Page 23 of A Snowfall of Silver

“Yes, Nathaniel, of course,” Alma says. “I was just telling Nathaniel that I was meeting a friend tonight, and here you are. Should we…”

“Go and find Kit as we promised,” I agree swiftly, taking her arm. “Come on.”

“Nice to meet you, Nathaniel,” she calls over her shoulder.

“Was it nice?” I ask teasingly.

“Not really,” she sighs, and then obviously feels bad about it. “I shouldn’t say that. I didn’t want to be rude. But I just couldn’t stand another minute of listening to him talk on and on about Brecht.”

“Gosh, there are a lot of terrible men here,” I sigh as I dodge another wandering hand. “Are theatre parties always this bad?”

“Don’t ask me,” Alma replies glumly. “I’m new to this too, remember?”

“Not enjoying yourselves?” a voice asks from behind me, and I see my own relief mirrored in Alma’s face.

I turn to find the reassuringly rangy form of Kit standing next to Dan, who, unlike the rest of us, is immaculately turned out, his fair hair neatly oiled, his shirt crisp, his shoes shined – you would never guess that a couple of hours ago he’d been sweating under the stage lights.

“It’s the men!” I say. “Either it’s Russ and his fan club, or it’s leery men, or it’s men who want to bore you to death with the sound of their own opinions.”

Kit looks amused, and Dan sniggers.

“It is rather slim pickings,” Dan drawls, his eyes running around the room, “but, then, not everyone’s arrived yet. Del’s crowd usually attracts a devastating man or two to keep things interesting.”

I look around the crowded room. “Where is Del going to put them?” I ask.

“Oh, I’m sure we can find somewhere.” Dan raises his eyebrows suggestively, and we laugh.

“Here,” Kit says, holding out a glass to me. “We got our hands on some champagne.”

I take the glass saucer, cool to my touch, and Dan hands one to Alma as well. “Thank you,” I say, taking a sip and enjoying the sharp sting of the bubbles. “Much nicer than the gin.”

Kit grimaces. “You haven’t been forced to drink that muck, have you? I heard Del brews it herself in the bathtub – it’s absolutely lethal.”

“I fed mine to the plant.”

“Poor plant.”

“Congratulations on tonight,” Alma says to Dan. “You were wonderful.”

“I was rather, wasn’t I?” Dan smirks, pleased with himself, then the smirk drops away and he gives a much more genuine, slightly lopsided smile. “As a matter of fact, it was a hell of a lot of fun.” His smile widens. “And speaking of fun, here she is.”

Daphne appears at his side, the bubbly red-headed girl who plays Cecily, Russ’s love interest. She and I have not had much chance to talk, but she seems to me like the glass of champagne in my hand, sparkling hard and fizzing with energy.

“You were ravishing, darling.” Dan loops an arm around her waist, and she lifts her own glass.

“I’ll drink to that,” she whoops happily. “Particularly when everyone else seems to be.”

We chat more about the performance, and I feel a thrill at the easy way in which I am taking part in a conversation with the performers. I was there, I think. I helped make it happen too, in a small way.

It feels almost as though I am watching myself, hovering above the scene and looking down on my body as words come out of my mouth. I’m so painfully, crushingly aware that what is happening right now in this moment is a dream come true. Or, I suppose it could be the champagne – never having really drunk much before, I can’t be certain.

I catch Kit’s eye and he’s looking right at me, through me almost, and suddenly I know that he knows just what I’m thinking. It’s a moment of startling telepathy, the kind that I suppose is only possible between kindred spirits and good friends. I beam up at him, wrapped up in the thick delight of it all.

Talk turns to the other guests and Dan and Daphne entertain me with scandalous tales of cast, crew, theatre workers and hangers-on. They keep breaking into impressions. The room fills with more people and in the crush I find myself leaning back against Kit, laughing so hard that my own legs won’t hold me. I feel his own body rumbling with laughter, a deep vibration against my back.

Somehow, we end up being swept towards the piano. Never one to shy away from the spotlight, I ask if it is in tune, and tap out a tremulous scale.

“Oh, yes, a song!” Daphne exclaims joyfully. “Just what we need!”