The Perfect Fit

by Mary Jayne Baker

He passed me a sheet and I started reading. I was soon smiling at the cheesy gags.

  ‘Ok, what’s making you smirk?’ he asked.

  I pointed to a bit of dialogue. ‘That’s pretty funny.’

  ‘Christmas cracker stuff,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Want to perform it with me?’

  ‘Ok.’

  ‘Go on then, you start.’

  ‘Right.’ I assumed a deadpan expression. ‘Gee, secondary pantomime character. It’s at times like this I wish I’d listened to what my mother used to tell me.’

  ‘What did she used to tell you, primary pantomime character?’

  ‘I don’t know, I wasn’t listening. Badumtish.’

  He laughed. ‘Hey, you’ve got pretty good comic timing.’

  ‘Thanks. You’ve got great hair.’

  ‘Will you audition?’

  ‘For Jack?’

  He picked the script up from the table and flicked through. ‘I’d go for Jill, the principal girl. She gets better lines.’

  ‘Maybe I will.’ I looked him up and down. ‘What about you? I can see you in an outrageous dress and a couple of massive fake knockers.’

  He laughed. ‘What, the dame?’

  ‘No. I can just see you in them.’

  ‘Was thinking I might audition actually. There’s bound to be a dimwit sidekick part with my name on it.’

  I took the script from him and turned to the character list. ‘Yeah. Sleepy Steve, Jack’s brother. Would you do tricks?’

  ‘If I get the part. Might as well play to the cast’s strengths,’ he said. ‘Oh, and I could juggle too, that always goes down well with the littlies. Especially with something breakable.’

  ‘What, you juggle?’

  ‘I have a full set of circus skills, luvvie,’ he said, tossing his head.

  ‘Hey, could you teach me? Pip’d be well impressed.’

  ‘I could give it a go. Got any balls?’

  I raised one eyebrow. ‘We onto the innuendo already?’

  ‘It’s never too early.’ He reached for his pen. ‘I’m writing that one down. Sleepy Steve can use it on the principal boy.’

  ‘I’ll fetch some apples.’

  I went to the kitchen for the fruit. Marcus stood to take them from me.

  ‘Ok, Becks, nothing to it.’

  He started casually tossing apples into the air, catching each one with consummate skill as another sailed upwards. His movements were so fluid and self-assured, he made it look like the easiest thing in the world.

  ‘Here.’ He caught the three airborne apples deftly and held up two. ‘Start with just a couple. Trick is, you chuck one in the air and when it’s at the halfway point, you send the next one up with the same hand you then use to catch the first.’

  ‘You do what with the what with the what?’

  He smiled. ‘All right, come here. This is how I learned.’

  He moved so he could put his arms around me from behind, moulding his body to mine.

  ‘Ok, watch my hands,’ he said, his breath against my ear. ‘Then try to shadow my movements.’

  ‘And this is how you learned, is it?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘From a sexy girl?’

  He laughed. ‘Big, burly lad from Rotherham actually. It’s quite a skill, learning to juggle with some bloke’s beard tickling the back of your neck.’

  ‘Enjoy it?’

  ‘Not as much as he did, lucky bastard.’

  He started chucking the apples up, catching them skilfully, and I tried to mimic his movements.

  ‘What’s going on in here?’

  ‘Shit!’ Marcus said as one of the apples crashed to the floor. He let me go quickly and turned to face the speaker. ‘Hi, Cole.’

  ‘Just a juggling lesson,’ I said, retrieving the fallen apple from the carpet.

  ‘Ah, ok,’ Cole said. ‘I’m out of turps so I’m popping to the supermarket. Do you need anything while I’m out, darling?’

  ‘No, we’re good, thanks.’ I looked at the bruised apple. ‘Oh, actually. Could you pick up more apples?’

  ‘Is he always this understanding when he finds you in another man’s arms?’ Marcus asked when Cole was gone.

  I shrugged. ‘Well it’s not like it happens every week.’

  ‘Flattered you’re so picky.’

  ‘You should be. It’s not every bloke I let come up behind me and juggle my juicy fruits.’

  ‘Ha! Nice one.’ He grabbed his pen off the table. ‘We’ll have that for the dame.’

