Lucky Break Read Free

musicians and the instruments they played. He talked of his favourite playwrights, Aeschylus and Euripides, and he waited, watchful, as the students grappled with the spelling. ‘Of course,’ he continued, ‘as you know, three tragedies were performed during just one day, followed by a comedy, and the most famous of the theatres where these spectacles took place was the theatre at Epidaurus. Now for any of you, really truly passionate about your craft, a visit to this ancient monument should be at the top of your list.’
    Visit Epidaurus, Dan wrote, and the thought of azure skies, of history, of ancient, fallen columns, momentarily distracted him. Where were they? He glanced over at Jemma’s page, her writing, blue and beautiful, spanning out in legible lines. Comedy, he read. Bawdy, satirical, razor-sharp. By the time he’d copied it down, Patrick had moved on to college rules. ‘Punctuality.’ He looked ready for a fight. ‘Is Vital. Anyone who arrives late will be sent home again. Late on more than three occasions during the course of one term and you can expect to be called into the office for an interview. Now,’ he lowered his voice to a more thoughtful tone, and it occurred to Dan that everything he did and said had been rehearsed, ‘not everyone in this room will stay the course. I want to warn you. Not everyone will have what we consider the suitable requirements to enter the third year. And the quickest way to find yourself Out,’ the tempo was lifting again, ‘is to fail to actually come In.’
    There was silence while Patrick Bowery looked at the circle of students. Some of their eyes were fixed on him, their pale faces turned up like wilting flowers, while others stared down at their hands, appalled.
    â€˜It’s not a game.’ His mouth was twisted, his own face white. ‘Out there. In the world. It’s ruthless, harsh, competitive, the hardest profession to break into, and if you can’t even manage yourself to be on time, there are no second chances. You’ll be replaced. That’s one of the things that you’ll learn here.’
    It was an hour and a half before he set them free. They gathered themselves up and fled to the canteen, where Becky, the grey strands of her hair newly bound up, her polka-dot apron pulled in tight, plied them with tea and sausages hot from the oven.
    â€˜Honestly,’ Pierre rolled his eyes, ‘ruthless, harsh, competitive. Anyone would think we were joining the SAS.’
    â€˜I Smoke. You Don’t,’ someone else tried, not a bad impression.
    Dan took his tea and squeezed his long body into a corner, his back to the wall, listening to the shrieks of outrage, the accents, adopted and real, the gasps and splutters of laughter as his fellow students dissected the day so far. He took out his notes and flicked through them, closing his eyes as he imagined himself centre stage in the vast stone auditorium at Epidaurus, his every syllable razor-sharp, his words booming out across the terraces where a thousand stunned spectators sat transported by the power of his voice.
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    After the break, Patrick Bowery was softer. He asked each student to introduce themselves and then, handing out slips of paper, he told them to choose one person in the room and write down three words to describe them. Keep it secret, he told them, one day we’ll hand them back out, and see if first impressions are really what they seem to be.
    â€˜Is that what you do with us?’ The red-headed girl smiled flirtatiously. ‘Label us, and see if we evolve?’
    â€˜No. It is not,’ Patrick snapped. His eyes were icy. He turned away and to Pierre’s delight asked him to collect the slips of paper. The whole class watched him scamper round the circle, scooping them into a bag.
    â€˜So,’ Patrick adjusted his pose, ‘I’m going to let you into a secret. I’m going to tell you something