Harry walked in. Everyone hushed.
He was wearing a white shirt tucked into breeches. His black leather boots went up to his knees. He hadn't put his tie or his frockcoat on yet and the loose collar of his shirt revealed a beautiful chest. The words "gorgeous", "dead" and "drop" came to Jazz's mind, but she couldn't for the life of her remember what order they should be in. Her mind was slush. She looked in the mirror to check that it wasn't oozing out of her ears.
Harry spoke quietly and calmly, with warmth in his voice. “You all look fabulous,” he said. Jazz was overwhelmed with jealousy and stared fixedly at herself in the mirror. Harry coughed.
“Now. They say that dress rehearsals are meant to be atrocious. Otherwise you won't know how to cope when anything goes wrong on the night. But if you all focus and stay calm, I think we could have a hit on our hands.” Everyone looked at each other, grinning like idiots.
“Beginners on in ten minutes,” said Harry. “Break a leg.” And with that he was gone. Everyone got silly again and Jazz thought she was going to faint.
Then George tapped her on the shoulder and without speaking, the two of them made their way down the narrow corridor to the stage.
Standing in the wings, Jazz found she lost her sense of self. All she could see was the stage. When the music started playing and the lights dimmed, she felt herself walk purposefully into pitch-black darkness, aware that George was with her in the gloom. When the lights came on, she saw that George was perfectly poised. As soon as she had said her first line, Jazz was amazed to feel a sense of supreme serenity overcome her. She enjoyed every inflection, every pause, every movement. Her senses were heightened and her body was powerful. She could do anything.
When she walked off, her nerves returned but were less potent this time. She realised that being on stage was OK, it was being backstage that was terrifying. She wondered if she could manage to stay on stage all night. She started getting a bit high. Everything was very funny. Mrs Bennet was such a poppet. She even gave Harry a big smile when they had to wait backstage together for one of the few scenes they had together. When he gave her a condescending, Darcy-ish smile back, she wanted to prod him like a little sister.
Then in their first long scene together, she botched it all up by confusing two of her similar lines. She kept repeating the first one, forcing them to go round in a big circle of the script. She just couldn't get off the circle. Every time Harry tried to bring her back to the right line, her mind went blank and all she could think of was how thick his eyelashes were and how his eyes were almond-shaped. He looked like a cow. It had helped when he tensed his perfect lips with barely repressed anger. The terror came back and the hysteria stopped. God, she thought helplessly. She was so unfocused.
After they'd come offstage, she apologised. He was already taking his frockcoat off. “Forget it,” he said curtly. “Concentrate on your next scene.” And he strode off. Damn, blast and buggery bollocks, Jazz thought as she straightened her petticoat.
After the dress rehearsal, everyone went for their last drink together before the big night. Harry was noticeable by his absence again and Jazz sensed his real character coming back to the fore. How long had she thought he would be able to keep it up? Gilbert wasn't there either and she was positive that he was writing about Josie and William. The latter was drunk again and flirting with Lizzy Bennet's neighbour, Maria Lucas. She looked ecstatic to be the chosen one tonight.
Jazz looked over to see if Carrie was all right, and was pleased to see the shy young woman deep in conversation with Matt. At least she wasn't on her own, thought Jazz, and joined them both. She tried to stand so that Carrie couldn't see William and as she chatted to them, she realised she was with her two favourite people in the cast.
But the highlight of the day was when she and Mo sort of made up. Mo had come up to her at the bar.
“What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” she had asked with a nervy smile that betrayed her. Before Jazz had remembered they weren't talking, she'd answered, “Thought you'd never ask,” and they'd both grinned foolishly at each other. A great knot of unhappiness in Jazz's stomach slid undone.
Then they'd remembered their loyalties and lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. But it had made Jazz feel far less depressed.
When she went home that night, Jazz tried to dream of nice things, but she couldn't. All she could see every time she closed her eyes was Harry turning scornfully away from her and talking to someone else.
Chapter 26
On the day of the performance, Jazz woke at 5:45 am. She'd been having a hideous nightmare. Just as she'd been about to go on stage, Purple Glasses had told her she had to swap parts with Jack and play Mr. Bingley. “But I don't know the lines,” she'd panicked, to which Purple Glasses had replied, “No one will notice. Just mumble.” Jazz had missed her cue and after what felt like hours of silence she'd finally wandered on stage, then she'd realised she was wearing Wellington boots and a chicken costume.
Jazz decided that getting up before six was preferable to trying to go back to sleep. She went into the kitchen and made herself a peppermint tea. She didn't want a coffee, it might make her stressed.
She hadn't planned anything very energetic for today. She was going to spend it relaxing have a hot bath and read a book, maybe watch a video or two. Hopefully George would pop over. Maybe even Mo.
As soon as she was dressed she nipped out and bought every single paper, then she took them home and scoured them for Gilbert's piece about William's sex romp with two-in-a-bed "happily married" Josie Field. It wasn't there. Feverishly, she read them again. Nope, it still wasn't there. Thank God. Now all she had to worry about was the fact that her career was over, her family was about to be slandered by the press, Harry hated her, she'd lost Mo to a moron, George was suicidal and thanks to her, Josie and Michael were separated. Oh yes, and not to forget that she was the lead in a play tonight at which all the country's famous people would be present. Piece o' piss.
She dashed to the bathroom.
Half an hour later, she started going over the play.
By ten o'clock, she'd gone over every line in it. She'd listened to her tape of the play while having her bath and then moved the sofa to the edge of the lounge and gone over every stage direction.
Then she wrote a couple of paragraphs for her column about how nervous she felt. She always wrote well about nerves. A couple of her own jokes actually made her laugh out loud. Brigit had been delighted that Jazz was in the play. It had been in the gossip columns for weeks now. Brigit had commissioned her to write a one-off feature about the day of the performance and cast party as well as her usual column.
As she turned off her computer and the screen fizzed to black, Jazz felt a surge of self-pity that this might be her last column. Without it, she didn't know what she'd do with herself.
She got up and lay on the floor in the middle of the lounge and practised her deep breathing. She was beginning to feel much calmer now. She'd start to get ready in a while.
Three loud knocks at the door frightened the life out of her. Someone must have let George in, or better still it was Mo.
She opened the door and was stunned to find Harry standing there.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello,” he said.
Her mind was blank. She knew nothing except that she wished she wasn't wearing her Goofy slippers.
“Can I come in?”
“Oh yes, of course,” mumbled Jazz and opened the door. “Tea? Coffee? Peppermint tea?”