Page 24

“Lucy!” Alex blushed and abandoned the vinegar bottle.

“You walked into that one, and I made you laugh.” She smiled. “So, come on then…what happened?”

“I’m in trouble.”

“What?” Lucy strangled the squeezy ketchup bottle, shooting a huge blob of sauce on her fries.

“I didn’t get it, the Garrick thing.”

“But…they were going to develop something with you.”

“Yeah, were. Their budget’s been allocated. They’re going with big names—Sir Kenneth Branagh or me, who would you pick?” Shallow breaths escaped from her mouth. “They suggested I submit now for consideration within the next three years, which I will do, but…I’m desperate. I need something now, especially with the Donmar commission being…rejected.”

“Rejected? But you said—”

“Yeah, I know.” She bowed her head. “It’s not in the rewrite stage. They decided not to move ahead with my play two weeks ago. With Naomi’s wedding, it wasn’t the time to… I was too upset to tell anyone.”

“Oh, Lex. What did Mark say?”

Alex flinched. “I haven’t told him.”

“Why not?”

“You know what he’s like. If he knew, he’d probably take on another job to make up for my financial problems. He’s already away far too much.” She looked down, warm tears blurring her vision. “I didn’t think I’d have to tell him, at least not for a while. The fee from the Garrick would’ve made up for missing royalties from the Donmar, but assuming the Garrick thing was in the bag was stupid. I’ve only had one play performed—I’m hardly Andrew Lloyd Webber.”

“Thank God.” Lucy grabbed a napkin, knocking over the saltshaker. “Shit.” She chucked a pinch of salt over her left shoulder. “I don’t know how you do it. I couldn’t deal if I didn’t know when my next payday would arrive. Luckily Mark’s earning—”

“You can’t say anything, Lucy.” Alex wiped her nose. “I can’t mooch off him. Have you ever asked a boyfriend to pay your rent? I’d feel pathetic. He already pays more than I do. No, I got myself into this mess, and it’s up to me to climb out.”

“Any chance you could get your old job back at the National?”

She shook her head. “I already asked. If I knew seven months ago what I know now, I would never have quit.” Alex stabbed a bunch of fries with her fork. “I should swing by Mare Street on the way home—maybe the ol’ Tasty Munch café is hiring.”

Lucy snickered through a mouthful of ketchup and fries. “It’s not gonna come to that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. ‘You can make a killing in the theatre, but you can’t make a living’…remind you of someone?” Alex pointed at herself and stuffed the forkful of fries into her mouth.

“I haven’t heard that one before.”

“Robert Anderson,” Alex mumbled through her mouthful. “He’s an American dramatist.” She swallowed. “That line isn’t a quote, it’s a mirror held up to my life. I can’t even rely on my agent for leads. I asked about sending Thirteen to New York and she said it was a waste of time. It’s ridiculous—she signed me because of Thirteen! I’m sick of her passive-aggressive bullshit. I’m seriously thinking of dumping her.” A heavy sigh left her lips. “I guess I could submit to theatres myself.”

“Why don’t you call Isabella? Ask for a favour? That’s what mentors are for.”

“Last I heard her commission in South America wasn’t going well. She goes off the radar when things aren’t working.”

“Maybe the National will snap up Upton Park now that your attachment is over? Who wouldn’t want a play about a female teacher inspiring disadvantaged East End kids?” Lucy winked, thrilled Alex’s work in progress was set in her old neighbourhood. “Something is bound to come up. Your writing’s too good.”

“Hopefully, but waiting won’t pay my bills or overdraft.” She furrowed her brow. “The Hackney Empire usually hires extra ushers for pantomime season. Maybe I can get something short term there? I know it’s not writing, but it’ll help pay the bills.”

“Close to your flat, no shit commute, theatre related—do it.” Lucy played with her ruby and gold ring, a beloved piece that used to sparkle on her gran’s left hand. “You know what else we should do? A graphic novel. I know there’s no money in it—yet—but your words, my art…can you imagine?”

“The arguments? Yeah, I can.”

“I promise.” Lucy crossed her heart with a fry. “I won’t boss you around too much.”

“Cross your heart and hope to fry?” Alex chuckled.

“We should swear on carbs—it’s a promise we’d both keep.”