The Boy I Love Page 6

  Dora had made the second dress much more demure. Like the one in Jackie’s shop, it was a 1950s-style, with a full skirt and petticoats in a gorgeous peacock blue.

  ‘Dora, you are amazing! Thank you so much. I could never have done this by myself.’ Sally beamed at her sister.

  ‘Well, I am pleased you appreciate me. In return, you must make sure the wardrobe department see what I can do, so they realize they can’t possibly manage without me. Now give me one of those pairs of shoes we bought because I am going to dye them to match this dress.’

  Sally sat down one evening with her father and they went through her finances. Her salary was modest, but there’d be enough to live on. There was only one more favour to be asked. A TV!

  ‘Well now, young lady, this is a bit of a luxury, but your mother has persuaded me that you might need the company at first, and it is cheaper than going to the pub every night. So I have invested in a new portable TV for your room.’ Douglas lifted a huge box up from behind his desk.

  ‘Oh Dad, you are generous – thank you so much. I promise it will all be worth it in the end. I will make it up to you and Mother, just wait and see.’ Sally hugged her father and went in search of Patricia.

  ‘Thank you, Mum,’ she said, throwing her arms around her mother’s waist.

  ‘Whatever for?’ Then light dawned. ‘Ah, the TV, I am guessing. Well, it is important you keep up with what is on telly, isn’t it?’ Patricia said gaily.

  ‘Quite right, Mum, you are a wise old bird and no mistake.’

  ‘Less of the old, thank you,’ scolded Patricia. ‘Now let’s go and find you a suitcase and start putting things in piles. You know how much I like a nice neat pile.’ They both laughed and went in search of bags.

  Despite her days being full-on, Sally did manage to arrange a photo-shoot with Mack. She went to his studio and they spent a couple of hours taking different shots in different locations. Mack was easygoing and made her feel very comfortable.

  ‘I usually hate having my photo taken,’ she ventured as she sat on a chair in the middle of several unfinished sculptures in Mack’s studio. Everything was white, even the floors, but whatever Mack had done with the lighting had suffused the whole room in a soft haze. It was very restful, and when Sally saw the Polaroids he had taken as tests, she was pleasantly surprised by how pretty she looked.

  ‘Lighting is the most important factor in photography, I think,’ Mack was saying as he snapped away. ‘And not just in photography. It obviously makes a huge difference when I am painting or sculpting. I love being in this space and it changes all the time depending on the seasons.’ He grinned. ‘I get completely carried away in here some days, and Muriel has to come and remind me that there is a world out there.’

  ‘I envy you your solitude,’ said Sally. ‘It must be wonderful to practise your art without having to rely on other people. As an actor, I need an audience for a reaction. Spouting Shakespeare in my lonely attic is not going to get me a job. I have to be out there in front of people.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you are right,’ replied Mack. ‘I have never thought about it from that perspective, although ultimately I am also reliant on someone commissioning and the public buying my work.’

  ‘Yes, but you can create it first without a reaction from anyone. Acting requires a response – especially comedy. As an actor I also need someone objective watching over me. It is all about the director at the end of the day, especially in TV and films. Although at the theatre, the actor is the master onstage. He can rehearse for weeks and the director can give notes all day long – but once that curtain goes up, it is his domain. For those two hours he is in control. What a great feeling that is!’

  Sally had risen to her feet with excitement, then realized she had ruined the pose. ‘Oh, I am so sorry, but surely you have enough photos by now, Mack? Please let’s go and have a drink.’

  ‘OK, you are right. Come on, let’s go and have a slap-up dinner. The paper is paying.’

  Mack took her to a French bistro near the river. It was very exclusive and Sally guessed that it was also very expensive.

  ‘I told you the local rag is paying for this,’ said Mack when Sally raised an eyebrow at the prices. ‘You are worth it, Miss Thomas, a potential star in the making!’

