Page 38 of Best Supporting Actor

“Fine,” he said shortly, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. “I’ll see you later, then.”

Striding towards the door, he decided that he wouldn’t bring anything back for Tag. Sod him. If Tag wanted to play a smoking bloody martyr, then far be it from Jay to cramp his performance.

CHAPTERNINE

Tag

When Tag got back to his new—and thankfully temporary—home after the first day of rehearsal, he finally met his new housemates, ignoring each other in the kitchen. One of them was slouched at the kitchen table, fair head resting on the wooden surface. Asleep? The other, a skinny girl, dressed all in black with long, mousy hair and massive headphones, stood at the counter, pouring oat milk into a bowl of chocolate cereal.

“Hi,” Tag said, giving the girl a wave and a friendly smile. “I’m Tag O’Rourke. I just moved in.”

“Okay,” she said, her gaze on her cereal. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t use my milk.” Without looking at him, she replaced the cap on the carton, put it in the fridge, grabbed her bowl, and walked out. Tag stared after her, taken aback.

“Don’t mind her.”

Tag turned at the voice. The fair-haired guy was now propping his head on one hand and offering a friendly if somewhat sleepy smile. “Clem isn’t very social,” he said. “I’m Mikey. I’m pretty friendly but… fuck.” He gave a long, slow blink. “I just had some really strong skunk. I, like, need a minute?” He set his head back down on the table.

Tag waited for a few moments, but the guy didn’t move. Eventually, he said, tentatively, “I was going to make myself a cuppa. Do you want one?”

“Ohmigod,” Mikey whispered, without lifting his head. “That’d be so fucking amazing. You got any snacks? I’m starving.”

“I don’t really have any groceries yet. Just some teabags.” Tag paused. “If you’ve got food, I could maybe make us something?”

“Do your worst, man. Everything that isn’t cereal or oat milk is mine.”

“Sure, okay.” Tag crossed the kitchen and opened the fridge. It wasn’t exactly bursting at the seams, but there was a mould-free block of cheese and some butter, and he’d already spied a loaf of bread sitting next to the toaster.

Ten minutes later, he was setting two mugs of tea and a plate of cheese-on-toast on the table. “Here you go.”

Mikey slowly raised his head. “That smells fuckingamazing,” he said, reaching for a slice of melty, cheesy goodness, then groaning in pleasure as he stuffed it in his mouth. “Did you fuckingmakethis?”

Tag laughed, grabbing a slice for himself. “It’s just cheese-on-toast.”

Mikey waved that off. “You’ve got serious cooking skills,” he mumbled. “This is the best cheese-on-toast I ever ate.”

“Nothing to do with the skunk, right?” It wasn’t particularly funny, but Mikey laughed, spraying crumbs, then laughed harder at the crumbs.

Tag couldn’t help but grin at Mikey’s silly good humour. Was it weird that this was the most at home he’d felt all day, sitting here with this easy-going stoner he’d only just met? There was something about the guy’s working-class accent that just… put him at ease. While the initial table read had gone well, and, yeah, everyone had been welcoming and friendly, they were all just so… bloody posh. They couldn’t be more different from him.

“It probablyisthe skunk,” Mikey admitted, drawing Tag’s attention back to him. “But this still tastes fucking lovely. Any chance of more?” He sent Tag a hopeful look, big puppy dog eyes rimmed with eyeliner.

“I reckon you’ve got enough bread and cheese for a couple more slices,” Tag said, levering himself up and heading for the counter. He began grating the last of the cheese. “Is that a Sheffield accent, by the way?”

“Good catch,” Mikey said, sounding impressed. “Especially for a Southerner. Is your family from Sheffield?”

“Nah, but I’ve studied accents a bit—I’m an actor.”

“No shit?” Mikey brightened. “You been on TV?”

“Just in one toothpaste advert,” Tag said, with a wry grin. “But I’m in a new show coming up.”

“Yeah?” Mikey chugged his tea. “What’s it called?”

Tag sprinkled the grated cheese on the bread. “Bow Street. It’s sort of a historical crime drama.”

“Sounds awesome. I’ll definitely watch out for it. So, what are you doing in York?”

Tag transferred the bread to the grill pan and slid it under the heat. “I’m in a play—it’s part of the York Drama Festival. We’re rehearsing for the next six weeks. Then it’s a two-week run.”