Page 47 of Best Supporting Actor

Christ, he was good. And that was another thing Tag hadn’t expected before their rehearsals had begun. Jay was contained and effective, with a still magnetism that drew the audience in so well he barely needed to raise his voice. He’d have them all straining to hear his every word, just with the sheer force of his personality.

Tag felt a wild, almost pleasurably masochistic stab of envy at how easy Jay made it look, to just stand up and perform these lines in a new way, right on the spot. To have the confidence to try to find his way to the character, to the scene, right in front of everyone.

From the corner of his eye, Tag saw a waft of movement, and his gaze flickered to Freddie, waving at him. Oh yes, he was now in this scene too, wasn’t he? He sent her a small nod.

Jay was saying, “… and the dead are more real than the living. In my dreams, I find them every night: in the trenches, on the field, in the hospital wards…”

Tag’s cue was coming, and he readied himself for it, moving to the imaginary mirror and beginning to play out the motions of slowly shaving, thinking himself into the mind of Wilfred Owen as he lived his quiet routine at the Edinburgh hospital, away from the front.

Jay’s voice was an anchor, pulling at him with every word.

Tag wiped his face and moved away from the mirror, slowly removing the cardigan and carefully laying it over the back of the chair. He found himself thinking,Owen is just a memory.Iam just a memory. The thought struck him as terribly sad, unbearable even, and he fought the urge to hide away, allowing the full force of his sudden grief to show on his face, even though it made him feel very naked, very exposed. But there was something exhilarating too about being this honest, this real. In giving this unfiltered, unpractised performance.

“Real or not,” Jay carried on, “the dead haunt me to madness.”

Acting by instinct now, Tag moved towards Jay, coming to a stop halfway across the distance between them, as though at an invisible barrier.See me, he thought, letting his face plead his case.

Jay walked toward him, coming to a halt less than an arm’s length away. Their gazes met, and Tag felt a stab of satisfaction at the pain he saw in Jay’s eyes.He sees me.

In a painful, bitter tone, Jay spoke his next line, and then he stepped forward, reaching for Tag, taking hold of his biceps and pulling him roughly forward, till their chests collided. The thrill of the contact made Tag’s heart slug hard, his breath feeling locked up and tight in his throat. He stared at Jay’s face, mesmerised.

“Why can’t I exorcise you?” Jay said harshly. “Why won’t youleave me alone?”

Tag twisted in his grasp. “Why won’t you let me go?”

Jay stared at him, stunned, as though it was the first time he had heard the words.

It felt like the first time Tag had heard them too. This wasn’t two soliloquies. It was a dialogue. Jay lifted one hand from Tag’s arm as if to caress his face, but then, quite abruptly, he dropped it to his side and stepped back, glancing over at Henry. Tag felt his chest ache, not quite certain whether it was Owen’s or his own disappointment he felt.

“What do you think?” Jay asked Henry. “Should I step into Tag’s scene at this point? Or stay here, on the border?”

Henry glanced at Tag. “What are your thoughts?”

“Maybe I sort of pull you across?” Tag said, taking Jay’s hand. “Invite you into the memory?”

“Do we need to be prescriptive?” Bea glanced at Henry. “Maybe we’re fluid here, and don’t have a border per se? Freddie’s probably right that it’s a cliché to divide the scene.”

“I could just wander through Jay’s scene?” Tag suggested. “I mean, that’s how memories work, right? They’re unpredictable, intruding where they’re not wanted, popping up when you don’t expect—”

“No,” Jay said sharply. “Absolutely not.”

Tag blinked, totally thrown by Jay’s angry tone and uncompromising words. He hadn’t reacted like this to any other suggestion anyone had made over the last few weeks.

“No?” Tag said. “Justno? I thought this was a collaborative exercise?”

“It is, but that’s a stupid idea.”

“Astupid—”

“There are no stupid ideas here,” Henry chided gently. “Now, Jay, I know—”

“He can’t just drift about the stage, for God’s sake!” Agitated, Jay pushed a hand through his hair, dislodging his glasses and only just catching them. “He has to stick to the blocking—that’s just basic stagecraft.”

Tag’s cheeks heated. “Iknowthat. I wasn’t suggesting I drift—”

Just then, the door banged open, and Rafe announced, “Here we are, Giles, the rehearsal room!”

Nobody moved for a couple of seconds, but as Tag watched, Jay’s eyes squeezed shut and his agitated expression smoothed out almost instantly. As though he’d put on a mask.