the strange fullness and emptiness of it all; of a world suspended in aspic, and yet in the centre of it all is a Bea-shaped hole, so that at any minute this precarious construction might collapse in on itself.
I have made a terrible mistake staying here. I should have gone to London with Aunt Julia. I will call her, I think, and go on the next train.
But as I turn to go, I see a rucksack in the corner, leaning against the wall, a dull green against dirty whitewash. The kind you get from army surplus. Bea and I customized ours with swirling felt-tip paisley patterns and pin badges of bands. But this one has no pen marks. No badges. There is no clue as to who owns this bag. It is clean and new and unspoilt.
All I know is that whoever left it must be coming back.
DECEMBER 1987
TERM IS almost over and Hamlet has closed its run, a success. James is praised for his part, but Bea and Penn are a “triumph”, their chemistry “undeniable” .
This crackling, electric thing between her and Penn has taken Bea by surprise. Though she willed it, hoped it. It had been there when rehearsals had started. In every word spoken, every choreographed glance, touch. She was afraid it would be lost when they had to kiss. That somehow the stark practice room, the strip lights, the stares from Ben, from James and the stage hands, would drive it away. But even on a wet afternoon, surrounded by everyone, with the sounds of traffic on the Lewisham Road and the smell of coffee and someone’s stale crisps, she had felt something, everything; she had felt as if she had touched his very soul, and he hers .
They had repeated the kiss later, in her room, under the pretext of another run-through .
“That wasn’t a rehearsal,” he said, when he finally pulled away. “Not for me.”
Bea couldn’t speak, just shook her head and pulled him back to her .
It wasn’t until later, when they were lying next to each other in the narrow space of a single bed, that she found the words. “I knew it would be like this,” she whispered. “Didn’t you? Didn’t you just know it?”
He nods, pushes a strand of damp hair back from her face. “I’ve wanted you for ever. Since the first time I saw you.”
Bea feels a rush of relief that she was right all along. That love could feel like this. For the first time she has done something right. She can stop searching now .
“We won’t tell anyone at college, though,” she insists. “Not yet.”
“But— Why not?”
“I— It’s not that I don’t want to. I want to tell the world, believe me. They should know how good this is. Just— I need to let them – him – down gently.”
For a moment she thinks Penn is angry, is going to insist. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, she tells herself. He understands her and her odd feelings for this strange boy. “Whatever you want,” he says. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“After the show,” she thinks aloud. “We can tell people after the show.”
James watches them – Queen Bea and King Penn – being carried by their adoring crowd to the palace on Telegraph Hill, and he one of the throng. He has watched them like this for weeks, worrying, suspecting, that something has been finalized between them but never finding anything concrete. She has been vague in her answers, changing the subject and imploring him not to “talk shop” all the time .
“I tell you everything about me,” he announces one evening. “Did you know that?”
But she doesn’t rise to it. Just says, “I’m glad.”
He tries another tactic. “Gina Seaton tried to kiss me in the green room.”
“Really?” The disbelief she fails to hide hurts him. As if she cannot imagine anyone wanting him that way .
“Really,” he repeats. “I said no.”
“Well, you’re a fool,” she replies finally. “She’s got fantastic tits.”
And now they are here, all three of them. In a house bought for Penn by his father; an investment, for everything comes down to
I have made a terrible mistake staying here. I should have gone to London with Aunt Julia. I will call her, I think, and go on the next train.
But as I turn to go, I see a rucksack in the corner, leaning against the wall, a dull green against dirty whitewash. The kind you get from army surplus. Bea and I customized ours with swirling felt-tip paisley patterns and pin badges of bands. But this one has no pen marks. No badges. There is no clue as to who owns this bag. It is clean and new and unspoilt.
All I know is that whoever left it must be coming back.
DECEMBER 1987
TERM IS almost over and Hamlet has closed its run, a success. James is praised for his part, but Bea and Penn are a “triumph”, their chemistry “undeniable” .
This crackling, electric thing between her and Penn has taken Bea by surprise. Though she willed it, hoped it. It had been there when rehearsals had started. In every word spoken, every choreographed glance, touch. She was afraid it would be lost when they had to kiss. That somehow the stark practice room, the strip lights, the stares from Ben, from James and the stage hands, would drive it away. But even on a wet afternoon, surrounded by everyone, with the sounds of traffic on the Lewisham Road and the smell of coffee and someone’s stale crisps, she had felt something, everything; she had felt as if she had touched his very soul, and he hers .
They had repeated the kiss later, in her room, under the pretext of another run-through .
“That wasn’t a rehearsal,” he said, when he finally pulled away. “Not for me.”
Bea couldn’t speak, just shook her head and pulled him back to her .
It wasn’t until later, when they were lying next to each other in the narrow space of a single bed, that she found the words. “I knew it would be like this,” she whispered. “Didn’t you? Didn’t you just know it?”
He nods, pushes a strand of damp hair back from her face. “I’ve wanted you for ever. Since the first time I saw you.”
Bea feels a rush of relief that she was right all along. That love could feel like this. For the first time she has done something right. She can stop searching now .
“We won’t tell anyone at college, though,” she insists. “Not yet.”
“But— Why not?”
“I— It’s not that I don’t want to. I want to tell the world, believe me. They should know how good this is. Just— I need to let them – him – down gently.”
For a moment she thinks Penn is angry, is going to insist. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, she tells herself. He understands her and her odd feelings for this strange boy. “Whatever you want,” he says. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“After the show,” she thinks aloud. “We can tell people after the show.”
James watches them – Queen Bea and King Penn – being carried by their adoring crowd to the palace on Telegraph Hill, and he one of the throng. He has watched them like this for weeks, worrying, suspecting, that something has been finalized between them but never finding anything concrete. She has been vague in her answers, changing the subject and imploring him not to “talk shop” all the time .
“I tell you everything about me,” he announces one evening. “Did you know that?”
But she doesn’t rise to it. Just says, “I’m glad.”
He tries another tactic. “Gina Seaton tried to kiss me in the green room.”
“Really?” The disbelief she fails to hide hurts him. As if she cannot imagine anyone wanting him that way .
“Really,” he repeats. “I said no.”
“Well, you’re a fool,” she replies finally. “She’s got fantastic tits.”
And now they are here, all three of them. In a house bought for Penn by his father; an investment, for everything comes down to
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