  They both laughed then got down to the serious business of eating and drinking. It was a lovely evening. Mack was so easy to talk to, and funny as well. With the rosy glow of a bottle of Beaujolais inside her, Sally was brave enough to suggest that he might like to come and visit her in Crewe.

  ‘You could bring Muriel and Dave and make a weekend of it. See me perform even!’ She giggled, thinking to herself, I can’t believe I am doing this.

  ‘I would love that,’ replied Mack. ‘Would it matter if I came on my own?’ He was looking at her very intensely now and Sally began to feel a little warm.

  ‘Not at all,’ she said shyly.

  Mack got the bill and they left, finding each other’s hands as they walked home. It felt so good and so right to be there with Mack. Sally was in a state of shock. What was this all about? They stopped at the bottom of the street near her house and Mack kissed her deeply, drawing her into him. He then stepped back and held her face in his hands.

  ‘I am going to miss you, Sally Thomas. I want to come and see you very soon, if that is OK with you?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ whispered Sally and kissed him again. She had never felt so alive. She wanted to make love to Mack so badly, but this was just not the right time. She was leaving in a couple of days and he would think badly of her, surely?’

  ‘Mack, I want to say . . .’ she began, but he put a finger to her lips.

  ‘You don’t have to say anything, Sally. I understand this is not the right time for you to start a love affair with me or anybody. But believe me, I would love to see you again and I don’t want to lose this moment however fragile it may be. Let us just try to meet as soon as we can, and see what develops. You are a very special lady, Sally Thomas. I need you but your public needs you more.’

  ‘Oh thank you, Mack!’ Sally hugged him hard. ‘I can’t wait to show you my new life when you come up.’

  Mack leaned down and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek, then turned and walked away. As Sally watched him go he turned round briefly, with a wave, and was gone.

  Sally began to feel tears welling up and chided herself yet again on being foolish. She was doing what she had always wanted to do. She must not get sidelined.

  ‘Get a grip, girl!’ she told herself. ‘This is what you want and you are going to make the most of it.’

  By Saturday night Sally was ready to go. She had decided to catch an early train on Sunday morning even though her parents had offered to drive her. It seemed important that she made the break this end and showed some spirit.

  Now as the train shuddered to a halt and a whistle pierced her dreams, Sally awoke with a start and realized she had arrived at Platform One, Crewe station. Giving a little yawn, she stood up and began to collect her bags. Excitement surged through her.

  Let the adventure begin!

  Act 2

  Take centre stage

  Chapter 8

  My old man said, ‘Foller the van,

  And don’t dilly dally on the way.’

  Off went the van wiv me ’ome packed in it,

  I followed on wiv me old cock linnet.

  But I dillied and dallied, dallied and I dillied

  Lorst me way and don’t know where to roam.

  Well, you can’t trust a Special like the old time coppers

  When you can’t find your way ’ome.

  ‘Good morning, everyone, and welcome to my wonderful world of theatre!’ Giles Longfellow’s voice reverberated around the theatre and bounced off the chandelier to land smack bang in the centre of the stage. Sally was reminded of her first visit to Crewe and her gaze immediately flew to the Royal Box. Sure enough, she could see the shadowy figure of their employer hovering behind
a gilded pillar. He appeared like a conjuror at the finale of his act and looked down upon the assembled cast.

  ‘Forgive my theatricality, folks, but I love this theatre, and I am determined that this season will be the best ever. I have gathered a great cast and some wonderful entertainment for the next nine months, and together we will ensure that live theatre lives on in the provinces despite the government’s best efforts to curb our budget. Heather, please hand out the schedule of works while I come down and join you.’ He disappeared through the curtain at the back of the box, and the company turned expectantly to Heather, the stage manager.

  Sally had met her at nine o’clock that morning as she arrived at the stage door.

  ‘Hi. I am Sally Thomas – ASM, small parts and understudy,’ she had announced rather nervously. ‘I am not quite sure what to do first, or who to ask for . . .’

