‘That is also 100% true.’
‘Why?’
‘They couldn’t handle my vision. Philistines.’ He paused. ‘Plus I may have overworked them ever so slightly. They left me an open letter saying I was too much of a perfectionist. Well, I think the actual phrase they used was “utter, utter bastard”.’
Marcus laughed. ‘Every one of them swore they’d never work with him again,’ he told me. ‘Mum was so proud. She had the letter framed and hung it in the downstairs loo.’
‘Why were you trying to stage Gilbert and Sullivan at a catering college?’ I asked Deano.
‘Same reason he’s trying to do up a Morris Minor when he doesn’t know what a spark plug is,’ Marcus said.
Deano grinned. ‘Love a challenge.’
‘What’s your interest, Becky?’ Marcus asked.
I eyed Deano warily. ‘Not sure I should say now. What was your role in this opera?’
‘Director.’
‘And you got pretty far along, did you?’
‘Yeah, we were only a week from opening when everyone abandoned me. Bunch of knobs.’
I drew a deep breath. ‘Well, all right, since you’re the only one round here with experience. Me and Lana were thinking of reviving the Egglethwaite panto to raise money for the Temp.’
Deano’s eyes glittered. ‘And you want me to direct?’
‘Well, we haven’t got that far yet. I just came to ask if you had any advice for –’
‘I’ll do it. Sign me up.’
‘Bloody hell! Thought I’d have to work on you a bit more than that.’
‘Are you kidding? I live for stuff like this.’ He threw himself at me for a hug. ‘Arghh, this is going to be great! I have to go ring Mum, she’ll be well chuffed.’
Marcus laughed. ‘Tell her to clear a bit of space on the wall of the downstairs loo, eh?’
Deano strode off towards the house. ‘Hey, what panto we doing?’ he called over his shoulder.
‘Dunno yet!’ I called back. ‘I only had the idea today.’
‘You should talk to Marc. He’s got stage experience.’
‘You’ll have to watch him,’ Marcus said once his brother had disappeared. ‘He gets a bit… intense.’
‘I’d noticed,’ I said drily. ‘Honestly, I only came round to see if he knew how to get the ball rolling. One word and it’s Thunderbirds are go.’ I glanced up at him. ‘Have you got stage experience?’
‘Oh. Yeah. Sort of.’
‘What was it?’
‘Student review I was in. Sketches, variety, that sort of thing. One guy did a filthy ventriloquist act, there were a couple of stand-ups, and we had a lass who sang jazz numbers.’
‘And you?’
‘My thing was magic tricks that went wrong. Ripped off from Tommy Cooper mainly, but I wrote the patter myself. It was a big hit down the student union.’
‘So that was how you got into magic?’
‘Yeah. My degree’s in geology, but it was performing I got passionate about.’
‘Do you really make a living from it?’
‘Just about. Actually my biggest earners are the circus skills workshops I run for kids’ groups.’
Stage experience, circus skills, used to working with kids… he sounded like a useful man to get on board.
‘You don’t fancy being involved, do you?’ I asked.
He hesitated.
‘Oh, sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s your job to do that sort of thing. You won’t want to be giving your time for free.’
‘What did you say it was for?’
‘Our community centre. It’s fallen on hard times lately.’
‘Important to you?’
‘Yeah. It’s a lifeline for a lot of people in the village.’
He shrugged. ‘Ok, if it’s for a good cause. Could be fun.’
I flashed him a smile. ‘Thanks, Marcus. One tiny question though.’
‘What?’
‘What the hell do I do next?’
Chapter 7
I spent the next few weeks doing research, reading anything I could find on how to stage a panto. Marcus suggested our next step should be an open meeting for anyone who’d like to get involved, which we pencilled in for the following month.
My social life saw a dramatic improvement. I spent more and more nights at the pub with Lana, Stew, Deano and Marcus, who’d drifted together to form the unofficial panto-organising committee. I joined Cam’s quiz team too, and became an official member of the village society. It didn’t seem so important to stick to our nightly FaceTime dates now I knew Cole was on his way to me.
