by Stan Mason
***
Every Wednesday over the past three years, Waverley had attended the rehearsals of The Carlton Theatre Group, an amateur dramatic company. They performed two shows each year, each one lasting for five performances, and the rehearsals took place every week. However two weeks had passed and he had failed to made the effort to go. Each day, he would return to his house to cook himself a meal, sometimes bringing home a takeaway but at the end of the evening the plate was still half full. His appetite had vanished and, worst still, as a result of his depression, inflammation had formed in his mouth, by the name of gingivitis, whereby his gums had receded sharply.
Each evening he sat in front of the television set, his eyes glued to the screen, but nothing ever recorded in his mind. He was like a zombie sitting alone in his armchair thinking about his wife all the time. However on the third week, he pulled himself together deciding to go. It was a decision with which he toyed for quite some time, telling himself that going to the theatre was all rather pointless. The reason was that his role was simply a walk-on part which occurred several times during the play, dressed in ragged clothes at the time of the French Revolution. The action was to make a nuisance of himself as one of the protestors outside the Bastille. He had to admit to himself that he was not particularly serious as an actor, even though he appeared in a number of shows over the years, without ever having a speaking part, but it was an activity that he enjoyed. However the sudden change in his life-style caused him to rethink the issue. He could easily drop out of the show without causing any fuss because there was a plethora of people in the cast. If he failed to show up it would hardly affect either the Director or the audience. The show would still go on.
After missing two rehearsals, he forced himself to leave the house and go to the theatre for the next one, still feeling depressed. He hoped that it would take him out of his misery but it failed to do so. At the half-time break, he sauntered with the others into the cafeteria and collected a cup of coffee and a biscuit sitting down by himself at one of the tables, analysing his situation carefully. This could well be the last time he came to rehearsals. There was no feeling in his bones any more to perform on the stage in front of other people in walk-on parts and he wasn’t confident enough to take on speaking roles. He was one of many protestors in the play and, if he opted out, they wouldn’t really notice. As he considered his position, Paula Stratton, another member of the cast... also with a walk-on part... approached him and sat down opposite him.
‘I’m Paula Stratton,’ she introduced herself easily. ‘I joined three weeks ago and saw you at the rehearsal then but you haven’t been here for the last two. Is there some kind of problem?’
He stared at her glumly remaining silent for a while. He didn’t recognise the woman and he hardly felt the urge to enter into conversation with her.
‘You don’t have to answer,’ she went on slightly irritated by his refusal to respond, ‘unless you intend to be rude. I’m only trying to be friendly. Why did you miss two rehearsals?’
He considered at that moment that he had two options. The first was to bottle up all his feelings and continued to grieve in misery or to try to release the anguish and pain by speaking to someone about it. After a brief hesitation, he decided, in his wisdom, on the latter.
‘I do have a problem,’ he told her tersely.
‘Is it serious?’ she went on prying into his private life.
‘Yes it is! Very serious!’
She paused to allow a few moments to pass. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
He hesitated before gritting his teeth as he uttered the words. ‘’My wife’s gone.’ His face showed both agony and pain in the deliberation.
Her face took on a sympathetic expression. ‘I’m truly sorry to hear that,’ she responded. ‘How did she die?’
‘She’s not dead!’ spat the banker surprised at the remark. ‘She left me to go off with her lover to New York.’
‘Really! I can see how badly it’s affected you,’ she continued before sipping her tea. ‘Have you any children?’
‘In the circumstances I’m fortunate there aren’t any.’
‘Well that’s a blessing I suppose,’ she told him. ‘So you’re living by yourself.’
‘Tell me about it,’ he said miserably. ‘All by myself. Are you married?’
‘No... I suppose I’ll end up an old maid. No one seems to want me. I contacted a dating agency, went on half a dozen dates, but no one seemed to fit the bill. That’s the way the cookie crumbles.’
‘Then you’ll know what I mean when I say ‘alone’,’ he told her ignoring the plight of her comment.
‘Huh!’ she responded solemnly. ‘You tell me about it!’
He stared at her quizzically wondering why she had selected to sit with him out of all the other actors in the cast. He had never seen her before yet she had chosen to join him in the break. Perhaps it was simply a matter of coincidence or maybe it was something that Fate had chosen. He looked at her more closely. She seemed to be a warm person with a strong personality and he was to learn later that she had acted with another amateur dramatic society in the north for some years before moving to the south.
‘Where do you live?’ she asked him eventually.
‘Charnley,’ he replied casually.
‘I’m only a mile away at Passingford,’ she informed him with an element of excitement in her voice. ‘I can pick you up and bring you to rehearsal next Wednesday if you like.’
He shrugged his shoulders aimlessly. ‘I’m not sure I’m coming again,’ he admitted. ‘I’m really not in the mood any more.’
‘Nonsense!’ she spat sharply. ‘You’ve got to do something to get away from the past. Regardless of what happened and how you feel at the moment You have to move on otherwise your life with become a drudgery. You really have to move on!’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ he agreed solemnly, ‘but I don’t feel like doing so at the moment.’