  ‘Nothing to it, is there?’ I said as he scribbled my juicy fruits line down. ‘All you need is a filthy mind.’

  ‘It can’t be all dirty jokes though. We need some lines that won’t go completely over the kids’ heads.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right.’ I sank back onto the sofa. ‘Come on, let’s do some work. We can have juggling and innuendo for afters.’

  ‘Ok, so what do children find funny?’ Marcus asked, sitting beside me.

  ‘Oh, slapstick. Farting, willies, bums. Anything toilet-related.’

  ‘Kids’re disgusting.’

  ‘Cute though. You get fond of them after a bit.’ I looked up from my notes. ‘Think you’ll have any?’

  ‘I’d love to be a dad,’ he said. ‘I need to meet the right person first though. And let’s face it, time’s getting on.’

  ‘Tell me about it. What’re you, thirty-three?’

  ‘And a quarter.’

  ‘See, I’m a year older. I’ve reached that age where every friend and relative considers it their solemn duty to remind me that neither me nor my womb are getting any younger.’

  ‘When were you and Cole planning to start trying for a baby?’

  ‘Soon, I hope. It feels like for years there’s been some reason to put it off. Not enough money, not enough space in our old flat, no family close by for support…’

  ‘But not any more, right?’ He glanced around the spacious terrace we were renting, less than half the cost and five times the size of our poky London flat. ‘Looks like conditions are perfect for bringing a little Becky or Cole into the world.’

  ‘Cole wants the wedding first. He’s traditional like that.’

  ‘How about you?’

  ‘Not so much.’ I sighed. ‘He’s right, you can’t rush these things. But I can’t help thinking about it, now I’m seeing so much of Pip.’

  ‘Great little lass, isn’t she?’

  I smiled. ‘Yeah. She’s perfect.’

  ‘It’ll happen for you, Becks,’ Marcus said earnestly. ‘Sixteen years from now, you’ll be the fun, pretty mum all your kid’s friends are a bit in love with.’

  ‘If it can happen.’

  Marcus frowned. ‘Why shouldn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe I can’t have kids. I mean, I guess I can, but…’ I glanced up to meet his eyes. ‘It’s just that there was another time it nearly happened for us – me and Cole. Back when we were first together.’

  ‘What, you mean…’

  ‘Yeah. Early stages, but I was late so I did a test and… it was positive.’ I laughed. ‘God, I was terrified. We’d only been together a few months. I was earning a pittance with my photography, credit card maxed out, sky-high rent I could barely keep on top of. London, right?’

  ‘Jesus, Becks…’ Instinctively, he stretched a comforting arm around me.

  ‘I spent so long wrestling with whether I could afford to go through with it. But after two weeks, it…’ I blinked hard. ‘Let’s just say it worked itself out.’

  ‘Shit. You mean you… oh God, poor Becky.’ He leaned round to look into my brimming eyes, his face full of sympathy.

  ‘It’s no big deal,’ I said, wiping the tears away. ‘Loads of women go through it. Nearly half of pregnancies end in miscarriage.’<
br />
  ‘It’s still a big deal.’ He gave my shoulders a squeeze. ‘I’m sorry, Becks. Does Cole know?’

  ‘No. I never told anyone. Just pushed it down and got on with sorting my life out so the next time… I’d be ready. But I can’t help worrying there’s something wrong.’ I looked down at my notepad, the squiggly panto notes blurring behind more tears.

  ‘It doesn’t necessarily mean that,’ he said gently. ‘It’s common, like you said. If you’re worried, see a doctor.’

  ‘Perhaps I’m scared of what they might say. I’d rather find out the old-fashioned way.’ I looked up to meet his gaze. ‘I’ve never told anyone about that before.’

  ‘You know I won’t say anything.’

  I summoned a wobbly smile. ‘I know.’

  ‘How’s your dad doing now?’ he asked. ‘Any better?’

  ‘Well, I convinced him to talk to Cynthia, so at least she knows it’s not another woman keeping him busy at night.’ I shook my head. ‘This band thing though. I don’t know what to make of it.’

  ‘It’s good, isn’t it? Something to keep his mind away from the dark places?’

