They turned around, stared wide-eyed at her and scuttled off without another word.
At that point, Bridie felt she was going to be sick. It couldn’t be true. It must just be some joke they were playing on her. Then she saw him leaning in a doorway, speaking to the young woman.
Bridie had confronted him in the intermission. She recalled his words. ‘This isn’t the time or place to discuss it.’ But he did add that they’d been drifting apart. She didn’t know what he was talking about. She thought they just led busy lives because of their theatre commitments.
The look on his face had said that wasn’t it at all.
‘You’ve met someone else,’ she’d said flatly. She’d been trying to kid herself it wasn’t true, that the two dancers had been mistaken, and that he and Stella weren’t a thing.
‘Thank god you’ve guessed. It makes life so much easier.’
‘Of course I guessed. I overheard talk, and then I saw you with her.’
Bridie had had trouble believing what she was hearing. His responses were all so matter of fact. She gaped at him. ‘I’m sorry, what do you mean –it makes life so much easier?’
‘Now we can make plans.’
‘Make plans? You and that … bimbo?’
‘No, you and me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Obviously we can’t continue living in the flat together. We’ve been ships passing in the night.’
When she looked back on it now as she packed her suitcase, she couldn’t believe how blind she’d been. He’d been staying late at rehearsals, which hadn’t made sense; they were doing the same play, so there was no need for more rehearsals, as far as she was concerned. But he’d said there was still somechoreography that needed working on with the dancers in the show.
Choreography, my arse, thought Bridie. How many times had she heard that before, on other shows? Oh, my god. Those two dancers she’d overheard backstage were right: Stella wasn’t the first. And she wouldn’t be the last.
Bridie paused her packing and slapped her forehead. How could she have blindly believed everything he’d said? He was the producer. Why did he need to be there personally in those rehearsals? Now, she knew why. There were no rehearsals, unless you counted rehearsing for this – the breakdown of their relationship and how he planned to finally tell her it was over.
She had been asking why he’d been coming in late and sleeping on the sofa. He’d said, ‘I’m being considerate. I don’t want to wake you.’ At first, she’d stupidly believed his excuses. But then she recalled asking him if it was all right if they collected her grandad and took him with them to her dad’s retirement party in Suffolk.
Bridie paused to zip up her suitcase, recalling that conversation …
‘Sorry – what?’
‘The retirement party. I told you about it months ago. And then reminded you when I went for dinner at my brother’s house yesterday evening to set a date.’ He hadn’t come with her to dinner because he’d arranged another late-night rehearsal.
‘That’s come round fast. Look, I can’t make it,’ he’d said. But he hadn’t even known the date – she hadn’t told him.
‘Why?’ she’d asked. ‘I know we’re both free that weekend. I arranged my understudy for that one day, and you’re the producer. It’s not like you’ve got to be there all the time.’
‘I’ve got to be honest. I don’t want to go.’
She didn’t have to ask why not. Her family didn’t like him. In fact, she imagined if he was the same person, but he worked ininvestment banking or as a lawyer or in insurance like her dad, they’d get on like a house on fire and roll out the red carpet.
‘Your family – they don’t like us.’
‘You mean because you work in the theatre.’
‘Yeah – it’s just weird, like they’ve all got some sort of grudge against artists. It comes from your mum, I just know it.’
‘But you know my grandad isn’t like that.’
‘Yeah. No wonder he’s estranged from your dad. If I was him, I would be. So bloody uptight, and talk about look down on people who don’t match their dizzying salary heights.’
She hadn’t expected him to openly criticise her family like that. In hindsight, she realised why. He’d already left her; he just hadn’t told her.
