A Sprinkling of Stardust by Karin J. Robinson
In a small town on the eastern coast of England, singer-magician Gareth Fisher discovers his biggest fan is a genuine legend, and then everything changes.
During their third summer at the Cromer Pier Theatre, Cassandra Burns informed Gareth Fisher that she would no longer let him to cut her into pieces and put her back together again.
"It's banal. The sawing a girl in half trick? Come on." She swept her long black hair up into a smooth bun. "Anyway, I'm a singer, not a magician's assistant."
They had both been hired for their singing, straight out of secondary school. But it was all-hands on deck at the Cromer Pavilion, and Gareth wasn't above being helpful. Showing willing. So after the Great Lorenzo retired, he'd brushed up his old birthday-party act.
Cassandra had been asked to stand in as his assistant, donning a sequinned body suit and crawling into his wooden box. She considered it undignified.
"Fine," Gareth said, shrugging on his dinner jacket for their final number. "But honestly, you're a little pitchy."
"Excuse me?"
"I thought you were a little pitchy on Defying Gravity. Better watch out for that."
"Zip me up." The conversation was whispered in the wings. On stage Nigel, their MC, was doing his best to stretch out his Dolly Parton impression. Gareth pulled the zipper on her shiny golden dress.
Like we're an old married couple, he thought. Instead of two people from the same small town who just happened to both be good at the same thing.
But they weren't even friends. Not really.
She peeked through the curtain, studying the audience.
"He's here again."
"Third row centre?"
Gareth peeked and there he was. Silver ponytail. He came for every matinee. "What is his deal?"
Why anyone would go to The Pier Show more than once was beyond Gareth. I mean, fair enough, it was a laugh. Good for a rainy afternoon, or to keep granny out of the sun. But to come every day for a whole season... it was a bit much, surely?
"Maybe he's a talent scout."
"Talent scouts don't come to Cromer. Why would they?"
Cassandra turned to him, her eyes ablaze. "Because there's talent here."
"Think a lot of yourself, don't you?"
In this town, that accusation was a crushing insult.
"You're assuming I meant me. Maybe I meant you."
"What?" Was Cassandra Burns saying something nice about him? Surely not. He only existed for her as a prop that she could dance around and harmonise with.
"You would be good, if you tried. At all. If you stopped relying on that cheeky-chappy smile and your cheekbones."
"Thank you. That's..."
"But you don't. You barely try at all. So I'm the only talent in this town."
Cassandra Burns was an unbearable narcissist.
Together they took the stage to sing a final number medley of Motown hits. And in the middle of "Ain't No Mountain High Enough", he looked into her eyes, and he thought, damn it, though. She can sing.
That night she refused to join them for drinks on the beach, locking herself away in her caravan to perfect "Defying Gravity". Her voice drifted down to them all through the night as they drank beer beside the bonfire.
"And if I'm flying solo, at least I'm flying free..."
Lauren James, one of the dancers, became his magician's assistant. She was perfect - flexible enough to squeeze into the box and pretty enough to make the audience worry for her. She was blonde sunshine.
During rehearsals, she confessed she was working the summers to save up for her dream - to open a little café near the pier.
"Make it a theatre café," Gareth said. "All you'd need is a room upstairs. You could invite the company to do guest slots." He imagined himself being pressed to perform a song or two. It would be a good life; he thought. Just the right amount of fame to be everybody's buddy. A local celebrity.
"That's a great idea," Lauren said warmly, and suddenly Gareth could see a whole future ahead of them.
On closing night, there was a big party on the beach. Nigel grilled sausages as the sun went down, and the cast broke into an impromptu rendition of "Summer Lovin'" from Grease. Lauren got right in Gareth's face on the tell-me-mores and he almost kissed her right then and there.
Cassandra, of course, sang Sandy to his Danny. They were always duetting.
When they finished, they heard a solitary clapping from the path near the cliffs. It was the man with the silver ponytail from row three, accompanied by a massive Great Dane.
They waved him over.
"Mate! Mate," Nigel swayed on the sand, clutching his fifth beer like it was a microphone. "We want you to know that we appreciate you. You're our best..." his footing almost failed on the wet sand, but he recovered his balance and ploughed on. "Our most loyal customer."
"Just a lover of the theatre." The man's voice was slow but resonant.
Nigel leaned forward, reading his t-shirt. "'Not all who wander are lost.' What's that, then?"
"It's Tolkien."
"Token?" Nigel almost lost his battle with gravity, and Lauren reached out to steady him.
"It doesn't matter," silver ponytail demurred.
"What's your name?" Gareth asked.
But the wind carried his voice away.
"Did you say Marlon?" Nigel slurred.
"Close enough."
Marlon ate three grilled sausages and smoked a joint with them under the crescent moon. After midnight, they lay on their backs in the sand staring at the blinking stars and sharing secrets. One by one, and sometimes in pairs, the company drifted back to their caravans until it was just the four of them left. Gareth and Lauren. Cassandra and Marlon. Plus the dog, asleep in the dunes.
"What is your deal, anyway?" Gareth asked Marlon. "What do you do for a living?"
"Oh, I retired long ago. But once I was in your line of work."
"Singer?"
"Magician."
Cassandra wrapped her arms around her knees. "Would we have seen any of your stuff?"
"Oh it was before your time, but I had a lot of success in my day. On the biggest stages."
Her black eyes flared. "How did you do it? How did you break out?"
Gareth studied the man as he lounged back on the sand: his well-worn flip flops, his sharp eyes. He was starting to think this old guy was less of a drop-out than he appeared. He didn't have that stoned-out expression that you see on the beach hippies.
"You need a sprinkling of stardust," Marlon told Cassandra.
"That's not a proper answer." She scowled underneath her black curls. "I really want to know. What does it take to go big? To get past all this?" She waved vaguely in the direction of Gareth and Lauren.
"Oh, give it a rest, Cassandra." Gareth had had about all he could stand of her.
But Marlon answered soberly.
"In magic, as in life, you've got to make the most of what you have." He pointed at Gareth. "He knows how it's done. The magician. You've seen how he takes a rolled-up newspaper, a bit of cloth, a glass of water. And he brings the force of his natural charm to focus the crowd on one thing until it becomes another."
