Wicked!

by Jilly Cooper

  ‘That’s my Jade in cerise,’ said Stancombe loudly to Dame Hermione.

  ‘That’s my Cosmo playing Lord Capulet in a navy military jacket,’ said Hermione even more loudly.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Janna.

  ‘Don’t wepwove Dame Hermione,’ hissed a horrified Ashton.

  Cosmo, having played the genial host, whipped off his jacket and joined the Cosmonaughties and Kylie Rose in a number he’d composed called ‘Cocks and Rubbers’, the words of which were fortunately obscured by the din of the band. Looking at Cosmo’s pale dangerous face, ebony curls flopping maniacally as he lashed his guitar, Janna thought: That is one whole lot of gorgeous trouble.

  Then the stage cleared for Feral and Bianca’s tango. Never taking their eyes off each other, talking through their bodies as they danced, their red-hot passion branded the floorboards. Rupert, woken by his wife just in time to watch them, led the bravoes and thunderous applause. This resulted in two encores, which broke the mood for Paris’s big entrance.

  ‘Oh poor boy,’ muttered Janna in anguish as the applause petered out.

  ‘He’ll be OK,’ whispered Hengist.

  And Janna moved her body against his so the comforting hand he’d laid on top of hers couldn’t be seen from behind by Ashton and Crispin. Any minute, she imagined Crispin’s fourth chin resting on her shoulder so he could peep over.

  Despite a balloon bursting and Rocky now dressed as a waiter nudging him in the back, saying hoarsely: ‘Nibbles anyone?’ Paris remained motionless, waiting until he’d got everyone’s attention, gazing in wonder at the young girl in white muslin standing with the shy dignity of the daughter of the house at the foot of the stairs.

  Pausing for five seconds on that first ‘“Oh!”’ then, glancing up at the flambeaux flickering round the room, he murmured: ‘“She doth teach the torches to burn bright!”’

  ‘Christ,’ murmured Theo and Artie.

  I must have that boy at Bagley, thought Hengist.

  Offered another swig of Courvoisier from his flask, Janna shook her head, refusing to be distracted for a second. As Paris ended his speech, vowing he’d never seen true beauty till this night, you could have heard a pin and also the jaw of Dora Belvedon drop.

  At the moment Paris fell in love with his Juliet, Dora felt herself blasted by similar lightning, as if she was seeing Paris for the first time, and he had become as beautiful, remote and beyond her reach as a stained-glass saint in the chapel.

  He was even more heartbreaking in the balcony scene. Cosmo had given her five rolls of film to capture misbehaviour to flog to the nationals. Dora used them all on Paris. Even when Anatole and Feral were being killed off, she could only think of him. The wound made by Cupid’s arrow was like the one in Mercutio’s side.

  ‘“Not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but ’tis enough, ’twill serve.”’

  Dora moaned in terror. She had lost control of her life.

  In the dark beside Hengist, Janna had never been prouder or happier, breathing in lemon aftershave, rejoicing as his shout of laughter and the thunderclap of his big hands set off the rest of the audience.

  In the interval, reality reasserted itself. Janna resisted going backstage, terrified of intruding. She’d lost so much confidence. She’d just found Tim and Mags and a large glass of wine, when Vicky emerged to hearty cheering from the Tusk Force.

  She looked enchanting in jeans and an old petrol-blue jersey, her hair in a ponytail, make-up lightly but carefully applied. Janna was ashamed to find herself wondering if Vicky had got Pearl to add the smudge on her cheek and the violet shadows beneath her eyes.

  ‘So sorry I’m not dressed, everyone,’ she cried, ‘it’s hard to rush round backstage in high heels and glad rags. Is it all right? I’m so close to it!’

  The Tusk Force, except for Crispin who had a mouth full of cocktail sausages, assured her it was simply wonderful.

  Janna steeled herself to invade the ring of admirers. ‘Brilliant, Vicky, congratulations.’

  ‘Your productions were so wonderful at Redfords’ – Vicky hugged Janna – ‘I so wanted not to let you down.’

  ‘No danger of that,’ said Ashton, ‘Pawis Alvaston is headed for stardom, I would say.’

  ‘I must rush and have a word with Mummy and Daddy in the auditorium.’

  ‘I hope you’ll bring them to the party later,’ said a passing Hengist, ‘they must be very proud.’

  Even with Feral and Anatole killed off, the second half was full of incident. Boffin Brooks had surreptitiously put back the lines cut out of his long speeches as the Friar, and the audience started slow handclapping.

