Maddy Again

by Pamela Brown

  For a minute Maddy did not understand.

  ‘You will have noticed that we have covered countries farthest away from England and have now nearly reached Europe. Well, when we get as close as France, Maddy and Sunny will actually be there, and will be filmed.’

  There were gasps of delight from Maddy and Sunny, and of envy from the other artists.

  ‘You mean—you mean we really go to Paris?’ demanded Maddy.

  ‘Yes, just for one night—if you’re good, that is. But one false move, Miss Fayne, and you’re out of it, understand? It’s quite a different matter playing the giddy goat on your own home ground, but if you get up to your tricks abroad you really will be out on your neck. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Maddy tried to sound meek, but a grin of excitement spread from ear to ear.

  ‘Of course, we’ll have to get written permission from your parents, Maddy. It will mean travelling to Paris by plane, then a day’s filming there before travelling back again to do the show. So it’ll be pretty hectic.’

  ‘By plane!’ Maddy cried. ‘I’ve never been in one.’

  ‘Sunny, do you feel capable of chaperoning Maddy on the Continent, or would you prefer her mother to come too?’

  ‘Just as you like, boss,’ said Sunny. ‘I ’spect I can manage her, but if she’d like her Momma to come along…’

  ‘Miss Tibbs is coming too,’ said Mr Morgan Evans. ‘And my secretary and the camera crew, so between us we ought to be able to manage, I think.’

  He smiled at Maddy in a way that made her think perhaps, after all, he had forgiven her for the Zillah incident, and she felt so happy that she could have burst.

  ‘Paris…’ she breathed to herself all the way through the rehearsal. It suddenly seemed very dull to be doing a sketch about a foreign land in a studio every week, and she could not wait to see a real foreign country and its real people instead of just settings and actors.

  Now that they had all got into the swing of the programmes the time seemed to flash by. No sooner was one show over than it was time to start rehearsing the next. And as Maddy said one Saturday, ‘It always seems to be transmission day.’

  She became quite used to learning a new script each week and meeting new actors for the sketches, and different girls and boys for the interviews. She became quite good at coping with different moves from camera to camera, and when, during an interview, an African girl fainted from sheer excitement she handled the situation with perfect ease. She could see from the light on top of the cameras that just before the girl collapsed they had cut away to a map of Africa, showing where the girl came from, and so Maddy went on talking as she helped the floor manager to pick up the girl and take her off the set, saying, ‘And on the map you can see just where Comfort Owo comes from. That’s the town where she lives—marked with an arrow.’

  Meanwhile the next person to be interviewed was hustled on to the set, and by the time the camera cut back to Maddy she was saying quite calmly, ‘Well, Comfort has had to leave us, but here is Lars Jansen, who has just arrived in London…’

  And she carried on so smoothly that no one realised there had ever been a hitch.

  Morgan Evans was delighted with her. ‘I’ve never seen anything smoother. Why, you might have been doing it for years.’ And Maddy really began to feel that she had.

  By now she knew all the camera crews, and the commissionaires, and the make-up girls, and each week when she walked into the studio she felt very at home.

  The editorial board of The World of Youth still frequented the studio very regularly, and Mr Stanley, having saved her from suspension, was inclined to regard Maddy as his special protégée. They were all very pleased with the way the circulation of their magazine had increased since the television series had started, and asked Maddy if she would write an article entitled ‘My Week’ for the magazine. The article was to be in diary form, telling exactly what Maddy did every day of the week while rehearsing and transmitting the show.

  Maddy took a great deal of trouble with the first article, and when finished she was rather pleased with it. Mr Stanley, however, was horrified at some passages.

  ‘You just cannot say “Miss Tibbs writes the scripts, and then Mr Morgan Evans alters it all.”’

  ‘But it’s true,’ argued Maddy.

  ‘That’s no reason for saying it,’ began Mr Stanley, then added, ‘so bluntly.’

  This passage was altered to ‘Miss Tibbs writes the script and Mr Morgan Evans makes any alterations that are necessary.’

  In fact, the whole article was edited so severely that when it appeared in the magazine Maddy hardly recognised it. But they published a big photograph of her, and several small ones taken in the studio, and sent her a cheque for a few guineas, so she didn’t really mind.