  Heather had slapped her on the back and steered her towards the stage, saying, ‘Oh, well done for getting here early. That bodes well for the first day. I am Heather Rollings, and I am the stage manager here. It’s my third year so I pretty much know how it all works. Come and have a cup of tea in the office and I will fill you in.’

  Sally followed her down to the basement and along a narrow corridor lined with huge heating pipes. There was a door at the end and Heather ushered her into a musty room with a light bulb swinging from the ceiling and a desk with a lamp and piles of paperwork on it. A broken armchair stood in the corner next to a side table, on which was a kettle and some cracked mugs, and containers of tea and coffee. There was a half-full bottle of milk that Heather quickly emptied into a tiny basin in the corner. She left the bottle on the floor by a bin as she produced a fresh one from her rucksack.

  ‘We waste so much milk here, but without a fridge what can I do? Tea or coffee?’ she asked, filling the kettle.

  ‘Oh, tea please,’ said Sally, looking round.

  ‘Not exactly the Theatre Royal, Haymarket, is it?’ remarked Heather. ‘To be honest I am hardly ever in here, as I’m too busy running round like a blue-arsed fly. Have you done any stage management at all?’ She posed the question as if she already knew the answer.

  ‘Well, I did a bit at drama school, but this is my first professional job actually and—’

  ‘Oh crap, I thought so.’ Heather cut her off. ‘Sorry, Sally, but Giles does this to me every year. Hires would-be actresses to do stage management. You are not in the least bit interested in lighting or props, you just want to perform!’ She threw a tea bag into a mug and banged it down in front of Sally. ‘It drives me mad. There is another girl in the cast down as ASM as well – Sarah something. I just hope she is the genuine article.’

  ‘I am so s-sorry,’ stammered Sally. ‘I really am. But please don’t think I am not going to pull my weight. I fully expect to do my share, and I am eager to learn, honestly.’

  Heather sat down at her desk and studied her for a few minutes. Sally waited for her assessment.

  ‘Fair enough,’ came the sighed response. ‘At least you tipped up on time today. Let’s see how we get on. Now today can go as smooth as treacle, or turn into bedlam. First thing you need to know, my girl, is all about the pecking order. But first, I’ll do the tea.’ She got up and poured boiling water into the mugs.

  ‘Pecking order?’ repeated Sally. ‘How do you mean?’

  Heather came back and took a list from her bag; she placed it between them. ‘This is the cast, and it’s important that you learn who is at the top of the list, and who is at the bottom. And let me tell you that very often, some of these buggers shouldn’t be on any list at all!’ Her good humour restored, over the next half an hour Heather took Sally through the cast, and then led her up to the stage to lay out chairs ready for the ‘Meet and Greet’. Two large chairs stood in the centre, and then the smaller fold-away chairs fanned out on each side into a semi-circle.

  Heather laid a cast list on the two main chairs, saying, ‘These are for Peggy and Percy, our leading artistes – a couple off stage as well as on, known behind their backs as Pinky and Perky.’ She snorted. ‘They rule the roost, so watch out. Don’t tell Peggy anything she can use against you, and keep out of Percy’s way unless you are prepared to be a slave to his demands.’

  ‘How many of the cast have been here before?’ Sally asked as she put a typed list on each chair.

  ‘Let’s see . . . well, Geoffrey Challis has done a few seasons here. He is lovely, by the way. He has a wife and three kids and I really don’t know how he makes ends meet, but I suspect his missus has money. Charmaine Lloyd was here last year. She’s OK most of the time, but I get the impression she feels she should be leading the Royal Shakespeare Company. As far as I know, everyone else is a newcomer.’

  ‘I am staying with Peter and Janie at the moment. I met them last night and they seem very pleasant.’ Sally followed Heather across the stage to the pass door. Heather held it open for her, and then they both climbed the stairs to the Green Room, which was inevitably at the top of the building.

  ‘This will keep you fit,’ puffed Heather. ‘I keep trying to give up the fags but it’s hopeless.’