  Johnnie Fowler-Upper, as he was now known, had a heavenly time in the bedroom scene, lighting up Juliet’s Barbie dolls and Justin Timberlake posters, the Hon. Jack and Kylie snogging illicitly in another corner of the stage, Milly’s boobs twice, Paris nude three times, the beauty of his slender wide-shouldered body causing several masters and Ashton to drop their binoculars.

  ‘Very tasteful and dignified,’ cried Chantal, seizing Hermione’s opera glasses. ‘May word, what a botty.’

  Hoots of laughter greeted Monster’s chemist shop offering Durex at £10 and Viagra at 50p. The mood was brought back on course by Cosmo, no longer the brutal father, but deranged with grief over his daughter. ‘“Death lies on her, like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.”’

  Then, not on stage until the next act, Cosmo belted off to conduct the orchestra as they broke into galloping music. Suddenly the audience was startled by a clatter of hooves, the doors flew open and Paris thundered up the gangway. Unfazed by the screams and cheers, Beluga reached the pit and slithered to a halt, but as Paris chucked his reins to a starry-eyed, blushing Dora, he realized someone – no doubt Cosmo – had removed his plank.

  Should he jump off and race round backstage, which would wreck the momentum, or risk falling into the pit? He chose the latter and scrambled on to Beluga’s slippery saddle.

  ‘Careful,’ cried Dora in anguish as he took a massive leap, crashing on to the ill-lit stage, struggling to his feet before disappearing into the Capulets’ mausoleum.

  ‘Oh, my brave lad,’ gasped Janna.

  Even when Paris launched into the ‘Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace!’ speech and someone yelled: ‘She’s not dead yet, you berk,’ he held the mood.

  Tears were pouring down Janna’s face and even Rupert was blowing his nose on Taggie’s paper handkerchief as Paris drank purple flavoured water out of Sally’s scent bottle, which had once contained Beautiful, and collapsed on Milly, gasping:

  ‘“Thus with a kiss, I die”,’ and did.

  ‘Well done,’ whispered Milly, ‘you’ve made it.’

  45

  The cast were called back again and again – all beaming – except Paris, who looked drained and utterly shell-shocked, but who got the biggest cheer of the night every time he took a bow.

  My boy, thought Janna in ecstasy, and her heart nearly burst as Feral and Bianca bounded on hand in hand and slid into a ten-second tango routine, with Feral arching Bianca back until her black ringlets touched the floor, to stampings and cries of, ‘More, more.’

  Emlyn ensured that there was thunderous applause for every participant from Pearl for her make-up, Graffi for his sets, and Johnnie Fowler for his lighting:

  ‘You should work in a strip club, Johnnie.’

  The stagehands filed on until everyone had clapped their hands raw. But at the first pause, Ashton and Rod Hyde called out: ‘Director!’

  Whereupon the cast all put on their red noses and Primrose Duddon made a glowing breathy speech, handing out bottles to Emlyn, Jason, Sally Brett-Taylor, Mags and Cambola to thank them for all their hard work. Wally was also praised for being a tower of strength and ferrying everyone about in the wonderful Randal Stancombe bus. Wally was then presented with the definitive book on bell-ringing.

  ‘But most importantly’ – even Pri
mrose had a crush on Vicky – ‘I’d like to thank our wonderful director, Vicky Fairchild.’

  Everyone stamped and yelled as Vicky ran on, accepted a vast bunch of pink roses and launched into an orgy of gratitude, for the wonderful chance she’d been given, for the children and teachers at Bagley and Larks, ‘and particularly’ – dimple, dimple – ‘Hengist and Sally for making us so welcome and for all my dear friends at Larks for covering for me. I know I’ve played hookey a lot but I was so anxious to make a difference.

  ‘And I’d like to thank dear Ashton and Crispin, at Support and Challenge, and dear Russell and all the governors, for being so supportive, and my parents who’ve come all the way from Harrogate.’

  Audience and cast were getting restless. Cosmo, if he hadn’t been trapped on stage, would have started up the orchestra.

  ‘Oh come on, Vicky,’ muttered Janna.

  ‘Hush.’ Hengist patted her arm. ‘Let the little poppet enjoy her moment of glory.’

  ‘If you’ll just bear with me,’ twinkled Vicky.

  ‘Anytime you like, darlin’,’ yelled Graffi’s father, who after the interval had smuggled in an entire bottle of champagne.

