But Trip wasn’t in the back. He wasn’t in the little kitchen or the corridor. Ivy checked the music room. The stage.Underthe stage. The tech table. Nothing.
As the time ticked on, Ivy began to worry.
‘It’s just not like him,’ Ivy said, pacing up and down in front of Josie, who was doing some last-minute costume alterations for the tiny smugglers. ‘He’s put everything into this show and now it’s crunch time. So where is he?’
‘Maybe he’s talking to Lou about the catering,’ said Josie, through a mouthful of pins. ‘I wouldn’t worry, darling. Trip has a very reliable aura.’
‘Yeah,’ said Ivy, ‘you’re right. He must be doing something like that.’Still, it is weird, she thought.
Without his cheery-but-firm leadership, things were starting to go wrong. Tempers were fraying, cues were being missed, kids were flagging, and so was Mr Hargreaves. An argument broke out over who had the most recent script. Eventually, with barely more than two hours to go until the audience arrived and still no sign of Trip, Ivy couldn’t handle it any more. Putting the final touches to the standing stones could wait. She threw down her brush and headed out into the streets of Fox Bay, down to Lou’s pizza van on the beach. Lou was stoking her pizza oven and Ivy could feel the heat from a distance.
‘Have you seen Trip?’ she called, shading her eyes against thedazzling winter afternoon sun. ‘Only we’re curtain up in two hours and I can’t find him.’
‘Haven’t seen him all day,’ Lou called back. She looked tired but happy, resting a hand on the small of her back. ‘But I know exactly how many pizzas and the toppings and all that.’ She gave Ivy her warm smile. ‘Don’t fret, love. He’ll turn up – he won’t miss the big day, not after all this work.’
Ivy nodded, but her stomach had an uneasy feeling. She pulled out her phone and tried calling him. No answer. Texted. Nothing.
All of a sudden, she knew she wasn’t overreacting. Trip was … well, he was Trip.All in, like Brooke had said. He had shown up for every rehearsal, every blocking and sound session, supervising the front of house, the costumes, the script. She had seen him rally, encourage and bolster these kids, not to mention the show committee. He had even appeared last night, parcels of fish and chips in his arms, to help her re-make the three-hundred-and-fifty paper fish. There wasno wayhe would just disappear on the day of the show itself. Not without a good reason anyway.
Then Ivy thought of the conversation she had overheard that morning between him and Brooke. She thought of the pleading note in Trip’s voice and Brooke’s gentle words:It’s time to let her go.
Ivy was sure then. Somethingwaswrong with Trip – and she had to find him.
Ivy burst into the bookshop to find Brooke, looking irritatingly calm, typing on her laptop and eating a scone, with the radio on in the background.
‘Trip’s gone,’ Ivy announced breathlessly.
‘What do you mean, gone?’ said Brooke, setting down her scone and wiping her fingers on a napkin. ‘He was right here, this morning. You artists are very dramatic.’
Ivy drew a deep breath. ‘I meangone. Vanished, disappeared like a puff of smoke. He is not at the town hall. And before you ask – yes, I already checked the bakery, the pier and The Mariner’s Arms. The play is starting in two hours and he’s the only one people listen to. I can see the cracks already. The twins are arguing with Merlin about his entrance. Mr H is panicking about the running order. No one seems to agree on the latest script. We need Trip. He would never vanish today of all days. So whereishe?’
Brooke shut her laptop and stood, frowning slightly. ‘Maybe he’s gone out to get the cast and crew coffee or something. Some big, cheesy pre-show gesture?’
‘Nope. I’ve tried the Driftwood Café. I’ve asked everybody I can think of and no one has seen him.’ Ivy sighed and flopped down into the nearest armchair. ‘I’ve been calling and texting and nothing. Straight to voicemail. It’s like he’s turned his phone off.’
Brooke grabbed her own phone and presseddial, then held it to her ear. After a few seconds, she lowered it. ‘He’s not picking up,’ she said slowly.
‘Told you,’ said Ivy, relieved that Brooke might be finally taking it seriously.
There was a pause, filled only by the faint hum of the radio. Then: ‘You don’t think something actually happened to him, do you?’ Brooke asked, her voice quieter now. ‘Like I say, I saw him earlier and he was totally fine.’
‘Totally fine?’ Ivy narrowed her eyes. ‘Was he? Really? You didn’t have, say, a pretty emotional conversation this morning aboutselling your grandmother’s house?’
Brooke flushed. ‘You were listening?’
‘I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,’ said Ivy, ‘I was out back getting something and then I realised you guys were talking. Trip sounded pretty upset.’
‘Yeah, he was. But it was a conversation we had to have. Trip needs to face reality.’ She chewed her nail. ‘You think he took off because of that?’
‘I don’t know. But it’s weird otherwise, isn’t it? The day of the show. He wouldneverdisappear like this without a reason.’
They exchanged a look. ‘You’re right,’ Brooke said at last. ‘We need to go look for him.’ She grabbed her coat. ‘Come on.’
They headed back out on to the streets and searched, more methodically this time under Brooke’s strict guidance. They re-checked the town hall, the bakery and even the library. Most shops were closed up as people prepared for the show. It felt like everyone in Fox Bay was in the town hall – except Trip.
‘Let’s head down to the beach,’ said Brooke at last. ‘Maybe he’s meditating or doing yoga and is totally oblivious.’
The walk along the harbour was quiet. On the beach, both of them scanned the coastline. But there was no sign of a familiar figure, bouncing along petting dogs and chatting to anyone he could find.
