Zach cocks his head. ‘And have you?’
‘My auntie Doreen was a medium. She ran seances in Nana’s front room. After a few years she’d earned enough to buy the house off the council and Nana was thrilled. But then my granddad turned up and started throwing things about because he was a union man and he didn’t agree with privatisation. So we moved, but he followed us.’
Zach wrinkles his nose. Sensible, really, how thisshow attracts people who are already acquainted with the workings of other worlds. He thinks of his own mother, picking mugwort and elderberries on the common behind their house, muttering under her breath as she stirred that sludge in the saucepans.
‘Is that what this show is?’
Zach takes another bite of a pancake. ‘Sort of. A bit weirder sometimes, but that’s the general gist.’
He watches Lara’s face for a moment to see if she’s afraid. A flicker of curiosity, but otherwise she seems admirably composed.
‘Right. Well, I think the easiest thing to do is for you to stick by me.’ He has a gulp of coffee that almost scalds his throat but feels good – he needs that warmth in his bones to get them going. ‘Ask me any questions you like but I might not know the answers.’
Zach finishes his pancakes and goes back to the serving hatch, where he swaps his empty plate for two more plates stacked with pancakes and a fresh mug of coffee.
Gino nudges the jug of milk towards him. ‘Lighten it up a bit to stop the jitters?’
Zach grimaces. ‘No thanks. Milk’s always dodgy these days, Gino. No offence.’
He brings his plates back to the booth and pushes one towards Lara.
‘Eat. You’ll need it.’
She pokes her plate with a fork but she doesn’t put it to her mouth. Zach wonders where he should start. On the dayof his first pledge – almost eleven years ago now – they had stopped in a deserted seaside fairground with water slides and sandpits and a lagoon filled with pedaloes and dinghies. Juliet had pointed to the Grit, wearing the gaudy colours of a Neapolitan ice cream, and told him that nothing else mattered but the show.All the rest, she said,is noise.
Zach wonders if Juliet ever thinks of him now, knowing it’s unlikely. ‘First I’ll tell you about the show. Have you ever worked in ballet before?’
‘This is my first job. I saw an advert inThe Stage, I rang the number and now I’m here.’
‘Right.’ Zach feels a little pang of disappointment, although he knows everyone’s got to start somewhere. ‘Well, ballet’s tricky because the buggers move around, but it’s fun. This show is a dream to light, really. LX department is you, me and Derek the follow spot, but in the mornings and before the show he does stage set up, and he spends most of act three in the stage left wing.’Which is a blessing, really, Zach thinks. He won’t scare her off yet. Plenty of time for her to learn about Derek.
Zach spears another pancake, eats it in two bites. He tries to finish the whole mouthful before he starts talking again.Your table manners are atrocious, Juliet used to laugh.
‘Mackie’s our direct boss, he’s a good egg. Knows the show inside out, has our back when Belinda goes on the warpath. We set up in the flies, wing booms and footlights, but sometimes the Grit fucks around and we lose a few wing flats if it decides to be smaller that day.’
Lara stares at him, a fork poised in her hand, the honey on her pancakes glistening undisturbed on her plate.
‘You look like you’ve got a question.’
He can see her thinking back over everything he’s just said, trying to find something to latch on to that she can make sense of. ‘What’s the Grit?’
‘Ah.’ Zach finishes his mouthful and drains his coffee. ‘Bring that plate and follow me.’
He fills a mug again from the urn and bounds down the aisle between the booths. He’s starting to feel like himself, more than himself really, with someone to watch him. He’s putting his best foot forwards, as his mum would have said, showing himself to his best advantage. He feels self-consciousness settle on him. He better not fuck it up, as his mum would also have said.
‘Ta, Gino,’ he calls as he slides his plate across the serving hatch. ‘We’ll bring hers back at lunchtime.’
Gino gives a mock salute as Zach pulls open the door to the carriage and holds it open for Lara behind him. He jumps down from the train and turns to see her gazing out at the mist. He wonders if he should offer his hand to help her down or if she would consider that patronising. If he’d offered to help Juliet she’d have taken his hand and crushed it. He settles for taking Lara’s plate and folder from her and standing aside in what he hopes is a gallant manner. She jumps down, landing clumsily on the carpet of evergreen needles.
‘Okay, I know you asked something else but we’ll starthere. This is the Grub, our train. Home.’ He gestures towards the carriage behind him, sleek and shiny and speckled with condensation. Today it appears as an old-fashioned steam train, painted forest-green with little black bolts holding each iron sheet in place. He can just about see the bell frame through the mist, a large bronze bell hanging in a grid from a gigantic iron scaffold above the engine car at the front.
She looks sharply at him, fear starting to shadow her face.
‘Did it look different to you earlier?’
Lara nods.
He sighs. How did Juliet describe this to him? He can barely remember now. Something about the way that although everyone’s dreams are different they all share symbols.
