While I Was Shopping: Part 7

Chelsea took off her wig and threw herself into a chair. Filming was turning out to be more tiring than she’d expected, and to top it all off of course there was the little matter of awkwardness between herself and Michael at the only time he’d spoken to her all day.

She’d looked around for him since, and despite his being in many of the sketches she’d had little or no time to stop him for a word. In fact she found herself in conversation with Eric most of the afternoon and she was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable with him.

Eric was a very touchy person, and it seemed that since his little episode during the Marriage Guidance Counsellor sketch he’d suddenly retracted into his shell and was no longer being himself around her. His replies were stilted and often obscured by mumbling or over-brightness, and Chelsea found it increasingly annoying that he was blanking her in such a way.

Now back in the safety of her dressing room, shared with about thirty other extras, Chelsea began undressing and putting her old character back on. She folded the dress up neatly, glad to be out of the stifling clothes that had attracted quite a few jokes and tweaks from men as they’d passed her.

She sat down in the grey trousers and blue top she’d arrived in and combed her hair until it was smooth and flowing down her back. She sat back and closed her eyes, taking a sip of some water to still her crackly throat as she did so. She felt the cool liquid flow down her neck and calm the fiery heat that had set itself up there.

There was a noise at the door and a face appeared. John’s head peered around the door and he smiled at her.

“You did good today my dear.” He said kindly.

Chelsea smiled her appreciation. “Thanks” she mouthed.

He waved goodbye and was replaced by Gilliam and Terry standing together. “What John said,” said Gilliam and disappeared.

Terry put his thumb up and grinned. “We’ll have you to come back again. Drinks in the bar in twenty minutes, don’t be late!” he said and winked.

Chelsea sat back again as the hustle of her room died down and she grinned. She was being accepted into the group. That would bode well for her and Michael’s relationship, and she was certain he’d be glad to hear it.

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Michael leant back against the bar and kept his head down, looking through half closed eyes towards the main entrance. He didn’t know how she’d react when they were out of costume, together, in a bar with the alcohol freely. He hadn’t even had a chance to figure out how he was going to approach her himself and was pondering this as he saw her enter the pub.

His breath caught in his throat and his heart began pounding loudly. How could he tell her they couldn’t see one another romantically if she made him feel this way?

Her hair was shiny and soft, her cheeks a little rosy and her eyes bright. She was wearing a soft pink top with jeans and trainers, and as she approached the group huddled around the table, she was clearly looking around for someone she hadn’t quite spotted yet.

When her eyes met his an electric bolt shot through the air and immediately Michael felt all the familiar love bubble up into his stomach. It was almost painful looking into her eyes, and he realised she’d come directly to him before sitting down with the others.

“Chelsea, I really need to speak with you in private.” He said under his breath and she nodded softly, trying to take his hand in hers. He batted her away, hastily checking around to see if anyone was looking.
Her expression was a mix of confusion and surprise. She glanced about her, trying to follow Michael’s gaze, or catch his eye line for a second.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered and Michael handed her a glass of vodka orange.

“We need to talk, but not now. I’ll give you a lift home and we’ll talk then.”

She nodded, slightly uneasy with the way he had started to behave, and as he headed towards the table he pulled away from her completely, sitting himself between Terry and John, as far away from her as possible.

The evening moved on into night, and it was past 11pm when the bar staff finally extricated the group. Terry, having had too much ale, was singing about Alison and how much he loved her, and was trying desperately to dance with John, who swatted him off like a fly, only to be replaced by a more than happy Graham.

Chelsea smiled happily with them, feeling the same alcohol induced merriness in slightly less severe ways, and she glanced meaningfully at Michael, who, walking with Eric, tried desperately to ignore her.

Gilliam waved his goodbyes and, taking Terry by the arm and steering him towards his car, ensued with a hefty shove, pushing him into the back seat where, lit up by the lamp light in the street, Terry’s legs could be seen waving around.

Eric insisted on driving Graham home, pushing the more than drunken man into his own car and even strapping him in, knowing that Graham was so far gone he couldn’t possibly do it himself. John grunted and followed them, squeezing into the back seat with a lot of difficulty. He motioned for Chelsea to join in but Michael waved at them.