I’d started checking off the days until he got here on the desk calendar in my shop. Three weeks, two, one…
We kept the posters advertising the panto meeting simple.
Do you remember the Egglethwaite Christmas Panto? A group of villagers are hoping to revive this lost tradition! If you’d like to get involved, please come along to a meeting at the Sooty Fox!! 7pm, Friday 9th March. No acting skills required!!!
We let Deano run free with the exclamation marks, but his suggestion of adding ‘No slackers’ at the bottom was firmly vetoed.
When I got to the Fox on meeting night, the other four were already there. I sat down behind a glass of wine that seemed to be for me.
‘Cutting it fine, aren’t you?’ Deano said.
‘I’m ten minutes early, Deano.’
‘Exactly. Some of us have been here ages.’
I turned to Marcus. ‘Go on, what time did he get here?’
‘Six. Would’ve been earlier if I hadn’t put my foot down. He’s been pulling at his lead all afternoon.’
‘Well, thanks for the wine, whoever got them in,’ I said, taking a sip.
‘You staying for another one after, Becks?’ Marcus asked. ‘I owe you a thrashing on the quiz machine.’
‘Not tonight, I have to rush off.’
‘Her fiancé’s moving in tomorrow,’ Lana said with a grin. ‘She has to go iron her lacy knickers.’
Marcus laughed. ‘Lucky feller.’
Stewart sat in silence while this conversation went on around him.
Lana nudged him. ‘What’s up with you?’
‘Worried, that’s all. What if nobody turns up, guys?’
‘They will.’ I tried to sound more confident than I felt. ‘There must be loads of people who’d love to see the panto back.’
‘Wanting to see it back and actually getting off their arses and doing something about it are two different things though.’
‘We don’t need loads of volunteers.’ Deano looked perfectly calm, the hamsters that operated his brain obviously in mellow mood. ‘We’re talking, what, fifteen minimum for cast and crew? Easy squeezy.’
‘Hmm.’ Stew didn’t look convinced.
‘It’ll be fine, fellers, on my word as a culinary genius. We’re only after helpers tonight. Auditions for actors come later.’ He nodded to the door. ‘There you go. A volunteer.’
I looked round to see Yolanda scanning the pub for us.
‘Should’ve known she’d be first here,’ Lana muttered. ‘There’s been a hole in her life ever since she hung up her sparkly tutu.’
‘Evening, my lovelies,’ Yolanda said when she’d joined us. ‘I’m so pleased we’re doing this. The village has been tragic for lack of greasepaint these ten years.’
‘Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Yo-yo,’ I said. ‘We don’t know for certain it’s going to happen. You’re the first one here.’
‘Oh, there’ll be others on their way. I told all the girls about it.’ By ‘the girls’ I knew she meant the members of Ladies Who Lunch, formerly Egglethwaite Women’s Institute.
She rested a flirtatious hand on Marcus’s arm. ‘Would you be a treasure? I’
d love a gin and slim.’
‘You know, your fiancé’s right there behind the bar,’ Stewart said. ‘Glaring.’
‘Good. I like to keep him on his toes.’ Yolanda sent the pissed-off-looking Billy a little wave.
‘Ok, I can take a hint,’ Marcus said. ‘I’ll do another drinks run.’
By the time he’d got another round in, he’d lost his seat. Following a sudden influx of interested panto fans, our table had grown by ten.
He grabbed a stool from another table and plonked it down next to me.
‘Hey, it’s looking good,’ he whispered. ‘This might actually happen, Becks.’
‘I know, brilliant,’ I whispered back. ‘Go on, get things started.’
He shook his head. ‘Your idea, your show, love.’
‘Ugh. Ok.’ I raised my voice. ‘Um, hi. Right, so as you know, well, probably, Egglethwaite used to have a Christmas pantomime in the olden days, to raise money for the temperance hall. And, er, those of us who were kids here loved it. So we were thinking it’d be nice to bring it back. If we can. Um.’
‘Highly laudable, my dear,’ said Roger Collingwood, seated at the head of the table like that was the only natural place for him. ‘But do we have the know-how? As someone who’s been involved in the past, I can tell you a pantomime’s no little thing to organise.’
