The Perfect Fit

by Mary Jayne Baker

  ‘Right, Becks. This time I want at least two “Oh No They’re Nots” before you look round, ok?’ he said.

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘And try not to look quite so much like you know they’re there.’

  ‘It’s not my fault. I can feel Gerry’s moustache tickling my ear.’

  ‘Don’t care. Grin and bear it, like Sue has to.’

  I cleared my throat to deliver my woe-is-me monologue to the girls and boys in the audience – well, to Stew, who was playing the role of the girls and boys for today.

  ‘Oh, I am unhappy,’ I sighed. ‘My sisters make me slave away from morning until night, and now I have to help them get ready for the ball. I do wish they would let me go! The prince said every unmarried lady of noble family in the kingdom was invited.’

  I felt Dad and Gerry creep up behind me and fixed my face into a wide-eyed stare.

  Deano cleared his throat pointedly at Stew, who was fiddling with his phone.

  ‘Oh, right,’ he said, glancing up. ‘Er, boo. Hiss. Boohiss.’

  ‘Do you know what, boys and girls?’ I said conspiratorially from behind my hand. ‘Griselda and Tabitha think the prince will marry one of them. Can you believe that?’

  ‘Um, no?’ Stew ventured.

  ‘I mean, fat chance, right? Griselda looks like a warthog licking a nettle, and as for Tabitha, I’ve seen prettier toads. And not the front end.’ I laughed. ‘I’m sure the prince isn’t that hard up.’

  ‘Oh,’ Stew said in response to another signal from Deano. ‘Er, they’re behind you, Becks – I mean, Cinders.’

  I cupped a hand to my ear. ‘What’s that, boys and girls?’

  ‘Behind you. Your sisters.’

  ‘They’re not behind me, are they?’

  ‘Yeah. Turn round and have a look.’

  ‘Do it properly, Stew!’ Deano hissed.

  ‘Do I have to?’ Stew said. ‘I feel daft.’

  ‘Yes. Get on with it.’

  ‘Oh, all right.’ He raised his voice. ‘Oh yes they are!’

  ‘Oh no they’re not! You’re teasing me, aren’t you, you naughty things?’

  ‘Oh yes they… look, how long do I have to do this, Deano?’

  ‘Two more,’ Deano hissed.

  ‘Right. Oh yes they are.’

  I opened my eyes wide. ‘Oh no they’re not!’

  ‘They are. Oh yes. They really, really are. You’d be amazed how much they are behind you right now.’

  ‘A bit less of the sarcasm, mate,’ Deano whispered.

  ‘What, they’re really behind me?’ Slowly I turned around, then staggered theatrically when I discovered Dad and Gerry with their hands on their hips.

  ‘So I’m a warthog, am I?’ Dad said, grabbing me by the shoulders and pushing me to Gerry.

  ‘And I’m a toad’s bum, am I?’ Gerry spat, pushing me back.

  ‘Oh my God, this is it!’ Stewart yelled suddenly.

  ‘We’re done with the audience participation bit now, Stew,’ Deano said. ‘Appreciate your enthusiasm, but can we have some hush?’

  ‘Not that, this,’ he said, brandishing his phone. ‘Where’s Lana? Lana!’ He jumped up, almost tripping over his chair, which he kicked to the floor impatiently. ‘Lana! Where are you?’

  Lana’s head poked out of the wings. ‘Someone call me?’

  Stew ran down the hall, leapfrogged onto the stage and swung his wife round in his arms, kissing her heartily. Everyone had come out now to see what the shouting was about.

  ‘Um, missed you too, Stew,’ she said breathlessly when he put her down. ‘What’s the public display of affection in aid of?’

  ‘This is it, kid,’ he said, hugging her tight. ‘I just got the email to say we’re through to stage three. You’re going to be a mum.’

  ***

  Lana and Stew’s news put paid to rehearsals for that day. Our panto cast was dismissed to the Fox for a celebratory piss-up, not even bothering to change. Me and Marcus said we’d lock up then meet the others there.

  ‘Happy days, eh?’ Marcus said as we put chairs away.

  ‘Yeah, so pleased for them.’

  ‘What happens next, do you know?’

  ‘The agency has to match them to a kid,’ I said. ‘Then they set up some play dates, make sure they’re compatible, then presto: they’re a mum and dad.’