Gareth squirmed. "It's just misdirection."
"It's focus. You hold our focus."
It was only a laugh. Just light entertainment. Why did show biz people take themselves so seriously?
Marlon stood up, stretching out his ageing muscles. He scooped up a handful of dry sand.
"You want to know what it takes? How to become a star?"
"Yes."
He poured the sand from hand to hand, back and forth, again and again until it glowed like a golden river.
"It can start with anything. Ordinary beach sand. And you squeeze all the power and movement out of the air."
The sun was rising behind him, and the wind began to blow, teasing his hair out of its ponytail until it flew wild around him, but no breeze seemed to touch the flowing sand.
"And you draw from the earth its solidity and truth."
The beach they were lying on grew warm.
"And you pull from the people their dreams and their possibilities. Until what was common becomes extraordinary."
The sand was moving on its own now, circling in the space where Marlon's hands used to be.
He swept the air with his right hand, gathering the swirling dust in his fist. With the other he pulled a leather pouch from his pocket, pouring the sand into it and pulling the drawstring tight.
"That's how you do it, Cassandra Burns."
He winked at them, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "See you next year."
Then he was gone. There weren't even footprints to prove he had ever been there.
"That was weird," Lauren said, but Cassandra looked thoughtful.
Cassandra left Cromer in September, determined to make something happen for herself in London. But the next summer, inevitably, she was back, staring daggers at anyone who dared to ask about her time away.
Whatever had happened, Gareth had to admit her performance had improved. The way she shimmied on "Copacabana". How she finally got her timings right, coming in on the beat for "Single Ladies". She was no Beyonce, but she was good. Better than this town deserved, he had to admit.
Gareth spotted Marlon watching from his usual spot in row three, and wondered if he would say she was "making the most of what she had".
While they were waiting in the wings, decked out as a crab and a mermaid for "Under the Sea", Cassandra's eye was caught by a sparkle onstage.
She whispered, "Is Lauren wearing a ring?"
He couldn't suppress his smug grin.
Her lip curled, but she said, "Well, congrats. I guess."
"You guess?"
"I mean if that's what you want."
"Hey, how'd it go in London, Cassandra?" he shot back.
But the music struck up their cue, so she settled for mouthing fuck you as she draped herself over a Styrofoam rock just in time for them to be pushed onstage by a chorus of starfish.
Late that night, Gareth was heading for his own caravan when he spotted a silver-haired man exiting Cassandra's.
Had Marlon broken into Cassandra's place? Or... his stomach recoiled at the idea of it... had they been in there together? He crept over, peering through the shuttered window to see if she was inside, but he couldn't see anything. He turned the handle and pulled the door open just the tiniest crack, but the wind betrayed him, banging it open. A tiny whirlwind formed in the caravan.
And there was Cassandra, crouched over the table. Her head jerked up at the sudden noise. She tried to cup her hands over the little pile of yellow powder in front of her, but it was too late. The breeze picked it up and the powder became airborne the same moment Gareth took in a breath to say sorry for his intrusion. It lined the inside of his nose, coated the roof of his mouth. He swallowed and felt it tickling down his throat. Cassandra snatched at the air, grabbing whatever shining bits of dust she could snatch and swallowing them down.
"What the hell?" Gareth forgot he was the one who was meant to be apologising. "Did you buy drugs off Marlon?"
"Get out!"
The next day they gave the best performance of their careers.
His old jokes were, inexplicably, hilarious. Her sultry ballads left every eye moist.
And their duets were a revelation. On "Islands in the Stream", their harmonies ached with ecstatic fulfillment. Even though the staging required Gareth to perform it wearing a pair of comedy fake breasts.
After the show, a talent scout from London was waiting for them at the stage door. He offered them a deal. A Netflix series was shooting next month. A "comedy with songs but we're not calling it a musical". The producers wanted to use new faces. A British director with American money.
"But the couple needs to have chemistry. That's key. And when I saw you two..."
Of course Cassandra said yes immediately. Gareth took a day to think it over but, in the end, lads from Cromer don't turn down big money from down London way.
He never could get his head around all the things that happened next. He went to meetings where everyone spoke American and smiled a lot and told him he was, "Phenomenal. My God, the two of you together? Phenomenal."
And then he was living in this huge flat that someone had found for him, and a car came every day to take him to the studio where a director told him where to stand and what to say and that he was giving them gold and not to worry because they would clean it all up in post. Because the chemistry was the main thing and holy fuck you two kids have got that in spades.
And they did, too.
Cassandra Burns was still the most annoying girl in North Norfolk, but they weren't in North Norfolk anymore. They were somewhere strange and scary and the only thing Gareth could see that he could at all understand was singing side by side with her.
She was a star, that one. Something inside her lit up when the cameras hit her face.
Gareth felt whatever the opposite of that was. He hated the way other people decided what clothes he would wear, where he could go, even what food he ate. "You don't want to load up on carbs, do you?" someone would say, snatching the bagel out of his hands and replacing it with a protein shake.
He was meant to get a break when they finished filming season one, but the suits in LA saw the first edits of the show and they loved it so much they decided to crash the schedule - to get it out ahead of awards season.
It was a hit.
"Hit is the right word," Gareth said, holding out a giant bunch of roses to Cassandra. "This thing is punching me in the face."
Cassandra smiled prettily and put her hand to her chest in an are those for me? gesture.
"Don't be a dick. Do you know how many people would kill to be on this show?"
The photographer shouted, "That's great. Perfect. More of that. Keep doing that!"
They were in the studio, being shot for Vanity Fair.
Gareth stared lovingly into her eyes and cupped her chin with the hand that wasn't holding the roses. "Not everyone is a walking tub of ambition, Cassandra."
She leaned in until her lips were a fraction of an inch from his. "Fuck you," she said solemnly.
And the photographer snapped the picture that would appear on the cover, with the headline, "Is this love? The on-screen couple everyone is talking about."
He'd have walked away then, except he was under contract. So, he waited that out, and when his time was up, he told them he was done.
"I'm going back to Cromer. I've got a big house there I never sleep in, and a fiancé I never see."
The studio people thought it was a negotiation strategy. The press reported that he and Cassandra had had a lover's quarrel.