“I’ll give her a lift home.” He said quickly. “She won’t want to be crunched in with you guys.”

Eric shot him a disappointed look before slamming the door on Graham and heading to the drivers’ side.

When Michael had made sure they’d all driven off as they approached his own car, he turned to her and sighed.

“We can’t see each other Chelsea.”

Chelsea felt as though she’d been punched. She choked and the gentle happiness she’d been feeling previously evaporated. She threw him a “how come?” look and he stared at his feet.

“We made a pact before you arrived that no one was allowed to get involved with you like that. It’s not fair on each other or on the programme.” He looked up. “What would happen if we were to fall out and then have an argument on set? It would ruin it for the others.”

Chelsea leant against the car. She didn’t know how she could possibly convey how she felt about this, and with her voice nowhere to be seen there wasn’t much chance she was going to be able to.
“I don’t want to hurt you but that’s how it has to be. We’re only allowed to be friends from now on.”

She stared at him dumbfounded and Michael squirmed. It was so uncomfortable and so unfair that he had to do this.

He motioned for them to climb into the car and drove in silence all the way to her flat.

Michael stopped the engine and they sat in silence some more.

Chelsea had an idea and grabbed some paper from the over-spilling glove compartment. Flicking her pen out of her holdall she desperately began scribbling on it and handed it to him.

“I know I said I loved you but that can’t be helped. I can’t jeopardise this. It means a lot to lots of people. I can’t throw it all away because of something as selfish as this.”

Chelsea felt like she’d been smacked and looked at him with scorn.

Michael realised how he’d sounded and grimaced. “I’m not explaining this very well am I?” he asked but she’d started out of the car already and slammed the door loudly, banging the gate in her wake.

“Chelsea wait!”

She turned to him and felt anger bubble under her skin. How dare he claim she was selfish for loving him? If this show was more important to him than she was then obviously he was making the right decision. Why he’d had to be nasty about it she didn’t know.

She put her hand up to him to say stop and pushed her key in the lock. Michael looked at her expectantly on the steps and she turned away from him, closing the door behind her. Closing her eyes she banged the back of her head on the door gently in frustration.

Outside Michael looked down at the floor and cursed under his breath. “Way to go Palin, why don’t you just make her hate you?”

He ran a hand through his hair. He would try and write it down tonight before rehearsals later in the week and then tell her properly. Perhaps he’d catch her at the supermarket and tell her then, at least that way they’d be able to sit down properly and have a chat.

Looking back at her door he saw that she’d gone and the light’s had gone out, and he looked up to where he knew her flat was, hoping that he’d catch a glimpse of her looking out.

The curtains were swiftly drawn and he frowned. Why had he expected any different? In fact, why was he still stood here? Did he expect her to come running out, throwing her arms around him and begging him to come back to her?

Of course not, because he was the bastard of this piece and she should be the one being grovelled at.

Grumbling under his breath Michael climbed back into his car and drove home, wondering desperately if he’d done the right thing and praying that no one noticed the atmosphere at work the following rehearsal.

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“Michael what the fuck is the matter with you today?” shouted John as Michael fumbled his lines for the fourth time in ten minutes.

Michael grimaced at John’s angry tone and he sank back against the phoney witness stand. He was aware of eyes watching him and knew that they belonged to Eric, Graham and Terry, and somewhere nearby Chelsea was preparing her costume with Eva, a wardrobe hand.

John had a frightful scowl on his face, and although he’d learnt his lines and didn’t need a script, he was having to use one because his co-worker was fluffing the sketch and confusing people.

Terry sighed. “I thought you’d have learnt this already Mike, it’s not that hard. You’re usually pretty good at these things!”

Michael nodded. He didn’t know what to say. How could he tell his best friend that just ten minutes ago when Terry and Chelsea had been semi-clad in bed together for the Erotic Film sketch, he’d been so jealous and so terribly heart-achingly sad that he’d had to go to the gents to calm down?

“I’m sorry guys,” he choked. “I’ve lost all my concentration.”

