She groans. “No wonder Mum can’t do this any more.”
“Is she really bad?” I ask, as we mount what I hope is the final set of steps.
“Sometimes,” Jess replies quietly. “She gets tired really quick. She couldn’t handle all these steps.”
“That’s rough,” I murmur and Jess shrugs. I take the hint and change the subject. “Look! Is that it?”
The stairs have levelled out on to another landing, but this time there are two signs, one forseatsand one forboxes. We follow the latter down a short corridor and I scan the gold-engraved plaques that are fixed to the top of each red velvet curtained doorway.
Jane Alsop.
I reach a hand to the heavy curtains and, for some reason, I hesitate. It feels like we’re a long way up. I’ve been in a theatre box once before, when Mammy got us tickets to seeLord of the Dancein Dublin, and that was fine, but this place is at least twice the size.
“You OK?” Jess whispers in my ear and I jump, lost in my thoughts.
“Yeah,” I whisper back, though I’m not sure why we’re being so quiet. It’s almost as if the building demands it. “How are you with heights?”
Jess grimaces. “Not good.”
For some reason, this makes me slightly braver. I was fine in my first room, this will be fine too. I feel for the edges of the curtains, my fingernails sinking into the deep, burgundy velvet as I drag them apart. They weigh more than curtains should, as if they’re filled with the hushed whispers of the theatre or have soaked up the secrets of decades of visitors. Visitors like Jane.
“Wow,” I breath, as I step inside. The interior is opulent. Gold, brocade fabric lines the rounded walls. The seats have worn, curving arms that reach around, almost as if waiting to embrace their occupants. I edge into the box, staying well behind the seats – the balcony railing is far too flimsy looking for my liking – and gaze down into the stalls below. A twinge radiates from my feet and up my legs; seems it’s a bit different when there’s no wall to stop me from falling to my death.
“Nope, I can’t do it.” Jess hovers by the entrance, her shadow still outside the doorway. “It’s making me dizzy already. I’ll wait out here.” The curtains fall shut, blocking out the light from the corridor and the modern day with it.
I close my eyes, trying to imagine that I’m wearing my museum costume. How many times did Jane visit this theatre? Did she watch performances from this very box, or did she sit somewhere else? Am I looking at the stage from the same perspective she did? I open my eyes slowly, trying to see what she would have seen. I wonder if she longed to act, too. To be on the stage, rather than looking down at it.
A figure in the stalls catches my eye.
It must be the tour group. I drop down behind the chairs so they can’t see me, my breath coming in little gasps.
“Jess,” I hiss. “Jess!” No response. The curtain is too thick, designed to keep the noise from the corridor out. I wait, then slowly unfold myself into a standing position, relying on the heavy shadows of the curtain to hide me. I glance at the seats below and freeze.
It’s not the group, after all. It’s one solitary figure.
One solitary figure, dressed in grey.
“Niamh! Niamh, what’s happened?”
Light pours in through the curtains as Jess rips them apart. I instinctively cover my eyes as it burns into my retinas.
“Niamh!” She crouches next to me and wraps her fingers around my wrists, prying my own hands from my face. They’re wet with tears. I look up at her, confused, and it takes me a second to realize I’ve screamed.
“There . . . there was a. . .” Sobs clog my throat and I can’t get the words out. I point over the chair and Jess turns, uneasy. “I saw something. Or someone.”
She pulls me gently to my feet. “This is all my fault, I’m sorry.”
“Wh . . . what do y . . . you mean?” I stop and take a deep, shaking breath, leaning on the box wall, eyes firmly shut.
“I mean, I shouldn’t have brought you on a stupid ghost tour! What was I thinking?”
“It’s fine.” I concentrate on sucking air deep into my lungs. “Is he still there?”
“What?”
“The grey man. Is he still there?”
“What are you talking about? Niamh, open your eyes.”
