✦—✦—✦•
April 18th, Brook Lane, Chester, UK
I woke up like any other day, forgetting the excitement that had kept me awake most of the night. I'd be leaving school, sadly not forever. Mum did all the paperwork to get me to London; you wouldn't believe all the protections that child actors needed. The only thing that didn't require any papers to be signed was my grandmother taking over as a guardian while my parents worked. Dad had been so busy working all the time that I hadn't seen him during daylight hours since I came back from Buckinghamshire.
Today was no different, but I remembered him giving me a kiss while I slept. Hopefully I wished him a goodbye in my sleep-addled state. By my bedside was Mum's old luggage, a big old lumpy thing in which I packed every piece of clothing I owned. For passing the time I had my single Harry Potter book that had been released so far. I made sure to keep my copy of the first edition in acid-free paper and inside a shoebox with an air vent I'd poked out with scissors. Was it odd to have a shoebox on its side on my desk? Maybe, but keeping that book as pristine as possible was important to me. Money wasn't even important to me; it was more the book itself. Who could say that they bought that book themselves in the store? I had proof of it with the receipt.
Other toys I thought about, but in the end decided to keep my Tazos collection behind. Stuffed animals weren't really my thing, and useless toys that had collected over time wouldn't really be missed by me. My Tamagotchi egg would've been nice to bring, but I couldn't find it anywhere. But none of those could really compare to my pillow, which I put in a plastic bag and then tied it around the luggage handle.
The Price household's kitchen table was more crowded than usual. My father wasn't home, but at the head of the table sat Clive Price, a man just past his sixtieth birthday. Unfortunately, he didn't look as good as his age; early adulthood of his life was spent working in the coal pits. Despite getting moved up in the industry and no longer doing manual work, he had problems that eventually led to early retirement.
He'd survived disasters like the Aberfan disaster (mostly by never having been there), but that never stopped the man from speaking about it. It was one of the nightmares that I had. Often when I looked out the windows from my classroom, I imagined the disaster of a mountain collapsing on my school instead of in Aberfan. God had decided that one school right there was the only place the earth should pour out into. A hundred children and their teachers made up almost the entire casualty list in the town. Thankfully, Chester wasn't like that—at least no mountains near my school.
"Bore da, Wilfred bach," Granny said.
"Hi, Granny," I replied nicely, just to be hit on the shoulder.
"Ow," I complained, even though it didn't hurt.
"That makes me sound like some old crone. Call me Nain. You're Welsh, you'd better remember it."
"I'm also English," I said, rubbing my shoulder, "but yes, I'll call you Nain." I looked over to my grandpa, who was reading the news.
"Do you want to be called Bampi or Taid?" I asked him.
"You can call me whatever," Clive said, eyes on the paper.
"Thanks, Clive." I said, giggling.
His eyes locked onto mine over his newspaper, he squinted gravely then exchanged greetings with me as if I had said nothing. Mum handed out our breakfast: toast, eggs with bacon. Silently, I thanked Mum for not including beans before our long drive today. My Nain filled me in on things I'd missed yesterday, completely missing the fact that I went to sleep early precisely to avoid this talk. Now I was the only one who had missed out on it—garnering complete focus from Nain. Gladys came from a large family; as a small child during WW2 she had lost two brothers and an aunt. Docks the Germans bombed became a cursed sight to many of her family, who had moved away north. Perhaps because she was young enough not to have known her lost family, she had moved back to Cardiff as an adult.
"You know I have sewn bedsheets and bedding, curtains and drapes of all kinds for the Capitol Theatre in Cardiff. Shame it's been demolished; it was a fabulous place," Nain spoke with nostalgia.
"Are you sure you'll be alright, Mam? London and all, it's different," Mum cut in.
"I'll be fine, thank you. I've been to London more times than I care to count. Remember Live Aid? Clive was so into that band, what was their name…" Nain thought deeply.
"Who," Grandpa answered.
"Just tell me, Cariad."
"That's who it was—The Who. That's the name of the band."
"That's right, shirtless men. I think Bowie and Elton John were better," Nain said, smiling.
"There won't be a better concert than that, you mark my words," Clive promised.
I had no idea my grandparents were so cool. Live Aid, in my mind, was contextualised by memories of Freddie Mercury. Whose life my past version had seen in a movie of all things. It was weird to receive revelations for something that my old version had barely known, but it seemed to become a new thing as I got to terms with my ability not being perfect. Somehow that seemed to open the flood to give me random and almost useless information, no longer did I get true facts. It made me trust my revelations even less.
"Still, you've not lived in London before," Mum pointed out.
"I think we'll both enjoy it. Also, it's great to have our grandchildren around. Look at him!" Nain laughed. "Going on in West End, it's because I worked at the Capitol, talent rubbed in me somehow." she said proudly.
"You know that's got nothing to do with it," Mum said.
"It's not in West End," I said at the same time as Mum.
"Odeon is bigger than West End theatres," Nain scoffed.
"It's called Apollo now," I added. "Also, it's just the biggest theatre, not the most famous one."
"Odeon is more of a music venue," Grandpa added his wisdom.
"—Regardless," Nain cut everyone off, "it's a big deal. I'm proud of you."
"Thanks," I said, flushing. The front door made a sound, I excused myself.
Mail was slotted through our door; a good handful had come today. Somehow it had become a habit of mine to flick through the letters—sort of like Harry did. But, of course, no Hogwarts letter again. Then I froze: one from the water company was stamped with a bright red warning.
[FINAL REMINDER - UNITED UTILITIES]
The next letter said [Late Payment - Norweb PLC].