‘Finest cow’s backside in the business, Rodge,’ Lana said, toasting him with her Guinness.
‘We don’t need skills so much as we need commitment,’ I said. ‘I’m willing to offer that, if others are.’
There was a hum of agreement round the table.
‘I’m sure we’ll give our all,’ Roger said. ‘I’ll even postpone my holiday to Provence, if it’s for the temperance hall.’
Lana nodded to Yolanda, who was making notes. ‘Minute that, can you, Yo-yo? Our Tom owes us a pint.’
‘Anyway, I’ve been doing some research,’ I said, warming to my subject. ‘It’s not as onerous as it sounds, really. I’ve put together a list of roles we’d need to fill, other than the actors.’ I pulled a sheet out of my document wallet. ‘Director – Deano’s volunteered for that, he’s got experience. Music – Roger, you’re a band conductor. Reckon you could manage that side of it?’
‘I believe so, if it’s a case of sourcing a score. And Sue Lightowler will play piano for us, I’m sure.’
‘Ok, great. And then there’s choreography, we’d need someone for that. Costumes you can leave to me, I can get them at cost through my shop. Set design – my fiancé’s a painter, he might be able to help us out with backdrops. Lighting. Then there’s props, make-up, and finally the script. That’s not too bad, is it?’
‘Some of those things are kind of big, Becks,’ Marcus said. ‘Bigger than you’re making them sound. Writing a script, for a start.’
‘It doesn’t have to be written from scratch, you can buy them online. Then it’s just a case of customising it with some local references and zeitgeisty gags.’
‘And who’d do that?’
‘Well, I thought you might. You did say you wrote the patter for your magic act.’
‘I don’t live here though. It really needs someone local to give it that Egglethwaite vibe.’
‘I’ll help. I’m usually good for an innuendo.’
He shrugged. ‘Go on then. Between us I think we can manage it.’
I glanced round the table. ‘Anyone else?’
‘I can do make-up. I always did in the old days.’ Yolanda nodded to one of the women from Ladies Who Lunch. ‘And Rita here can help with choreography.’
Rita laughed. ‘As long as it’s line dancing. I run the weekly class at the temperance hall.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Deano said.
‘Seriously, line dancing in a pantomime?’ Stewart said.
‘Why not? We want to make it unique, don’t we?’
‘What do you think, Becky?’ Marcus asked.
‘Deano’s right. It needs to say Egglethwaite, never mind the done thing.’ I nodded to Yolanda’s friend. ‘Rita, reckon any of your class would be interested in joining the chorus?’
‘Oh yes, I’m sure they would. We so rarely get a chance to perform.’
‘What about props?’ Marcus said.
‘We could ask some of the children’s groups to make them,’ Roger said. ‘It couldn’t be anything very complicated though.’
‘What was the last panto the Players did?’ I asked Yolanda.
‘Gosh, it was over a decade ago, I’m not sure I – oh! Yes, I remember. It was a revival of our very first show, Jack and the Beanstalk. That seemed a fitting note to go out on.’
‘And a fitting note to come back in on,’ I said. ‘Would there be any of the old props still around?’
‘There might be a beanstalk in storage under the hall,’ she said. ‘And we made a giant foot out of papier mâché. It swung down onto the stage via a rope and pulley for the finale, very impressive. A coat of paint and it could still be usable.’
‘Right, great. I’ll do a recce tomorrow.’ I looked round. ‘What do you reckon, guys – Jack and the Beanstalk? The first, the last, the resurrection?’
There were hums of assent. They were certainly a cooperative lot.
‘What about the actors?’ one of the other Ladies Who Lunch asked.
Yolanda jumped in immediately. ‘I’ll be the fairy. I’m always the fairy.’
‘Not so fast, Yo-yo,’ Lana said. ‘We can worry about auditions when we’re further down the line.’
She looked scandalised. ‘You wouldn’t make me audition? I’ve been playing the fairies since –’ She stopped herself. ‘For quite a while,’ she volunteered cautiously.
