And the Icicles Froze the Roses In Her Hair

By Miles Walters

Set in a semi-modern London, And the Icicles Froze the Roses in Her Hair follows Asher Michaels, a recently graduated theatre student and amateur actor who, after having no roles fall his way, suddenly gets invited to work on a new experimental theatre piece that fuses mythology and avant-garde storytelling, overseen by a renowned director who is on the verge of making a comeback.

 

Giving the actors total freedom and converting an old building to solely house the piece, it begins to become a living and breathing creation.  And although Asher has surprisingly been cast as the leading man, it appears that the leading lady still remains unknown – a blank space after the character's name on the cast list.

 

Behind the scenes, Asher begins a relationship with co-star Sally Kale, who rehearse the script together every day.  Sally also secretly rehearses the leading lady's role in case a recast could be made possible.

 

Then, out of the blue comes the actress Ginevra Bianchi, an Italian performer known for her work with a travelling act of artists, painters, musicians and dancers.  With the freedom presented within the script, she begins to modify her character, slowly becoming enveloped by her, gradually removing elements of her own identity and submerging herself into the role.

 

Asher begins to express concern for her as she now wears her makeup even when she isn't acting, shuts herself away from her co-stars and even adorns her body with real roses that cut at her skin.  And with a seemingly never-ending fog and rainy season that has surrounded London, Asher begins to wonder if the show can possibly go on as reality seems to become stranger than the play itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Miles Walters
• Release date: Feb 16, 2024
• ISBN: 9781739567514

Book preview

‘...And then she went onward, just one star awake,

Like the swan in the evening, moves over the lake.’

She Moved Through the Fair

He had had a vision of Krishna when he was seven years of age – he could almost hear the notes pour from the flute as he held Radha close.  The image haunted him with wonder... it appeared in his dreams occasionally – it seemed as if it was one reoccurrence that he welcomed, although the vision always appeared at unsuspecting times.

The acrylic had been drying on the walls, Marie had been painting the image of Krishna from a textbook detailing Hindu art and the two of them had stopped to see what she had done, pawing at one another subtly until they had sex.  Like always, their affair would be brief as in two days she was leaving again, heading to snowy Scotland to see her family.

I’m heading out, said Asher, grabbing his overcoat and unlocking the door.

They said on the weather report this morning that it’s going to rain this afternoon, you’d better take an umbrella with you.

Good call, he agreed, reaching into the antique umbrella stand and plucking out his favourite, a transparent Japanese-made thing of beauty.  I’ll see you in a few hours.

Bye, she called back, staring at the painting.

‘I’m not sure if I’ve made the flesh tone too vibrant,’ she thought, tracing her right fore-fingertip over the image in the book.  ‘I don’t want the image to keep Asher awake but just... settle him to sleep.’

She stared at the small pool of notes and change that apparently added up to forty-five pounds, the price he had agreed to pay her for her art skills, refusing to let the goodwill of a friendship cover the costs for the expertly created work.

Looking around the room, Marie could see that Asher had made quite a home here, considering the place was more of a last-minute ditch-attempt at creating somewhere liveable – the location wasn’t his first choice, it certainly wasn’t his last... but at the same time, it was somewhere to stay while he studied.

Asher would complain intermittently about his years of studying, endless speeches of: where has it got me?  I’ve not heard a whisper since those years.  This of course was true, no matter how many years he had studied his acting craft, it appeared that nothing was coming his way in regards to a role in any form – theatre was his trained area but he found film just as interesting, not caring for the idea of being famous, but just to make enough to survive... but if he did begin to build a famed notoriety, he wouldn’t turn it down either.

Marie’s long black hair was tied back in a double ponytail and even then it fell to three-quarters of the way down her back and currently contained splashes of blue paint, virtually undetectable to the naked eye, but still there.  She never wore any special clothing when she painted, only ever an old smock that was so long it reached below her knees of which at this current time had nothing more than a loosely buttoned red shirt beneath it.

The phone began to chime away from its place of stifling beneath the bed.  She let it ring without picking it up.

Outside, the rain had already started to create small lines of scarring along the walkways.  Asher opened the umbrella and readjusted his coat collar, heading for the local café that always smelt like coffee beans and stained wooden floors – always having the ability of smelling the building a few blocks away.

A small silver bell hung a few inches from the door which alerted not only the baristas but also the customers of anybody entering the shop.  It had a high-pitched chime that was pleasant on the ears.

Ting-a-ling.

At the counter, Asher ordered a small cappuccino and settled down in a vacant booth – the place was almost empty, the rain had scattered everyone away, even the street urchins who found the lights amusing.  From his pocket came a few thin pieces of lined paper, the type that seemed to have been torn carefully from an a4 notepad – a pen followed its removal and soon the appropriate words seemed to emerge.

‘Dear Evan,

I hope everything is going well for you in Seattle and that the early morning shoots aren’t too strenuous.  I thought about you the other day when I was waiting for a bus and how you would attempt to learn a few paragraphs from the billboard by memory every time we would travel into town on our way to the study hall.  We’d jumble up the words and make something new from it, I can remember that vividly... I can’t however regurgitate any of it, it’s as if it happened in a past life.

Either way, I hope to see you soon.  I know that you are coming back around the end of Autumn, so we’ll have to meet up when you get back.  I’m not up to anything right now anyway so we’ll have all the time in the world....

