The Perfect Fit

by Mary Jayne Baker

  ‘Nervous?’ a voice at my ear asked.

  I jumped. ‘God, Marcus. Don’t do that.’

  ‘Becks, can we talk?’

  ‘No we bloody can’t talk! I’m on in five minutes.’

  ‘I need to tell you something. Please.’

  ‘I don’t want to be told things. I want to be left to panic in peace.’

  ‘It’ll only take a second.’ He moved in front of me and dipped his head to look into my face. ‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I said that already, but I mean it. And I care about you, I do, and in the last year I’ve come to feel that… you’re very special to me.’ He shook his head impatiently. ‘God, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Look, I don’t want to lose you, Becky. It did mean something, that night. I’ll never forget it, ever. I just… I wanted you to know that.’

  I frowned. ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘I guess what I really want to say is, I hope we’ll always be friends.’

  Ah. It was the just-good-friends speech. So that was the outcome of his time to think.

  ‘Yeah. Great,’ was the best I could manage.

  I went through the stage door and waited for my cue: Sue tinkling out the final notes for Some Enchanted Evening. Once I heard that, I had to come out in front of the curtain and address the audience, leaving the stagehands to finish fixing the palace backdrop behind.

  When the last note died in the air, I came out and blinked at the audience.

  There were at least 60 people there – maybe more. With the lighting rigged to cast a spotlight right on me, the expectant eyes of dozens of Egglethwaitians fixed on me and Marcus’s words, I hope we’ll always be friends, still ringing in my ears, I goggled, fishlike, for a moment. Suddenly it was all very real, and I was in serious danger of losing my lines in the fog.

  Then I remembered my tip to Maisie. I sought out Pip and fixed my gaze on her.

  It was ok. It was just play. Just acting out stories, like me and her did all the time.

  ‘Why, what a lot of people!’ I said in mock surprise. ‘Hello, boys and girls. My name’s Ella.’ I smiled warmly. ‘But round here, most people call me Cinderella.’

  I told them about my hard life. How I was made to live as a servant in my own home, the cruelty of my stepmother and her two daughters, and how my kindly but drunken father was powerless to prevent it. How I dreamed of marrying the handsome Prince Charming and leaving this life behind. The kids were sympathetic and I got a few awws, which was more than I could say for Stew and Lana in the wings. She was miming playing a tiny violin while he boo-hooed theatrically, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

  ‘What’re you even doing here?’ I muttered to Stew when I came off. ‘You’re not in this panto.’

  ‘I’ve done my share of audiencing. Thought it’d be more fun from this side.’

  ‘All the better to take the piss, yeah?’

  He grinned. ‘Something like that.’

  The prince and Dandini were up next, planning the ball. Deano, in a last-minute brainwave, had provided Lana with a prop – a scroll, appropriate to Dandini’s job as the prince’s herald, with a few prompts written on in case she forgot her lines.

  She kept it tucked under her arm throughout the scene, but to my relief, she remembered her part perfectly without a single peek. Once the curtain dropped, she marched smugly back to me and Stew.

  ‘See?’ Stew said, giving her a kiss. ‘I knew you could do it.’

  ‘Yeah, nice work,’ I said. ‘How come you didn’t get stagefright this time?’

  She shrugged. ‘Had my scroll, didn’t I?’

  ‘But you didn’t even look at it.’

  ‘I knew I could if I needed to though. It’s my magic feather.’ She nodded to the stagehands fitting the next backdrop. ‘Our old men are up, Becks.’

  The curtain rose on Yolanda in her towering black stepmother wig, the backdrop and props announcing to all that this was the boudoir of some rather tasteless aspiring ladies of fashion. There was a big cheer from the audience. Everyone knew Yolanda.

  ‘Griselda! Tabitha!’ she called. ‘Now come along! There’s only –’ she looked at her watch – ‘three days until the ball. You must begin getting ready, my dears.’

  Dad and Gerry trudged sullenly out from each side of the stage. There was a massive laugh from the audience at their matching little-girl sailor dresses, and a shriek from Pip.

  ‘They’re not ladies!’ she yelled. ‘They’re my grandads!’ That got a big laugh too.

  ‘Oh, my girls, my girls,’ Yolanda-Stepmother said, pinching their cheeks. ‘Thank goodness you inherited your mother’s looks. No lady in the kingdom will come close to two such beauties.’

