Summer Season on the Seafront

by Katie Ginger

  ‘Are you coming in, Sarah?’ It was Luke, the guy playing Caliban. Without thinking Sarah took a step forward; it seemed she was going in after all. Besides, she still needed to tell Lottie what had happened. It was strange that after being so secretive for so long, she actually wanted to tell someone. She couldn’t imagine not telling her best friend and bottling everything back up. Lottie would know what to say to make her feel better. She always did. ‘Are you all right?’ Luke asked, giving her a concerned look when she didn’t move any further inside.

  Sarah plastered on a smile. It was time to act normal, even if she didn’t feel it. ‘Yes, I’m fine thanks, Luke. Just a busy day at work.’ They entered together, making polite conversation about the weather and how the play was going, to see most of the main cast had already arrived. Sid and Lottie were setting the stage with a circle of chairs ready to have another read-through, whilst the other players stood around chatting or muttering their lines to themselves.

  Sarah approached her best friend. ‘Hey.’

  Lottie’s high blonde ponytail swished as she turned. ‘Hey, you.’ Her smile quickly faded. ‘Are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Sarah as Mrs Andrews waltzed in, waving to everyone like the Queen on a state visit. ‘Can we catch up later, though?’

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ Lottie replied, gently rubbing Sarah’s arm. Sarah gave a weak smile and forced down the anger and hurt still pushing up from her chest. Diverting her attention, she fumbled in her bag for her copy of The Tempest and climbed onto the stage to find a seat. She would have preferred talking to Lottie before the rehearsal, but they only had just under four weeks till showtime and there was a lot still to learn in that time.

  The stagehands were busy painting the large jagged boards of wood at the back of the stage that were being made to look like rocks. Debbie McCray had already sketched out what they were to look like and two of the guys were painting them as instructed. It was like painting by numbers, just bigger. As a local artist Debbie was proving amazingly useful in designing sets. In the middle, between the boards, stood an MDF cut-out of a sparse, leafless tree. It was yet to be painted but even in this half-decorated state the theatre was coming together and that always sent a thrill down Sarah’s spine.

  Debbie had just arrived herself, and her strong Scottish tones echoed around the theatre. ‘Sorry I’m late, everyone,’ she called, eyeing the work being done on stage. ‘I had a wee accident in the gallery.’ She lifted bright red hands, stained with paint, but her smile was wide and cheery. She was wearing a green tie-dye dress that clashed wildly with her newly dyed cherry-red hair. Quite possibly, it was this that was all over her hands.

  ‘Whatever happened?’ asked Mrs Andrews. Since last year Mrs Andrews had softened somewhat towards her fellow players, but that didn’t stop her being a right old snooty boots when it suited her, or trying to take over. She looked at Debbie as if she was a knife-wielding lunatic smothered in blood.

  ‘Och, I didn’t realise a tube of cadmium had a split in it until I squeezed some out onto my palette and the whole bloody thing exploded onto my hands. Now look.’ Debbie wiggled her fingers. ‘Never mind though, it’ll fade in a week or two.’

  Mrs Andrews shook her head. There was no way she would have waited that long. She liked everything to be spotless; her housekeeper was working overtime dealing with the dust and debris from the kitchen extension.

  Gregory and Cecil were the next to arrive in matching bright white loafers and long tailored shorts. They looked like they were on the Riviera rather than in Greenley; all they lacked were straw boaters. From the way they fidgeted, they were still incredibly excited about their little secret and took a seat either side of Sarah, grinning at each other like pantomime dames.

  ‘How’s your visitor?’ whispered Sarah.

  ‘Oh my gosh,’ said Gregory, ‘he is completely adorable, isn’t he Cecil?’

  ‘Ad-or-a-ble,’ Cecil confirmed, before sitting back and running a hand through his short brownish-grey hair.

  ‘Did he appreciate your spare pants?’ Cecil gave her his we-are-not-amused look.

  ‘Obviously he’s kept himself to himself being under house arrest but, do you know,’ Gregory said in a hurried whisper, ‘the other night while I was making spag bol he came in and offered to help chop the mushrooms.’ Gregory sat back as if he’d just said Nate had offered to pay off the rest of his mortgage. Sarah opened her mouth into a wide circle of mock surprise.

