Backstage is chaos. People are everywhere, talking loudly and jostling for space with the dozens of racks of clothing. The noise level is one decibel above bedlam, and the air is filled with the scent of aftershave, hairspray, and the faint tang of fake tan.
“Ladies and gentlemen.”
I look over at Louis, the show producer, who’s standing in the middle of the room holding a clipboard.
Mandy, my hairstylist, hisses a curse at me. “Sit still. It’s like you’ve got ants in your pants.”
“I don’t think there’s enough room for an ant colony and my penis in these trousers.”
She snorts. “Leave the ants. They’re less trouble.”
Everyone carries on talking, so Louis gives a weary sigh. “For fuck’s sake, come and line up,” he bellows. He turns to his assistant, who’s a harried-looking young man with a permanent frown. “I’d have had more luck with a cast of pigeons. And they make less shit.” He raises his voice again. “Places now.”
Mandy sprays me with enough hairspray to glue a plate together, and I join the line.
Someone squeezes in behind me. Breath hits my neck, and I hear a familiar oily voice say, “You look hot.”
I roll my eyes. “When don’t I?”
Robbie chuckles. “You’ve got me there. I can’t name a time.”
I can name many times I’ve looked terrible, the latest one being when I rocked up here before hair and makeup got hold of me. This is why I can’t get on with Robbie. He’s all cheesy compliments and sly chatter, and none of it is ever truthful. He makes my head hurt. Nevertheless, I’m polite. I’m always polite. I might do exactly what I want in life, but I’ve never been rude to anyone while I was doing it. My upbringing is just too ingrained. Even now, I can hear my grandmother lecturing me about leaving empty spaces during a conversation.
I’d like to leave a space the size of a football field with Robbie, but I turn and smile politely at him. “You look nice too.”
He pouts. “Nice? That’s the kiss of death.”
“If only that were true, Roddie,” says a voice from behind us.
I can almost hear Robbie’s teeth grinding as he turns to the new arrival. “My name is Robbie.”
Mal tosses his head, and his dark hair falls artfully down his bare back. “Really? How silly of me.”
Call Back
Set in London and the Inner Hebrides, “Call Back” by Lily Morton is a story of second chances and a constant, hopeful love.