  Vicky giggled enchantingly.

  But Rocky had had enough. Shambling in front of Vicky, he raised a huge red hand. ‘And I’d like to fank Miss Curtis, Janna, for believing in us, and making us feel we could do fings and for turning our school round,’ he shouted.

  This was greeted with cheers, Tarzan howls and fists punched in the air by both Larks and Bagley.

  ‘Get that nutter off the stage,’ howled Ashton.

  ‘I was just coming to Janna,’ said Vicky tartly.

  With all the cuts, the play had lasted only ninety minutes, but it felt like midnight as Janna fought her way backstage to embrace and congratulate a euphoric cast in various states of undress.

  ‘I am right proud. I never believed in a million years you could do so brilliantly.’

  In his purple-stained shirt, a burning-hot Paris trembled as she hugged him, but couldn’t speak or smile. His head was still in Juliet’s tomb, but he was gratified that Nadine and Mr Blenchley, both of whom he loathed, rolled up to congratulate him at the same time as Patience, who in her raucous voice told them how bravely he’d overcome his terror of horses and even more brilliantly circumnavigated the missing plank.

  ‘Plank’s been relocated on his shoulder,’ murmured Cosmo who, nevertheless, was feeling vulnerable. Judging by the way Feral and Graffi, still in his nurse’s uniform, kept scowling in his direction, they were planning revenge.

  Cosmo had lost his guards. However much he snapped his fingers, Anatole and Lubemir were ignoring him. Back in the General Bagley Room, where a splendid party was under way, they were happily getting drunk with the opposition.

  ‘“Tybalt, you rat-catcher, vill you valk,”’ said Anatole for the hundredth time.

  Feral grinned, making a feint with a bread knife.

  ‘We can’t stop them drinking after such a magnificent performance,’ Sally Brett-Taylor was telling Janna as big bowls of lasagne and sticks of bread were placed on a side table. ‘But let’s at least give them plenty of blotting paper.’

  ‘An Italian dish – appropriate for Romeo and Juliet,’ Boffin was saying pompously. ‘Although at the Capulets’ ball they would probably have eaten boar.’

  ‘Unlike us who have to listen to one,’ said Anatole, sprinkling Parmesan over Boffin’s hair.

  Paris, having survived his ride up the aisle, would have liked to retreat to Beluga’s stable, thank the kind horse and relive with him every moment of the play. As it was, when he slunk into the party, everyone wanted a piece of him. With such a bone structure, what did it matter if he was monosyllabic?

  ‘Cosmo will invite you back to River House for the weekend,’ gushed Dame Hermione.

  Cosmo, flipping through the film in Dora’s camera, was enraged to find only pictures of Paris.

  ‘They’ll be worth a fortune when he gets an Oscar,’ protested Dora.

  ‘We need cash now,’ snarled Cosmo.

  Cosmo was right, thought Dora in panic. How could she support Cadbury or Loofah if she didn’t sell stories? What had become of her? She normally had three helpings of lasagne; now she couldn’t eat a thing. She couldn’t take her eyes off Paris. He was as beautiful as the wild cherry blossom floodlit outside the window. She longed to tell him how wonderful he’d been, but the words stuck in her throat. The hurt was dreadful.

  A record player was pounding out music from Grease. Amber and Pearl, sharing a surreptitious spliff and a bottle of white, were drowning their sorrows.

  ‘We’ve lucked out there,’ observed Amber as Feral and Bianca, unspeaking, making love with their eyes, danced on and on.

  ‘She’s only twelve,’ snapped Pearl.

  ‘“Younger than she are happy mothers made”,’ quipped Amber.

  Aysha had gone home. A dazed, deliriously happy Xav gazed out of the window, breathing in the scent of Sally’s narcissi, as sweet and delicate as Aysha, who had held his hand.

  Janna moved from actor to parent to teacher to technician, praising and thanking. Not realizing Cosmo had been instrumental in Paris not walking the plank, she thanked him too.

  She had a lovely chat with Theo Graham and Artie Deverell. Theo seemed keen on teaching Paris Latin and Greek, and quoted Keats about feeling ‘like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken’.

  Artie seemed equally keen to teach Paris modern languages.

  ‘That boy is separate,’ he said. ‘You can’t watch anyone else when he’s on stage.’

  ‘Or off it,’ sighed Theo.

