‘Headache?’
‘Yes, too much wine,’ she admitted.
It took a bit of time for all the people at the rehearsal to troop out. It was surprising how many people were involved in even a small, local production, from the performers on stage to the sound technicians, the orchestra in the pit, and the wonderful set designers – including Maisie, the only one not of working age.
Like Oliver, the director, and herself doubling up as the producer and stage manager, everyone involved had a day joband was volunteering their time, their expertise in different fields, and of course their artistic talent.
She couldn’t have pulled it off without each and every one of them, so despite her headache, she thanked them all just like she always did as they left the rehearsal. Without the local community of lovely people, so loyal to ensuring the little theatre made a huge comeback, there would be no show.
Bridie, the last to leave the theatre, walked out to find her fellow shopkeepers from Cobblers Yard waiting for her, along with Layla, Andy and George. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked. I thought you were all heading home?’
‘We thought it would be nice to stop by your shop and have a cup of coffee before we did.’
Bridie knew what they were up to; making sure she didn’t go home and open another bottle of wine. That wouldn’t be possible because she had downed her last bottle.
She overheard Mabel behind her, even though she couldn’t see her through the thick fog as they walked along the promenade. ‘We’ll make Bridie a nice strong cup of coffee.’
Bridie was feeling a little embarrassed. She was getting the idea that she’d been ambushed.
Oliver fell in step with her. Bridie glanced at him. ‘I can’t believe our first performance will be next weekend.’
‘Me neither. So, is a casting agent coming from London, do you think?’
Bridie wished he hadn’t brought up that phone call. ‘Yeah. The agent I spoke to used to represent me, so she said she’s doing me a huge favour and sending someone to see me in the show. I’m still persona non grata in the West End, apparently. So it’s a big ask.’
Oliver grimaced. ‘When that Julian fellow you were with said you’d never work there again, he wasn’t joking, was he?’
Bridie pursed her lips. ‘No. I don’t want to talk about all that.’
‘Funny thing,’ said Oliver sarcastically, ‘but neither do I. I wish you wouldn’t go back. Are you sure it’s what you want?’
Bridie pursed her lips. She looked at him shyly. Of course it wasn’t what she wanted. She wantedhim. She wanted Oliver. But why would he believe her now, after everything that had happened? Why would he not think she was just on the rebound if she said she wanted to be with him?
It wasn’t long before they were all ensconced in the cosy corner of the art and craft shop. Mabel and Marjorie were in the easy chairs, and Lili, Hannah, Thea and Bridie were squeezed on the sofa. The guys – Joss, Oliver and Nate – perched on the arms of the sofa and chairs. Maisie and William sat on cushions on the rug in front of the sofa, along with George. Layla and Andy were perching on stools.
Bridie sat there with a very, very strong coffee, Oliver’s question –are you sure it’s what you want?– still hanging in the air. Bridie looked around and thought of all the people she’d met and the new friendships she’d forged as a result of the theatre.
And her friendship with Oliver in particular that could be so much more if only her past with Jack hadn’t got in the way and confused her terribly. Now she felt that all she could do was put distance between herself and the man who could really break her heart – Oliver.
‘The tickets sales have been phenomenal,’ commented Joss.
Mabel said, ‘The posters certainly worked. We put them up everywhere.’
‘I think Layla’s social media posts might have had a little something to do with it too,’ commented Hannah. She turned to Bridie. ‘Aren’t you worried about your dad getting wind of this? I thought you wanted it to be a surprise.’
Bridie, consumed with the mess she’d made of things with Oliver and Jack, had lost the thread of the conversation. Allshe could think of was that she’d had a chance of happiness, of her own happy-ever-after, and that she’d blown it because she’d looked back at her past, rather than at what, who, was right in front of her.
‘Bridie?’
Bridie looked up. ‘Huh?’
‘You were miles away,’ said Hannah. ‘Dreaming of your big day – opening night when we stage the first performance?’
‘Not exactly.’ Bridie stole a glance at Oliver before asking Hannah, ‘What were you saying?’
‘Oh, yes. About Layla’s social media posts. I was wondering if you were worried your dad might get wind of this. I thought you wanted it to be a surprise.’
Bridie sighed. She’d all but forgotten about that. ‘He’s not on social media, and Mum and Kate won’t tell him.’
