“Gilbert,” she said.
“Hmmm?” said Gilbert with a big smile.
“It's all right. I forgive you.” And she started walking towards the wings where she could see Harry waiting. She knew she only had a few minutes.
“Are you sure, Jasmin?” said Gilbert, speeding up beside her. “Because you don't know how much it means to me and Mo that you're still our friend. Josie's little . . . escapade will go with me to my grave. I promise.”
She stopped walking and clenched her fists. “I'm sure. I love you both. I have to go on stage now.”
She couldn't make out if Harry was facing them or had his back to them.
“I never wanted to write the feature,” gabbled Gilbert. “I was just desperate.”
“I know. It's OK. I have to go now.”
To her growing frustration, Gilbert started hugging her very slowly. She patted him twice on the back.
He started swaying. She tried to move away but he didn't loosen his grip. She could see Harry standing alone in the wings. She had to get to him. Gilbert let out a deep sigh and pulled away, holding her by the shoulders. “Mo and I love you very much,” he whispered.
“That's nice,” said Jazz and ran away.
She reached Harry's side, hoping Gilbert wasn't following her. Harry was standing with his arms folded, staring out at the actors on stage. Jack and George's physical proximity was horribly anachronistic, and Jazz knew Harry would be upset. He looked down at Jazz and then back at the stage.
“Yo, Fitzwilliam,” she whispered and then cringed inwardly. Yo Fitzwilliam?
He smiled briefly. Jack and George were almost halfway through their scene. Once Mrs. Bennet went on, Jazz would have a matter of moments. She didn't know where to start.
“I — I just had a word with Mo,” she whispered loudly. Purple Glasses tutted behind her. There was a sign just above her head that said no speaking, smoking or smooching in the wings. Purple Glasses obviously saw it as her job to ensure the sign was adhered to. Hah! thought Jazz cruelly. If she couldn't get any fun, why should anyone else? Anyway, she thought huffily, her tut was much louder than my whisper.
Harry glanced down at Jazz and then looked back at the stage. Oh God, he was going to make this difficult.
“She told me about you and your aunt.” Her whispering was getting louder. Purple Glasses tutted again, louder still. Jazz flinched, but tried not to react. Purple Glasses was only doing her job. It wasn't her fault Jazz found her ridiculous.
This time Harry looked at Jazz and held his look. She wished it wasn't so dark, she couldn't make out what his face was doing.
“Oh,” he whispered almost inaudibly, nonplussed.
“Yes. And I wanted to say thank you.” Her voice was hoarse. “I'm so grateful, I don't know what to say. You've,” here she gave up whispering and started speaking in a hushed, excited voice, “you've saved my life. And I can only guess how hard it must have been for you to do. And I -I - it's wonderful.” The words seemed so insignificant compared to how totally indebted she felt to him.
Purple Glasses tutted once more. Before thinking, Jazz whirled on her and demanded: “Is there anything wrong? Or have you got food stuck in your brace?” Purple Glasses stalked off, insulted. Jazz was mortified. Where did all her anger come from, for Christ's sake? She'd have to apologise later. Oh God, how hideous. After a moment of valuable time spent feeling guilty, she turned back to Harry; his wide smile was hidden by the darkness.
“And I wanted to tell you how dreadfully sorry I am for acting like a complete twat,” she concluded.
“There's no need to say sorry,” he breathed. “It was done for purely selfish reasons.” He cleared his throat.
Further down in the wings, Mrs Bennet was adjusting her bonnet and straightening her cleavage. Jazz seriously contemplated tripping her up.
“What do you mean?” asked Jazz urgently, as Mrs Bennet trotted on stage.
Harry turned to her and she heard him take a deep breath. “I couldn't very well fall head over heels in love with someone whose family was in a sex scandal, could I? I've got my career to think of too, you know.”
And in the darkness, she could see his eyes were bright with emotion.
“That's your cue, Jazz.”
Jazz almost ran on stage and stood there, blinking in the light.
When Harry joined her on stage five minutes later, looking like a great big solid hunk of loveliness, Jazz felt herself almost burst with emotion. She wanted to laugh out loud, it was killing her not to. She did make a couple of funny sort of gasping noises that Elizabeth Bennet probably wouldn't have made, but she didn't think anyone noticed. And anyway, her performance was set alight by the intensity of her emotions. She was Elizabeth Bennet: she felt sure of it. And Harry was her adoring Mr. Darcy. The chemistry between them would have been embarrassing if it wasn't what was required.
It was wonderful. The scene they were playing now was when Mr. Darcy proposed to his Lizzy a second, successful time. In the book, the characters had been walking behind the lovers, Jane Bennet and Mr Bingley. In this adaptation, Lizzy and Darcy had to stop by a make-believe bench while Jack and George were off-stage, supposedly walking up ahead. Or snogging in the toilet, thought Jazz happily.
When Harry said the line, “My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,” with such affection in his eyes, Jazz thought she was going to have to sit on her hands to stop her flinging them around his neck.
She didn't, of course, and tragically she was on stage all the way until the end of the play, except for a moment while the set was changed for the joint wedding and then she and Harry came on from opposite entrances.
Harry had worked it that there should be no final snog as such, but that the lights would dim as they all started to go for the clinch. Jazz was suddenly terrified. Should she? Shouldn't she? Would he? Wouldn't he? She searched his eyes for clues and got none. As she felt the lights start to dim, they slowly started to hug. It was a full-bodied, long hug that she never wanted to end. Harry's body was damp with sweat and his heart was pumping.
Before she knew it, the sound of applause started echoing and the rest of the cast came on stage in orderly lines and she, Harry, George and Jack exited sharpish.
They got into the wings where George and Jack started snogging furiously. She watched as Harry observed his cast. She might as well not have been there.
“Right, we're off,” he said and they all went to take their bows.
Jazz had never bowed to an audience before. It was the most exhilarating moment of her life. She decided she'd audition for another play immediately. It made everything worth it. All the nerves, the rehearsals, the boredom. The clapping seemed to go on for ever. Now she could hear whooping. Harry took a step forward and the clapping got even louder. It was almost deafening. She could see that some of the audience at the left of the auditorium were standing up. She realised she was laughing. Then Harry took her hand and they were bowing together. She couldn't stop laughing, yet she couldn't even hear it over the noise.
Eventually the curtain went down and everyone started hugging everyone. Just as she was about to turn to face Harry, George appeared at her side and hugged the breath out of her. And everyone, she noticed, started hugging Harry. He got further and further away from her as people swarmed round him. He had never looked so dishevelled. As Wills took her in a firm, friendly hug, her eyes caught Harry's. He was being hugged by Sara and was drenched in sweat, his cheeks flushed and his hair messy. Jazz's stomach lurched.
“Right,” said Harry eventually and everyone shushed instantly. “Everyone in the men's changing rooms.”
There was a charge to the dressing rooms.
Once there, everyone squeezed on top of each others' laps, kissing each other and talking nineteen to the dozen. As soon as Harry spoke though, there was silence.