Asher.’

The letter was short and to the point, leaving Asher with a page to play with – using the blue lines that patterned the paper, he began to sketch his surroundings, exhaling occasionally when a line or figure didn’t turn out the way he had intended.  Discarded newspapers, flyers and lip-outlined coffee stains on napkins decorated some of the tables from previous café customers, all of which did not make it into the drawing – after a while, one of the servers walked around the perimeter, picking up the items and throwing them away, noticing Asher.

I’m sorry, she spoke.  I thought this place was totally empty.

I’m afraid not, he replied, without even looking up from his drawing.  ...But I’d like to vanish into the wall to make your image true.

She smiled at both the strange reply and the curious character who’d said it.

Would you like another?  She asked, intermittently bringing Asher back into the realms of reality.

Sure, why not.  I should have you with me all the time, you wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve forgotten to drink.  I went a whole day once when I was fourteen and the headache I had was outrageous.

When she returned and refilled the cup, Asher looked up at his acquaintance and thanked her with his eyes before his voice.  She was a twenty-something-year-old with blonde hair and brown eyes.

From the rain came Asher’s figure, slowly wandering its way through the front door of the ground-floor flat.  Making his way into what could be deemed as everything from a living room, dining room and bedroom, due to the removal of a few non-supporting walls, he could see that Marie had finished the painting.

It looks beautiful, he said, studying the image of Krishna with care.

Thank you, she responded, washing her face in a basin in the bathroom, her red shirt and the smock strewn over the bedsheets.

She wandered into the room, as comfortable being nude around him as all lovers should be, she raised the shirt and instead of unbuttoning and rebuttoning, she simply slipped it over her head – thankfully the piece of clothing was slightly oversized, a simple blind purchasing mistake, so it fitted her mood perfectly.

Did you see the letter?  She asked.

What letter?

The one that arrived earlier... I put it on the side for you for when you returned.

Didn’t you take a look?  He inquired.

Into someone else’s mail?  I’d never do that, she re-affirmed, sitting on the edge of the bed.  My sister would do that all the time when we were growing up... little fucker.

Making his way to the counter he could see the tall brown envelope, a4 sized, the type of packaging to hold certificates inside.  He lifted it and shook it slightly – it felt heavy but didn’t rattle, squeak or creak.  He checked the label, just in case:

Asher Michaels

46A Levington Street

London

‘That’s me,’ he thought as he scanned it once more, briefly, before tearing at the envelope until it split down the middle like breaking a piece of precious marble.

What is it?  Asked Marie, feeling just as curious as Asher.

You won’t believe me when I tell you.

...Well, you’d need to tell me first, she said, waiting through the hollow silence.

Sorry, sorry – it’s a brief letter from my agent, which is co-signed by a local theatre company who’ve asked for me to make my debut... it’s a play.

Shakespeare?

No, I’ve never heard of this writer before, so it must be new.

Does it have a name?

‘The Ice Pool’, he read.  I’ve got to be at the given location in two days.

Is it a local theatre?

He laughed.

It doesn’t appear to be a theatre at all Marie, I think we’re meeting at a house... maybe it’s the director’s place or something.

Well, she began, reclining back on the bed like she was about to fall asleep.  You’ve been chewing my ear off this entire time about getting a role... here it is, handed to you on a silver platter.

***

223 Empire House

London

Monday – Morning

Asher arrived promptly, making sure to be as early as he could be, constantly scolding himself if he felt he was making a ‘bad first impression upon the people who held his theatre career in the palm of their hands’.  He wandered around the property, staring at the written address constantly to make sure that he hadn’t got the wrong place – this seemed right, but it didn’t look like a director’s house... it didn’t look like a populated house, that is it didn’t appear lived in, not even in the most moderate sense of the word.  He couldn’t argue that the beautiful architecture of the old building was entirely undeniable, but dreaded to see what it looked like inside... the slate-less roof left a lot for the imagination to fill in.  The fog that seemed to be soaking up the streets too seemed to be nothing short of unintentionally atmospheric – causing even the taxi driver that Asher hired to shake his head as he cautiously navigated the busy roads leading to the location.

Taking the stone steps to the front door and knocking seemed to be the most logical thing as no sound could be heard coming from inside.  After no indication that anybody was behind the fortress of red-brick walls, the door was opened and a short, pixie-styled brunette woman with oval glasses appeared.

Hello?  She asked, attempting to be both polite and decipher who was arriving from the foggy backdrop.

I’m Asher Michaels, I was instructed to come here.

Regarding ‘The Ice Pool’?  She countered.

Yes, that’s correct.

You better come in before we lose you, she said as she opened the door fully and guided him in with her right hand extended.  My name is Suzie.

Inside, the building contained a lot of the same elements as its external appearance, only heightened – exposed brickwork, broken stairways, blackened floorboards.

‘Is it cooler in here or outside?’  Asher thought as he could see his breath as he exhaled.

The director has only just arrived himself, he’s in the main room right now discussing with the set designers, you’ll be called in shortly.

Am I the first to arrive?  Asher asked, still attempting to take in the ambience of the building.

"As of now, yes.  There are others expected and others that we hopefully will see a few days into production."

Okay, cool, he understood, nodding.  ...But why are we meeting here?

You’ll see, she replied, smiling.  You don’t want to ruin the fun, do you?

He shook his head briefly