The Unfinished Symphony of You and Me Read Online Free PDF Page A

about this “adult” thing, Sally.’ She grinned eventually. ‘This morning when I walked into your room you were telling Carrot that he was a big handsome boy.’
    ‘He is!’
    ‘You’re a twonk.’ She sighed. ‘But, teddy bears aside, we
are
adults, and there’s no reason why working in the theatre is going to turn us into mentalists like my mum. SO THERE.’ She stuck her fork into my spag bol and twirled it round. (It didn’t count if she ate extra food from someone else’s plate.)
    Clinking our forks against the bottle of wine, we made a pact. From now on, we would be proper grown-ups.
    We got really drunk and choreographed a contemporary ballet in our empty sitting room, then got a bus into Soho where we staggered around looking for somewhere cool and grown-up to dance. Somehow we got sidetracked and ended up buying vibrators and going for tea and cake at three thirty a.m. It was one of those blissful nights when Fiona fell asleep before she got drunk enough to start causing trouble.
    I was happy.

Scene Two
    The next day was my first at the opera house. I smelt like methylated spirits. I was collected from the stage door by my new colleague Faye, who wore écru slacks; she smelt of organic oat bran and west London. Immediately, I regretted my cheap outfit.
    Following Faye through the endless corridors, I wondered when my first tea break would be. My head was doughy and my brain full of dense fog. I desperately needed a lie-down and a high-fat snack.
Balls
. Why had I gone out drinking the night before my first day here? Did I have to do
everything
Fiona suggested? I was a moron of desperate severity.
    But then I was rescued by the most wonderful sound, a tannoy announcement made by a woman with a silky voice: ‘Mr Allen and Miss Jepson, this is your five-minute call. That’s your five-minute call, Mr Allen and Miss Jepson.’
    It wasn’t the names or the announcement that excited me: it was the sound of music in the background. The announcer must be practically on stage herself, within metres of what I immediately identified as
Così fan tutte
.
    ‘
Così fan tutte!
’ I exclaimed at Faye and her écrus.
    She looked pleased. ‘Yes, well done!’
    An extraordinary sensation of relief flooded me, rolling away the filthy waves of hangover. Finally.
Finally
I was somewhere where it was impressive to know about opera.
I need never hide it again
, I thought dazedly.
This is amazing!
    A man was walking towards us in a suit and I presumed he was some sort of executive until he started making zooming noises with his voice.
    ‘ZzzeeeeeeeEEEEEeeee,’ he zoomed, suddenly breaking off and making a speedboat sound through his lips. He was wearing heavy makeup.
    I realized it was Thomas Allen and nearly passed out. Thomas Allen was dead famous. So famous that I owned a DVD masterclass with him. I goggled at him and he smiled back in a very pleasant manner. ‘Hello,’ he said, breaking off from his speedboat noises.
    I stared like a moron for a few more seconds, then remembered that people liked me because I was as cool as a cucumber. In fact, that had been one of the major pieces of feedback from my successful interview.
    I smiled, and said calmly, ‘Oh, hi, Thomas.’
    He nodded and walked on, still smiling pleasantly.
    I grinned. I might be as drunk as a stoat and smelly as a ferret but I was going to love this job. And I was really going to nail it.
    And, as it turned out, I did. Unfortunately on that first day my vibrator went off in my bag (I had forgotten to remove it because I was still drunk) and it rattled so loudly that one of my colleagues asked Security to open thelocker. And the next day my inexperienced dressing was responsible for a bass’s trousers falling slowly to his feet during a duet – but, minor mishaps aside, I took it on quickly. I kitted myself out in soft, tasteful fabrics that smelt of Cornish crops and felt like peach skin (and then didn’t have enough money to eat anything other