Nine Till Three and Summers Free

by Mike Kent

  Since Gerry was also determined to bring a little culture into the proceedings, he had compiled a small programme booklet, containing a few notes about the feature and the three supporting short films, followed by two paragraphs about the society and its intentions. He had also persuaded four of the local shops to pay a small sum in return for having their services advertised in the programme, and this had covered the cost of producing the booklet. On the last two pages, he had put a list of possible future films, with a request that students should put a tick against any they would like us to show in the future.

  Leaving no stone unturned in our efforts to ensure a successful evening, we’d also spent a frustrating Saturday morning in the park trying to photograph Samantha holding a selection of refreshments that would be available during the interval. Unfortunately, after a handful of photographs the session had been threatened by rain and an elderly park keeper who stated that he was sick of photographers from soft porn magazines taking pictures of girls in his park. When we pointed out that we were trustworthy academic students from the local training college, he said it wouldn’t have surprised him if we were the bleedin’ lot who had tried to nick a goose off the pond last week, and he would appreciate it if we left, right now.

  Our original intention had been to show the advertisements on one of the geography department’s slide projectors. Since Gerry flatly refused to consider another encounter with Miss Pratt, Duggan had said he would go and ask her, provided Gerry agreed to copy up some science notes for him. Assuming her discussion with Dr Bradley was mainly responsible, Duggan was pleased to discover Miss Pratt’s attitude towards the society had mellowed considerably. He was even more surprised when she enquired, with interest, how the film about the miller went.

  ‘She’s bringing the slide projector herself,’ Duggan announced when he returned from her lecture room. ‘She’s going to bring some slides as well. She said something about her holiday on the Isle of Wight.’

  ‘What?’ Gerry gasped, looking up from the desk where he was making tickets with a children’s John Bull printing outfit. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘She’s coming to run the thing herself,’ Duggan repeated. Gerry’s jaw dropped, and he caught his pipe as it was about to fall into his lap.

  ‘What? With her slides? What d’you mean, run the thing herself?’

  ‘I couldn’t really refuse, could I? She says she’s taken about forty slides of birdlife in Shanklin and she thought they would probably go down quite well.’

  Gerry sat transfixed, staring at him across the room. ‘Duggan, you didn’t actually agree to…’

  ‘I couldn’t refuse. I mean, she asked so nicely.’

  ‘But… but…’

  ‘He’s messing about,’ I said. ‘She’d never come near the place.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Gerry cried, accidentally printing a ticket on the back of his hand, ‘I thought you were serious. I tell you, if you’d been serious I wouldn’t have been there…’

  But Miss Pratt did come. Three other lecturers came too, including Miss Bottle, who had dressed for the occasion as if she was attending a gala premiere in Leicester Square. About a hundred students and their friends crowded into the small lecture theatre just before seven thirty, and despite the already inflated price for balcony seats, there was an immediate scramble for them. Deciding on the spur of the moment that the balcony represented the ideal seller’s market, Duggan doubled the price and was astonished when nobody objected. Outside the hall, Dudley Hornpipe had set up a hot dog stand to raise money for charity and he beamed at the business that flocked in his direction before the show had even started.

  As the house lights were switched off and the coloured bulbs around the screen slowly dimmed into darkness, I experienced a momentary pang of anxiety. Suppose a projector failed, or a lamp blew, or somebody accidentally trod on a loudspeaker wire. Everything had been fine during the afternoon run-through, but now the moment we had planned for during the past six weeks had finally arrived and we wanted it to be right. I glanced round at Gerry, operating the second projector, and Gerry grinned back at me happily. Keeping my fingers crossed, I flicked the machine into life. The MGM Tom and Jerry logo flashed onto the screen and the familiar opening theme filled the auditorium. Not expecting a cartoon, the audience roared with delighted approval. It felt, I thought, just like the Saturday morning picture shows I’d loved as a child.