  Maddy had written home to her mother and father telling them with great excitement about the trip to Paris, and asking if her mother would like to go too. Mrs Fayne had replied that, while she was delighted at Maddy’s good fortune, she did not feel that she could travel so far from Mr Fayne, who had not been well. If Maddy was happy to go with her usual chaperone her parents had no objection. But, her mother went on, she would come up to London to help Maddy get ready for the Paris trip and to buy her some new clothes.

  The salary that Maddy was earning for the show was piling up nicely in the bank at Fenchester for, as she was too young to have a banking account, all the cheques were sent to her father. She was growing out of all her clothes so fast that it was imperative that she have some new ones.

  When she mentioned this to Morgan Evans he said, ‘That’s a good idea. The programme will pay you back for anything you buy to wear in the show. I’m glad your mother’s coming up. I don’t really trust your taste—nor Sunny’s, nor my own—nor Miss Tibbs’s, come to that. I had been thinking of sending you out shopping with my secretary.’

  Maddy, too, was glad that her mother was coming up to town, for she was longing to show her all round the studios, and to have her watch her in action during a transmission. She wrote to ask her mother whether she should book a room at an hotel for her, but Mrs Fayne replied that she would rather stay at ‘The Boshery’, so that she could be with Maddy all the time.

  Mrs Bosham was extremely flattered at this, but was rather worried, because she had not got a room to offer Mrs Fayne.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Maddy. ‘She can sleep in Zillah’s bed.’

  ‘Oh, I do wish I could get some new curtains for your room.’

  ‘I should just clean the windows,’ Maddy suggested, not without good reason.

  Maddy obtained permission for her mother to come and watch a Saturday transmission. She booked seats for a theatre, after asking at the ticket agency if the play was ‘suitable for mothers’, and she asked Sunny to come and have lunch with them one day during her mother’s stay.

  ‘I sure will, thank you, Miss Maddy,’ said Sunny.

  On the Thursday on which her mother was arriving, Maddy was up bright and early to tidy her room, and help Mrs Bosham make up the other bed. Then she put on her best blue, which was well above her knees by now, and wrestled with her hair, and even cleaned her shoes.

  She was at Paddington long before the train arrived, and in order to pass the time went round using up her odd coppers in trying out the slot machines. She got some chewing gum, some cigarettes for her mother, then remembered that she didn’t smoke, some cough sweets, and was just thinking of experimenting with a machine that sold soft drinks in cardboard cartons when the train steamed in.

  Everybody in the world except her mother seemed to be getting off the train, but then she saw her, looking strangely smart in Londonish clothes.

  ‘Mummy!’ shrieked Maddy, and jumped up and down and waved.

  As they hugged each other Maddy realised how much she had missed her.

  11

  MRS FAYNE

  ‘Don’t you look smart!’ cried Maddy, almost accusingly.

  ‘Don
’t you look tall!’ replied her mother, holding her at arm’s length to get a better view. ‘Why, you’re not really plump any more!’

  Maddy looked down at herself in surprise.

  ‘No, I suppose I’m not. How’s Daddy? And Sandra?’

  As Mrs Fayne had a suitcase they took a taxi to Fitzherbert Street. Mrs Fayne had heard a lot about ‘The Boshery’ from all the Blue Door Theatre Company, but she had never been there before, and was somewhat surprised at finding such a shabby street, and a little startled at Mrs Bosham, who immediately offered her a ‘nice cuppa’.

  ‘No, thank you very much,’ said Maddy. ‘I’m taking Mummy out to tea.’ And she added afterwards to her mother, ‘You see, she doesn’t really “do” teas.’

  ‘She seems very kind,’ said Mrs Fayne doubtfully.

  Maddy took her mother to Raddler’s. It now seemed strangely empty and quiet, with all the students departed. They had tea on the first floor, where parents were always taken, and Mrs Fayne was very much interested to see the places that she had heard so much about from her children.

  ‘We’ll walk round and have a look at the Academy, if you like,’ said Maddy. ‘It’s a pity you couldn’t have come to see the end-of-term shows.’

