Millie's Game Plan (19 page)

Taking a few deep breaths, I managed a calm stroll into the number one dressing room. I smiled innocently at the female principals but Lulu wasn’t there. ‘Good luck for Act Two. Let’s leave ’em wanting more,’ I said, and catching the eye of my Law Enforcement Mother, signalled her into the corridor, where I broke the news.

‘Cunning little madam,’ she said. ‘I’ve watched her like a hawk in there and she only ever drank the water you left her.’

‘Well, I don’t think she’s the only one consuming alcohol. Not unless she’s got a liver the size of Hampshire. But at least I’ve flushed most of it. As soon as they’re back on stage, will you help me scour the place? I want to try and leave George out of this, if I can.’

‘Course I will, love.’

As the one-minute call was announced, dressing room doors opened and an excited company headed for the High School Hop. ‘Good luck!’ we cried, slapping on cheerful smiles. ‘Enjoy!’ I watched the little darlings as they scurried onto stage to take up their starting positions. Then, out of the top corner of my eye, I saw movement. Lulu was descending the wooden steps from the first fly gallery – though why, I couldn’t imagine.

She had her skirt bunched in one fist and was holding the wooden frame with her other. But her coordination was screwed. Before my eyes, as time slowed, her foot missed a rung at the same moment her hand lost its grip. She dropped like a sack of spuds. There was a squeal and a crack of bones followed by a scream. Right on cue, the orchestra launched into the opening number and drowned out Lulu’s hysterics.

In the surreal world of theatre, traffic doesn’t come to a halt and passers-by don’t stand around to gape or phone their mates. No. People snatch a quick look, whisper the news down the line as they head for the stage, and go on to perform, barely missing a beat. Me? I hauled the phone from my pocket, took it out of airline mode and dialled 999, while two of the mothers shot across to see Lulu. Once the call connected, I handed it to one of the mothers. Lulu was conscious but her right foot was lying at an unnaturally crooked angle. I loitered long enough to tell her the ambulance was on its way, then I belted down to wardrobe to grab myself a costume and slap on some make-up. Oh, yes. Rizzo had an understudy.

But was I up to it? I knew the songs off by heart and could keep Rizzo’s script in a handbag – just in case – but I was a few wrinkles past adolescence. At nearly thirty, could I pull it off? I consoled myself that Stockard Channing had been thirty-three when she starred in the movie – although that was Hollywood and she didn’t have to snog a seventeen year old. I stopped short and looked in the mirror – could I be done for corrupting an adolescent in my care? And how would Ben Jones, my Kenickie, respond? He didn’t exactly fancy Lulu but snogging her was, at least, acceptable. How would he deal with performing opposite a grumpy, domineering old bag like me?

‘Oh, sod it.’ I said to my startled reflection. ‘He’ll just have to try acting.’

I belted back up to the stage and stood in the wings. Word had got round and Bob was making an announcement that, due to ill-health, the part of Rizzo would now be played by Millie Carmichael. A murmur ran through the audience and I heard two squeaky voices say, ‘That’s Auntie Millie.’

Hands patted me, whispers supported me and thumbs were upped at me. I was actually going on. I could feel my legs start to vibrate and my bowels clench. The lights dimmed. I knew this was a performance I could do standing on my head. It was just a pity I had to do it upright, on stage, in front of three hundred people...and Josh Warwick.

‘Tits and teeth, tits and teeth.’ I intoned just before I stepped into the heat of the spotlight. Don’t ask me what I did or how I did it, all I know is, by the time I skipped back into the wings, I was more wired than Frankenstein’s lab.

I raced round to check on Lulu. She was barely conscious and her lower leg was twice its natural size. One mother was stroking Lulu’s head and muttering soothing words. Another was standing in the open fire door, on relay watch for the ambulance’s arrival – nobody wanted our performance upstaged by a bunch of burly ambulance men jogging through the auditorium.

Satisfied she was in good hands, I tore through the dressing rooms like a customs officer on Supermarket Sweep; feeling up coats, rifling through back-packs, shaking carrier bags and sniffing water bottles. One bottle of lime juice and another of cola nearly knocked me backwards. I went straight to the sink and emptied them out. The boys’ dressing room turned up several packs of beer. I was heading to the sink with those when Ben and Daley walked in. ‘Hang on, Millie – nobody’s been drinking,’ said Daley. ‘We’ve got them for the after-show party.’

