Mr. Darcy Forever (3 page)

It really was an exhausting business and there was never an end in sight. Sarah just seemed to lurch from one anxiety to another.

The only thing that could make her forget her OCD was Jane Austen. When she immersed herself in Austen, her lists were forgotten and she managed to stop thinking about the dust that might be accumulating behind her wardrobe and the fact that the vacuum marks in the carpet were no longer visible. Whenever she picked up one of the six perfect books or switched on the television to watch one of the wonderful adaptations, she could truly relax and become a person that she barely recognized. That was the power of Austen.

She’d first discovered Jane Austen when she was at school. Her English teacher was meant to be teaching them Charles Dickens’s
Hard Times
but had rebelled and given each pupil a copy of
Pride and Prejudice
instead and thus had begun a lifetime of romance for Sarah. Whenever she was feeling stressed, whenever life got too much for her and even she couldn't organise or control it to her liking, she could lose herself in the magical world of heroes and heroines, where love and laughter were guaranteed and where a happy ending was absolutely essential.

Then, a few years ago, she had discovered the Jane Austen Festival in Bath. It had been a complete revelation to her that, all over the world, there were fans of the books and films that were as obsessed as she was. She'd made so many new friends and they were the loveliest people in the world. Well, you couldn't imagine a mean, nasty person adoring Jane Austen, could you?

And here she was packing her suitcase once again only she was a little nervous this time because she hadn't been for the last two years. She and Mia usually attended together, dressing up in Regency costume and giggling their way around Bath together, eyeing up any young man that might be a contender for Mr Darcy. But that was before things had gone wrong, wasn’t it?

She sighed and picked up a tiny silver photo frame which sat on a highly- polished table by the side of her bed. It was a picture of her and Mia at Barton Cottage in Devon three years ago. They were both squinting into the sun and laughing. How happy they both looked and how long ago that all seemed now.

‘
Three long years,’ Sarah said.

And not a single word spoken between them in all that time.

Mia Castle got out of bed, idly thinking how clever she was not to have needed her alarm clock when a sudden cold fear iced her spine and she remembered that the alarm clock had indeed gone off and that she had silenced it with an angry hand and then promptly fallen asleep again.

‘
I’m late!’ she yelped, throwing back her duvet and leaping out of bed, tripping over the slippers which had been left amongst a tumble of clothes on the floor. Bending down quickly, she grabbed the pair of jeans and gave them a quick shake before shoving them into the suitcase at the end of the bed. They were mostly clean, after all.

Flinging open her tiny single wardrobe with the wonky door, she grabbed an armful of jumpers and shirts, most of them unironed, and dumped them into the suitcase. Next came the shoes. How many to take? It was an impossible question to answer and so they all went in: flat ones, heeled ones, scuffed ones and cute ones.

Then it was the entire contents of the bathroom from shampoo bottles to hairbrushes to an overstuffed bag of old bits of make-up. She didn’t have time to be selective – not that her packing would have been any different if she’d had more time. Her suitcases were usually a big old jumble of everything.

She then took the quickest of showers. She didn’t have time to wash her hair but let it tumble its way down her back, the dark curls as wild as briars as she pulled on a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt with the name of a rock band she’d seen when she’d been at drama school. She hadn’t heard of them since but it was a very nice T-shirt and one of the few that didn’t have great gaping holes in it.

Then, because she wasn’t a complete slob, she opened her fridge and took out a pint of milk, pouring the contents down the sink and binning the empty carton. If her days of being a student had taught her nothing else then she had benefited well from her time at college.

Putting on a watch whose leather strap was almost worn away to a whisper, she glanced around her flat. She was looking forward to getting away from the dark, depressing place. Nine wonderful nights in Bath, she thought to herself, where she wouldn't have to wear earplugs to shut out the noise of the traffic and her neighbours or worry about inhaling the pernicious damp in her shower room.

Reaching for her handbag, she checked her train tickets. She was only just going to make it in time.

‘
Handbag,’ she said, grabbing it from her bedside chair. ‘Suitcase,’ she said, sitting down on top of it to squash it into submission. What on earth was in there to make it bulge so, she wondered? She hadn't packed
that
much stuff. Still, it was a whole nine days away from home and, at this time of year, it was impossible to know what to wear so everything had to be packed.

She was just about to wheel the suitcase out of her front door when she suddenly remembered something.

‘
Costume!’ she shouted. It was the most important item of clothing and she’d almost forgotten it. She'd left it draped over the threadbare armchair which sat by the window overlooking the dirty street below. How white and pure and beautiful it looked in the dark, dingy bedsit. I don't belong here, it seemed to say. I belong in a beautiful Georgian sitting room with candles and mirrors and a huge sash window overlooking an immaculate lawn.

‘
Poor dress,’ Mia said, picking it up and holding it against her. ‘But don't worry, we’re going to Bath. You'll love it there!’

But what was she actually going to do with her costume? There was no way it was going to fit into her suitcase and, even if it did, it would get horribly creased. She looked around the tiny bedsit as if inspiration might strike and, sure enough, it did as she spied the overflowing bin in the corner of the room.

A bin bag would do the trick. It wasn't very dignified for such a lovely dress but it would have to do.

So, with her suitcase threatening to explode at any moment, her handbag stuffed with books for the train ride -
Persuasion
and
Northanger Abbey
to get herself in the mood for Bath - and her bin bag, she left her flat, locking her door behind her and looking forward to getting as far away from it as possible for the next few days.

