Trick of time, p.9
Trick of Time,
p.9
We went down the stairs and crept in to stand at the back of the auditorium. As Rob had said, all the plush pink seats were filled with theatre-goers, but we had a fine view over their heads, past the delicate ivory pillars supporting the tier above us. Jem seemed ill at ease to begin with, and I clasped his hand. He shot me a startled look then broke into a smile, looking down at our entwined fingers as if they were something marvellous. I suppose they were, for him.
“We can’t do this everywhere,” I whispered in his ear. “But here, it’s okay.”
I’d seen the play many times already, so I watched Jem instead. He seemed at first baffled by the action—I should have filled him in on the plot, I realised, but I’d hardly be popular if I stood at the back whispering for the rest of the act. Then his face cleared, and he began to smile and laugh. His gaze, after the first few minutes, never left the stage.
As I watched him, I remembered how much I’d always loved this play, with its absurd plot of mistaken identity, fake marriages that were real, long-lost relatives, actors playing actors and a superfluity of Shakespearian references. If I hadn’t loved Jem already, I’d have been head over heels by the time it all ended, his attention still rapt.
As the curtain closed for the first time, I pulled on his hand. “Come on. We’ll slip out now.”
We ran up the stairs, the sounds of the audience’s applause growing fainter as we rose. Rob, as always, was in the box office. It seemed a shame that he was so much a part of the theatre but seldom got to see the plays.
“Rob?” I called.
“Mm-hm?”
“Do you mind if I don’t stay for the party?” Rob had laid on a couple of cases of cheap fizz for the cast and crew.
He laughed. “I wonder what it could be you’re so keen to get home for? All right—we’ll miss you, though.”
“Thanks, Rob. I owe you.” I owed him a lot. More than he’d ever know.
He nodded. “Just take care of yourself, all right?”
At the door, I stopped for a moment.
“All right, Ted?” Jem whispered.
I took a deep breath. “Just—I hope this isn’t going to take us back.” I clutched his hand tightly and felt an answering squeeze. Was it enough that the play had ended? Should we wait a few minutes more?
But in a few minutes’ time, the lobby would be crowded with theatre-goers.
“Let’s go,” I said, and pushed open the door.
We walked out into the mild, early summer night. It was past eleven, and dark had fallen. Jem’s steps slowed, and he stared around him in wonder. “It’s so bright,” he breathed, his words almost lost in the rumble of traffic and the laughter of a group of girls passing by. “Look at them lights, Ted.”
I saw, as if through new eyes, the flashy, moving neon advertisements, the tall modern streetlamps with their gleaming, white light. All garish and tasteless but clean, too, and without the squalor of Jem’s time.
“And the carriages...”
“Cars, Jem. Well, the smaller ones. There are vans and buses, too.”
“Can we ride on one?”
I laughed. “Later. Tomorrow. I’ll take you for a drive.”
“You got one of them cars?”
“Yes.” I still had Alasdair’s coupe. “It’s about time I started using it again.”
As we walked through the Circus to the Tube station, Jem’s head was continually turned by some new wonder. People in their skimpy clubbing gear made his eyebrows all but disappear, and when we passed a young gay couple saying an affectionate goodbye outside a pub, Jem shook his head, laughing softly.
“I never believed you. But there it is.”
“Yes. It’ll be better here, I promise. It’s not perfect, but it’s better.”
The underground trains, at least, held little novelty for him, although the automatic ticket machines and barriers gave him pause, and the escalators were things of wonder. As the Northern Line rattled on its way he stared with interest at our fellow passengers—not that there were all that many; it was too early for the young people to be coming home from their nights out and too late for the families with children. But there were enough to provide Jem with a thorough study of twenty-first century dress, while they threw curious glances at his own attire.
Or maybe it was the way I was looking at him that drew the stares. I managed, at least, to keep my hands off him, but I kept my right leg pressed to his left, as if I feared if I let go of him entirely, he’d vanish like a will-o’-the-wisp.
And maybe I did fear that, just a little.
