Work Text:
By the time the bows had been taken, the house lights had come up, and a throbbing pain had begun in her shoulder, Vanessa Wilcock-Wynn-Carroway was very ready to sit down, take off her make-up, and spend the evening firming up plans for Girls Night with Annie and Sandra.
As she began to walk towards the wings, however, pulling off her turban and wiping at her brow, a strident voice cut across the low buzz of the departing audience, every syllable enunciated, the tone dripping with insistent entitlement.
“Nessa! Nessa!”
She would know that voice anywhere.
Quickly forcing her expression into something resembling (she hoped) composure, Vanessa turned on her heel and immediately came face to face with Clara Nichols, the owner of the voice, who was dressed up to the nines and brandishing a maroon-coloured lipstick in front of a compact mirror.
“Oh – hello, Clara! I didn’t know you were… didn’t know you were in the audience?”
Clara waved the unnecessary observation aside with a flick of her bleached blonde hair, clicking the mirror shut to examine her former friend with raised eyebrows and a slightly puzzled expression. “I see you’re still acting, then?”
“Yes.”
A moment of silence. And not the comfortable kind. She had never known what to say to Clara, not even back in the days when they were studying together at the polytechnic. They had so little in common, and she had always found their differences to be more awkward than they were interesting.
The blonde was scanning Vanessa from head to toe, eyes lingering on the actress’ melting foundation and cheap stud earrings, lip curling a little as if she had eaten something just sour enough to make her question whether it was still within date.
Vanessa was shrinking, twisting her hands together and trying to tell herself that she could understand why Clara would be unimpressed by her appearance, however much it might make her feel uncomfortable. It was, after all, not a new sensation. The other girl had always made it very clear that worrying about money was no object of concern for her, but if she had been financially comfortable when they had been studying together, she was positively dripping wealth now.
Not that Vanessa had ever resented it, of course. Well, she corrected herself instantly, maybe a little bit. Her parents, rich only in a ludicrously convoluted surname which created an expectation that she had never known quite how to live up to, had never understood why their daughter was dissatisfied with her monthly allowance, short budget holidays and small wardrobe. But then again, they had never met her friends from the polytechnic.
Vanessa had always been very careful to keep her home life and her education separate.
“Ooh, hi Ness!” Another clipped, posh accent assaulted her ears as a shorter, ginger girl walked over, her glittering designer bag catching the light and creating a dazzling mirrorball illusion of glamour.
No need to look for a further improvement of circumstances in Bex Ross; she had always had everything she needed, and more. They might say that, once you reach the top, the only way is down, but Bex had clung on to her position, no doubt digging her acrylics in and clawing at any potential opponents with the venom that Vanessa knew lay behind those perfectly whitened teeth. Bex looked as flawlessly untouchable as ever – and she knew it.
The brunette forced her lips into a smile. “Bex. Good to see you too.”
“I just went to the bathroom to freshen up. Funny… I know it was only half an hour, but I feel like I’ve been sitting in this stuffy room for an eternity.”
“It is warm.” Vanessa fiddled with the collar of her costume and cleared her throat. “What are you both up to, now, anyway? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”
They had never talked about the future much whilst they were at the polytechnic. Bex and Clara had been vocal about their hatred of Media Studies, barely making it to any of their classes over the three years that they had spent there. Vanessa, in contrast, had attended every single one. She knew, deep down, that she adored her course, and told herself often that she was incredibly fortunate to be spending her days learning about something she found genuinely interesting.
Still, the dawning realisation that her friends only wanted to hear her talk about it when they needed help with their assignments had gradually led to her avoiding the topic in conversation, until finally her enthusiasm genuinely did begin to wane – a cruel, unintended reality made of that disillusionment which she had faked.
She might never have gained the confidence to admit it to anyone, but she deeply regretted not making more of her final year of studying, before the stakes got real and her monthly rent became the driving factor behind most of her decisions.
“… and I’m doing modelling. I’m at the point now where I’m having to turn jobs down, which is a real luxury.” Bex smiled, all teeth and no eyes, and Vanessa cringed as she realised that she had completely missed Clara’s description of her job.
To her surprise, she discovered that, beyond the embarrassment of the social faux pas, she really could not find it in herself to care.
“That’s wonderful – both of you!”
“And what about you, Nessa? It can’t just be the amateur acting, can it?”