  Maddy showed her the outside of the Academy building with pride, and the schoolhouse with a little less enthusiasm.

  ‘You know, Maddy, now that I’m here and see all the traffic and everything, I begin to think that I’ve been mad to let you wander about London by yourself. It was all right while the others were here, but…’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, Mummy,’ said Maddy hastily. ‘I’m hardly ever by myself. Most of the time there’s Zillah. She’s much older than me, you know. And then there’s Sunny—she’s quite old. Almost as old as you. She’s over thirty.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to meeting her,’ said Mrs Fayne. ‘She’s very good in the programme. We have enormous parties in every Saturday to watch it, you know. Sometimes the Blue Doors rush back between their matinee and evening show to see it.’

  ‘Do they really?’ said Maddy, highly flattered.

  ‘And they keep saying you’ll be too important to come back and join them when you leave the Academy.’

  ‘Of course I shan’t,’ cried Maddy. ‘I can’t wait to be old enough to come back and be a Blue Door again. Why, I don’t even want to do the Senior Course. I want to come back as soon as I reach school-leaving age. Can I, Mummy?’

  ‘Oh dear, I really don’t know what to say,’ said her mother in a quandary. ‘Of course I want you home as soon as possible, but I think Daddy will expect you to do the Senior Course as Sandra did.’

  ‘But Sandra didn’t do the Junior Course,’ argued Maddy.

  ‘Well, we shall just have to see what happens,’ said her mother. ‘You seem to do such surprising things, that it’s not really worth planning for you.’

  ‘But you are glad about me doing this television, aren’t you?’ Maddy pressed her.

  ‘Of course, dear,’ said her mother hastily. ‘We’re very proud of you indeed.’

  That night Mrs Bosham made a real effort over the dinner, which Maddy and her mother had by themselves before the other lodgers came in. The soup had so much seasoning in that after the last mouthfuls they were gasping as they swallowed glasses of water. The potatoes were mashed into a series of corrugated lumps, and the steak was done to a frazzle.

  ‘Is it always like this?’ Mrs Fayne whispered, surveying the watery cabbage.

  ‘Worse, usually,’ said Maddy cheerfully.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear! And to think I never believed you when you said the food was bad. I thought you were just being faddy.’

  ‘Still, it’s cheap,’ said Maddy. ‘Do you know, I’m in the cheapest digs of anyone in the Academy.’

  ‘I should think so too.’

  But when Mrs Bosham came in, beaming all over her plump face to ask, ‘Was it all right?’ Mrs Fayne could not help saying brightly, ‘Oh, yes. We’re enjoying ourselves, Mrs Bosham.’

  Their lunch next day was a very different matter. Mrs Fayne met Maddy and Sunny, and they went by taxi to a small and exclusive restaurant in Jermyn Street. Maddy and Sunny exclaimed with delight at the pink-shaded lights and the long upholstered seats round the walls.

  Mrs Fayne was captivated by Sunny from the start, and had no qualms about the forthcoming trip to Paris.

  After lunch Sunny left them, and they went in search of new clothes for Maddy. It was lovely to spend money, and to know that it was going to be refunded. They bought a sprigged cotton dress with a very full skirt, a loose blazer jacket, some white sandals and a Swiss cardigan, lavishly embroidered in bright colours.

  ‘I hope nothing’s too white for the cameras,’ Maddy kept worrying.

  ‘There now,’ said Mrs Fayne, when they were quite exhausted. ‘I think you’re well set up. Let’s have tea.’

  ‘Shopping does make me hungry,’ remarked Maddy as they went into Fuller’s.

  ‘You’d better have a good feast now if we’re to face another Boshery meal before we go to the theatre,’ said Mrs Fayne.

  Maddy took her at her word, and when she had finished could not bear the thought of another meal. Fortunately, on reaching Fitzherbert Street they found that Mrs Bosham had provided cold meat and salad, which they were able to leave until they came home from the theatre.

  The play proved to be extremely ‘suitable for mothers’; in fact they both enjoyed it very much, and realised that it was the first time they had ever been to a West End theatre together.