  Gerry’s choice of award-winning short films that filled the first half of the programme had been well chosen, and there was something for all tastes. After the second film, Dudley shrewdly moved his hot dog stand into the doorway, contravening every fire regulation but sending a tempting smell of sausage, fried onions and ketchup across the first ten rows. As students succumbed to slipping out and buying another one, Gerry realised, along with other members of the audience, that his pamphlet of programme notes was almost tailor-made to wrap around Dudley’s hot dogs.

  By the time the interval arrived, the popularity of the evening had been assured. Samantha battled to keep in line the queue that formed to buy drinks, crisps and nuts from her, and she was invited out to dinner nine times before she managed to appeal for some assistance from Rashid’s girlfriend and Barton’s muscle. In ten minutes she had sold everything on the table, and she made a mental note to order double the amount next time. Then she carried the last two cans of orange up to the back of the lecture theatre, handed one to Gerry and the other to me, and then snuggled into the cramped space beside me. Then the hall lights dimmed again in readiness for the main film of the evening.

  There was a brief moment of panic in the second half of the programme. The Glenn Miller Story had obviously been hired out many times and a splice came apart in the first reel. For a moment, the screen was flooded with white light while Gerry carried out a hurried temporary repair, teeth clenched firmly on his pipe, and muttering under his breath. I flashed one of the slides he had prepared for just such an emergency onto the screen, stating that the film would continue as soon as the projectionist had returned from the lavatory. There was a sympathetic cheer from the crowded hall.

  The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, and ninety minutes later, as the Glenn Miller Story moved into its final reel, I glanced around in contentment at the audience and savoured the moment.

  ‘I think your film society is going to be very successful,’ Samantha whispered. ‘Especially if tonight is anything to go by.’ In the warmth and closeness of the evening, I could smell her perfume and I was captivated by her beauty. I moved very close to her and kissed her hair softly.

  ‘Do you fancy coming up in the balcony?’ I said quietly. ‘Duggan could take over here.’

  ‘Now come on,’ she smiled, ‘Keep your eye on your projector. You don’t want them all asking for their money back, do you?’

  ‘It’s your fault. You shouldn’t smell so gorgeous. I could really…’

  ‘I know you could. Watch Glenn Miller instead.’

  The music swelled as the last scene of the film came to an end and the credits began to appear on the screen. The students applauded and cheered enthusiastically and when the lights were turned on they sat chatting contentedly to each other for a few minutes before gradually moving towards the door. The couples in the balcony, many of whom hadn’t even noticed that the lights had come back on, seemed very disappointed that it was all over and put their coats on slowly. Barton emerged from under his enormous trench coat, and a tiny but very pretty redheaded student he had met at a rock concert the week before emerged a moment later.

  ‘Great stuff, lads,’ he said, taking a deep breath. ‘Going to be weekly, is it?’

  ‘Probably,’ said Duggan. ‘If the next few evenings are as successful as this, we won’t go into teaching, we’ll go into entertainment. Enjoy the film?’

  ‘Certainly did. Bit frightening, though. That’s why Deidre kept dragging me under the coat.’
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  Deidre shuffled with embarrassment and her cheeks reddened.

  ‘You lying sod,’ she said. ‘You told me you were cold. I wanted to watch the film.’

  ‘Really? I didn’t get that impression.’

  Deidre’s cheeks became redder, Barton grinned sheepishly, and he gently steered her towards the door. When the hall had finally emptied, Gerry carefully packed the projectors into their pristine cardboard boxes, and locked them in the large cupboards behind the screen, where Miss Pratt had insisted they were to be kept overnight. Duggan took down the screen lights and dismantled the sound system, while Samantha cleared the litter that had been dropped during the course of the evening. Then, flushed with the success of the venture, the four of us walked slowly back to Duggan’s room.

  ‘Are you going to chance my coffee, Samantha?’ Duggan asked.

  ‘Coffee? I think it ought to be a gin and tonic at the very least. Especially after all the work I’ve done for you lot tonight.’

