The Boy I Love (39 page)

‘You did it! Well done – it was terrific!’ Jeremy was hugging her and Sally was numb. She could hardly remember anything about the play.

‘I am just so relieved I got through it,’ she said. ‘Oh Jeremy, was I really all right?’

‘You were better than all right, you were brilliant – such a relief after Madam. Suddenly the play makes sense.’ He kissed her on both cheeks, lifted her off the ground and
twirled her round. ‘Come on, get changed. We are taking you to the pub!’

When they arrived at the pub everyone was there including Giles and there was a bottle of champagne on ice waiting for her to open. Bob, the landlord, came and gave her a kiss and opened the
champagne for her, saying, ‘Well done, lass, I hear you were grand.’

There were cheers all round, and Sally was completely overwhelmed by everyone’s kindness.

‘What it is to be loved,’ remarked Dora at her side. ‘Well done, sis, you were brill.’

Sally found Rupert sitting at a table with Geoffrey and Charmaine and Peggy and Percy. They all congratulated her, and she bought everyone a drink before finally sitting down. Suddenly she was
completely exhausted.

‘Oh my goodness, I am so tired all of a sudden,’ she said.

‘That is normal, my dear,’ offered Peggy. ‘It is all the adrenalin you have used tonight. Worse than a car crash, they say. You will soon get used to it. It was a bloody good
night though, wasn’t it, Percy?’ She nudged him into a response.

‘Not half, my love. You played a blinder, no doubt about it. Now come on, drink up, and I will get you another.’

‘No, not for me, thank you, Percy. I am going to go home and sleep. Hopefully Giles will let me have a late call tomorrow, just for once. Rupert, I have to thank you most of all for being
so kind and helpful despite your broken heart.’ Sally looked across at her leading man, who was getting quietly sozzled. He grinned at her and blew her a kiss.

‘See you tomorrow.’

She found Dora, who was not yet ready to go, and gave her instructions not to wake her in the morning. Then she bade a final farewell to her companions at arms and went home. It was a clear and
starry night. There was frost already on the trees, and all the cobbles were twinkling as she walked across them. It looked like fairyland. Snatches of Ophelia’s song ran through her mind and
she hummed to herself. She wanted to do it all over again, right now, even though she was practically dead on her feet. She had loved being onstage and feeling the audience with her; almost leaning
in to her to catch her words. She had reached out to the back of the circle, and sensed the back row. Every corner of the auditorium was hers to play. She had given her all, and the audience had
embraced her and taken her to their hearts. She loved being an actress!

By the time she climbed the stairs of the flat she was freezing cold and could not stop shivering. She made a hot chocolate and undressed as quickly as she could, donning a jumper over her
pyjamas and a thick pair of socks on her feet. Slowly she calmed down, and the warmth of the drink spread through her body, right down to her toes. She didn’t even bother to clean her teeth
as her head hit the pillow and she fell deeply asleep – with no ‘perchance to dream’ about it!’

Giles watched the frozen fields speed past through the window of the train. The sun was coming up a deep red splashed across the horizon, cracking daybreak like a golden egg
across the landscape. Robert was sleeping opposite him and Giles took the opportunity to study him. They had been lovers for a while last year, but Giles had found Robert to be very intense, and
rather negative in his approach to their relationship. Giles had tried to talk to him, and get to know what he was like, underneath the rather cold and brittle exterior, but did not get very far.
Certainly Robert had secrets and held them very close to his chest. They had decided to part and Giles did not see Robert again for months, until he turned up at the theatre one morning, and
basically asked for a job. Giles felt guilty enough to agree, and thus began Robert’s new career as assistant director. Giles had regretted his decision almost immediately, as it was obvious
that Robert did not have the intuition or natural instincts that make a good director. He was also difficult with the actors, who did not respond favourably to his patronizing, and often plain
rude, remarks.

Since their confrontation in his office last week Giles had done some serious thinking. He knew just how serious the situation would be if Teddie discovered his son was gay: the repercussions
would spread across his own life as much as the Graham family’s. Over the past months Giles had fallen deeply in love with Teddie Graham, and as so often happens when one is blinded by
emotion, he had hidden his head in the sand as to where they were going with their relationship. Giles could not think beyond the now. He just wanted things to stay the same forever. Robert had
brought him up short with a jolt. Not only was his personal life threatened, but his professional life too was in jeopardy. So here he was on his way to sign a contract with one of the biggest
producers in the West End for a three-month run of his production of
Hamlet
. Robert would also get a credit as assistant director and work with him on the production. Teddie would remain in
blissful ignorance of his son and heir’s sexual proclivities, and Giles could enjoy his lover’s attentions indefinitely.

Robert coughed and stirred. ‘Oh sorry, I must have dropped off. What time is it?’ he asked.

‘Not a problem, we have two hours to go yet. Go back to sleep, dear boy.’

‘I have a headache, as a matter of fact. I think I will go and see if I can get an aspirin.’ Robert rose and started for the buffet car. ‘Do you want a coffee or
anything?’ he asked.

‘Lovely idea – yes, please, and a ham and cheese roll would be even more perfect.’ Giles grinned. ‘A secret treat of mine.’

‘Coming up,’ said Robert and set off in search of supplies. He returned later with the coffees and two rolls, and as he sat down he grimaced.

‘Something the matter?’ asked Giles, taking his roll and greedily unwrapping it.

‘I think I must be getting the flu or something. I ache all over and I have got terrible mouth ulcers. I am going to see my doctor on the way back to the station this afternoon, as a
matter of fact – see if he can give me something to stave off the worst of the symptoms.’

