Crying in the Rain (Hiding Behind The Couch Character and Festive Episodes)

2 Early Birds

Kris

T he M anchester train was as empty as the platform had been, for the time being at least. Their hometown station was so small, Kris had rarely seen anyone else boarding the first train even when he’d taken it regularly, but the commuters wouldn’t be far behind. He kind of missed being one of them, if only because he’d had a travel permit and wouldn’t have been worrying about accidental fare evasion since there was no longer a staffed ticket office. Nor was there an automated machine, so Kris took his seat, fare in one hand, script in the other, and kept a lookout for the guard.

He didn’t need to leave this early. He wasn’t really sure why he had. This job was no different from any of the other plays he’d worked on, other than it being the first decent role he’d picked up in a while, and it felt like a step in the right direction, a real move away from ads and voiceovers. Not that he regretted the fourteen years he’d been doing that. After all, how many actors secured long-term, salaried positions straight out of college? Admittedly, he’d shared his classmates’ mindset in thinking radio acting was an old man’s game, but unlike his classmates, he’d had responsibilities to people other than himself.

It might not have been a glamorous road to stardom, but it had paid the mortgage, and, despite his friends’ over-the-top imitations of more or less every ad he’d ever recorded, he was glad for the experience. He had a solid repertoire of accents and a ‘very agile register’—his agent’s contribution to his CV. Kids with bikes, young dads at the pub, middle-aged car salesmen, oldies wowed by their stair lifts, Kris had played them all. If not for the upheaval of the last couple of years and the awkwardness of seeing Jack at the studio every day, he’d have still been playing them, and happily, but he couldn’t deny it felt good to have a role with some meat to it.

Kris flicked through the script, carefully, as the stapled top corner was barely holding. Even though they weren’t highlighted or marked in any way, his lines leapt from the pages. He knew the entire script—he’d printed it as soon as he’d had confirmation the part of Tommy was his—but there were still bits that surprised him. Not the story itself. His drama class had watched the original black-and-white movie, their tutor selling it to them as ‘the ultimate 1940s British noir’, which as young, pretentious students they’d adored because the movie was avant-garde, but it was only when Kris read Sally O’Connor’s script that he appreciated how complex the characters were…and how much of a challenge it would be to capture the danger, the sexiness and the ordinariness through sound alone.

The train slowed and stopped at the next station, and a couple of office workers boarded Kris’s carriage, taking a seat at either end. One put in earphones, the other took out their ebook reader. The doors closed, and the train moved off again. Kris watched out the window until the platform was no longer in view and returned his attention to his script as best he could. The money for his ticket was sticking to his palm; no sign of the guard yet, he took a chance and put it back in his pocket, exchanging it for his phone so he could go over the email and double-check he was heading for the right studio, wondering if the other actors were doing the same. Probably not. He was a worrier by nature. As Shaunna had pointed out the previous evening, after she’d gasped in mock horror when he’d sat down for dinner without his script, he couldn’t be any more prepared than he was—than he’d been for a week already.

Remembering that didn’t stop him fretting, but he did put his phone away and, for a few minutes, sat back and managed to take in the scenery along the side of the track, mostly fields, a few houses, a single car waiting at the level crossing. The train slowed again; Kris didn’t see how many passengers boarded, and none joined his carriage, but they were still a way out from the city with plenty more stops before his. He waited for a minute or so after the train took off again, still no sign of the guard, and chanced running through his final scene one more time—without his script—the scene when Tommy finally showed his true colours, the violent nature underlying his seeming heartbreak over abandoning Rose. True, there were clues littered throughout, and Kris would be taking his lead from the producer over how much he pushed those. Too obvious and the ending would be trite and predictable, too obscure and it would feel inauthentic.

“Tickets, please.”

The call startled Kris back to his surroundings. He hadn’t noticed that the train had stopped, never mind taken on quite a few more passengers, all of whom flashed permits as the guard moved swiftly along the aisle. Kris had to stand to get the coins out of his pocket, and he had them in his hand before the guard reached him, but he still apologised.

Presumably, the guard had seen where he’d joined the train, as he dispensed Kris’s ticket without comment and continued on his way, through to the next carriage. Soon after, they reached the next station, and the train filled considerably. A woman talking on her phone took the seat opposite Kris’s and continued her conversation. It wasn’t loud, but it was distracting, so he tucked his script back into its folder and, not wishing to eavesdrop, though it was impossible not to, took out his phone again.