As we jolted on, Jem quoted snatches of dialogue at me with uncanny accuracy of both words and the actor’s voice. I realised with delight he didn’t just have the looks for the stage.
“You know, you should take Miri up on her offer. Audition for A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Even if you don’t get this one, I think you could do it. Be an actor.”
“Yeah?” He looked thoughtful for a moment, rubbing his lip. Then he looked up. “Have you ever acted?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m too much of a Fanny Price.”
His eyes widened, and I hastily explained. “She was a character in a book, very shy. ‘I could not act anything if you were to give me the world,’” I quoted. I’d never realised before quite how bawdy that name could sound.
My house was a fifteen-minute walk from the tube, down towards the Royal Free Hospital.
Jem’s steps faltered as we reached it. “This is yours?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?” He didn’t sound impressed so much as worried.
“Yes. Jem, what’s wrong?” I fumbled for my keys and opened the door. “Look, come inside—we can’t stand out on the street all night.”
He walked in slowly, looking all around him, not speaking.
“What is it?” I asked again.
“I thought you was like me. Just getting by. Not a toff with a posh house.”
“I’m not—Jem, this isn’t all that posh. Not really. And I don’t earn much, not these days. The house is all I’ve got, and a bit of money from my parents.”
He was frowning. “I don’t want to be no kept boy.”
“Kept—no. Christ, no. That’s not what I want, either.” I ran my hand through my hair. “I thought you knew. How I feel about you.”
He turned slowly, his gaze boring into mine like a wide-eyed rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming car. “No. You never said. You just said I was to come with you.” His shoulders hunched together in a vulnerable sort of half shrug.
“I—” My voice cracked. “Jem, you don’t owe me anything. If you want, we can just be friends. Or you can walk out of here any time you want.” Please, God, don’t walk out of here. “But I—I think I love you.” I felt light-headed, caught in some limbo between hope and despair. Did men of Jem’s time say they loved one another? Would he despise me for admitting it?
Jem took a deep breath, and as he exhaled, all the tension seemed to leave his body with the air he expelled. He smiled, first hesitantly then broadly. Closing the distance between us, he slipped his arms around my waist. “That’s all right, then. See, I loved you since the night I first held you in the dark by Bridle Lane.”
His words flooded through me, kindling a fire that warmed me from within. I felt giddy and light, as if I soared through a waking dream. My throat was too tight to speak, so I just smiled and let my head fall naturally to his shoulder. Jem’s arms tightened around me. We stood there a long time, caught in an instant of a dance.
Then he kissed my hair before pushing away a few inches. “So, Ted Ennis what ain’t rich but has a house fit for a lord and drives his own carriage, would you happen to own a bed?”
“I would, as it happens,” I said, my voice hoarse in my own ears, and took his hand to lead him upstairs.
Maybe it’d take some adjusting for Jem to accept this strange new world, but if anyone could do it, I thought, he could.
After all, he’d accepted me. The rest would be easy.
Epilogue
Pulling my jacket around me, I stepped through the Cri’s front doors into a crisp February evening. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, which had debuted here in 1975, was playing tonight, so by rights, I supposed, I should be walking into a melee of bell-bottom trousers, Laura Ashley dresses and Bay City Rollers plaid.
But the Circus and its inhabitants were unchanged from when I’d arrived here earlier tonight. Just like every night since I’d brought Jem back with me. Had we broken the gateway by bringing him back? Or had it, some tool of a benevolent fate, existed solely so I could find him and ceased to function once its purpose had been met? Not knowing was a like a loose hair at the back of my collar—a mild irritation when thought of, but soon forgotten when something more interesting came along.
Such as the sight of a handsome young man leaning on a lamppost just outside the theatre, his profile clearly outlined as he gazed up at Eros. I stood to watch him for a moment, my face stretching automatically into a smile. Jem had filled out a little since I’d first met him. His cheeks, still finely sculpted, were no longer so pinched, and his eyes had lost their wariness. He was smoking a Gauloise, puffing out clouds of smoke that billowed brightly in the electric lamplight.