  Kylie unplugged herself for a second from Jack Waterlane’s embrace to ask Janna, ‘People aren’t just saying Larks did good, miss, because we didn’t fight or trash anyfing?’

  ‘You weren’t good,’ said Janna, then, as Kylie’s face fell: ‘You were utterly sensational.’

  ‘Better’n Redfords?’

  ‘A million times,’ said Janna truthfully.

  She was pleased when Emlyn, who’d been clearing up the stage, hove into sight clutching a large whisky and asking if she’d had anything to eat.

  ‘Yes,’ lied Janna. ‘You were the real star. That play was only brilliant because you held everything together.’

  ‘Not for much longer. The Wolf Pack are spoiling for a punch-up.’

  ‘We’d better get them home,’ said Janna. ‘I’ll alert Wally.’

  On the way, she was accosted by Stormin’ Norman, very drunk and singing Vicky’s praises. ‘Vicks realized Martin was visually and aurally impaired, put him in the front row and his school work’s gone from strengf to strengf.’

  Next Janna passed Vicky, surrounded by more admirers than Paris.

  ‘If I had had my way,’ she was telling Randal Stancombe, ‘your Jade would have been Juliet.’ Meeting Janna’s eyes, she blushed. ‘Well, Jannie, are you proud of us?’

  To conceal her galloping disillusionment, Janna was shocked by her own effusiveness. ‘It was all great. You did so well.’

  ‘Send us Victoria, Sweetie and Gloria, Long to reign over us,’ sang a drunken Lando and Junior.

  ‘It was priceless,’ said Vicky, dimpling again. ‘Anatole insisted on introducing me to his father, who asked me what I taught. Quick as a flash, dear Anatole said: “She teaches the torches to burn bright, Dad.” Wasn’t that darling? I must tell Hengist.’

  ‘Hengist has gone,’ said Alex Bruce sourly. ‘Pushed off to dinner at Head House with the Russian Minister, Rupert and Jupiter. He wouldn’t waste time bothering with riff-raff like us.’

  Vicky’s lips tightened. Janna felt wiped out with tiredness and wondered if it would be letting the side down to go home, but first she must find Wally.

  In her search, she bumped into Jason, congratulated him warmly and asked how he was getting on.

  ‘Bloody tiring. I like the work, but you’re on call twenty-four hours a day. You can�
�t bunk off at three-thirty like we did at Larks. Thank God it’s the end of term.’

  ‘Thank you for working so hard on the play.’

  Jason glanced back at Vicky still holding court.

  ‘Come back, Cara,’ he said acidly, ‘all is forgiven.’

  Janna gave a gasp. ‘Then I’m not imagining things?’

  ‘You are not. Nothing sucks like success. You turned Larks round. You made the kids understand the play. I know how much Emlyn, Piers and I put in, and how lazy little Vicky has claimed credit for everything. She thanks too much; such women are dangerous . . . And she’s after Emlyn.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Janna loathed that. ‘He’s much too nice.’

  ‘But lonely without Oriana. You two should have dinner.’

  Outside, Janna met Patience and thanked her for befriending Paris.

  ‘We love him.’ Patience lowered her donkey bray as Nadine and Mr Blenchley went down the steps: ‘I just wish we could get him out of that horrible children’s home.’

  ‘Oh, so do I.’

  ‘He’s such a gentle soul.’

  As they spoke, the fist of the gentle soul powered into Little Cosmo’s jaw, sending him flying across an empty dining room. Scrambling to his feet in terror, Cosmo managed to leap out of a nearby window, landing this time on Sally’s beloved white narcissi and budding crown imperials, followed by a yelling Paris, Feral and Graffi, only slightly impeded by his nurse’s costume.

  They were all beating the hell out of Cosmo and the crown imperials when Emlyn and the guards of the Russian Minister rolled up, yanking them off by their shirts.

  ‘Lemme go, you fuckers,’ howled Paris, escaping back into the fray. ‘Lemme get at you, you fucker. How dare you move that plank?’

  ‘How dare you grope my woman?’ yelled Feral, also wriggling free.

  ‘Lemme get at him,’ bawled Graffi, fob watch and white cap flying.

  ‘Let’s all get at him,’ shouted the Chinless Wanderers, leaping out of the window and pitching in.

  ‘Stop it,’ bellowed Emlyn, hauling Graffi off by the starched white collar of his costume, then, launching into Welsh: ‘Back off. Your da’s drunk, I need your help to carry him on to the coach before he throws up.’