allow people to start gossiping about me
.
Finally, at about three a.m., I closed the door on my head.
You have a choice here, Sally
, I told myself. Drowsiness rolled over me, gently repeating like a wave.
You can wallow in the fear of something that’s not yet happened, or you can go and enjoy America. What’s it to be?
I was asleep within minutes, only to be woken by the lovely Henk bringing me perfectly scrambled eggs with smoked salmon and toast. When we started banking into New York an hour later, and Barry forgot that he was afraid of flying, galloping into Business to scream excitedly at me and Fiona, Henk somehow found him a seat toland in and Fiona told me she was a dick and would never mention my singing again cos she knew I was ‘weird and private’, like my folks, and then I saw those buildings thrusting elegantly into the sky, reigniting memories burned into me by a thousand films, and I finally gave up and burst into tears. Happy tears.
I couldn’t believe it. New York. City of dreams! The most exciting thing I’d ever done. The beginning of my Act III; the greatest adventure of my life.
ACT FOUR
Scene One
Monday, 10 September 2012, fifteen months later, London
From: Sally Howlett [mailto [email protected] )
To: Fiona Lane [mailto [email protected] )
Sent: Monday, 10 September 2012, 07.03.55 GMT
Fi – ARGHHHH! IT’S TODAY! It’s today it’s today it’s today!
You are in a world of trouble, Fiona bloody Lane. This terrible horrible scary opera course at this terrible horrible scary music college is
all your fault
. I didn’t sleep last night. I just lay there going mental and thrashed around and had diarrhoea (NB not in my bed) and pulled big clumps of my hair out and ate a multipack of Wotsits and maybe had a couple of tots of minging dark rum cos that’s all me and Barry have in the house. The main point being that I hate you. Arggh!
I think it’s very rude of you not to come back to London to help me through my first week in this diabolical place. EVERYONE IS GOING TO BE POSH AND AWFUL AND THEY ARE GOING TO THROW ME OUT BECAUSE I WON’T BE GOOD ENOUGH AND THEN I WILL BLOW MY HEAD OFF IN AN OVEN AND IT’LL ALL BE YOUR FAULT.
Right. Breakfast is out of the question and if I have coffee I will FLY THROUGH THE FECKING ROOF so I’m just going to, oh, I don’t know, sit here for another hour and STEW MY FAT ARSE OFF.
How’s New York? Lovely and autumnal? Hmm, I’m sure it is. Damn you, you selfish bugger.
And love you. Lots.
Please come back soon. If only for a quick visit. A day, even! We all miss you. Xxx
Scene Two
The same day
The air was brisk but warm when I got off the tube at South Kensington. After a wet summer the trees were confused and their leaves had already begun to curl inwards and make for the ground. They skittered along the pavements, playful dancers in a cityscape of discordant traffic and relentless human momentum. For a few seconds I allowed myself to remember the turning leaves in Central Park, breathtaking in their autumnal technicolour. But I shut down the memory almost as soon as it had started. Stirring up thoughts of New York was not helpful on a day like today.
As I walked up the side of the Natural History Museum, its windows ablaze with a sudden burst of sun, a coach from none other than Stourbridge disgorged a bunch of feral children. I thought how much all of this would have pleased me, were the circumstances different. The leaves, the sparkly new puddles, the noisy children from my hometown.
Not today. ‘Ah wunt to see the dinosaurs noe!’ one of them shouted, and I couldn’t even smile.
They inhabited another world. Their greatest fear probably centred around the potential ratio of horrible fruit to delicious trans-fats in their Natural History Lunchpacks.
‘Hullow. Are you from London?’ one of them said to me. He offered a manly wink and a toothless grin and waited for my response with surprising confidence for a
.
Finally, at about three a.m., I closed the door on my head.
You have a choice here, Sally
, I told myself. Drowsiness rolled over me, gently repeating like a wave.
You can wallow in the fear of something that’s not yet happened, or you can go and enjoy America. What’s it to be?
I was asleep within minutes, only to be woken by the lovely Henk bringing me perfectly scrambled eggs with smoked salmon and toast. When we started banking into New York an hour later, and Barry forgot that he was afraid of flying, galloping into Business to scream excitedly at me and Fiona, Henk somehow found him a seat toland in and Fiona told me she was a dick and would never mention my singing again cos she knew I was ‘weird and private’, like my folks, and then I saw those buildings thrusting elegantly into the sky, reigniting memories burned into me by a thousand films, and I finally gave up and burst into tears. Happy tears.
I couldn’t believe it. New York. City of dreams! The most exciting thing I’d ever done. The beginning of my Act III; the greatest adventure of my life.
ACT FOUR
Scene One
Monday, 10 September 2012, fifteen months later, London
From: Sally Howlett [mailto [email protected] )
To: Fiona Lane [mailto [email protected] )
Sent: Monday, 10 September 2012, 07.03.55 GMT
Fi – ARGHHHH! IT’S TODAY! It’s today it’s today it’s today!
You are in a world of trouble, Fiona bloody Lane. This terrible horrible scary opera course at this terrible horrible scary music college is
all your fault
. I didn’t sleep last night. I just lay there going mental and thrashed around and had diarrhoea (NB not in my bed) and pulled big clumps of my hair out and ate a multipack of Wotsits and maybe had a couple of tots of minging dark rum cos that’s all me and Barry have in the house. The main point being that I hate you. Arggh!
I think it’s very rude of you not to come back to London to help me through my first week in this diabolical place. EVERYONE IS GOING TO BE POSH AND AWFUL AND THEY ARE GOING TO THROW ME OUT BECAUSE I WON’T BE GOOD ENOUGH AND THEN I WILL BLOW MY HEAD OFF IN AN OVEN AND IT’LL ALL BE YOUR FAULT.
Right. Breakfast is out of the question and if I have coffee I will FLY THROUGH THE FECKING ROOF so I’m just going to, oh, I don’t know, sit here for another hour and STEW MY FAT ARSE OFF.
How’s New York? Lovely and autumnal? Hmm, I’m sure it is. Damn you, you selfish bugger.
And love you. Lots.
Please come back soon. If only for a quick visit. A day, even! We all miss you. Xxx
Scene Two
The same day
The air was brisk but warm when I got off the tube at South Kensington. After a wet summer the trees were confused and their leaves had already begun to curl inwards and make for the ground. They skittered along the pavements, playful dancers in a cityscape of discordant traffic and relentless human momentum. For a few seconds I allowed myself to remember the turning leaves in Central Park, breathtaking in their autumnal technicolour. But I shut down the memory almost as soon as it had started. Stirring up thoughts of New York was not helpful on a day like today.
As I walked up the side of the Natural History Museum, its windows ablaze with a sudden burst of sun, a coach from none other than Stourbridge disgorged a bunch of feral children. I thought how much all of this would have pleased me, were the circumstances different. The leaves, the sparkly new puddles, the noisy children from my hometown.
Not today. ‘Ah wunt to see the dinosaurs noe!’ one of them shouted, and I couldn’t even smile.
They inhabited another world. Their greatest fear probably centred around the potential ratio of horrible fruit to delicious trans-fats in their Natural History Lunchpacks.
‘Hullow. Are you from London?’ one of them said to me. He offered a manly wink and a toothless grin and waited for my response with surprising confidence for a
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