Pride, Prejudice and Jasmine Field

Chapter 25

The run through of the whole play was a revelation to Jazz. Before, she'd only ever thought of the script as a compilation of separate scenes and had wondered how on earth she could possibly maintain the same level of concentration for two hours, but it proved easy. There was a new electricity running through everyone. It felt as if any of the cast members could electrocute each other simply by touch. It was so amazing it took Jazz's mind off her troubles.

Afterwards, Harry sat everyone down and went through his copious notes on everyone's lines, delivery, speed and focus. He was big on focus. Jazz felt disappointed relief that he didn't have any constructive criticism for her and an hour later, when everyone went to the pub for a well-deserved nightcap, she tried not to dwell too much on the fact that he had disappeared on his own into the night. He'd stopped socialising with everyone, thought Jazz sadly. She and George quietly drowned their sorrows in the corner, while Jack chatted easily to everyone at the bar and William got slowly drunk and flirted happily with all the younger Bennet sisters.

The technical rehearsal was the most boring, frustrating day of Jazz's life. She spent hours at a time standing on the stage reciting one line while the lighting crew got their act together. Purple Glasses, who had shown only glimmers of pomposity up until now, was finally in her element. This was her day to shine. She kept yelling, “Elizabeth Bennet is requested on stage IMMEDIATELY,” while standing next to Jazz, looking at her. It was only Jazz's determination to impress Harry with her maturity that stopped her from punching the woman in the mouth. Harry was in his old foul mood and seemed preoccupied all day. It was as if the acting was tedious now and he had far more important things to think about.

Afterwards, everyone went to the pub again and Harry was once more conspicuous by his absence. So was Sara, and Jazz started to feel real fear in the pit of her stomach. Mo and Gilbert hadn't bothered to join the rest of the cast tonight either, even though it would be one of their last evenings together as a team. William was getting drunk again, although Jazz had to admit he did even that with a certain boyish charm. Everyone except Matt and Carrie seemed to find him highly amusing. Jazz couldn't concentrate on any of the inane cast gossip and didn't care. They could all go to hell.

She had taken the week off work and used the two days before the play to write a couple more columns for the News. It kept her mind off everything. After intense pressure from her family, Jazz had agreed to continue writing her column from the angle of what it's like to see two people you love divorce each other. Martha had been fervent in her belief that readers should read about this sort of thing. And it was also a damage limitation exercise. If Jazz made all those involved sympathetic, it would help them when the scandal broke.

To Jazz's surprise, Brigit had been only too happy to accept this new twist in the subject-matter. “Of course, I'm sorry for you,” she had said politely over the phone, “but as far as we're concerned, divorce is always a safe subject, especially if there's a toddler involved. To be honest, it was much more of a risk taking you on when you were talking about their successful marriage than a failed one. Especially as Josie's such a well-loved character. People will be desperate to know how she's coping.” Jazz hoped to God she was doing the right thing.

Of course she wasn't going to write anything about the fling with William Whitby. The readers didn't need to know about it and she couldn't deal with the scandal encroaching into her work just yet. She was hoping against hope that if she won herself a devoted readership at the News, they might just keep her on when that sordid detail became common knowledge. Although, deep down, she feared that Josie's Choice would be cut immediately. The News was a serious paper and didn't like being involved in scandal.

So she just pretended it wasn't going to happen. She'd deal with the play first, then Gilbert's piece second. One trauma at a time. And she'd keep writing her columns until she was told to stop. For some reason, Gilbert was taking his time over publishing his story. Either he was in a price war with the papers - he had so many tabloid contacts he was probably auctioning it - or he was waiting until the morning after the play, so that the piece would be newsworthy. Either way, Jazz was living on borrowed time.

She began to notice over the next few days that her writing style had changed. She was far less brash now. Her columns had a moving humility that she just couldn't shake. And she had to admit, it added resonance to her writing that had never really been there before. Within days, Jazz and Josie started getting fan mail from readers of the News.

The dress rehearsal was crap. Jazz was beginning to find everything about the play nightmarish. Everyone had made their own spaces in the changing rooms - narrow rooms with naked bulbs round the vast mirrors - and she had thought it would help if she went in the far corner with George. She couldn't have been more wrong. Everyone was hysterical with nerves and excitement, and she was stifled by it all. She felt suffocated. She could hardly dress herself, her hands were so cold. And the first time she looked at herself in the mirror in her costume, she hardly recognised herself. In the low-cut Empress-style dress she could actually see the palpitations of her heart.

Backstage was suddenly a dark, terrifying place. As were Jazz's bowels. She wondered if she could hide a toilet under her petticoat.

