‘Oh, stop it,’ I said, glancing towards the door that led down to the dressing rooms. ‘He’s hot, though,’ I admitted. ‘And I really didn’t mind pinning up his breeches.’
‘Need more room, did he?’
I took a playful swipe at Margot just as Will re-emerged wearing jeans and a T-shirt that clung to his broad chest. He approached us as we sat side by side sipping from cans of Coke.
‘I wouldn’t trust anyone else with my breeches, Miss Langham,’ Will said, holding them out to me.
‘Just so you know, it wasn’t me who made them in the first place. Had I sewn these beauties from scratch, you would have had no embarrassing splits onstage.’
Margot made a noise, almost choking on her Coke.
‘I am perfectly sure that would be the case,’ he replied, sitting down next to me as Margot slipped away. ‘So, what got you into all this?’ he asked. His voice was treacle, his black skin equally as tantalising. With his kind eyes and broad shoulders, Will’s proximity seemed to take away my ability to speak. Normally I prided myself on quick wit and banter when it came to guys. But I’d not had a proper relationship since finishing college in London several years ago, and I was suddenly wondering if I’d left my confidence back there, too.
‘Oh, you know. I always just made things. Dresses for my Barbie dolls. Clothes for me when I was a teenager and had no money. I’d buy jumble sale bargains and cut them up, make something new. That kind of thing. And then I ended up training professionally. So how about you? Why an actor?’
‘Why not?’ Will replied cryptically. ‘I can be anyone I want, which, more often than not, is better than being me.’
I thought about this, inwardly agreeing and disagreeing with him. Everyone needed to escape themselves occasionally but the way he said it sounded almost… ominous, as though there was something wrong with him that even he needed to avoid. But I brushed it off. I barely knew the guy and wasn’t about to judge him on a throwaway comment.
‘But acting isn’t my full-time job, sadly. Since I left college, I’ve also been working as a drama teacher. Bit of a baptism of fire at the school I’m at, but hopefully my wit and charm will win the little buggers round.’
‘Wow,’ I said, impressed, thinking that must be a tough job, especially as I guessed Will was only in his mid- to late twenties himself. While I’d had huge respect for the staff at my school, whatever their age, I remembered how some of the kids gave the younger teachers a hard time.
‘Meantime, I’m hoping my semi-pro acting will get me spotted. My agent has high hopes.’
‘You have an agent?’ I was even more impressed.
‘Yeah, and I’ve had a couple of small TV parts. Holby, EastEnders, a couple of period dramas. But theatre is my main love.’
I smiled, looking at him sideways, not knowing what to say. There was something between us – a spark, perhaps – I felt sure of it, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’d had a leading-man crush and that had never ended well. I may as well have not existed with the last one – he’d barely noticed my shaking fingers as I stitched up the braiding on his jacket at close quarters, let alone the rest of me. I should listen to my gut this time, I decided. Listen to what sensible-and-together Louise would tell me now that we were back in touch. I’d always admired my oldest friend’s wisdom, boundaries and sense of self. And I should definitely not listen to Margot, who was hovering nearby, giggling and making gestures to me from behind the wing curtains. I forced myself not to look, suppressing the laughter.
‘Do you fancy getting a bite to eat after we’re done here, Miss Langham? Maybe at that new pizza place around the corner? I’m starving.’
I thought for a moment. It was Monday and there was no performance tonight. Usually, I’d go home, get an early night, or perhaps work on some new patterns. Margot and I had been designing and making bridesmaids’ dresses to sell at bridal fairs. Everything we’d made so far had sold instantly.
‘You know what?’ I said, sliding off the crate and building up to the I’m going to get an early night excuse. But I paused. Looked into Will’s large, deeply dark eyes and swallowed. Well, I tried to swallow but it was hard, as if every automatic function in my body now needed forcing or overthinking. ‘That would, well I’m, um… that, actually that would be lovely,’ I said, going against what the voices in my head – mainly Louise’s – were screaming at me. I knew my closest friend only had my best interests at heart, remembering how I’d been hurt and messed about one too many times, even at the age of twenty-six, but right now I was simply listening to myself. What I wanted. ‘I’d love that. I’d really love to have pizza with you after I’ve stitched up your breeches, Mr Othello.’
And that was that.
Six
Now
On Monday nights, Jo used to do Pilates. Often Will would have a script run-through or, if it was term time, he would sometimes schedule a school play rehearsal if there was one in production, and Jo would let herself into an empty house after work. She knew Will liked to go out for a drink either with work colleagues or other cast members. ‘Helps our onstage chemistry,’ he explained. ‘If we know what makes each other tick.’
‘Will,’ she’d replied with a grin, holding onto his arm. ‘You don’t have to justify going out for a beer with your mates. It’s fine. If anyone at Pilates was under the age of sixty and up for it, I’d probably do the same.’ She’d kissed him then, grabbed her mat and headed out.
‘Another normal Monday night, then,’ Jo says to herself now, dumping her bag and keys on the kitchen table, knowing things are far from normal. ‘Alone.’ Automatically, she heads to the fridge, pulls out the remains of a bottle of wine, pours a glass, wondering why she’s even bothering with the glass. She hasn’t turned on the light in the kitchen and the peachy dusk casts an eerie glow in the room.
Shivering, though not cold, Jo heads to the little sitting room, taking her laptop with her, and curls her feet under her legs on the sofa. She opens it up, hardly daring to look at the website again. If she hadn’t taken the screenshots on her phone, looked at them disbelievingly several times throughout the day, she’d have gone the last twenty-four hours thinking that she’d dreamt it or had perhaps taken one too many sleeping pills or antidepressants, and that her mind was playing tricks. She was still struggling to come to terms with what she’d seen – photos of Will in someone else’s house. How could it even be possible?
She picks up her phone, turns it round and round in her hands. Goes into her contacts and pulls up PC Daniels’ number again. Should I call? Should I tell the police what I’ve seen? She takes a large sip of wine, shaking her head, sighing heavily. It’s the right thing to do, but how can I? Her thoughts knot into a tangle. What if it’s to do with… She shudders again, dropping her phone onto the cushions. She can’t do it. Not yet. Not until she knows more. Will would not be happy…
Jo logs onto the House Angels website, her fingers trembling as she types the silly password Louise cooked up. Which reminds her – she hasn’t replied to Louise’s earlier text.