  ‘Do you want to come to the studios for the whole day tomorrow, or just for the afternoon?’ asked Maddy over supper.

  ‘I’d love to come for the whole day, but as there’s some shopping I must do for myself, I think I’d better come just in the afternoon.’

  Next morning Mrs Fayne was very much surprised to see Maddy leap out of bed without being called, hurry to the bathroom, return with a shiny, well-scrubbed look, and then dress herself carefully and do her hair neatly.

  ‘This is a change,’ she remarked as she drank the strong black tea that Mrs Bosham had brought her.

  ‘Well,’ said Maddy gloomily, ‘you never know who’s going to see you—all those millions of people. I must fly now; see you this afternoon. Mind you don’t walk in front of any cameras.’

  Mrs Fayne promised faithfully that she would be extremely careful.

  At the studio there was an air of excitement this Saturday, because of the forthcoming trip to Paris. In every spare moment Morgan Evans was giving Maddy and Sunny instructions about what they were to wear and to take with them.

  By now Maddy had become so used to studio rehearsals that she was never nervous until just before transmission.

  Today she kept a weather eye open for her mother, and soon after they had started in the afternoon she saw Mrs Fayne in the gallery that went round the studio, and where visitors were sometimes allowed to sit. Maddy waved to her, and in doing so missed the cue that the floor manager was giving her. Over the loudspeaker Morgan Evans spoke in a voice of thunder.

  ‘Maddy! Concentrate! I saw you waving to someone.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It was my mother,’ said Maddy.

  ‘Oh—well, somebody bring her up to the control room.’

  The call-boy was dispatched to fetch Mrs Fayne, and the rehearsal continued.

  When they broke for tea Mrs Fayne seemed amazed at all she had seen.

  ‘I didn’t imagine it would be like this,’ she said. ‘I thought it would be more—well—more furnished! Not a great barn of a place, with all this stuff in the middle.’

  By ‘stuff’ she meant the equipment and cameras that were milling about in the centre of the studio floor.

  ‘Mr Morgan Evans is charming,’ said Mrs Fayne as they went to have tea. ‘And he seems to have such a high opinion of you.’

  ‘Does he?’ said Maddy in surprise. ‘I should never have thought so.’

  ‘Oh, yes, he spoke v
ery highly of you. He says he’s sorry this series is nearly over, and hopes to work with you again.’

  ‘Well!’ said Maddy. ‘You do surprise me!’

  ‘He did mention some trouble or other which had blown over—but he seems to think I would have heard all about it. And he said he saw that it was as much his fault as yours. Have you been up to something you haven’t told me about?’

  ‘Oh, not really,’ said Maddy airily. ‘It was just a little—misunderstanding. Mind the cable…’

  She saved her mother from tripping over a camera cable and changed the conversation.

  ‘Are you enjoying the show? Do you think it’s good this week?’

  ‘With so much going on, it’s hard to tell,’ said Mrs Fayne. ‘I never realised it was as difficult as this—I thought you sat in front of a camera and it all happened.’

  ‘Just you watch the transmission in the viewing room,’ Maddy told her, ‘and the whole thing will look easy again—I hope.’

  Before the transmission started the floor manager shouted, ‘The producer says will those going on the Paris trip stay behind for a last-minute briefing.’

  There were groans of envy from the stay-at-homes.

  Maddy tried to be extra good because her mother was watching in the viewing room, but the programme went much as usual. That is, the bits that had seemed difficult on rehearsal went perfectly well, and quite unforeseen problems arose in their place.

  When it was over Morgan Evans came down, saying as usual, ‘Jolly good show, everyone,’ and then said, ‘Maddy and Sunny, stay behind, won’t you? Where is your mother, Maddy?’

  ‘In the viewing room.’

  ‘Call-boy, fetch Mrs Fayne from the viewing room, will you, and bring her here—she ought to be in on this.’

  They sat in a row on chairs in the middle of the studio, while the scenery was taken down all around them, and Morgan Evans said, ‘Well, Monday morning is zero hour. I want you to be at Waterloo at six o’clock. Mrs Fayne, will you see that Maddy makes it in time?’