  ‘Oh my gosh! He did not. What a gent!’ she teased, but her tone soon sharpened as she recalled why he was there. ‘Well, we’d best forget all about him being a cheating scumbag then, hadn’t we? He clearly isn’t an absolute grade A knob cheese if he offered to chop mushrooms for the spag bol.’

  Cecil straightened up defensively. ‘All right, Sarky Sue. What’s the matter with you?’

  The back of Sarah’s neck prickled. She was being horribly unfair to Gregory and Cecil, plus downright rude. Of course they were excited about having a gorgeous TV star come to stay with them in secret. They didn’t deserve her grumpiness just because she’d had the worst day in history. It was all her stupid dad’s fault. She had to get a grip on the anger still pulsing around her system. Lowering her head, Sarah softened. ‘I’m really sorry, guys. I just had a really shitty day, that’s all.’ Looking imploringly at them both, she wished she could tell them, but as there was a chance that after today her dad wouldn’t come back, she chose not to. If he didn’t come back, no one need ever know what had happened.

  Gregory leaned over and rested his hand on hers. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  Seeing his kind face made her throat tighten as she tried to control her emotions. ‘No thanks, it’s fine. Best to just forget about it, I think. I really need to concentrate on this anyway.’ She shook her copy of The Tempest at them and began thumbing through the pages.

  ‘Right, everyone,’ said Conner, bringing the meeting to order. He’d changed his lip ring for a long bar and his hair was gelled up into a Mohican. If you didn’t know him you’d think he was a thug but he was actually quite shy and sweet. Only in his second year at university, he was still working with the Greenley Players to gain some more experience. Sarah hadn’t had any idea what she wanted to do at Conner’s age and found his focus remarkable. ‘I thought we’d begin with the scene where—’ They heard the door revolve and looked up.

  ‘Coo-eee! Wait for me,’ called Kathryn, another new member of the players. She came in with a long baggy cardigan hanging off one shoulder, her handbag dangling from her forearm and her unbrushed hair falling out of its bun. ‘Sorry, I had to wait for Steve to get home so he could give me a lift.’ Conner smiled. No one could be mad at Kathryn even though she was always late. She was like an insanely cheerful mother hen.

  After a moment he began again. ‘Okay then, everyone, we really need to get started. I wanted to work on act one, scene two. It’s one of the key scenes in the play where we first meet Prospero, Miranda, Caliban and the spirits. But before we do, can I just remind you all that The Tempest has some singing in it too.’

  Everybody groaned. Even Sarah. Though she was known as the singer of the group, with a voice often compared to Adele’s, singing weird Shakespearean rhymes was proving incredibly difficult for everyone. The last time they’d tried they sounded like a bunch of drunks making their way up the High Street after a few too many. ‘We all need to practise,’ reminded Conner. ‘So please do the exercises Gregory gave you last time.’ Gregory glowed at the reference to him.

  ‘Also,’ interrupted Lottie, ‘we’ll need an accompaniment for the song. I’ve been through the storeroom and all I could find was one maraca, a triangle, and a tambourine with a hole in. Does anyone play a musical instrument?’ Everyone gazed around at everyone else, but all heads were shaking.

  ‘I played the clarinet at school,’ offered Mrs Andrews, ‘and though I was very good, I haven’t played for years.’ Gregory a
nd Cecil rolled their eyes at Mrs Andrews’ modesty.

  ‘I used to play the drums,’ said Luke. Sarah had a mental image of Luke sitting in front of upturned saucepans using wooden spoons as drumsticks because suffice to say, the Greenley Players didn’t own a drum kit.

  ‘Okay,’ replied Lottie with a disappointed shrug. ‘I guess I’ll have to figure something out.’

  ‘Thanks, Lottie,’ said Conner and he turned back to Sarah. ‘Right, Sarah, why don’t you start us off.’