We’d made plans to try to quit together from the next national No Smoking Day in March and by unspoken agreement were making the most of the time we had left.
His gaze wandered over the foreign teenagers who clustered, despite the cold, on the steps to the statue. Their tight, unisex clothing didn’t faze him anymore—or maybe he’d just got better at hiding it? I’d have to ask him later. Amused, I watched as a couple handed him a mobile phone, asking him via sign language and broken English to take a picture of them. Jem flicked his cigarette to the pavement and took a couple of quick shots before handing the phone back with a smile. Then his face turned towards the theatre. The smile altered, softened, became the one I saw him wear only for me.
I took the last few steps to meet him. “I bet they wouldn’t have believed that six months ago, you’d never even held a phone before.”
Jem pursed his lips, teasing. “That’s only cause they ain’t looked at the picture yet.” He pulled out his packet of Gauloises and offered me one.
“How did the audition go?” I asked, letting my fingers brush his as I took a cigarette.
“All right.” He took one himself, and I lit them both. Jem took a drag and puffed out the smoke, drawing out the moment. Then he broke into a grin. “I’m starting rehearsals next month. They reckon I got the right look.”
“That’s fantastic!” I could have kissed him, but Jem was still a little uncomfortable with public displays of affection.
“Yeah, I got to thank Miri for putting in a word.”
“You know you wouldn’t have got the part if they didn’t think you were up to it. They’re not going to take on any deadwood for Sweeney Todd, no matter who you know.”
Jem shoved a hand in his pocket, looking at his feet. We wandered down past Lillywhites as we smoked, the air chilly but full of the scents of a hundred eateries. “It’s only a small part.”
“But it’s a big show. We should go and get a drink to celebrate. Theatre bar okay? I think Rob and Miri will want to toast your success, too.” I hesitated. “Actually, Rob’s got some news of his own, but I don’t think he’ll mind me telling you. He’s got a new job, up in Manchester. Lucy wants to be nearer her family.” I took a long drag on my cigarette. “He thinks I should apply for the house manager’s job.”
“Yeah? Think you’ll get it?”
“Rob thinks so.” I gave a crooked smile. “Apparently people were impressed with the way I organised the charity performance.”
“Din’t I tell you? You’re worth more than you think you are, Ted Ennis.”
It seemed it was my turn to examine my shoes. When I realised what I was doing, I looked back up at his face, shining in the neon light of modern-day Piccadilly Circus. “Well, I haven’t decided yet, but I think I’ll probably go for it.”
“Got to take your chances when they come, haven’t you?” Jem gave me a sly look full of shared secrets as he took a last puff on his cigarette. “Are we going for this drink, then?”
I nodded. We turned back to retrace our steps to the Cri and ground out our cigarettes on the pavement. “Ready?” I asked.
“Ready.” Jem clasped my hand, just as he always did, and I pushed open the door.
Unto this All-sin-sheltring Grove,
Whores of the Bulk and the Alcove,
Great Ladies, Chambermaids and Drudges,
The Rag-picker and Heires trudges;
Car-men, Divines, great Lords, and Taylers;
Prentices, Pimps, Poets, and Gaolers,
Foot-boys, fine Fops, do here arrive,
And here promiscuously they Swive.
—A Ramble in St James’s Park, John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, (1647–1680)
* * * * *
About the Author
JL Merrow is that rare beast, an English person who refuses to drink tea. She read natural sciences at Cambridge, where she learned many things, chief amongst which was that she never wanted to see the inside of a lab ever again. Her one regret is that she never mastered the ability of punting one-handed whilst holding a glass of champagne. She writes across genres, with a preference for contemporary gay romance and the paranormal, and is frequently accused of humor. Books by JL Merrow include the bestselling Pricks and Pragmatism, Muscling Through and Hard Tail. Find JL Merrow online at www.jlmerrow.com.
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ISBN: 978-14268-9500-5
Copyright © 2013 by JL Merrow
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JL Merrow, Trick of Time
