Page 94 of Best Supporting Actor
Phil merely raised one brow. “Need to talk?”
Jay sighed. “Yeah, and to be honest, I could do with a drink.”
“Like that is it? Come on then.” Taking the suitcase from him, Phil led him down the hall into their cosy, farmhouse-style kitchen. “Park yourself there,” he said, pointing at the big wooden table. “Wine? Beer? Whisky?”
Jay settled into one of the big comfortable wooden chairs. “Whisky.” It was Phil who had taught him to appreciate good whisky, often at this very table, and there was a certain comfort in the ritual of drinking it with him.
He watched Phil shuffle round the familiar kitchen, pulling a bottle of single malt out of one of the cabinets and two glasses from another. A lumbering bear of a man with a grey-streaked mop of unruly hair and a lumpy sort of face, Phil was very much the beast to Mandy’s beauty. In truth though, she had been the one to pursue him.
“It took a while, but I wore him down,”she’d say when people asked how they’d got together, and everyone would laugh, assuming, wrongly, that it was a joke.
Sliding into the chair kitty-cornered to Jay’s, Phil poured out two generous measures and raised his own glass in a brief toast before sipping it reverently. Jay raised his glass in turn, but he swallowed the whole measure, wincing a little at the burn that followed.
“Well, that’s a waste,” Phil said conversationally, not sounding the least put out.
“I’ll sip the next one,” Jay promised.
Phil topped him up. “Make sure you do,” he said. “This stuff’s too expensive to waste on getting drunk.” Then, leaning forward, he said, “So, do you want to tell me what this is all about?”
Jay stared at his whisky, unsure how to begin. At last he said, baldly, “I’ve walked out on the play. I just—” He broke off and gave a wet laugh. “I can’t do it.”
When he lifted his gaze to Phil’s, it was to find the man watching him with concern. “Your mother seemed to think it was going well. Did something change?”
Jay shook his head numbly. “The opposite really. Nothing has changed—reality caught up with me, that’s all.” At Phil’s questioning look he added, “I’d almost convinced myself I’d got over my stage fright, or that I could will myself out of it.” He met Phil’s gaze and added flatly, “You must have guessed that was why I never perform live.”
“I had an inkling,” Phil admitted. “But you never said anything, and I didn’t want to pry.”
“Yeah, well, it was kind of taboo to talk about it.” Jay shrugged. “Mother wants to believe I’m every bit the stage actor she is. Even right after theBirthday Partydebacle, she just waved it off, saying every actor has bad nights and to put it behind me.‘Onwards and upwards’.”
Phil sighed. “You know I love your mother dearly, but she does have a tendency towaft awayproblems.” He made an airy gesture with one arm that was so characteristically Dame Cordelia that Jay couldn’t help but laugh a little. Phil gave him a wry smile. “It can feel dismissive—I know that’s how Amanda’s felt sometimes—but I think it’s Cordelia’s way of saying everything will be okay, you know?”
“Yeah,” Jay said wearily, “it is, but itisdismissive too. The truth is, she doesn’t want to recognise problems, or deal with them. She prefers to act like they don’t exist, and—well, she’s good at acting, isn’t she?”
“I’d say it’s a bit of a family trait,” Phil said pointedly. “I mean, you’ve been in rehearsals for this production for weeks, and it’s only now that you’ve come to the conclusion you can’t go on.”
Jay blew out a breath. “True,” he said. “I’ve been burying my worries for a while, refusing to face up to them. I mean, I wasn’tblindto them—they were always at the back of my mind. But it was only as we got closer to opening night that they began to really surface. And then at the party…” He trailed off, running both hands over his face tiredly. After a pause, he began again. “These last few days have been hard. To be honest, I’ve barely slept.” He shook his head. “Sorry, I must sound like a self-pitying twat. I don’t deserve any sympathy when I’m letting Tag down like this. And Henry and Bea, of course—and everyone.” His eyes began to smart. “Shit.”
“Tag,” Phil echoed. “That’s the guy playing Wilfred Owen?”
“Yeah. He’s—he’s amazing. So talented. And this is his first professional leading role, so it’s a huge deal for him.” Jay closed his eyes. “I’ll really be screwing him over.”
“Does he know yet?”
Jay felt his cheeks warm. “Yeah, he’s been, uh, staying with me.”
Phil’s gaze flickered to Jay’s suitcase and back. “Did you argue?” he asked carefully. “Is that why you need a bed tonight?”
Jay swallowed and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I kind of decided I was quitting while we were arguing. He found out I’d got some pills—just some anti-anxiety meds, to help me go on, you know? Anyway, he went ballistic and I reacted badly. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d said I was leaving and Rafe—that’s the understudy—could take my place.”
Phil was silent for a while, his gaze thoughtful. At last he said, “If you don’t mind me saying, that sounds like a more-than-friends argument. Are you two…?”
“Yeah,” Jay whispered. “We’ve been, um,more than friendsfor a couple of weeks now.”
“And you’re serious about him?”
Jay let out a miserable huff of laughter. “Wouldn’t matter if I was. He only wanted some fun while we’re here in York.”
Phil’s expression was painfully sympathetic. “Ah,” he said. “And you want more.”