Shaping the Ripples (18 page)

When you go into the shop, there is a roped in corridor down which you queue for a table. Often this queue stretches all the way out of the shop and down the street. We’d obviously timed our arrival just right, as we were able to walk almost right to the front. Within a couple of minutes a waitress had ascertained that we wanted a non-smoking table downstairs for two, and led us to one.

Once we’d ordered our sandwiches, Katie chatted for a while about her week with the family. The sandwiches arrived, each of us receiving a plate with four triangular white-bread sandwiches with the crusts carefully cut off. Both looked good, so we traded two of Katie’s prawn and avocado sandwiches for two of my chicken, and munched contentedly for a while.

“Come on then,” Katie said suddenly. “Tell me what’s so special about this pantomime.”

I thought for a moment about how to answer this, and then said “I think I’ll let you find out for yourself.”

She crinkled her nose at me disdainfully, and carefully poured herself another cup of tea. “It better hadn’t be full of big-breasted women wearing next to nothing,” she teased.

I mimed pulling a zip across my lips, and she laughed. We both ordered a coffee éclair, and began to talk about films we had seen in the last year, and which ones we’d enjoyed most. Our top five wasn’t exactly the same, but it was close.

Even after the pudding, barely half an hour had passed before we stood up to pay and go. Back on the street, I glanced at my watch.

“It’s way too early to head for the pantomime,” I observed. “What do you fancy doing now?”

“Today’s your plan,” Katie answered. “I am totally at your command.”

I cast my eyes around, looking for inspiration, and found myself faced with a sign pointing the way to the Jorvik Centre. Once I’d checked that Katie hadn’t ever been there, I lead the way.

“We may as well really act like tourists,” I said, trying to justify my choice.

The Jorvik centre is a celebration of York’s Viking past, and has just gone through a massive refurbishment. Built next to an excavated Viking street is a faithful reconstruction of how this part of York would have looked, sounded, and even smelt in about the 11th century. You get to travel through this mesmerising place in a time-car – a small carriage for two. This proved to be an extra attraction as Katie cuddled tightly up to me as soon as we moved off into the dark. I must admit that while Katie was staring out of the car at the tableaux of Viking life, I spent much of my time savouring the closeness of her, and the smell of her perfume. That was until it was overpowered by the recreated smell of Viking sewage!

We wandered through the archeological exhibits at the end of the ride for a time.

“That was really fun,” Katie said as we emerged back into the world of the twenty first century, and kissed me on the cheek. I was learning quickly that Katie was a girl who was given to a lot of spontaneous shows of affection. As someone who is always very tentative about initiating physical contact, I loved it.

The Theatre Royal is situated at the very north west edge of the city walls. Although there was still half an hour to go before the performance began, the foyer was already packed with people. Eventually I managed to fight my way through to the bar to get us both a drink, and then we searched for a clear bit of floor space where we could stand together and drink them.

We both jumped when a loud voice called out from behind us.

“Jack, Katie! I didn’t expect to see you both here.”

We turned around to see Ian Jacobs smiling across at us. He was standing arm in arm with a very elegant lady with golden blonde hair. By their side were two immaculately dressed children who had both clearly inherited their mother’s striking hair colour.

They moved across the room to greet us. Ian made the introductions.

“Family, this is Jack and Katie, the friends from the Crisis Centre that I was telling you about. Jack and Katie, this is my family. My wife Lisa, and our two monsters, Rachael and Ben.”

The two children said a smiling “hello” in unison. I would have guessed that Rachael was about 11, and Ben perhaps 9. Ian’s eyes twinkled as he spoke again.

“I didn’t realise that the two of you were going out,” he said, looking delighted. “And I’m not sure I would have guessed that you were pantomime fans.”

“It’s actually my first visit,” said Katie. “And it’s only our second date, so I haven’t decided if I’m going to put up with him yet.” She squeezed my arm as she said this last part.

“In that case, I hope you enjoy it,” Ian answered. “Will you just excuse me for a moment? If I don’t go and get these two some sweets from the kiosk, they'll lynch me.”

