Shirley’s key in the heavy fire door sounded loud in
the quiet of the evening. She pushed it open and to stop it from shutting, she
leant her body against it as she manoeuvred herself and her shopping bag
through the gap. She let the door clang shut, the noise adding to the headache
that had started earlier on, during the quarrel. She must try to forget about
it; there was work to be done. The first night was looming and there were so
few rehearsals left.
Turning the lights on in the main hall, Shirley was yet
again aware of how cold it always was. She wondered if church halls were kept
cold deliberately, to keep the Sunday congregations awake or as a penance for
sins accumulated throughout the week. She smiled to herself as she took off her
coat and hung it on the back of a chair with her shopping bag. She pulled a
stacking table over to the centre of the hall and placed a chair behind it. She
then pulled out her prompt copy of Midsummer Night’s Dream, her director’s
notebook, pen, pencil, reading glasses and her mobile phone from the bag. She
knew there was a message on the phone, and she knew who it was from, but she
would not look at it until the end of the rehearsal. He had upset her enough
for one evening – his lies, his promises, his skill at persuading her that he
was sorry. Well, she’d had enough.
She pulled her auburn hair back off her face and secured it
in a ponytail with a bobble. She had never really altered her hair style from
her days as a hippy. Then, it was always loose. She used to tie ribbons and
flowers in it, carry bells, and walk barefooted and free. That seemed like a
hundred years ago. It was her birthday today; he had forgotten of course. She
hadn’t expected him to remember but it still hurt. Sixty-five and recently
retired from a job in the head offices of the charity Oxfam, with two grown up
girls, Carrie and Lucy, and two grandchildren, she felt anything but free. She
didn’t know why she had volunteered to look after Carrie’s two-year-old from
Monday to Friday. It exhausted her. She loved the little boy, but he was so
energetic and never seemed to need any rest. Perhaps she would have a word with
Carrie and see if someone else could look after him at least one day out of the
five.
“Hallo,” a voice rang out, followed by the door slamming.
“Anyone here?” The sound of heels on the bare wood floor got closer to the
hall.
“In here,” Shirley shouted.
In bustled the willowy frame of Stacey, wearing a black
‘city suit’ over a crisp white blouse. The heels on her shoes looked dangerous
to Shirley, who preferred kitten heels. Her red hair reached her shoulders and
her lipstick was a gash of scarlet. She looked nothing like her role of
Titania, a part she so wanted and Shirley knew she would shine in.
“Am I early? Worked late then went for a quick drink with a
mate. I came straight here off the train; no point in going home first. I was
starving so I picked up a biryani from that Indian take away on the corner near
the station. Any plates and cutlery around do you think?”
“There should be something in the kitchen, if they haven’t
locked everything away. They had a break-in last year, so they are very
vigilant now.”
The smell of the biryani seemed to fill the dusty church
hall. Shirley’s stomach lurched. Her IBS was playing up again and she hadn’t
managed any dinner. That, plus the argument with Jamie. The accusations, the
assumptions, the denials.
Stacey put down her biryani and took off her coat, hanging
it next to Shirley’s. “Be back in a mo.” She started towards the hall door,
“Oh, I saw Jean and Lauren arriving, tasty motor Lauren’s got; she must be
earning a fortune. I heard she’s just bought another property as well. Not that
I’m at all jealous.”
Laughing, Stacey disappeared, and Shirley heard the click of
her heals on the steps down to the kitchen. What she would give to be twenty-three
again and free of all the commitments and complications in her life. Free of
Jamie. However, she would probably make the same mistakes again.
Voices in the
passageway and the fire door slamming announced the arrival of Jean and Lauren.
Their conversation continued until they reached the hall. They were both
muffled up in thick coats, scarves, and woolly bobble hats. Jean was short and
stocky with dark hair cropped close to her head. At thirty-two she looked older
than her years. She wore no make-up. Lauren in contrast was tall and athletic.
Her fair, curly hair was tucked behind her ears. She had the healthy complexion
of one who worked out regularly. Shirley knew she was in her mid-thirties, but
she looked no older than twenty-five.
“Hi, Shirley. The traffic is awful out there. There has been
some sort of water mains burst and part of the A12 is flooded, so everyone is
trying to bypass it by coming off at the crossroads near the big garage. A
nightmare.”
“And there are no parking spaces,” added Jean. “We had to do
a bit of creative parking. Hope we don’t get a ticket, but I doubt there will
be any traffic wardens around at this time of night. Where are we starting from
tonight, Shirley? I am still a bit wobbly with Hippolyta’s words in the last
scene. Otherwise I think I can do it without my script.”
