Someone’s phoned beeped, making Barney flinch.
It’d been over a year since he’d left Queen Mary’s Hospital and yet the sound of the dreaded doctor’s bleeper still brought him out in a cold sweat. It was every junior doctor’s nightmare. Day or night, whether you were sleeping, eating or on the loo, the damned thing would go off and panic would set in. You never knew what awaited you at the other end, and no matter how junior you were, you were expected to know the answer, incurring the wrath of the nurses if you didn’t. People often had a preconceived idea that being a doctor was somehow heroic. They wanted to hear stories about saving lives, but would they want the reality? The daily horrors, the tiredness, the uncertainty; being sworn at, spat on and shat on? Feeling so crushed by responsibility that all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry? Probably not. Was it any wonder he was resisting a return?
‘I would be grateful if phones could be turned off,’ Jonathan said, looking around for the culprit. ‘Distractions are not welcome in the sanctuary of creative space.’ He gave a theatrical bow. ‘Much obliged.’
Barney switched his phone to silent, noticing another text from his mother. The frequency of ‘call me’ messages was increasing. The topic of conversation never varied. When was he coming home? When would he be resuming his medical training? If the questions never changed, neither would his answers.
Once all the mimes had been critiqued by the director, who’d frowned the whole way through Barney and Kayleigh’s very un-Shakespearean offering of a ‘pair of clowns camping’, he signalled for quiet. ‘Please join me now in a vocal warm-up.’ He puffed out his chest and walked around the room. ‘Breathe in for the count of four …’
There was something surreal about standing in a circle, breathing in unison. Tony looked relaxed, Nate looked focused, Paul’s efforts were half-hearted, and Daniel sounded like he was doing yoga, letting out a low hum with each breath – whilst Kayleigh sounded like she was having an orgasm, panting like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally.
Jonathan stopped behind Glenda and placed his arms around her middle. ‘Feel your diaphragm expand … two … three … and contract … two … three …’
Glenda started giggling. ‘Jonathan, I didn’t know you had it in you. Naughty man.’ She wiggled her bottom and winked at Tony, who was standing opposite her in the circle. Her dirty laughter resulted in a disgruntled look from Sylvia, who pursed her coral-pink lips – the colour as stark as her salmon trousers.
If Glenda favoured the natural look, her neutral linen clothes creased and loose-fitting, Sylvia’s style could only be described as an homage to Dolly Parton.
‘What’s her problem?’ Glenda said, pretending she didn’t know that Sylvia had the hots for Tony. Tormenting Sylvia seemed to be one of Glenda’s favourite pastimes. She was a nice enough woman, who helped out in the community and undertook lollipop-lady duties at the primary school, but there was something hard about her too. Barney couldn’t put his finger on what, but he wouldn’t want to cross her, put it that way.
‘Excellent.’ Jonathan clapped his hands, encouraging everyone to breathe normally. ‘Now, I’d like everyone to sing the note of C.’
Before he could twang his tuning fork, Kayleigh, Glenda and Sylvia had let rip, their collective sound on a par with a cat Barney had once helped escape from a drain.
Thankfully, Kayleigh ran out of breath and the sound improved. As the seconds ticked by, it became clear that an unspoken competition was taking place between the two rival women. Each getting louder, trying to outdo the other, as their note reached its crescendo.
Sylvia’s face grew redder.
Glenda began to physically shake.
Freddie and Florence started laughing, which set Barney off. It was childish, but he couldn’t help it. He felt a momentary pang of remorse when Lauren told her kids off for being rude. But he felt better when he heard Paul snort and Tony start chortling.
Finally, Sylvia broke off, almost collapsing from a lack of oxygen. Glenda whooped and punched the air, only curtailing her celebrations when Jonathan glared at her. ‘If you two ladies have finished?’ He struck his tuning fork against the table.
As with the breathing exercise, some people found it embarrassing, some hard to pitch, others like Freddie and Florence sang out as though they didn’t have a care in the world, just as eight-year-olds should do. Florence began twirling on the spot. Freddie followed suit. Barney thought ‘what the heck’ and joined in, followed by Tony, and then a smiling Lauren. It wasn’t long before everyone was twirling, singing horribly off-key and letting go of their inhibitions. Even Paul looked better by the time Florence had made herself so dizzy she’d fallen over and everyone had run over to check she was okay. That was the thing about community. Everyone cared.