‘Let me come over some evenings and cook for you,’ she suggested helpfully. ‘We could spend the evening together. I’m sure you’ve nothing else on your agenda. Talking about it can only do good. What do you do for a living?’
‘I’m the Assistant Manager of a major bank,’ he told her. ‘That was the problem. I spent so much time studying for the banking examinations over the past three years that I seemed to have neglected Elizabeth... although I didn’t realise it at the time. I believed that she supported me. I mean I was doing it for her as well. However, she worked in a legal firm and became involved with another man. You wouldn’t believe it but he’s married with a family. She gone with him in the belief that he’s going to leave his wife to live with her.’
‘Oh dear!‘ uttered Paula shaking her head slowly. ‘So many women fall for that ruse. I can never understand why they do so because it happens so very rarely.’
‘Well they’ve gone off to New York together so I think this must be one of those that’s true.’
‘You have to start putting her out of your mind and stop the self-pity,’ she pressed strongly.
‘Self-pity?’ he questioned. ‘Does it show?’
‘Like a beacon,’ she returned quickly. ‘Everyone can see you’re troubled and that’s not good. You’ve got to pull yourself together and move on!’
The sound of an alarm bell could be heard and the cast began to leave the cafeteria as the mid-break session ended. Waverley stared at the woman bleakly.
‘I suppose we’d better go back before the French Revolution’s over,’ he joked.
She laughed with amusement and stood up to go. ‘I’m glad you still have a sense of humour,’ she commended. ‘All I can say is that no man’s ever left me because there’s been no one in my life, but I can sympathise in the way you feel. Come on, let’s fight the fight on stage.’
The lef
t the cafeteria to go to the rehearsal room where the Director was giving commands to some of the major actors. Indeed, whatever the circumstances, the show had to go on!
***
On the following Wednesday, the doorbell rang and Waverley answered the call in his dressing-gown.
‘Miss Stratton,’ he greeted with an element of surprise. Even though she had told him that she would pick him up on the way to rehearsal he hadn’t taken her seriously.
‘Are you not ready?’ she asked, looking at him in his dressing-gown.
‘Come in,’ he invited calmly.
She glanced at her wristwatch and then entered. ‘Okay,’ she told him, ‘but we’ll have to leave soon or we’ll be late. You know what the Director’s like with late-comers. Naming and shaming!’
He led her to the lounge and pointed to the settee. She sat down hoping that he would throw off the dressing-gown to show that he was fully dressed and ready to go but he failed to do so.
‘We’re going to have flags and posters to wave about tonight,’ she told him. ‘That first scene outside the Bastille will really be something for the audience to see.’
‘I know,’ he responded.
‘Aren’t you going to get changed,’ she asked directly, concerned that they were going to be very late.
‘I’m not going,’ he said bluntly. ‘I’m giving it up altogether.’
‘Why?’ she demanded with an element of dismay in her voice. ‘It’s something you’ve always loved to do!
‘I’m tired of playing walk-on parts,’ he admitted candidly. ‘None of it seems worthwhile any more.’
‘Of course it is!’ she retorted curtly. ‘All that we do happened in reality many years ago. We’re representing part of history... acting out the lives of those characters who really lived and fought for freedom.’
‘If you say so,’ he commented tiredly, moving to the cocktail cabinet to pour himself a drink.
‘You’re not going to start drinking before you go, are you?’ she challenged irately.
‘I told you, I’m not going,’ he repeated slowly.
‘If you don’t, you’ll let down the rest of the cast,’ she chided.
‘Oh come on, Miss Stratton,‘ he returned, placing the glass of wine to his lips. ‘They can always find someone else to replace me in the blink of an eye.’
‘Just think of your past record with the company. I’ve looked you up in past programmes. Five parts in Annie, a good part in Grease, one in West Side Story, another in Carousel. I could go on. All excellent performances.’
‘You had no right to look up my past,’ he reproached idly.
‘It’s a matter of record, Neil!’ she snapped, called him by his first name. ‘All those wonderful performances. It would be a shame to give it up now for no real reason.’
‘You sound like a fan... an aficionado,’ he laughed, sipping his drink.
‘I think you’re a wonderful actor. Everyone in the audience has their eyes on you. You attract them like a moth to flame. Surely your wife told you that!’
‘My wife,’ he uttered bitterly. ‘Well she’s not around to see me any more.’
‘You’re a successful banker with a wonderful disposition, especially on the stage. You have your own house and probably plenty of money. I can’t understand why any woman would want to leave you.’
He became very moody as he considered her remarks and it moved him once again to despair. ‘Who would believe that someone who you loved... someone with who you shared your life... was having an affair with another man? It’s almost inconceivable.’
‘She’ll regret it in time. You wait and see. She’ll come back with her tail between her legs begging you to take her back.’
‘Not in this case,’ he told her sadly. ‘She’s in New York now. She won’t be coming back.’
