Page 23 of The Start of Something Wonderful

‘Well done, everyone!’ enthuses Hugh, giving us the thumbs-up as we trudge up the stairs. ‘The drinks are on me.’

I’m about to make the excuse of having to be up at 0430, when Susannah, who plays Masha, as if reading my mind, says, ‘Come on, sis’, shall we show our faces and have just one?’

‘Why not?’ I say flatly, forcinga smile.

‘Ladies!’ calls Hugh, waving us over to the bar.

‘Hugh’s a sweetie,’ whispers Susannah. ‘I’ve worked for him before, and not only is he a brilliant director, but he really values his cast. The theatre is his life-blood. He should be at The National – but then shouldn’t we all, darling?’

Despite early success (she was plucked from drama school at the age of nineteen to playRumpleteazer inCats), Susannah tells me she has struggled since, doing the odd commercial and bit part on telly.

‘The only way I get to do the juicy, classical roles is on the Fringe, in productions like this, with a couple of students or maybe a pensioner or two for an audience at matinées. But who knows, one of these days, Sam Mendes may be out there scouting for new talent,’ she says brightly.‘Top-up?’

She’s right, and I feel ashamed for harbouring snobbish thoughts about the lack of dressing room space, the non-existent set and having to cobble together our own costumes. This cast has great talent with TV and film credits as well as West End stage. Yet despite the lack of money, they are dedicated and determined to make this production the best it can be. I need to learn to bemore realistic and patient. They are an inspiration to me.

I will not give up. NEVER.

* * *

Poor Dean. I don’t imagine for one moment that a long, dreary Russian play about three miserable sisters is his cup of tea. Nevertheless, desperate for a paying public (fewer than ten in the audience and performances are now threatened with cancellation), I cajole, chivvy, then bully him intocoming along – and to bring as many of his mates as he can muster.

‘Okay, you win,’ he says eventually, holding up his hands, mouth breaking into a wide, toothpaste-ad grin. ‘I’ll come. I seem to remember I saw the movie with Whoopi Goldberg when I was a kid, and I quite enjoyed it.’

I look at him quizzically. Movie? Whoopi Goldberg doing Chekhov? ‘Aah,’ I say, cruelly amused. ‘I thinkyou may be mixing it up withSister Act.’

‘Hmm,’ he says pensively. ‘But it’s funny, right?’

‘Er … not exactly.’

His eyes bore into mine. ‘All right, I’ll come, and I’ll bring some of the guys as well – but on one condition,’ he says, folding his arms as he leans against a desk.

‘And what’s that?’ I enquire breezily, scooshing some anti-static cleaner onto a computer screen.

‘That you’ll let me take you for dinner one night.’

Unaccustomed as I have become to being asked out on dates (let alone by a guy twenty years younger than me), and particularly when I’m looking like Gollum in Marigolds, I blush a dark shade of red.

‘Well?’ he says expectantly, fixing me with a challenging look.

‘I … but … well … you don’t have …’ I say guardedly. ‘Okay … but no fewerthan six friends, agreed?’

‘Yay! Gimme five!’ he says.

‘What? Oh … yay!’ and we slap palms. Please don’t laugh.

* * *

‘How old?’ splutters Wendy over lunch the next day, looking at me agog.

‘I told you, about twenty-seven, twenty-eight,’ I reply, nonchalantly taking a bite of my ham and cheese toastie.

‘You cradle snatcher, you!’ says Rachel, putting down her coffee cup.

‘Now listen, he was really insistent and we need an audience, so what choice do I have?’ I say reverently.

‘Maybe he has a fetish for rubber gloves?’ says Wendy.

‘Either that, or he’s got an Oedipus complex,’ adds Rachel.