by Fern Britton
Ella stopped again. ‘Would you?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘Good. Then I’ll be there.’ He pulled her close to him and she warmed her hands under his fleece. ‘I want to look after you, Ella.’ He kissed her nose. ‘Always.’ He was nervous. This wasn’t exactly planned and yet it seemed the perfect moment.
‘I do mean always. Ella, I know we haven’t known each other long. Just a few months, really, but I love you and I wonder if we could get engaged? It would be some good news to tell your mother.’
Ella stared at him, her mouth slightly open. ‘You want to marry me?’
‘Yes.’ He hesitated. ‘If you want to marry me?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Oh blimey!’ She felt her heart beginning to speed up. ‘This has to be the best day of my life. Yes, I’ll marry you, you lovely boy. But you’ve got to get down on one knee.’
Kit laughed and looked around to see if they were alone on the cliff. In the distance he could see a couple coming towards them. If he was quick they wouldn’t catch him. He fell to his knees and took Ella’s hand. ‘Ella Tallon, will you do me the honour of being my wife?’
‘Let me think about it. It’s all so sudden.’ She grinned from ear to ear. ‘Oh, all right then. YES!’
‘Can I get up now?’
‘Yes. I love you, I love you, I love you!’ She pulled him to his feet as the two walkers got closer.
Kit hurriedly brushed the grass from his knees as the walkers arrived.
‘Congratulations,’ they both said. ‘Couldn’t help but see it all. Did she say yes?’
As Ella and Kit walked back home, Celia and Terry loping beside them, worn out after their exercise, Ella took Kit’s hand. ‘Can we get married in church?’
‘Oh, definitely. You’re not going to do me out of seeing you walk down the aisle, all eyes on you.’
‘You’re so soppy.’
‘Soppy is my middle name.’
‘Shall we keep this to ourselves for a bit?’ She asked, ‘Until we get used to the idea? I think, with all that’s going on, this happiness might get lost.’
‘Whatever you want … Mrs Beauchamp.’
12
Truro, 1989
Sennen had been a happy child, until she was eleven, when she was sent away to school.
‘It’s only Truro, and you’ll be home every weekend. You’ll love it,’ said her mother, packing a case with starchy new shirts and scratchy skirts, every sock and vest with her name sewn inside.
Almost overnight, she hated her unusual name, hated her parents, hated all the friendly, hippy student artists who lived in her house and got to spend every day under the tuition of her mother and father while she was sent away, but most of all she hated the other girls in the new school.
They were the sort of girls who had cool, Liberal/Tory parents. The mothers wore designer outfits and make-up. Their fathers drove flash cars. Holidays were spent skiing in Klosters or sailing in Nassau. They were called Sara, Claire, Emma, Lisa.
No one was called Sennen.
‘What’s your name again?’ asked a particularly appalling girl called Samantha, as Sennen was unpacking her case in their small dormitory.
‘Sennen.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s after the cove. Sennen cove.’
Samantha smirked. ‘I think nanny took us paddling there when we were small. My little brother had diarrhoea. He shat all over the beach.’
Two other girls, the remaining roommates, were listening as they also unpacked.
Samantha turned to them. ‘What are your names?’
‘Katie,’ one said. ‘Hi.’
‘Em,’ said the other.
Samantha swung back to Sennen. ‘This is Sennen. Sounds a bit like senna, doesn’t it. I’m going to call you Senna Pod from now on.’
Sennen hid her flaming cheeks by stuffing her empty case under her bed as she’d been told. ‘Why?’
‘Because,’ Samantha paused waiting for Katie and Em to join in with her joke, ‘they give you the shits.’
There are many ways to deal with bullies. You can either stand up to them, or tell someone, or hide your pain and go off the rails.
Sennen chose the latter. If there was a wall to be climbed, a rule to be broken, or a boundary to cross, she did it. She grew a small gang of acolytes around her and by the age of fourteen was a dab hand at smuggling booze and cigarettes into her shared study. Her detentions were many but her academic marks held up. Teachers either loved her free spirit and creativity or loathed her for her insubordination and sharp wit.
