by Linda Regan
No one answered.
Sophie tried again. ‘Don’t worry which fish you carry across the stage today …’
‘No one ever does,’ Stephen heckled.
Sophie glared at him. ‘Just take whichever one Alan or Michael gives you.’ She was moving the cast around like chess pieces again.
Fay snapped, ‘Stop pushing me.’
‘I have to,’ Sophie said. ‘It’s the quickest way.’
‘We should have rehearsed it last night, when we had more time,’ Fay flounced.
‘Come on, Fay,’ Michael said sternly. ‘Sophie’s trying to get it right.’
‘I never go wrong,’ Fay defended herself. ‘And she’s always in the wrong place.’
Alison and Banham exchanged glances.
‘Just do as you’re told, Fay.’ Sophie sounded like a school prefect. ‘In ten minutes we’ll be doing this for real, and if anyone bumps into anyone else we’ll all die of fright.’ She gave Fay another shove and turned to Vincent Mann, pulling and turning him into another place in the line, like a clockwork train. He moved obediently and said nothing.
Barbara bristled as Sophie approached her. ‘Tell me where to go,’ she said quietly, ‘But don’t push me.’
‘We’re short of time,’ Sophie said. ‘It’s easier if I show you.’
‘Then show me,’ Barbara said firmly. ‘Don’t shove me.’
‘Mummy knows where she has to be,’ Fay said. ‘I told her earlier.’ Maggie McCormack moved into a space in the front line.
‘No, not there,’ Sophie shouted at her. ‘If Fay has been standing there, that’s why it’s been going wrong. Listen to me, not her.’
‘That’s where I always stood,’ Fay argued. ‘Our line never went wrong – it’s yours that’s a mess.’
‘Fay, just shut up and let me get on with it,’ Sophie snapped.
Again, Michael intervened. ‘You’ll get done quicker if you just do what Sophie says,’ he said to Fay.
‘I know all the cat’s moves better than anyone,’ Fay protested.
‘I taught you the moves, but you don’t always get them right,’ Sophie said irritably. ‘Just shut up and do as you’re told.’
Banham’s eyes never left the stage.
‘Bossy little cow, isn’t she?’ Stephen Coombs whispered. ‘Twenty-two years old and she thinks she’s Gillian Lynne.’
‘Who’s Gillian Lynne?’ Banham asked Alison.
‘The most prominent theatre choreographer of the last fifty years,’ she told him. ‘She choreographed Cats.’
Michael Hogan hadn’t taken his eyes off Sophie, and Maggie McCormack’s were firmly fixed on him. Banham made a mental note. The relationships between these people were a maze.
‘Did Trevor Bruce give a DNA sample?’ Stephen asked Alison.
‘Yes. I told you. We asked everyone in the company.’
‘What a waste of taxpayer’s money,’ Stephen said, adjusting his skirt. ‘Neither of us would know what to do with a woman if she gave us a compass.’
‘The women too,’ Alison told him. ‘It’s so we can eliminate you all …’
‘The audience are getting impatient,’ Alan McCormack shouted from the corner. ‘How much longer are you going to be, for Chrissakes, Sophie?
Michael stormed off to the prompt corner. ‘She’s had to restage the whole routine,’ he told him. ‘She’ll take as long as it takes.’
Alan putting his hand up defensively. ‘I’m only looking out for your interests, boss. If we take the curtain up late, we’ll be pushed getting this house out before the evening lot’ll be coming in.’
‘Are we all clear where we’re going?’ Sophie asked the cast.
The tension spoke for itself, but no one demurred.
‘OK, we’re ready,’ Sophie shouted to Alan.
The cast all walked solemnly into the wings to stand by for the opening of Act Two. Only the dancers remained on stage. Maggie, Fay, Barbara, Vincent and Stephen stood in the wings near Banham.
‘There’ll be two police either side of the stage,’ Banham assured them. ‘You’ll all be perfectly safe.’
Maggie put her cat’s head on and stood beside her husband in the prompt corner as she tied the clip at the back. Fay followed, muttering her lines for the opening scene, immersed in her own world.