‘Well, as I told you last week, you’ve got to move on. Now’s the perfect time to start. Your new life begins from today. No more thoughts about leaving the stage. Come on... get dressed! I’ll wait for you.’
‘You’ll be late if you do,’ he said mournfully.
‘I said I’ll wait for you!’ she retorted adamantly. ‘Get a move on!’
He grimaced at her words and then turned to go upstairs to dress more appropriately for the rehearsal. Paula picked up a magazine from the coffee table and flicked it open to look at the first page.
‘Thank you Elizabeth Waverley,’ she muttered to herself, ‘for giving me the chance. You really don’t know what you’ve given up, do you?’
She continued to turn over the pages until the banker came downstairs a short while later.
‘We’ll be quite late,’ he said with an element of dismay in his voice.
‘As long as they haven’t burnt down the Bastille,’ she responded.
He laughed for the first time since his wife left him. ‘You know you’re very funny,’ he told her. ‘Very funny!’
She rose from the settee and went to the door and he followed her out. The fact that someone was with him gave him more confidence and he stepped out of the house with an aim in mind. If Paula was with him, he would continue with The Carlton Theatre Group. It was important for him to continue the activities he had enjoyed so much in the past. Life had to go on whatever had happened!
Chapter Three
In a derelict dirty old warehouse in the East End of London, which was completely bereft of equipment and furniture with the exception of a few orange boxes, Fred Wilson and Sam Everett sat fervently cleaning their revolvers and shotguns. They were both in their early thirties and neither of them had been employed anywhere since they had left school. They lived in a slum area in the most derelict part of the district, self-employed in the art of larceny and burglary and had done so from a very young age. Thirty-two years earlier, Wilson had been left on a vacant doorstep as a baby in a tiny wicker crib and his life had been misdirected as a result of being fostered by several different families in his youth. It wasn’t too long before he acquired a criminal record hanging out with a local gang who vandalised every telephone box and park hut in the area and this worsened in time with various other nefarious activities.
He was seventeen when caught housebreaking by the owner of a property and that was the start of his criminal career following his arrest. Ultimately his future was destined to go southwards as he entered into a life of crime. When he was caught a second time, he was sentenced to serve three months in prison but he continued to steal after his release and, six months later, found himself back in the same prison. He disliked being incarcerated strongly, however it was on the cards that he would often be caught carrying out petty criminal offences whereby arrest would follow and he would be punished accordingly for longer periods as time went on. At the police station, his criminal record was legendary... it went on and on like Tennyson‘s brook. In time, he began to see the light with regard to petty crime and he decided to change tack. It was time to venture out into something much bigger... something far more rewarding. No longer would he burgle houses and sell the stolen goods to a fence who regularly cheated him on the true value of the proceeds. It was time to move into the big time and rob banks in order to make his nefarious efforts worthwhile.
Sam’s existence ran very much in the same vein. His father had left his mother to fend for herself when he was nine years old. They lived in poverty with his mother supported him by inviting strange men into her house every night time. As he entered his teenage years, he became a very confused child, especially as he mixed with the wrong company, and after being caught stealing a wallet from a man in Petticoat Lane, he had been arrested and sent to borstal to serve his sentence as a minor. After that, he too pursued a life of crime but thereafter he had managed to avoid being caught by the law. Then his mother died and, with nowhere else to go, he went to live with his father.
&
nbsp; Neither he nor Wilson ever felt the need to try to get on to the right tracks. They didn’t see any point in making the attempt. Their criminal records worked very heavily against them in that measure so they had no option but to continue with their nefarious activities. As Wilson used to boast: ‘At least we never have to pay any Income Tax’.’. However, after examining all the options, he managed to gather a small group of people in the East End of London, uniting them in a new major venture with regard to their criminal activities, joining them together to go for the big time... robbing banks! After all, crimes of this kind had been common practice for desperate criminals since time immemorial. They were simply engaging in the process for their own benefit.
In order to have a full team for this purpose, they had employed the services of two other recidivists. The first one was Brad Coverley who would drive the getaway car. He had never been arrested and lived with his mother, depending solely on benefits from the State. However, he became willing to participate with the others as they branched out in crime. He was tired of lounging around all day doing nothing except watching programmes on television and, after all, for a cut of the money stolen he would simply be driving the getaway car... nothing more dangerous than that. He wouldn‘t even have to hold a gun, let alone fire it so he agreed to join them, The second man was Ginger Scott who would make up the numbers by menacing customers and bank staff with a shotgun. It could be said that Ginger was a loose cannon. He had started smoking at the age of eleven and moved on to drugs at fourteen years of age and, in the vernacular, he was short of a full pack... but not retarded... just very backward. His truancy record at school was so bad that he was expelled early in his fourteenth year. From then on he pursued a life of crime, becoming an expert pickpocket and he had even burgled a few houses. To his credit, he had never been arrested by the police nor had he ever gone to prison. However he was a menace to society in terms of civic attitude as well as sometimes to himself.