  ‘How long will that take?’

  ‘It took three months till Cam and Tom were matched with Pip. Cam told me it could’ve taken up to two years though.’

  ‘Oof, two years? Hope they don’t have to wait that long.’ He cocked his head. ‘Hey, did everyone go to the pub?’

  ‘I think so, why?’

  ‘Thought I heard something.’

  I groaned. ‘It’s not Harper and Maisie, is it? It’d be nice to end one rehearsal without the image of his arse seared onto my retinas.’

  ‘It can’t be, I saw them leave.’

  I listened. There was a sort of shuffling, and a low, whispered moan.

  ‘Sounds like it’s coming from the meeting room.’

  Marcus followed me out of the main hall to the room next door.

  ‘Jesus! Deano?’

  The red-haired figure lying face down on the floor gave a high-pitched laugh.

  ‘Oh God. We broke him,’ Marcus muttered. ‘Ok, Becks. One arm each.’

  We guided him up into a chair.

  ‘It’s no good,’ he was muttering. ‘It’s no good. Titanic. Glam Rock. The Joey spinoff. Pick your disaster.’

  ‘What’s up, love?’ I said gently.

  ‘What isn’t up? Christ, Abe Lincoln’s had better nights at the theatre.’

  I shook my head. ‘Too soon, Deano. Too soon.’

  ‘Come on, little brother,’ Marcus said, resting a reassuring hand on Deano’s shoulder. ‘So there’re a few little problems to iron out. We can do it.’

  ‘A few little problems?’ Deano said, fixing glazed eyes on Marcus. ‘My principal boy can’t act, Marc. Not even enough to summon the basic level of make-believe needed to pretend she doesn’t want to bitch-slap the supposed love of her life with a heavy-duty anvil.’ He groaned. ‘Oh God, I’m going back to the floor.’

  We held his arms to stop him sliding out of the chair.

  ‘Don’t worry about Maisie,’ I said. ‘Me and her can do some extra sessions, build a rapport. We’ll sort it.’

  ‘Yeah? How’s your foot?’

  I wiggled my toes. ‘A bit sore. But… we’ll sort it.’

  ‘You know just saying that doesn’t actually sort it, right?’

  ‘We’ll sort it,’ I repeated helplessly.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind if that was the only problem,’ Deano said. ‘But then there’s everything else. Lana still can’t remember her lines. Harper’s liable to throw a hissy fit at any moment, just because he’s Harper Brady and he knows he bloody can. Yo-yo’s a ticking bomb of age paranoia. And then there’s you two.’

  I frowned. ‘What about us two?’

  ‘You’re a bad influence on each other.’ He jerked his head towards his brother. ‘He’s a distraction. So are you to him. I’ve a good mind not to let you play out any more.’

  I laughed. ‘You what?’

  ‘You’re forever corpsing each other. That or he’s fluttering his eyelashes and making you forget your lines.’

  ‘That was a one-off. It won’t happen again,’ I said, avoiding Marc’s gaze.

  Deano plonked his cheeks glumly onto his fists. ‘Even my dames can’t manage to maintain a full set of tits between them. We’re jinxed, guys.’

  ‘Oh, never mind Gerry’s boobs, they’re the least of our worries,’ I said. ‘We’ll just go back to sock-stuffed bras. A bit lumpy, but they stay up.’

  Marc snorted. ‘It was blo
ody funny though, watching him pump himself up every five minutes.’ He nudged his brother. ‘Come on, our Dean, snap out of it. Prosecco’s flowing at the Fox. Let’s go raise a glass to Lana and Stew, eh?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Deano roused himself. ‘Yeah. Something to celebrate, at least.’

  ‘You coming, Becks?’ Marcus said as Deano stood to leave.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘You coming to the pub?’

  ‘It was funny, wasn’t it?’ I said absently.

  Marcus frowned. ‘What was?’

  ‘Gerry’s tits. When he had to keep pumping them up with his arm. We were cracking up in the wings.’

  ‘I know, I was there. Come on, love, let’s go get a drink.’

  ‘And when Lana kept shouting “line!”, that was pretty funny. And Maisie dragging me round the stage in that horrific dress. Even when the puppy piddled in the corner, everyone was laughing.’

  ‘I’m glad my distress provides such entertainment to the rabble,’ Deano said darkly.