Barney glanced at Glenda. Or if they didn’t, they at least pretended to.
Jonathan gave up on the warm-up. ‘My ears can stand no more.’ He minced over to the front of the stage. ‘Let us begin reading through the script. But first, I would like to share with you my vision for the show.’
Barney sat down next to Paul, who was busy checking his phone. ‘Everything okay, mate? You seem distracted?’
Paul switched his phone to silent. ‘My brother’s getting married.’
As Jonathan spouted on about ‘blue-filtered lighting for the forest scenes’, Barney lowered his voice. ‘That’s a good thing, isn’t it? I thought you got on well with Will?’
Paul shrugged. ‘I do, of sorts.’
‘Then what’s the problem?’ Barney ignored Jonathan’s complicated explanation of swivelling set changes.
Paul chewed on his lower lip. ‘Dusty’s not invited.’ He waited until the director had moved on to the topic of rehearsal schedules. ‘Apparently, his fiancée is unwilling to have a drag queen ruin her special day. If I don’t agree, then I’m not invited to the wedding either.’
Barney frowned. ‘That’s a bit harsh. When’s the wedding?’
‘September.’
‘Then you have four months to make them see sense. No way should you miss your brother’s wedding over something so narrow-minded.’
‘Have you finished, gentlemen?’ Barney realised that Jonathan was looking at them. ‘I hate to interrupt such an in-depth conversation, but I am trying to direct a masterpiece here.’
Barney squirmed. ‘Sorry.’
Jonathan nodded curtly, rubbing a smudge away from his glasses. ‘Now, let us start with our lovers plotting to run away together. It will give everyone an opportunity to see how Shakespeare should be done.’ He gestured to where Daniel was sitting. ‘If you would oblige?’
Never one to turn down a chance to show off, Daniel sprung from his seat, followed by a reluctant-looking Nate, who was also in the scene in his role as Demetrius.
Ignoring Daniel’s yoga hums, and attempting to ‘focus’, Nate addressed Lauren. ‘“Relent, sweet Hermia; and, Lysander, yield thy crazed title to my certain right.”’ Nate turned to look at the director. ‘I have no idea what any of this bollocks means.’
Daniel smirked. ‘That much is obvious.’
Jonathan removed his glasses, pinning Nate with a glare. ‘Then I suggest you make full use of the notes section at the back of your script.’ He smiled at Daniel. ‘As you were.’
Daniel obliged. ‘“You have her father’s love, Demetrius – let me have Hermia’s.”’
Jonathan lifted his hand. ‘Wonderful diction, Daniel.’
Daniel gave a theatrical bow. ‘Why thank you, kind sir.’ He glanced at Nate. ‘One tries.’
Nate mumbled, ‘Knob,’ under his breath.
Daniel approached Lauren. ‘“My love is more than his.”’ He pointed to Nate. ‘“My fortunes every way as fairly ranked. I am beloved of beauteous Hermia.”’ He sneered at Nate, who was now looking really pissed off. ‘“Why is your cheek so pale, my love? How chance the roses there do fade so fast?”’ Taking Lauren’s hand, he kissed her on the cheek. ‘“The course of tru
e love never did run smooth.”’
His dramatic delivery was met with a round of applause, accompanied by the sound of a phone buzzing.
Nate turned to Barney and mouthed, ‘Smug git.’
Barney’s laughter faded when he realised that Paul was looking sheepish. ‘Sorry, I thought it was my phone vibrating, and I answered it.’ As if passing over an explosive device, he handed Barney his mobile. ‘It’s your mum.’
Bollocks.
As he took the phone and headed outside to face the music, Barney heard Lauren deliver her next line. ‘“By all the vows that ever men have broke …”’
Oh, the irony … as Paul would say.
CHAPTER THREE
Tuesday, 24 May
Lauren Saunders nudged the wok further onto the gas stove before it toppled off and sent fajita mix flying across the kitchen. The fat hissed, spitting oil over the bank statement she’d received that morning. Perhaps trying to sort out her finances whilst cooking wasn’t the most sensible idea, but when else was she supposed to do it? What with school runs, rehearsals, and her shifts at Piskies café, it didn’t leave much time for anything else.