Cassandra thought he was crazy.
She looked up from the script she was reading to ask, "Have you taken leave of your senses? You're going back to Cromer?"
"It's home."
She snorted and flipped the page.
"Don't you ever hate this, though?" he asked. "Even a little? The junkets and the photo shoots and all the hanging around waiting?"
"Sometimes I do."
It wasn't the answer he'd been expecting.
"Really?"
"Sure. All this fame business. It's time that we should be spending on the craft. But it's the price you have to pay."
"For what, though?"
"To make something that people care about. To know that your life will have mattered when you die. That people will remember what you did."
She was so earnest.
"You don't have to make TV shows to have a life that matters, Cassandra. You can just... be with your friends and love your family and raise some kids and try to be a half decent person."
"Maybe," she conceded. "Maybe that's enough, for some people. But it wouldn't be enough for me."
He remembered that night in her caravan and, not for the first time, he wondered what was in the yellow powder from Marlon-the-mystery-man.
Gareth finished his stint on the show, refused every offer for a new contract, and walked away. Headed home to start his real life, with Lauren.
That's when his troubles really started.
Three hellish years later, Gareth had reached the edge of desperation.
He put on sunglasses and a broad-brimmed hat and went walking along the clifftops. Following a well-worn path, he climbed through the bracken until he emerged at the highest point of the bluff, with the crashing sea below. A pair of crows circled each other just below the clouds, chattering constantly in their high-pitched shouts.
He climbed over the waist-high fence and stepped to the edge, glancing down at the sharp rocks below. They called to him like a lover. But he decided to try one last, desperate plea before giving up forever.
"Are you out there, Marlon?" he shouted into the wind. "Been looking for you. Come to me."
He paused a moment. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for.
There was a breathy, panting sound from the path, and Gareth turned in time to brace himself against some giant paws that landed on him at shoulder height and nearly sent him over the cliff.
"Settle down, Viv," cried a voice, and there he was. Gray ponytail. Dark eyes.
"Not bad for your first summoning," Marlon said, holding out his hand. Gareth took it, without thinking, and he was yanked back onto the path. "Well done!"
What did he mean 'summoning'? What did he mean 'first'?
But Gareth would not be distracted from the urgency of his point.
"You need to reverse it."
"Reverse what?" the older man asked, but his eyes twinkled.
"Whatever you did to me! To me and Cassandra. Undo it. Make me normal again."
"You were never that normal, Gareth."
"You ruined my life!"
The man gave Viv a pat on her head then turned his back and headed down the path.
"Let's talk about it over fish and chips."
Gareth followed Marlon into the town where they bought two cod and chips and sat on the sand to eat.
"That woman gave you a funny look just now," Marlon observed, as a middle-aged mum in a cat-print jumper walked past.
"Better eat fast. We've only got a few minutes before the hordes descend."
And Gareth explained the nightmare his life had become.
"Nobody ever believed that Cassandra and me weren't a couple, you know? So when I left the show everyone talked like we'd broken up. All I wanted to do was marry Lauren and open a restaurant. A little theatre café."
People had started coming to their house. Sad people, mostly. Angry people, sometimes, holding signs.
GARETH & CASSANDRA 4EVA
And when he'd got a little grumpy, gave one of them a shove, the video went viral under the caption, "Gareth Fisher unhinged after Cassandra Burns breakup."
"Like, it was funny at first," Gareth said. "Annoying, but funny. Because Cassandra and me were never even together, right? But then they came for Lauren."
She was accused of seducing Gareth away. Her picture circulated online in unflattering Photoshops. An influencer called her a "fame whore" and the term stuck to her name, living forever in the algorithms.
They had to close the café that had been their joint dream. Customers kept spitting on Lauren. It was all too much.
One day he came home to find her rewatching their Netflix show. She paused on a still of them - Gareth and Cassandra - exchanging flirty glances.
"The thing is, though," Lauren said, "you really do look right together when you sing. You always did, you know."
She'd packed an overnight bag and went to stay at her mum's. Eventually, she sent him back his ring in the post without a note.
With no job, no girlfriend, no hope for the future, he'd started searching for Marlon, who seemed to have disappeared. Until today.
"You did something to us, didn't you?" Gareth demanded. "With that... yellow powder."
Marlon sucked the chip grease off his fingers and put the paper down for Viv to lick.
"I'm sorry mate. You've had a rough time, I can see that."
While they'd been talking a crowd had gathered all around them, pointing and whispering. They were starting to get restless. Jesus, he couldn't even eat chips on the beach.
"The stardust was meant for her," Marlon continued. "She wanted it so much. Maybe she'd have got her big break anyway. She's got fire enough," he said fondly. "But she begged me and I thought, why not? Help a girl out."
He stood up and put the chip wrapper in the bin.
Something broke over the crowd and they started to rush forward as Gareth scrambled to his feet and sighed. But Marlon, unfazed, grabbed Gareth by one hand and waved in a giant, circling gesture with the other. There was a whoosh of wind and Gareth's heart beat triple time. A mist clouded his eyes, then he was back up on the clifftop, staring at the brightly coloured dots of people below. Viv, startled by the journey, yipped three times, ran around in a circle and lay down at Marlon's feet.
"Are you... some kind of wizard?" Gareth finally asked.
"Some kind," Marlon agreed.
"Please. Please, help me."
"I am truly sorry, but I cannot." His voice lost its beach bum casualness, becoming ancient and solemn.
"Why not?"
"The... spell... We can call it a spell. The spell was not meant for you. I presume you interrupted it at a crucial moment?" Marlon seemed to have grown three inches taller. His shoulders lost their twenty-first century slouch, and his voice deepened.
"Yeah. Yeah, I opened the door of the caravan. The powder went everywhere. Up my nose, in my mouth..."
"It was drawn to you. You have some degree of Talent." The capital letter was audible. "It's why I started coming to your shows in the first place. I'm a fan of good magic. And you have enough Talent to conduct a perfectly creditable summoning on your first attempt."
This was too much to take in all at once. "How do I reverse the spell? I want my life back."
Marlon stared out over the sea, his hair coming loose from its ponytail and whipping around his face. Viv hopped to her feet and stood beside him, as regal a beast as ever howled at the moon.
