Page 10 of The Cut
‘It’s “art thou” ashamed of me, Benjamin, please … this is the bard.’ Waller is sweating in frustration.
(Kate:)No, just ashamed to kiss.
(Petruchio:)All right, let’s go home then. Oi, Grimmers!
(Kate:)Wait … I will give you a kiss.
Here it comes. Ben Knot is holding his ground as Annie Maddock puts her script down, ready for the moment everyone has been waiting for. Nobody breathes until a wolf whistle from the back row breaks the tension.
Then, a slow, intimidating hand clap begins, goading them on. Annie Maddock frowns and huffs out an exasperated sigh. Then, walking slowly towards Ben, she pauses for a second, closes her eyes and quickly pecks him on the cheek. A loud farting raspberry issues from the back of the hall.43
‘Boooo … slip ’er a tongue, mate.’
‘All right, settle down.’ Mr Waller is now red in the face. ‘Continue, please … I SAID SETTLE DOWN, YEAR 11!’ There is a clattering of chairs and a scuffle, as someone storms the stage.
‘Wait, I’ll give you one.’ Lynette Davis mounts the steps and shoves Annabel Maddock out of the way. She grabs Ben Knot’s face and plants her lips on his. The entire hall erupts in a massive unrestrained cheer and feet pummel the wooden floor.
‘GO GO GO GO GO!’
Lynette releases Ben, who appears stunned for a moment but then turns his head to the baying crowd and pumps the air with his fist, eliciting more shrieks and whoops from the crowd.
Lynette turns to Annie. ‘That’s how it’s done, love!’
Annie reddens but smiles sarcastically. ‘So. What? You think Kate should just give in to her “master”? Just give him what he wants?’ The crowd in the hall hush as Mr Waller holds out his hand as if to stop time for a second.
Lynette screws her face up. ‘What you on about, Maddock? You frigid or what? Yeah … I reckon she needs to give him what he wants … or he’ll go somewhere else!’ A rather subdued laugh bubbles out from the audience.
Annie turns to Mr Waller. ‘I was being ironic, making him wait. I don’t think Katherina should be controlled like that.’ She looks back to Lynette with a smirk. ‘She’s just not that easy … love.’
This gets a bigger laugh and Lynette lurches forward to strike Annie. Ben reacts quickly and catches Lynette by the arm, dipping her into a dance move to cover the awkward moment.
(Kate:)Now pray thee, love, stay.
(Petruchio:)Is not this well? Come, my sweet Kate. Better once than never, for never too late.44
The rowdy teenagers applaud as Ben spins Lynette around the stage in dizzying circles, defusing the tension.
At that moment, unseen by the rest of the class, Dave slides into the back of the hall and sits silently on one of the chairs in the corner. He’s very late but relieved that he seems to have got away with it. He pulls out a video camera from his bag, inserts a tape and presses record. Holding the device gently in his lap, he stares into the viewfinder.
He follows Ben and Lynette as they spin around the stage. Then pans across to Chris Davis, hands clasped on the top of his head, chewing gum, his Doc Martens plonked on the back of the chair in front of him. He zooms in on Mr Waller, shirt buttons straining, sweat beaded on his waxy brow, his class totally out of control.
Finally, the camera falls on Annabel Maddock. She is standing to the side of the stage, in the shadow of a drab grey curtain, waiting in the wings. Patel adjusts the lens with his fingers, trying to find focus, but he can’t seem to hold her form sharp. Then, almost sensing his gaze, her eyes find his. A knowing smile spreads across her face as she looks directly down the lens before backing away into the shadows.
Taking centre stage, Lynette Davis appears to have Ben in a ‘Strictly Shakespearian’ ballroom chokehold. Lynette keeps her eyes glued on Annie, who is studying them both from the darkness of the wings.
If looks could kill then one of them would be dead in an instant.
45
8
SEPTEMBER 2023
Nate glanced up at his pants dangling off the camera on the wall. He hated being watched like some prison inmate. He wanted to control who could see him. He smirked to himself at his temporary fix to thwart his father’s surveillance and settled down to begin work.
In the background, Spanish guitar music picked and strummed as Nate opened a Grenade protein bar wrapper with his teeth and triggered the electronic blackout blinds. As the room went dark, he tapped his foot on the box lamp fader, setting the scene. Placing his phone into a cradle, he chewed on the peanut butter crunch as he lined up the shot.
He pulled out a dog-eared cardboard box from under the bed and took out hair gel and a comb, a small pot of adhesive, a stick of shaving soap and numerous palettes of tattoo paint. His open laptop was propped up on the small table, showing him the image that would be livestreamed. He opened his movie-maker app and set the timer for fifteen minutes, activating the AI editor to record with a thirty-second delay. A nondescript computerised voice counted down.