  ‘Maybe. Just not sure it’s healthy, staying up to all hours. Smoking weed. Drinking too much. I mean, his mind might’ve regressed to seventeen but his body’s still sixty.’

  ‘Are the band any good?’

  ‘Dunno. In his mind they’re bloody Status Quo though.’ I twiddled my pen absently. ‘There’s no point dwelling on it, is there? He’s a grown-up. I just need to be there for him.’

  He examined my face. ‘And are you ok? You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping so well.’

  ‘I’m fine. Just worried.’

  ‘You know I’m always here if you want to talk to someone, Becks.’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks for listening.’ I flashed him a smile. ‘You know, I’m glad I met you. Best thing that’s happened since I came home.’

  He grinned. ‘All right, love, enough trying to get in my pants. Let’s do some work.’

  ‘Why, what’s in your pants that’s so exciting?’

  ‘The Three of Diamonds. That’s for my after-dark routine.’

  I picked up the script. ‘So we’ll need to customise this a bit, won’t we? Add in some local stuff. Any ideas?’

  ‘Where me and Deano grew up, the panto was always full of jokes about neighbouring villages having improper relationships with sheep and so on. Pretty racy, I don’t know how they got away with it.’

  ‘We can’t do that,’ I said. ‘People come from neighbouring villages to see the show. Half the audience’ll walk out if we’re too insulting.’

  ‘Ah, but that’s where you have to be smart,’ he said, tapping his temple. ‘Where we lived, they used a village six or seven miles away rather than the ones either side. Close enough that everyone would get the joke but far enough away that it was unlikely they’d be in the audience. Always the same place, it became a running gag.’

  ‘Devious. What was the village?’

  ‘Oh, nowhere,’ he said casually. ‘Just some little place with ideas above its station.’

  I narrowed one eye. ‘It was here. Wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said with a grin. ‘If it helps, I’ve discovered since Deano moved here that your relationships with sheep are entirely species-appropriate.’

  ‘Well, not sure about Gerry Lightowler.’

  ‘Mmm. He is very attached to them.’

  By the time Marcus left at 11pm, we had two pages of innuendo, several jokes about the folk from nearby Pogley being unduly fond of their livestock, and some very mushy apples. I’d just about mastered the art of juggling with two balls, and Marc reckoned that if I practised I could soon be ready for three.

  Cole was in bed reading when I made my way upstairs.

  ‘Did you have fun tonight?’ he asked as I crawled into my PJs.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, sliding into bed and snuggling into him. He was warm and smelled slightly of turps, a scent I’d come to associate with safety. ‘It was a good laugh actually.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  I looked up into his face. ‘You don’t mind me doing this without you?’

  ‘Of course not, darling. It’s good for you to have your own hobbies and friends.’

  ‘I guess. But you know I’d love you to be involved.’

  This was the third time I’d dropped the same hint. But if I sounded hopeful, Cole didn’t pick up on it.

  ‘Don’t be silly. This is your project, you don’t want me muscling in. And I told you, it’s not really my scene.’ He pulled me to him for a kiss. ‘Still, I’m glad it’s making you happy.’

  Chapter 12

  The script was in progress, the props under construction and the crew all assigned jobs. The only thing we didn’t have now was a cast. Which, I was reliably informed, was quite important if you were planning on staging a panto.

  Auditions were advertised for the last week in April. We were aiming for a week-long run in mid-December, and even for newbies, seven months seemed a reasonable bit of rehearsal time.

  On audition day, I called at Pie and a Pint for Lana. She was talking in a low voice to Tom, who’d come to relieve her shift.

  ‘What’re you two whispering about?’

  ‘Oh, nothing important,’ Lana said airily.

  Tom nudged her. ‘Go on. You know you’re bursting.’

  ‘What?’ I said, looking from one to the other. ‘What’s the nothing important?’

  ‘Only this.’ She waved a piece of paper at me, the grin she’d been suppressing finally escaping.

  ‘Oh my God!’ I said, snatching it from her. ‘Is it from the adoption agency?’

  ‘Yep. We’re through to stage two.’

  ‘Arghh, amazing!’ I threw my arms around her. ‘God, and being completely selfish here, but what a relief.’

