A Fairy Tale for Christmas Page 8

  ‘It’s not her dream to be on stage,’ Stu told Nicole. ‘It’s yours. You can’t live your life through our daughter. You’ve got to stop thinking about yourself and ask what’s going to be important for her. Prancing about singing to a bottle of washing-up liquid is not going to help her in the real world.’

  Stu put his foot down. He would not give his permission for Kirsty to do the ad. He told Nicole that if she accepted the job on Kirsty’s behalf, he would get lawyers involved. All the dancing and singing so far, Stu had only tolerated because he thought it was just a hobby. No daughter of his was going to be pimped out on stage. Being a child actor was no kind of life. Child stars either became unbearable brats or drug addicts.

  Almost twenty-five years on, Kirsty still felt the weight of her father’s disapproval. When she told him she was leaving her steady office job to work on a cruise ship, he had struggled to hide his horror. He hadn’t ever congratulated her on winning a place on the cruise line’s prestigious entertainment team. He’d said, ‘If you’re sure that’s what you want, I suppose there’s nothing I can do to change your mind. You’re a grown woman.’

  Perhaps Kirsty shouldn’t have been surprised. Her relationship with Stu had often been difficult, especially after he and her mum divorced when Kirsty was eleven. Then Kirsty’s mother died and Kirsty had to move in with Stu and his new wife Linzi. Kirsty didn’t blame her father’s new love for the end of his marriage to her mother. Even as a teenager, Kirsty was mature enough to know that problems in a relationship are never truly one-sided. All the same, it was hard for her to warm to Linzi. Just as she was sure that Linzi found it equally hard to warm to her. There were only ten years between them and Kirsty was mortified when they were mistaken for sisters when they were out in public together.

  Her little half-sister though, was a different matter. When India came along, Kirsty fell instantly in love. If it weren’t for India, Kirsty might have stopped bothering with her father altogether. Wanting to be part of India’s life was what kept Kirsty going back to endure the painful Sunday lunches where Linzi tried to keep the conversation going while Kirsty’s father seemed to simmer with the things he couldn’t say.

  Kirsty had told herself that one of the things she would do, since she was going to be spending a winter in the UK, was make a serious effort to spend time with her half-sister. So far, she hadn’t even called to let them know she was back. But then a telephone works in two directions, doesn’t it? Kirsty’s father hadn’t tried to call her either.

  Back at the theatre, Glynis the pianist joined Jon, Elaine and Kirsty in their discussions.

  ‘If I have to play “Somewhere” one more time,’ she sighed.

  ‘I know,’ said Jon.

  Elaine mimed stabbing herself in the stomach at the thought.

  Maybe it was because they were being so mean about ‘Somewhere’ that Kirsty couldn’t help wanting to defend it and the best way to defend it would be to tell Elaine (and remind Jon – she was pretty sure Jon knew what the song meant to her, she must have told him) that as well as being the song she herself sang at her first audition, it was also the song her mother had asked her to sing at her funeral. Kirsty was only sixteen when she sang it to wish her mother goodbye.

  She decided it wasn’t fair. It would certainly bring the conversation to a halt but it would also make Jon, Elaine and Glynis feel bad. She didn’t want that.

  So instead, Kirsty ate a stick of Twix – hardly even tasting it – as Jon and Elaine went through the candidates so far, working out the order in which they would appear in the next phase. Glynis needed to be finished by four.

  ‘Community service,’ she said again. And again they all assumed she meant charity work.

  Having a low blood sugar moment, Kirsty finished the first Twix stick. Jon took the other but just kept it next to his clipboard, from where it tortured Kirsty with its chocolatey call.

  Chapter Seventeen

  At eleven o’clock sharp, Ben and Thea were back at the theatre. This time the remaining children were to wait in the rehearsal room until they were called. There was a lot of psyching out going on, Ben thought. The children didn’t interact much with each other but concentrated on the trial ahead. Hair was re-brushed. Make-up touched up. More selfies taken and Instagram updated.

  Elaine explained that the children would be called up in alphabetical order which meant that Thea would have quite a wait. The Arnold Twins were called up separately. They wished each other luck and parted with hugs and kisses but Ben wondered what would happen if one twin got a part while the other didn’t. How would that work out at home?