He headed off across the room towards the sweet counter with Rachael and Ben in hot pursuit.

“You have a lovely family,” I observed to Lisa.

“Thank you,” she said. “But don’t be fooled by the children’s angelic appearance. They have their moments, but on the whole we are all very happy together.”

“Ian’s help has made such a big difference to the centre.” Katie told her. “Things were really starting to get a bit desperate, but thanks to him it’s completely turned around.”

“It’s done him a lot of good as well,” Lisa replied. “I was starting to get quite worried about him for a time; even though the business was going so well, he seemed more and more frustrated and on edge. But having something worthwhile to do like helping your work at the centre has made such a big difference. He’s so relaxed and contented at home now, it’s wonderful.”

The line of conversation was ended as Ian and the children returned, clutching several large bags of sweets.

“What have you bought all those for?” Lisa asked in mock despair.

“Well, they couldn’t agree on what to have so I just bought them a bag each,” Ian countered. “Anyway, they’re not all for us.” He turned and handed a large bag of dolly mixtures to Katie. “You can’t have the full pantomime experience if you haven’t got some sweets to munch through during the show. I’ll let you decide if you’re going to share any of them with Jack!”

“You’re obviously quite an expert,” Katie laughed, accepting the present. “Do you come here every year?”

“We have for the last six years,” Rachael answered.

“I like it because it’s funny,” Ben added. “But Rach likes it because she fancies the baddie!”

Rachael went slightly pink and, with a muttered “I do not”, punched her brother on the arm.

“You see what I mean,” Lisa commented. “We come every New Year’s Eve now. It’s become one of our family traditions.”

Just then, the staff opened the doors to the auditorium itself, and the crowd began to surge forwards.

“We’d better head upstairs,” Ian said.

“We’re in a box,” Ben said proudly.

“Very nice,” Katie commented. “Don’t forget to give us a wave if you spot us.”

With that, they went up the staircase, and Katie and I joined the queue for the stalls. Before too long, we had found our seats, which were indeed right at the back, just in front of the light and sound control desk.

The pantomime is an old British tradition. When it first started, it was at a time when almost all the productions performed at the theatre were aimed exclusively at adults. The pantomime was meant to give an opportunity for the whole family to go together to a show, and so introduce the children to the theatre. The stories used were from a fairly short list of well loved fairy tales; many of which have since been made even more well known by Disney – Snow White, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Aladdin and so on.

These days, though, it seems to me that the pantomime has more or less lost its way. The same stories are used, and the special effects are more dazzling, and lots of people still go. However, the humour seems to be struggling (after all, how many years can you be entertained by endlessly shouting “He’s behind you”). The cast lists too have become more and more a roll-call of celebrities whose fifteen minutes of fame ran out long ago, or people who used to star in some Australian soap opera. Most families, I suspect heave a huge sigh of relief when their children reach an age that they can be safely declared “too old for the pantomime”.

Everywhere that is, except in York (and perhaps a few other fortunate places which I’m not aware of). The cast that does the annual pantomime hardly changes from year to year. Most of them have appeared on television from time to time, but they’re not exactly household names. The lead player, the dame (a man dressed up as a woman for the uninitiated), writes the pantomime each year – he’s already clocked up his thirtieth, and cheerfully describes it each time as “the same old rubbish as last year”.

Despite that, it never is. Yes, some of the jokes are ones that would probably have made Noah groan, but each year the show subtly incorporates the current issues and trends. There is a genuine slapstick genius in much of what happens on the stage, especially in the elaborate set-piece which always ends in a large tank of water. By far the funniest part of the show though is the part that isn’t scripted. All the main actors are so comfortable with each other that they spend much of each performance improvising in an attempt to score points off, or throw completely, their fellow cast members.

Somehow, for two hours, you feel as if you are part of the family as well. It’s a phenomenon that means people return year after year, even after the children they originally came to bring have grown up and left home. Judging by the dedications read out at the end, it’s also a popular place for family reunions.