Bex chuckled – a harsh, grating noise. “I imagine not, Clara! That can’t be paying her any kind of salary. They needed a sponsorship just to get on the television!”
Vanessa winced. “I… I work as a carer. The drama fits in around that. It’s… it’s just a hobby.”
“A hobby? You looked very uncomfortable for someone doing a hobby.”
“I do love it – really. We just had – well, this evening was a bit… eventful for my liking.” She laughed awkwardly.
They did not join in.
A noise from behind her, and Trevor was brushing past, still hobbling a little from his earlier injuries as he picked up stray playbills left on the seats. “Ah, there you are, Vanessa. Chris was looking for you – cast meeting in five.”
“Right. Erm… tell him I’ll be a minute.”
“Tell him yourself – I’ve to go and sort these cut wires out before the BBC notice we’ve wrecked their fire alarm.”
“Notice?” Clara cut in, a sneer creeping into her voice. “The entire nation noticed. It’s a bit late for discretion now.”
Trevor squinted at her, eying her as if she had come from another planet. When he spoke, he injected so much repressed impatience into his voice that it somehow sounded ruder than any direct insult he could have attempted. “Right. Thank you for your input. I don’t care, but I’m glad you got it off your chest.” He rolled his eyes, and stomped off, hissing each time his foot made contact with the ground.
Vanessa bit back a grin, immediately feeling a surge of guilt at her instinctive amusement. Clara and Bex were her friends, even if it had been a few years since they had last seen each other. They had never fallen out, so they were friends, simple as that. She should not be laughing.
“Sorry. I think he’s in quite a lot of pain.”
“Don’t apologise for him, Ness.” Bex rolled her eyes, fiddling with her necklace as she sized Vanessa up. “I can’t think why you hang around with these people. They’re dragging you down.”
“I… I’m sorry?”
“Well, I’ve admittedly never seen you in a play that you’re good in, but I’ve never seen you in one that you’re bad in either. On your own, you are, to be honest, mediocre. The people you’re with – it matters… it has an impact. If you were working with talented actors, you could be semi-decent, I imagine. But this crowd of idiots is dragging you down, Ness. Just think: you never tried to be funny when we were at polytechnic together.”
“F… f… funny?”
“Yes! You may have been awkward back then, but at least you didn’t clown around with it. I mean – ‘Mensa’? Really? Did you see your director’s face when you said that? He looked so embarrassed, Ness. You know you can’t improvise. I can’t think why you tried!”
“I was a little irritated, I will admit.”
Vanessa jumped at the sound of her director’s voice issuing from behind her. “C-Chris? I didn’t see you there.”
“My apologies.” He inclined his head. “I was coming over to see whether or not you would be present at our meeting, and I happened to hear your… acquaintances… discussing the ‘Mensa’ incident?”
She inclined her head to the ground, mortification beginning to burn hot on her cheeks, now turning a shade to rival Clara’s lipstick. Beside her, Bex was shamelessly fluttering her eyelashes up at Chris, leaning slightly forwards over the chair in front of her. Mercifully, she noted, he did not seem to have picked up on it.
“However.” There was a sharpness in the director’s voice as he continued, unexpected and suddenly somewhat unnerving. “My frustration was not due to the improvisation itself, but merely the realisation that Vanessa can, quite naturally as it turns out, work outside of the script to bring the audience back on side. To get us a friendly laugh, rather than the usual – mockery.”
Oh. That was not where she had thought this was going.
“I have spent months wishing that Vanessa would trust herself on stage as much as she trusts everyone else – something she does no matter how many times they get it wrong.” Chris drew himself up to his full height. “You may be right that her talent is sometimes wasted in the context of our wider – ahem, misfortunes. But I like to think that we provide an environment in which she is increasingly able to try without fear of failing. As you said yourself, it matters who you surround yourself with.”
Bex had stopped preening, looking up at Chris with a slight glare on her face. “You thought that was, in any way, a good performance?”
“The state of our production has no bearing on the fact that you have no right to insult my actors. As their director, the fault lies with me.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “Well then, you will understand my wish to end this conversation. I will not stand by and watch as my friend is weighed down by incompetence. Nessa – how about skipping your ‘cast meeting’ and coming for drinks with us?”
As the conversation had panned out, Vanessa had been slowly looking up, the wine-red stain of shame fading from her cheeks, replaced by a warm glow of pride.
