Page 81 of For My Finale
“Hello, Lilah. I was just telling people that you were back. And that I don’t know how to work the coffee machine. Or the coffee pot. You can have some tap water, if you like?”
“Um, no, no, thank you,” Lilah said, feeling rather confused. “Er, I don’t suppose you know where Blossom is, do you?”
“Of course I do,” Mabel beamed.
Lilah waited for a moment, but there was no more information forthcoming. “And she’s… where exactly?”
“At the village hall,” said Mabel, adjusting the brim of her ridiculous hat.
“The village hall?” frowned Lilah.
Mabel gave her a strange look. “Well, yes, obviously. It’s opening night.”
Lilah’s heart thudded painfully. Of course. The play. It was tonight.
“It’s only three in the afternoon,” she said. “Why is she over there so early?”
Mabel shrugged. “A catastrophe.”
There was another expectant pause that went unfilled. “What kind of catastrophe?” Lilah asked finally.
Mabel had already turned her attention to a tower of glasses. “Do you want some water or not?” she asked.
“Not,” Lilah said. “And what kind of catastrophe?”
Mabel waved a hand. “I’m sure Blossom will explain. If you’re that desperate to see her, you might as well go and find her yourself.”
Lilah didn’t need to be told twice.
She turned on her heel and sprinted out of the cafe, her heart pounding as she ran through the village streets. Whatever had happened, whatever the catastrophe was, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that she needed to see Blossom.
By the time she reached the village hall, she was out of breath and cursing all the bread that she’d eaten. That stupid gym rat had been right, she should be working out every day. The doors were propped open, voices echoing from inside. Lilah caught her breath, steeled her nerves, and then walked in.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The village hall was abuzz with nervous energy as Blossom paced backstage. This couldn’t be happening. Not on her watch. Honestly, she took over for half of a play and now, now what? The Bankton Players were about to have their worst show ever.
Probably.
Possibly.
There was still no news.
Costumes hung in neat rows, set pieces stood ready, there was the scent of old wood and fresh paint in the air. The cast were murmuring among themselves, as unsure as Blossom as to what was actually happening.
Two hours Daisy had been gone. And there was still no news. Blossom’s stomach tightened, and she started to feel quite sick.
Then Ives burst through the doors, panting slightly as she scanned the room for Blossom. The second their eyes met, Blossom knew, deep down in the pit of her nauseous stomach, that something had gone most terribly wrong.
“Bad news,” Ives said, hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “Really. Not. Good.”
Blossom felt her heart plummet. “What happened?”
“I just saw Daisy,” Ives said, straightening up. “She went withGloria to the doctor, and she’s about to drive her to the hospital.”
Blossom stared. “What?”
“Turns out that ankle isn’t just sprained,” Ives said grimly. “The idiot’s been hobbling around on a broken leg for the last day and a half in complete denial that anything awful had happened.”