‘Tough!’

‘Aw, c’mon Millie. We’ve all drunk beer before. It’s only old George with the problem,’ he coaxed, turning the full sparkle of his eyes on me. In the framework of his stage tan and mascara, I was appalled at how charmingly he came across.

‘Problem?’
I snapped. ‘Lulu’s leg is a problem!’

Ben chipped in, ‘Millie, she needed a wake-up call. She’s seriously off the scale, that one.’

‘Yes, well right now, she’s lying there with the certain knowledge that if they don’t do something soon, she’ll spend the rest of her life walking round in circles.’

Daley took a long look at me before his face broke into a smile. Ben snorted behind him.

‘For fuck’s sake, you two! Show some responsibility. I’m trying to hold this show together.’

Daley nodded and put his hand on my shoulder. ‘S’alright, Millie. Don’t stress. Everything’s cool. And I promise, no drinking till after the show.’

‘Correct. Because I’m going to ask George to lock these up.’

Daley dropped his hand and shrugged. ‘Okay.’

‘Let’s not forget our paying audience,’ I said, pulling the door open. Then, with a pang of conscience, I turned back. ‘Oh. And thank you. You’re doing a great job.’

Daley gave me his lad-on-the-make smile and, as the door closed behind me, Ben said quite audibly, ‘Well that’s one woman desperate to get laid.’

How right he was.

Lulu was borne off while I was on stage. One of the mothers went with her, because her own mother was nowhere to be found – despite phone calls to her home and mobile. Would I be held responsible? Would her family sue? Would Hamlets have to close?

Health & Safety would have a field day.

Despite all my angst, my only major error was to stumble into Kenickie during the finale, when he seized the opportunity to stabilize me by copping a feel of my left breast. Finally, we sang our last and rousing chorus and took four curtain calls.

And that was that. Months of hard work, and the show was over.

Bob came and put his arm round me. ‘That’s another good performance under our belts, hey?’

‘Any news on Lulu?’

‘She’s in North Hants. I don’t expect she’ll know much about it till tomorrow.’

‘I should have expected the worst, bearing in mind her track record at rehearsals.’

He shrugged. ‘Gave her a chance though, didn’t you? That’s what Hamlets has always been about.’

I sighed. He was right.

‘And you, young lady, did a magnificent job. I was very proud of you up there. You’re a real chip off the old block.’

‘Thanks,
Bob. Wish it hadn’t come to that, though.’

‘I know you do. But you just have to go with the hand you’re dealt, eh?’

All the group hugging became a bit too much for me, so I snuck off to change and hurried down to the auditorium to hear the family’s verdict. As I walked into the bar, the first person I clapped eyes on was the Lady Mayoress and official patron of Hamlets – Hilary Mumford – who just happened to be chatting to Josh Warwick. While I was thinking how well his faded blue shirt suited him, Amy and Lucy came dashing up to me.

‘Auntie Millie you were really good.’ Lucy chirped.

‘Mummy said you weren’t supposed to be in it. The proper girl broke her neck.’

I took them both by the hand.
‘Her leg, Amy. She fell downstairs and broke her leg.’

‘Did it come off?’

‘No.’ I squatted down. ‘Here, give me a nice big cuddle.’

They pressed their little faces against mine. They smelled of bubble bath and chocolate.

‘Nice one, sis.’ Tony appeared behind the girls. ‘Still got it in you, then?’

Mum came over, beaming. ‘It was lovely to see you on stage again. I’ve missed it. You have your father’s talent. It’s true.’

Trina was next. ‘Well done. Were you nervous?’

‘I was more scared about the show folding than what I looked like.’

‘I suppose you’ll be staying for the party?’ Mum asked.

‘Absolutely.
Someone’s got to make sure they don’t wreck the place.’

‘Well, we’ll leave you to it, then. Come on girls, you have a long journey home.’ She was referring as much to Trina as the twins, and I wondered if she too had guessed another baby was on the way.

After saying our goodbyes, I turned and made eye contact with Josh who was still chatting to the Mayoress. He smiled in a way that indicated he expected me to join them which, of course, I did.

‘Thank you for the card, you didn’t say you were coming,’ I said.

‘Last minute decision.’

‘I hope it was worth it.’ I gave him the benefit of a classic ‘Luvvie’ embrace, with
a
mwhah
on each cheek.