  Sarah took a deep breath and began to read, thankful she wasn’t expected to know this by heart yet. ‘“If by your art, my dearest father”…’ Her voice trailed away, the day’s intense feelings flooding back in a second. Her dad had come back. Today. His sad, worn face at the surgery doors suddenly flashed into her mind. She’d managed not to think about him for so long and she hated that he was forcing her to do it now. He’d been a dear father during her childhood. It had been perfect. He’d called her sugarplum, stroked her head when she was ill, even grabbed her fizzy drinks and chocolate when she was hungover. Her face tensed as tears unexpectedly threatened and she recalled the day they found out he’d been stealing from his bosses’ firm. And then her mum was diagnosed with cancer and it was only because of that the firm agreed to keep everything quiet, but her dad was still prosecuted. He still went to prison and left them. It destroyed her mother and made it harder for her to fight the cancer that ultimately consumed her. It was all his fault. She would never forgive him because things might have been different, if only he’d been there.

  ‘Sarah?’ asked Conner gently. She looked up to see everyone staring at her. Even Mrs Andrews had a flicker of concern on her Botoxed face. Lottie’s brow was wrinkled in worry and Sarah averted her eyes.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I think I’ve got hay fever.’ Sarah wiped at her cheek making sure there were no tears, then cleared her throat and began from where she’d left off. ‘“You have put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.”’ Her voice lacked any sort of emotion, aware that if she did tap into her feelings there’d be no telling what would come out.

  Rehearsals continued but every time Sarah spoke she felt everyone’s eyes on her again and was grateful when her scene ended and Mrs Andrews began as Ariel. Her strong, powerful voice filled the theatre. Halfway through a line, Conner interrupted. ‘Mrs Andrews, that was great but you’re still playing Ariel as if Ariel is the one in charge of the relationship. Try and remember that Prospero holds all the cards here and is the dominant one.’

  Mrs Andrews couldn’t have looked more disgusted if Conner had sat in her lap and farted. Sarah suppressed a grin, grateful for the distraction. Last year, Conner had been so quiet and shy, his role as director was a bit of a joke – not surprising as he was only 18 then and spent most of his time hiding under his long gelled black fringe. Since then, the change in his confidence was incredible. They began again and despite the banging of nails being driven in to the scenery, and the swish of paintbrushes, they seemed to make some progress.

  ‘Thanks, everyone,’ said Conner. ‘Before we finish, I was thinking about a little game we could play to get to know the characters a little more. I’d like you to tell me three things about a character. It can be anything at all, so it could be about their appearance, personality, or their actions.’

  ‘Does it have to be about the character we’re playing?’ asked Luke.

  ‘No. It can be any character. Just name them, then tell us the three things. I’ll give you all a minute to think and then, Gregory, we’ll start with you. Okay? I just thought it’d be a great way to get to understand the play better.’

  Gregory nodded, closed his eyes to think, then lifted his head. ‘Prospero: powerful.’ Mrs Andrews curled her lip. ‘Fatherly. And … manipulative.’

  A pang of pain pierced Sarah as he said this, thinking of her own father’s manipulations.

  ‘Very good,’ said Conner. ‘Luke?’ He was really enjoying playing Caliban, the deformed child of a witch, and slave to Prospero, and he was very, very good, not that he knew it. Gregory always called him a natural and that meant a lot coming from him.

  ‘Umm, I’ll go for Prospero too. He’s magical—’

  ‘Why, thank you very much,’ replied Gregory with a teasing grin.

  ‘Umm … old—’

  ‘Steady on now,’ Gregory replied again, and embarrassment forced Luke to look away.

  ‘And …’ Luke shrugged, unable to think of anything else.

  ‘Let’s go for handsome, shall we?’ teased Gregory and everyone laughed.

  They continued with the game until everyone had had a turn. Finally, Conner called it a day.

  ‘And don’t forget,’ said Lottie, ‘drinks for Sarah’s birthday on Saturday the fourth of August. Here’s your little reminder card.’ She handed the cards round, giving one to an embarrassed Sarah who tucked it into her book. After a final flurry of activity, the theatre was empty once again, and Lottie and Sarah sat down in the front row.

  ‘What’s going on, honey?’ Lottie asked. She crossed her slightly plump legs and Sarah noticed for the first time that evening that she was wearing a skirt and her legs were bare. This was virtually unheard of for Lottie whose confidence wavered when it came to her weight. Though she’d been so much more content about it this summer.

