Aunt Bessie Decides

by Diana Xarissa

  “Oh, this can’t be right,” Bessie said as the little group reached a small roped-off section right in front of the temporary stage.

  “Henry said we’re to make ourselves at home in the VIP section,” Rockwell told her.

  “Oh no,” Bessie said, shaking her head. “I didn’t buy VIP tickets. Henry shouldn’t give us special treatment just because we’re friends.”

  “Ah, we’re more than friends.” The voice came from behind Bessie and she quickly turned around to greet the speaker.

  “Fastyr mie, Henry,” Bessie greeted the man in Manx. She and Henry had already known each other for many years before they’d both taken the same beginner’s class in the Manx language, and the class, which Doona also attended, had strengthened their friendship.

  “Oh, fastyr mie,” Henry replied with a grin. He was in his fifties and had worked for Manx National Heritage since he’d left school. “Now, this VIP section is for you and you friends,” Henry told Bessie, unhooking one of the ropes from the short poles that had been pushed into the ground and motioning for Bessie and the others to enter.

  “Now, Henry,” Bessie said firmly. “I didn’t pay for special treatment. We’ll just set up our picnic on the grass out here like everyone else.”

  Henry flushed and took a step closer to Bessie. “Ah, Bessie, I know you don’t like anyone to make a fuss over you, but, well….” He glanced around and lowered his voice, even though there was no one around to overhear him.

  “The thing is,” he confided, “everyone else has cancelled, like. The VIP section was meant to be full. It was booked by some group of bankers from Douglas who were going to bring their families. We set it up to accommodate forty people, like. But when we called this afternoon to let them know about the change in the programme, they cancelled. Now we have this big space, right in front of the stage, and no one to use it. We can’t take the whole section down; the actors have already seen it. And I don’t want to put just anyone in here. Besides which, there aren’t that many folks here anyway. I’d be ever so grateful if you and your friends would sit in here. If you can spread out and try to look like a whole crowd, that’d be great too.”

  Doona laughed. “I reckon I look like at least two people these days,” she told Henry. “I’ll do my part.”

  Bessie frowned at her pretty friend. Doona was taller than Bessie and somewhat heavier. A couple of eventful months meant that Doona had added a few extra pounds to her somewhat generous build, but her highlighted hair and bright green eyes remained unchanged. Bessie knew the eye colour was courtesy of coloured contact lenses, but she had been relieved lately to see some of Doona’s zest for life shining out of them again.

  “Exercise classes start Monday,” Rockwell said to Doona with a grin. “I’ll make a fool of myself in beginning aerobics if you will.”

  Doona smiled. “I told you I’m willing to come to one class and try it,” she answered. “No promises after that.”

  Rockwell had recently taken over the running of the small police station in Laxey and one of his new innovations was adding an exercise facility to the site. He’d brought his own exercise bike, treadmill and weights from home, and the department had paid to have a matted floor laid in the small storage room that the Chief Constable had given permission for them to convert. Now Rockwell had persuaded one of the local gyms to offer exercise classes at the station three mornings a week.

  “I’m not going to be trying it,” Hugh said firmly. “I’ll stick to lifting weights a couple of times a week.”

  “I know I’m not invited,” Bessie grinned. “But I’d be sticking to walking anyway.” Bessie walked on the beach outside her cottage home every day, enjoying the fresh sea air and the exercise. She was sure her morning walks were one of the secrets of her long life and continued good health.

  The group made their way into the VIP area and Hugh finally put down the hampers he’d been carrying since they’d left the car. “Where do you want to set up, then?” he asked, surveying the area.

  “That’s where the troupe is going to be getting changed between scenes and whatever,” Henry told them, pointing to a small tent that was set up immediately to the right of the VIP section.

  “Let’s spread out as far away from them as we can, then,” Bessie suggested. “Watching them dash in and out throughout the show might be distracting.”

  “Or it might be entertaining,” Doona suggested with a laugh.

