Book Extract ~ Halfway House by Helen Fitzgerald

The lights went down. There was no time to chat up sandalwood guy. Lou became overwhelmed with dread at what she was about to endure. Plath! The Musical. She detested poems and musicals. She’d have to work out what to say to Becks after, something about the enthusiastic audience maybe, or the eerie, vaulted venue. The curtains opened onto a stage that was set in a fifties kitchen. An apron-clad woman was stirring something over the cooker, a little angrily it seemed. She’d tell Becks she loved the costumes and the set design, Lou decided, rocking her head on the seat in front of her, back and forth, back and forth, in time with the beat of spoon against saucepan … boom, boom, boom, boom…

She woke to clapping. Becks and the cast made a final bow on stage. The curtains closed, the lights went up.

I cannot believe you slept through that,’ sandalwood guy said.

‘Was it good?’

He leaned in: ‘Wish I’d slept through it.’

Sandalwood guy, otherwise known as Timothy, couldn’t get enough of Lou in the foyer. No wonder, she was even funnier than she had been on the plane.

‘So, what is it you’re wearing?’ he asked, leaning in for a sniff.

‘I’m wearing the farts of two hundred long-haul passengers.’

There was a spark, perhaps several, until her cousin bounced over for a squeal and a hug.

‘Congratulations, that was amazing. This is Timothy,’ Lou said.

‘Hello Timothy. I saw you next to my jetlagged’ – she made a snoring sound – ‘cousin.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Lou said. ‘I’ll come again.’ Why, why, why did she say that?

‘Yes, you shall,’ Becks said. ‘So Timothy, are you a journalist?’

‘No.’

‘Just a man on his own?’

‘Yes.’

‘At Plath! The Musical?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You like Sylvia Plath?’

‘Of course.’

‘And musicals?’

‘Interesting you call it a musical.’

‘Is it?’

‘I suppose it depends on your definition of music.’

‘Mm hmm,’ said Becks. ‘And you like matinees?’

‘I’m a huge fan of matinees,’ Timothy said. ‘People aren’t supposed to be so raw in the middle of the afternoon. There’s something intimate about it, voyeuristic even. Well done, by the way, it was … thought-provoking.’

‘Which thought did it provoke?’

Becks seemed to have taken against him. Annoying.