There was a loud crash from the lounge. Keeping one eye on the spitting wok, she turned to see what mischief her children were up to. Living in such cramped conditions was an annoyance, but the open-plan living area at least allowed her to supervise while cooking.
Freddie was crouched behind an upturned dining chair ready to ambush his unsuspecting sister. Both children were wearing the ninja outfits Sylvia Johns had bought them for their birthday last month: black jumpsuits trimmed with red piping, and a large belt, complete with silver buckle and plastic sword.
‘Mind what you’re doing with that thing,’ Lauren warned Freddie, even though her son probably couldn’t hear above the blaring TV. The flimsy weapon might bend on impact, but it could still take an eye out.
Her daughter was crawling along the floor like an SAS operative, outwitting her brother, whose focus remained fixed on the bedroom door. When his twin prodded him in the back with her sword, Freddie let out a cry of indignation, and gave chase.
Lauren turned back to the stove. She didn’t mind the mayhem. In fact, she loved it. As a kid, she’d constantly been told to calm down and be quiet. She didn’t begrudge her parents preferring a peaceful house, but the experience had shaped her views on child-rearing. Rightly or wrongly, her kids were encouraged to be noisy and playful.
Lauren placed the tortillas in the ancient microwave. She noticed a splodge of oil had stained the bottom of the bank statement. That was one way to deal with a minus balance – obscure it from view so she couldn’t be reminded that it was another week before payday.
Wafting away the steam rising from the wok, she opened the window above the sink, thumping the frame with her palm to get it to shift. Like everything else in the local-authority flat, the windows were in desperate need of replacing.
On the street below, she spotted a post-office van pull up outside the Co-op. She found herself hesitating in case Nate Jones appeared, allowing herself a moment’s wishful thinking. She’d met the local postie soon after moving to Penmullion seven years ago. He’d proved to be a good friend, who frequently looked after the kids for her. They’d regularly hung out when performing in plays together or drinking at Smugglers Inn, but when it became clear he wanted more than she could offer, she backed off. It wasn’t as though she could allow anything to happen between them, so why torture herself fantasising? Life might be challenging as a single parent, but adding another adult into the equation would only upset the balance and confuse the children. So, until they were older, relationships were off the table … no matter how tempted she might be.
Moving to Cornwall had been the right decision. The kids loved living by the seaside, and so did she. The local school wasn’t overpopulated, and the teachers often took the children outside for lessons. It was a wonderful education for them. The town of Penmullion was quaint and full of history. There was a relaxed sense of well-being about the place, as well as a tight community spirit. They enjoyed early-morning walks along the beach, picnics in the summer, and fresh air all year around. It made an ideal setting to raise a family.
Removing the guacamole and salsa from the fridge, she sniffed the contents. Both were past their sell-by date, and consequently half price, but there were no signs of mould, so hopefully they were safe to consume.
Moving down from London had been good for her too. She’d made friends, joined a drama group, and enjoyed lots of free time with her kids. Penmullion was beautiful, and her dad was on hand to help, so there were lots of positives. There were a few negatives too. Lack of money being one of them.
She hid the bank statement on top of the fridge. Out of sight, out of mind … Who was she trying to kid?
With no professional skills, and a lack of available jobs in Cornwall, money was tight. She loved working at the beach café, but the hours were part-time and the salary was minimum wage. She received a top-up of welfare benefits, but it didn’t cover all her rent and household expenses. As a result, over the last year, she’d managed to run up a debt. She was sticking to the repayments, but it was hard going. She didn’t mind denying herself stuff, but she hated the thought of Freddie and Florence going without.
Returning to the wok, she gave it a shake, smiling as the kids practised their kung-fu kicks. The sight of them, collapsed in a fit of giggles, rolling around the floor, made every sacrifice worthwhile. They were happy, and they were loved, that was all that mattered.
But it still pained her that she couldn’t afford to buy them the new bicycles they so desperately wanted. Maybe one day. But not yet, and certainly not until she’d repaid Glenda Graham the five hundred quid she owed her.