Graham snorted. “Have a sip of this,” he said, handing Mike a small tonic bottle full of what John suspected was gin.

It was soothing to his nerves anyway, and Michael let the liquor slide down his throat, wincing slightly as a burning sensation crept up into his mouth, making his eyes water gently.

“Mike, this is our fifth show now, things are going really well in the ratings and our audience is up by nearly twenty percent. Please don’t drop your cool-cucumber act and turn into a gibbering wreck now!”

Michael nodded and frowned. Why did everyone have to keep going on about the show all the time? Had it become such a huge part of everyone’s lives that it ruled out everything else?

Looking around the rehearsal room he knew his answer. Gilliam had slept maybe forty hours in the last seven days and looked like a manic depressive, Graham had consumed three times his body weight in alcohol just so he could get through the day, John’s hair was seemingly greying overnight, Eric was absentmindedly twiddling with props and touching up scripts, and Terry was constantly on the phone to Alison apologising about not being home on time, or back for dinner or some such nonsense.

And Chelsea, whose voice had managed to reappear, although gratingly at first, was fully consumed with helping out coffee ladies, wardrobe ladies, props people and lighting engineers. She was all over the place all of the time, yet everywhere she seemed to be, Michael seemed to be too.

They hadn’t spoken to one another for nearly two weeks now, and the writing session after he’d ended the affair had been so tense he’d come away with a headache. They avoided eye contact, rarely spoke to one another, and backed away from any kind of confrontation between them.

Michael had tried finding her in the supermarket, but she was either never there when he was or she was shopping somewhere else.

He’d written her the letter, but he had never had the courage to give it to her, so they remained stuck in a loop, neither one admitting to the other their true feelings, and neither one making the effort to sort things out so they could be friends.

No one had said much about their cool relationship with each other as yet, besides Terry who mentioned it only once to a cold reception from Michael and a refusal to discuss her with him.

Eric was clearly besotted with her, and he followed her around pretty much everywhere she went. Although Chelsea saw him as a friend, and he was just helping her out in her eyes, Michael often felt a twinge of jealousy and would purposely try and find ways to separate them, often at harsh reprimands by Eric, or frosty looks from Chelsea.

Michael was just thankful that she didn’t have many scenes with him so far, and the few they did have were acted as stiffly as possible. It was more often than not that she had romantic scenes with Terry, and that didn’t bother Mike as much because he knew Terry wasn’t interested in her in that way.

John threw down his script on the table. “Well I can’t carry on like this if you can’t learn your lines properly Mike.”

Terry winced slightly. He cast a hesitative glance around the room and people had stopped what they were doing and were looking on in interest and awe as the six-foot giant looked pointedly at Michael.

“If you don’t have these lines perfected in half an hour I swear that I will throw you off this programme Michael, as much as it pains me to say it. I can’t believe the change in you these last few weeks. What happened to you that screwed you up so badly?”

Michael felt his blood boil and he got off the stand. “Not everyone’s perfect John. Not everyone’s got the looks, the personality, the family, the support or the comic genius, and I for one am not going to pretend that I’m perfect, just because you want me to be. If you don’t like me John then sack me from the programme. The way my life’s going right now I don’t think I’d give a shit.”

Stunned silence answered him as he ripped his wig off and threw it on the floor. He looked around and saw several pairs of eyes looking back, and with a small twirl he marched out of the room.

For a number of minutes people stood or sat in silent amazement, lost in their thoughts or gently opening and closing their mouths.

John was clearly the most shocked of them all. Michael never had outbursts like that, never! What was going on? He was supposed to be the nice, restrained member of the troupe. Suddenly it didn’t make any sense.

Finally Terry coughed and spoke. “You drove him to it that time John.”

“Does that mean he’s left the programme?” Eric asked shocked. “I’m a little confused over what happened there.”

Terry shrugged. “I don’t know if his walking out meant he was leaving for now, or leaving forever.”

John, who’d been silent for this, suddenly gawped. “We can’t lose Palin!” he said loudly. “How are we going to get him back?”

They all glanced at each other and shook their heads in disbelief. None of them had the faintest idea how to rectify the situation.