When all the women had finished putting on their beautiful dresses and putting up their hair, they sat on their make-up desks, chewing gum or drinking bottled water and laughing boisterously. Weirdly enough, everyone felt far more comfortable in their soft, easy-flowing costumes than in tight modern dress. And, to Jazz's delight, everyone with tans looked decidedly odd. Her paleness looked most becoming, she thought with a tired smile. Everyone was too impatient and excited to listen to Mrs Bennet's anecdotes any more, but she still insisted on delivering them. Every time she realised no one was listening, she pretended she'd lost a hairclip or something. Jazz found everyone pointless and ridiculous.

There was a knock on the door. Harry's voice sounded from the corridor. “Are you all decent?”

Jazz and George were the only two who didn't try and say something funny to this. George was sitting staring at herself in the mirror, focusing. Jazz was staring at herself in the mirror, feeling nauseous.

Harry walked in. Everyone hushed.

He was wearing a white shirt tucked into breeches. His black leather boots went up to his knees. He hadn't put his tie or his frockcoat on yet and the loose collar of his shirt revealed a beautiful chest. The words "gorgeous", "dead" and "drop" came to Jazz's mind, but she couldn't for the life of her remember what order they should be in. Her mind was slush. She looked in the mirror to check that it wasn't oozing out of her ears.

Harry spoke quietly and calmly, with warmth in his voice. “You all look fabulous,” he said. Jazz was overwhelmed with jealousy and stared fixedly at herself in the mirror. Harry coughed.

“Now. They say that dress rehearsals are meant to be atrocious. Otherwise you won't know how to cope when anything goes wrong on the night. But if you all focus and stay calm, I think we could have a hit on our hands.” Everyone looked at each other, grinning like idiots.

“Beginners on in ten minutes,” said Harry. “Break a leg.” And with that he was gone. Everyone got silly again and Jazz thought she was going to faint.

Then George tapped her on the shoulder and without speaking, the two of them made their way down the narrow corridor to the stage.

Standing in the wings, Jazz found she lost her sense of self. All she could see was the stage. When the music started playing and the lights dimmed, she felt herself walk purposefully into pitch-black darkness, aware that George was with her in the gloom. When the lights came on, she saw that George was perfectly poised. As soon as she had said her first line, Jazz was amazed to feel a sense of supreme serenity overcome her. She enjoyed every inflection, every pause, every movement. Her senses were heightened and her body was powerful. She could do anything.

When she walked off, her nerves returned but were less potent this time. She realised that being on stage was OK, it was being backstage that was terrifying. She wondered if she could manage to stay on stage all night. She started getting a bit high. Everything was very funny. Mrs Bennet was such a poppet. She even gave Harry a big smile when they had to wait backstage together for one of the few scenes they had together. When he gave her a condescending, Darcy-ish smile back, she wanted to prod him like a little sister.

Then in their first long scene together, she botched it all up by confusing two of her similar lines. She kept repeating the first one, forcing them to go round in a big circle of the script. She just couldn't get off the circle. Every time Harry tried to bring her back to the right line, her mind went blank and all she could think of was how thick his eyelashes were and how his eyes were almond-shaped. He looked like a cow. It had helped when he tensed his perfect lips with barely repressed anger. The terror came back and the hysteria stopped. God, she thought helplessly. She was so unfocused.

After they'd come offstage, she apologised. He was already taking his frockcoat off. “Forget it,” he said curtly. “Concentrate on your next scene.” And he strode off. Damn, blast and buggery bollocks, Jazz thought as she straightened her petticoat.

After the dress rehearsal, everyone went for their last drink together before the big night. Harry was noticeable by his absence again and Jazz sensed his real character coming back to the fore. How long had she thought he would be able to keep it up? Gilbert wasn't there either and she was positive that he was writing about Josie and William. The latter was drunk again and flirting with Lizzy Bennet's neighbour, Maria Lucas. She looked ecstatic to be the chosen one tonight.

Jazz looked over to see if Carrie was all right, and was pleased to see the shy young woman deep in conversation with Matt. At least she wasn't on her own, thought Jazz, and joined them both. She tried to stand so that Carrie couldn't see William and as she chatted to them, she realised she was with her two favourite people in the cast.

But the highlight of the day was when she and Mo sort of made up. Mo had come up to her at the bar.

“What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” she had asked with a nervy smile that betrayed her. Before Jazz had remembered they weren't talking, she'd answered, “Thought you'd never ask,” and they'd both grinned foolishly at each other. A great knot of unhappiness in Jazz's stomach slid undone.

Then they'd remembered their loyalties and lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. But it had made Jazz feel far less depressed.

When she went home that night, Jazz tried to dream of nice things, but she couldn't. All she could see every time she closed her eyes was Harry turning scornfully away from her and talking to someone else.