‘You all look fabulous,’ he said. Jazz was overwhelmed with jealousy and stared fixedly at herself in the mirror. Harry coughed.

‘Now. They say that dress rehearsals are meant to be atrocious. Otherwise you won’t know how to cope when anything goes wrong on the night. But if you all focus and stay calm, I think we could have a hit

on our hands.’ Everyone looked at each other, grinning like idiots.

‘Beginners on in ten minutes,’ said Harry. ‘Break a leg.’ And with that he was gone. Everyone got silly again and Jazz thought she was going to faint.

Then George tapped her on the shoulder and without speaking, the two of them made their way down

the narrow corridor to the stage.

Standing in the wings, Jazz found she lost her sense of self. All she could see was the stage. When the music started playing and the lights dimmed, she felt herself walk purposefully into pitch-black darkness, aware that George was with her in the gloom. When the lights came on, she saw that George was perfectly poised. As soon as she had said her first line, Jazz was amazed to feel a sense of supreme serenity overcome her. She enjoyed every inflection, every pause, every movement. Her senses were heightened and her body was powerful. She could do anything.

When she walked off, her nerves returned but were less potent this time. She realised that being on stage was OK, it was being backstage that was terrifying. She wondered if she could manage to stay on stage

all night. She started getting a bit high. Everything was very funny. Mrs Bennet was such a poppet. She even gave Harry a big smile when they had to wait backstage together for one of the few scenes they

had together. When he gave her a condescending, Darcy-ish smile back, she wanted to prod him like

a little sister.

Then in their first long scene together, she botched it all up by confusing two of her similar lines. She

kept repeating the first one, forcing them to go round in a big circle of the script. She just couldn’t get

off the circle. Every time Harry tried to bring her back to the right line, her mind went blank and all she could think of was how thick his eyelashes were and how his eyes were almond-shaped. He looked like

a cow. It had helped when he tensed his perfect lips with barely repressed anger. The terror came back and the hysteria stopped. God, she thought helplessly. She was so unfocused.

After they’d come offstage, she apologised. He was already taking his frockcoat off. ‘Forget it,’ he said curtly. ‘Concentrate on your next scene.’ And he strode off. Damn, blast and buggery bollocks, Jazz thought as she straightened her petticoat.

After the dress rehearsal, everyone went for their last drink together before the big night. Harry was noticeable by his absence again and Jazz sensed his real character coming back to the fore. How long

had she thought he would be able to keep it up? Gilbert wasn’t there either and she was positive that he was writing about Josie and William. The latter was drunk again and flirting with Lizzy Bennet’s neighbour, Maria Lucas. She looked ecstatic to be the chosen one tonight.

Jazz looked over to see if Carrie was all right, and was pleased to see the shy young woman deep in conversation with Matt. At least she wasn’t on her own, thought Jazz, and joined them both. She tried

to stand so that Carrie couldn’t see William and as she chatted to them, she realised she was with her

two favourite people in the cast.

But the highlight of the day was when she and Mo sort of made up. Mo had come up to her at the bar.

‘What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’ she had asked with a nervy smile that betrayed her. Before Jazz had remembered they weren’t talking, she’d answered, ‘Thought you’d never ask,’ and they’d both grinned foolishly at each other. A great knot of unhappiness in Jazz’s stomach slid undone.

Then they’d remembered their loyalties and lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. But it had made Jazz feel far less depressed.

When she went home that night, Jazz tried to dream of nice things, but she couldn’t. All she could see every time she closed her eyes was Harry turning scornfully away from her and talking to someone else.

On the day of the performance, Jazz woke at 5:45 am. She’d been having a hideous nightmare. Just as she’d been about to go on stage, Purple Glasses had told her she had to swap parts with Jack and play

Mr. Bingley. ‘But I don’t know the lines,’ she’d panicked, to which Purple Glasses had replied, ‘No one will notice. Just mumble.’ Jazz had missed her cue and after what felt like hours of silence she’d finally wandered on stage, then she’d realised she was wearing Wellington boots and a chicken costume.

Jazz decided that getting up before six was preferable to trying to go back to sleep. She went into the kitchen and made herself a peppermint tea. She didn’t want a coffee, it might make her stressed.

She hadn’t planned anything very energetic for today. She was going to spend it relaxing have a hot bath and read a book, maybe watch a video or two. Hopefully George would pop over. Maybe even Mo.

As soon as she was dressed she nipped out and bought every single paper, then she took them home and scoured them for Gilbert’s piece about William’s sex romp with two-in-a-bed ‘happily married’ Josie Field. It wasn’t there. Feverishly, she read them again. Nope, it still wasn’t there. Thank God. Now all she had to worry about was the fact that her career was over, her family was about to be slandered by the press, Harry hated her, she’d lost Mo to a moron, George was suicidal and thanks to her, Josie and Michael were separated. Oh yes, and not to forget that she was the lead in a play tonight at which all the country’s famous people would be present. Piece o’ piss.