~ Be amazing today! x

The message was twenty minutes old, which surprised him. Shaunna wasn’t an early riser, and she wasn’t in work today.

He sent back: Thanks. Hope I didn’t wake you. x

She hadn’t mentioned having any plans. Since they’d told their friends they’d separated, neither felt compelled to share the details of every little thing they got up and with whom, but it was virtually impossible to keep secrets from each other when they still shared a house.

~ Nope. Forgot to switch off my alarm. Made a cuppa and came back to bed. x zzzz…

Kris didn’t reply to that and instead passed a little more time scrolling back through their texts, most consisting of one of them asking the other to pick up bread or milk or something on their way home. It probably was weird that they still lived together—some of their friends had blatantly said as much—and they had talked about selling up and moving into their own places, but after so many years, first as friends, then co-parents, then spouses, neither of them wanted to. It was comfortable, easy, and it worked for them. If that ever changed, if either of them met someone else…well, they’d deal with it when the time came.

The train drew into the next station, the one before Kris’s stop, and a few more passengers boarded, most airport-bound and lugging along large suitcases. He contemplated moving to stand by the door: the stations were only a couple of minutes apart, and the thought of being stuck on the wrong side of someone’s luggage, unable to leave the train, was giving him minor palpitations.

He needn’t have worried, or not about that, because several minutes on, the train was still standing at the platform. Leaning against the window, Kris could just about see the front of the train, where the guard was talking to the driver. The guard glanced along the line and with a shrug reboarded. The announcement came a second later.

“Due to a points failure, this service will be delayed by approximately fifteen minutes. We apologise for any inconvenience.”

*

The hydraulics hissed as they powered down again, the tick of the idling train like a stopwatch counting up to the moment when Kris would have to concede he was too late to make it. Perhaps he should give up now, switch platforms and head back home. Except it wasn’t in his nature to quit, even when that was the best option, and in any case, given how early he’d left, he wasn’t actually late yet.

The woman sitting opposite leaned forward and wriggled out of her jacket, smiling apologetically for invading Kris’s space. He smiled back.

“It’s stuffy in here, isn’t it?” he said.

She nodded and blew out of her mouth, directing the breath up towards her hair, which had flopped in the humidity. “Mind if I open a window?” she asked.

“Not at all.”

She stood up and slid the narrow vent open a few inches, letting in a waft of cool, damp air. Leaning towards it, she took a few deep breaths. “That’s better.”

Kris had to agree. He was one of those always-cold people, so the heat didn’t bother him, but with the outside world obscured by condensation and the growing impatience of the passengers, the atmosphere in the carriage had become quite oppressive.

The woman sat down again and fished a compact mirror out of her bag, eyeing her reflection in dismay. “God, I’ll be fit for nothing by the time I get to my interview.”

“New job?”

“Yeah.” She smoothed under her eyes with a fingertip. “Head of Physics. I’m a high school teacher…and beginning to wonder if I should take this as a sign.” Frowning, she put the compact away and explained, “It’s a big step up for me. I’ve only been teaching for three years.”

“It’s always struck me as a really tough job.”

“It is, but I love it.”

“Well, break a leg,” Kris said.

She laughed. “Thanks. How about you? What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an actor.”

“I thought so.”

“Did you?”

“ Break a leg ? ”

“Ah. Yeah.” Kris chuckled.

“And wasn’t that a script you were reading?”

“It was. I’m recording a play today. That’s assuming this train ever moves.”

“Sod’s law, isn’t it? Will they start without you?”

“Probably.” Kris hoped they wouldn’t. There were plenty of scenes that Tommy wasn’t in, but he liked to listen to the other actors, get a feel for the dynamics between the different characters.

“So have you been in anything I’ve seen?” the woman asked.

“No, but you might’ve heard me. I’m a radio actor.”

“Oh, really? I’d swear I’ve seen you on TV.”

Kris shook his head, while she tilted hers, studying him intently. He had a good idea what was coming next, although maybe she was a little too young to make the connection. Whether she would’ve done so in time, he’d never know, as that was the moment when the hydraulics powered up and with a very welcome judder and a sarcastic cheer from the passengers, the train slowly but surely left the station.