  Ben decided it would be a good idea to give Thea a little pep talk. He felt sure it was what Jo would have done.

  ‘You know how proud I am of you for wanting to do this audition, don’t you?’ Ben told her. ‘It’s very brave to come and do something you’ve never done before. And it’s fantastic that you’ve made it to the second stage. But you also need to know that if this is as far as you get, it’s still an amazing achievement.’

  ‘I know, Dad,’ said Thea. ‘You don’t have to worry about me.’

  Ben’s heart squeezed. There it was again. Thea was reassuring him.

  When Thea spoke to him like that, Ben could hear her mother in every word.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about me.’ Jo said those exact words in one of their last conversations. ‘When I’m gone, I don’t want you to waste a second being sad. I want you to carry on having adventures, you and Thea. I want you to be happy every day. And if being happy involves meeting somebody new …’

  Ben shook his head. He would never meet somebody new.

  ‘… if being happy involves meeting someone new, then I know you will make the right choice.’

  ‘Althea Teesdale!’

  Thea was on.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kirsty, Jon and Elaine sat in the third row of the auditorium while the children filed in and did their party pieces. Glynis the pianist was on stage at her electric organ – the ‘electric light organ’ as she liked to call it. She was ready to play whatever was set in front of her, with her brilliant sight-reading. Though in truth, she was very rarely presented with a piece she didn’t know. If the children weren’t singing ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’, they were singing something from Joseph, Cats or Les Mis and Glynis knew all of those musicals by heart.

  Indeed, the first two under-tens to take the stage, the Arnold twins, both sang ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’. The twins were identical in appearance and their mother had chosen to dress them in identical clothes. There was not so much as a button between them. Their performances too, were so very much of a muchness, that when it came to deciding if they should go through, their auditions blurred into one. Elaine said, ‘We’d better take both and put them in the same performances. Otherwise we’ll land their mother with a logistical nightmare.’

  So Cherry and Jerry were nodded through and Ben, waiting upstairs, would not get to find out what happens when you cast just one of a set of identical twins.

  Georgie Barnton took the stage next. She was determined to stand out by not choosing ‘Over The Rainbow’. She sang ‘Close Every Door To Me’ from Joseph instead and was technically perfect. Plus, as Elaine whispered to Jon, ‘Her father’s law firm sponsored the programmes for Separate Tables.’ Georgie Barnton was in.

  Georgie was followed by Amelie Carter. In a ridiculous coincidence, Amelie had also chosen to stand out from the crowd by singing Joseph’s most turgid lament. But poor Amelie forgot the words halfway through and burst into loud, noisy tears. Kirsty felt terribly sorry for the little girl but Elaine and Jon, who had done this sort of thing before, hardened their hearts. They had to whittle down the shortlist somehow. Amelie Carter’s parents were not sponsoring anything. Amelie was let go.

  There followed three more little girls who didn’t make the grade or didn’t have parents in the NEWTS who might bump them up the list by virtue of nepotism.

/>   ‘A boy next,’ said Jon. ‘Thank goodness.’

  And for the first time in the auditions, a song that Glynis didn’t know how to play.

  ‘What are you going to sing?’ Kirsty asked Thomas Nuttall.

  ‘Your Feet’s Too Big,’ Thomas told her.

  ‘Now now,’ said Jon. ‘No need for insults. She can’t help it. It’s because she’s so tall.’

  Kirsty sighed and shook her head. Thomas was confused. ‘It’s what I’m singing,’ he said.

  ‘Is it really an actual song?’ Jon asked, suddenly interested in a way that Kirsty found disturbing.

  ‘It’s by Fats Waller,’ little Thomas confirmed.

  ‘I’ve got to look the lyrics up on Google,’ said Jon. ‘Feet’s too big, you say.’

  Thomas nodded. Kirsty tucked her own feet a little further beneath her chair.

  ‘If you can’t play it,’ Thomas told Glynis. ‘I can always accompany myself. On the spoons.’

  ‘Get that boy a couple of spoons,’ Jon insisted. ‘This we have to see.’