Revelations immediately noted them for what they were, and a little more context on the envelope helped me get a picture. My parents hadn't paid the electricity, gas, or water bills. That had never happened before, even though I'd been the one collecting the letters for ages. I carried them to the kitchen counter and held them up for Mum. She got busy gathering the empty plates and setting them in the sink.
Looking as serious as I could, I held up the two letters.
"Thanks, bach." She gave me a hug and tried to grab the letters for her perusal.
I did not let them go.
"Why haven't you paid the bills?" I asked.
She looked at the warning notice, not looking surprised in the least.
"Must've forgotten it, dear. Don't worry, Mum will take care of it," she said, voice even.
"Are you sure? Mum, you can use the money from Dolittle, I don't mind it at all," I pleaded.
Her expression changed, though I couldn't tell to what.
"No, dear. That's your money. Mum and Dad are supposed to take care of you. Now, go on and get ready." She shooed me.
My eyes squinted in suspicion.
"Come on, get washed and do your business. It's a long drive to London," Mum told me, a bit too sharply.
Instinct told me to go away, so I did, but it was starting to worry me. What if they cut off our lights or something? I was earning good money. Mum had to drive me to auditions all the time. Oftentimes the train was almost as expensive, but of course I needed supervision. Mum had to take time off her work, spending her vacation days. Dad had also started working too much ever since I started going to auditions all over London. Was the money not enough? I thought four hundred and fifty pounds was a good amount of money.
II relieved myself and had a quick wash before dressing and saying goodbye to my bedroom.
"So long," I said to no one.
I wouldn't miss the room itself. But not having my parents around—that would be strange. I'd never spent a day of my life apart from them until now. From here on, I'd only see them at weekends. The thought made my heart skip.
Mum and Dad would have to spend more money just to visit me each week. I could lighten the burden by telling them not to come so often—but I still wanted them there. I regretted not asking for more money in my contract; those two businessmen had agreed far too quickly.
I shared a teary goodbye with Mum. If she says I cried more, then she is lying. Trust me.
"Here. A gift." Mum handed me a Rugrats-themed wallet.
"What is it?" I asked, even though I knew.
"Wallet. Keep your money and coins in there. It's got this little pouch." She showed me the inside and pressed it into my hand.
"Thank you," I said with a defeated sigh. "Mum, please use the money from Dolittle on other things. I don't need it, I'd rather be allowed to play in more things. Auditions and more, you don't have to waste your money on it. Please." I begged, then gave her a big hug and a kiss.
She only chuckled, ignoring my pleading. "Go on, Taid will burst a vein if he waits longer."
How odd was it that I couldn't stop tears? As Grandpa's car rolled away, I turned around and waved until she was no longer visible through the rear window. Like a bird leaving their nest, I was to start a new chapter of my life. Challenges would be many, but if I held onto it and never let it go, this could be where I took my first flight.
—✦—
Grandpa had a Vauxhall Astra Mark 2, and coincidentally we were crossing Vauxhall Station. This area could be considered Inner London, but posh disease was still high in the air, so I'll call it South London to please both posh folks and the common. Not even a mile away from there we passed by the Ovalhouse. A 250-seat theatre, it was a former sports centre for disadvantaged children. Nowadays it was known as the theatre for the gays—which, in my opinion, was a bit too much considering most theatres were like that. But Ovalhouse was known for fostering and giving safe space for minorities to challenge the norm. More black actors performed here than anywhere else back in the 60s and 70s. Now all theatres in London were welcoming; perhaps Ovalhouse had started the tradition, who knew.
I admired the blue tarp sign with the simple Ovalhouse logo. The building was showing its age, bricks changing colours as we turned on the road. Clean from the front, ugly from the side. Still, it would be my home for the next eleven weeks as we did our rehearsals there. Hammersmith Theatre was too expensive to book for the rehearsal, but this one had seemingly met the price and was only a straight shot away on the highway.
Grandpa passed by the theatre but turned right on the next exit. We drove for a few hundred feet until we met a roundabout in the middle of a wall made of terraced houses. Grandma asked me to grab my things; Grandpa asked me to call out if I saw an open parking space.
Once we had parked, we waited some time for the rental agent to come by. Finally, a redheaded guy showed up. He would welcome me into my home for as long as I was in Doctor Dolittle.
"Hi, sorry about that. Couldn't find my exit from the station," he said. "Right, I'm Douglas. You must be Erin and Oliver Price. I have your keys right here." Douglas tapped his jacket pocket.
"Hello, I'm actually Gladys, that's Clive. My grandson, Wilfred," Nain introduced us.
"Apologies, I don't have your names on the lease," Douglas said suspiciously.
"That's alright, we're actually Erin Price's parents. We're Prices, he's their son." Nain pointed at me, so I waved at the guy.
"Ah, I see. Are they coming soon?"
"No, but we'll take those keys," Nain said, her voice losing some of its patience.
"We'll be living here while we are watching over their son," Grandpa explained.
Soon we were inside—a double terraced building with the same steps leading to double doors. Only a few feet separated the houses, and it made me uncomfortable. London's terraced houses were a bit different than ours in Chester. Space was limited and even more claustrophobic than my parents' house. Yet I couldn't help but smile as I went through the rooms, rooms seemed to shrink as I saw more of them. The staircase was so thin that my grandpa could block it by his average width. But there were three floors, and from the windows that faced east I could see the Ovalhouse in all its vintage glory. This was my new home, and I could completely immerse myself in the theatre. My heart beat faster.