  Duggan put his arm round her shoulders and pulled her to him. ‘I know. We couldn’t have done it without you. You’re a treasure. Isn’t she, Mike? I tell you what, I’ve got a teeny bottle of scotch in my drawer somewhere. I bought it after a hard day on teaching practice. You can have a drop in your coffee.’

  Gerry pushed the door of Duggan’s room open and heaved the bag of money onto the table.

  ‘We seem to have made a staggering amount by the look of things,’ he said. ‘At this rate we’ll soon be able to hire Ben Hur in 70mm and six track stereo. I’ll put the kettle on. You and Mike count the money.’

  After ten minutes of concentrated counting, Duggan looked up.

  ‘Wow!’ he cried, ‘This is bloody amazing. And I haven’t done the drinks money yet. Or the percentage from the hot dogs.’

  ‘What percentage from the hot dogs?’ Gerry asked.

  ‘Dudley’s stall. I said we’d expect fifteen per cent of his takings for letting him flog his food to our patrons. Actually, I was joking, but he agreed straightaway. Well, we might as well have it, eh? And the drinks. We seem to have done very well on them. Or at least, Samantha did. And Gerry hasn’t paid for the three wafer biscuits he nicked at the run-through this afternoon.’

  ‘What wafer biscuits?’

  ‘The wafer biscuits I saw you eating just after the Tom and Jerry.’

  ‘I didn’t have any wafer biscuits.’

  ‘Yes you did. You took Tom and Jerry off the projector and asked me where Glenn Miller was. Only you couldn’t, because your mouth was full of wafer biscuits.’

  ‘I’m sure it wasn’t me. What did they look like?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The wafer biscuits.’

  ‘They looked like wafer biscuits. Things in foil paper. Exactly like the two hundred we sold. Only we sold a hundred and ninety seven because you ate three.’

  ‘Oh, those wafer biscuits.’

  ‘Yep. They’re the ones.’

  ‘You’re not seriously thinking of charging me for those, are you?’

  ‘Well, I want the accounts to be straight. After all, the committee won’t be able to afford a decent holiday if members start consuming all the profits.’

  ‘Could I pay it in instalments?’

  ‘Bugger off.’

  The kettle boiled and Samantha added water and milk to the coffee granules and then handed the mugs around.

  ‘But that money’s supposed to be going to charity,’ she said doubtfully to Duggan.

  ‘Yes, I know. Quite a lot of it isn’t, though. About ninety per cent of it isn’t. I mean, I’ve got to have a new suit sometime, and you have to admit I’ve worked very hard for it. Painting posters, cutting up tickets, switching lights on and off, masterminding tonight’s very successful show…’

  Samantha looked distinctly upset.

  ‘You can’t do that,’ she objected. ‘I thought you were just paying for the hire of the films and then sending any profit to the children’s hospital?’

  ‘Is that what you thought, Sam? You really thought we were going to send all this money to the children’s hospital?’

  ‘Of course I did. I wouldn’t have…’

  ‘But what on earth would they do with it all?’

  Samantha looked at him sharply and her eyes flashed angrily. ‘What do you mean, what would they do with it all? That’s a really stupid question, isn’t it? I would have thought…’

  ‘He’s winding you up, Sam,’ I said quietly. Samantha turned to look at Duggan, and he grinned sheepishly.

  ‘I’m winding you up,’ he said.

  ‘Then you’re a rotten sod.’

  ‘I know. I’m a rotten sod. I’ll buy you a gin and tonic to make up for it. Not out of the profits, though. Honest.’

  Gerry yawned and stretched his arms.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’m going to bed. I’m worn out with lifting equipment, and I’ll have to get that lot back to Miss Pratt tomorrow.’

  ‘We’ll have to get it all out again on Wednesday,’ said Duggan. ‘We’re doing the free show for St Bernard’s boys.’

