hitting SEND, my phone rang with Beth on the other end. ‘You okay. What’s he want? Tell the little shit I’m sending hit-men round. With dogs.’
‘Hi babe,’ I said, forcing cheeriness. ‘Yep, just got to do a quick tour of the theatre with the chap from King Lloyd, and then I’ll be on my way.’
‘What?! Why are you saying this. Tell him I know he’s there. Tell him I’ll call the police.’
‘No, no trouble, I’ll nip to the shops on the way.’
‘Has he got a knife?’
Warren waved. ‘Tell her it’s me. I don’t mind.’
I hesitated.
‘He has, hasn’t he? Oh, crap.’
‘Actually, Beth, the chap from King Lloyd Holdings, would you believe, is Warren. He’s responsible for community projects. And the theatre falls into that category.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Amazing isn’t it? Now,’ I continued over her curses at the other end, ‘I’ll see you in a bit, okay?’
I hung up after she told me I needed my head examining.
‘Follow me.’ I said to Warren, and strode past him into the auditorium.
He tried to strike up a friendly chat about the theatre, and the times he’d been to see shows there.
I remembered those visits too. He’d first seen me on stage in Cabaret, and thrown a proper tantrum because I’d been ‘flaunting’ myself in front of an audience. He didn’t want the woman he loved doing that, he’d said. I’d laughed. Surely he was joking? ‘Chloe. You’re the most special thing in my life. Walking out on stage, all tarted up, has tainted that. I’m sorry but I don’t want you doing it again.’
Well, that had triggered the mother of all rows and I’d dumped him. But he’d come back, contrite and desolate. He was a fool. He was sorry. He just loved me so much he found it difficult to share me. He’d adjust. We’d be okay. And because he was, in all other respects, so smart and funny and full of life, I’d bought it.
Till the next time.
‘The most serious problems are in here.’ I flicked the light on in the dressing room. ‘Over there.’
Warren peered up at the jagged crack running the length of one wall. ‘Hmmm. I can see why they’d want to condemn it.’ I clenched my teeth. He took some photos. ‘Next?’ He followed me to the costume store, took more photos and shook his head sympathetically. ‘It’s a tall order, isn’t it?’
‘But achievable, with some financial backing.’
‘Oh sure.’ His head tilted to one side as he looked at me with a familiar, lop-sided smile; the one I’d once confessed was guaranteed to make me melt.
Shit, I thought. He’s cranking up to make a move on me.
The door out of the costume store was behind him. ‘I haven’t shown you the toilets, yet,’ I busked, turning back with my arm outstretched like a tour guide. Not that there was anything wrong with the toilets, other than needing a lick of paint, but the smell of bleach over urine might dampen his ardour. He declined the opportunity to photograph those, and I hurried back to the foyer, ignoring all signals he wanted to loiter in the quiet area backstage.
‘So,’ I said, standing close to the exit doors and beaming at him – my hands clasped tightly in front of me. ‘I’ll send you the reports and you can send me your proposals, and we’ll take it from there, yes?’
He tested that lop-sided smile, again. ‘It’s good to see you, Chlo.’
‘Thanks. Good to see you too. Especially in more positive circumstances, don’t you think?’
He moved forward. I snatched at the door handle. He almost laughed. Digging into a folder, he pulled out a community projects brochure. ‘Most of what you want to know about us is in there.’
I took it and he held out his hand to shake mine. I shook it manfully. ‘Thanks, Warren. Good to see you looking so well.’
As if psychic, Beth rang before he’d even left the car-park. ‘Has he gone yet?’
‘Yes. Got any cake?’
‘You alright?’
‘Fine. Do I need to go to the shop?’
‘No. We
‘Hi babe,’ I said, forcing cheeriness. ‘Yep, just got to do a quick tour of the theatre with the chap from King Lloyd, and then I’ll be on my way.’
‘What?! Why are you saying this. Tell him I know he’s there. Tell him I’ll call the police.’
‘No, no trouble, I’ll nip to the shops on the way.’
‘Has he got a knife?’
Warren waved. ‘Tell her it’s me. I don’t mind.’
I hesitated.
‘He has, hasn’t he? Oh, crap.’
‘Actually, Beth, the chap from King Lloyd Holdings, would you believe, is Warren. He’s responsible for community projects. And the theatre falls into that category.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Amazing isn’t it? Now,’ I continued over her curses at the other end, ‘I’ll see you in a bit, okay?’
I hung up after she told me I needed my head examining.
‘Follow me.’ I said to Warren, and strode past him into the auditorium.
He tried to strike up a friendly chat about the theatre, and the times he’d been to see shows there.
I remembered those visits too. He’d first seen me on stage in Cabaret, and thrown a proper tantrum because I’d been ‘flaunting’ myself in front of an audience. He didn’t want the woman he loved doing that, he’d said. I’d laughed. Surely he was joking? ‘Chloe. You’re the most special thing in my life. Walking out on stage, all tarted up, has tainted that. I’m sorry but I don’t want you doing it again.’
Well, that had triggered the mother of all rows and I’d dumped him. But he’d come back, contrite and desolate. He was a fool. He was sorry. He just loved me so much he found it difficult to share me. He’d adjust. We’d be okay. And because he was, in all other respects, so smart and funny and full of life, I’d bought it.
Till the next time.
‘The most serious problems are in here.’ I flicked the light on in the dressing room. ‘Over there.’
Warren peered up at the jagged crack running the length of one wall. ‘Hmmm. I can see why they’d want to condemn it.’ I clenched my teeth. He took some photos. ‘Next?’ He followed me to the costume store, took more photos and shook his head sympathetically. ‘It’s a tall order, isn’t it?’
‘But achievable, with some financial backing.’
‘Oh sure.’ His head tilted to one side as he looked at me with a familiar, lop-sided smile; the one I’d once confessed was guaranteed to make me melt.
Shit, I thought. He’s cranking up to make a move on me.
The door out of the costume store was behind him. ‘I haven’t shown you the toilets, yet,’ I busked, turning back with my arm outstretched like a tour guide. Not that there was anything wrong with the toilets, other than needing a lick of paint, but the smell of bleach over urine might dampen his ardour. He declined the opportunity to photograph those, and I hurried back to the foyer, ignoring all signals he wanted to loiter in the quiet area backstage.
‘So,’ I said, standing close to the exit doors and beaming at him – my hands clasped tightly in front of me. ‘I’ll send you the reports and you can send me your proposals, and we’ll take it from there, yes?’
He tested that lop-sided smile, again. ‘It’s good to see you, Chlo.’
‘Thanks. Good to see you too. Especially in more positive circumstances, don’t you think?’
He moved forward. I snatched at the door handle. He almost laughed. Digging into a folder, he pulled out a community projects brochure. ‘Most of what you want to know about us is in there.’
I took it and he held out his hand to shake mine. I shook it manfully. ‘Thanks, Warren. Good to see you looking so well.’
As if psychic, Beth rang before he’d even left the car-park. ‘Has he gone yet?’
‘Yes. Got any cake?’
‘You alright?’
‘Fine. Do I need to go to the shop?’
‘No. We
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