  “There’s another small group booked into the VIP section,” Henry told them now as Doona and Grace each grabbed picnic blankets and began to lay them out on the grass. “Make sure you leave enough room for them. I think there’s about five in their group.”

  Doona nodded. “We aren’t even using half the space,” she told Henry. “They’ll have plenty of room to spread out.”

  Within minutes, Grace and Doona had four blankets laid down together to make a large rectangle for the group to sit on. Hugh had set out plates, napkins and cutlery while Rockwell opened his own hamper and started unpacking the goodies inside.

  Bessie unpacked cold ham, loaves of crusty bread, and a selection of cheeses. She had pork pies and Scotch eggs as well as enough sandwiches to give everyone in the group at least two. She pulled out a few plastic containers filled with various salads and added them to the collection.

  “My goodness,” Bessie exclaimed as the hampers were emptied and the food spread out across one blanket. “We have enough for an army.” Half an hour later, she was reconsidering that remark, as nearly all of the food had disappeared.

  “I’m stuffed,” Doona announced, lying back on the blanket.

  “That’s just as well,” Bessie told her. “There isn’t a lot of food left.”

  Doona laughed. “I noticed that. We may have to buy something from the vendors to keep us going through the show.”

  “I’m planning on it,” Hugh announced.

  Everyone laughed.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Grace asked. “I think I’d explode if I ate as much as you do.”

  Bessie grinned at the young woman. “I don’t think anyone can eat as much as Hugh,” she told her. “Although I do think young Thomas tried.”

  Thomas blushed. “I was really hungry,” he told Bessie. “I didn’t eat much lunch.”

  Rockwell laughed. “Teenaged boys are always hungry,” he remarked. “They have a lot of growing to do.”

  “Well, there’s meant to be an interval. I think we should all get something from the vendors then. They’ve turned up expecting to cater to a crowd and they certainly don’t have one,” Bessie said.

  “I think….” Doona cut her comment short when a sudden flurry of activity at the entrance to the small tent next to them caught everyone’s attention.

  “This is the dressing room?” The voice was loud and strident. “We’ve sunk to a new low now, haven’t we?”

  “Hush, Penny, someone will hear you.” The second voice was much quieter, but still carried clearly over the short distance to where Bessie and her friends were sitting.

  They watched with interest as the two speakers, both of whom had their backs to them, struggled with the tent flaps. They were both dressed in jeans and T-shirts, and from the back Bessie was uncertain as to either person’s gender. Both were carrying large boxes that were filled to overflowing with what must have been costumes. Finally, one of them managed to find an opening and the pair slipped into the tent.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Doona said. “I would have thought they would have been in costume ready to go by now, though. The show is meant to start in twenty minutes or so, isn’t it?”

  Rockwell shrugged. “And I would have thought there would be a lot more of them, as well,” he said.

  Bessie opened her mouth to reply, but she was interrupted by activity in another direction. Henry was ushering a small group towards the VIP section.

  “Oh, my heavens,” Doona gasped when she noticed the group. “It can’t be.”

  “Wh
at can’t be?” Bessie asked.

  “That man, it can’t be, can it?” Doona said, staring at the group with Henry.

  “I think it might be,” Grace giggled from her spot on the blanket next to Hugh. “I really think it might be.”

  Bessie looked at Inspector Rockwell, who shrugged and shook his head.

  “It’s Scott Carson, isn’t it?” young Amy whispered in an awed tone.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Doona hissed back.

  “I can’t believe it,” Grace giggled. “It really is.”

  “Who’s Scott Carson?” Bessie asked, looking from one flushed face to the next in confusion.

  “Shhhhh, he’ll hear you,” Doona said.

  “I can’t believe you don’t know who he is,” Amy said, giggling again.

  The group had now reached the ropes and Henry stopped to unhook the rope that marked the entrance.

  “Here you are, then,” he said. “That half of the space is all yours.”

  “That’s simply not acceptable.” The woman who spoke glanced around the small area and then shook her head. “We must have the entire space to ourselves. Mr. Carson needs to be protected from, well, ordinary people.”