  Thomas Nuttall sang ‘Your Feet’s Too Big’ to the accompaniment of two filthy old spoons from the props store, which he played against his leg. Jon loved it. Thomas was cast as one of the speaking mice without further ado.

  ‘Your feet’s too big,’ Jon muttered as Thomas left the stage. ‘There really is a song for everything.’

  ‘I wonder if there’s a song called “Don’t push your luck with your girlfriend with the perfectly average-sized feet for her height”,’ thought Kirsty. Out loud.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘Thea, it’s your turn now. Thea’s dad, you can watch from the side of the stage if you like,’ Elaine told Ben.

  They followed Elaine from the rehearsal room down a dusty staircase to the back of the stage. The auditorium was empty but for Elaine, Kirsty – who gave Thea a double thumbs-up when she saw her – and the director.

  ‘Jon Manley.’

  Ben didn’t need an introduction. All at once, he remembered exactly who the mouse in the photograph in the rehearsal room was. Jon Manley. It was a name Ben hadn’t heard in a while.

  Jon, however, didn’t seem to have made the connection between Thea Teesdale – who was standing on stage, answering questions in a loud clear voice – and Ben. Ben admitted to himself that he’d probably changed quite a bit since school. Jon certainly had. He used to have thick brown hair. Now he had hardly any. All the same, Ben was glad to be hidden behind the curtain.

  ‘OK, Thea,’ said Elaine. ‘Tell us a bit about yourself. How old are you and where do you come from?’

  ‘I’m eight and I’m from here. I’m from Newbay.’

  ‘And what are you going to sing for us today?’

  ‘I’m going to sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”.’

  Jon groaned and slumped in his seat. Ben, who was out of sight in the wings but able to see Jon quite clearly, frowned and mouthed ‘arsehole’.

  Thea saw her father from the corner of her eye. ‘Language,’ she mimed back.

  Jon remembered his manners and straightened up.

  ‘“Over The Rainbow”. That’s great,’ he said. ‘We haven’t heard that one in ages. Glynis, please take it away.’

  Thea grasped the microphone with both hands. A spotlight shone upon her. Thea screwed up her eyes while she got used to it. The pianist counted down.

  ‘A-one, a-two, a-three …’

  The first chord.

  Thea took a deep breath and began.

  Once she started singing, it was easy. The lights on the stage made it impossible for her to see the three people she thought of as ‘the judges’ and instead she could imagine she was just performing in the living room at home, for Judy and Ben who thought she was great no matter how well or not she performed. She remembered all the words and nailed the phrasing. The only difference was Thea had to sing more loudly than usual to compete with the electric piano.

  She did all the verses. Then she closed her eyes and raised her arms in the air just like she’d seen in a YouTube video as the last chord died away.

  When she opened her eyes again, the lights had been changed so that she could see her three judges. The two women were already standing to applaud.

  ‘Thea,’ said Kirsty. ‘That was amazing.’

  ‘We loved it,’ said Elaine. ‘You’ve got a real talent, young lady. You’re exactly what we’re looking for today.’

  Only Jon remained in his seat, leaning back, giving it his best Simon Cowell. Elaine rolled her eyes at his lack of enthusiasm

  ‘Does this mean I’ve got a part?’ Thea asked.

  ‘It does,’ said Elaine.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Kirsty agreed.

  ‘But it’s not just about today,’ said Jon. ‘You’ve got to keep up to that standard of performance the whole time or you’re out.’

  Elaine swatted at Jon with her clipboard. Kirsty scowled.

  ‘Thea, you were marvellous,’ said Elaine. ‘And we’re very, very happy to have you on the team. Assuming you still want to join us, now you’ve met the grumpy old so-and-so who’s going to be directing.’ She jerked her thumb towards Jon.

  ‘Yes!’ Thea jumped up and down on the spot. ‘Yes I do!’

  ‘Excellent. Now, this is just the beginning,’ said Elaine. ‘It’s going to be very, very hard work.’

  ‘I’m so glad you decided to come along today,’ said Kirsty. ‘I knew you’d be good the moment I met you. You’ve got star quality, Thea.’

  Ben felt a rush of warmth towards Kirsty when she said that.

