Final Act

Act I - The Invitation

Hell is a city much like London; or so Percy Shelley once declared and Suki can see no reason why a perpetually depressed Romantic poet shouldn't be trusted on such matters.

London is a lonely city and even after all these years of living here, she has never quite felt as though the city has warmed to her. If she were to think of the city, really think of it, she would picture a cold, grey, unfriendly heart, beating with industrial rhythm.

Even during her marriage, which was arguably her happiest time in London, the city belonged to Harry in a way that it never could to her. During those years her life was full; between his theatre crowd and those late nights where she would dash from work to catch his performances- it was full of laughter and people and excitement. Even then, though, there was always an emptiness, something that never felt one hundred percent right and in her more honest moments she would freely admit that it was the city itself.

Now, as her eyes survey the vast, sprawling grey ugliness of the city skyline from her high rise apartment window: she feels no sadness to think that in just a weeks time she will be leaving. This place she has called home for the past decade will no longer be hers and she couldn't be happier about it. In fact, as her eyes sweep across the rain-flecked window, she's curious just how many of the cities 10 million inhabitants actually like the damn place. How much they enjoy the dirty, polluted city where there live crammed in together, as inhabitants and neighbours but rarely ever friends.

This brooding reverie is cut short by the tiny ball of fluff that begins to wend its way around her legs, meowing pitifully. In five years it's barely grown bigger than a kitten and the rather majestic name that Harry bestowed on it (Othello) still strikes her as faintly ridiculous for so small and feeble a creature.

Harry again. That's another reason that she's glad to be leaving London. Reminders of her ex husband are everywhere but the life they crafted together has drained away like the last grains of sand in an hourglass. She has no way of knowing if a small picturesque town in Italy is going to hold any of the answers to questions that she can't even formulate, she just knows that it has got to be better than here.

The impatient meowing that is meant to indignantly inform her that she is taking too long extracting cat food from the packet makes her laugh softly. The food is only halfway to the floor when Othello begins trying to stand upright, overestimating his size and ability as always.

A girl, a suitcase and a cat, arriving in a small Italian town to start again. It sounds like the beginning of a film, she thinks. Something starring Audrey Hepburn that would descend into a heartwarming romantic tale of love and new beginnings.

Why on earth she's stayed on in London for so long is a mystery to her.

Or perhaps it isn't. Perhaps something in her clung to this city that she hated so much because of Harry. Part of her wasn't ready to let go of him and leaving this city would be admitting that it was all over and she was leaving him behind. Two years since they last saw each other, two years since he gave her that resigned, sad smile outside the divorce court and in a heartbreakingly symbolic moment, they'd turned their back on each other to walk down different sides of the grey, rain drenched street.

And so the phone call last night had startled her. At just after 2am the shrill ringing of the rarely used landline echoing across the dark apartment had jolted her from the comfort of sleep.

A horrible dread had crept into her as she'd stumbled across the pitch dark bedroom and into the hall to answer. It was Harry who'd had the landline installed and she couldn't think of a time that she'd even used it since they split up. She only still had it because it she'd taken over paying the bills on her own and she hadn't bothered to change anything. 

She'd grabbed the phone from the wall, almost tripping over Othello as her fingers groped across the wall for the light switch. Harry spoke before she found it and the shock of that voice, so well known, so well loved, had rendered her dumb. Her hand fell from the wall and she stood in dark, trying to pull her mind from the wandering of sleepy corridors.

"Suki." He'd said. No hello, just that deep, soft voice. Almost immediately, an image filled her head. Those soft, full lips twitching slightly over the vowels in her name. The hint of eternal amusement that seemed to live on the corner of his lips.

"Harry?" It had left her in a gasp and the act of saying his name seemed to electrify her, pull her mind fully from the warm, sleepy blanket of subconsciousness.

He'd said her name again. The connection was terrible, he sounded miles away from the phone and the crackling noise meant that she had to strain to hear him. The landlines in theatres are notoriously sketchy and Suki realised that he must be calling her from his dressing room after his nightly performance. A few hours after actually, but then Harry had always been a night owl. When they first started dating he'd often call her in the early hours just to hear her voice.

She'd started to apologise and tell him that the line was bad, but he'd cut over her and asked her to come and meet him. Tomorrow night, Old Farlowes Theatre.

Old Farlowes was where she had first seen him perform. It was their first date, if watching your crush take the lead in Hamlet could be called a date, that is. That night fills her head, not the memory of the evening itself, but the sensation. The feeling of awe and happiness and excitement at seeing him on stage. Of hoping tentatively that he might like her as much as she liked him.

Suki had agreed to meet him almost immediately but now; sitting here and applying her make up and wondering if she's overdressed- she's beginning to wonder if it was a stupid idea.

What good can come of seeing Harry before she leaves the city? If anything, it's going to give her a fistful of the horrible emotions that she's spent the past two years trying to suppress.

Harry must know that she's leaving. A few months ago she'd bumped into Magenta; a theatre director friend of Harry's- in a bar. Magenta had been thrilled to see her and insisted on buying her a drink. Beyond the obligatory mention, Suki hadn't wanted to talk about Harry so she'd found herself telling Magenta in great detail about her re-location to Italy. Greater detail than she would have done whilst sober, anyway. She'd chided herself the next day for falling into the petty trap of wanting to appear successful and happy, just in case Magenta reported back to Harry.

Suki pauses in the act of coating her lower lashes with mascara. Harry loved the way she did this. He'd always watch the way her lips fell into a deeply concentrating pout as she focused.

In the mirror she can see Othello sleeping on Harry's side of the bed, on the mattress he used to occupy every night and a pang of deep, deep sadness and nostalgia washes over her.

The clock has dragged through every minute of today as she has tried to formulate what she could, what she should say to Harry and it's with a tug of sudden anxiety that she realises that it's time to go, otherwise she'll be late.

She had wanted to leave his city without facing the past. She had expected to leave with just her memories, without having to open barely healed wounds to let them bleed again.

But of course, this old city is far too cruel to let anyone escape her so easily.