Page 29 of Forever Finn
“Shakespeare? I don’t know, maybe,” he muses thoughtfully. “But truthfully, I’ve always loved musical theatre. I managed to sneak a copy of The Rocky Horror Picture Show when I was thirteen…” He breaks off and laughs. “Not that I’d ever have the guts to strut around the stage in stockings and suspenders.”
“You should’ve been here a few months ago.” I laugh. “Molly and Bernard have been organising pop up secret cinemas to raise money to save this place.” I glance across the stage at the sad run-down theatre. “They ran a showing of The Rocky Horror, everyone turned up in costume. Believe me, Bernard in fishnets is not something I can ever unsee.”
“Oh my god,” he laughs loudly. “Please tell me you went in costume.”
“I may have lost a bet,” I admit ruefully. “It’s all Ryan’s fault. Him and his stupid Bad Decision Beer. You’d think we’d all know better than to drink that stuff by now.”
“Who did you go as?” he asks eagerly, his eyes shining with mirth.
“Who do you think,” I say, shaking my long blonde hair. “I was Rocky, complete with tiny little gold pants.”
“Oh god, I wish I’d seen it.” He grins.
“That was nothing,” I tell him with a laugh. “Everyone went. Colin… I think you met him, didn’t you?”
“Briefly at the restaurant the other day.” Finn thinks back. “Cute ginger with freckles… likes bow ties?”
“That’s the one.” I nod. “He was Magenta, in a little French maid outfit, which he seemed surprisingly comfortably in. Deak’s Uncle Garrett was Riff Raff, the butler. Nat and Beck were hilarious, they went as Brad and Janet.”
Something warm churns in my belly as I watch Finn throw his head back and laugh.
“Oh, please tell me Beck was Janet?”
“Of course, he was.” I grin. “Complete with a virginal white cotton bra, a half-slip and handbag. Nat looked really hot in the white ‘Y’ fronts and dark rimmed glasses. Deak and Jesse were Columbia and Eddie, and then the absolute highlight of the night, Ryan and Kyan both trying to outdo each other as Frank N. Furter.”
“Kyan?”
“Kyan Amos,” I clarify.
“As in… rock star Kyan Amos, lead singer of the band Amos? As in… Oscar winner, Grammy winner, and sexiest man alive top 5 winner five years in a row?”
“Yeah, that’s him,” I snort. “He’s a friend of Deak’s, but he seems rather attached to the bay and its residents. He’s always turning up in-between band commitments.”
He seems to quietly absorb this information.
“So… if you’ve always secretly yearned for a career on the stage,” I tease him with a smile. “I guess the ultimate question is… can you sing?”
He smiles shyly, his gaze darting over to the small upright piano at the edge of the stage. I watch as he stands slowly, dusting his hands off on his jeans before walking over. Lifting the lid he tests a few keys, presumably to see if it’s in tune, which I know it is because Molly uses it for some of her singalong events.
I climb to my feet and cross the space as he takes a seat in front of the piano. I walk around behind it and fold my arms on the top leaning forward to watch him as the opening strains of a familiar song flood the air, but when he opens his mouth and starts to sing, I’m floored.
I recognise the song as The Music of the Night, from the Phantom of the Opera, not because I’m a fan of musical theatre, but because I recognise it from the Gerard Butler film version.
Finn’s voice is incredible, the perfect mixture of the smooth, rich cadence and the low, seductive croon that the song needs. I’m absolutely beguiled by him as I watch. When the song finally draws to a close, he touches the keys fondly and closes the lid.
“Finn,” I whisper. “You belong on the stage.”
“I don’t know,” he chuckles as he tilts his head back and stares up at the decaying arch over the stage. “It’s so sad to see this place slowly deteriorating though,” he mutters. “There are so few theatres like it in Cornwall, it would be a shame to lose it.”
“That’s exactly what Molly said,” I reply.
“Come on.” He grabs my hand and tows me across the stage toward the ragged curtains.
“Where are we going?”
“Exploring.” He grins as he pulls me offstage into the wings, and as I trail behind him holding his hand, I get the feeling he knows exactly where he’s heading.
He leads me backstage through a maze of corridors, which I guess he explored earlier, and then opens a door, pushing me inside as he flips the lights on. I look across and see that the light isn’t from overhead but instead comes from rows of white bulbs framing a huge mirror over a dressing table. A quick glance to my left and right reveals rows of dusty costumes and accessories.