"It would seem that the stardust attached itself not to Cassandra Burns alone, but to the two of you together. You were bound to succeed as long as you were together, but when you resisted, the spell fought to protect itself, as any threatened animal would."
"So..." Gareth was groping in the dark, "I'm not allowed to walk away? The spell won't let me."
"Essentially, yes."
"There must be a way out."
"Only one that I can think of, but it would be exceedingly painful. And quite dangerous. You would need to sever yourself from the part of you that the spell attached to. The... theatrical part."
"How do I do that?"
"You'd need to find the way yourself. I cannot tell you in so many words, 'do this' or 'do that'. It is your own soul. You must learn how it can be manipulated."
"But I don't know! I don't know anything about this stuff."
The silver-haired man stared fixedly out over the boiling sea. "I could offer some instruction. Some training. To unlock your Talent."
Part of Gareth perked up at this thought, like an eager spaniel.
Maybe he didn't hate the idea of having a Talent.
Maybe he had some ambition after all. Cassandra Burns would approve. But...
"Why? Why would you help me?"
Marlon nodded. "Fair question. I suppose after a thousand years... I want a new challenge."
The chiselled profile turned to look at Gareth with a grin. "It could be a laugh. Having a student."
So Marlon started coming to Gareth's house every morning, with Viv in tow. Some days they didn't even talk, they just walked for miles along the cliffside watching the birds above. The waves below. Sometimes Marlon barged into the house, rattling through Gareth's drawers and cupboards, with no regard for property or privacy. "You're a briefs man, I see. I never did like them. Too constraining."
But sometimes they would sit at the table and Marlon would tell Gareth to close his eyes and "explore the well of power within him", a place that Gareth found as gusty and inhospitable as the cliffs.
"What am I even looking for?" The kitchen chair was hard and there was a draft coming from the open window. He had to keep reminding himself not to open his eyes.
"You are looking for the hidden key to unlock your soul."
"What does that even look like, though?"
But there as a glimmer of something there. He oriented his mind that way.
"If you find it, it will feel... right. Like the notes of a G-chord."
"If I'm looking inside my soul, it'll just be Broadway shows and classic sitcoms. That's all I... wait."
"Ah, you've got something?"
"Maybe."
"Don't let it go. Chase it down."
So Gareth did. Until he knew what he had to do.
And the knowing was terrible, because what he had to do might be beyond bearing.
He would have to act quickly, before his courage failed.
It was almost the darkest day of the winter when Cassandra accepted his invitation to return to the theatre at the end of Cromer pier.
Gareth greeted her wearing his magician costume. The star-speckled trousers, the purple lined cape. He gave a flamboyant bow, with exaggerated finger flourishes.
She laughed, and that took him by surprise. He'd forgotten that laugh, forgotten that Cassandra even had a sense of humour.
But her smile faded when she noticed the box behind him.
"Oh come on, now. We're not doing that old bit again."
"No, you were right. Sawing the lady in half is banal."
"Done to death."
"This is 'saw the magician in half'."
"Oh."
Her face was unreadable.
"I'm happy for your success, Cassie. Really." Her eyes flickered at the name; he hadn't called her Cassie since school. "But it's not for me. I just want to get off this ride. And I've figured out how to do it. Will you help?"
"The fans still want us together. It's crazy, right? They don't seem to be getting over it."
"We can fix that today. You can have the spotlight all to yourself."
She walked up the steps at the side of the stage, flicking the curtain as she passed.
"It wasn't so terrible. Working together. I know you hated it, but I loved doing that show. We were good together, Gareth. We harmonised." She turned her back to him and walked to the box at the back of the stage. "It was nice. Not being alone."
He thought of all those nights she'd spent in her caravan rehearsing while everyone else partied. It was a lonely life, even if it was the one she wanted.
Gareth approached her and, self-consciously aware that he was on stage, even if the theatre was empty, he laid his hands on her shoulders. She turned, and he wrapped his arms around her. Then, with no one watching, he did the one thing that the whole world most wanted to see.
Gareth Fisher kissed Cassandra Burns, and something inside them both clicked and turned, like a deadbolt unlocking. So when she stepped out of his arms, it was an open door they could both walk through in their opposite directions.
She lifted the wooden panel so he could climb into the box. She slotted the sharp-toothed saw into its notch. Smiling, she started sawing but stopped, startled when she felt the softness of flesh through the saw, when she saw him wince involuntarily.
"Jesus, Gareth!"
"Keep going."
"But it's..."
He would have to use all his skill at misdirection. Every trick in his magician's armoury.
"Trust me. Just carry on, and while you do, I've got a story to tell." Nothing so distracting as a story. "Once upon a time there was a stupid boy." He smiled his cheekiest grin.
"I think I know this story." Slowly, she moved the saw.
He talked quickly so she wouldn't pay attention to the feeling as his tendons and muscles gave way.
"A stupid boy from a tiny town. And this stupid boy, he knew a girl. The girl was smarter than he was, and harder working and she knew what she wanted out of life. But instead of admiring her for that, the boy resented her." It was taking everything he had to block out the pain, to keep the badinage going.
Another stroke and she had reached the bone. He clenched his fists to keep from screaming, but he kept up the patter. "Because it's easier to tear people down than to watch them thrive. And even though the boy and the girl wanted different things, they could still have been... friends."
There was a terrible crunching as the vertebrae gave way, and then there was only the flesh on the other side left for her to get through. Cassandra looked at him, confused, but he waved his hands with studied casualness.
Everything depended on her buying into his act. Because if she stopped now, if she broke the spell, that would be the end of Gareth. So he grinned waved and brought his most show-stopping energy.
Although she must have known something was not right, she unlatched the hooks and pulled the two halves of the box apart. The only sound in the theatre was a rhythmic beat, and none of his tricks could stop Cassandra from looking down to see that the beat was the dripping of his blood on the parquet floor. She gasped.
"So the least the boy could do," Gareth continued, with an effort at effortlessness, "was to give the girl the big finale. Go on, Cassie."
Her eyes were red, her breath ragged.
But the show must go on. The trick has its own logic. She separated Gareth's two bleeding halves, wheeling them apart with a flick of her fingers.