“Oh, you creep. I bet you are the only member of the cast
who can,” said Lauren. She looked around as the door slammed and more voices
were heard.
“That sounds like Nina, Jess and Val. Hopefully we will have
a full cast today. That will make a change.”
The three girls entered the hall, still talking. Nina was
dressed in a combat jacket with jeans and walking boots. Her long hair was
plaited. She was in her forties. “She shouldn’t have cast her in that role in
the first place, Val, she was embarrassing.”
“Well, who else would have played it though with the choice
she had? What do you think, Shirley?” Val
asked, as she took off her black raincoat and hung it with the others on the
back of the chairs. She took out a cosmetic purse and applied a coat of
lipstick. She had the smart appearance of a city worker with styled hair,
expensive shoes, and a designer handbag. She was still quite a catch in her
late forties.
Val ignored the fact that Shirley had not answered her
question and carried on. “I’ll just pop out for a quick fag before we begin.”
She picked up her bag and exited the hall, nearly bumping into Stacey who was
returning with her cutlery. “Hi, Stacey, is that your curry I can smell? I
don’t know what’s worse: curry or the fish and chips you brought in last week.
See you in a minute.”
“Sorry, girls. I don’t suppose anyone has any bottled water.
I can’t eat a curry without water.”
“I’ve got a bottle, Stace.” Jess fumbled around in her
copious bag until she found a small bottle. She smiled at Stacey. Jess was a
naturally kind woman in her thirties. Always pleasant; always ready to
help. She was wearing a loose blouse
over elasticated waist jeans. She’d struggled with her weight all her life but
had now resigned herself to the shape she was. She had a pretty, almost
child-like, face. She never wanted to be cast in a big part and was happy with
her two small roles as a fairy and Snug, a mechanical.
“You are a star. I owe you one.” Stacey got on with eating
her biryani.
“Are we starting from the beginning today?”
Shirley jerked out of her thoughts of Jamie and the row.
“Yes, we are. All scripts down. I would like to get to the end, but at least
the end of the first act.”
The various responses of horror at the prospect of
abandoning their scripts were stopped by the bang of the fire door and the
high-pitched laughter of two female voices.
“Ah, that sounds like Debbie and Annie. Good, we are nearly
all here. Stacey, can you get rid of your plate etc. before we start?” Shirley
was now feeling queasy with the smell and the emptiness of her stomach.
“No problem. Hi Debs, hi Annie, you going to share the joke
with us all?”
Both girls collapsed in giggles again. They were wearing
short, black leather jackets, ‘little black numbers’ and high heels. Both had
small handbags that matched their shoes and full makeup plus false eye lashes.
Debbie had blond short hair, reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe, and piercing blue
eyes, whereas Annie had long black hair and dark eyes. They were both in their
late thirties but could pass for twenties. “Couldn’t do that, Stace. Shirley
would throw us out for obscenities.” Annie lent in towards Stacey. “Tell you in
the tea-break.”
“Sorry we are a bit late; couldn’t find a handbag and shoes
to match. Debbie had to lend me a bag in the end. Oh, while I think of it, any
chance we can leave early? There is a band we want to see in Romford at the Pig
and Kettle. It starts at ten o’ clock, but it doesn’t matter if we miss the
first bit as it will be a warm-up group, but we will need to leave at the
latest nine forty-five.”
Shirley felt exhausted, as she always did when dealing with
Debbie and Annie. They were so full of enthusiasm and energy. She had been like
that at one time, but now she was mostly tired and depressed. Perhaps that was
why Jamie had… she pushed the hurtful thoughts to the back of her mind.
“No problem, as long as we start now, and everyone has
learnt their lines, we should zip through it and you can enjoy the rest of your
night.”
“Cheers, Shirley. I’ll quickly nip to the loo before we
start. Knew I shouldn’t have had that Vodka and Cranberries before I came out.”
Annie headed towards the door. “Oh, here comes trouble.” She held open the door
for Sean.
“Okay. Get the show on the road: Demetrius has arrived.”
Sean entered, flinging his arms wide and shimmying his hips. He was a slim,
prematurely balding young man, clean shaven, wearing designer ripped jeans and
a black short sleeved shirt. He smelled strongly of a mixture of cigarettes and
aftershave.
“Shut up, Sean. You still owe me a pound from two rehearsals
back when I paid for your tea. So, cough up! I’ll give you five minutes while I
go to the loo.”
