Page 40 of Before You Say Goodbye

“The nineties are vintage now.” Larry nudged Autumn and smiled. Now that her head was a little less tender, she’d decided she did like him after all. Larry was a big character: dramatic, exuberant and entertaining.

“When did we get so old?” Bowie asked, hugging everyone.

“How are you, hon?” asked a gorgeously tall man. He was wearing an impressively sparkly bodysuit and block-heeled sandals. Bowie embraced him a little harder than the others.

“I’m doing OK, Phil, thanks. This is Autumn, by the way.”

Autumn waved shyly.

“We miss you,” said a petite blonde girl. Her waist-length hair was slicked back in a perfectly tight high ponytail.

“I miss you all too.”

“Lies!” Larry shot back. “If you missed us then you’d answer when we call.”

“No, I do. It’s just . . . hard.” Bowie swallowed, turning to look at the stage. The cast exchanged sad smiles. Phil looked as though he might cry. Autumn had wondered what had happened to Bowie’s friendships. He’d never spoken of any friends, or wanted to meet anyone, nor mentioned them in passing. She’d wondered if perhaps he’d been a bit of a loner like her, but now she knew the truth. Bowie had friends here, in the theatre, hordes of them, but he’d already chosen to let them go. His apprehension about helping Larry had never been about not wanting to work, he just didn’t want to have to say goodbye to the people he loved all over again.

“One more time, eh?” Larry gripped Bowie’s shoulders affectionately. Bowie slapped him playfully in the chest.

“Oh, go on then. It can be my bloody ‘lasting legacy’ can’t it? Now get on the stage, you group of legends, and sing me this shitty finale, will you?”

* * *

On their way to the theatre, Larry had explained the premise of the musical to them.

“It’s about a young devout Christian couple who get married at eighteen and then realise he’s gay and that she’s sexually inquisitive, too. Phil is the lead. You remember Phil? It’s all jazz hands and love and passion and death and cheating and scandal and liberalism. All the things you adore, Bowie, basically. You’re going to love it. But this fucking finale. Thisfuckingfinale! I just can’t get it to work. It just doesn’t have that zazz, you know?”

Autumn didn’t know what zazz was but Bowie seemed to agree that the finale did not have it. He folded his arms across his chest two lines in and they stayed folded until the cast had sung the last notes, held their position for applause and collapsed in a heap of sweaty despair. Autumn watched him with keen interest. She had never seen Bowie so engaged in anything before. His eyes darted around the stage in every direction, taking in all that he saw. She was quite sure that there was not a single movement or facial expression in the entire eight-minute performance that Bowie did not absorb. Autumn clapped enthusiastically when they were done. She genuinely liked it. Larry and the cast thanked her graciously. Bowie did not applaud. He motioned for the cast to sit on the edge of the stage, unfolded his arms and leaned on the table in front of him.

“Do any of you like this song?” he asked. The cast remained still and silent. A few of them tittered uncomfortably. Bowie turned to Larry, who was hiding his face in his hands.

“Don’t do this to me, Bowie,” he said pleadingly.

“You need to rewrite the finale.”

“I preview intwo days!”

“You’re not going to get what you want from them if your cast don’t like the song.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck!” Larry threw himself down into a chair. “Why didn’t any of you tell me?”

“It isn’t their job to tell you, it’s your job to know.” Larry peered sheepishly back at Bowie over his steepled fingertips.

“Can you do it?” he asked tentatively.

Bowie winced and hesitated. “Possibly. Probably. Yeah. If I have Marley.”

Larry stiffened. His gaze moved to meet the eyes of the cast. He was taking his time to think about it. Autumn bristled. She found herself surprised by how fiercely offended she was on Marley’s behalf, realising in that moment that she felt as close to him as she was to Bluebell. Their friendship had bloomed in the very same way, with speed and intensity. She couldn’t stand a bad word said about him and had to force herself not to react audibly.

Larry sighed. He shook his head, defeated.

“OK, call him,” he said.

* * *

Marley watched the finale with a sickly expression on his face, shaking his head unapologetically as it came to a close.

“It’s shit,” he said. Bowie nudged him. His brother could be far more direct than Bowie and Autumn knew this embarrassed him at times.

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