She’d borrowed the money late last year to buy Freddie and Florence their Christmas presents, pay the winter gas bill, and clear the balance on this year’s school trip to the Isle of Wight. As per the loan agreement, she’d been dutifully paying Glenda back twenty-five pounds per week. With only a couple more weeks to go, she’d soon be debt-free. Maybe then she could save up for the bikes. In the meantime, it was discounted food, home haircuts, and a pay-as-you-go mobile … which at that moment started to ring.
Lauren couldn’t have been more surprised when her sister’s name appeared on the display. Calls from Charlotte were a rarity.
Stirring the fajita mix, she pressed ‘call accept’. ‘Hey there, sis. Everything okay?’ Covering the phone with her hand, Lauren shouted through to the lounge, ‘Telly off, please. Wash your hands and sit up at the table. Tea’s ready.’
‘Have I called at a bad time?’ Her sister sounded a tad shaky.
Charlotte was normally the epitome of control. She worked for a fancy London design company, earned megabucks, and lived in an apartment with a lift. Who had a lift? Certainly not Lauren. Her flat had a rickety iron staircase that usually reeked of stale wee.
‘Not at all,’ she lied. ‘I’m just dishing up the kids’ dinner. How are you? It’s been a while.’
Her sister’s reply wasn’t immediate. ‘Things aren’t … great.’
Lauren pressed the start button on the microwave. She couldn’t remember Charlotte’s life being anything other than ‘great’ … Well, apart from when their mum died, but other than that, Charlotte lived the ‘perfect life’, as her sister referred to it. Lauren had given up striving for perfection a long time ago. Not that she didn’t have a perfect life, it was just very different to her sister’s.
She heard Charlotte sniff. ‘I’m just going to come out and say it … would it be okay if I came and stayed for a while?’
Lauren removed cutlery from the drawer. Had she heard correctly? In the seven years she’d lived in Cornwall, Charlotte had never once visited. Her sister was always too busy with work, her career as an interior designer taking up all her time, even weekends. Consequently, it’d been up to Lauren and their dad to retain contact, visiting Charlotte in London whenever
they could, which wasn’t often.
Freddie and Florence came charging into the kitchen, the hoods of their outfits pushed away from their faces. They climbed onto the plastic chairs, making them squeak. ‘Please can I have some water?’ Florence rubbed her nose with her hand.
Lauren poured water into their plastic Toy Story beakers, which were too young for them, but she couldn’t afford to replace. ‘Use a tissue, please, Florence.’ She handed her daughter a roll of kitchen towels, which doubled as napkins in the Saunders house.
Balancing the phone between her shoulder and ear, Lauren dished up the fajita mix, her focus returning to her sister. ‘What’s brought this on?’ She moved Freddie’s hand before she burnt him with the wok. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. It’s just unexpected. Have you finally taken some holiday from work?’
Her sister made an odd sound. ‘I wish.’ Another pause. ‘I’ve been fired.’
Lauren stopped serving dinner. ‘Fired?’
The sound of her raised voice had both children reverting to ninjas, making gun shapes with their hands and shouting, ‘Fired!’
Lauren shushed them. ‘Eat your tea, please.’ Their grinning faces made her laugh. She’d never make a stern parent. ‘Sorry, Charlotte. It’s mayhem here. You were saying?’
Her sister sighed. ‘I’ve lost my job … and Ethan and I have broken up.’ There was a catch in her voice.
Wow, another shock announcement. Not that Lauren had ever really liked Ethan, even though they’d only met a couple of times, but that was beside the point. ‘What happened?’
‘One of my commissions went tits-up, and Ethan’s accepted a job in Paris.’ Charlotte’s words came out in a rush. ‘I’ve tried to get temporary work, but my heart’s not in it. I think maybe I need some time out to clear my head and work out what to do next. So … can you put me up, please? Just till I get back on my feet.’
Lauren was conflicted. She’d love to see Charlotte, so would the kids, but how would her sister react to life in Penmullion? It was a far cry from London, with its trendy bars, city traders and cutting-edge fashion.
The Summer Theatre by the Sea Page 3