‘Everyone has to audition if I’m directing. Even you.’ Deano winked. ‘But I wouldn’t worry, gorgeous. I’m sure you’ve still got it.’
The flirting seemed to mollify her.
‘Well, at least we know the perfect person to ask for advice.’ She turned to Stewart. ‘You can get him for us, can’t you, Stewpot?’
Stew shook his head. ‘Oh no. We’re not involving him again.’
‘Sorry, am I missing something?’ I asked. ‘Who’re you talking about?’
‘Harper Brady, of course,’ Yolanda said.
‘Oh. Him.’
Harper Brady was Stewart’s TV-star cousin. I knew he did stuff for the village sometimes, as a favour to Stew and Lana when they needed some celebrity pull for a fundraiser. He was big though, increasingly so since he’d won a BAFTA. I couldn’t imagine he’d want to get involved with our tiny panto.
‘Would he be part of this?’ I asked Stew. ‘I mean, obviously he’s not going to star or anything, but a bit of advice wouldn’t go amiss.’
‘Trust me, you don’t want Harper involved.’
‘Why not? He’s been in pantos. Big ones too.’ I turned to Lana. ‘He’s ok, isn’t he?’
‘Harper’s…’ She paused, choosing her words carefully. ‘Harper’s… special. Once you get him involved, you have to be prepared to provide a couple of babysitters.’
‘A couple?’
‘One for Harper, one for his ego. It’s got a mind of its own.’
‘But it would be such a wasted opportunity not to ask the only professional we know for help.’ Yolanda turned to Roger for backup. ‘Don’t you think so?’
‘It couldn’t hurt,’ Roger said. ‘I hate to bring doom and gloom into an otherwise positive discussion, but the temperance hall very much needs this to be a success. Anything Mr Brady was able to do would be appreciated.’
Stew let out a sigh of defeat. ‘Fine. I’ll ask if he’ll come along to the auditions, give us some tips.’
‘Thanks, Stew. Here.’ I kissed Lana’s cheek and she leaned over to pass it on to Stewart, upgrading it to one on the lips.
He smiled. ‘Cheers, Becks.’
‘Ok, this is awesome. We’ve got a plan, we’ve got a panto and we’ve got a crew.’ I beamed round the table. ‘All we need now are some actors and we’re good to go.’
‘She makes it sound so simple,’ Marcus muttered.
***
As soon as the meeting was over, I rushed off. Cole was due tomorrow, and I wanted to run the hoover around before he arrived. I couldn’t wait to spend the night together as an officially cohabiting couple.
The door handle was drooping pathetically again, but I didn’t think anything of it. Cynthia had said she’d pop round with a fruit basket from her and Dad as their way of saying ‘welcome to the family’. For my sake they seemed determined to make a real effort with Cole, and the thoughtful gesture was typical of her.
But when I got in, I realised there was something else going on. The place reeked of burnt onions, and a flickering orange glow illuminated the kitchen doorway.
‘Cole,’ I said, smiling when I found him reading at the dining table. ‘I thought the place was on fire.’
‘Ah, there she is at last. My perfect woman.’
He came over, lifting me off the ground as he kissed me.
I laughed breathlessly. ‘How come you’re early?’
‘I thought I’d surprise you with a romantic meal. Being the romantic soul I am.’
‘You’re sweet,’ I said, kissing the tip of his nose. ‘Wish you’d said something though. I haven’t tidied.’
‘There’s no need to tidy for me. I already know you’re a scruff.’
‘And you’re a cheeky git.’ I nodded to the table, an army of tealights flickering next to a bottle of wine. ‘What’s all this?’
‘I told you, it’s a romantic meal.’ He went to the hob and started ladelling something onto plates. ‘Only it’s a little dry now. I thought you’d have been home ages ago.’
‘Sorry,’ I said as I took my seat. ‘Been in the pub. You should’ve said you’d be back tonight.’
‘But that would have spoiled my surprise.’ He served up the food, sat down and reached across the table to take my free hand. ‘I decided I couldn’t wait until tomorrow for our first evening living together as northerners so I rushed up straight after college.’
The Perfect Fit Page 5