Page 33 of Best Supporting Actor

Then she was gone, leaving Tag alone and staring down at the stained mattress, the grotty floral carpet, and the grey light filtering in through dirty net curtains.

CHAPTEREIGHT

Jay

Jay rather liked the little riverside studio apartment Carly had found for him in York.

It was small, true. Just one big room really, with a bathroom off. Half of the space was given over to the bedroom, and the other half was split between the lounge and dining area and a tiny kitchen. As compact as it was, though, it was more than ample for his needs, and it was nice to be right on the river. This was his second morning here, and already he was enjoying his new routine of having breakfast in the little dining nook in front of the big picture windows. He could look out onto the peaceful, sleepy river as he sipped his coffee. There wasn’t even a whisper of traffic noise or city bustle.

Jay gave a contented sigh and leaned back in his chair, cupping his coffee mug between his hands.

Carly had been pretty horrified when he’d picked this place from the shortlist she’d sent him. It had been the cheapest one, right at the bottom of the list.

“It’s so threadbare!”she’d protested when he’d pointed to it. Which was ridiculous. It was perfectly comfortable, with a king-size bed, nice furnishings, and, thankfully, a very decent coffee machine. Okay, it was a bit basic, but Carly tended to think that anything that wasn’t a five-star hotel was a hovel.

He had asked her to find him a place that his salary for the play would more or less cover. In the end, she hadn’t quite managed to meet that challenge, but since this place was only a couple of hundred a week more expensive, he didn’t feel like he was being too much of a prima donna. And hewasgoing to be living here for the next eight weeks.

Jay’s gaze returned to the dog-eared script sitting on the table, beside the open jar of his favourite thick-cut Seville marmalade. Today was the first day of rehearsals, and already his stomach was a mass of rigid knots. He must have read the script a hundred times by now, and made countless notes. For the last couple of weeks he’d been slowly building his character, though not too completely, not yet. He knew how Henry Walker worked and wanted to stay open to the ideas that would inevitably arise at the read-through, curious to discover what the others would say. Would their ideas be aligned with his?

Would Tag’s?

If he was honest, he was having a little difficulty imagining Tag playing Wilfred Owen. Tag was such a vital, vivid personality—brash even, inhabiting his own skin so fully that it was difficult to picture him playing someone like Owen, who had reputedly been an introspective, nervous young man.

What sort of an actor would Tag be, Jay wondered, as he sipped his coffee. He’d googled him, of course, but the only thing he’d found was a toothpaste advert, and that told him nothing. Well, nothing more than he’d already guessed—that Tag had a superb face for television. And very white teeth. What he’d be like on stage, though… Bea had raved about him, but Jay wasn’t entirely sure about her judgment. As good as her writing was, Bea was young and inexperienced. However, shehadsaid that Tag was Henry’s first choice for Owen, and that definitely carried weight as far as Jay was concerned.

Henry was one of those people that everyone in the theatre world knew and admired. He’d done it all, acting, directing, writing—teaching too. The one-act play he’d directed Jay in as a drama student was, to this day, the best acting experience of Jay’s life.

Which probably explained why, on top of his other anxieties, Jay was feeling pretty nervous about dusting off his rusty theatre skills in front of him—and, if he was honest, Tag too. Luckily, he probably wouldn’t have to flex his acting muscles too much today. The first table read was usually a pretty relaxed affair. At drama school, he’d loved these early stages of rehearsal, the bright back-and-forth of ideas, the building out of the script as scenes were blocked and characters developed. Like building a house from blueprints, gradually turning the dialogue and instructions on the page into something real and tangible. Or maybe more like a tent, he thought, smiling to himself. Something that had to be assembled and disassembled every night.

Every night for two weeks.

As always, when his mind snagged on that thought—of actual performance—his breath began to feel short and his chest grew tight. Closing his eyes, Jay forced himself to take deep breaths. Gradually, the feeling passed.

When he opened his eyes again, he said aloud, his voice firm and determined, “Time to go.” It was the voice of a man with a mission. A man with something to prove. A man who was determined to face his fears.

That was who Jay Warren was playing today.

* * *

Jay had visited the rehearsal space briefly the previous afternoon, just to get his bearings and say a quick hello to Bea. The room she had secured was in a small conference centre, not far from the venue where they’d be performing. It was a decent size with four rectangular tables that could be configured however they wanted, and a stack of chairs. The walls were painted white, the floors covered in a utilitarian grey carpet, and several large whiteboards were fixed to the walls, probably for when the rooms were used for corporate events. It had struck him as a bit depressing.

This morning, though, when he walked into the room, he saw it rather differently. It had been overcast yesterday afternoon, and he hadn’t really noticed the big, arched window at the far end. This morning, it was sunny, and the morning light streamed into the room, softening the starkness of the white-painted walls.

“Jay!” Bea said happily, rising from her chair to greet him. The tables had been pushed together to make one big table in the centre of the room. In the middle were vacuum jugs of coffee and tea, a big plate of pastries, a bowl of fruit, a few pads of paper, a selection of pens, and a couple of iPads.

Jay lifted his messenger bag off and set it down on a chair before moving forward to greet Bea with a quick hug. “Am I the first to arrive?” he asked when they broke apart. “Besides you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I got here about half an hour ago. I’m so excited to get started. I can’t believe I’m about to start rehearsals for my first full-length play!” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “God, I’m really not being at all cool about this, am I? I’m so nervous!”

Jay gave a short laugh. “That’s understandable,” he said. “If it helps, I’m also pretty nervous.”

“You? Why would you be nervous? You’ve been in the business for years.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Well, it’s been a while since I did any theatre.”

“Don’t you worry, Julius,” someone said behind him. “It’s just like riding a bike.”

Jay whirled around, his smile already unfurling, because he knew that voice. And sure enough, there stood Henry Walker. He looked a bit older than the last time Jay had seen him, but just as disreputable in battered old jeans and a woolly jumper, topped off with his characteristic neckerchief and pork pie hat. He smiled wide and opened his arms, and Jay couldn’t help but walk right into them, pulling the older man into a tight hug.