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Chelsea felt a knot build in her stomach as she watched John begin his tirade. She’d seen it coming for the last two weeks. It had been a steady build up of a lot of pressure and she had overheard John talking to a persistent Terry Jones before the rehearsals that day.

“I’m going to have to say something Terry, this is getting silly.”

But he’s been under a lot of stress lately. I don’t know the exact details but you know how he is when it comes to his family and personal life.”

“That’s no excuse for letting us down! He’s missed three rehearsals out of five, he’s fluffed lines and when we’ve done retakes he’s fluffed them again. He’s been coming in with the wrong scripts, put on the wrong costumes for sketches…..this can’t go on.”

“I know but what can you do? You can’t tell him he’s being shit and then expect him to do better if he’s feeling down. We should be looking after him, supporting him.”

Here John sighed. “If he starts cracking tonight I’m saying something, I don’t care how fragile he is. He should damn well get over the bad stuff and move on. Something’s not been right with him ever since the first couple of shows.”

Chelsea drew away from the conversation there and felt the familiar flutter of her stomach as they mentioned the week that she’d first met Michael, the week she’d been given a job and the week she’d been told she was loved.

And now watching the usually blasé and submissive Michael turn into an angry, passionate and fiery bull she’d been shocked. His eyes were constantly red, bags from lack of sleep under them clung at his skin, his skin was pallid, his lips forming thin lines across his face and his eyes were dull, glazed almost. And Chelsea suddenly had felt so sad for him, knowing that she had probably added to an already heavy burden, and she rapidly realised that she hadn’t spoken to him about his sister or his family since the last night in the supermarket.

Michael had left the room and Chelsea had shot off after him, determined to find out what was wrong and help him in some way, even if it was just a friendly shoulder to cry on.

As she hurried quietly out of the door, she realised that she hadn’t been much of a friend to him at all the last couple of weeks and felt ashamed for not behaving more maturely about the situation. He had had every right to tell her they couldn’t see each other, and if you looked at it from an employer point of view you could see how unprofessional it would be for him to behave in such a way, but still Chelsea felt a small voice inside her saying, “go catch up with him and maybe he’ll come back to you”.

It seemed as though Michael was sprinting his way down the corridors and it took a lot of energy and quick-footedness for Chelsea to finally catch up with him. By that time he was sat, his head on his hands and his elbows resting on his knees, in the BBC Staff Courtyard next to the small pond, and he was looking forlornly at the floor.

Michael looked at the ground and then suddenly two feet appeared in front of him. The shoes led to legs that were divine in tights, and as he cast his gaze up the person stood in front of him he felt his anger subside and a new emotion rest back into it’s familiar home.

Chelsea watched as he looked up at her and when their eyes met she couldn’t help but notice her heart beat a little faster. She smiled warmly and gently and sat down beside him.

“Hello you.” She said softly. “What’s the deal with running out on us back there? I hope you’re coming back.”

Michael shrugged. “I don’t know if I can now. I destroyed all illusions of mystery about my personality.”

Chelsea chuckled. “If anything I think you’ve increased in the respect ratings.”

There was a silence between them that Chelsea recognised as comfortable, and she nudged him gently with her shoulder.

He turned his head, and let his hands fall to his knees, and even offered a small smile.

“You can’t walk out Mike, not after all of the work you’ve put in. Admit it, Python is your life now.”

Michael nodded and looked at the middle distance. “There are important things in life other than Python though.”

Chelsea nodded. “Yes but these things can wait.”

“And if they can’t?” Michael asked.

Chelsea thought for a moment and smiled warmly. “Then you have to deal with them with equality. You can’t put one above the other but make them parallel with what’s happening now and work from there.”

Michael nodded and sighed. There was another brief silence and then he spoke. “My sister committed suicide you know.”

Chelsea felt as though someone had knocked her down. She gaped for a moment and then instinctively wrapped her arms around him.

“Michael I’m so sorry.”

She knew he was crying as his body shook in her embrace, and she stroked his hair with one hand, cooing gently to him, trying desperately to soothe him. He was practically sobbing and when he pulled away he tried to hide from her, but she brushed his cheek with her hand and gave him a small smile.