  ‘Oh yes. I’d forgotten about that.’

  ‘I’ll come and help,’ Samantha offered. ‘It’s my afternoon off. I don’t mind doing refreshments again if somebody keeps the children in a reasonable queue.’

  ‘That’d be great. They’re sending a few teachers, so we won’t even have to look after them. It’ll be a straightforward, no nonsense, entertaining film show for a group of under-privileged kids.’

  ‘We need to get in a few more boxes of wafer biscuits,’ said Duggan.

  ‘Good,’ Gerry agreed. ‘I rather like those.’

  ‘It’s been noticed. The committee trusts this shrinkage problem won’t escalate, don’t we, Mike?’

  Gerry got up and stretched his arms. ‘Let’s get this money locked away,’ he said. ‘Then we can drink to the success of the evening, and go to bed.’

  Duggan raised his eyebrows. ‘What, all of us together?’

  ‘I’m not sure how to resist,’ Samantha said. ‘Mike, tear me away and take me home. I’ll see you both on Wednesday. I’ll put on my riot gear for the wafer biscuit queue.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Duggan happily. ‘It’ll be an absolute doddle.’

  (v)

  Since St Bernard’s was a school for boys with behavioural and emotional problems, the arrangements for the show had been made with meticulous care.

  Shortly after Samantha had suggested the idea, I’d sent an invitation to the school, suggesting that if things went successfully, we could possibly make it into a regular event. A pleasant letter had arrived several days later, thanking us for our kind offer and asking if they could send a group of about twenty boys, accompanied by several teachers. That seemed fine, so I’d telephoned and said that one of us would meet the party outside the college gates at two o’clock. I also mentioned that although the show wouldn’t cost the school anything, the boys might want to bring a little money to buy some sweets and crisps in the interval. We’d changed the programme a little too, leaving out the short supporting films and adding another cartoon instead.

  On the Wednesday afternoon, still flushed with the success of our first night, we set the equipment up again in the lecture theatre, while Samantha organised what seemed to be developing into a confectionery shop by the wall. Since the earlier show, she’d charmed an arrangement with a newsagent close to her library, who’d offered her a range of inexpensive snacks and confectionery, on sale or return, at a very reasonable price.

  ‘This is very impressive, Sam,’ I said admiringly. ‘You’ve got a greater range than Woolworths.’

  Samantha laughed. ‘Not bad, is it. I’ll probably sell a lot of it too. So long as the kids bring a reasonable amount of money. I’ve got some packets of drink here. Give me a hand to put them out. T
hen you’ll have to go down to the gates. It’s almost quarter to two.’

  When everything had been prepared, Gerry and I walked to the entrance, half expecting the party to be waiting there already. At ten minutes past two, Gerry looked up and down the busy main road, and then at his watch.

  ‘They’re late,’ he muttered. ‘They’ll have to come soon. The modern dance lot have got a slide lecture in the theatre at five.’

  ‘Don’t panic. They probably missed their bus or something.’

  ‘I just like things to start when they’re meant to, that’s all. If they said they were going to be here by two, then they should be here by two. I suppose they’ve got the right date?’

  ‘Of course they have. Stop worrying. Anyway, we can always drop one of the cartoons.’

  ‘Maybe. Trouble is, the cartoons are probably what they’ll enjoy most.’

  After another ten minutes, I began to feel uneasy, and Gerry was pacing the pavement alarmingly.

  ‘Look, I’ll go and phone,’ I suggested. ‘You go back up to the theatre and let Duggan know. It’s warmer up there. I’ll join you in a minute.’

  When I eventually managed to get through, and a message had been relayed to somebody who knew what I was talking about, I was assured the party had left in good time for the show and should have arrived about half an hour ago. I left a message with the caretaker to direct the party towards the lecture theatre, and hurried back to the others.

  ‘It’s alright,’ I assured them. ‘They’re definitely coming.’

  ‘The bus has probably broken down,’ said Samantha.