It really was a terrible flat but it was all she could afford. Well, she couldn’t really afford it if she was honest. Who would have thought it? Three years after leaving drama school and she was still in debt. What had happened to her dreams of being discovered and becoming an overnight success? She'd been so sure it would happen. Mind you, so did the thousands of other drama school students who had graduated the same year as she had, to say nothing of those who had graduated before her and those who had followed her. All of them had the same dreams and aspirations, and ninety-nine percent of them were probably stuck in a dingy bedsit and waiting tables at some terrible restaurant.

Success, it now seemed to Mia, was as elusive as a Jane Austen hero. But, like with her deep-rooted knowledge that she would find a modern-day Mr Darcy, Mia wasn't going to give up on her dream of becoming a singer. It was all she’d ever wanted to do. Her mother used to joke that, when a baby, Mia hadn't ever cried but had sung whenever she'd wanted something. Growing up, she’d taken every opportunity she could to show off her talents from grabbing the microphone at her auntie's wedding and treating everyone to a very gutsy version of ‘White Wedding’ to hogging the karaoke at the local club. Mia sang at every opportunity which could be particularly annoying if you were her neighbour and she frequently received angry bangs on the flimsy walls if her rendition of ‘Nessun Dorma’ really was making it impossible for people to fall asleep.

What was to become of her, she dreaded to think. She’d lost count of how much she now owed in back-rent and there was no way she could ever hope to save enough for a deposit on a place of her own with the money she was making from her job as a waitress.

And then there’d been that recent audition. Mia shivered whenever she thought about it and had tried to put it at the back of her mind but it refused to go away. Just a fortnight ago, she’d had an audition for a new show in the West End. It was everything she’d ever dreamed of and she’d queued up with the rest of the hopefuls, her heart hammering and her nerves jangling.

She shook her head. She wasn’t going to think about it. She
refused
to think about that now. She had a train to catch and plenty of other things to worry about like sneaking by her landlord’s door without being heard.

As she began to descend the stairs with her suitcase, she counted, remembering that the fourth stair was creaky in the middle and the fifth was creaky on the right-hand side but Mia had perfected a strange sort of ballet movement to avoid setting them off. It was a bit more difficult with a huge suitcase and bin bag in tow but she managed to do it, making it down onto the next landing and the next flight of stairs. This was where Mr Crownor had his lodgings and she did
not
want to run into him right now. He was the sort of man one tried to avoid at all costs not only because he was most unpleasant in manner but because his personal hygiene left a lot to be desired too. But, just as Mia’s foot hit the first stair, his door was flung open and he walked out onto the landing.

Mia froze and tried not to inhale but the landing was soon ripe with the stench of garlic. Slowly, she turned around, knowing she’d been caught and that there was no escape.

‘
I’ve been hoping to run into you,’ Mr Crownor said. ‘You’ve been doing a pretty good job of avoiding me, haven’t you, young miss?’ he said, jabbing her left shoulder with a stubby, nicotine-stained finger. His thinning hair was slicked across his head in a greasy wave, his bloodshot eyes bulging out of their sockets just as his stomach bulged over the waistband of his jeans. It was a sight that should only ever come out once a year at Halloween.

‘
I’ve not been avoiding you, Mr Crownor,’ Mia said, inching backwards down the stairs.

‘
Oh, you haven’t? You sure about that because you know you’re behind with your rent –
again
?’

‘
I know,’ Mia said, swallowing, ‘and I’m so sorry.’

‘
So where’s my money?’

‘
It’s coming, Mr Crownor, I just need a little bit more time.’

‘
Time, eh?’ he said, his eyes bulging towards her most unnervingly. ‘Well – see – I ain’t got any more time to give you. I’ve got people queuing round the block for your flat. It isn’t easy to find luxury apartments in this part of town.

Luxury? Was he talking about the same pokey little bedsit with the mouldy ceiling and the permanent smell of damp?

‘
Mr Crownor, as much as I'd love to talk to you, I really must go. I have a train to catch and-’

‘
So you've got money for a train ticket, have you? Well, I might have liked some of that money.’

‘
I promise I’ll have the money for you when I get back,’ Mia said.

‘
A working trip is it, then?’ Mr Crownor’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

‘
Yes,’ Mia lied. ‘That’s right.’ Well, all those years in drama school had to be good for something, didn’t they? ‘Now, I’ve really got to go or my boss will be furious with me and I won’t earn a single penny!’ Before he could stop her, she’d trotted down the stairs, her suitcase banging behind her.

‘
Well, don't be surprised if I've let your room whilst you're away,’ Mr Crownor shouted after her.

Mia ignored him, slamming the front door behind her and shuddering. Horrible, horrible man! That such men existed was just too depressing. Mia was a romantic and wanted to exist in the world where all men were handsome and eloquent and - above all - polite. Was that too much to ask? Unfortunately, her experience of men had been far removed from the novels that she read. Life at drama school had been full of show-offs and fools. It had all been very depressing. Then she'd met Guido. He'd stepped on her toes outside Covent Garden tube and hadn’t stopped apologising for the rest of the day. He'd been tall, dark and handsome and she’d really fallen for him but he’d only been in town for a month and had then gone back to his mama in Italy. It was the story of Mia’s life.