  ‘I mean, it was funny. All the stuff that went wrong was funny. And pantos are supposed to be funny.’ I stared at them. ‘What if we worked some of it in? Like, had things go wrong on purpose?’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Well, we found it funny. Who says the audience won’t? We could make our weaknesses our strengths.’

  ‘Gerry’s deflating knockers, maybe,’ Marcus conceded. ‘I don’t see how we’re going to make Maisie a strength though. There’s nothing funny about bad acting.’

  ‘Ok, maybe not that,’ I admitted. ‘But the other stuff. If we can’t fix it, why not play it for laughs? Then if anything goes wrong by accident we can pretend it’s part of the show.’

  ‘She might be right, you know,’ Deano said slowly. ‘It was pretty funny. I mean, not to me, I wanted to cry, but all you other sadistic bastards seemed to be pissing yourselves.’

  ‘Ha! Yes we were!’ I slapped him on the back. ‘Tell you what, I’m a bloody genius. Let’s get to the pub. You both owe me a drink.’

  Chapter 31

  ‘Here, try this one,’ Lana said, pricking a piece of pastry off the paper plate.

  I leaned over to bite it off her fork. ‘Mmm. Just like Mother used to defrost.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Peach, I think.’

  We were at Fancypants, playing Pie Russian Roulette with some of Deano’s latest tasters for the Pie and a Pint menu.

  ‘Doesn’t Deano get bored making nothing but pie?’ I asked.

  ‘You’d think. But no, he seems to enjoy the challenge.’

  ‘Not sure this panto isn’t a challenge too far, you know. That meltdown he had at the last rehearsal was a bit full-on.’

  ‘Oh, he thrives on meltdown. Meltdown’s his middle name. Well, Kevin.’

  ‘Ooh!’ I said, catching sight of a gorgeous cerise dress on the website I was browsing. ‘Lana, you’d look great in this.’ I twisted the laptop screen to show her.

  She blinked. ‘Yeah, lovely. I could keep it handy in case I got invited to an embassy ball.’

  ‘For the wedding, you turnip. I’m after matching bridesmaids’ dresses for you and Cole’s sister.’

  ‘You’re not buying them now, are you?’

  ‘No. Just bookmarking a few things.’

  ‘Why the wedding fever suddenly? Seems a bit premature, picking out bridesmaids’ dresses when you haven’t fixed a date.’

  ‘I just want to feel like plans are under way, that’s all,’ I said. ‘Makes it seem more real.’

  She stared at me for a moment, and I flushed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She gagged on a bit of pie. ‘Ick. Beetroot.’

  ‘So come on then. What’s next in your daft perfect-partner quiz?’

  Lana glanced at the magazine on her lap. ‘Is your perfect partner a) your best friend, like Ryan Reynolds in Just Friends; b) a hopeless romantic who treats you to thoughtful gifts, like Ryan Reynolds in Definitely, Maybe, or c) a sexy hunk who looks great in lycra, like Ryan Reynolds in Green Lantern?’ She glanced up. ‘Think they might’ve run out of ideas on that last one.’

  ‘What if my perfect partner isn’t Ryan Reynolds?’

  ‘I don’t think the quiz writer allowed for that possibility.’

  ‘All right, B. No, A. A or B.’

  ‘You have to pick one, Becks.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. A then,’ I said. ‘Here, there’s a load of naff Christmas jumpers on this website. What do you say to getting the lads matching ones for Christmas Day?’

  ‘Hmm?’ she said, ticking the A box on her quiz.

  ‘His-and-his Christmas jumpers for Cam and Tom. Come on, Lana, pay attention.’

  ‘Ok, ok. Yes to jumpers.’ She scanned the mag again. ‘Right, last question.’

  I sighed. ‘Go on.’

  ‘What’s your perfect date? Is it a) a night in with a takeaway and a Ryan Reynolds film, snuggled on the sofa; b) an evening at a swanky restaurant, or c) a delicious meal cooked by your partner?’

  ‘A I think, long as I can pick the film. Hey, did you really go out with Harper?’

  She laughed. ‘Yeah, once.’

  ‘Didn’t shag him, did you?’

  ‘God, no! I only did it to make Stew jealous.’

  ‘Did it work?’