  The man himself laughed. “Knock it off, Candy,” he said, smiling at Henry and then nodding towards Bessie’s group. “This is absolutely fine. I’m sure these lovely folks are just here to enjoy the show, same as us.”

  “Oh, but Scott….” the woman began.

  He held up a hand. “Really, Candy, enough. This is fine.” He turned to Henry and gave him a huge smile. “Thank you so much,” he said, offering a hand. Henry took it cautiously. When Henry pulled his hand back, he looked at it and then shook his head.

  “Oh, no,” he said, holding up the note that Scott had slipped to him. “I don’t need tipping for just doing my job.”

  Scott tried to wave the money away, but Henry insisted on giving it back to him. “Thank you kindly, anyway,” he said, giving the man an awkward bow as he hastily left the VIP section.

  Scott grinned at Bessie’s little group. “Good evening,” he said loudly in what Bessie took to be an American accent. “I’m Scott Carson and I’m beyond excited to be here.”

  Doona got to her feet and made a beeline for the handsome man. “Hello, there,” she said excitedly when she reached him. “I’m Doona Moore.”

  “Very nice to meet you, Doona,” the man said, offering a hand. Doona took it and then turned pink as her hand touched his.

  Bessie had risen to her feet more slowly and now she joined the others who were also now standing and making their way towards the new arrivals.

  Whoever the man was, Bessie had to admit to herself that he was gorgeous. His sandy brown hair fell in a very carefully haphazard fashion to frame a nearly perfect face. A small scar across his chin gave him a slightly dangerous look and his dark eyes provided an attractive contrast to his light hair. He looked to be somewhere around forty and he seemed to tower over Doona, whose hand he was still holding.

  “I’m John Rockwell, CID Inspector with the Isle of Man Constabulary,” Rockwell told Scott, holding out his hand.

  Scott grinned and then, seemingly reluctantly, released Doona’s hand to shake Rockwell’s. “Nice to meet you,” Scott said.

  “These are my children, Thomas and Amy,” Rockwell introduced the children who shook hands politely. Amy giggled again and then hid behind her father and brother.

  “I’m Grace Christian,” Grace said, her face flushed with excitement.

  “And it’s a pleasure to meet you as well,” Scott said, taking her hand. Bessie watched as the man’s eyes moved up and down Grace’s slender figure. Grace turned a brighter shade of pink under his inspection. She was fair-skinned, with blonde hair and blue eyes, and Bessie could see even the back of her neck turning pink.

  “And I’m Hugh Watterson,” Hugh interjected, quickly shoving his hand out. “I’m with Grace.”

  “Lucky you,” Scott remarked casually, releasing Grace’s hand to shake Hugh’s.

  “And I’m Elizabeth Cubbon,” Bessie told him. “Everyone calls me Bessie, so you may as well, but I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest idea who you are.”

  Scott laughed. “How refreshingly honest of you,” he said with a smile. “I’m not really anyone special.”

  “Bessie doesn’t watch television,” Doona told the man, slipping an arm around Bessie’s shoulders. “I’m sure she’d be a huge fan if she did.”

  “Am I to take it you’re a fan, then?” Scott asked, giving Doona a beautiful smile.

  “Oh, definitely,” Doona enthused. “Bessie, Mr. Carson is the newest star of Market Square, Britain’s favourite daily soap. I watch it every night or I record it, if I can’t watch.”

  Bessie nodded. “Sorry,” she said to the man. “As Doona says, I don’t watch television.”

  Scott shrugged. “Not everyone can be a fan,” he said.

  “But everyone should,” Scott’s companion chimed in now.

  “Ah, Candy,” Scott grinned. “Everyone, may I present my manager, Candy Sparkles?”

  Everyone turned to look at the woman who had now thrown an arm around Scott. She was older than her client. Bessie guessed her to be somewhere around fifty, but it was hard to be certain. Candy was so deeply tanned as to resemble old leather and her face had a strange, sort of permanently surprised look to it that suggested that she’d had some sort of surgery on it. Her long blonde hair looked brittle and dry, and huge dark sunglasses shaded her eyes. Her curves were extremely generous, something else that Bessie suspected had had outside assistance.