  I heard Pip’s friend Harry, who’d come with her and her dads, titter. ‘They’re well ugly,’ he whispered.

  Gerry picked up on it at once. ‘And who said that?’ he snapped. He raised an opera glass to his eyes to peer at Harry. ‘How dare you call my sister ugly, little boy?’

  ‘Me?’ Dad fluttered his hands in comic surprise. ‘I believe he was talking to you, Grizzly.’

  ‘Oooh. Come here and say that.’ Gerry got Dad’s head under his arm and started mercilessly nuggying his wig, with enough realism that Dad actually started turning purple.

  ‘Girls, enough!’ Yolanda snapped, pulling them apart. ‘As if I haven’t got enough to worry about with that idle, good-for-nothing Cinderella to keep my eye on.’ She cupped a hand to her mouth, oblivious to the boos being aimed at her. ‘Cinderella! Come here at once!’

  That was my cue. I darted onto the stage.

  ‘Yes, Stepmother?’

  ‘Tabitha and Griselda will require your help getting ready for the ball.’

  Gerry, who was leaning over the painted sink pretending to wash his face, sprang up, grasping his buttocks, as Dad kicked him in the rump. ‘Oooh! Right in the middle of me ablutions! Tell her, Mummy!’

  ‘Now, Tabby, do behave,’ Yolanda said, cuffing Dad indulgently.

  Dad rummaged out a gigantic pair of bloomers from the chest of drawers. ‘You’ll need to help me get into these, Cinderella.’ He waggled his eyebrows at the audience. ‘My lucky knickers, folks. The prince won’t know what’s hit him.’

  Gerry leaned round to look at his sister’s enormous backside. ‘I’ll say he won’t. He’ll think it’s an asteroid.’

  Dad tossed his ringlets haughtily. ‘My bottom has been admired in five counties, I’ll have you know.’

  ‘True. They can bask in the shade of your left bumcheek as far away as Lancashire.’

  The audience guffawed appreciatively. That was the secret of a good bawdy joke. Adults laughed at the punchline, kids just laughed because someone had said ‘bum’.

  ‘Now, now, girls,’ Yolanda said. ‘You mustn’t tease one another so at the ball. Whatever would the prince think? Remember you are sisters and should love one another.’

  That was the lead into the song. Off the dames went, really giving it everything.

  Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters…

  The pair of them seemed to be constantly trying to outdo each other: Gerry kicking his legs up in a cancan motion, Dad bending over to waggle his bloomered backside at the audience. And every now and then, Gerry would glance down at his deflated left breast, raise his eyebrows suggestively, then pump it back up with his arm. It was a wonderful bit of comic theatre. I could see Cynthia crying with laughter, and Pip was bouncing up and down with glee. Cameron and Tom looked a bit traumatised, but you couldn’t win them all.

  ‘Please, Tabitha, please, Griselda,’ I said shyly when they were done. ‘I’m your sister too. May I not go to the ball? The prince did decree every single woman of good family should –’

  ‘Good family!’ Yolanda said, patting her heart. ‘My dear girl, how dare you presume to put yourself
on a level with me and my daughters? You, who sleep among the ash, who consort with that lazy little boot boy as if he were an equal –’

  ‘Buttons is not lazy,’ I snapped. ‘He’s my best friend.’

  Yolanda shot a knowing look at her daughters, and the three of them laughed nastily.

  ‘Aww,’ Dad said, pulling my hair. ‘Little Cinders has got herself a friend.’

  ‘A boyfriend,’ Gerry said. ‘Isn’t it adorable? Our sister, the boot boy’s girl.’

  I flushed. ‘He’s not my boyfriend.’

  Gerry-Griselda sent a malicious smile to her sister. ‘I think we should take Cinders to the ball, Tabby.’

  Dad-Tabby nodded. ‘She has a right to go.’

  Yolanda looked like she was about to object, but Dad held up his hand. ‘Now, Mummy, we must not be cruel. If Cinders can get us and herself ready in time, then of course she may go.’ He scanned my ragged dress. ‘Perhaps the palace has some skivvying for her to do.’

  ‘She could even bring the boot boy as her date,’ Gerry sneered.

  ‘May I really go?’ I asked, wide-eyed.

