Lucky Break by Esther Freud Page B

high, and then there were Anish’s blazing eyes as he spun away from the closed door.
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    Armed with bundles of slippery new leaflets, Nell and Cath trawled the city, jostling with jugglers and stilt-walkers, clowns, contortionists and fire-eaters, to thrust adverts for A Hell of a Marriage into the hands of passers-by. They walked from the Castle down to Hollyrood Palace, across to the Grassmarket and along the high terrace of shops that curved into the hill. They walked across to Princes Street and found to their surprise that here, in this shopping street, there were people, local people, real people, who hardly knew there was a festival on at all. They stared in surprise at the proffered leaflets, exclaimed over the early starting time, and muttered that they’d be at work then, or fixing tea. Nell and Cath walked back through the park, stopping to admire the clock of flowers, its face planted with pansies and primulas, its large hand clunking heavily as it ticked. They passed the railway station, pushing leaflets into the newly arrived hands of visitors, watching them pityingly as if they’d lived here all their lives.
    As lunchtime approached, they took a short cut to the theatre, climbing a cobbled ramp that led into the street above, and as if the city really was theirs now, and everyone in it, they saw the bright-shirted figure of Dominic, walking towards them. ‘Girls!’ he called, ‘good timing,’ and he pointed out a group of figures above them on the corner, turned in on themselves as if in consultation. ‘Why don’t you join Snakeskin for lunch? They’re going to try The Stag.’
    â€˜Oh.’ Cath blushed. ‘I said I’d . . .’ she looked back towards MacDillons. ‘That I’d meet Richard . . .’
    Nell and Dominic both looked at her. That was quick. But neither of them said it. ‘Nell. You free?’ Dominic patted her distractedly on the arm, and he nodded in the direction of the pub.
    Nell swallowed. What would she be expected to do? To say? Her heart hammered high up in her chest, but even as she neared the group, she saw Anish turn and wheel himself through the double doors of the saloon bar, bursting them open like a cowboy in a film. Nell began to run, entering the pub just in time to see a solitary man pick up his pint and shuffle to the back of the room.
    Snakeskin settled themselves around a cluster of small tables, adjusting their wheelchairs, laying down crutches and sticks. Nell sat on a spare stool. ‘Get us a pint of Guinness, would you?’ Anish pressed some money into her hand.
    â€˜Anyone else?’ Nell could feel the place where Anish had touched her, the strength of his cool fingers, the callus on the pad of his thumb.
    Amelia felt for her bag. ‘I’d love a lemonade, and a cheese toastie.’
    â€˜I’m on toasties,’ David, the tall boy, insisted. ‘Toasties can’t spill,’ and leaving his sticks under the table he staggered to the bar.
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    There weren’t many people in the pub, but Nell could feel every inquisitive eye on them. Whenever she looked up, heads quivered and glances swerved. Snakeskin seemed oblivious. Their show was opening in three days. ‘I can’t see,’ Amelia started, ‘I mean I know I can’t see, God,’ the others giggled, ‘but what I mean,’ she was choking on her lemonade, ‘is how it’s going to work.’
    â€˜It’s not going to,’ Anish cut in. ‘Unless we all make a superhuman fucking effort.’
    â€˜I’m trying.’ David was defensive.
    â€˜Yeah. Not hard enough.’ Anish stared him down. ‘Who says we do extra rehearsals from now on, every evening?’
    Helen, a heavy girl, welded to her wheelchair, nodded. ‘I’m in.’
    â€˜And me.’ Amelia tilted her head. Her blind blue eyes were opaque as cloud, wide-spaced and plaintive in her