The Perfect Fit

by Mary Jayne Baker

  When we were done, I sank back onto the hearth to stare at my torn dress again.

  ‘But tomorrow won’t really be any better than today, will it, Buttons? Nothing ever gets better here.’ I dabbed at my eyes with the hem of my rags. ‘All I wanted was to go to the ball. Who knows? Maybe the prince would have fallen madly in love with me, and I could have lived at the palace and worn fine silks instead of crawling around in the cinders for my keep.’

  Marcus cast his eyes down. ‘And what about me? Would you be too fine a lady to remember your old pal Buttons?’

  ‘Of course not! You’re my best friend. I wouldn’t go to the palace without you.’

  He took my hands. ‘Don’t go to the palace, Cinders,’ he said earnestly. ‘Run away with me. I’ll take care of you, and you’ll never have to rake out a grate again.’

  I laughed. ‘Run away with you? But you’re as poor as I am. Where would we go?’

  ‘Anywhere. Then we could get married and…’ He flushed. ‘I love you, Cinderella. I always have, you know.’

  He looked deep into my eyes, leaning towards me slowly with my two hands still gripped in his.

  I don’t know what happened. I knew this scene perfectly, we’d rehearsed it a million times. I was supposed to push him away and say ‘Oh Buttons, you know I love you as a friend, but I could never see you that way’. Then he’d say he understood, there’d be a chummy hug and a reprise of Tomorrow, and Buttons would stalk sadly away before Sue played Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy to herald the arrival of Godmother Yolanda.

  But for some reason, as Marcus’s dark eyes looked into mine and his lightly parted lips got ever closer, I froze. Every line went straight out of my head.

  ‘Ok, cut!’ Deano shouted impatiently. Marcus pulled back at once. ‘What was that, Becky?’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, flushing. ‘Mind went blank for a sec.’

  ‘I swear, between you and Lana I’ll be in an institution before we get this bloody panto to the stage.’ He tapped my temple. ‘Mind on the job, Becks. 210%, remember.’

  ‘Yes, Chef. It won’t happen again.’

  We picked up from where we’d left off, and, thankfully for Deano’s mental state and grasp of maths, I was able to do the rest without a hitch.

  After that we moved on to the ball, which most us appeared in at some point: the two dames, Yo-yo as the Wicked Stepmother, both principal boys and me, of course. Only Marcus as Buttons and Harper as Baron Hardup would be off-stage.

  The prince was last to enter the ballroom. He was supposed to stride on stage, slap his thigh, and instantly inspire lust in all the female characters and love at first sight in Cinderella. Assuming Maisie could manage to stop sneering at me.

  Deano had let me off wearing the heavy hooped petticoat and whipped-cream wig that went with my costume for now, so the ballgown was just about manageable. I made my grand entrance stage right, to the hushed whispers of the Ugly Sisters as they wondered who the mystery girl could be (despite the fact they saw me every day, the idiots). Then Lana announced the prince.

  ‘His Royal Highness, Prince Charming of Rummancoke!’

  But no Maisie appeared stage left so our eyes could meet across the crowded room.

  Lana tried again. ‘His Royal Highness, Prince Charming of Rummancoke!’

  Still nothing. Deano poked his head through the stage door.

  ‘Maisie? You’ve missed your cue.’

  Silence.

  ‘For Christ’s sake,’ he muttered. ‘Anyone know where she is?’

  ‘I’ll check the Ladies,’ I said. ‘Deano, you try the kitchen. Maybe she went to make a brew.’

  I headed backstage, where Marcus was studying his script.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘Have you seen Maisie? She’s missed her cue and we’re all waiting.’

  He frowned. ‘No. I thought she was on stage.’

  ‘Ugh. Well she must be somewhere. Come help me look.’

  ‘What the hell is that noise?’ Marc said as we headed down the stairs that led to the Ladies’ loos. ‘Sounds like someone punching a gibbon.’

  There was an odd noise, like some sort of trapped animal.

  ‘It’s coming from that cleaner’s cupboard,’ I said.

  I marched to the cupboard and peeked round the door, then quickly slammed it shut.

  ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘Unless I’m much mistaken, it’s the frantically bobbing arsecheeks of Harper Brady OBE.’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ Marc slapped his forehead. ‘Couple of legs wrapped round?’

  ‘Funnily enough.’

  He rapped on the door. ‘Harper! Maisie! Get your clothes on and come out.’

  There was the sound of whispering, and a Maisie-ish giggle, then Harper’s breathless voice rang out.

  ‘Can you give us ten minutes, mate? We’re nearly there.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Marc muttered. ‘Never work with children, animals or randy bastard celebrities.’

  ‘No we bloody can’t give you ten minutes!’ I said. ‘Maisie’s due on stage. Out, now.’

  Marcus put a hand on my arm. ‘Oh, let him finish. We can’t have Baron Hardup wandering round with a tentpole in his breeches for the rest of the rehearsal.’

  ‘Hmm. S’pose.’ I raised my voice again. ‘All right, guys, quick as you can. Then we’ll be having words.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Harper called. Marcus grabbed my hand and led me hastily upstairs, away from the disturbing grunts now emerging from the cleaner’s cupboard.

  ‘Well? Did you find her?’ Deano demanded when we joined him on stage.

  ‘Yeah, she’s just in the middle of someone – er, something,’ I said. ‘She’ll be here in ten. I’ll go wait backstage till she’s ready, then we can start again.’

  ‘I’m so grassing him up to Stew,’ Marcus said as the pair of us waited backstage for Harper and Maisie to come get their bollocking.

  The young lovers emerged 15 minutes later in their now very dishevelled costumes, flushed and shame-faced. Well, Harper was shame-faced. Maisie just looked amused.

  ‘Sorry,’ Harper mumbled, scuffing at the bare boards of the floor.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Harper!’ I said. ‘You’re supposed to be Baron Hardup, not Baron –’

  ‘What the hell did you think you were playing at?’ Marc demanded.

  ‘It’s the tights,’ Harper said. ‘They… kind of have an effect on me.’

  Maisie giggled. ‘He asked to see how my thigh-slap was shaping up. Next thing I knew he was tearing my clothes off in the cupboard.’

  ‘It is much better,’ Harper muttered.

  ‘What’s he like?’ Maisie flashed an indulgent glance at her husband.

  ‘Come on, you’re not teenagers,’ Marcus said sternly. ‘Can you not save the tight-based role play for when you get home?’

  ‘We’ll be good from now on,’ Maisie said, although I could tell she was struggling to keep a straight face. ‘It was the first time he’d seen me in them, that’s all. We are newlyweds.’

  ‘Promise?’ I said.

  ‘Promise.’ She nudged Harper, who looked up from examining his boots.

  ‘Er, yeah. Promise.’ He leaned over to Maisie. ‘Worth it though, babe,’ I heard him whisper.

  ‘You getting all this?’ Maisie said to someone behind me. I turned to see Gavin with his trusty video camera, trained on the Bradys as usual. We’d got so used to him lurking around the place that he’d almost become part of the furniture.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Brady.’

  ‘And you got us coming out of the cupboard, didn’t you?’

  ‘Course.’

  Harper patted his wife’s pert backside fondly. ‘That’s my girl, Mais. Now you’re thinking like a star.’
>
  Marcus shook his head. ‘This is unbelievable,’ he muttered to me. ‘They’re only putting it in their daft reality show.’

  ‘That’s not why you did it, is it?’ I demanded.

  Harper shrugged. ‘No, but there’s no point wasting good material.’

  ‘You’re getting dangerously close to that sex tape, Harper.’

  Marc nodded towards the stage. ‘Maisie, go let Deano know you’re ready. And bloody well behave from now on. We can’t afford cock-ups like this during the run.’

  ‘No pun intended, eh?’ Harper said. Maisie snorted.

  ‘Just do as you’re told, you,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to be standing here in December, explaining to a bunch of three-to-eights why Baron Hardup’s been caught trousers down showing his future son-in-law his magic pumpkin.’

  ‘You know, honey, that innuendo doesn’t really work,’ Maisie said. ‘Harper’s willy doesn’t look anything like a pumpkin.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry. Was on the spot a bit.’