  ‘Of course.’ Dad thumped a fist against his inflated bosom, which let out a comedy raspberry. ‘A Hardup’s word is her bond.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, thank you!’ I seized his hands gratefully. ‘I’ll be ready. And I’ll have a dress fit to be seen in, I promise.’

  Poor Cinders. She really was a naive little soul.

  Chapter 45

  Next up was the dancing lesson.

  ‘Are you sure he’ll be ok?’ I whispered to Lana when I got backstage, indicating Harper on his stool by the costume rail. He was nodding groggily, glowing with a combination of impending fatherhood and champagne.

  ‘God, I hope so,’ she said. ‘The last thing he needs now he’s going to be a dad is a “Harper Brady pissed on stage at family panto” headline.’

  ‘Eesh, yeah. Didn’t think of that.’ I grabbed Maisie’s arm as she walked past. ‘Can you wake the father of your child up, Mais? You’re on.’

  ‘Jesus. Look at the state of him.’ She went over and prodded him. ‘Harper!’

  He grinned sleepily. ‘Hey, beautiful.’

  Harper tried to guide her onto his lap but she stood firm. ‘We don’t have time for that. It’s our scene.’

  He blinked. ‘Scene?’

  ‘You know, the panto?’

  ‘Oh yeah.’ His voice was pretty slurred. ‘Is it old lamps for new?’

  ‘Not that panto. The other panto.’ She patted his cheeks, trying to wake him up a bit. ‘You’re Baron Hardup, all right? You’re the baron, I’m the prince, you’re teaching me to dance.’

  ‘Baron.’ He blinked. ‘Ok.’

  ‘Just wait till I get you home,’ she muttered.

  He smirked. ‘That a promise, babe?’

  ‘It’s a promise you’re sleeping on the settee.’ She slapped him a few more times. ‘A lot of people have worked hard for this. There are a lot of kids and a lot of journalists out there waiting for you to impress them. Don’t you dare let me down, Harper Brady.’

  ‘God, Mais. You’re scary.’

  ‘Bloody right. Now get your arse in gear before I really slap you one.’

  ‘Is this pregnancy… things? Will you be scary all the time now?’

  ‘I’ll be worse.’ She cocked her head to listen. ‘Come on. Sue’s playing the intro.’

  She dragged him on stage.

  Yolanda smiled after them. ‘You know, I wasn’t a fan to begin with, but I’ve grown to rather like that girl.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said.

  And then it was the moment of truth. Time to find out just how genuinely pissed our supposedly fake-pissed baron really was.

  The curtain went up, to a big cheer from the audience when they saw Harper.

  ‘Oh. Hiya,’ he said, giving them a matey wave.

  Maisie launched them into the scene.

  ‘Are you sure you can teach me to dance in time for the ball, Baron?’

  Harper beamed, wavered, then flicked her ear. I could see a terrified-looking Deano watching from the wings.

  ‘You’re pretty,’ Harper whispered, in full hearing of the audience. There were some titters, and frantic scribbling from the journalists up front.

  Maisie looked irritated. ‘Um, that’s very flattering, Baron Hardup. But what I really want is to learn to dance in time for the ball.’

  Harper blinked. ‘Are you going to a ball?’

  ‘Yes,’ Maisie said through gritted teeth. ‘At the palace. Where I live. Because I’m the prince.’

  ‘You’re a princess. My beautiful princess. I always said so.’ Harper leaned forward unsteadily, and it really looked for a moment as if he was about to give his prospective son-in-law a massive smacker on the mouth. Maisie froze, panic-stricken.

  ‘Oh Christ,’ I whispered to Lana. ‘He’ll ruin the whole thing. I’m going in.’

  I grabbed one of the empty champagne bottles and marched out.

  ‘Father? Father!’ I called. I pretended to clock Harper and put my hands on my hips. ‘Now, Father. Was it you who drank all the champagne Stepmother bought to bring to the ball?’

  Harper blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘It was, wasn’t it?’ I curtsied to Maisie. ‘You must excuse my father, your highness. He, er, drinks to block out the reality of his miserable life.’

  ‘Bit bleak,’ Maisie muttered.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mouthed. ‘Improvising.’

