But as soon as she comes out and launches confidently into her first monologue, I know she’s going to be fine. I’ve rehearsed her lines with her so often, I can recite them backwards, and find myself murmuring along with her: ‘… so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father.’
My mother jabs me in the ribs, and I shut up.
Two and a half hours later, I have tears in my eyes as I leap to my feet along with the rest of the audience to deliver a standing ovation, clapping and cheering until my palms tingle and my throat is raw. For the duration of the play, I completely forgot that Portia was my daughter. She is beautiful, gracious, intelligent, quick-witted: Shakespeare’s most appealing heroine. It’s only a school play, and there were forgotten lines and fluffed cues and wooden acting – Antonio showed less range of emotion than a table leg – but Bella was an absolute revelation, and if I say that as her mother, it’s only because she was so completely other. I have never seen her sparkle and dazzle the way she just has up on stage. The sullen, withdrawn child I live with was nowhere to be seen. In her place was a confident, brilliant woman: a drama queen, indeed. I feel as if I’m seeing my daughter for the first time.
‘Wasn’t she amazing?’ Min cries, as we join the madding crowd heading towards the exits.
‘Wonderful,’ I say, straining to find Andrew. He can’t have missed this. Bella was extraordinary. ‘Can you see Andrew anywhere?’
‘There!’ Tolly cries, pulling away from me. ‘Daddy!’
I struggle to hang on to my son as he forces his way through the throng, apologising profusely as I jostle shoulders and step on toes. ‘Tolly, wait!’
I still can’t see Andrew, though Tolly obviously has him in his sights. As we reach the double doors to the entrance vestibule, the cast comes running through the side corridor that leads backstage, still in costume, shrieking and laughing as they reunite with proud parents in the auditorium. Bella races towards us, hand in hand with her friend, Taylor, a smile splitting her face from ear to ear. She scoops Tolly up in one swift movement, swinging him around, bubbling with triumph. ‘Did you see me?’ she cries. ‘Did you see me?’
‘We could hardly miss you.’ I smile. ‘You were brilliant, darling. Absolutely amazing. I told you that you would be. You too, Taylor. I loved your Bassanio. You were brilliant.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Page,’ Taylor says. ‘Oh, there’s Mum! Catch you later, Bel.’
Bella can’t hide her elation, and I love her for it. ‘I messed up on my speech at the beginning of Act II Scene 1 but I don’t think anyone noticed.’
‘I can’t believe it was you up there,’ I say honestly. ‘You were incredible, Bella. You blew us all away. It’ll be the Oscars next.’
‘Where’s Dad?’ she asks, looking past me as Celia, Min and Luke force their way through the crowd and catch up to us.
‘I see him!’ Tolly shouts, pointing.
Andrew and Caz are standing in the entrance hall, talking to Taylor’s mother. They must have been standing right at the back for the whole performance. That can’t have been comfortable in the ridiculous stilettos Caz is wearing. She looks like she’s dressed for a nightclub, not a school play.
My heart swoops as Andrew turns. For a split second, I’m twenty-four again, walking into the wine bar opposite the INN TV studio, and coming face to face with the most beautiful man I’d ever encountered. Now, as then, it’s as if the crowds around us fade away, and there are just two of us in the room. When we met, Andrew was in his early thirties, tall and dark-haired and dressed more formally than most men his age in a grey suit – I soon learned he was a reporter, and this was his on-camera attire – his tie pulled loose around his neck, his jacket hooked casually over his shoulder on one finger. He’d glanced around as I’d let the heavy door swing shut behind me, and I’d seen appreciation and interest in his leonine amber eyes, and his mouth had quirked into a smile. The blood had pulsed in my ears and I’d felt the fizz of butterflies in my stomach. I feel them still. I think I will until the day I die.
Andrew puts his palm on the small of Caz’s back, and murmurs something in her ear, and the pain I’d thought I’d tamed flares as sharp and stinging as the day Andrew left me.
Bella puts her brother down, and Tolly barrels through a forest of legs towards his father. ‘You’re late!’ he cries. ‘You missed it all!’
There’s a sudden silence. I glance at Andrew, assuming he’ll say they were just out of sight, at the back, but he shrugs helplessly. ‘We got the time wrong. I’m so sorry,’ he adds, as Bella’s face crumples beneath her stage make-up. ‘I’ve been listening to people talking about how wonderful you were. The star of the show—’
She doesn’t wait for him to finish. With a terrible sob, she turns and runs back into the auditorium.
Andrew starts after her, but Min blocks his way. ‘I think you’ve done enough damage,’ she says coldly.
‘How could you get the time wrong, Andrew?’ I cry furiously. ‘I told Caz it started at four at least three times!’
‘You said seven,’ Caz protests.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Mum snaps. ‘School plays are always in the afternoon, so siblings can come and watch without having to stay up late. You came last year, Caroline. You should know that.’
Andrew glares at his wife. ‘Caz obviously made a mistake. I’ll go and find Bella and apologise. I’m sure she’ll understand.’
‘I did not make a mistake,’ Caz says firmly. ‘I thought it was a bit odd, but Louise insisted it was in the evening this year. That’s why I told you to book the table for nine-thirty.’
Andrew hesitates, and I see the sudden doubt in his eyes. Surely he can’t think I’d be that petty and underhand?
But I know the answer to that one. I’ve cried wolf before, and now, when the wolf is at my door – in the heart of my family – no one believes me.
Chapter 10
Caz
I sit at the end of the table, playing with my salad. I should feel vindicated, but even though Louise was the one in the wrong, not me, somehow I still feel like the villain.
Andy spent forty minutes calming Bella down and persuading her to come out to dinner, but he didn’t once apologise to me. Instead, in the car on the way over to the restaurant, he said Louise and I needed to ‘communicate better’ next time, and then refused to discuss it any further. Even after I’ve given him cast-iron proof she’s trying to sabotage me, he still makes excuses for her.
I don’t know why I expected anything else. For the last four years, Louise has had Andy twisted around her little finger. All she has to do is snap her fingers, and he comes running.
It’s not just his ex-wife I have to share him with, either. He’s been part of the Roberts family for seventeen years, and divorce hasn’t changed that. Even when it’s not our weekend for the kids, Andy’s often over at their place, fixing wonky shelves in the living room or taking Brian out for a pint. He spent a whole weekend a few weeks ago putting in a new tomato bed, for God’s sake. But if I object, I look like an unreasonable, jealous cow.