Barbara, aware she had an audience in Banham, stretched her arms in the air and flexed her back to loosen up. Banham looked the other way.
Vincent Mann stood a foot away, watching Barbara.
The four dancers were on the sparse stage, limbering up. Sonia turned to make sure Crowther was watching her, and he winked.
Lindsay, the youngest dancer, called to Alan. ‘Do you need help getting the curtain up?’
‘I’m right here,’ Michael called back. ‘I’ll help him.’
Suddenly, a loud duff note blasted from the piano out front, followed by the tinkling of a happy song being played. The chatter from the audience was immediately hushed.
‘Stand by,’ Alan shouted.
Banham struggled to the back of the stage and felt his way along the dark passage to the other side of the stage. Sophie was standing in the wings holding her sparkling wand, ready to make her entrance as the fairy after the opening routine.
As the dancing started, Michael appeared beside her. Banham stood a few feet away watching them. Sophie nodded and Michael spoke; then he curled her long silky blonde hair round his finger and pulled her towards him. Banham looked across to the other side of the stage; Stephen, Barbara, Vincent, Maggie and Fay all watched Michael kiss Sophie gently on the cheek …
Chapter Nine
The backstage tension didn’t seem to affect the audience’s enjoyment. As soon as the curtain went up, the actors had them cheering and booing in all the right places, shouting, ‘Oh no he doesn’t!’, ‘Oh yes he does!’ and ‘Behind you!’ in true pantomime fashion.
The cast were standing on the enormous plywood ship; Stephen Coombs, in a red and white nautical dress with a matching sailor’s hat, was at the bow goading the audience on. It reminded Banham, standing in the wings stage right, of his childhood in Brighton.
A storm was brewing and the ship was going to sink. The ship’s captain, played by Trevor, told the actors to jump overboard, and Stephen Coombs teetered on the edge. Banham was surprised that the cheaply made scenery could take his weight.
The other actors were behind him, pushing and shoving to get to the front of the queue and jump over the side. Banham didn’t know whether the pushing was part of the story until he saw Barbara Denis sidle up beside Stephen and elbow him in the ribs in an attempt to push herself to centre stage.
The floor of the stage was cleverly lit to resemble angry water. As the actors landed in the lights, they rolled from side to side and bumped each other as if they were at the bottom of the sea. Someone rolled a few feet from Banham, but in the dim lighting he couldn’t make out who it was. Then a vivid beam flashed like lightning, and he recognised Barbara Denis. She hugged her leg and whispered, ‘Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck!’ Banham hoped that the sound man had had enough sense to switch her radio mike off. She had obviously caught herself on the same loose nail he had walked into himself when he first arrived at the theatre.
Fay McCormack had also rolled over to that side, and ended up next to Barbara.
‘Get out of my fucking way,’ Barbara hissed at her. ‘You pushed me and I’ve cut my leg.’
Fay whispered back, ‘Tough shit, I hope it turns poisonous.’
Until then, Banham had felt sorry for Fay. She was only seventeen, and despite everything that had happened she had taken over a leading part in the show and was managing remarkably well. Even now he understood that everyone’s nerves were stretched to the limit. Michael Hogan was insisting they do the ultraviolet scene, and it was only moments away.
At the back of the set, Michael was helping the two work experience boys to pull the ship into the wings. Isabelle Walsh was talking to Alison Grainger at
the other side. Alison signalled to Banham. He squeezed past the ship and followed her and Isabelle to the corridor where they wouldn’t be overheard.
‘Isabelle has been out front talking to the usherettes,’ Alison said, careful to keep her voice low. ‘It seems none of them saw Maggie in the auditorium at any time during the performance last night.’
‘There were two usherettes on duty last night,’ Isabelle added. ‘Neither noticed her come through the pass door nor go back through it during the UV scene.’
‘Barbara Denis said she saw her in the wings at the beginning of the routine,’ Banham said.
‘The usherettes did say she could have come in and out without either of them noticing,’ Isabelle added.
The chorus dancers rolled off the stage into the wings stage left, and immediately jumped up and started peeling their sailor clothes off. They tugged on the new all-in-one black outfits and pulled the balaclavas over their heads.