  “It’s great to meet ya’ll,” Candy drawled in a southern American accent. “I hope you don’t think I’m too rude,” she continued in a low and husky voice that sounded as if it had been honed on whiskey and four packs of cigarettes a day. “I’m just always trying to protect Scott. You all seem like nice enough folks, but you wouldn’t believe what people can be like. He’s been nearly trampled to death by rabid fans. That’s why we have the bodyguards, you know.” Candy motioned to the two men who were standing behind her. They were nearly carbon copies of one another, dressed all in black with dark glasses and determinedly expressionless faces.

  “And because you love having big strong men around,” Scott said in a teasing tone.

  Candy laughed wickedly. “You’ve got me on that one,” she said, slapping Scott’s back. “I do love having them around.”

  “The show’s meant to start in fifteen minutes or so,” Scott said, after a glance at his watch. “I guess we’d better get settled in.”

  Candy nodded. “Carl, go and get our stuff,” she instructed one of the bodyguards. He nodded once and then turned and headed back out towards the small crowd that was dotted around on the grass behind them.

  The second man turned and stood facing the crowd, his arms linked behind his back. Bessie was childishly tempted to wave a hand in front of his face to see if he reacted. Clearly Candy had a similar thought as she studied the mountainous man, but Candy didn’t have any qualms about acting on hers. Candy walked around behind the guard and Bessie almost gasped when she saw the other woman reach out and pinch his bottom. The man didn’t visibly react to the touch, and Candy just laughed when Scott told her to behave.

  A few moments later, Carl was back with his arms full, and Bessie and her friends retreated to their half of the area and watched. Two folding chairs were set up and then rearranged repeatedly until Candy was satisfied. A picnic hamper was opened and a bottle of wine extracted. Candy filled two glasses and handed one to Scott.

  “I guess we’re ready for show time,” Candy said with a grin as she took a healthy sip of her drink.

  “Cheers,” Scott said, smiling over at Doona, who flushed and then raised her own glass in a toast with the handsome actor.

  The pair settled into their seats and the two guards took up position right behind them, both planting themselves firmly in place with their eyes fixed on something in the distan
ce above Scott’s and Candy’s heads.

  There was another flurry of activity at the small tent. Bessie watched as a couple of people went into the tent. A moment later, a woman walked out. She glanced casually over at the VIP section and Bessie was surprised when she saw the colour drain from the woman’s face. The woman spun around and went back into the tent. A moment later, everyone in the VIP section could hear raised voices coming from the tent. The sound was muffled, and Bessie couldn’t make out any words, but clearly there was an argument taking place in the makeshift dressing room.

  A few moments later the tent flap opened again. This time a tall man, dressed as a king or perhaps a nobleman, strode out. He seemed to deliberately avoid looking towards the audience as he took the few short steps to the side of the stage. There he had a quick conversation with Bob, who was standing at the light and sound control panels. Bob nodded and then the man headed back into the tent, without looking around.

  “Um, hello,” Bob’s voice came out over the tannoy. “I just wanted to let you all know that the show will be starting in about ten minutes. If you haven’t already done so, please take a minute to read the introduction in your programme so that you, um, know what to expect.”

  “I forgot to pass around the programmes,” Bessie exclaimed. She quickly dug into her handbag and pulled out the stack of papers that Bob had given her. There were more than enough to go around and she was happy to pass a couple to Scott and Candy as well. Once everyone had a copy, Bessie settled in to take Bob’s advice and read the play’s introduction.

  Shakespeare’s boring.

  Shakespeare’s hard to understand.

  Shakespeare’s not relevant anymore.

  How often do we hear, or even say that?

  And yet, theatre groups around the world still insist on performing Shakespeare’s work as it was written. Oh, sometimes someone might try to give it a more modern twist, but basically, if you “do” Shakespeare, you’re expected to follow his script.