"Ta-da," she stage-whispered, sobbing.
Then Cassandra Burns put Gareth Fisher back together again.
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| Image generated with OpenAI |
"It's banal. The sawing a girl in half trick? Come on." She swept her long black hair up into a smooth bun. "Anyway, I'm a singer, not a magician's assistant."
They had both been hired for their singing, straight out of secondary school. But it was all-hands on deck at the Cromer Pavilion, and Gareth wasn't above being helpful. Showing willing. So after the Great Lorenzo retired, he'd brushed up his old birthday-party act.
Cassandra had been asked to stand in as his assistant, donning a sequinned body suit and crawling into his wooden box. She considered it undignified.
"Fine," Gareth said, shrugging on his dinner jacket for their final number. "But honestly, you're a little pitchy."
"Excuse me?"
"I thought you were a little pitchy on Defying Gravity. Better watch out for that."
"Zip me up." The conversation was whispered in the wings. On stage Nigel, their MC, was doing his best to stretch out his Dolly Parton impression. Gareth pulled the zipper on her shiny golden dress.
Like we're an old married couple, he thought. Instead of two people from the same small town who just happened to both be good at the same thing.
But they weren't even friends. Not really.
She peeked through the curtain, studying the audience.
"He's here again."
"Third row centre?"
Gareth peeked and there he was. Silver ponytail. He came for every matinee. "What is his deal?"
Why anyone would go to The Pier Show more than once was beyond Gareth. I mean, fair enough, it was a laugh. Good for a rainy afternoon, or to keep granny out of the sun. But to come every day for a whole season... it was a bit much, surely?
"Maybe he's a talent scout."
"Talent scouts don't come to Cromer. Why would they?"
Cassandra turned to him, her eyes ablaze. "Because there's talent here."
"Think a lot of yourself, don't you?"
In this town, that accusation was a crushing insult.
"You're assuming I meant me. Maybe I meant you."
"What?" Was Cassandra Burns saying something nice about him? Surely not. He only existed for her as a prop that she could dance around and harmonise with.
"You would be good, if you tried. At all. If you stopped relying on that cheeky-chappy smile and your cheekbones."
"Thank you. That's..."
"But you don't. You barely try at all. So I'm the only talent in this town."
Cassandra Burns was an unbearable narcissist.
Together they took the stage to sing a final number medley of Motown hits. And in the middle of "Ain't No Mountain High Enough", he looked into her eyes, and he thought, damn it, though. She can sing.
That night she refused to join them for drinks on the beach, locking herself away in her caravan to perfect "Defying Gravity". Her voice drifted down to them all through the night as they drank beer beside the bonfire.
"And if I'm flying solo, at least I'm flying free..."
Lauren James, one of the dancers, became his magician's assistant. She was perfect - flexible enough to squeeze into the box and pretty enough to make the audience worry for her. She was blonde sunshine.
During rehearsals, she confessed she was working the summers to save up for her dream - to open a little café near the pier.
"Make it a theatre café," Gareth said. "All you'd need is a room upstairs. You could invite the company to do guest slots." He imagined himself being pressed to perform a song or two. It would be a good life; he thought. Just the right amount of fame to be everybody's buddy. A local celebrity.
"That's a great idea," Lauren said warmly, and suddenly Gareth could see a whole future ahead of them.
On closing night, there was a big party on the beach. Nigel grilled sausages as the sun went down, and the cast broke into an impromptu rendition of "Summer Lovin'" from Grease. Lauren got right in Gareth's face on the tell-me-mores and he almost kissed her right then and there.
Cassandra, of course, sang Sandy to his Danny. They were always duetting.
When they finished, they heard a solitary clapping from the path near the cliffs. It was the man with the silver ponytail from row three, accompanied by a massive Great Dane.
They waved him over.
"Mate! Mate," Nigel swayed on the sand, clutching his fifth beer like it was a microphone. "We want you to know that we appreciate you. You're our best..." his footing almost failed on the wet sand, but he recovered his balance and ploughed on. "Our most loyal customer."
"Just a lover of the theatre." The man's voice was slow but resonant.
Nigel leaned forward, reading his t-shirt. "'Not all who wander are lost.' What's that, then?"
"It's Tolkien."
"Token?" Nigel almost lost his battle with gravity, and Lauren reached out to steady him.
"It doesn't matter," silver ponytail demurred.
"What's your name?" Gareth asked.
But the wind carried his voice away.
"Did you say Marlon?" Nigel slurred.
"Close enough."
Marlon ate three grilled sausages and smoked a joint with them under the crescent moon. After midnight, they lay on their backs in the sand staring at the blinking stars and sharing secrets. One by one, and sometimes in pairs, the company drifted back to their caravans until it was just the four of them left. Gareth and Lauren. Cassandra and Marlon. Plus the dog, asleep in the dunes.
"What is your deal, anyway?" Gareth asked Marlon. "What do you do for a living?"
"Oh, I retired long ago. But once I was in your line of work."
"Singer?"
"Magician."
Cassandra wrapped her arms around her knees. "Would we have seen any of your stuff?"
"Oh it was before your time, but I had a lot of success in my day. On the biggest stages."
Her black eyes flared. "How did you do it? How did you break out?"
Gareth studied the man as he lounged back on the sand: his well-worn flip flops, his sharp eyes. He was starting to think this old guy was less of a drop-out than he appeared. He didn't have that stoned-out expression that you see on the beach hippies.
"You need a sprinkling of stardust," Marlon told Cassandra.
"That's not a proper answer." She scowled underneath her black curls. "I really want to know. What does it take to go big? To get past all this?" She waved vaguely in the direction of Gareth and Lauren.
"Oh, give it a rest, Cassandra." Gareth had had about all he could stand of her.
But Marlon answered soberly.
"In magic, as in life, you've got to make the most of what you have." He pointed at Gareth. "He knows how it's done. The magician. You've seen how he takes a rolled-up newspaper, a bit of cloth, a glass of water. And he brings the force of his natural charm to focus the crowd on one thing until it becomes another."
Gareth squirmed. "It's just misdirection."
"It's focus. You hold our focus."
