Then, Michael went into an alcohol induced coma, so Adriana had to replace him permanently. Oliver and Medea divorced. Medea chose another company and her role was taken over by the emotionally unstable Angelique. Oliver fell into depression and, lastly, Sarah decided to try her luck in Broadway and moved to New York.
Unlike all of them, I stayed here, mending costumes in my spare time, with a hysterical leading lady, a ruthless artistic director and a director suffering from panic disorder.
Believing I had gained enough experience, even though I worked in a secondary production, I started giving mycvto the artistic directors of the top West End shows, such asMamma mia!, Les MisérablesandThe Phantom of the Opera…
I’m still waiting for an answer, but they promised they would let me know. I don’t think my chances will be affected much by the fact that I answered ‘Who?’ to the question: ‘What do you think of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s style?’
I’m still in touch with Sarah and she told me that, if she finds something good for me in New York, she’ll let me know. I’d give anything to move there. London isn’t my cup of tea, with its fog, its sombreness and the monarchy… well, of course it’s easier for Sarah, as she comes from a rich family and she can afford a high life in theus, whereas I have to watch my pennies here.
I’ve always lived with my parents in a block of flats in Lewisham, an area in South East London which perhaps doesn’t stand among those with the best reputation. If Londoners don’t love going south of the river Thames, well, I live precisely in the extreme south. When I had my first job, I realised that I couldn’t afford to rent a flat closer to the city centre, so my mum and dad agreed with the owner of our flat to tidy up our basement and turn it into a sort of studio flat. It’s not that bad, actually, I even have a window. Yes, maybe sometimes derelicts fall asleep right outside it and there isn’t much sunlight, but at least I have one.
As opposed to mine, Sarah’s place was stunning: a brand new studio – a real one – located in Fulham, where I often stayed for the night, at least until she started her relationship with Derek. Yep, the solicitor. They had been neighbours, as he lived upstairs, and when they became a couple, she moved into his flat, which was way bigger. That’s how I met Derek, who was just a trainee in his father’s office at the time. We weren’t that close, but when Sarah left for New York, he kept on coming to the theatre, maybe by force of habit, and after the performance we often went to the pub for a beer. We also went to the stadium together on Sundays to see Arsenal, but he was later admitted to the Law Society and stopped coming to the matches to avoid being arrested during some stadium fight. Today, I found out he’s also my grandma’s solicitor. It’s a small world, isn’t it?
My grandma. When I’m out in the street, I see lots of lovely grandmas, who take their grandchildren for walks, go pick them up from school and buy them plenty of presents and junk food. Instead, my grandmother Catriona always kept me at a distance. She wasn’t ‘grandma’, she was ‘Catriona’. Full stop.
I didn’t see her much and I spoke to her even less. My mum had me see her the bare minimum, and she didn’t make any effort to stay with me. If there’s a person who spoke to her even less than I did, that is my dad.
From Catriona, I received envelopes at Christmas and on my birthday. They usually contained a parchment card reading a cold ‘Best Wishes’ and a cheque for five hundred pounds. She paid for my braces, causing me to hate her for three years.
The fact that my parents couldn’t afford to pay the dentist’s bill made me so happy. I didn’t care about having crooked teeth if I could keep chewing bubble gum and gummy bears.
But that’s not all. When I was six, Catriona offered to pay the fees for a ‘decent school’, as she called it, and I attended it for four months. Right after Christmas, my parents found out that the board of governors was made up of pro-Thatcher conservatives, so they withdrew me and enrolled me in a state school, to my grandmother’s strong disapproval.
Later on, I met her perhaps once a year, on the occasion of my ‘examination’: how much I had grown up, how healthy I was and if school went well. She was disappointed most of the times and, whenever I opened my mouth, she rolled her eyes.
She lived in one of those monumental houses near Grosvenor Square. If I went there now, I’d probably ring the wrong doorbell, which is more or less what happened on the day of her memorial service. I rang the doorbell of an identical house in the wrong road. Catriona wasn’t that old or ill when she died. One day, all of a sudden, she had a heart attack – or, at least, this is what the maid told me.
I didn’t cry. I tried pretty hard, as I know you’re supposed to do it when your grandmother passes away, but as much as I pictured the saddest possible things in my mind, I wasn’t able to cry a single tear. My mum did cry. She did for days, perhaps because she knew that they would never have a chance to reconcile. She stayed long hours at the service, whereas I left in a hurry because I had to rush to the theatre for the evening performance. Just like I did today.
2
Ashford’s Version
I hate driving in the city. The traffic moves slowly, the roads are packed with road hogs who completely ignore driving laws and I’m forced to close all the windows due to air pollution. Especially in the rush hour.
I clearly asked Derek to avoid crazy hours, because I live outside London and I don’t want to spend endless hours in the car.
Yesterday at 2 p.m. would have been perfect, since I would be in the city anyway for a Parliamentary session, but there was no chance as he had arranged an appointment with another client just moments before I called him.
And so here I am, stuck in noon traffic and counting passers-by while waiting for the cars in front of me to move.
When I finally get to the office, Derek is reading theTimes.
“Ashford! Come in, please. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Tell me about it! I’ve been stuck in traffic for at least forty minutes. Next time, you’ll come to Denby Hall.”
“Speaking of Denby, how’s everything? Is your mother well?”
“It’s more or less the usual. My mother, she’s the same old obnoxious person.”
As Derek knows my mother, he can’t help but laugh. “Time goes by but she never changes!”
“Never,” I agree with him. “But at least she’s considering spending a couple of months in Bath, during the midseason.”
“Bath? She’s going to a spa? That’s brilliant.”
“Oh no, my mother would never attend a public spa, not even under threat. She will stay in Upper Swainswick, in a house on our Somerset estate.”