Now, faced with her old friends on one side, and her current director on the other, she found that she did not hesitate. There may not have been a script, but he had said that she could improvise. And Chris had many faults, but he always knew his actors.
She turned to her director, nodding at him. “I’ll have to head back with Chris to debrief, now, girls. Perhaps you’ll come to another show, and I’ll see you again there?”
Clara picked up her bag, giving an aggrieved sniff as she took Bex by the arm. “You’ve changed.”
Vanessa was suddenly put in mind of a rather spoilt teenager, a comparison which felt so bold that it almost took her breath away.
As her former friends turned to leave, Chris smiled down at Vanessa, moving to face her such that she could no longer see their retreating figures, tottering on their heels as they haughtily made their exit.
“You have, you know.”
“Sorry, Chris?”
“Changed. Tonight was… really not our best, myself included. But you exhibited great presence of mind at points. Particularly with the timely application of the sand to the fire.”
“That was Annie, too.”
“Yes – you do work well together… most of the time.”
They both chuckled, images of a headless donkey, which would no doubt be haunting them for months, once more trotting through their minds.
“It was a shocker, even for us.” Chris shook his head. “And the thought of the forms I’ll have to fill out for the numerous fire-related incidents is already bringing a headache on.”
Vanessa giggled, despite herself. “At least nobody will be able to forget the Angel Gabriel!”
“Robert will be infuriatingly pleased with himself, no doubt.” Chris tried to hide a tired, fond smirk. “But really, Vanessa. You did do well. I don’t know those girls’ names – or indeed who they are – and the more I reflect, the more I think that maybe I shouldn’t have barged in. But you need to hear me when I say that their comments were out of line.”
“Clara and Bex.” Vanessa chewed her lip. “Their names, that is. They were my best friends all throughout the polytechnic. I thought I’d made it then, getting to sit with them, hear about their lives, paint their nails… I felt special. I’d never had ‘best friends’ before. The worst thing is, I don’t even know if they’ve changed. And if they were always that bad then – then I liked them like that.”
Chris placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and then hastily moved it as she flinched away from the contact. “Sorry. Is that side the one Trevor closed the book onto?”
“It is indeed.”
“Another form right there.” The director raised his eyes to heaven. “But you can’t beat yourself up for liking them then. We all want approval. I know that.” He paused for a second, lips parting as if he were going to elaborate, and then he evidently thought better of it and caught himself, his momentary waver past. “You’ve grown beyond needing theirs, and I respect that. Hugely.”
“I wouldn’t have had the courage to say no to going for drinks with them if you – if you hadn’t been there.”
“Why wouldn’t I have been there? It’s my job to help fight your corner. I’m your dir… I’m your friend, Vanessa.”
She had known it to be true for months now, but there was still something poignant about hearing him say it out loud. Vanessa sniffled, an unexpected tear escaping from the corner of her eye, brimming with emotions she was not sure she knew how to articulate. Before she was aware of what she was doing, she had flung her arms around Chris’ lanky frame, choosing to ignore the flash of pain running through her bruised shoulder in favour of holding on tight.
The director paused, almost as if he were computing her movements, and then gently reciprocated, patting her on the back. “There, there, Vanessa. It’s alright.”
“Please never think I’m not trying, Chris. Even when I can’t improvise – even when I panic. I always do my best, for all of you. I’m sorry when it isn’t good enough.”
Chris detangled her arms from around his waist, holding her back so that he could see her in the glow of the house lights. “Don’t doubt that I know it. And that it is good enough, always. I’m sorry for when I hold you to an unfair standard.”
“I hate to interrupt this lovely moment,” Trevor drawled, without a single hint of reluctance to be found in his tone, coming to a stop in front of them on his way back to the stage. “But if we can get this long-awaited cast meeting out of the way sometime before the new year arrives, I might actually be able to start the strike. And that would be wonderful.”
Chris coughed, dusting his hands on his trousers, unusually unsure of himself. “Right, right. That all alright, then, Vanessa?”
She gave him a watery smile, eyes sparkling with a mixture of warm amusement and gratitude. “Perfectly.”
The theatre now devoid of audience members, the three of them walked backstage together, hearing the raucous laughter of the others emanating from Robert and Dennis’ dressing room long before they reached them.
The others. Vanessa’s people. Her friends. Her family.