by Fay Keenan
They were about to switch off the lights and go their separate ways when the door to the hall opened. Glancing up from the list of names that Josie had handed her, Florence was surprised, and a little flustered, to see Sam Ellis standing in the doorway.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, then blushed at her rather ungracious tone. ‘I mean… have you come to audition?’
‘Not likely!’ Sam replied, ignoring Florence’s rather direct first question. ‘I thought I’d drop off the flyers for the air ambulance unit, in case anyone wants to gift aid a donation after the performance.’
Smiling, Josie took them from him. ‘Thanks.’ She looked quizzically at Sam for a moment, and then recognition dawned on her face. ‘Are you the pilot who landed on the school field the other day?’
Sam nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right. We’ve used it a few times for callouts around there.’
‘I thought I recognised you,’ Josie replied. ‘Don’t you recognise him too, Florence?’
Florence, face feeling hot, nodded. ‘I should do,’ she said, ‘since we live next door to each other as well.’
At Josie’s surprised twitch of the eyebrows, Florence realised she’d never got the chance to fill Josie in on her connections to Sam, that lunchtime after the helicopter had landed on the school field. Josie was clearly hurriedly filling in the gaps now.
‘Well, isn’t that a coincidence?’ Josie kept smiling as she turned her gaze back to Sam.
Don’t, Josie… Florence thought. But she was beginning to discover that with Josie, there was no such word as don’t.
‘Are you sure we can’t persuade you to do a quick audition?’ Josie teased as she placed the flyers down on the table. She waved a copy of the script at Sam. ‘After all, you’re quite new to the village and it would be a good way to get to know people.’
Sam laughed apprehensively, seemingly unnerved by the steamroller of Josie’s persuasive charm heading towards him. ‘No, honestly, drama’s really not my thing. Besides, my shift patterns involve working a lot of nights, so I wouldn’t really be available for rehearsals or performances.’
‘Oh, you don’t have to be in the main cast,’ Josie said airily, glancing down to consult her list. ‘I need— I mean, the production needs a few non-speaking soldier roles, and I’m sure you’d look great in uniform.’
Florence giggled, wondering if Josie knew how flirtatious she sounded. Sam glanced at her, and she found herself colouring in response to his irritated expression.
‘Come on! Humour me and read a little bit of the scene where Benedick talks about love,’ Josie thrust a piece of paper into Sam’s hands. ‘Just for fun.’
Sam looked as though he was just about to refuse point blank, when Florence stopped smirking and found her voice. ‘Don’t push him, Josie, if he doesn’t want to. I’m sure he’s got more important things to do than be in our production.’
Perhaps it was her slightly challenging tone, but at her words, Sam straightened up a little, and his clear blue eyes glinted. ‘Don’t you think I’m up to it?’ he asked.
‘Well, I know you’re really busy,’ Florence replied. ‘I can tell from the way you’re hanging around your house all the time when you’re not working.’
‘Christ, you’re as bad as my…’ Sam trailed off, then, with a game smile turned to Josie. ‘Let’s give it a go.’ He cleared his throat, glanced at the piece of paper and smiled. ‘I remember some of the original story from school.’
Was Florence imagining things, or was Sam blushing as he read the scene to himself?
‘When you’re ready,’ Josie prompted, a trace of amusement in her voice.
Sam cleared his throat, glanced up at the two women and began: ‘I really do wonder why men seem to make such idiots of themselves when it comes to love? You wouldn’t catch me dressing up or writing poetry to impress a woman. Honestly, I can’t believe Claudio’s wasting his time trying to get Hero to marry him!’
Sam struck a suitably irritable tone for Josie’s interpretation of Benedick’s great diatribe on the nature of love, and Florence was quietly impressed. As he continued on with the rewritten and modernised speech, she found her eyes drawn to his face. Half reading, but glancing up every so often to gauge the reaction of his audience of two, Sam seemed to be relaxing, and perhaps even starting to enjoy it.
As he reached the end of the speech, Josie put her clipboard down on the table beside her and clapped.
