Final Act

Act II - Memories

"Yes, I'd love too." Suki stands quickly, brushing the dust from her skirt. He steps out into the hallway, allowing her to step out before taking his place beside her as they stroll down the long, wide corridor. The whitewashed, uneven walls remind Suki of an old war bunker.

Harry must read something of her thoughts on her face because he gives a little laugh as he looks around critically; "Millions they spent, renovating this theatre. You'd think they could have spared a little on backstage as well."

His soft chuckle is met by Suki's little hum of nervous laughter. Harry walks alongside her and for a moment the only sound is the echoing tap of their shoes on the tiled floor. His hands are crossed behind his back and he looks pensive, as if he's trying to grasp at some thought. Suki remembers that look so well, it was often accompanied by him tugging at his lip as he frowned off into the distance, mulling over whatever deep path his mind had wandered on. She always used to stroke his brow, smooth away the frown until he'd grin suddenly, aware of her and his surroundings again.

She can't exactly just lean over and start rubbing his forehead now, so she settles for an even path of conversation, clearing her throat nervously before speaking; "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was leaving... I didn't know how to get in contact with you. The last I saw in the papers about you was a few months ago, when you were at Eldens Theatre in Macbeth-"

"Christ, don't remind me." He winces with a little laugh. "I hated every minute of it, my worst performance yet."

"The critics definitely disagreed." She counters, well aware of Harry's habit of being brutally hard on himself as an actor.

"Oh, been following my career, have you?" He says playfully, shooting her a cheeky side glance. A flush reddens the tips of her ears but Harry pulls open the door at the end of the hall, saving her from having to bluff. Harry seems to sense that she's embarrassed and he smiles gently as he continues. "Mum really wanted to see you last Christmas, but no one knew how to get hold of you."

"Oh... I changed my mobile number." She feels a stab of sadness as she thinks of Anne, who'd welcomed her as a daughter, immediately providing Suki with the family she'd never had. Memories of happy family dinners and Christmases and birthdays seem to crowd into her head at once, as a single warm, glowing memory, rather than separate occasions.

"She looked for you on Facebook and Twitter. She even joined Instagram." He chuckles. "I told her that you'd never had social media." A rueful smile lifts his lips at this.

That was what he'd loved about her. It fascinated him when they'd met, how she lived her life in a haze of black and white films, retro dresses and vintage flea markets. She didn't even have a TV until they'd got married. Her only access to the internet waas limited to occasional visits to the library computers and even then, it was only when she had to research something for work. Harry found it appealing, this life that was natural to her. He himself had often been offered work in film and TV but he preferred the raw intimacy of theatre and Suki had understood this completely without him ever having to explain it.

"Tell her I'm sorry." Suki says quietly. "I never meant to lose touch with her."

"You don't have to apologise, it's hard to move on and mum knows that. She just wanted to check that you wouldn't be alone at Christmas." He says gently. Suki nods, trying to push down a lump of emotion in her throat. Harry smiles down at her, his handsome face soft with kindness. "It's my fault, I forgot all about the landline. In fact, even if I had thought of it, I would have been certain that you'd had it uninstalled. We only needed it for my theatre work."

"I never got round to it." She shrugs.

"That's a waste of money every month." Harry grins and she can't help but share his laugh. He was always the practical one who nagged her and sorted finances. She kept her head in the clouds and her heart in the 1950s, Harry always used to say.

He seems to be remembering the same thing and their moment of shared laugher dies off, tinged by the awkwardness of now being strangers, of not being allowed to be intimate any more. Suki turns her head, suddenly aware of the new room that they have entered.

It's the stage dressing room and the main source of light is coming from one of the mirrors. All of the other mirrors are dark, just one is illuminated by the lightbulbs that frame it.

"That was your mirror." Suki smiles as the memory hits her. "In Hamlet."

"That's right." He smiles, turning to look at it. "I had to share it with that god-awful pompous arsehole who was playing Horatio. He came from RADA and he was furious that I had the lead." A chuckle leaves Harry's lips at the memory and Suki finds herself smiling at the vague memory of the dark haired man who, for all of his classical training, couldn't hold a candle to Harry's passion on stage.

"I remember coming backstage that night." She smiles, walking forwards and tracing her fingers lightly across the layer of dust on his dressing table. "I was so nervous that my knees were actually shaking."

"How do you think I felt?" Harry laughs softly from behind her. "This girl that I was crazy about; watching me perform on stage? I could barely concentrate on my lines."

Suki turns to face him with a smile tugging the corner of her lips. His closeness startles her and defers as he steps back. Neither speak for a moment and she studies his face in the light from the bulbs. More than 10 years since she first stood in this exact spot, looking up at his face with nerves fluttering in her heart.

He's more handsome now, she thinks. Age has beaten the childish curves from his face and left a beautiful bone structure. There's nothing about him that's waiting to mature, he's reached perfection.

Afraid that her thoughts may show on her face, she looks away. She can feel his eye on her for several more seconds until he eventually follows suit.

It's touched her, him illuminating his old mirror like that, but the wave of memories that it has triggered has upset the equilibrium upon which the ship of her new life has set forth to sail.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out, Harry." She says softly, still not meeting his eye.

"So am I." He says, with equal softness as though the words are delicate and could break with rough handling.

The words hang between them, full of too many thoughts, too many memories. Far too much to sum up in a few sentences. Suddenly the air seems heavy with sadness and regret and it's a beat before Harry speaks;

"Lets go over to the stage. You can't visit the theatre without seeing the stage." He smiles, but there is sadness in his eyes.