“Your minute is coming out of your performance time.”
“Dora’sfine. She’s just being a scaredy-cat.” Isis sets down her phone on the corner of the stage and jabs at the screen with her finger. “She’ll get into it once I start the song. Hang on, the wi-fi dropped out. I’ll just—”
BANG.
Dora shrieks. Several actors dive for cover. But it’s only the studio doors banging open to admit a figure in a dapper pinstripe suit.
Gideon-bloody-Blake.
“Sorry, I’m late.” Gideon skulks up to me. His fingers graze the edge of my table, inches from my arm. I feel every place he doesn’t touch. “My, what a stunning batch of talent we have assembled before us. We have our work cut out for us whittling down the list.”
“No conversing with the judges before the auditions.” I glare at Gideon. “Get in line and take a number—”
“I’m not auditioning. I’m a helpful behind-the-scenes type, providing comic relief and endless back massages…” Gideon whirls around to glare at Maisie. “You didn’t ask her, did you?”
Maisie looks sheepish. “Not as such.”
“That’s why steam is coming out of her ears. When you said that she still wanted me to turn up today, even though sheexplicitlytold me she never wanted to see me again…”
Maisie sinks into her seat. “I may have fudged the truth a little.”
Gideon’s eyes flash. “You said she’d beexcitedto see me.”
“Yes, well…” Maisie shifts uncomfortably. “I thought she would be. I may have underestimated the depth of Arabella’s ire. But it’s for a good cause! Can’t you two work it out for the sake of the show?”
Maisie makes puppy dog eyes at Gideon, who looks like a hot air balloon after one of Sarah Bernhardt’s raucous champagne parties over Paris – deflated, lifeless, kind of shell-shocked.
Gideon twists to face me, and the pain in his eyes shocks the retort from my lips. “I only came today because Maisie asked me. I thought you wanted me here, and that maybe this event would help make Sanctus more a part of the community. I never intended to make you uncomfortable. I’ll leave right now.”
“Wait!” Beth stalks across the room, swiping my water glass and taking a long sip. “You’re not going anywhere. As the variety show organiser, I have a say. And I say that unless Gideon works on this, I’ll withdraw my sponsorship.”
Now Beth is grinning at me.Oh, I get it.They think that if Gideon and I work together, I’ll be able to get more information out of him about the murders.
Is there no part of my life free from his incessant Gideon-ness?
Apparently not.
“Fine,” I huff. “You stay. But you’re not the director.Iam. I’m not interested in discourse. I am correct in all matters. Understand?”
Gideon’s shoulders sag. He slumps into theDOGSBODYchair beside me. His leg brushes mine, sending an unexpected jolt of warmth through my body.
He jerks his legs away.
“I swear, I didn’t set this up,” he whispers as he pulls the stack of audition sheets towards himself. “I promise, you won’t even know I’m here.”
Gideon lied.
I’ve been stuck in this room with him for three and a half hours, and not only am I aware of his existence, but I want to commit crimes against him.
Many crimes. All the crimes.
At last, we made it through the final act – Richard from the Rose & Wimple playing “Don’t Fear the Reaper” on pint glasses. I collapse on top of my judging pad, my fingers aching from the number of times I’ve writtenOH HELL NOin my notes. Beth and Maisie usher the would-be performers out of the theatre, and the four of us pull up chairs to deliberate over our final line-up.
“So far, we’ve got the Argleton Volunteer Firefighters, Reverend Kirkpatrick and the church choir, Maisie and James Pond, and the Naughty Knitting Club’s rendition of ‘No Scrubs’.” Beth glances down at her list. “And absolutely no jugglers.”
“Are we sure we don’t want even one juggler?” Gideon raises an eyebrow. “I thought the fellow with the chickens was quite—”
“No jugglers,” I growl.