At the same time Stephen Coombs appeared on stage, having done a very quick change into a green costume resembling a large piece of seaweed. He crossed the stage pulling faces at the audience and picking bits of the material from his legs, arms and bottom. ‘Someone’s weed on me,’ he announced, making the audience hoot with laughter.
‘So if Maggie wasn’t out front, that would also cast doubt on Michael’s alibi,’ Alison went on. ‘He said Maggie came into the kids’ dressing room for her binoculars.’
‘It’s possible the usherettes just missed her,’ Isabelle pointed out. ‘They didn’t seem that bright; if they were chatting, a herd of elephants could have passed through and they might not have noticed.’
‘Unlikely though.’ Alison shook her head. ‘I think you’d notice someone walking down the aisle in the middle of a show.’
Stephen came off the stage still picking at bits of dark green seaweed. Then the stage dimmed and went into darkness.
Crowther had been standing with his arms folded, watching the dancers changing. Banham managed to catch his eye, and he walked over to join the team.
‘He managed to get spare costumes at short notice,’ Crowther said.
‘I’m surprised Know-all Col didn’t help out and make a few bob on the side,’ Alison said sarcastically.
‘Just keep your mind on the job,’ Banham said, looking the young DC in the eye.
‘Go, thunder and waves!’ Alan’s voice sounded around the backstage area, then he put on the head-cans to hear the sound engineer confirming his instructions.
The roar of thunder echoed across the audience, followed by the crash of waves and lighting effects to signify lightning. Slowly the light dimmed and the thunder became fainter, as echoes of the storm slowly died away. The stage went completely dark, and silence fell for a few seconds as the audience and the actors waited for the UV scene to start. Then there was the sound of bubbles, as if someone was sinking beneath the water.
Banham watched the actors in the wings, all dressed from head to toe in black, each holding a large, ultraviolet fish. He tried to work out who was who, but it was impossible to tell. ‘You and Isabelle go round the other to the other side,’ he whispered to Alison.
The pianist hit the opening note of the music and a large octopus crossed the stage in mid-air. The black-clad figure holding it was small: Sophie Flint, or possibly Fay. She gyrated the strange creature in time with the music, stepping sideways across the stage toward him. The audience clapped their appreciation.
Next came the four dancers, entering from Banham’s side. Above their heads they wriggled a long, bright yellow eel-type thing with psychedelic pink feet. The audience squealed with delight.
The music sped up and everything began to happen more quickly. Banham couldn’t tell who was who. He thought he recognised Vincent Mann with a lethargic blue fish; he bumped into someone crossing from the opposite direction. Banham guessed it was Barbara, but she and Maggie were a similar height and build.
Alan McCormack was waiting for the dancers. He took the yellow eel from them and handed each of them single fish, and they set off back across the stage, passing Barbara or Maggie. On the opposite side, Michael was handing out the fish. Banham had completely lost track now; everything was moving at such a pace.
The audience oohed and aahed, and clapped in time with the familiar seaside song that the pianist was playing. Some of them even sang along. Then the music moved even faster, and the actors sped up to keep pace. Two people collided, and their sea creatures tangled together as if they were fighting. Banham realised it was impossible for the actors to know who was in front or behind them. And yesterday would have been even more chaotic, with six extra children in the routine and no one at the side.
How easily an accident – or a murder – could take place.
He tried to keep his eyes on Fay as the line crossed and recrossed the stage; Lucinda should have been in the same position the night before. But on one occasion, Sophie’s eyes appeared in the beam of Alan’s torch as she tugged at the balaclava. It was simply impossible to tell the actors apart.
Banham rubbed his mouth thoughtfully. So it wouldn’t be out of the question for someone to join in the routine – easier still if they knew neither Michael nor Alan was at the side of the stage. The murderer could cross the stage, do the deed then leave.
The music slowed, and the cast walked into the dark, holding the last fish in the air. As they pushed and shouldered each other, Banham wondered how many of them were in the right positions. This time he identified Fay, squeezed in at the end of the line at the opposite side of the stage, in the very place where Lucinda had fallen. But as the audience clapped and cheered the finale, he failed to spot anyone else in the line-up.