  ‘Take a bow, Thea Teesdale,’ said Elaine.

  Thea took thirteen, for luck.

  As she scampered off stage, Ben gathered Thea into his arms and swung her around.

  ‘Where did you learn to sing like that?’ he asked her.

  ‘I get it from you, Dad,’ she told him. ‘That’s what Grandma says. She said you were really good on the stage when you were younger. She said you could have been a star.’

  ‘Did she really?’ said Ben. ‘I think Grandma’s exaggerating, but wherever you get your voice from, it’s brilliant.’

  Later in the lobby, Cinderella herself – Kirsty – joined Ben and Thea as they got ready to go. Ben straightened up a little and self-consciously pulled in his stomach as Kirsty approached.

  ‘It was definitely worth getting the leaflets printed in your shop,’ Kirsty said to Ben. ‘We got a new recruit into the bargain. Well done, Thea. But how about you, Ben? There are still places in the adult chorus and we’re desperately short of men. Auditions start in an hour. Thea can sit in the auditorium with me.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ said Ben. ‘I’ve got two left feet. And I can’t sing for toffee.’

  ‘That’s not what Grandma says,’ said Thea.

  ‘You could always stand at the back and mime,’ said Kirsty. ‘That’s what half the adult chorus does anyway, or so I’ve heard. You just have to make the ball scenes look busy.’

  ‘I’ve got, er, other commitments.’

  ‘Ah well,’ said Kirsty. ‘If you do come across anyone who fancies themselves as a thesp, please let them know. And, Thea, I’ll see you at rehearsals.’

  Kirsty made a fist for Thea to bump.

  ‘You did it,’ Kirsty whispered. ‘I knew you would.’

  It was at moments like this that Ben especially missed Jo. He knew that Jo would have been over the moon with Thea’s happy news. She would have known all the right questions to ask.

  Sitting in the car park, Ben called his mum. Judy asked that Thea be put on the phone right away. Ben handed his mobile over. Thea quickly put it onto speakerphone. For some reason, she preferred to talk into the phone as if she were in one of those excruciating taxi scenes in The Apprentice rather than put it to her ear. Still, it meant that Ben could be in on the whole conversation.

  ‘I’m going to be a mouse. It’s not a speaking part,’ Thea explained. ‘But the director said it is still very important. We’
re Cinderella’s helpers and we help get her to the ball. We’re going to have eight songs.’

  ‘That’s a lot of singing,’ said Judy.

  ‘I know. We’re going to be doing lots of rehearsals. There are seven mice altogether in my group. There are two groups because of the law …’

  Knowing that Thea and Judy could be talking for some while, Ben turned the car engine on.

  As he drove around the front of the theatre, Kirsty came strolling out. She was with Elaine and they were laughing about something. She had taken her hair out of its ponytail and it was frizzing out around her face like a halo, catching the last of the November sun. Ben loved big hair like that and it suited Kirsty especially well. Then she half-turned in the direction of Ben’s car, still smiling at Elaine’s joke and Ben felt an echo of a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. Though Kirsty almost certainly couldn’t see him looking at her, Ben blushed.

  ‘And Cinderella is really beautiful,’ said Thea to Judy.

  Ben silently agreed. She is.

  Chapter Twenty

  The adult auditions for places in the chorus were dealt with far more quickly than the children’s, attended as they were by the usual suspects, whose capabilities were only too well known. There were exactly the right number of applicants for the available roles so even Moira Jones, who couldn’t hold a note if you drew it on a piece of paper and stuck it to her hand with sticky tape, got a part. On the strict understanding (at least between Jon and Elaine) that she would be placed at the back of the stage at all times and would definitely not have a microphone.

  ‘And she’ll have to dress as a bloke,’ Jon added. As Kirsty had told Ben, there was a serious lack of male talent.

  Anyway, Jon and Kirsty were back in the flat by six o’clock. While Jon checked his emails for news of employment opportunities from his theatrical agent in London, Kirsty made a phone call to Jane from the bedroom, catching up with her news and filling her in on the day’s events in Newbay. When the call was finished, she went back into the living room, where Jon was hard at work scribbling on his copy of the Cinderella script.