  I’d confessed to my conversation with Carol the day after Pip’s party, and although Lana and Stew had done their best to reassure me, I couldn’t help worrying. I hadn’t admitted my dad’s pungently illegal shed-based activities, which had been another weight on my mind.

  ‘What happens now?’ I asked.

  Lana groaned. ‘Four months’ training and assessment. New hell, same as the old hell.’

  ‘So it’s still not a done deal?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s a done deal till they actually give us a kid.’

  ‘It’ll happen.’ Tom gave her a squeeze. ‘And trust me, sis, when it does, all the sleepless nights’ll have been worth it.’

  ‘I know.’ She grabbed her handbag. ‘Right, me and Becks had better get off to Egglethwaite’s Got Talent. See you, Tommy.’

  ‘Where’s Stew?’ I asked as we walked to the temperance hall.

  ‘Gone to fetch Harper. We usually sneak him up through the cellar entrance. It’s a good idea to keep him under wraps till we get started.’

  The panel for judging the wannabe actors consisted of me, Stew, Lana, Marcus, Deano, Harper Brady, Yolanda and Billy, who I suspected had only volunteered so he could have a perve at the potential principal boys’ legs.

  There was some crossover between the panel and the auditionees. Yolanda was ready to bitch slap any other contenders for the part of the Good Fairy, I was going to take a probably doomed shot at principal girl, and Marcus was trying out for gormless sidekick Sleepy Steve. We couldn’t vote for ourselves though, and Deano had made us swear an oath we’d be strictly impartial. An actual oath, he’d done printouts. I was starting to understand how the cast and crew of HMS Pinafore 2010, Sheffield College Catering and Hospitality Department, must’ve felt.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ I whispered to Lana when we arrived.

  The place was packed to the gills with people. They couldn’t all be from Egglethwaite. If there were that many aspiring thesps in the villag
e, someone would’ve revived the pantomime years ago.

  ‘We’ll be here till midnight if they’re all going to audition,’ I said.

  ‘Most of them’ll clear out when they’ve seen Harper,’ Lana whispered back. ‘Happens every time. That’s why we always allow half an hour for him to do autographs at the start.’

  A row of screens had been dragged together to close off the area in front of the stage and I followed Lana behind. In the screened-off section were two tables, pushed together to make one long one, with eight chairs behind facing the stage.

  ‘Hey, this is a bit telly,’ I said. ‘We haven’t wandered into the first round of X-Factor by mistake, have we? Because I’m not sure I can cope with Simon Cowell telling me I’m shit on top of you lot.’

  She laughed. ‘Nervous?’

  ‘Terrified.’

  ‘You’ve practised, haven’t you?’

  ‘A bit. Marc’s been coaching me and I’ve been helping him with his Sleepy Steve lines.’

  ‘See? You’ll be fine,’ she said, giving my elbow a reassuring squeeze. ‘How’s Marc’s acting?’

  ‘Great. That lad was made for panto. Never seen someone improvise a sausage-based innuendo while performing a four-ball juggle before.’

  ‘You two getting on ok?’

  ‘Yeah. Feels like I’ve known him years.’

  ‘I actually meant with the script,’ she said, shooting me a curious look.

  ‘Oh. Right. Yes, we’ve nearly finished,’ I said. ‘You’d better fetch Brady and get the ball rolling. I’m going out for some air.’

  I hurried outside and leaned against the sooty wall of the Temp, gulping down mouthfuls of sweet, fresh air. I didn’t know if it was the unexpectedly big crowd or a sudden attack of stagefright, but I was feeling seriously claustrophobic.

  I’d not been alone with my thoughts two minutes when a woman hurried through the door, eyes darting to both sides as if something was chasing her. She leaned against the wall and exhaled slowly.

  ‘Do you vape, sweetness? Mine’s at home and I’m gagging.’

  ‘Um, no,’ I said, blinking. ‘Sorry.’

  She seemed familiar, though I couldn’t work out why. Late twenties probably, very tall – nearly six foot in her flats – and indecently attractive, Baywatch attractive, in a well-cut trouser suit with long, blonde hair flowing over her enormous chest. She didn’t suit the cobbles at all.