Adela and Bill would always apologise when a major misdemeanour meant they were called to a meeting with the headmistress, but to them, Sennen was merely a creative soul who meant no harm. They were secretly rather proud of their bold daughter and when she came home she was a ray of sunshine.
It was the Christmas before her fifteenth birthday that Sennen got a holiday job backstage at the Pavilions Theatre in Trevay. She was to be one of two assistant floor managers for the pantomime season.
It was Cinderella and Buttons was to be played by the latest winner of the TV talent show, New Talent. He was a brilliant young magician, offsetting the corniness of his profession with a rock and roll image.
His real name was Alan Chisolm.
His stage name was Ali A’Mayze, and from the first time Sennen clapped eyes on him, she was in love …
During rehearsals she was given the job of being his runner. Anything he wanted she got, willingly.
On the final tech run rehearsal, there was a crisis. Alan had developed a sore throat. His singing voice was in danger. A doctor was called and, after examination diagnosed mild laryngitis. Sennen sprinted to the chemist with the given prescription and brought it back, beaming. ‘Shall I take this to Mr A’Mayze’s dressing room?’ she asked the company manager who should have delivered it himself but was distracted by a problem on stage.
‘Okay, but knock first and don’t stay too long. He’s got to rest his voice.’
She had never been allowed into the star dressing room before. She knocked tentatively. A whispery voice answered, ‘Come in.’
He was lying on the cushioned sofa which acted as a day bed. The room was warm and he was wearing a tight T-shirt over boxer shorts. ‘Is that my prescription?’ he mouthed inaudibly.
‘Yes.’
He beckoned her to him and took the small bag from her. ‘Water?’ he managed.
Sennen quickly filled a tumbler from the sink in the corner of the room and returned. ‘Here you are.’
He smiled and popped one of the tablets between his wickedly sensuous lips. ‘Thanks.’
She stood for a moment in case he needed anything else.
‘It’s okay,’ he croaked. ‘I’ll be fine. What’s your name again?’
‘Sennen.’
He nodded again and held his hand out to her. She took it and he pulled her down to him, his strength sending her off balance so that she half fell onto his chest whilst banging her knee on the wood of the sofa.
‘You’re nice.’ He smiled, then pulled her mouth down to his lips and kissed her in a way that the boys in Truro never had. Not knowing quite what the protocol here was, she kissed him back until he let her go.
‘Good girl. That’s the best medicine.’
She stood up and rubbed her bruised knee. Was she dismissed? He smiled and, closing his eyes, waved her out.
She left the room and closed the door gently behind her. Shit. He fancied her. Wow. She might be his girlfriend.
The rest of the day she was in a state of suspended bliss but she had no further meaningful contact with him for the next couple of days as they ran through the dress rehearsals. She jealously watched as he chatted to the dancers and cosied up to the actress playing Cinderella. Once or twice she took him a coffee as requested, but that was it. She understood that he had to concentrate on the work so she bided her time.
First night was a huge success. To a full house, the curtain rang umpteen calls. As he finally came off stage she was waiting for him in the wings. He saw her and hugged her, then picked her up off her feet and spun her round. ‘I was good, wasn’t I?’ he panted. She could feel the sweat through his shirt.
‘Yes. You were wonderful.’
He put her down. ‘Didn’t they love the levitation scene with the Ugly Sisters at the ball? I do it so well, even I’m amazed!’ He was chuckling with the buzz of his own success.
Sennen was excited for him. ‘They did,’ she agreed. ‘It’s brilliant and you are so funny when you do it.’
‘Yeah.’ He grinned not so modestly and winked. ‘Between you and me, I am bloody good.’
One of the Ugly Sisters, a man called Graham, walked past and pinched Ali’s bum. ‘You can run your magic wand over me anytime, young man.’
‘I’m spoken for,’ Ali grinned.
‘Lucky fella,’ sighed Graham, taking Ali’s arm. ‘Come on, love, get changed, I want the first dance at the party.’
The two men sauntered off to their dressing rooms.
The stage manager walked past her, ‘Stop mooning over the boy wonder and reset for tomorrow. Two shows a day from now till mid-January, no time for slacking.’
