‘Shame about the theatre, isn’t it?’ A stranger’s voice interrupted her reverie.
She turned to find a tall, slim older man standing next to her. He wore a knee-length raincoat over his dark trousers, black shirt and waistcoat. His rainbow-coloured, knitted scarf stood out against his dark clothing: She took in his dyed blonde hairpulled back in a ponytail, accentuating his thin, angular face. Bright blue eyes stared at her, making her feel self-conscious.
‘Yes. I was just reminiscing,’ said Bridie truthfully.
‘You look … familiar,’ he said.
Bridie inwardly groaned. Oh, god. He’s seen me online, embarrassing myself on stage. She’d known it would happen – everyone was on the internet, even older people. She just hadn’t expected to have to deal with it so soon. It was why she’d avoided walking around the village where her parents lived. But she hadn’t expected the first person she spoke to in Aldeburgh to remind her.
‘Weren’t you in a high school play that was staged here before the theatre closed down again?’
‘Oh – that.’ Bridie breathed the biggest sigh of relief. ‘You’ve got a good memory.’ She wondered if he had children. He was around her dad’s age. Perhaps they’d been in the production too. She asked, ‘Did you have children in the play too?’
‘No. No children.’
She saw his expression change. It wasn’t just women who might have regrets if they’d never had kids. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’
‘No, don’t be sorry. It’s just a question.’
She could tell by his expression, though, that it was a sore point.
She was still surprised that he remembered her. She said again, ‘You’ve got a good memory.’
‘You remind me of someone …’
Before she had a chance to ask, he added, ‘Look – it’s you …’ He pointed.
There in the alcove outside the theatre was a display case and an old poster for a play. It was tattered and yellowed, but you could still see a photo of the cast. Bridie hadn’t really noticeduntil he pointed it out. ‘Oh! Well, that’s embarrassing – that was me fifteen years ago.’
The big, knitted hat hadn’t worked out for trying to go incognito, Bridie realised, taking it off.
‘You haven’t aged much. I recognised you straight off.’
Bridie wasn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment or not. She knew she should. She was just sensitive about the fact that she felt like she’d regressed by staying back in her old teenage bedroom.
‘Did I say something wrong?’ he asked.
Bridie slapped a smile on her face for his benefit. ‘Not at all.’
He turned to the theatre. ‘I recall that I was so excited back then when I found out the theatre was reopening. I bought a ticket to support the show, hoping it would reopen for good.’ He sighed. ‘It was a good production. I remember you. You were really, really good.’
Bridie wanted very much to wind the conversation down and leave before he asked what she did for a living now. She could tell now that he had not seen her all over social media.
He said, ‘Strange business.’
‘What was?’ Bridie asked.
‘The theatre reopening suddenly, then closing equally suddenly again.’
‘Yeah – maybe whoever it was ran out of money. They must have been subsidising the school performance. It costs a lot to run a theatre.’ Bridie remembered that her school year, when she was in the final year of sixth form, was the only one that had got to put on a performance in a real theatre. It might not have done the theatre owner any favours, but it had done wonders for her future. Nobody had been aware that during the performance, there had been a budding London producer in the audience – and of course, Bridie had not known he would become her fiancé.
If she’d known at the time that a London producer was sitting in the theatre, talent-scouting, her anxiety during her performance would have been through the roof because of how badly she’d wanted an opportunity to act on the stage.
Fresh out of college, with a new job with a London theatre, Julian’s remit had been to find new talent. Young talent. He’d found her. Just four years her senior, but with a wealth of experience, and a degree, he had talent-spotted her. The rest, Bridie thought sadly, was history.
Her career on the stage was certainly history now.
‘I must be off now,’ the man said, cutting across her thoughts. ‘I often stop outside the theatre on my walk and reminisce.’