It was only a laugh. Just light entertainment. Why did show biz people take themselves so seriously?
Marlon stood up, stretching out his ageing muscles. He scooped up a handful of dry sand.
"You want to know what it takes? How to become a star?"
"Yes."
He poured the sand from hand to hand, back and forth, again and again until it glowed like a golden river.
"It can start with anything. Ordinary beach sand. And you squeeze all the power and movement out of the air."
The sun was rising behind him, and the wind began to blow, teasing his hair out of its ponytail until it flew wild around him, but no breeze seemed to touch the flowing sand.
"And you draw from the earth its solidity and truth."
The beach they were lying on grew warm.
"And you pull from the people their dreams and their possibilities. Until what was common becomes extraordinary."
The sand was moving on its own now, circling in the space where Marlon's hands used to be.
He swept the air with his right hand, gathering the swirling dust in his fist. With the other he pulled a leather pouch from his pocket, pouring the sand into it and pulling the drawstring tight.
"That's how you do it, Cassandra Burns."
He winked at them, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "See you next year."
Then he was gone. There weren't even footprints to prove he had ever been there.
"That was weird," Lauren said, but Cassandra looked thoughtful.
Cassandra left Cromer in September, determined to make something happen for herself in London. But the next summer, inevitably, she was back, staring daggers at anyone who dared to ask about her time away.
Whatever had happened, Gareth had to admit her performance had improved. The way she shimmied on "Copacabana". How she finally got her timings right, coming in on the beat for "Single Ladies". She was no Beyonce, but she was good. Better than this town deserved, he had to admit.
Gareth spotted Marlon watching from his usual spot in row three, and wondered if he would say she was "making the most of what she had".
While they were waiting in the wings, decked out as a crab and a mermaid for "Under the Sea", Cassandra's eye was caught by a sparkle onstage.
She whispered, "Is Lauren wearing a ring?"
He couldn't suppress his smug grin.
Her lip curled, but she said, "Well, congrats. I guess."
"You guess?"
"I mean if that's what you want."
"Hey, how'd it go in London, Cassandra?" he shot back.
But the music struck up their cue, so she settled for mouthing fuck you as she draped herself over a Styrofoam rock just in time for them to be pushed onstage by a chorus of starfish.
Late that night, Gareth was heading for his own caravan when he spotted a silver-haired man exiting Cassandra's.
Had Marlon broken into Cassandra's place? Or... his stomach recoiled at the idea of it... had they been in there together? He crept over, peering through the shuttered window to see if she was inside, but he couldn't see anything. He turned the handle and pulled the door open just the tiniest crack, but the wind betrayed him, banging it open. A tiny whirlwind formed in the caravan.
And there was Cassandra, crouched over the table. Her head jerked up at the sudden noise. She tried to cup her hands over the little pile of yellow powder in front of her, but it was too late. The breeze picked it up and the powder became airborne the same moment Gareth took in a breath to say sorry for his intrusion. It lined the inside of his nose, coated the roof of his mouth. He swallowed and felt it tickling down his throat. Cassandra snatched at the air, grabbing whatever shining bits of dust she could snatch and swallowing them down.
"What the hell?" Gareth forgot he was the one who was meant to be apologising. "Did you buy drugs off Marlon?"
"Get out!"
The next day they gave the best performance of their careers.
His old jokes were, inexplicably, hilarious. Her sultry ballads left every eye moist.
And their duets were a revelation. On "Islands in the Stream", their harmonies ached with ecstatic fulfillment. Even though the staging required Gareth to perform it wearing a pair of comedy fake breasts.
After the show, a talent scout from London was waiting for them at the stage door. He offered them a deal. A Netflix series was shooting next month. A "comedy with songs but we're not calling it a musical". The producers wanted to use new faces. A British director with American money.
"But the couple needs to have chemistry. That's key. And when I saw you two..."
Of course Cassandra said yes immediately. Gareth took a day to think it over but, in the end, lads from Cromer don't turn down big money from down London way.
He never could get his head around all the things that happened next. He went to meetings where everyone spoke American and smiled a lot and told him he was, "Phenomenal. My God, the two of you together? Phenomenal."
And then he was living in this huge flat that someone had found for him, and a car came every day to take him to the studio where a director told him where to stand and what to say and that he was giving them gold and not to worry because they would clean it all up in post. Because the chemistry was the main thing and holy fuck you two kids have got that in spades.
And they did, too.
Cassandra Burns was still the most annoying girl in North Norfolk, but they weren't in North Norfolk anymore. They were somewhere strange and scary and the only thing Gareth could see that he could at all understand was singing side by side with her.
She was a star, that one. Something inside her lit up when the cameras hit her face.
Gareth felt whatever the opposite of that was. He hated the way other people decided what clothes he would wear, where he could go, even what food he ate. "You don't want to load up on carbs, do you?" someone would say, snatching the bagel out of his hands and replacing it with a protein shake.
He was meant to get a break when they finished filming season one, but the suits in LA saw the first edits of the show and they loved it so much they decided to crash the schedule - to get it out ahead of awards season.
It was a hit.
"Hit is the right word," Gareth said, holding out a giant bunch of roses to Cassandra. "This thing is punching me in the face."
Cassandra smiled prettily and put her hand to her chest in an are those for me? gesture.
"Don't be a dick. Do you know how many people would kill to be on this show?"
The photographer shouted, "That's great. Perfect. More of that. Keep doing that!"
They were in the studio, being shot for Vanity Fair.
Gareth stared lovingly into her eyes and cupped her chin with the hand that wasn't holding the roses. "Not everyone is a walking tub of ambition, Cassandra."
She leaned in until her lips were a fraction of an inch from his. "Fuck you," she said solemnly.
And the photographer snapped the picture that would appear on the cover, with the headline, "Is this love? The on-screen couple everyone is talking about."
He'd have walked away then, except he was under contract. So, he waited that out, and when his time was up, he told them he was done.
"I'm going back to Cromer. I've got a big house there I never sleep in, and a fiancé I never see."
The studio people thought it was a negotiation strategy. The press reported that he and Cassandra had had a lover's quarrel.
Cassandra thought he was crazy.
She looked up from the script she was reading to ask, "Have you taken leave of your senses? You're going back to Cromer?"
