Any minute now something will happen, so they just sat there, muttering under their breath afraid to break the fragile silence that surrounded them, an occasional cough, there’s always someone who coughs, a short tickly one, or a deep guttural one, either way disconcerting.
The seats creaked as people took their place in the semi-darkness, the light was poor, eerie, as they stared at the empty stage and when the coughing eased the seats rattled on, some snapping upwards half way, or maybe they were creaking anyway through the unease that was taking over the faltering silence.
I stole a glance at the woman beside me rummaging in her handbag, making little searching sounds, sighing, the man sitting on the other side of her muttering under his breath, “God’s sake woman, get on with it.”
“Oh, excuse me,” she said as she turned away and stared up at the empty stage, one tree standing alone, one balloon moon, totally out of proportion to the stark backdrop.
I watched her surrupticiously as she started rummaging in her bag again, this time lowering her head almost right into it.
Oh god, she’s going to get sick, I thought, oh god, oh no, and I kept eyeing her as she slowly raised her head when the actors came on stage, a smile lingering on her face in the dimmed light as she screwed the lid back on to the bottle in her handbag and sighed a contented little smile that brought with it a subtle whiff of brandy that lingered in the air and made me think of Christmas and the Christmas cake and the Remi Martin spilled over the plum pudding in muted candle light flickering into a fragile flame that slowly petered out.
We sat still. Waited in silence.
A remembered image of hope, and make-believe, and courage that produced its own drama until it faded, disappearing into itself.
As I left the theatre that night I lingered in the foyer where the actors gathered in noisy huddles, changing their image back into reality, laughing, clinking their glasses, leaning against the Bar, one eye casting a glance at the straggling audience who nodded and smiled and moved on. I stayed in the background watching them, hoping he would appear.
It was his voice I told myself that enthralled me that made me move over to where he was leaning against the Bar, half watching the audience as they slipped by nodding if they nodded their appreciation and I thought for a fleeting moment he looked my way an enigmatic smile hovering on his face. Maybe not and I moved out of sight afraid to intrude on the actors’ space, but I faltered again and lingered at the stage door not knowing what I would say if he came by, I would thank him, tell him it was an enthralling production, that he was wonderful, so engaging …
“ Ah, there you are,” a voice behind me said, “ this was supposed to be our last night but
they’ve decided to do one more show, due to public demand ….you must come along and sit
in the front row this time to remind me of yourself…
“But I …”
“Just turn up,” he said, “ slip in by the stage door, my mother does that all the time, and
then make up a story.”
I did turn up the following evening, and the stage door was unlocked, but there was no one around until one of the cleaners emerged “Oh sorry, I didn’t think there was anyone here,” and she stood back and smiled,
“I will be here for another little while if you need any help. Just shout, my name is Molly.”
Annette Dunne