It could be a positive thing, I tell myself as I inch out of the car park. It will give me something else to talk about with Nick. Something that isn’t work or babies. Ever since he’d mentioned not wanting to lose sight of us I’d been worried, although we’re just as affectionate as we ever were. Just as thoughtful. I still bring him a cup of tea in bed every morning, he still fills my car with fuel, but it would be good for him to see me in a different light. The romantic lead. Who’d have thought? My rising excitement is tempered by the fact I have to drive home in the dark. In the rain. The fear I feel in a car has never really left me, despite my GP referring me onto a course of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. ‘It’s not unusual for the victim of an accident to feel anxious in a vehicle,’ the therapist said, but despite her soothing tone, her use of the word ‘victim’ increased my agitation. When I’m behind the wheel I feel such a weight of responsibility, not just for me but for the other road users, as though I am the one that has to keep them safe, in a way I couldn’t before.
The heater blasts out air and my toes begin to thaw as I leave behind the town and the street lamps, heading for home. The weather is atrocious. The radio station is playing Fifties music, and Elvis begins to sing ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight?’ I snap off my stereo, my breath coming a little faster. My shoulders hunched. Rain flings itself at the windscreen and the wipers swish at double speed but visibility is poor. My hands grip the steering wheel tight as I lean forward in my seat. Along with the woody smell of the air freshener swinging from the rear-view mirror, a sense of foreboding fills the air. I ease my foot off the accelerator. It wasn’t the car that hurt me, I think in the way I’d been taught. It was human error. Knowing that is supposed to make me feel better. It never does.
The moon is hiding behind the rain clouds, and everywhere I look is black. Crushing. The sky blends in with the road and my full beam picks out the rain sheeting down. There’s a particularly nasty bend coming up, and I slow down again, dropping into second gear. From behind there’s a flash and the blast of a horn, and my underarms prickle, but I can’t bring myself to drive faster. The horn blares again. Intimidated, I speed up, trying to put some distance between us, but I can’t help thinking of the other time I was in a car with the dark and the rain. The accident is sharp in my memory, clearer than it has been for years, and suddenly I am terrified. I drop my speed again hoping the other car will go around me. There’s another blast of a horn, for longer this time. Headlights flash once, twice, three times. I tilt my rear-view mirror to stop myself from being dazzled. I’m arced over the wheel now. Every muscle in my body rigid. The car blasts its horn again, and I urge myself to calm down as I heave in a breath as though I am suffocating. There isn’t a good place along this country track to overtake but I know there is a lay-by coming up, and I have seconds to make a decision whether to stop or carry on. It will be safer to let them pass. I indicate left and twist the wheel. My tyres scramble for traction and squeal, and the sound transports me back. My body is stone as I wait for the impact. The pain. But the car straightens and I am safe in the lay-by. The other car tears past me. I am hyperventilating as I rest my forehead on the steering wheel. Panic tearing my chest in two. I haven’t felt like this for years. It’s all starting again. Just like I always knew it would.
Lisa is back in my life.
I am Maria.
Oh God. I am slipping back into the past.
The good. The bad.
All of it.
10
Now
It’s my first rehearsal and I’m terrified. Nick had left a ‘good luck’ message on the worktop spelled out in Cadbury’s Buttons. Although I felt sick with nerves I still popped them onto my tongue, letting the chocolate dissolve as I dragged a brush through my hair and changed into clean leggings.
Alex has already ordered my costumes: ‘you’re committed now’. He passes me a gold dress that shimmers under the spotlight. ‘Want to try it on? We’re starting with the dance at the gym.’
‘Talk about throwing me in at the deep end! I’ve no idea if I’ll remember the steps,’ I say as if every single move isn’t still embedded into my memory. It’s the scene where Tony first meets Maria, and is one of my favourite parts of the show. What I really mean, but cannot say, is that I’ve no idea whether I am still agile enough to carry it off. Not for the first time I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. If I’m too unfit. Too old. ‘You’re not thirty until next year!’ Clare had laughed as I’d expressed my concerns over coffee. ‘Go for it.’ But now, under the harsh lights, with all the attention on me, I can almost see my confidence skittering across the stage, slipping down the trap door, swallowed by blackness, never to be seen again. The dress feels snug. I’d had to draw my navel to my spine to yank up the zip, pulling so hard the metal imprinted on my fingertips. I smooth the satin of the dress over my stomach, wishing I didn’t mindlessly eat so many Hobnobs as I work at the kitchen table.
‘We might as well go the whole hog and put the backdrop up?’ Alex says. ‘Any volunteers?’
‘I can help.’ I step forward.
‘It needs securing properly,’ Tamara says. ‘We’ll show you how another time.’
‘I’ve done scenery before.’ I’m eager to prove my worth. I still feel terrible about taking the part away from Tamara, although she has been really gracious about it.
My fingers are shaking as I secure the backdrop, looping rope around the rings. Muscle memory kicks in and I automatically tie knots as my mind wanders to the last time I did this. To the kisses I’d sneak with Jake backstage when we thought no one was looking – there was always a wolf whistle from another member of the group. Some secrets can’t be kept.
The music blares, jolting me from my memories, and I hurry to take my place. Alex smiles reassuringly, and the stage vibrates with the clump of footsteps. All too soon the muscles in my legs are shaking. I hunch over, chest burning as I drag in air. ‘Sorry,’ I manage to rasp out.
‘Not to worry,’ Alex says. ‘You’ve months to get your fitness up. This is only day one. Ready to go again?’
I nod as I straighten, trying to ignore the stitch burning in my side.
‘Run!’ Tamara screams, and at first, I can’t understand what’s going on but out of the corner of my eye I see the backdrop wobble. My heart leaps into my throat and I instinctively raise my arms, but it’s too late as the scenery falls, falls, falls, crashing against my skull.
I’m sitting on the edge of the stage. Pressing a tea towel full of ice cubes to my temple but my head doesn’t hurt as much as my pride.
‘Are you sure you secured it properly?’ Tamara asks for what feels like the hundredth time.
‘Yes,’ I say again but I am not sure. Not really. My mind is too full of Jake. Of Lisa. The past. The future. I realise how little headspace I am giving Nick and I feel sick with guilt.
‘Kat!’ Tamara shakes her head in exasperation, and I realise she had been talking to me.
‘Sorry. What did you say?’ I really have to pull myself together. I can’t fall apart. Again.
The rest of December passes in a blur. It is the week before Christmas and I’ve been fundraising like crazy – everyone is so generous around this time of year. We’re both so busy we only put the decorations up last night. As usual we’ve gone for a real tree, and drank hot chocolate laced with brandy, wearing Santa hats, as Nick wrapped the lights around the branches and I hung baubles.