  ‘I like your skirt,’ Sarah said, admiring the floaty material and pale-blue colour. Lottie brushed it down and a tinge of red came to her cheeks.

  ‘Thank you, but don’t change the subject. What’s the matter?’

  Despite the warmth of the theatre, Sarah shivered. She cocked her head wondering where exactly to begin. Every part of her wanted her friendship with Lottie to remain as it was, yet another wanted to tell her everything, or as near to it as she could manage. But she worried about being judged. When Sarah’s words came out, they were punctuated by long, unhappy pauses. ‘So, you know when my mum had cancer my dad left us to work away?’ Lottie nodded. ‘Well, he didn’t exactly leave, he went to prison for false accounting.’

  Lottie’s eyes widened. ‘But I thought … You never said.’

  Sarah dipped her eyes. ‘I was embarrassed. Dad got greedy and took some money. By the time it all came out, Mum was ill, but we didn’t know then she was terminal.’ She inhaled, steadying her breathing. ‘Because Mum was sick, the company he stole from agreed to keep everything quiet, but Dad was still prosecuted and went to prison. Now he’s been released and is kind of … back. He turned up at the surgery today. Out of the blue.’

  Lottie gasped. ‘Shit. What did you do?’

  ‘I told him to go, and that I never wanted to see him again. I told him he wasn’t my dad anymore.’ As the words finally came out, Sarah found they wouldn’t stop. Everything she had imagined saying to a friend all the time she didn’t have one was flowing out. All except that one thing: the worst thing of all. ‘And I’m just so bloody angry.’ Sarah balled her hands into fists. ‘He wasn’t there when it was awful. Horrible. When Mum was sick, all I could do was watch her fade away. Literally shrinking before my eyes as the cancer ate away at her. I always wondered if she’d have been able to fight if Dad was around, you know? Would things have been different?’ Sarah forced out the memories of her mum on the night she’d said goodbye. The body in the bed at the hospice was just a shell and she’d known then that her mum’s soul had already left. But Sarah had kissed the soft skin of her cheek and told her she loved her all the same. ‘Then afterwards when I had to sort through all her things and Dad wasn’t there – I hated him.’ Lottie took her hand and suddenly Sarah’s cheeks were wet, tears streaming down her face. She hadn’t cried like this for years, she had trained herself not to, but she couldn’t control it now. Sarah sucked in a big breath of air but before she could say anything she shivered and folded in her chair, dry sobs shaking her body.

  Lottie held her for a long time, not speaking, just making gentle shushing noises until the intense emotion began to subside. When Sarah
finally lifted her head, Lottie asked, ‘Stupid question, but are you going to see him again?’

  ‘I don’t even know where he is. I didn’t get his number or anything. I just told him to never speak to me again.’

  ‘Oh, honey, what will you do now?’ Sarah shrugged. Lottie smiled, her eyes full of sympathy. ‘I really think you should come and stay with me tonight. You shouldn’t be on your own. Sid can go back to his own flat for a night and we can have a girly night. If I can sleep in this heat, that is.’

  Sarah smiled and found a tissue in her handbag. ‘Thanks, but I’m okay. I’m just so tired I think I’ll go home and have an early night.’

  ‘Okay. If you’re sure.’

  ‘I might take a walk along the beach first though. I could do with some fresh air.’

  ‘Do you want me to come?’

  ‘No, thanks. I think I’d prefer to be on my own right now. My head’s a mess.’

  Lottie nodded. ‘You did really well tonight, by the way. I think you’re getting there with Miranda now.’

  ‘No I’m not, you bloody awful liar.’ Sarah laughed, standing up and readying to leave. ‘But at least I had an excuse today.’ She wiped her face with her hands. ‘I really need to up my game before the next rehearsal on Sunday. Maybe I’ll do some research if I feel up to it, see what I can find on the internet. It might be nice to be someone else for a while. I’m not really enjoying being me at the moment.’

  ‘You’re amazing,’ replied Lottie in true best friend fashion, giving her a hug. ‘I think you’re incredible.’