"It's home."
She snorted and flipped the page.
"Don't you ever hate this, though?" he asked. "Even a little? The junkets and the photo shoots and all the hanging around waiting?"
"Sometimes I do."
It wasn't the answer he'd been expecting.
"Really?"
"Sure. All this fame business. It's time that we should be spending on the craft. But it's the price you have to pay."
"For what, though?"
"To make something that people care about. To know that your life will have mattered when you die. That people will remember what you did."
She was so earnest.
"You don't have to make TV shows to have a life that matters, Cassandra. You can just... be with your friends and love your family and raise some kids and try to be a half decent person."
"Maybe," she conceded. "Maybe that's enough, for some people. But it wouldn't be enough for me."
He remembered that night in her caravan and, not for the first time, he wondered what was in the yellow powder from Marlon-the-mystery-man.
Gareth finished his stint on the show, refused every offer for a new contract, and walked away. Headed home to start his real life, with Lauren.
That's when his troubles really started.
Three hellish years later, Gareth had reached the edge of desperation.
He put on sunglasses and a broad-brimmed hat and went walking along the clifftops. Following a well-worn path, he climbed through the bracken until he emerged at the highest point of the bluff, with the crashing sea below. A pair of crows circled each other just below the clouds, chattering constantly in their high-pitched shouts.
He climbed over the waist-high fence and stepped to the edge, glancing down at the sharp rocks below. They called to him like a lover. But he decided to try one last, desperate plea before giving up forever.
"Are you out there, Marlon?" he shouted into the wind. "Been looking for you. Come to me."
He paused a moment. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for.
There was a breathy, panting sound from the path, and Gareth turned in time to brace himself against some giant paws that landed on him at shoulder height and nearly sent him over the cliff.
"Settle down, Viv," cried a voice, and there he was. Gray ponytail. Dark eyes.
"Not bad for your first summoning," Marlon said, holding out his hand. Gareth took it, without thinking, and he was yanked back onto the path. "Well done!"
What did he mean 'summoning'? What did he mean 'first'?
But Gareth would not be distracted from the urgency of his point.
"You need to reverse it."
"Reverse what?" the older man asked, but his eyes twinkled.
"Whatever you did to me! To me and Cassandra. Undo it. Make me normal again."
"You were never that normal, Gareth."
"You ruined my life!"
The man gave Viv a pat on her head then turned his back and headed down the path.
"Let's talk about it over fish and chips."
Gareth followed Marlon into the town where they bought two cod and chips and sat on the sand to eat.
"That woman gave you a funny look just now," Marlon observed, as a middle-aged mum in a cat-print jumper walked past.
"Better eat fast. We've only got a few minutes before the hordes descend."
And Gareth explained the nightmare his life had become.
"Nobody ever believed that Cassandra and me weren't a couple, you know? So when I left the show everyone talked like we'd broken up. All I wanted to do was marry Lauren and open a restaurant. A little theatre café."
People had started coming to their house. Sad people, mostly. Angry people, sometimes, holding signs.
GARETH & CASSANDRA 4EVA
And when he'd got a little grumpy, gave one of them a shove, the video went viral under the caption, "Gareth Fisher unhinged after Cassandra Burns breakup."
"Like, it was funny at first," Gareth said. "Annoying, but funny. Because Cassandra and me were never even together, right? But then they came for Lauren."
She was accused of seducing Gareth away. Her picture circulated online in unflattering Photoshops. An influencer called her a "fame whore" and the term stuck to her name, living forever in the algorithms.
They had to close the café that had been their joint dream. Customers kept spitting on Lauren. It was all too much.
One day he came home to find her rewatching their Netflix show. She paused on a still of them - Gareth and Cassandra - exchanging flirty glances.
"The thing is, though," Lauren said, "you really do look right together when you sing. You always did, you know."
She'd packed an overnight bag and went to stay at her mum's. Eventually, she sent him back his ring in the post without a note.
With no job, no girlfriend, no hope for the future, he'd started searching for Marlon, who seemed to have disappeared. Until today.
"You did something to us, didn't you?" Gareth demanded. "With that... yellow powder."
Marlon sucked the chip grease off his fingers and put the paper down for Viv to lick.
"I'm sorry mate. You've had a rough time, I can see that."
While they'd been talking a crowd had gathered all around them, pointing and whispering. They were starting to get restless. Jesus, he couldn't even eat chips on the beach.
"The stardust was meant for her," Marlon continued. "She wanted it so much. Maybe she'd have got her big break anyway. She's got fire enough," he said fondly. "But she begged me and I thought, why not? Help a girl out."
He stood up and put the chip wrapper in the bin.
Something broke over the crowd and they started to rush forward as Gareth scrambled to his feet and sighed. But Marlon, unfazed, grabbed Gareth by one hand and waved in a giant, circling gesture with the other. There was a whoosh of wind and Gareth's heart beat triple time. A mist clouded his eyes, then he was back up on the clifftop, staring at the brightly coloured dots of people below. Viv, startled by the journey, yipped three times, ran around in a circle and lay down at Marlon's feet.
"Are you... some kind of wizard?" Gareth finally asked.
"Some kind," Marlon agreed.
"Please. Please, help me."
"I am truly sorry, but I cannot." His voice lost its beach bum casualness, becoming ancient and solemn.
"Why not?"
"The... spell... We can call it a spell. The spell was not meant for you. I presume you interrupted it at a crucial moment?" Marlon seemed to have grown three inches taller. His shoulders lost their twenty-first century slouch, and his voice deepened.
"Yeah. Yeah, I opened the door of the caravan. The powder went everywhere. Up my nose, in my mouth..."
"It was drawn to you. You have some degree of Talent." The capital letter was audible. "It's why I started coming to your shows in the first place. I'm a fan of good magic. And you have enough Talent to conduct a perfectly creditable summoning on your first attempt."
This was too much to take in all at once. "How do I reverse the spell? I want my life back."
Marlon stared out over the sea, his hair coming loose from its ponytail and whipping around his face. Viv hopped to her feet and stood beside him, as regal a beast as ever howled at the moon.