‘It was excellent, Millie. You did a great job.’

‘Thanks. Although not quite to plan.’ I turned to Hilary, resplendent in a purple frock with the official chain swinging from her capacious bosom. ‘Hello, Hilary. Did you enjoy it?’

She took my hand, in both of hers.
‘Fabulous, love. Really entertaining – and smashing to see you on stage, again.’ She looked at Josh. ‘Millie used to be one of our leading lights, when she was younger.’

He nodded. ‘I can believe it.’

‘Your father would be very proud of you,’ she said, still pressing my hand in hers.

‘And he’d be proud of the kids,’ I added.

‘Now, there’s somebody I want to introduce you to – Tom Wellstead – he’s a huge fan of theatre. I think we could persuade him to become a patron.’ She dropped my hand and lifted a lavender coloured pashmina from the back of a chair and draped it over one shoulder.

‘Great!’ This was excellent news. Membership fees barely covered the cost of the scripts, and takings were soaked up by the theatre, professional musicians and costumes. Generous patrons were a huge bonus.

‘Excuse us,’ she winked at Josh. ‘We’ve got a bit of schmoozing to do.’

Josh touched my arm before I could move away and leaned in to me, ‘It’s worth knowing he’s also a cricket fan – big supporter of
Surrey.’

I grinned up at him. ‘Thanks for the
tip, although I get the feeling Hilary’s already primed him.’

‘You could be right. She’s certainly got bags of charm.’ He glanced across to where she was chesting her way to the crowded bar. ‘And she’s not afraid to use them,’ he grinned.

I giggled. ‘Reverend Warwick, are you allowed to say that?’

He smiled. ‘I think I just did.’

His gaze was way too cheeky. ‘Gotta go,’ I said. ‘Glad you enjoyed the show.’

‘Loved it.
And you were brilliant.’

‘Thanks.’ I could feel a swell of pride as I bolted off to join Hilary and our soon-to-be new patron.

Tom Welstead was an absolute sweetie, very interested in helping Hamlets and absolutely fanatical about cricket. Just as he was saying he’d be very happy to help me launch a village cricket exhibition, I became aware of a laugh I hadn’t heard in ages…my mother’s. Moreover, the cause of her mirth was, it seemed, Josh Warwick.

Where the bloody hell had she
come from? She was supposed to be on her way home. To say I was gawping would have been an understatement. I’m not absolutely convinced Tom didn’t have to slap me to regain my attention.

‘Sorry, Tom.’

‘As I was saying, there’s a lot of money to be made from sporting photography, and…’

What was my mother saying to him? Probably matchmaking. Sneaky mare.

I tuned back into Tom as he asked, ‘What would you charge?’

‘Hmm? Seven pounds a ticket?’

‘No, for a ten-by-eight.’

‘Ooh, no idea. What would you suggest?’

‘Well, to begin with …’

And my mother was
still
talking to Josh.

‘Isn’t it?’ Tom was smiling at me.

I nodded. ‘Listen, Tom, why don’t we swap contact details and chat sometime next week? You see, I really ought to get backstage – teenagers need a lot of supervising.’

Scribbling his contact details onto the back of a programme, I had to wait ages while he explained which of his numbers was best to use and when to call. Finally, we shook hands and I tore off to inspect the damage my mother had wrought, only to discover she’d gone – and Josh with her.

I darted into the auditorium – not there either. I shot out onto the steps of the theatre, craning my neck in all directions; nobody resembling the cunning-witch-that-is-my-mother in sight. I turned and nearly sprinted back to the stage, which I scanned for the missing duo but only the cast and crew were there, milling around a table laden with the mandatory Beige Buffet of sandwiches, sausage rolls, crisps and chicken nuggets. George had wheeled in crates of fizzy drinks, and huddled in a sulky group, were Ben, Daley and all the other lads who still hadn’t had their booze returned.

Realising how hungry I was, I stuffed a sausage roll into my mouth and piled my paper plate with monosodium-glutamate laden treats and a few chunks of celery.
As I munched, I ear-wigged on the conversation behind me.

‘How much had she had?’

‘Half a bottle of vodka.’

‘No.
Cider.’

‘Yeah, cider and vodka.’

‘No. I saw her in town buying gin. I think.’

‘She drinks a whole bottle some nights – she said so.’

