Page 62 of A Snowfall of Silver

“Oh god,” I moan, promptly falling to my knees and vomiting into the litter bin at my feet.

And now, the numbness passes, and I find I am nothing but feelings. I am a raw nerve, exposed and vulnerable. My teeth are chattering. I crawl into the seat across from Rhys Cantwell and look at him in complete despair.

“I see you are ready for your big break,” he says drily.

“I’m s-sorry,” I manage. “I c-can’t believe I just did that. I was so calm before.” I want to be calm again, I want to feel nothing. Now my mind is full of clamouring, intrusive thoughts – thoughts of falling over onstage, falling off the stage, pushing someone else off the stage. I shudder.

“It’s perfectly normal.” Mr Cantwell presses his hands together on top of the desk. His calm voice dispels the mental image of me accidentally sending Eileen Turner flying into the front row. “Many of the actors I know suffer from stage fright, but they’re all fine once they’re out there.”

“That’s a relief, I suppose,” I say. “And how many of them have actually been sick onstage during a performance?”

“None. Well, not yet anyway.”

I manage a shaky laugh.

“Now, you’ve had plenty of rehearsals, you’ve seen the play a hundred times. You could do this in your sleep.” He is matter-of-fact, not precisely kind, but more reassuring because of it. “Everyone is on your side. The cast and the crew. And the audience. The audience want to like you, so just give them what they want.”

“But I can’t remember my lines,” I say. “I can’t remember a single line.” Panic rises up and I think I might be sick again.

“Dear me, you are smart!” Mr Cantwell says, and it takes me a moment to understand he is feeding me Algernon’s line. The one before my first.

“I am always smart!” I say automatically, in a pathetic, reedy little voice. “Am I not, Mr Worthing?”

“You’re quite perfect, Miss Fairfax.”

“Oh! I hope I am not that. It would leave no room for developments, and I intend to develop in many directions.” My voice is firmer now. I take a deep breath.

“You see, it’s all there,” Mr Cantwell says. “It will come easily when you’re onstage. This part is the worst.”

“Did you ever act, sir?” I ask.

“In the beginning.” He smiles. “A long time ago. But it was never really for me. Being onstage isn’t what gets my blood pumping. Working with all the different departments, working with the actors, trying to create a single, beautiful whole out of so many moving parts – that’s the thing I love.” He peers at me over his glasses. “It can be profoundly satisfying, Freya.”

“I’m sure it is,” I say. I realize I have stopped shaking.

“You are looking much less green,” he observes.

“I feel better, thank you.”

“Good, then run along.”

I get to my feet and make my way back to the door.

“And, Freya,” he says. I turn back to face him, my hand resting on the door handle. “Break a leg.”

But, please, god, I think desperately, not literally.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

I’d love to say that it is a triumph. That I walk on to that stage a nobody from a village in Cornwall and walk off a star. I’d love for that to be true. But it isn’t.

I was not terrible. I was not even bad. I got my lines right; I stood where I was supposed to stand. The audience laughed. They didn’t laugh the way they laughed at Viola the night before, but they laughed nonetheless. Like Mr Cantwell said, they were eager to be pleased, and I could feel that. I could feel their eagerness and their anticipation. This was a treat for them, and one they were determined to enjoy.

Being onstage in a packed theatre was not like I imagined it. The lights were so bright that the audience became a single, shadowy entity. Before I walked on for my first scene I was shaking so much that Eileen, in her full, and very formidable Lady Bracknell costume, had to support me on her arm.

“Courage, mon brave!” she whispered in my ear. I don’t speak French, but I got the gist.

And then we were there, onstage, and the audience was applauding for Eileen, and I glanced, stricken, at Dan, and he winked, the tiniest of winks, and I pulled my shoulders back and spoke. My voice was loud and steady, though to me it felt as though it was coming from somewhere far away.