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Marvin looks between Zayan and me once more, as if trying to work out whether we’re genuine. ‘Well, that seems … logical,’ he says distrustfully. ‘I’m Marvin. I’m the caretaker of the Limelight Theatre. Been here since its doors first opened. And I make it my personal duty to ensure that everything here runs smoothly.’
There’s a vague threat in his voice, one that has Zayan and me nodding like we’re bobbleheads. Only once Marvin looks satisfied with his observations does he leave – going back through the stage wings into the darkness and the unknown.
‘I bet he scares the ghosts away too,’ Zayan muses, breaking the silence first.
I turn to face him again, the two of us at the centre of the stage now. He looks entirely unfazed by this entire interaction, while my face is only just starting to cool down.
‘Ghosts?’ I ask.
His brows lift, a smile curving his lips. ‘You do know that every theatre has a ghost, right?’
‘No,’ I say uncertainly. ‘I did not know that.’
‘There’s a light that stays on every night in the theatre called the ghost light. It’s a way to appease them. And those two seats up there?’ Zayan points at two seats in the balcony that have been cordoned off. ‘They’re kept empty for every show, so, the ghosts have somewhere to sit and watch.’
I look at him again, searching his face for levity, but he looks entirely serious.
‘I’m not scared of ghosts,’ I say, just in case he’s trying to rattle me.
‘No thespian can be,’ Zayan says solemnly.
I go still, feeling nervous. I think he might actually be serious.
And then he cracks a grin. His laughter is unexpected, but the sheer warmth of it makes me smile in reply.
‘You were genuinely terrified, weren’t you?’ Zayan teases.
‘I hate you,’ I say, swatting him on the arm. But, inside, I’m not really feeling much animosity towards him. Much less than usual.
We’ve seen each other only twice this week – aside from today – and that was for media training before we have our debut date tomorrow. Each time we’re forced into one another’s presence, I brace myself for his cold front, but today he’s the most relaxed I’ve seen. His laughter eventually dies, a smile of amusement still touching his lips. I find myself wanting to hold on to this version of him, the one that is open and amused, not closed off and cold.
‘So, are you ready for tomorrow?’ I ask. ‘Our first date?’
His gaze lifts to mine, his hands lacing behind his head. ‘I’m always ready to put on a show. The question is: are you ready?’
‘Ye-e-s, I am ready …’ I say slowly, but then I pause, weighing up whether I want to tell him the truth. When his eyes narrow at me, I decide to spill everything. ‘I’ve just been getting a lot of hate online since our photo went viral.’
I pull out my phone to show him my social-media accounts. Because of the LSDCATS’ continued silence and the sense of victory I felt because of it, and after our meeting with The Tragedies at the park, I decided to finally, formally reveal my identity. I did a long Twitter thread on how I wrote the initial Tumblr post, and why I felt it was important to share The Tragedies’ stories. That reveal made all my social-media accounts blow up. I’m nearing 10,000 followers on Twitter and 5,000 on Instagram.
Watching those numbers tick upwards, second by second, lit an ember of hope in my chest – a hope that this may actually work – until I saw the responses from some of Zayan’s fans. Some of them were downright cruel, calling me every name under the sun, saying I was a mistake for him.
‘Are you sure our plan is going to work?’ I ask Zayan, my eyes fixed on my phone as I scroll through the comments. Worry knots itself tightly in my stomach. ‘Your fans hate me; I think we should postpone our first date.’
Zayan sighs, still amused, and pulls the phone out of my hand. I make a noise of protest, lunging for it, but he shoves it into the pocket of his dark-grey sweatpants.
‘Stop reading those comments; those aren’t my fans. They’re a small number of individuals who believe they have some sort of ownership over me just because I’m on their TV screens. We’re not postponing tomorrow. It’s time to start garnering public interest, which means we need to be seen together.’
‘Fine! I’ll meet you tomorrow. Now, give me back my phone,’ I demand, holding my hand out to him.
Zayan grins, leaning forward to hand back my phone, and I try not to shiver at the feeling of his fingertips brushing against my palm. I have got to get these feelings back in order.
I step further away from Zayan when the Limelight’s doors swing open and Marvin comes in again – this time with the photography crew and Anushka, David and Nur behind. Less than a handful of people, to ensure Zayan’s involvement stays a secret – at least until tomorrow.
‘This your lot?’ Marvin asks, lifting one very white, very bushy eyebrow.
‘Yes,’ I reply, still nervous around the cantankerous caretaker. Marvin makes a noise that’s a cross between a humph and cough, before shooting one more suspicious look our way and leaving.
‘Well, he seems like a peach,’ David announces, a grin on his face.