  ‘All right, it won’t happen again.’ Harper took Maisie’s hand. ‘And I’d say it was more of a marrow,’ I heard him whisper as he led her to the wings.

  ‘I’d better get ready for my cue,’ I said to Marcus. ‘Jesus, what a mess. If the live run is anything like tonight, there’ll never be another panto in Egglethwaite.’

  We managed to struggle through the rest of the rehearsal, although Maisie and Harper’s dancing lesson was looking a bit precarious. He really did seem to have a thing for tights.

  ‘Does it feel to you like there’s something wrong?’ I whispered to Marc as we watched the cast file out at the end of the night.

  ‘What, apart from the principal boy who can’t act, the other one who can’t remember her lines, the Baron Hardup who’s permanently on heat and the dames who can’t maintain a full set of tits between them?’

  ‘Yeah, apart from that.’

  ‘Bloody hell, love. I would’ve thought that’d be enough catastrophes to be going along with.’

  ‘There’s something else. The script – I can’t put my finger on it. It seems flat somehow.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ he said. ‘It does feel like something’s missing.’

  ‘Just wish I could work out what.’

  He slapped my back. ‘Well, we can work on it at mine next week. Scripting team to the rescue, eh?’ He grabbed Harper’s arm as he made his way past. ‘Oi. You. If you’re feeling randy before the next rehearsal, do you mind giving your wife a good seeing-to before you leave the house so you can behave like bloody professionals?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. I told you, it won’t happen again.’

  ‘It better not, because next time I’m setting Deano on you.’

  My dad stopped to give me a hug before he left. ‘Thanks for talking me into this, Boo. Most fun I’ve had in ages.’

  So Dad was happy. At least one thing about the rehearsal had gone right.

  I wasn’t sure Deano agreed though. ‘Shambles,’ I heard him mutter as he passed. ‘We’ll never make it.’

  Chapter 27

  ‘Ok, so I think I’ve worked out what’s wrong with the script.’ Marcus reached across me for the bag of Doritos we were sharing. ‘Too cautious,’ he said through a mouthful of corn snack.

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘Not enough innuendo. Our village panto when we were kids was proper filth.’

  ‘We’ve got innuendo.’

  ‘Not much.’ He flicked through the script. ‘Woodcutting scene, the baron compliments Buttons on his big chopper. Pie-making scene and the hilarious erect sausage. Couple of jokes about your dad being jealous of Gerry’s firm, juicy dumplings, and that crack about the Harrogate Male Voice Choir. That’s it.’

  ‘Say chopper again.’

  ‘Chopper. Why?’

  ‘Turns me on.’

  He laughed. ‘So am I right or am I right?’

  It was a point. We’d thought up loads of good dirty jokes while we’d been working on the script, but when it came to writing them in we’d come over a bit coy.

  ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘We can probably let our knickers down a bit more without offending people.’

  ‘Here, Becks. You’ve got Dorito crumbs on you.’ He reached over to brush them off my neck, and I tilted my head to one side.

  ‘Right,’ he said, picking up the script again. ‘So the Fairy Godmother scene’s got potential. A few one-liners for Yo-yo about the prince having big balls, what do you think?’

  ‘Um, Marc?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I think you’ve got all the crumbs off now.’

  His fingers were still trailing over my skin. I needed him to stop. The patch of flesh behind my ear was one of the most sensitive parts of my body, and his touch was starting to have a stirring effect.

  He glanced up and frowned at his own fingers, as if he didn’t know they were still there.

  ‘Oh. Sorry,’ he said, pulling them away. He stared at me with a puzzled expression, like he was seeing me for the first time. ‘Hey, Becks. Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of pretty?’

  I laughed. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You are, you know. Cole doesn’t tell you?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  His fingers found their way back to my neck. He put down the script, and with his other arm he drew me closer. ‘Well, now I’m going to tell you. You’re a beautiful woman, Becky Finn.’

  ‘Cheers,’ I mumbled. I cast about for something suitable to say back. ‘Er, you too.’

  ‘Did you just call me a beautiful woman?’

  I shrugged. ‘My perception of gender’s become very flexible since I got involved in the pantomime scene.’

  ‘Going to kiss you now.’