He took her hand from his face and put it in his, offering her a watery smile as well.

“You should have told me Michael. I could’ve helped.”

He shrugged and sniffed. “I don’t think under the circumstances I would have felt comfortable telling you or asking you for help. Not after the way I behaved anyway.”

“I would’ve listened.”

Michael looked rueful. “Would you?”

Chelsea nodded. “I know how much she meant to you, how much all your family mean to you.”

Michael nodded and looked back at her hand in his.

“I can’t understand why you haven’t told the others though.” She offered.

Again he shrugged. “There was never a time to tell them, or to show how I’m really feeling. I never expected to feel so bad, especially when they said she was missing. I thought in my mind it was inevitable that she would have done something to herself, and I thought I was prepared.” He sniffed gently and his voice wobbled slightly when he carried on. “It’s hard enough to deal with your own feelings than have to tell others too.”

Chelsea put her arm around him again and he rested his head on her shoulder. “You told me didn’t you?”

“You’re different.” He retorted.

“I don’t see how.”

He shrugged and sighed. “I could tell you anything Chelsea, you have that way about you. Something happens to my brain when you’re nearby, it gets fried.”

Chelsea nudged him with her elbow. “Nice to know I make a good impression on you.”

Michael chuckled gently and looked up into her face. And for a small moment he thought they were going to kiss. For a flickering moment, Michael’s heart stopped beating and everything around them disappeared. His eyes wavered over her mouth, and then up to her eyes, a soft yet burning lust coursing through his veins. Her hand was still in his, yet he couldn’t seem to get close enough to her skin. He wanted to touch her face, stroke her hair, look into her eyes and tell her how much he was in love with her.

And in a second it was gone. The moment passed as she pulled a face and motioned for him to let go of her hand, rubbing it gently with the other as he released it, a small and embarrassed smile plaguing his dimples.

“I didn’t realise I was holding you so tight.” He said with a croak as she got off the bench.

Chelsea smiled and stretched her fingers. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Major surgery only lasts a few hours these days.”

Michael looked up at her and wondered if she’d felt the same way as he had just then. What was she thinking? If only he could’ve read her mind he could see where he stood.

Perhaps she didn’t feel anything. They’d only met each other about a month ago, and he had already told her he loved her. Michael knew he’d rushed things, but no one ever made him feel the way she did. And yet when he’d experienced the feeling of euphoria, he’d been staring at her face, and nothing had changed there. Either she was a great actor or she didn’t feel anything, and as he sat looking at her now, she still had that same slight smile on her lips, the same familiar warmth in her eyes, and it was hard not to think she liked him back.

“You’ll be ok Michael, just keep focused.”

Michael nodded.

“I don’t think it’ll hurt to tell the others what’s happened either. They might be a bit more understanding about what’s been happening then.”

Michael nodded again.

Chelsea looked at him anxiously and then shifted her weight. “I’m going back to the rehearsal room now. Do you want to come or do you want me to tell them you’ll come back later?”

Michael smiled gently. “Perhaps the latter. I know John would love to sink his teeth into me now, but I think a lazy relaxing afternoon may be in order.”

Chelsea nodded. “I think a chill out is just what you need. And anyway, I don’t think we’ll be at this much longer. A little bird tells me that Alison has been pestering Terry about the late evenings, so he’s bringing in a rule saying that rehearsals shouldn’t last longer than four o’clock.”

Michael grinned. “Yeah sounds about right. What’s the betting that he works over though?”

They both laughed together. They knew Terry’s work ethics, and they usually consisted of working as hard as possible for as long as possible until the something he had decreed they work on was done.
Michael glanced at his watch. “Look it’s almost four now,” he paused and looked down at his hands. “I don’t suppose you want to share the rest of the evening with me?”

Chelsea felt her heart stop. Was he asking her out? Surely not after everything he had said before? But why else would he want her to go with him? Of course the answer was obvious, he wanted company. After all, his sister had just died, perhaps he just felt lonely.

Her heart began beating again. She shook herself inwardly. Did she really think that he’d want to get back together with her after what had happened between them? She berated herself as she smiled gently at him.

“I’d like that very much.”