‘Brilliant! Far better than anything we’ve seen so far. Present company excluded, of course.’ She glanced at Florence. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Beatrice?’
Florence stared at Josie, agog. ‘Er… what?’
‘You heard me.’ Josie’s eyes twinkled. ‘The question is, do we even need to discuss who’s going to play Benedick? I mean, let’s face it, there’s not been a lot of other choices.’
‘Thanks,’ Sam said drily. ‘But, as I said, my shift patterns involve a lot of nights, so I don’t think I could commit to the play, anyway. It was fun auditioning, but I really don’t have the time to spare.’
‘That’s a shame,’ sighed Josie. ‘You’re far and away the best male we’ve had. Ah well.’ She glanced at Florence. ‘Looks like you’ll be alongside Tom Sanderson, then.’
Florence suppressed a grimace. ‘Do I really have to be Beatrice? Can’t you find someone else?’
‘Afraid not,’ Josie grinned. ‘You were here all morning, right? Beatrice is the only role we didn’t have anyone suitable for, except for you, of course. Besides, you’re the only one under forty but over twenty-five who’s actually any good. And you’re too old to play Hero, so Bea it is.’ She looked back at Sam. ‘But you’re not off the hook entirely. I’m going to put you down as Tom’s understudy, so if he does get a last-minute call-up to Broadway, you’ll be on stage. Got it?’
Sam looked dubious. ‘Does that mean I’ll have to learn all the lines?’
‘Yup, but attendance at rehearsals isn’t mandatory – I’m sure, living next door to Florence, she’ll be able to keep you posted about any, er, developments.’
Thanks, Josie, Florence thought. She was still embarrassed about nearly running Sam down on the crossing, although she had to concede that at least things had been a lot quieter next door lately.
She knew by now that it was useless to argue with Josie once she had her mind set on something. Out loud, she merely said, ‘That’s fine.’
Sam shook his head. ‘I had no idea that dropping off a bunch of leaflets would mean I got strong-armed into being an understudy.’
‘Count yourself lucky,’ Florence quipped. ‘I only came to give Josie moral support, and I’ve been cast as bloody Beatrice!’ Her laughter seemed to put Sam a little more at ease, and as he smiled, she again found herself thinking how attractive he was. Clean-shaven, and in a pale grey jumper that looked enticingly like it might be cashmere, and dark blue jeans, there was no disputing his attractiveness. And there was that morning she’d seen him in his flight suit, of course, when the air ambulance had landed on the school field. She couldn’t help drawing another Top Gun comparison at the memory. Sam looked just as good in his uniform overalls as Tom Cruise had as Maverick, and had the distinct advantage of being a fair bit taller.
‘Anyway, I’d better get going,’ Sam said. He gave Florence a slightly quizzical look, and at that moment, she definitely knew that he knew she’d been checking him out. ‘Is there anything I need to do, as the understudy?’
‘Well, if you could learn the lines and turn up to as many rehearsals as you can, that would be good, although I have a feeling that nothing short of a bomb under him could keep Tom off the stage!’ Josie smiled, but Florence, who was still watching Sam closely, noticed that he didn’t return the smile; instead, it seemed as though Josie had unwittingly touched a nerve.
‘Right,’ he said abruptly. ‘Well, keep me posted.’ He left the two women to it.
‘Was it something I said?’ Josie asked Florence.
‘Who know
s?’ Florence replied. ‘I wouldn’t worry. If he’s only the understudy, I’m sure we won’t need to see much of him.’ Although, she thought privately, she wasn’t sure who it would have been easier to act opposite: Tom, whose luvviness was bound to irritate her, or Sam, who she felt distinctly attracted to.
‘Shame about his crazy work shifts,’ Josie said. ‘If I had my way, I’d have cast him as the lead instead of Tom. But it can’t be helped.’
As Florence, too, said goodbye and wandered back to her house for a late lunch, she couldn’t help mulling over Sam’s sudden change of mood when Josie had joked about Tom. Perhaps he didn’t like to be lumped into the same category as such an obvious twerp as Tom, although he didn’t seem like the oversensitive type.