"It would seem that the stardust attached itself not to Cassandra Burns alone, but to the two of you together. You were bound to succeed as long as you were together, but when you resisted, the spell fought to protect itself, as any threatened animal would."
"So..." Gareth was groping in the dark, "I'm not allowed to walk away? The spell won't let me."
"Essentially, yes."
"There must be a way out."
"Only one that I can think of, but it would be exceedingly painful. And quite dangerous. You would need to sever yourself from the part of you that the spell attached to. The... theatrical part."
"How do I do that?"
"You'd need to find the way yourself. I cannot tell you in so many words, 'do this' or 'do that'. It is your own soul. You must learn how it can be manipulated."
"But I don't know! I don't know anything about this stuff."
The silver-haired man stared fixedly out over the boiling sea. "I could offer some instruction. Some training. To unlock your Talent."
Part of Gareth perked up at this thought, like an eager spaniel.
Maybe he didn't hate the idea of having a Talent.
Maybe he had some ambition after all. Cassandra Burns would approve. But...
"Why? Why would you help me?"
Marlon nodded. "Fair question. I suppose after a thousand years... I want a new challenge."
The chiselled profile turned to look at Gareth with a grin. "It could be a laugh. Having a student."
So Marlon started coming to Gareth's house every morning, with Viv in tow. Some days they didn't even talk, they just walked for miles along the cliffside watching the birds above. The waves below. Sometimes Marlon barged into the house, rattling through Gareth's drawers and cupboards, with no regard for property or privacy. "You're a briefs man, I see. I never did like them. Too constraining."
But sometimes they would sit at the table and Marlon would tell Gareth to close his eyes and "explore the well of power within him", a place that Gareth found as gusty and inhospitable as the cliffs.
"What am I even looking for?" The kitchen chair was hard and there was a draft coming from the open window. He had to keep reminding himself not to open his eyes.
"You are looking for the hidden key to unlock your soul."
"What does that even look like, though?"
But there as a glimmer of something there. He oriented his mind that way.
"If you find it, it will feel... right. Like the notes of a G-chord."
"If I'm looking inside my soul, it'll just be Broadway shows and classic sitcoms. That's all I... wait."
"Ah, you've got something?"
"Maybe."
"Don't let it go. Chase it down."
So Gareth did. Until he knew what he had to do.
And the knowing was terrible, because what he had to do might be beyond bearing.
He would have to act quickly, before his courage failed.
It was almost the darkest day of the winter when Cassandra accepted his invitation to return to the theatre at the end of Cromer pier.
Gareth greeted her wearing his magician costume. The star-speckled trousers, the purple lined cape. He gave a flamboyant bow, with exaggerated finger flourishes.
She laughed, and that took him by surprise. He'd forgotten that laugh, forgotten that Cassandra even had a sense of humour.
But her smile faded when she noticed the box behind him.
"Oh come on, now. We're not doing that old bit again."
"No, you were right. Sawing the lady in half is banal."
"Done to death."
"This is 'saw the magician in half'."
"Oh."
Her face was unreadable.
"I'm happy for your success, Cassie. Really." Her eyes flickered at the name; he hadn't called her Cassie since school. "But it's not for me. I just want to get off this ride. And I've figured out how to do it. Will you help?"
"The fans still want us together. It's crazy, right? They don't seem to be getting over it."
"We can fix that today. You can have the spotlight all to yourself."
She walked up the steps at the side of the stage, flicking the curtain as she passed.
"It wasn't so terrible. Working together. I know you hated it, but I loved doing that show. We were good together, Gareth. We harmonised." She turned her back to him and walked to the box at the back of the stage. "It was nice. Not being alone."
He thought of all those nights she'd spent in her caravan rehearsing while everyone else partied. It was a lonely life, even if it was the one she wanted.
Gareth approached her and, self-consciously aware that he was on stage, even if the theatre was empty, he laid his hands on her shoulders. She turned, and he wrapped his arms around her. Then, with no one watching, he did the one thing that the whole world most wanted to see.
Gareth Fisher kissed Cassandra Burns, and something inside them both clicked and turned, like a deadbolt unlocking. So when she stepped out of his arms, it was an open door they could both walk through in their opposite directions.
She lifted the wooden panel so he could climb into the box. She slotted the sharp-toothed saw into its notch. Smiling, she started sawing but stopped, startled when she felt the softness of flesh through the saw, when she saw him wince involuntarily.
"Jesus, Gareth!"
"Keep going."
"But it's..."
He would have to use all his skill at misdirection. Every trick in his magician's armoury.
"Trust me. Just carry on, and while you do, I've got a story to tell." Nothing so distracting as a story. "Once upon a time there was a stupid boy." He smiled his cheekiest grin.
"I think I know this story." Slowly, she moved the saw.
He talked quickly so she wouldn't pay attention to the feeling as his tendons and muscles gave way.
"A stupid boy from a tiny town. And this stupid boy, he knew a girl. The girl was smarter than he was, and harder working and she knew what she wanted out of life. But instead of admiring her for that, the boy resented her." It was taking everything he had to block out the pain, to keep the badinage going.
Another stroke and she had reached the bone. He clenched his fists to keep from screaming, but he kept up the patter. "Because it's easier to tear people down than to watch them thrive. And even though the boy and the girl wanted different things, they could still have been... friends."
There was a terrible crunching as the vertebrae gave way, and then there was only the flesh on the other side left for her to get through. Cassandra looked at him, confused, but he waved his hands with studied casualness.
Everything depended on her buying into his act. Because if she stopped now, if she broke the spell, that would be the end of Gareth. So he grinned waved and brought his most show-stopping energy.
Although she must have known something was not right, she unlatched the hooks and pulled the two halves of the box apart. The only sound in the theatre was a rhythmic beat, and none of his tricks could stop Cassandra from looking down to see that the beat was the dripping of his blood on the parquet floor. She gasped.
"So the least the boy could do," Gareth continued, with an effort at effortlessness, "was to give the girl the big finale. Go on, Cassie."
Her eyes were red, her breath ragged.
But the show must go on. The trick has its own logic. She separated Gareth's two bleeding halves, wheeling them apart with a flick of her fingers.
"Ta-da," she stage-whispered, sobbing.
Then Cassandra Burns put Gareth Fisher back together again.
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