Page 1 of Second Act at Appleton Green
Act One
1
‘Morning.’ Lily woke to hearing Nigel, her housemate, knocking on her bedroom door.
‘Go away,’ she returned in greeting, rolling over in bed and pulling the duvet up over her head. Their rescue cat, Mr Mistoffelees, was asleep at the foot of the bed, keeping her toes warm.
She heard the door open. ‘Seriously, piss off,’ she moaned and threw a pillow at the door but it fell short, like most things she did lately, she thought.
‘Charming, you’re quite the lady, aren’t you?’ said Nigel in a posh accent as he opened the door.
‘I try me best, guvnor,’ she said in a cockney accent and she rolled over to look at Nigel.
Nigel was dressed in his active wear and was doing pliés in the doorway. He was always moving, always dancing from one place to another. People like Nigel were like dragonflies, and people were captivated by them both.
‘I’m heading off soon. I’ve got to get the train to the airport. I thought we could farewell each other over breakfast but we don’t have any clean mugs. I could still make tea and we can drink it from those ramekin dishes you bought for that dinner party that time and served the crème brûlée that didn’t set.’
‘Don’t remind me of that and don’t remind me it’s my turn to do the dishes,’ she said as she sat up in bed.
‘You haven’t done the dishes in about a month, hence the ramekins,’ he said with an exaggerated eye-roll. ‘I have stopped doing them as an act of protest. I also haven’t been here due to rehearsals but those dishes have scurvy; you have scurvy; this flat has scurvy.’
‘I must,’ she said. ‘I just don’t feel great. Even getting up is hard at the moment. I think either I’m low in iron or it’s scurvy.’
‘No, you’re low in self-confidence,’ said Nigel shaking his head at her. ‘Girl, I worry about you. You have to get into it, this whole life concept.’
‘I would rather stay at home. I’m thinking of applying for a new job,’ she said.
‘Oh? That’s cool. What is it? Are you leaving the call centre or the restaurant or both?’ he asked doing an arabesque.
‘Neither. I’m planning on being a biscuit tester. It a work-from-home role and I just sit on the sofa and eat biscuits and give them a rating. Do you know anyone who’s hiring?’
‘I think that’s a perfect job for you,’ said Nigel and he walked into the room and picked up the pillow and threw it at her. ‘Hobnob reviewer and general dilettante.’
‘Thank you, finally someone can see my potential,’ she said. ‘More than Paul does. You know, I’ve left messages and he still hasn’t returned my calls.’
‘Paul is a shit agent. I’ve told you that. Unless you’re a lead he’s not interested. You need to try a new one, someone with a bit of hunger.’
‘You’re with Paul,’ she cried.
‘I know, but I’m a dancer; it’s easier for me. You know what he’s like, all about the young and famous ones.’
‘Of which I am neither,’ she sniffed. When Paul had first taken her on after drama school she was thrilled. He was considered the best in the business, but he had slowly started to take less interest in her as she stopped booking jobs. She knew Nigel was right but the thought of having to start again with a new agent made her tired even thinking about it.
‘Now get up and go to your real job,’ Nigel said firmly. ‘You’re not getting any younger or famous rolling around in that squalor.’
‘I know.’ She sighed and pulled her long dark curls up into a bun. ‘I can’t wait for a day of calling people to ask them if they want to join the wine club or whatever it is I’ll be selling today. Who knew I’d be living this dream at nearly thirty? I mean it’s amazing, isn’t it? The heights I have reached in my stage career so far.’
‘Don’t stress, babe, you have your third callback tomorrow forLes Mis, on the stage no less. How exciting to sing on that stage. It’s going to be amazing. I know you’ll get it and then you’ll be in a show and never have to sell wine or newspapers or heater servicing again, and Denise can sell the signed programmes on eBay once you’re in the show.’
She sighed. Nigel knew her better than anyone and knew she came with a very intense stage mother: Denise. She and Nigel had lived together through university and graduation and for the past eight years, but now he was going on tour withThe Wizard of Ozand she would be left in their flat alone working, hustling, auditioning, worrying.
Nigel was an incredible dancer and strong chorus member, but Lily was a soprano and roles were harder to come by, plus with her striking looks of pale skin, blue eyes and long dark curls, she looked like she was born in another time, except she was getting older and the ingénue roles seemed to be going to the younger ones.
She had been in three choruses on the West End since leaving drama school and she was grateful for those opportunities as they’d helped her get the lead role of Marian Paroo in a tour of Europe withThe Music Man. It was exciting to have any roles at all, as she knew how hard it was to even get an audition on the West End, but it felt like her agent had forgotten about her lately. Sometimes he would ring with a TV commercial audition or even a voiceover or narration for an audiobook but the phone had been ominously quiet in the past few weeks.
Sure, there had been a few walk-on parts on television shows and a few lines in an episode ofHolby Citybut this third and final callback forLes Miswas everything she had worked for. All those years at college, all the singing with her gran in her cottage in Appleton Green, all the auditions and trying over and over again. She was ready for this.
With a sigh, Lily swung her legs out of bed and landed on the chilly floor. After making her way to the bathroom, she cleaned her teeth and glanced in the mirror. The bags beneath her eyes were not pretty, she thought as she leaned in closer to see the damage, but that’s what happens when you work two crappy jobs with crappy hours and matching pay.
