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‘It’s a very slick production,’ I commented. ‘They must have had a massive budget. The size of the cast!’
‘Do you remember when you were on stage here once, Jack?’ said Mum. ‘Shakespeare, wasn’t it?’
I nodded, thinking wistfully back to the first big thing I’d been cast in when I’d left drama school. It had been the most exciting experience of my life. Getting ready in the backstage warren of dressing rooms. Hearing the names of famous actors being called to the stage. Hanging out in the bar afterwards. I’d thought that had been the start of something really, really big, but instead, my role at the National Theatre seven years ago was possibly still the most impressive thing on my CV.
‘I don’t remember that,’ said Dad.
‘You didn’t come and see it, that’s why,’ I said, trying not to sound bitter.
He’d been working late, apparently, and hadn’t turned up; I still remembered it. And despite it being a three-month run, Dad hadn’t found the time to come and watch me another time. It pretty much summed up our relationship, really.
‘Got any acting work coming up, then?’ asked Dad, flicking through the programme, only half listening.
He’d always hated me being into drama and acting. I’d once overheard him telling Mum that I was ‘wet’ and complaining about me not wanting to play football like Dom. At one point, he threatened to make me join the Army Cadets; I thought he was afraid for my masculinity, as though being an actor didn’t match up to his neanderthal opinion of what a real man should be like. If earning loads of money in a job you hated, drinking excessively and spending the majority of your time schmoozing at the golf club were prerequisites for being a ‘real man’, I’d rather not bother.
‘Things are going pretty well, actually,’ I told him. ‘I’m thinking of going to LA for a bit.’ That wasn’t strictly a lie – I was thinking about it.
Dom snorted into his drink. ‘LA? What do you want to go there for?’
I looked at him in disbelief. What disparaging thing could he possibly have to say about that?
‘It’s where the big money is, isn’t it?’ I suggested, using a currency I knew they’d relate to. ‘I’m doing a class at the Actors Centre later this month – they’ve got a casting director over from the States. You never know, do you?’ I said, looking pointedly at Dom.
Sometimes I suspected that the tiniest, most hidden part of him was envious of my lifestyle, of my freedom to do whatever I wanted. When you didn’t have any money to begin with, you couldn’t be frightened of losing it. The opposite was true of Dom; he had it all: the six-figure salary, the doting girlfriend, the mortgage on a cool, industrial two-bed apartment in King’s Cross. He had more to lose, but I wondered if he ever felt trapped. Whether there was part of him that might want some of what I had. If there was, he didn’t show it.
‘You’re working at that pub full time now, are you?’ asked Dad, smoothing down his tie.
‘Not full time, no,’ I said.
It might feel like I was sometimes, but no, I definitely wasn’t.
The bell rang for the second half.
‘Anyone want another drink?’ I asked, hoping they’d say no, because then I’d have to bung it on my credit card.
‘Get me another large glass of the Malbec, will you?’ said Dad.
‘Same,’ piped Dom. ‘Now where’s the loo?’
‘Mum?’ I asked, biting my lip. I hoped my card went through, otherwise my humiliation for the evening would be complete.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, clutching the book to her chest. ‘And thanks for this, it was very thoughtful of you.’
I kissed her on the cheek. ‘Glad you’ve had a nice birthday.’
As the foyer emptied out and everyone took their seats, I dived over to the bar before they pulled the shutter down.
