Page 34 of Best Supporting Actor

“Henry,” he said, surprised to find his voice so hoarse. “It’s good to see you.”

When they broke apart, he cleared his throat, embarrassed by his own unexpected display of emotion. He tried to step back, but Henry kept hold of his upper arms, his kind gaze very penetrating.

“Julius,” he said.

He said Jay’s name like it was a complete sentence, with layers of nuance, and Jay couldn’t help laughing a little, because it was so very Henry to do that. And, because Henry was the least stuffy person Jay had ever met, he laughed too.

“Ah, this is wonderful,” Henry said, his pale blue eyes dancing. “I’m so glad you took this role, Julius.” He paused then, tilting his head. “Or should I call you Jay? Do you prefer that now?”

“Um, yes please,” Jay said. “If you don’t mind. It’s… easier.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Henry nodded, as though Jay had said something rather more profound. Then he clapped his hands on Jay’s upper arms and released him.

“I didn’t realise you two knew each other so well,” Bea said. “But then the acting worldispretty small, isn’t it? And I suppose it stands to reason since Daddy’s such good friends with Henry and with your mother, Jay.”

Jay didn’t get a chance to point out that he’d met Henry for the first time at drama school because Henry was walking off, calling out, “Hello, Tag O’Rourke! Welcome, young man. Come in, come in.”

Jay’s heart jolted alarmingly.

Fuck.

He forced himself to turn slowly, not wanting to seem too eager.

Tag stood in the doorway, looking as annoyingly hot as ever in black jeans, jacket, and a fitted burgundy t-shirt, his hair a little tousled from the breeze outside. For an instant, his expression was oddly uncertain, his dark brows a little furrowed, but as Henry moved towards him, he broke out that killer smile and stepped inside, stretching out a hand to Henry, who took it in both of his own, keeping hold of it as he repeated his words of welcome.

For far too long, Jay stared at Tag, taking in the toned body, trim waist, and long, muscled legs. And then his self-awareness came back online, and he managed to tear his gaze away before Tag caught him eye-fucking him. Again.

As Henry drew Tag further into the room, someone else appeared in the doorway. A robust, middle-aged woman with a crown of unapologetically grey curls and sparkling dark eyes. She wore faded denim dungarees, flowery Doc Martens, and a biker jacket. In one hand she held an enormous black travel mug proclaiming its content as ‘Witch’s Brew’, and in the other a huge canvas bag.

Jay laughed. “Freddie? I might have guessed Henry would rope you into this one, too.”

Winifred Gould, universally known as Freddie, was one of Henry’s closest friends, and a top-notch stage manager. Henry rarely worked with anyone else, but even so, Jay was surprised he’d persuaded her to get involved with this little production. She mostly worked at the National.

“Julius,” Freddie scolded as she sailed into the room, depositing her cup and bag on the closest table, “you can’t talk about being roped into anything when the bloody writer’s standing right behind you. Bea, sweetie, hello, how are you? Nervous? Yes, of course you are.” Bea didn’t have a chance to respond before Freddie turned back to Jay. “And you! About bloody timeyouwere back on stage, Julius Franklin Warren, instead of slumming it intelevision.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek, a real kiss, not an air kiss. “Your mother sends her love, of course.”

“And here she is!” Henry exclaimed, turning away from Tag to greet Freddie.

As they gushed, Jay found his attention drawn back to Tag. He stood slightly apart from the group, watching Henry and Freddie with a tense expression Jay couldn’t quite parse. It reminded him of a boy with his face pressed to the toyshop window.

“So,” Henry said then, turning to Bea. “It looks like we’re just waiting for our understudy.”

Bea looked briefly uncomfortable at this. “Rafe might, er, be a little late,” she muttered. “He was…going out last night.”

Jay’s gaze returned to Tag, as though drawn by a magnet. This time, though, it was to find Tag was looking at him too. His pale skin flushed hard when their gazes tangled.

“All right,” Henry said in a let’s-get-down-to-business tone, and Jay hurriedly returned his attention to him. “Why don’t we get ourselves sorted out with our coffee while we wait for Rafe to arrive?” He began shepherding them all towards the table. “These pastries look delicious, Bea. Did the venue supply them?”

“God, no,” Bea said, making a face. “They just gave us some horrible, cheap custard creams. But I thought we should kick off with something a bit better for our first read-through.”

“Wonderful idea,” Henry said, pulling out a chair and nudging Tag into it. “Though I must admit I’m rather partial to a custard cream. They were my nan’s favourite.”

He kept up a stream of chatter along these lines for several minutes as everyone helped themselves to drinks, selected pastries—Tag devoured his on the spot—took their scripts out of their bags, and grabbed whatever else they needed. Jay remembered, now, how good Henry was at this part—making everyone feel comfortable and welcome and creating a safe space for the whole company, no matter how large or small.

“Okay,” Henry said when they were all settled. “It’s a pity Rafe’s not here yet, but shall we dive in?”

Bea cleared her throat, setting both hands down on the table. “Before we do that, can I just say a few words?”

“Of course,” Henry said, sitting back. “This is an open space. I want everyone to feel they can speak up at any time.”