They lapsed into silence as they ate their breakfast, and shortly after that Robert was asleep again. Giles continued to watch the world go by, until he also dropped off. Both men were awoken at
the same time as the train hooted its arrival into Euston. They took a cab to the Charing Cross Road, to Wyndham’s Theatre, which also housed the offices of their producer. Robert was still
struggling to feel better, and Giles suggested he go straight to his doctor.

‘Listen, it is not as though you really need to be here with me,’ he pointed out. ‘You have seen the contract and you know the contents. I am not going to have you written out
at the last minute or anything.’ Giles laughed tightly. ‘Can’t afford to do that, can I?’

Robert nodded. ‘Very well then, I will accept your suggestion and go now – and then meet you at the station this afternoon at four fifteen at the barrier.’

‘Absolutely. See you then,’ acknowledged Giles, and strode off towards the theatre.

Robert hailed a cab. ‘St Thomas’ Hospital.’

‘Right you are, guv.’ The taxi driver looked in his mirror and decided this was not a passenger who wanted to chat, so he put his foot down and kept his mouth shut!

Robert sat back in the cab and tried to stop the thoughts from swirling round in his head. It was always like this when he went to the hospital for tests. Nothing could stop the rot, he knew
that. Would the doctor be able to tell him how long he had? He decided he would go to the Terence Higgins Trust after the hospital. This was basically an advice centre set up in July by the partner
of a man called Terence Higgins, who had died of this disease. No one really knew what caused it, or how to cure it. The doctors could only monitor patients like himself and struggle to find a
solution. But Robert knew he was getting worse. Soon he must take himself away somewhere to die.

The counsellor had told him last time that he
must
tell all the men he had had sex with what was going on, but he just couldn’t do it. And yet, he had to tell Giles, for
Christ’s sake. Now there was this stupid business with Lord Graham and his son. Robert had not intended to involve them in his campaign to make Giles employ him. It had been a
spur-of-the-moment thing because he was angry. He had watched Giles and Lord Graham being fêted at the Queen’s Hotel by George Delaware and he had been jealous. After all, it was he who
had introduced Giles to the hotel, and now he had been swept aside by titled gentlemen. Then he had seen Eddie at the hotel, and they had got together one night. The boy was uncontrollable. Robert
had given him a serious talk about protection and too much careless sex, but who was he to talk? They had all partied together that night. It had been wild. None of these guys seemed to know
anything about the disease that was stalking them. He had had a couple of conversations with some friends about the symptoms, and yet there was nothing concrete to work from.

Robert had never, in the whole of his life, felt so alone and abandoned. He would tell Giles tonight when they got back to Crewe, he decided, and if Giles was unable to find any compassion for
him, so be it. He was fucked anyway.

Giles lifted the glass to his lips and savoured the moment; another wonderful lunch with his colleague Mr Langton, courtesy of the British Drama League.

‘Here’s to Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. May you be the Prince of Shaftesbury Avenue!’ announced James Langton, enjoying the toast. ‘It is good to see you, Giles, and how
delightful that I will be seeing my protégés on Friday night at your theatre.’

‘Yes, it all turned out very well, did it not?’ replied Giles. ‘Sally has proved invaluable as a company member and Jeremy is a splendid actor with a formidable career ahead, I
think.’

‘But you had problems with your leading lady, I gather?’ asked James, who loved the gossip. ‘She was on drugs and all sorts, I hear.’

‘Well, I don’t know about all that side of it, but as far as her acting skills went she was a non-starter. She had no idea about text or stagecraft. Los Angeles is welcome to her, as
far as I am concerned. We are already inundated with suggestions for Ophelia for the production in Town. I hope we can use some of the cast from Crewe as well, although it is always difficult with
London producers as they want to be in control of everything. Mmm . . . this wine is absolutely first-class, James. Good choice. Now tell me your news. How is your wife?’

Giles meandered through lunch getting pleasantly pissed and arrived at the barrier in Euston station in good time to meet Robert and get the train home. To his dismay Robert never appeared, and
he was forced to board the train alone. He was concerned at first, but shortly after Watford Junction he was lost to the world in an alcohol-fuelled coma and did not wake until the guard announced
their arrival at Crewe.

Robert lay in his hospital bed staring at the ceiling. He had asked the nurse if she would be so kind as to call Crewe Theatre and explain that he would not be returning for
some time due to ill-health, and to ask Giles Longfellow to call him as soon as possible, on the hospital number. So here he was, waiting for death to come. The doctor had looked at the lesions
which had appeared on his legs and taken more blood tests.

‘I am so sorry, but there is nothing we can do for you except keep you comfortable, and in as little pain as possible. Do you have anyone you would like us to contact in the
meantime?’

Robert told him that all that was being taken care of by the nurse, and said that hopefully, his friend from Crewe would ring, and would be able to make a visit. No, there was no family member
he wished to inform.

So now he was alone, and acutely aware of his body. There is something about lying in a hospital bed with few distractions that encourages self-examination. Robert could feel a tingling in his
toes and in his mind’s eye he traced a route up his legs past the lesions, which he had tried to ignore, up through his groin which was aching, no longer with lust or love, just regret at
what had been. Across his stomach which was churning with fear, up through his chest and heart, which was hurting with sadness and self-pity, up through his neck which ached, and into his mouth
which was ulcerated and dry with panic. His brain was jampacked with too many thoughts jostling for position. He tried to swallow and drew in a sharp breath of pain. Then the tears flowed, slowly
at first and then in a torrent – unstoppable, like his demise. Did anyone care?