As the scene ended the girl dancers ran off the stage and discarded their black costumes, revealing their tiny white G-strings. Crowther’s eyes were more prominent than a cartoon bug as the girls wriggled into brown chiffon belly-dancing costumes.
Sonia, the tallest of the girls, looked straight at Banham, smiling broadly. She wore no bra, and he turned away in embarrassment. Then curiosity got the better of him; he turned back to find her smiling at Crowther.
What’s the matter with you, he asked himself. You’re surrounded with half-naked women and you feel absolutely nothing!
Now even more self-conscious, he moved away and stood in the entrance to the wings, keeping his back to the girls. Within seconds, Alison had come round the back of the stage. She wore that bad-tempered squirrel look again, and the dark specks in her sludge-coloured eyes shone out. He had a sudden urge to reach out and stroke her face.
He was distracted by the clatter of high heels rushing down the corridor. It was Stephen Coombs, dressed in a red and white old-fashioned bathing costume and matching bonnet. In his hand he carried a pair of flippers.
‘Mind out,’ he said, pushing past them. ‘I’m going to be off.’ He disappeared speedily toward the stage, shouting, ‘I’m the only man on the Island.’
Banham looked quizzically at Alison.
‘“Going to be off” means going to miss your cue,’ she informed him.
Michael Hogan walked from the stage and joined them in the doorway. ‘Thank God that scene’s over,’ he said rubbing the back of his neck.
‘What happens now?’ Banham asked him.
‘Oh, a quick scene between the principals: that’s the dame, Alderman Fitzwarren and the principal boy and girl, and the comic. Then the dancers do a spot, and then it’s into the last scene, The Palace of the Sultan of Morocco.’ He emphasised the title of the scene as if it were a pop group. Banham hoped the palace was better than the plywood ship.
‘That’s what the work experience boys are doing now, at the back,’ Michael told him. ‘Moving the palace scenery into place. We’re going to miss the children in that scene. They play the mice, and the cat’s supposed to chase them, and eat them. I’m having to use toy mice.’ He produced an ugly fluffy toy from under his arm and showed it to Banham and Alison. ‘Actually, I could
n’t get mice, so I’m using fluffy hedgehogs. I have to hope you can’t tell from the front.’
Banham tried not to smile.
‘I wish I could cut the scene,’ Michael said sadly, ‘but it’s vital to the legend of Dick Whittington. Dick’s cat is famous for ridding the island of mice. Then King Rat appears, he and Dick have a big sword fight and Dick defeats him. He wins his freedom, marries Alice and becomes Lord Mayor of London and they all live happily ever after. That’s the story.’
‘Real life’s very different,’ Banham said.
‘You’re so right,’ Michael replied. ‘Well, I’d best help the lads to get the palace into place; we’re already running late.’
‘Twenty minutes to the end of the show,’ Banham said to Alison. ‘Everyone’s busy – let’s have a swift nosy around that company office.’
Sophie Flint was furious. She was standing in the stage right wings waiting to go on, and watching the actors on stage. The scene was going very badly; Fay had messed up all her lines, and Barbara was becoming impatient with her and fluffing her own lines. Maggie should have been following at Barbara’s heels, but was obviously having trouble seeing out of the eyeholes in the cat’s head, so was following Fay by mistake. And Vincent was cracking jokes about it, which made Stephen lose concentration and mistime his own jokes – which Vincent used to get more laughs at Stephen’s expense. The audience squealed with laughter.
Then Alan McCormack, who was also in the scene, forgot his line altogether, so Vincent said it and told the audience it was Alan’s – so Alan stormed off the stage and went to the pub.
Stephen decided enough was enough and marched off the stage towards Sophie. ‘I want words with you,’ he raged.
‘Not now,’ she snapped.
The scene on stage finished, and Vincent left the stage to clapping and cheering from the audience. The pianist began to play tinkling, fairy-like music, the lights dropped and a pink spotlight shone in the corner. Sophie walked into the light and delivered her pretty fairy speech, assuring the audience that she was there to make sure there was nothing to fear, all would end well and Dick Whittington and his cat would be safe.