transfer to London. But Maggie loved her Olivia. Never one to argue with a director’s concept, she even loved her Olivia’s Mongolian peasant costume and comical clog dancing. (‘Nobility is relative,’ their director Jeff told them.) Jeff, whom the
Financial Times
described as ‘an idiot’, had bucketfuls of bold ideas, including the unprecedented notion of casting as Viola and Sebastian (identical twins) two actors who looked absolutely nothing like each other. ‘Most wonderful!’ Olivia would say each night in the last scene, doing a hilarious double-take through bottle-glass specs. Even the critics liked that bit. She wished now she hadn’t slept with Jeff, especially as he was married to the famous TV actress who had played Viola. But he’d done her a great service with that casting of asymmetricals. No one usually finds Olivia’s final-act confusion the least bit funny.
Leon pushed open the steamy door, and wiped his shoes. Oh God. He looked slightly less enormous than she’d remembered, and had washed his hair. Maggie fiddled with her teaspoon in the sugar, glancing up occasionally. But though he looked round carefully, he evidently failed to spot her, so she carried on reading the
Stage
– or pretended to, having read it all already.
She heard Leon order a cup of herbal tea and braced herself. He brushed past her (‘Sorry’), and sat at a nearby table with
Time Out,
studying the ballet listings. She stared at him until finally he looked up. ‘Well, hello,’ she said pointedly.
He frowned.
‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘Penelope Pitstop. You must be Muttley.’
He took a sip of tea, and looked behind him. ‘Sorry, were you sitting here?’ he suggested, at last.
‘What?’
‘Were you sitting here?’
His voice sounded funny. But it was definitely him.
‘No.’
He tried to look away again, but couldn’t. She was staring at him, and clearly getting angry with him, too.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Do I know you? I’m afraid I’m terrible at forgetting people. I meet such a lot of people in my work, you see.’
At which point, the door opened again, and a blonde woman came in, smiling directly at Leon. It was Julia, Maggie’s therapist.
‘Ah, there you are, Julia,’ said Leon, with relief. ‘Perhaps…’ and he gestured awkwardly towards Maggie, evidently hoping his wife could identify her.
‘Margaret?’ she began, but in a second Maggie had pushed past her, left the café and was outside.
Verity, high on crack cocaine, was just being bundled into a police van (they were manhandling her plaits) when Belinda wondered whether it might be time to ease up a bit.
‘Phew,’ she said, shaking her head proudly as she perused the last two pages of notes, and wishing she smoked cheroots. ‘What a scorcher.’
The phone rang. It was Viv. ‘Am I interrupting something?’
‘Only a drug bust. So I see you’re still talking to me? She’s only a cleaning lady, Viv.’
‘It’s about you and me,’ Viv said. ‘I was wrong, you were right.’
Belinda paused to take this in. ‘And who is this impersonating Viv, please?’
‘Belinda, listen. I was wrong to interfere in your life. If you want to be bad at things and disorganized and never tidy up, you can do that. You’re nearly forty, after all.’
‘I’m thirty-six, the same as you.’
‘You see, Linda isn’t what you think. I know I’ve always said she was Mary Poppins and all that, but the truth is I’ve been covering up for her.’
‘Viv!’
‘No, it’s true. She’s got a terrible self-esteem problem. You have to bolster her all the time. And you end up—’
‘Viv, I can’t believe you’d stoop so low.’
‘You haven’t sacked Mrs Holdsworth?’
‘That’s a point. Hang on.’
Alerted to the telltale sound of vacuum cleaning in the hall, Belinda popped her head round the door and found Mrs H pushing the Hoover back and forth on the same spot, apparently lost in thought. ‘Fucking disgusting!’ she
Financial Times
described as ‘an idiot’, had bucketfuls of bold ideas, including the unprecedented notion of casting as Viola and Sebastian (identical twins) two actors who looked absolutely nothing like each other. ‘Most wonderful!’ Olivia would say each night in the last scene, doing a hilarious double-take through bottle-glass specs. Even the critics liked that bit. She wished now she hadn’t slept with Jeff, especially as he was married to the famous TV actress who had played Viola. But he’d done her a great service with that casting of asymmetricals. No one usually finds Olivia’s final-act confusion the least bit funny.
Leon pushed open the steamy door, and wiped his shoes. Oh God. He looked slightly less enormous than she’d remembered, and had washed his hair. Maggie fiddled with her teaspoon in the sugar, glancing up occasionally. But though he looked round carefully, he evidently failed to spot her, so she carried on reading the
Stage
– or pretended to, having read it all already.
She heard Leon order a cup of herbal tea and braced herself. He brushed past her (‘Sorry’), and sat at a nearby table with
Time Out,
studying the ballet listings. She stared at him until finally he looked up. ‘Well, hello,’ she said pointedly.
He frowned.
‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘Penelope Pitstop. You must be Muttley.’
He took a sip of tea, and looked behind him. ‘Sorry, were you sitting here?’ he suggested, at last.
‘What?’
‘Were you sitting here?’
His voice sounded funny. But it was definitely him.
‘No.’
He tried to look away again, but couldn’t. She was staring at him, and clearly getting angry with him, too.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Do I know you? I’m afraid I’m terrible at forgetting people. I meet such a lot of people in my work, you see.’
At which point, the door opened again, and a blonde woman came in, smiling directly at Leon. It was Julia, Maggie’s therapist.
‘Ah, there you are, Julia,’ said Leon, with relief. ‘Perhaps…’ and he gestured awkwardly towards Maggie, evidently hoping his wife could identify her.
‘Margaret?’ she began, but in a second Maggie had pushed past her, left the café and was outside.
Verity, high on crack cocaine, was just being bundled into a police van (they were manhandling her plaits) when Belinda wondered whether it might be time to ease up a bit.
‘Phew,’ she said, shaking her head proudly as she perused the last two pages of notes, and wishing she smoked cheroots. ‘What a scorcher.’
The phone rang. It was Viv. ‘Am I interrupting something?’
‘Only a drug bust. So I see you’re still talking to me? She’s only a cleaning lady, Viv.’
‘It’s about you and me,’ Viv said. ‘I was wrong, you were right.’
Belinda paused to take this in. ‘And who is this impersonating Viv, please?’
‘Belinda, listen. I was wrong to interfere in your life. If you want to be bad at things and disorganized and never tidy up, you can do that. You’re nearly forty, after all.’
‘I’m thirty-six, the same as you.’
‘You see, Linda isn’t what you think. I know I’ve always said she was Mary Poppins and all that, but the truth is I’ve been covering up for her.’
‘Viv!’
‘No, it’s true. She’s got a terrible self-esteem problem. You have to bolster her all the time. And you end up—’
‘Viv, I can’t believe you’d stoop so low.’
‘You haven’t sacked Mrs Holdsworth?’
‘That’s a point. Hang on.’
Alerted to the telltale sound of vacuum cleaning in the hall, Belinda popped her head round the door and found Mrs H pushing the Hoover back and forth on the same spot, apparently lost in thought. ‘Fucking disgusting!’ she
Similar Books
