“Coffee would be great,” said Harry. Looking a bit confused, he walked over to the couch that she'd pushed to the back of the room and sat down on it. He looked rather small sitting so far away and was obviously feeling totally uncomfortable. He coughed.
Jazz went into the kitchen and tried to breathe deeply while she watched the kettle. She suddenly found the silence horribly oppressive.
She brought out a tray with a pot and two mugs.
She placed them on the coffee table, which was now a few feet away from Harry. He got up and sat cross-legged by the table. She sat down next to him.
“Shall I be Mother?” she asked for no good reason, and then tried desperately not to think of Freud.
He smiled a nod and they sat there for a while, cupping their mugs with their hands.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” she finally said, very quietly.
Harry put down the mug. He looked at her intently with his dark eyes.
Jazz stopped breathing.
“I just wanted to see how you were. You seemed very tense at the dress rehearsal.”
Jazz started breathing again. Oh wow, how sweet. She'd never seen this side of him. Her heart beat faster and all her movements suddenly felt magnified. She tried to concentrate on slow, deep breaths.
“Sorry about that bit where we went round in a circle,” she managed to say.
Harry smiled. “It's OK. It won't happen tonight it's never happened before. But change the line if it'll make you feel better.”
Change the line? This late? Was he mad? She had visions of Elizabeth Bennet suddenly coming out with "The more my toes, tiddlypom". It didn't bear thinking about.
“I'll be fine, thanks.”
Harry smiled. “And everything else - is it OK? Or is it as bad as your column says it is?”
Jesus. He had followed her column into the News.
Jazz shrugged. “We'll cope. Worse things have happened at sea, as they say.” Why was she talking like her mother? Any minute now she'd be telling him that he should take his coat off and feel the benefit.
“I just wanted to say that everything will be OK. I know it will.” Harry seemed to be quite certain of that. He continued, “Gilbert won't do anything to hurt you or your family, I'm absolutely positive.”
Jazz was incredibly touched. She didn't know what to say. Harry's eyes were focusing on her feet. Dear God, she thought, why the Goofy slippers?
“You may not believe it, but I sometimes get nervous. I have panic attacks,” he was saying. “Not when I'm on stage - that's fine. It's whenever I go on tube trains. I keep trying to overcome my claustrophobia but it happens every time.” He was starting to gabble. “That's why I finally bought my own car, although I hate driving. The last time I went on the Underground, I fainted in the carriage. It took them ages to wake me and drag me to a side office. Then when they realised who I was, they made me wait until they'd ordered a car to pick me up outside the station. They had to put all the trains on hold before I was able to leave. Otherwise I swear I'd still be there today,” he half-laughed. “It was the most embarrassing day of my life. The only way I got out of there was by staring straight ahead and reciting "To be or not to be" until I reached daylight.”
Jazz stared at him in amazement.
“It was the day of the auditions, actually,” he continued. “The day we ..." A little smile, a little cough.
And then he was back to normal.
“You see, I focused, Jazz. And I got out in one piece. Focus is all - I honestly believe that. Just forget everything else that's going on in your life - your writing, Josie's divorce, Gilbert's article - let it all go and become Elizabeth Bennet. I know you can do it. It's going to be a spectacular performance — we'll be the best part of the whole week. Especially you. I know you'll do me proud. Just focus, Jazz.”
He looked up, and Jazz's expression had undergone a rapid change. She gave a short, bitter laugh. So that's what all this was about. His bloody reputation. She should have known better than to look for a bit of heart beneath that torso. God, he must have so little faith in her, to think she needed a home visit on the day of the play. Or maybe he was doing this to all the cast members he thought needed a personal pep talk. And she'd almost fallen for it. How utterly humiliating. Sara was probably in the car downstairs. With her legs. She felt a sharp stab of hurt in the base of her stomach.
“I'm not going to spoil your precious reputation, Mr. Noble,” she said. “I promise not to make any mistakes. And I won't be changing any lines.”
Harry pretended to be surprised, but she could see right through him. He may be an actor, she thought hotly, but he can't bluff me.
“Oh, come on, Jasmi—”
“Look - I need to get ready.” She stood up and towered over him. “So I'm afraid you'll have to leave now.”
Harry stood up too.
“Jasmi—”
She turned her head away from him.
He seemed to stay there for ages. She crossed her arms and stared at his untouched mug of coffee.
“Right then, I'll go,” he said, marching towards the door. “Don't bother to see me out,” and he slammed it behind him. He stormed down the stairs, furious.
George picked her up at 4:30 pm. Jazz checked her bag five times. Yes, she had enough hair slides. And rollers. And tights. And the right shade of lipstick. She put her battered script in her bag just in case. She'd show Harry and Sara. She'd be bloody brilliant.
They went to a local restaurant, picked at their meals and then drove straight to the rehearsal.
Her stomach started to grip tightly as soon as they turned into the road where the theatre was. Jazz went straight to the toilet in the foyer. By the time she walked into the brightly-lit auditorium, George was nowhere to be seen. Harry was there, talking to Matt and the lighting guy, Alec; TV camera operators were already setting up in the audience. No one noticed her as she stood staring up at the stage. The set was all ready for the first scene, which surprisingly made her feel reassured. She walked silently down the auditorium, through the swing doors at the back and into the dressing room.
She didn't notice Jack and George snogging in the corner until she was walking towards them.
“Waargh!” she exclaimed maturely, and they both jumped apart. Jack whispered something to George and she giggled coyly; he then walked past Jazz with a big grin on his face.
Jazz's jaw parachuted to the floor.
George was making a high-pitched sound and running on the spot, like an excited child.
“How the hell did that happen?” asked Jazz.
George started mock-swooning and laughing out loud. She was hugging herself. Jazz started joining in the laughing.
Eventually George ran over and hugged Jazz. Thank God, thought Jazz. Something's going right.
“He's in love with me,” she sang, as if this was the most unbelievable thing in the world.
“Of course he is,” smiled Jazz.
George said blissfully, “I was just standing here, trying to gather my thoughts, pretend I was calm, trying to push him out of my mind for the fortieth time today—”
Jazz felt guilty. Preoccupied with her own misery, she'd forgotten that George would still be at that painful stage.
“—when he just came in, walked over, told me he'd made the biggest mistake of his life and that he was in love with me.”
“And of course you told him that it was too late because you'd changed your mind, and anyway, you'd rather die an old maid than forgive him,” queried Jazz.
George grinned at her. “I want his babies.”
“Really?” laughed Jazz. “How many has he got?”
George was beaming at herself in the mirror. “Oh God, I'm so happy I think I'm going to burst,” she said to her reflection. “He told me that these have been the worst weeks of his life and he's never going to put his work before his happiness again. He said we might never be rich but” - she gasped and put her hand over her mouth as she realised what she'd just said “ - but we'd always have each other.”