  I grabbed Harper’s shoulders. ‘Now pull yourself together, Father. The prince needs you to show him how to dance. And if you don’t, you’ll make him very unhappy. You wouldn’t want that, would you? You know how much you love… your prince.’ I grinned at the audience. ‘As, um, we all do. Loyal subjects to a man.’

  ‘Oh. Oh!’ Harper glanced down at his frock coat and breeches, as if he’d suddenly remembered where he was. ‘Dancing. Right.’ He blinked for a moment. ‘We’ll… we’ll have you dancing a hornpipe by Saturday, sire, no problem.’

  He grabbed Maisie’s waist and started swaying her drunkenly around the stage. That, at least, was in the script, and the audience were soon laughing again.

  ‘Right. I’ll leave you to it then,’ I said, sidling off. ‘Bye, Dad. Bye, Prince.’

  ‘Nice save,’ Marcus whispered when I got back to the wings.

  Deano came forward to give me a big hug. ‘I love you, Becky. You know that, right?’

  Wrong brother, came a thought in the back of my mind. But out loud I just said, ‘You think they noticed?’

  ‘Course they noticed. But the show went on, that’s what counts. And he is Harper Brady, half the press probably only showed up in the hope he’d do something like this.’ Deano glanced at Harper and Maisie drunkenly waltzing. ‘He seems to be doing ok now. I think the actor gene’s kicked in.’

  Marc laughed. ‘I wouldn’t want to be him tomorrow though. If he survives the hangover, Maisie’s going to throttle him.’

  I was half worried Harper’s antics, showstopping in the absolute worst sense of the word, heralded more disasters to come. But as we moved from scene to scene, I started to relax. Just a blip, that was all. Everything was ok. Everything was better than ok, in fact.

  Lana remembered all her lines. Maisie was chipper and nausea-free. Yolanda, despite her initial horror of playing the baddie, seemed to revel in being booed and hissed by old friends. Everyone, especially Kit Beeton, cracked up at the Hot Tub Girls number, which the dames performed complete with tin bath on wheels.

  But it was the slosh scene, with added mushy peas, that was our biggest triumph: just a disgusting, joyous, roof-raising success, with Gerry and Dad on top form as they baked innuendo-filled sausage pies to take to the palace banquet. Marcus was a big hit as he joked, juggled eggs and made things appear ou
t of thin air with imperceptible sleight of hand, and their little assistant, Pip’s friend Tinuviel, grinned happily while she delivered lumpy green custard pies to the ugly sisters. The laughter must’ve been audible from across the road at the Fox.

  After sausage pies came the interval while our volunteer stagehands cleaned up the mess.

  ‘Going well, isn’t it?’ Marcus said when he joined me backstage. I was sitting on a stool having my makeup topped up by Deano, who’d decided Yo-yo was being too sparing with the blusher and had taken it upon himself to pinken everyone’s cheeks.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘So far.’

  Marcus had grabbed a shower after getting all messy in the slosh scene and he was currently in just a dressing gown, hair soaking wet. It might’ve been sexy if I wasn’t still so bloody pissed off with him.

  ‘You’d better get into costume,’ I told him. ‘It’s Tomorrow soon.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Deano nodded to his brother. ‘Good luck, Marc.’

  I’d been rehearsing this for days. Not rehearsing the lines, I knew those inside out. Rehearsing my reactions. Pretending not to care when Marc brought his face close to mine, when he told me he loved me.

  It didn’t get off to a great start. Marcus, line-perfect usually, seemed to have forgotten that he was supposed to magic me a flower. He just blinked when he got to that bit, fumbled, then moved on to his next line – ‘What’s so great about a silly old ball anyway?’ But the audience didn’t notice, and he quickly recovered.

  We did the song, then I braced myself as we got into position for Buttons’s love declaration. I was determined not to cock it up this time, no matter how angry I was at the man currently gazing at me with the fake love-light in his eyes. Again.

  ‘And what about me?’ Marcus-Buttons asked. ‘Wouldn’t you miss me at the palace, Cinders? Or would you be too fine a lady to remember your old pal Buttons?’

  ‘Of course not!’ I said with as much vehemence as I could muster. ‘You’re my best friend. I wouldn’t go to the palace without you.’

  He hesitated, and I thought for a second he’d forgotten his lines. I was about to mouth a prompt when he reached behind my ear for something.