‘You’re making me feel bad.’
He grinned. ‘That’s the idea. Now, may I suggest that you return to the foyer and start with that colossal pile of paper on the floor?’
She was just about to do just that, hoping that by clearing all the old flyers, newspapers, and rubbish, she’d be rewarded with finding a letter addressed to the previous owner.
She turned to leave the auditorium.
‘Wait!’
Bridie did an about-turn.
‘You’re going to need two!’
She stood watching Reggie unfurl another black bin liner. He said, ‘I hope you find what you’re looking for.’
Bridie doubted she would. She retreated to the door and was about to walk into the foyer when she turned around to look at them all again. All the people there to support her.
The two sisters, who had rolled up their sleeves, began sweeping up rubbish into piles. They were also busy organising everyone. It was like watching a pair of tiny, elderly generals take command of a battlefield.
The others joined in almost immediately. Joss tackled a fallen lighting rig. Thea set to work sweeping the centre aisle, stirring up clouds of dust that made her sneeze. Oliver investigated a section of wall and made a face that suggested he wishedhe hadn’t. Hannah, ever prepared, wheeled in her small coffee machine, which she’d put on the usherette tray along with the tin of biscuits from her shop, and started setting up a little refreshment table. It was like a pop-up café in the midst of ruin.
Bridie was still amazed. These were people who barely knew her. And yet they were there, mucking in without hesitation, filling bin bags, making jokes, getting on with it – as if her theatre was their problem too. Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
‘Here,’ Hannah said, pressing a warm takeaway paper cup into her hands. ‘Drink this before you faint. Or cry. Or both.’
Bridie let out a wobbly laugh and wrapped her fingers around the coffee cup. The familiar warmth grounded her a little.
Somewhere near the stage, Thea called out, ‘Look at this!’
Bridie walked over with her coffee in one hand and the two empty black sacks Reggie had given her in the other. Behind a mouldy curtain, propped against the wall, was an old poster board. The colours were faded and the paper curled, but she could still make out the title of a long-ago production, way before her time, and the smiling faces of the cast. She didn’t remember seeing it when she had been there years earlier. But it must have been in the theatre all along.
She reached out and brushed the dust from its surface. Something flickered inside her. The old love she’d buried under fear and exhaustion. Her love of the theatre. She felt it – just for a second – the spark she thought she’d lost. Julian had nearly taken it away from her.
Mabel appeared beside her, hands on hips. ‘See?’ she said. ‘It’s looking better already. There’s life in these walls yet.’
Bridie didn’t answer. But her fingers lingered on the poster. Maybe there was. Maybe she had more life left in her, too. What had happened to her in her last show had knocked herconfidence so much that she’d doubted whether she’d ever work in theatre again.
‘Reggie appeared beside her. ‘See, I told you. You look like her.’
‘Look like who?’
Oliver appeared too. ‘Hey, I don’t remember this old poster.’
‘That’s Isobel,’ Reggie said, pointing.
‘Isobel Raine?’ Oliver asked.
‘You know of her?’ Reggie replied.
‘The ghost,’ Bridie breathed.
Oliver shook his head. ‘No such thing as ghosts, Bridie. Remember I told you that I did a bit of sleuthing and discovered that although she disappeared, that’s not to say something bad happened that night, like she fell into the sea and drowned or something.’
‘She just disappeared,’ Bridie and Reggie said in unison.
‘Reggie’s right about one thing,’ Oliver said, turning to the poster. ‘You look just like her.’
‘Hey, you lot. Stop dawdling!’
