Chapter Text
Breathe, Catherine. Just breathe.
But she couldn’t. She was amazed that she’d managed to hold it together for the entire show, but she couldn’t hide it anymore. Having the performance to focus on had served as a small distraction, but now the stark reality had come crashing down around her. Now the curtain was down, there was no “character” to shield her, no story to escape into. There was just the horrible, stifling reality. Catherine gripped her dressing table desperately as a sudden rush of vertigo made the room sway, her heart hammering in her chest, in her ears. She clamped her eyes shut. The room suddenly felt too small, closing in, suffocating her.
“Catherine?” came Jane’s soothing voice, as she stepped into the dressing room, an eyebrow raised in concern. “Are you alright, love?”
But it was evident that the other Queen was far from alright.
Jane hadn’t missed Catherine’s dash off stage at the quickest opportunity after the curtain call. She’d seemed a little distracted throughout the show, some of her lines usually delivered with much gusto falling flat, her choreography not as sharp. Clearly, Catherine hadn’t been feeling in top form, but the others had dismissed it as her being a little under the weather. But now, Jane has concluded that it wasn’t that simple.
Hearing Jane’s voice piercing the stifling silence seemed to snap Catherine out of her daze, as a sob escaped her lips. Seeing her start to tremble, Jane immediately went to her side, easing her gently into a chair before her legs had the chance to buckle. She was admittedly a little rattled herself, having never seen Catherine, the one who was usually so stoic and composed, in such distress.
“What’s going on?” Jane tried desperately to mask the waver in her voice as she drew up a second chair. “Catherine, you’re scaring me.”
Three Months Earlier
A triumphant cry erupted from the Queens’ table as they finished another round of “Would You Rather?”. It was a Sunday evening, officially the weekend for the six women, seeing as they didn’t have any performances the following day. It was the one night when they all truly relaxed, easing the tensions of the week over a few drinks. They had inevitably become regulars at the pub, with the bar manager knowing to reserve them the larger table in the cosy nook. With rustic walnut panelled walls, low ceiling beams and soft furnishings, the pub was popular with locals and tourists alike, all seeking out its warmth on a chilly London evening. Being in close proximity to the theatre, it had become a firm favourite with the Queens, and they were now relatively well renowned for their Sunday appearances.
“Right! Who’s up for some Drenga?” Anne asked rhetorically, already leaping from her seat to retrieve the favoured game.
A light-hearted groan rose from the table, Catherine and Cathy rolling their eyes and shaking their heads. They all knew how this went down.
“I’d rather play Battleshots,” grumbled Anna, slumping back in her seat.
“No!” cried Jane in mock despair. “Please don’t give Anne any more ideas!”
Laughter rippled through the group. They all knew Jane was a lightweight. She didn’t have to be reminded of that last fateful night, when they’d cajoled her into playing, resulting in a very drunk karaoke rendition of “My Heart Will Go On” and a thumping hangover the following morning.
“I’ll go and top up the drinks then!” volunteered Catherine, collecting the glasses, resigned to the fact that they’d have to play at least one more drinking game to satisfy Anne and Anna. The German was quick to offer her help as they made their way to the bar, leaving the remaining four to chat amongst themselves.
As the pair approached the bar, Anna noted heads turning, men eyeing them up. Catherine seemed to be oblivious, but Anna had witnessed it several times - men often held their gaze for too long. Not like it was difficult to see why. Catherine was arguably one of the prettiest Queens, with her sun-kissed skin and glossy black hair. She had an air of sophistication about her that Anna lacked, more poise. But Anna didn’t compare herself; she enjoyed blending in more, seeming innocuous, but nonetheless would jump to the defense without hesitation if anyone dared try to mess with her girls.
One of the bartenders looked up from pouring a pint, flashing a pearly white smile.
“You ladies are needing refills already?” David teased, giving a cheeky wink at Catherine as he took their glasses.
“You should be grateful,” Catherine said, faking offence. “We’re keeping you in business!”
At the remark, he gave a chuckle. David was the easy-going, regular bartender on a Sunday evening and a friendly face to all of the Queens. He always made Kitty blush with his charming ways, and even Catherine had to admit he was easy on the eye. He’d even piqued Cathy’s interest when he demonstrated a genuine intrigue in the Shakespeare play he had spotted peeking out of her bag one evening.
“Good week?” he asked politely, looking between Anna and Catherine.
Anna shrugged, her fingers tapping on the bar. “Same as always.”
She wasn’t really one for making small talk.
“How was yours?” Catherine asked, much happier to engage in conversation, leaning in closer, prompting Anna to roll her eyes.
David passed over their drinks, giving a nonchalant shrug. “Not too bad! Can’t complain really. Always in need of the extra pennies!”
Catherine gave him a warm smile and a nod of thanks as she turned to return to their table.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the flash of a chequered shirt, but the crowd soon swallowed the stranger up as he made his way towards the bar. Attempting to maneuver her way through the jostling mob, Catherine focused on the glasses in her hands, trying rather unsuccessfully to not spill any of the drinks, and, in her haste, walked headfirst into someone.
“Sorry!” she quickly apologised, looking up, and briefly locking eyes with the man in the checked shirt.
Then he was gone.
She didn’t know it yet, but Catherine had just sparked a fuse.