The first-night party was in full swing by the time Sennen arrived. She hadn’t had time to change out of her working black trousers and T-shirt and was rather dusty and grimy, but she’d managed a spritz of Calvin Klein’s Eternity – well, a rip-off market stall version, pinched from the wardrobe mistress – and she was good to go. Hell, this was Show Business and she was part of it.
The venue for the party was the stalls bar. She grabbed a glass of coke and wandered through the sea of people in search of Ali.
She didn’t get far. Adela and Bill found her first. ‘Darling, that was so much fun,’ Adela said kissing her daughter’s cheek. ‘Did you hear Dad laughing?’
Sennen shook her head, eyes searching over Adela’s shoulder. ‘Can’t hear much backstage.’
Her father grabbed her in a bear hug. ‘So proud of you. My daughter in the theatre.’
She hugged him briefly still scanning the crowd. ‘I’m only the assistant stage manager. ASM’s are lowest of the low.’
‘It’s the oily rag that keeps the engine turning,’ insisted Bill.
An elderly couple approached Bill and Adela, greeting them warmly. Sennen took advantage of the distraction and melted away.
Ali was in a dark corner at the back of the bar. He was sitting on a claret velvet banquette, on his own, with several empty glasses in front of him. ‘Hi,’ said Sennen shyly. ‘What are you doing on your own?’
‘I’m bloody annoyed.’ He looked at his empty glass. ‘Get me a drink, will you?’
‘They won’t serve me. I’m not old enough.’ She sat next to him. ‘Why are you annoyed?’
He stood up. ‘I’ll get them. What do you want?’
‘Oh. Coke, please. Thank you.’
She noticed how he steadied himself against the wall as he got up and wondered how much he’d had already. ‘Don’t go away,’ he instructed her.
‘I won’t.’ She hugged herself. He really did like her. And she had him all to herself.
After a short queue at the bar he returned with a large gin and tonic for himself and a coke for her. He sat down heavily before raising his glass to her. ‘Cheers, Sally.’
‘Sennen,’ she giggled.
‘I knew that. Just kidding. Drink up.’
She raised her glass and sipped. It wasn’t just coke. ‘What’s in this?’ she asked.
He winked at her and put his finger to his lips. ‘A little bit of what you fancy.’
‘Lovely.’ She smiled at him and took a big swallow, feeling a mystery warmth meander down to her tummy. ‘So why are you so annoyed?’
He leant back and reached across the velvet to hold her hand. ‘That stupid cow playing Cinderella keeps making passes at me and I’m just not into her. She’s pissed me off.’
Sennen thrilled to this. ‘Stupid cow,’ she agreed.
‘I like you, though.’ He squeezed her hand.
‘Do you?’
Adela and Bill arrived. ‘There you are,’ said Bill, pink from too much wine. ‘Mum and I are off now. So come on and we’ll get you home.’
Before Sennen could think, Ali, who had let go of Sennen’s hand as if it were hot metal, said, ‘Your daughter is a gem. I don’t know what any of the company would do without her. A little star, she is. Would you let her stay a bit longer? I’ll look after her and bring her home. You have my word.’
Adela looked at Sennen and back at Ali. He seemed nice enough and was, anyway, at least ten years older than Sennen if not more, and Sennen was a sensible girl. ‘What do you say, Bill?’
‘Fine, but not too late,’ shrugged Bill.
‘Bye, Mum. Bye, Dad.’ She waved at them. Ali waved too. As soon as they were out of sight he took her hand again and kissed it. ‘Fancy getting out of here? Somewhere we can talk?’
His shabby hotel was in the shabbiest back street of Trevay. His room was up three flights of crooked stairs and had a sloping floor so that she felt she was walking up hill to the bed. The room was decorated with thoughtless design, the carpet brown with beige swirls, the curtains pink and unlined, hanging limply from the plastic rail, the sagging bed covered with a threadbare lilac-coloured candlewick spread. Sennen, feeling warm and relaxed from whatever had been in her coke, flopped down on to the bed and laughed. ‘I thought my dormitory at school was bad.’
He was rustling about in his suitcase and produced a bottle of vodka with a flourish. ‘Ta-da! And for my next trick I shall magic up a couple of plastic toothmugs from the bathroom.’