  She examined her wedding ring. ‘Something obviously did. Right, Becks. You got… let’s see, mostly As.’ She skimmed to the bit at the end. ‘Your perfect partner will be your best friend, the love of your life and the person you feel happiest vegging in your PJs with,’ she read. ‘They’ll always be the first person you call when you’re feeling blue, the one whose jokes can make you snort wine out of your nose and the person you’d rather spend time with over everyone else. Your strong friendship will make for a loving and lasting romantic relationship.’

  I shook my head. ‘Where do they get this bollocks?’

  ‘I think they make the work experience kid write it between tea runs as some sort of penance.’ She looked up. ‘So is that Cole?’

  ‘Course. Hey, is there any more of Deano’s peach pie? It’s kind of moreish.’

  ‘I’ll tell him. It can go on next season’s dessert menu.’ She passed the plate. ‘What time’s Yo-yo getting here?’

  ‘Seven.’ I smiled at her. ‘Thanks for staying. I think an evening of watching my old Brownie leader parading around in fishnets all on my own is more than my constitution could stand.’

  ‘Hey, you had me at free prosecco.’

  I’d never meant to run a costume shop. My original plan after leaving uni and moving south was to be a full-time photographer.

  But I’d soon found there wasn’t much money in it. I’d ended up working retail jobs on the side to make ends meet, and eventually I’d realised I wasn’t a photographer who worked in a shop any more. I was a shop girl who took a few photos.

  That was when it’d occurred to me I could do the same thing a lot more cheaply back in Yorkshire. Cole could paint in the sort of beautiful countryside that would really inspire him, I could come home to my family, and the giant playground of the Dales would be the perfect place to raise a child.

  Dad and Cynthia had offered me work in Your Plaice or Mine, their chippy, till I got on my feet, but I’d really wanted my own business. So I’d looked around and found Fancypants, or Willy’s Wacky Warehouse as it was then. Running a costume shop sounded fun, plus I could still do a bit of photography on the side.

  It was Lana who’d had the big brainwave. There was an empty storeroom adjoining the shop, just going to waste. Lana suggested it was the perfect size for a photography studio, and my business within a business, Fancysnaps, was born.

  The idea was that people could book a professional photoshoot in any of my costumes, without having to hire them. It was pop
ular too – in fact I made my living from it, far more than the pittance I got hiring out fancy dress. Some people came for period photos in Victorian or Edwardian gear, all printed in classy sepia. Sometimes it was fanboy couples wanting photos as their favourite characters from Game of Thrones or the Marvel universe. But most popular of all were the boudoir sessions.

  They were for ladies only and made use of my saucier burlesque-style costumes, for women who wanted to give their partners a cheeky set of prints as a present. They often came in groups after hours, with me providing the prosecco to get their Dutch courage up before they stripped off. All the clothing was for sale too, so I made a bit flogging pants on the side.

  Somehow Yolanda got to hear about it, and the next thing I know she’s booking a session to get some sexy pics done for Billy as a wedding present. I wasn’t sure there was enough prosecco in the world to block out the sight of my old Brown Owl prancing around in lacy knickers like Gypsy Rose Lee, but Lana had offered to keep me company, and Sue, as maid of honour, was coming too.

  ‘Evening, ladies,’ I said when they arrived, handing them a glass of prosecco each. ‘Come on through.’

  ‘You got roped in too, did you?’ Sue muttered to Lana as they followed me into the studio.

  ‘Yeah, I’m Becky’s moral support. You?’

  ‘I’m Yo-yo’s Something Old.’ She shook her head. ‘Never thought I’d be on maid of honour duty at fifty-eight.’

  ‘I heard that, Susan,’ Yolanda said. ‘My official age is forty-five, thank you, and I plan on keeping it that way until I’m at least seventy. Which means you do too. Oh!’ She clapped her hands when she caught sight of the rail of clothes. ‘Oh, aren’t they gorgeous?’

  ‘Think you’ll ever grow out of playing dress-up?’ Sue said.

  ‘Oh no, I shouldn’t think so.’ She drew a hot-pink showgirl basque from the rail. ‘Isn’t this fabulous, girls?’ she breathed. ‘It just matches my hair.’

  ‘You’ll need the accessories.’ I nodded to the plush armchairs next to the changing screen for Lana and Sue to have a seat, then went to rummage in the box next to the rail. ‘Long silk gloves, fishnets, ostrich-feather fascinator.’