Trying to drag her mind away from the sight of Sam’s torso in that wonderfully form-fitting cashmere jumper, she tried to think instead about scheduling the kitchen fitters. Aunt Elsie’s house needed a lot of work, and the kitchen was the most urgent. She wanted to get it done before Christmas, if possible, but was getting fed up with looking at flooring, tiles and units. Resolving to make some actual decisions this weekend, she put Sam, and his odd behaviour, out of her mind.
12
A week later, about half an hour into the first read through of the Willowbury Dramatical Spectacular, Florence was amazed that Josie was still smiling. Having announced the cast list via the Facebook page she’d set up after the auditions were complete, the first time they’d all been in the same room together had certainly been eventful. It had all started amiably enough, Josie having bought enough coffee and pastries to fortify most of the West End, but soon it was obvious that certain members of the cast, including Tom Sanderson, he of the Britain’s Got Talent audition, had very definite ideas on interpretation. Florence thought she’d scream if she heard the words ‘when I was in the Bristol Theatre School production…’ one more time. This was hardly a large-scale, professional production, after all; it was just supposed to be a bit of festive fundraising entertainment to benefit the very worthy cause of the Somerset Air Ambulance.
‘OK, let’s take a break,’ Josie said about an hour and a half into the read-through, by which time, given all the interruptions, they’d only read about half of the play. She nodded in Tom’s direction to acknowledge yet another point he was making, and then suggested they take fifteen minutes to stretch their legs before resuming.
‘Christ, Josie, I don’t think I can do this,’ Florence said, the minute Tom and most of the rest of the cast were out of earshot. ‘I mean, it’s not that your script isn’t great, but if Tom makes one more suggestion for interpretation or emphasis, I think I’m going to feed it to him!’
Josie rolled her eyes. ‘I know, but it’s only the first time we’ve all come together. He’s just trying to throw his weight around. Ignore him.’
‘That’s all very well for you to say – you don’t have to cosy up to him in the second half.’ Florence took a defiant bite of one of the Danish pastries. ‘God, that new guy at Fairbrothers’ Bakery knows how to make the best flaky pastry,’ she mumbled in appreciation.
‘Hopefully he’ll stick around for a while,’ Josie replied. ‘Fairbrothers tends to get through their staff quite quickly.’
‘You mean they have a high turnover?’ Florence quipped weakly. She was struggling to find the humour in working with Tom, which she knew was going to be important as the nights grew shorter and the production got into full swing.
Josie rolled her eyes. ‘I hope you can inject a little more humour into your lines than that, after the break.’
Thankfully, a bit of fresh air seemed to knock some of the stuffiness out of Tom, and during the second half of the read-through he was noticeably quieter. At the end, he lingered while Josie and Florence put the chairs away and washed up the coffee mugs.
‘I think that went well,’ he said brightly, grabbing a couple of the chairs and stacking them in one corner of the hall.
‘Hmmm…’ Florence murmured non-committally.
Tom hesitated, as if he was working up the nerve to say something else. This reticence seemed so unlike the blustering thespian of the first part of the rehearsal that Florence immediately felt a little defensive.
‘I was just wondering, though, if you might be, er, open to doing a few extra rehearsals, just you and me, as well as working with the rest of the cast,’ Tom eventually blurted out.
‘Well,’ Florence started, shocked by his sudden request. ‘Shouldn’t we just try to build a rapport between us all for the early ones? It seems a bit unfair to sneak off behind their backs and rehearse on our own.’ She smiled what she hoped was an encouraging smile in Tom’s direction.
‘Ye-es,’ Tom replied doubtfully. ‘It’s just… can I be frank, Florence?’
I thought you were Tom, Florence thought mutinously, before zoning back into what he was saying. ‘Of course.’
‘I just don’t feel, as a professional, you understand, that you’re quite committing to your role in our paired scenes. I know this is only a small-town production, but I’m just not feeling Beatrice.’
Florence nearly choked on the last, surreptitious bite of the lone Danish pastry that was left over from the read-through. ‘Er, I’m sorry?’
