Millie's Game Plan (17 page)

Her mouth flattened and Mungo leapt onto her knee. ‘That is your interpretation. You’ve lost touch with your faith. Come to Mass with me next week.’

‘No.’ I was pacing now. I hadn’t been to Mass since Christmas, and even then I’d nodded off during the intercessions. ‘Mum, please don’t turn this into a sermon.’

‘I worry about you. Maybe this Joshua is just what you need.’

I grunted. It was doubtful my need for Joshua was quite the one she had in mind.

My proposal for the Spritzah!
Campaign was top of my work agenda all week. I was in and out of the design office like a pest, pressing for a creative team meeting to firm up our approach. I also desperately wanted to squeeze some visual treatments out of the guys.

‘What’s the client’s budget?’ our creative director, Graham, asked in the team meeting.

My stomach squelched. ‘Not as much as we’d like.’

Graham sighed, and there were laser-like looks of disdain criss-crossing the table. ‘We can’t turn out a load of visuals for this proposal if he’s not prepared to pay for it.’

‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘I’ll use words and knock up a mood board. Just thought if somebody had a bit of spare time…’

‘We’ve got four other deadlines this week. Sorry, Millie, no favours going spare. And what is the budget?’

It was two-thirds what we’d normally charge for a project like this. As I bravely announced it, I flipped through screens on my laptop to avoid four pairs of eyes rolling in their sockets. ‘But the client is good to go and…’ I hesitated, ‘…he’s a friend so I don’t mind working on this in my spare time.’

‘Good, so he’ll understand when you explain we can only give him what he pays for.’

‘Of course.’

Graham stood up. ‘Right, have a good week, folks.’

Bollocks! I hadn’t really wanted to spend all my spare time on Spritzah! I still had loads of stuff to do for
Grease
. I’d need a new barrel of midnight oil to get everything done in time. I’d be wrecked by the weekend and if Lex was still champing at the lascivious bit, I was sure to be a huge disappointment. Scratch that. An even bigger disappointment.

As I sat nursing a mug of coffee at my desk, I thought over the events of the weekend. Aside from shock, I was seriously pissed off that they’d pinched my camera and all those lovely photographs I’d taken. Call me paranoid, but I grabbed a new memory stick and backed up all my important personal files to it – just in case.

Thursday night was the technical rehearsal for
Grease
; our opportunity to check that the props didn’t fall apart, the sound worked and all the lighting cues happened when they were supposed to and spotlights fell on the right characters. The first person to cross my path was George, the theatre-manager-on-the-brink-of-retirement, who informed me the lighting guy was missing and his mobile phone was going to voicemail. ‘I can’t do everything, you know,’ he said.

‘I wouldn’t expect you to, George. I’m sure he’ll turn up soon,’ I said, even though I felt like swearing. Big H, our nineteen year old lighting technician, was a whiz with faders, follow-spots and sundry little buttons. He wouldn’t let me down.

My band of performers and some of their mums began to flock in around six-thirty. The youngest gazed open-mouthed at their first complete view of the scenery, while the seasoned elder teens glanced up with a grunt and returned to more pressing matters, like social networking on their phones – most likely messaging mates in the same building.

My clipboard in hand, I doled out minor jobs to eager parents, corralled the cast into sections of the auditorium and glanced repeatedly at my watch and the lighting booth in the hope that Big H might appear. Had I taken his talent too much for granted? Could he be sulking?

There was a discordant symphony drifting from the small, professional group of musicians tuning up. Bob, my musical director, was pencilling more comments into his score.

By seven-fifteen, there was still no sign of Big H. I stepped onto the stage, clapped my hands and called the cast to order. ‘Remember, tonight is not a complete run-through; we’re starting and finishing scenes, doing entrances, musical numbers, marking positions for the…er…lights, and checking props.
Anybody unsure what’s expected of them?’

A hand went up. ‘Ollie and Whiz aren’t back from their school trip.’

Two of my Burger Palace Boys. Great. ‘Anyone know when they’ll be here?’ A Mexican wave of shrugs rippled through the group. ‘Okay. Max, you make sure you tell them anything they need to know. Right, now…’

‘Millie!’ a voice called and I peered into the auditorium where the girl playing Frenchy was waving. ‘Lulu’s not here, either.’