‘I like vodka,’ said Sennen, seriously. ‘One of my mates smuggles it in to school. Her dad likes the good stuff, buys a case at a time. He never notices a bottle missing.’
Ali came back with the mugs and poured some vodka into each. He rolled a spliff and lit it, then bounced onto the bed next to her. ‘Ever smoked a joint?’
‘Yes,’ she lied.
‘Good girl.’ Lying back on the bed he took a lungful then passed it to her.
She took a small puff. ‘Nice.’ She smiled at him and passed it back.
He put it to his lips and inhaled slowly. She watched as he held the breath deeply and then let the smoke curl slowly from his nose and lips. ‘That and the Bacardi I put in your coke will relax you nicely,’ he said.
She did feel pretty good, now he mentioned it. She took another sip of her vodka.
He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down on her. ‘So … Sally, Susie, whoever you are.’
Sennen giggled. ‘Sennen.’
‘Sennen. Do you know how attractive you are?’
‘Er, no,’ she giggled again.
‘Well, you are.’ He leant over and kissed her. She responded warmly.
‘Hang on,’ he said, ‘I just need to get something. You can never be too sure, can you?’
‘I suppose you can’t,’ she said, not getting his meaning.
‘Let me just nip to the bathroom. I need a slash anyway.’
Sennen put her drink on the bedside table and stretched her arms above her head. He obviously really fancied her and she liked the way he kissed. She ran the fingers of her right hand over her lips, then reached for her glass again and drank it all down.
She waited for him.
Five minutes later he still hadn’t appeared.
‘Ali?’ she called quietly. ‘You okay in there?’
Getting no answer, she got off the bed and knocked on the cheap plywood door. ‘Ali?’
She heard something like a snore. ‘Ali?’
She turned the handle and the door opened.
He was sitting on the loo, trousers round his ankles, head resting on the wall next to him. ‘Ali! Wake up.’
She put her arm around him and got him to stand up. ‘I must have had a l
ittle too much of my voddy friend,’ he slurred.
‘Come on. I need to get you on the bed.’
Sennen managed to shuffle him – difficult with his trousers round his ankles – to the bed and get him lying down, albeit at an uncomfortable angle. She took his trousers off, trying hard not to look at his nudity.
‘Ali? I’m going to go home now. I’ll have to walk. Don’t worry, I’ll be all right.’ She picked up her small canvas bag and tied her trainers. ‘Thank you for a lovely night.’ She bent down and kissed him, but he was dead to the world. ‘See you tomorrow then. Bye.’
Downstairs, behind the studded leatherette reception, sat the night porter. He stared at her. ‘All right?’
She blushed and stammered, ‘Yes, thank you.’ She pushed the glass front door open and stepped outside. A wind was whipping up from the harbour and racing up the narrow street. She felt the rawness of it stinging her cheeks and nose and pulled her duffle coat closer.
As she walked the quiet, deserted road and turned the corner at the bottom heading for home, she saw the first snowflakes of winter falling from the inky sky. She stuck her tongue out and caught one. This must be the perfect end to the most romantic night of her life, she thought.
The next morning the snow was slush but she was up early, energised, ready for work and brimming with the excitement of seeing Ali again. The daily matinees were scheduled for 2.30 and the evening shows were at 7.00. She got all her jobs done swiftly: fresh water in the wings, props laid out, stage checked, costumes distributed to the dressing rooms, coffee and tea ready in the green room. Ali and all the cast were expected to be in the theatre by 1.55. At 1.45 she positioned herself artlessly in the stage doorkeeper’s office, to make sure she was the first person he saw when he came in.
Everyone had arrived with a couple of minutes to spare, except Ali.
The company manager, doing his rounds, was not amused.
‘Mr A’Mayze will be getting a warning unless he’s here in five minutes,’ he huffed, checking his watch. ‘Let me know the moment he’s here. In the meantime, I’d better get the understudy ready. And you’d better tell everyone that all the magic stuff will be cut this afternoon.’
Ali strolled in with ten minutes to go, black sunglasses on, the fringes on the sleeves of his black leather jacket swinging.