‘Oh, don’t apologise,’ Tom replied, seemingly completely misinterpreting her surprise for compliance. ‘It’s early days and you’re not, as you admitted yourself, one for treading the boards. I just thought that it might benefit you, help you to really get under the skin of the character, if I gave you some one-to-one coaching between official rehearsals. What say you?’
Florence just gaped at him, now completely at a loss for words. Fortunately, at that moment, Josie, who’d been eavesdropping casually while getting the rest of the hall back into shape, sailed in and rescued her.
‘I don’t think there’s any need for that just yet, Tom,’ she said briskly. ‘As we’ve all just agreed, this was only the first read-through. Plenty of time to develop the appropriate rapport when we’re all a lot more secure with the script.’ The tone that was so successful with her rowdier classes seemed to work its magic on Tom, who looked suitably chastened.
‘Of course, of course,’ he attempted what he clearly thought was a hearty laugh. ‘I was merely trying to be constructive. No offence intended, Florence.’
Florence smiled briefly. ‘None taken, Tom. I’ll be sure to read up on the role before our next rehearsal, being as I am a mere amateur.’ She noticed Josie giving her a cautionary look and decided not to go the whole hog and rein in Tom in the manner she would an errant student.
‘Good, good.’ Tom glanced from one woman to the other, then, with a brief inclination of his head, walked towards the exit.
‘Did he seriously almost just bow?’ Florence exploded. ‘That’s the icing on the frigging cake, that is!’
Josie burst out laughing. ‘Just ignore him. For all of his bluster, I’m sure he just wants the best for this production.’
Florence snorted. ‘Like hell. He wants to turn it into the Tom Sanderson show. Bloody Kenneth Branagh wannabe. If he was really any good, he’d sure as hell not be hanging around here for this “small-town production”.’ Irritation about being browbeaten by Josie in to playing one of the leads, and now being criticised for that performance by a pompous arse like Tom, finally bubbled over. ‘I’ve half a mind to resign from this bloody play myself.’
‘Oh, please don’t do that,’ Josie said in alarm. ‘You’re the only one in Willowbury who’d be any good at playing Beatrice. It’s not like I was fighting actors off with a stick, you know.’
‘I know,’ Florence said, slightly mollified. ‘But I swear, Josie, if he keeps trying to rile me, I’ll bloody lamp him myself.’ Her learned Yorkshire vowels crept in when she got cross, and she felt even more irritated.
‘If it looks like you’re going to murder him, I promise you, as your director, I’ll step in,’ Josie said solemnly. ‘But, look on the bright side; he does have a lot
of stage experience. You might actually learn a thing or two!’
Florence didn’t dignify that with a response. Suddenly, she thought how much more preferable it would be to have been acting opposite Sam Ellis in this production. She was sure, whatever his faults were, that criticising her performance wouldn’t have been one of them. She was faintly horrified to find herself hoping that Tom might get run over by a bus on Willowbury’s zebra crossing before the performance.
13
The following Monday, having had Sunday to relax and catch up with some schoolwork and put the whole debacle with Tom into a calmer perspective, Florence returned home in rapidly darkening skies that presaged rain. As she grappled with a big box of exercise books and her house keys, the stocky, dark-haired man on the other side of the terrace wall put the bag of groceries he was carrying down hurriedly and drew closer to the wall.
‘Let me help you with that,’ he said, reaching over the low wall and relieving Florence of the box just as it was about to slip from her grasp and scatter the exercise books all over the still damp garden path.
‘Thanks,’ Florence said gratefully, handing over the books and slotting her key into the Yale lock on the front door.
‘No problem.’ The man regarded her intently for a moment, before handing her back the box after she’d pushed open the door. ‘I’m Aidan, by the way.’
‘Florence.’ She put the box down on the doormat and turned back to shake his proffered hand. ‘It’s nice to meet you. You must be Sam’s, er, housemate, right?’
Aidan smiled. ‘Guilty as charged. And guilty of something else, too, I think.’ He raised an eyebrow in her direction.
‘Oh yes?’ Florence feigned ignorance. She’d dealt with enough shifty-looking school kids in the classroom to know when a confession was coming. ‘What would that be, then?’