I closed my eyes and ripped through one to ten in my head. ‘That’s a pity. We’ve still got to get on…’

There was the trill of a phone. ‘Whose phone is that?’ I snapped.

Heads turned but it was Bob dipping his hand into his pocket. ‘Sorry,’ he said and still answered it. The sniggers and tuts of the cast almost drowned out his conversation but not enough for me to miss the words, ‘Okay, I’ll get there as soon as I can.’

‘Sorry, Millie, it’s my mother. She’s had a fall. They’ve got her in A & E.’

And that was the best place for her – with medical professionals. A fat lot of use Bob and his conductor’s baton would be. I produced a look of sympathy and nodded.

Crap. Could things get any worse?

There was a bumpety-bump as Lulu tripped from the wings onto the stage beside me. ‘We’re gonna
rule
the
school
!’ she announced, arms at full stretch.

A huge cheer went up.

She pumped her hips. ‘Rizzo is in the building!’

‘Pissed,’ someone hissed.

I didn’t doubt it. As dear old Mae West would say, we were in for a bumpy night.

By nine o’clock, half the senior cast were almost as drunk as Lulu. Against my better judgement, I enlisted the help of George and dragged a step ladder onto the back of the stage and climbed it, forcing the cast to turn and look up at me. ‘We only have the dress rehearsal to go,’ I began. Eyes lowered everywhere as they primed themselves for my usual pep-talk. ‘But I’m prepared to cancel this show and return all the money if things don’t improve.’

Heads lifted and jaws dropped. ‘What?’

‘People are paying hard-earned cash to be entertained. We have a responsibility to give them a good show. Right now, it would be an insult to raise the curtain on this. It’s a shambles. And half of you are drunk.’

There were a few sniggers and one groan of agreement, as George decided to take his place on the other side of the ladders. ‘Never mind what Millie thinks,’ he grunted. ‘
I’ll
close the show, because it’s illegal for youngsters to consume alcohol on these premises. And I would be negligible in my duty if I didn’t put a stop to it. D’you ’ear me?’ Furtive looks twitched across a few faces. ‘Do you ’ear me?’ he asked, more loudly, making me think he might have watched a few too many pantomimes.

There were murmurs of acceptance and much scuffling of feet.

I really hoped they were listening, because I didn’t want to cancel the show. Especially after all the effort we’d put in. Before George pissed them off completely, I held up my hand to get their attention. ‘I want to give each of the principal characters their notes before we go home. To those of you who really pulled your weight tonight, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I truly believe we can salvage a good show out of the talent here. But it needs one hundred percent commitment – from all of you.’ There was a brooding silence. ‘Principals, stay behind! Please.’

Despite being half-cut, Lulu had performed her part with
a certain oomph. The only outrageous move she’d made was cupping one of the lads in the crotch during ‘Summer Nights’.

Funny, it might have been; acceptable, it wasn’t.

I saved her till last. She gave me a surly look. ‘I knew you’d do me last,’ she grumbled. ‘You gonna sack me?’

I sat on the edge of the stage and beckoned her to sit down. ‘Lulu, you are, without doubt, the most talented person in this company.’

Her tense face loosened in surprise. ‘Really?’

‘
Which is why it’s such a disappointment when you don’t give it your best shot. I know you hate me picking up on the drink thing, but if you did this sober you’d be sensational…out of this world…X-factor amazing.’ She leaned back to study me and nearly toppled over. I grabbed her hand. ‘See. If you fall on your backside, you’ll look like a prat. If you don’t drink, you’ll knock ’em for six.’

She nodded slowly.
‘Maybe.’

‘Honestly.’

She leaned into me and gave me a hug. ‘You’re alright, Millie,’ she said. ‘You act like you got a poker up your arse sometimes, but you’re alright.’

George was rearranging some props, ready to step in and sort her out if she got aggressive, and looked most disappointed that his protection wasn’t needed. As Lulu stood to leave, I held my breath, willing him not to say anything to upset her. She picked up her bag and waved, ‘Night, Millie.’

Night, indeed. If I had a sleeping bag, I’d have snuggled down, right there on the stage.

