The Start of Something Wonderful: a fantastically feel-good romantic comedy!. Jane Lambert

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theme tune comes drifting across the landing into the bathroom. Jeans at half-mast, I stagger and stumble to the bedroom, and swipe my mobile from the dressing table.

      ‘Emily, it’s Hugh.’

      I hold my breath for a moment.

      ‘Oh, of course, the audition. Hi,’ I say in my best I’m-a-very-busy-person voice, heart leaping into my throat.

      ‘Good news … we’d like you to play Olga for us. What do you say?’

      My tummy does a double somersault. I open my mouth to speak, but catch myself in time. I want to grovel with gratitude and swing from the chandelier (or in this case, the wire-framed fabric light fitting with rayon fringe), but I mustn’t appear too desperately keen. I count to three, then say coolly, ‘I’d love to – thank you – I’d love to.’

      ‘Great. Rehearsals start Monday. Rocket, our deputy stage manager, will e-mail you all the details. Good to have you on board.’

      ‘Thank you,’ I say again, trying to maintain my composure until he rings off.

      ‘YESSS!’ I whoop, punching the air and landing with a thud.

      ‘Emily, is that you?’ calls Beryl from downstairs.

      Hastily zipping up my jeans, I screech over the banister, ‘Beryl, I got the job!’

      ‘Fan-bloody-tastic, darlin’! Let me just turn Countdown off an’ I’ll crack open that bottle of Asti Spumante in the sideboard. I’ve been waiting since Christmas for an excuse to drink it.’

      Three glasses of lukewarm Asti Spumante later, and my euphoria has turned into sickly panic. With daytime rehearsals for three weeks, how am I going to earn any money? Why didn’t I think this through more carefully? Look before you leap. Will I never learn? My self-esteem may well have had a bit of a boost, but the same can definitely not be said for my bank balance. There has got to be a way …

      * * *

      ‘“Masha will come to Moscow for the summer … aargh! … for the WHOLE summer … Masha will come to Moscow for the whole summer …”’ I repeat, as I wind my way in between the desks, flicking my duster with one hand, balancing my script with the other.

      ‘Hello again!’

      I spin around, tripping over computer cables and a waste paper basket.

      ‘Sorry, I’ve gotta stop freaking you out,’ says Dean, grabbing my elbow, his piercing gaze meeting mine. My heart gives a little flutter.

      ‘Glad to see you looking cheerier than last time we met.’

      ‘Yes, sorry about that,’ I reply, glancing at him sideways.

      ‘Guy trouble?’

      ‘That, and one of those where-the-hell-is-my-life-going moments.’

      He looks at me blankly. He must only be in his twenties, so I guess this concept is about as alien to him as Snapchat is to me.

      I glance at the clock. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve got to be at my next job in less than an hour, and I haven’t started the vacuuming yet.’

      ‘Sure thing. You know, we should …’

      ‘Sorry?’ I bellow over the roar of the hoover.

      He shakes his head and mouths ‘goodbye’.

      * * *

      I pedal through the damp, chill, early morning air, chanting, ‘Aleksandr Ignatyevich Vershinin, Aleksey Petrovich Fed… Fedotik.’ Gaah! Why is no one in Russia called Bob Jones or Jim Smith? I glance at my watch: 7.15. ‘Aleksandr Ignat… Ignatyevich Vershinin, Aleksey Petrovich Fedotik …’

      My other job is at The Red Dragon, which is very handy, as we rehearse here. The only way I can afford to do the play is by taking on another early morning cleaning job. End of.

      Using all the female charm I could muster, I persuaded the landlord that good beer and Sky TV alone were not enough to lure the clientele. What the place needed was a woman’s touch: a splash of bleach here and a squirt of air freshener there. (That was the polite, edited version.)

      Anyway, it worked. So from 7.30 a.m. I’m Mrs Overall, picking chewing gum off bar stools and replenishing paper towels. Then, fast-forward three hours, and I’m Olga Prozorova, schoolteacher and eldest sister to Masha and Irina, dreaming of marriage and Moscow.

      There’s even a shower I can use. The pipes gurgle and rattle a bit when I turn it on, and it splutters and drips freezing cold water, but at least I don’t arrive at rehearsal smelling like a compost heap.

      By the end of the week, I’m sleepwalking my routine:

      0430: Alarm goes off. Hit snooze button.

      0435: Alarm goes off. Roll out of bed.

      0445: Down a bowl of Special K.

      0450: Grab bike and pedal like the clappers.

      0515: Arrive at office. Clean.

      0700: Leave office for pub. Clean.

      0845: Shower, change, stop at Norma’s Diner for tea and runny egg on toast.

      1000–1800: Rehearse.

      1830: Home, dinner, learn lines, and go over what we did today.

      2200: Bed, in order to be up at 0430 to repeat all of the above.

      In between times, I am also sending out mail-shots to agents and casting directors:

      Please cover my performance as Olga in ‘Three Sisters’ at The Red Dragon Pub Theatre, Lady Jane Walk, Richmond. 17th December – 31st January at 7.30.

      Even if only four or five turn up it will be worth it – won’t it?

      * * *

      TONIGHT AT 7.30

      THREE SISTERS

      BY

      ANTON CHEKHOV

      I feel my stomach lurch as I glance at the sandwich board outside the pub. This is it. No more ‘Sorry, what’s my next line?’ or ‘Should I be sitting at this point?’ After three weeks’ rehearsal, I think I’m pretty solid on my lines and moves, but there is always that fear lurking somewhere in the shadows, of stepping out in front of an audience and thinking, Who am I? What the hell am I doing here? Who are these people?

      I make my way upstairs to the cramped, communal dressing room. Where, oh where is the star on the door and the mirror with light bulbs all around it?

      I am the first to arrive and bag myself a wee corner. With fourteen of us in the cast, it’s going to be a tight squeeze. I lay out my make-up, hairbrush, bottle of water, and lucky elephant charm (a treasured gift from the cleaner at the crew hotel in Mumbai). I then distribute

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