I glanced often at Katie during the performance. She was clearly as entranced as I’d hoped. She laughed out loud often and sang at the top of her voice in the final boys verses girls singing contest. She was almost jumping out of her seat at the end in an attempt to attract one of the Wagon Wheels or bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale which are given out to selected people.

“That was fantastic,” she said as we emerged arm in arm into the cold early evening air. “I never dreamed that I’d enjoy it so much.”

“Next time, we’ll sit a bit nearer the front,” I promised. “That way you might have a better chance of getting your hands on the beer.”

Katie had parked her car at the far end of town, so we set off on a leisurely stroll to get to it. Her party was a few hours off, so we decided to go the long way, through some of the more picturesque parts of the city.

As we began to walk, Katie reached across and took hold of my hand. Despite the chill of the evening, her hand was warm and soft. As we gazed in through the windows of some of the shops in the Shambles, a cobbled street where the buildings on either side are so close that you could easily hold hands from opposite upstairs windows, it began to snow.

Katie gasped. “It’s just like being in a fairy tale ourselves,” she said in wonder.

We both turned to each other in a moment of silent telepathy, and began to kiss. For some minutes we stood in the middle of the street lost in each other’s lips, oblivious to the amused passers-by and to the thick flakes of snow that were collecting on our coats and hair. Finally, we managed to pull apart and stood in silence for a time, Katie’s head resting softly on my shoulder. She looked up at me, her eyes shining.

“Come with me this evening,” she invited. “I don’t want to be apart from you.”

I was so tempted, but was still wary of rushing things. “I can’t tonight,” I said eventually. “But I’ll come with you next year.”

Katie’s face was questioning. “I’m going to hold you to that,” she replied.

“I hope so,” I said, and leant forwards to kiss her again.

The snow continued falling heavily as we continued our walk through the city. Already it was starting to settle on the pavements. There were very few people around now. People sometimes talk about time seeming to stand still, but this was the first time I had ever experienced the sensation. Maybe it was the after effects of the pantomime but it did feel as if the two of us had been transported in to a magical place.

Turning into the street where Katie had parked, and standing beside the car broke the spell, and we hugged each other goodbye. Katie made one last attempt to get me to change my mind, but I used the excuse of Samuel and Ruth’s party to say no again, and waved her off as she drove around the corner.

In fact, I’d already made my mind up that I wasn’t going out to Samuel and Ruth’s. Today had just been such a perfect day I wanted the chance to relax on my own and remember it.

Not many lights were on in the windows of my apartment block – it’s not exactly the sort of place to host a big party so I guessed that most of my fellow residents had gone out for the night. I switched on the television and poured myself a drink.

There was no doubt that my feelings for Katie were already very strong. I might have many doubts about the wisdom of starting on a relationship but when we were together, my only thought was how captivating I found her.

There’s something very sad about television on New Year’s Eve. I’ve never quite seen the appeal in watching other people partying. It feels a bit like being the guest at the party who’s stuck in the doorway to the kitchen, watching everyone else having a really good time. If you’re doomed to watch it at home, it has got to be the best way imaginable of bringing to the fore all your feelings of loneliness and sadness. The last two years I’d made myself sit through it, because irrationally there feels something profoundly wrong in the idea of going to bed before midnight.

This year the programmes were just as dismal as usual. Nonetheless, I had a strong feeling of contentment as the images flickered before my eyes. As Big Ben began to chime in the New Year, and the world inside my television became a place of cheering and ticker tape, I had the most unfamiliar sensation. I think it’s called hope.

Chapter Twenty

My plan for New Years Day was to have a long lie in and then treat myself to a cooked breakfast, which would serve as my lunch as well. My first clue that this wasn’t going to be the way the day worked out came from an insistent buzzing which brought to an end to a dream about a pacific island.

Now I was half awake, the buzzing seemed louder. I opened my eyes and blearily identified the source of the noise. It was the signal that someone was at the front door. My clock read eight thirty as I made my way across the room to answer it.