George watched her go. At the door, she turned and winked. ‘Don’t worry, George. I’ll save you a drop of whisky on the last night.’

His chest puffed out, so I jumped off the stage and touched his arm, ‘She’s joking, George – pulling your leg.’

As I carried on fishing about in my bag, Lulu said, ‘Hey, are you Millie’s boyfriend?’

‘What? George?’ I squawked, turning just in time to see Lex walk in.

He looked hot in black jeans and white shirt, with a shiny buckled belt accentuating his trim waist and the impressive package beneath.

So he hadn’t given up on me. Our brief, business-like calls during the week had barely indicated any level of interest, yet there he was, running one hand through his thick, dark hair and smouldering for me – I swear – smouldering.

As Lex approached, George shadowed me like a minder. Some people do that – you take them into your confidence for a moment and suddenly, they’re self-appointed family.

Lex nodded at George but homed in on me. ‘Hello gorgeous,’ he murmured in my ear as he slid his arms round my waist. Lulu whistled from the doorway. I suppose I should have been encouraged she wasn’t half-way to the nearest pub. ‘How d’you fancy a late supper back at the house, huh? We can pick up a take-away.’

So thoughtful.
What a tragic shame my eyelids felt like lead and my mouth tasted like peat – the way it does after sleeping just eight hours in two days and consuming coffee by the litre. Lex, on the other hand, smelled of cologne and peppermint. My smile widened into a yawn as I squirmed out of his arms. ‘Sorry.’ I flapped a hand over my mouth to block what I imagined was eye-watering halitosis. This was one occasion when I
didn’t
want him kissing me. ‘Let me grab my things.’

I rummaged in my handbag for
a menthol sweet that had been lurking there since last winter. George was circling Lex in anticipation of an introduction. Lex obliged by holding out his hand. ‘Good evening. I’m Alexander Marshal.’

George nodded and shook hands with him.
‘Pleased to meet you. George Hawksworth.’

‘All going well, is it?’ Lex asked.

‘Well…’ George began, shaking his head and casting a glance in my direction. ‘Not for me to say. That’s Millie’s department.’

‘I have every confidence,’ I called over my shoulder, gathering up my notes and shoving them into the bag. ‘Okay, I’m ready.’

Outside, a gaggle of young admirers was hovering round the Maserati, amongst them, Lulu. She gave me a look of respect. ‘Nice one, Millie. Take me for a spin will ya?’ she added to Lex.

He shot her one of his devastating smiles and slipped his arm around my waist.
‘Maybe some other time.’

You couldn’t blame the girl for trying – even if he was way out of her league. Mind you, hadn’t I thought he was out of mine, too?

When Lex went into the Chinese Takeaway to pick up our order, I glanced at my watch – quarter past ten – and yawned again. Could I still pull this off? Of course I could. I hadn’t eaten properly for two days, so a good Chinese meal would raise my blood sugar; I’d have a quick wash and lust would carry me the rest of the way. As Lex sauntered out of the shop with our supper in a brown carrier bag, he caught me watching him and smiled.

Woosh!

A surge of hormone-fuelled adrenalin hit my system. Oh yes. I could do this.

The sun had set but there was still a warm glow to the evening sky as we cruised along the country lanes towards Marshalhampton. I studied his hands on the polished wooden and leather steering wheel, noticed the gleaming gold and cream Gucci watch that wrapped around his wrist. Washing machines didn’t go ‘pop!’ in his world and even if they did, he’d just call up a supplier and order a new one.

There was such an air of confidence in his driving that my pulse began to throb with anticipation – all signs were good for a long slow burn towards the ultimate climax. I rested my head back and gazed out of the window. We passed through a beautiful avenue of beech trees that lines the road to the south of the village, and I watched how prettily the headlights lit the canopy of leaves, and I dreamed of a glorious future with Lex. Suddenly, there was a bang, a judder and the trees above appeared to spin…no, wait…that was us, as we moved sideways and back along the road. Lex swore loudly as he grappled to regain control, and I really did see a movie trailer of my-life-to-date pass across my inner vision until, with an almighty crunch, we came to a shuddering halt against a tree.