She dashed to the bathroom.

Half an hour later, she started going over the play.

By ten o’clock, she’d gone over every line in it. She’d listened to her tape of the play while having her bath and then moved the sofa to the edge of the lounge and gone over every stage direction.

Then she wrote a couple of paragraphs for her column about how nervous she felt. She always wrote

well about nerves. A couple of her own jokes actually made her laugh out loud. Brigit had been delighted that Jazz was in the play. It had been in the gossip columns for weeks now. Brigit had commissioned her to write a one-off feature about the day of the performance and cast party as well as her usual column.

As she turned off her computer and the screen fizzed to black, Jazz felt a surge of self-pity that this

might be her last column. Without it, she didn’t know what she’d do with herself.

She got up and lay on the floor in the middle of the lounge and practised her deep breathing. She was beginning to feel much calmer now. She’d start to get ready in a while.

Three loud knocks at the door frightened the life out of her. Someone must have let George in, or better still it was Mo.

She opened the door and was stunned to find Harry standing there.

‘Hello,’ she said.

‘Hello,’ he said.

Her mind was blank. She knew nothing except that she wished she wasn’t wearing her Goofy slippers.

‘Can I come in?’

‘Oh yes, of course,’ mumbled Jazz and opened the door. ‘Tea? Coffee? Peppermint tea?’

‘Coffee would be great,’ said Harry. Looking a bit confused, he walked over to the couch that she’d pushed to the back of the room and sat down on it. He looked rather small sitting so far away and was obviously feeling totally uncomfortable. He coughed.

Jazz went into the kitchen and tried to breathe deeply while she watched the kettle. She suddenly found the silence horribly oppressive.

She brought out a tray with a pot and two mugs.

She placed them on the coffee table, which was now a few feet away from Harry. He got up and sat cross-legged by the table. She sat down next to him.

‘Shall I be Mother?’ she asked for no good reason, and then tried desperately not to think of Freud.

He smiled a nod and they sat there for a while, cupping their mugs with their hands.

‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ she finally said, very quietly.

Harry put down the mug. He looked at her intently with his dark eyes.

Jazz stopped breathing.

‘I just wanted to see how you were. You seemed very tense at the dress rehearsal.’

Jazz started breathing again. Oh wow, how sweet. She’d never seen this side of him. Her heart beat faster and all her movements suddenly felt magnified. She tried to concentrate on slow, deep breaths.

‘Sorry about that bit where we went round in a circle,’ she managed to say.

Harry smiled. ‘It’s OK. It won’t happen tonight it’s never happened before. But change the line if it’ll make you feel better.’

Change the line? This late? Was he mad? She had visions of Elizabeth Bennet suddenly coming out with ‘The more my toes, tiddlypom’. It didn’t bear thinking about.

‘I’ll be fine, thanks.’

Harry smiled. ‘And everything else - is it OK? Or is it as bad as your column says it is?’

Jesus. He had followed her column into the News.

Jazz shrugged. ‘We’ll cope. Worse things have happened at sea, as they say.’ Why was she talking like

her mother? Any minute now she’d be telling him that he should take his coat off and feel the benefit.

‘I just wanted to say that everything will be OK. I know it will.’ Harry seemed to be quite certain of that. He continued, ‘Gilbert won’t do anything to hurt you or your family, I’m absolutely positive.’

Jazz was incredibly touched. She didn’t know what to say. Harry’s eyes were focusing on her feet. Dear God, she thought, why the Goofy slippers?

‘You may not believe it, but I sometimes get nervous. I have panic attacks,’ he was saying. ‘Not when

I’m on stage - that’s fine. It’s whenever I go on tube trains. I keep trying to overcome my claustrophobia but it happens every time.’ He was starting to gabble. ‘That’s why I finally bought my own car, although I hate driving. The last time I went on the Underground, I fainted in the carriage. It took them ages to wake me and drag me to a side office. Then when they realised who I was, they made me wait until they’d ordered a car to pick me up outside the station. They had to put all the trains on hold before I was able to leave. Otherwise I swear I’d still be there today,’ he half-laughed. ‘It was the most embarrassing day of my life. The only way I got out of there was by staring straight ahead and reciting “To be or not to be” until I reached daylight.’

Jazz stared at him in amazement.

‘It was the day of the auditions, actually,’ he continued. ‘The day we …” A little smile, a little cough.

And then he was back to normal.

‘You see, I focused, Jazz. And I got out in one piece. Focus is all -I honestly believe that. Just forget everything else that’s going on in your life - your writing, Josie’s divorce, Gilbert’s article - let it all go

and become Elizabeth Bennet. I know you can do it. It’s going to be a spectacular performance —