Jeez! If this were true, Lulu’s problem was far bigger than I could handle. She needed specialist help. Maybe Josh could talk to her, after all, he’d had plenty of experience but then, what teenager would listen to a vicar? Lulu probably hadn’t ever set foot inside a church.

Half an hour later, when the last of the cast had gone, I gathered up my stuff and headed out to the car-park. Drinkers at the King’s Head had spilled onto the
pavement, where the enterprising landlord had parked a few tables. Above the buzz of general chatter and traffic, I could hear a few voices singing the familiar opening bars to
Summer Lovin’
. It was a great sound and brought a smile to my face, so I chucked my things into the boot and wandered over to absorb the atmosphere. Ben Jones threw an arm round me and pulled me into the impromptu chorus. Within minutes, we were roaring our way through half the score. We were having a whale of a time and nobody was complaining.

By chucking-out time, I’d drunk too much to drive home but was sober enough to realise that Ben Jones’ earlier prediction, regarding my need to get laid, had fuelled his imagination and he was banking on my saving that particular treat for him. ‘Comin’ home with me, Mills?’ he leered, ‘You’re looking dead sexy tonight.’

Sweet though he was, and gagging though I might have been, I wasn’t completely lacking in morals. ‘Thanks, Ben but I’m already spoken for.’

Unfortunately, he either didn’t believe me or thought he knew better. Consequently, cross-eyed with beer and lust, he homed in on me, but before he could wrap his lips round my face, an arm came between us and hauled him back.

‘Easy there, mate.’ It was Josh, smiling politely at Ben but physically primed. In fact, he looked positively Herculean, his broad chest expanded and his hands clamped on Ben’s upper arms. Where had he come from? Next on the scene was Daley, who took hold of Ben from the other side. ‘Don’t hit on Millie, you wanker. She’s too old.’

Nice one, Daley.

Ben slumped back, his face registering the comment. ‘Uh…sorry Millie.’

Josh released Ben and let Daley steer him away. ‘You okay?’ he asked.

An eighteen year old had just hit on me, how bad could it be? ‘Fine, thanks. I’m surprised you’re still here.’

‘Just waiting for a couple of your Pink Ladies,’ he nodded over at Nadine and
Laura who were perched at one of the tables, cigarette smoke wafting past their watchful eyes.

‘Be careful,’ I said. ‘That’s how rumours start. Not to mention, law-suits.’

He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, it’s all above board, their mother asked me to give them a lift.’

‘So I hear. And, on the subject of mothers, I noticed mine chatting to you earlier.’

‘Yes, she was charming.’

Charming?

‘She wanted to invite me round for dinner to thank me for looking after you in the crypt.’

I could feel my buttocks tighten. ‘Listen, you don’t have to go. We can probably make up some really good excuse. I know – you’re allergic to dogs, your face blows up like a melon and you get itchy all over.’

‘I don’t mind going to your mother’s for dinner…unless, of course, you mind. I mean, if you’re concerned about Lex getting the wrong idea, I totally understand.’

It wouldn’t be Lex getting the wrong idea. ‘No. Lex won’t mind. Why should he? No, if Mum invites you – you go. She’s a good cook. But it’s only fair to warn you, she’s...’ what could I say – a scheming matchmaker who could give Jewish mothers a run for their money? ‘Well, she can be a bit over the top...she’s Spanish. She’s not like my friends’ mothers.’

‘Good, I like people with a bit of character,’ he smiled. ‘Anyway, I’d better get these girls home.’

‘Of course.
Drive carefully.’ I rocked on my heels as he joined Nadine and Laura, their eyes lighting up and their breasts perking. I turned in the opposite direction to begin the mile walk home to Bridgeman Villas.

My mother was a piece of work. Maybe I should invite myself to dinner as well, do some damage limitation. I’d ring her tomorrow.

Half-way down the High Street, Josh’s sports car, with its top down, drew up beside me. Draped across the miniature back seat was Laura, while Nadine had pride of place in the front. Josh looked up at me, ‘D’you want a lift?’

I looked from him to the scowling adolescents. ‘It’s okay, I’m not going far.’

‘But it’s late and you’re on your own.’

The glare on Nadine’s face was the clincher. ‘Okay, thanks.’ I lifted my leg over the side and squished down next to Laura. ‘I live in
Marlborough Road, second turning left, after the station.’

He
nodded, selected first gear and the car growled off up the road. And we three girls shook our hair in the breeze, just like the Pink Ladies.