“The love of my life, the beautiful Annie. I would give you
my last penny.” Sean hugged a reluctant Annie.
She shook Sean off. “I don’t want your last penny; I want your
last pound.” She disappeared through the door, letting it slam shut.
Shirley found herself drifting again. She had been the love
of Jamie’s life at one time. He had looked so handsome the first time she saw
him at her cousin’s wedding. He had been wearing a kilt and she was attracted
to his rough, manly looks, his beard and athletic figure. He was a dream come
true, but dreams can be dashed. She brought herself back to the present.
“Okay, everyone, let’s get started. Act One, Scene One. No
scripts. I will prompt.” She looked round.
“Oh, Jordan phoned me this morning.” Dependable Jordan with
his almost puppy-like devotion to her. She was fond of him. He was clumsy and
shy, with little self-confidence, and she felt a sisterly love for him. She had
given him the part of Oberon and knew he would devote himself to the part. “His
arthritis is playing up and he is going to have to give it a miss tonight. Sean,
can you read in for him? He is only in the first and last scenes. Jason and
Patrick aren’t here. Anyone know where they are?”
“Does anyone ever know where Jason and Patrick are? They are
a law unto themselves,” Nina quipped.
“Jason is probably working late, and Patrick relies on a
lift from him. I was talking to Patrick earlier and he is definitely coming,”
Jess added.
“We’ll have to start without them, or we won’t get through
it. I will read in their parts until they arrive. So, I repeat: no scripts. In
positions for Act One, Scene One.”
Mumblings and exaggerated coughs implied that most of the
cast had not learnt their lines. Shirley chose to ignore it as they mounted the
stage to get into positions for the court scene. Annie returned from the
toilets and joined the others. Shirley knew Patrick and Jason were not needed
yet so she wouldn’t have to worry about reading their lines. She opened her
notebook, removed her pen lid and put on her reading glasses. Her mind wandered
back to Jamie. How had the argument started? Was it the smell of perfume on his
clothes, or the hotel bill receipt for a double room she had found in his
trouser pocket? He was angry with her for going through his things, but she’d
only wanted to empty the pockets before washing them. She knew it was guilt.
Had she always known he was unfaithful? Probably. She’d just chosen to deny it.
“Can’t I just hold on to my script today? I promise I will
have learnt it all by next week.”
Shirley came back to the present. “What did you say,
Debbie?”
“Can I keep my script? It has been so busy at home; I
haven’t had a moment for myself.”
Shirley knew that Debbie had a disabled child, but she
couldn’t allow her to keep her script when the others all had to abandon
theirs. “Sorry, Debbie, I will prompt you. I am sure you will be fine.”
Debbie sighed and disappeared backstage.
“Okay, when you are ready.” She was having difficulty
gaining any enthusiasm for the rehearsal. She couldn’t get the picture of
Jamie’s face out of her mind, with his inability to explain his nights away. He
had used up all the standard excuses – car breaking down, heavy traffic, late
night office get-togethers. She knew it was fabrication.
The hall doors flung open again. In rushed a tall, fresh
faced, balding young man, clad in denim with a base-ball cap turned back to
front on his head. “So, so, sorry,
Shirley. I took an extra shift. Needed the money. Patrick is following on. I
think he needed the little boy’s room. Remind me to ask you about tickets in
the break. Need about ten in total for the Friday night performance.”
“Well done. I wish everyone could sell the amount of tickets
you do. Could you get behind the scenes we are about to start? Oh, and no
scripts, please.”
“Did I hear you say no scripts?” Patrick had crept up behind
them. “That’ll be a problem for you then, Jason.” He banged Jason on the back.
“Come on, mate, relinquish your script or die.”
“Shut up, Patrick, we don’t all have a photographic memory.
I was only taking it to run through my lines before I went on.”
The two of them retreated behind the scenes. They made a
comical sight: Jason relatively short in stature and Patrick unusually tall and
slim, with cropped, black hair.
At last Shirley was alone in the hall with all the cast
behind the set. She turned her phone to silent, aware it was informing her she’d
had a message. The first two actors
entered and began. The words became a drone. She must concentrate. She watched
the action for about ten minutes. She knew there was only one way she would be
able to put her fears of what the message might say behind her. Would it be the
end of forty years of marriage? How would she tell her daughters, her
grandchildren? A cold feeling gripped her stomach. It was no good; she would
have to check. She tapped in her password and went to messages. Yes, it was
from Jamie:
Happy Birthday.