  The Green Room was the heart of any theatrical company. So-called because it was invariably painted green, it was the communal dumping ground and meeting place for the actors and stage management. Here, there was tea and coffee, a kettle, a fridge and a microwave. The fridge, Heather said, was usually crammed with every type of food imaginable, from salad to Pot Noodles, to mouldy cheese. The room always had that faint aura of curry and burnt toast. This morning was no exception.

  Heather went straight to the little window in the corner and opened it, saying, ‘Oh God, it always stinks in here. Look at the sink! No one ever washes up the plates or anything. I am going to put up a notice for the new company, and let’s try to get them to at least clear up their own mess. We have enough to do without taking that on as well. Now as you will discover, the tea and coffee need constant replenishing – it goes so fast. The management pays for that, and milk, and sometimes biscuits for special occasions, like today. First day we always have biscuits, which I have brought with me, so if you could find a clean plate and put them out, I will make a start on washing up mugs. We are about twenty today.’

  ‘Blimey, as many as that,’ said Sally, hunting for plates.

  ‘Yes. The lighting designer comes and the designer, the wardrobe and the carpenter, et cetera. Plus we are quite a big cast, you know,’ added Heather. ‘Twelve, I think, and more to come later.’

  By the time they had sorted out the refreshments and carried them back to the stage, the first arrivals were standing around looking lost.

  ‘Morning, all. There is tea and coffee on the way, so please find a seat and read your production notes and call sheets,’ announced Heather authoritatively. ‘Sally, let’s set up a table in the prompt corner – there is a socket there for the kettle.’

  Sally followed her over to the corner and dumped her load, then turned back to the stage to watch the arrivals. Janie and Peter had just come in and waved in her direction. Sally went to join them.

  ‘Morning, you two. Sorry I was in such a state last night but it was such a nightmare journey. I never thought I would make it.’ Sally had, indeed, had a terrible time yesterday. Having fallen asleep as the train sped through the Cotswolds, she was rudely awakened by a very loud announcement that due to works on the line, the train was delayed. Sally was not particularly bothered as she had all day, so she decided to find the buffet car and get herself some supplies. To her horror there was a queue right down the train! Thirty minutes later she arrived at the counter only to find there was nothing left except crisps and water or wine.

  ‘I’ll have a white wine and a packet of plain crisps, please.’ She took her meagre purchases back to her seat and gazed out of the window. It had started to drizzle, and the landscape was definitely no longer as pleasant. She could see two huge concrete silos in the distance, and smoke was billowing from giant chimney-
stacks on the other side of the tracks, sending great white fluffy clouds into the grey mass of sky above. Like daubs of paint on a palette, she thought. Further announcements came and went, until two and a half hours later the train squealed to life and shuddered forward slowly, finally gathering speed – but not for long. Thirty minutes later the voice of doom announced from the Tannoy in a fine Black Country burr that, ‘This train will shortly be stopping at Rugby. Would passengers please alight and wait on Platform Three for the next train to Crewe.’

  By the time the train had spat them all out, the passengers were mutinous, but there was no one to complain to, so they fell back on each other. Sally escaped to the waiting room and found a corner seat. It was now mid-afternoon and she could see her whole day disappearing fast. She wondered if there was any way she could warn Janie and Peter that she would be late. If they decided to go out she was completely snookered, as she had no keys. But they had no phone in the digs, as she remembered. Maybe she could ring Gladys at the stage door – but then what could she do? No, Sally did not want to cause trouble so early in the day; she would just trust to luck. Hearing a commotion, she looked out to see a group of irate passengers accosting a guard. She went to the door of the waiting room and opened it to listen to his excuses.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please let’s have some calm. We are doing our best to make alternative arrangements for your onward journey. Would you kindly make your way to the ticket office where my colleague will give you details of your onward transport.’

  This sounds ominous, thought Sally. She gathered up her things and joined the crowd as they crossed the platform over the bridge to the ticket office. After waiting in the queue, she finally made it to the grille where a very harassed-looking lady was taking down information.

  ‘Destination?’ she enquired curtly.

  ‘Crewe, please,’ replied Sally.