The Furies: A Novel by Natalie Haynes

Author:Natalie Haynes [Haynes, Natalie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781466848306
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2014-08-26T00:00:00+00:00

6

I know the exact date when that happened, the day Carly got so upset about Alcestis. I don’t know many dates from that year, because I didn’t really keep a diary. My friends wouldn’t believe this was possible, because I was the one who wrote everything down and kept lists. Luke always had so many work commitments that came in at the last minute, but my diary was always fixed weeks or months ahead. Previews, press nights, auditions, meetings with writers, producers and venues.

Putting on a play, even a tiny one with a cast of three in a studio theatre, takes a lot of paperwork. And I never wanted to be late or double-booked, because most of the people who work in theatre are impossibly thin-skinned. You can insult someone to the core just by forgetting that they only drink soya milk. Luke would point out that anyone who drinks soya milk is asking to be insulted, but that isn’t something I could ever say, as I tried to claw my way into the theatre world.

You can want to direct plays without loving every aspect of the industry, I would reply.

You mean theatre folk? An old actor I had directed in a production of The Three Sisters once described himself to Luke as ‘theatre folk’. Luke, to his credit, merely nodded, then retained it as shorthand for everything he hated about my job.

But these people had an incredible capacity for perceiving slights. How can they be so sensitive and simultaneously so tactless, I would rage at Luke, when one actor had made another one cry by giving her a line-reading or raising an eyebrow at her unusual bag.

So I kept a detailed diary, for years, and never missed an appointment. Then when Luke died, I didn’t need it any more. I didn’t have to remember when he had stuff on at work. I didn’t need to make sure I wasn’t double-booked on nights out we’d arranged with our friends. And I didn’t need it for work. I quit the play I was directing, because there was no point continuing with it. The only person I wanted to see it was dead.

My mother said that I was being irrational and melodramatic. She didn’t use those words, obviously. She’s much too kind to say something so blunt to someone grieving. She said things like, are you sure work wouldn’t help take your mind off things, and is it possible Luke would have wanted you to carry on with the part of your life that you’ve worked so hard for, and that makes you so happy? But I was sure. I believed, even if it sounded silly, that theatre needed to come from the heart. It isn’t just an intellectual exercise, it’s an emotional one. And how do you put your emotions into anything when the only thing that’s keeping you upright is boxing them away and refusing to look?

I couldn’t carry on with directing Ibsen, just like I couldn’t talk about what

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