  ‘Not going to stop you.’

  But before I had time to really savour the cheesy Dorito flavour on his lips… I woke up.

  ‘Shit!’ I muttered, sitting up with a start.

  Cole blinked at me sleepily. ‘Everything ok?’

  ‘Yes… yes, fine. Sorry for waking you.’ I settled back into bed, hugging myself.

  Ok, so this was new. New and bad.

  I mean, it wasn’t like I hadn’t had sexy dreams about Marcus before, but this one had seemed so… real. Away from the realms of fantasy and into something I could actually imagine happening. The Doritos were a nice touch too, kudos to my subconscious for that.

  ‘Cole?’ I whispered.

  ‘Hmm?’ He was nearly asleep again.

  ‘Love… you ever have dreams? About other people?’

  ‘What other people?’

  ‘You know, like people you… maybe that you’re attracted to. Not me. Celebrities or colleagues or whatever.’

  ‘I love you, Becky.’ He nuzzled my nose with his. ‘And I love you most when you feel insecure during daylight hours. Go to sleep, darling, I’ll give you all the reassurance you need over breakfast.’

  ‘I’m not insecure. I just want to know, is that normal? For people to dream about people who aren’t their partners sometimes?’

  He blinked himself awake. ‘Is that what woke you up?’

  I flushed. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Who were you dreaming about?’

  ‘Someone I know from the panto,’ I said. ‘Other times it can be film stars, or… you know, other people. That’s ok, right? I mean, you have that?’

  ‘Well yes, sometimes.’ He drew a finger down my cheek. ‘Why the worry? Dreams like that don’t mean anything.’

  I exhaled with relief. ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought. This one was just… dunno, it seemed really vivid. Shook me up a bit.’

  I could see his eyes searching mine in the darkness.

  ‘Who from the pantomime?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Oh, no one. It doesn’t matter.’


  ‘Was it Marcus?’

  I blinked at him. ‘Well… yeah, it was. But I guess it could’ve been any of them, the amount of time we’ve all been spending together.’ I paused. ‘Possibly not Gerry.’

  He was quiet for so long, I thought he’d fallen asleep.

  ‘Cole? You upset?’

  ‘No.’ He kissed my nose. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘It was just a daft dream. I’ve got panto on the brain, that’s all.’ I laughed. ‘Plus me and Marc caught a couple of cast members bonking noisily in a cupboard at rehearsal last week.’

  ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘Yeah, bloody Harper Brady. Anyway, my subconscious obviously made some sort of Freudian connection.’ I gave him a kiss. ‘Night, Cole. Love you.’

  ***

  ‘Ok, so I’ve had an epiphany,’ I said in the pub the following evening. I’d called an emergency script-fettling meeting, and me, Deano, Marcus, Lana and Stew were sitting behind our copies of the script. ‘It’s not rude enough. We need more innuendo, guys.’

  ‘When did you decide this?’ Marcus asked.

  I flushed. ‘It… came to me in a dream.’

  ‘She’s not wrong, you know,’ Deano said. ‘I’ve thought these last few rehearsals the Cinders script was lacking oomph.’

  Stew grimaced. ‘Do you have to do the hip-thrust when you say “oomph”, Deano?’

  ‘Yeah, you know you get off on it.’

  ‘Oi.’ Lana held up a warning hand. ‘No sexy talk till we’ve got pens out, lads.’

  ‘She’s right,’ I said. ‘We need to stop using up our best filth in real life and get it onto the stage where it can do some good.’

  ‘Next rehearsal is tomorrow though,’ Lana said. ‘Becks, you and Marc are script gurus. You weren’t thinking we could make big changes by then, were you?’

  ‘I don’t think it needs big changes, just a few gags scattered here and there. We don’t want people having to learn too many new lines.’ I shot her a wary look. ‘Especially you.’

  ‘Well, I’m ready to pull an all-nighter if you are,’ Marcus said to me. ‘You bring a bottle, I’ll get the Doritos in, see you at mine after tea?’

  ‘No.’ God, him and his bloody sexy Doritos. ‘I mean, um, I thought at this stage it’d be good to expand the scripting team. Five dirty minds are better than two.’