The Perfect Fit

by Mary Jayne Baker

  ‘Isn’t it exciting?’ she said to Cynthia. ‘Who knew we’d get another chance to be groupies at our time of life?’

  Cynthia raised an eyebrow. ‘Another chance?’

  ‘Oh, Billy’s not my first musician, of course.’

  ‘Have you heard them?’ I asked.

  ‘No, but I’m sure they’ll be wonderful.’

  ‘We’re sure they will too.’ Cynthia glanced round. ‘Aren’t we, kids?’

  ‘Oh, completely,’ Cam said.

  ‘100%,’ Tom said.

  ‘Never been more positive of anything in my life,’ I said.

  Dad had spotted us. He left his mike stand and headed over.

  ‘Hiya Dad,’ Cam said. ‘Nervous?’

  He took a seat next to me and dropped his head to the table.

  ‘Bricking it. Talk me down, family.’

  I gave his dazzlingly bleached hair a pat. ‘Come on, it’s only the Fox.’

  ‘Today it’s the Fox,’ Tom said. ‘Tomorrow, who knows? Wembley Stadium! The Superbowl! Egglethwaite Temperance Hall!’

  ‘Funny,’ Dad mumbled, not lifting his head.

  ‘Just enjoy yourself.’ Cynthia reached over and yanked the collar of his leather jacket to pull his face up. ‘That’s why you started this, isn’t it, for fun? I figure you’re not really counting on the Superbowl this time next year.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’d be nice if I didn’t get booed off stage by my own darts team.’ He glanced at the bar. ‘Oh God, there’s Gerry Lightowler. Kit Beeton, Roger Collingwood… shit, everyone I know’s here!’ He squared his shoulders. ‘Right. I can do this.’ He stood up, then immediately sat back down. ‘I can’t do this.’

  ‘Oh, of course you can,’ Yolanda said, flicking a hand. ‘Honestly, Danny, don’t be such a drama queen.’

  That seemed a bit rich, after her diva strop at our last rehearsal. I swallowed the comment I was tempted to make concerning pots, kettles and their relative colours and nudged my dad.

  ‘Go on, Billy’s waiting. You’ve been rehearsing for months, how bad can you be?’

  The answer to that, we quickly discovered, was pretty damn bad.

  It wasn’t long into Teenage Kicks’ first number, a cover of The Beatles’ Twist and Shout, that we realised the full horror of the evening ahead. It was worse than the worst we’d thought it could be.

  Dad’s singing was jarringly off on the high notes, his voice cracking like a teenage boy struggling through puberty, while the backing vocalist seemed to be performing some harmony that went with an entirely different song. The drummer wasn’t even a Ringo, let alone a Dave Grohl. Only Billy on bass managed to hold his own.

  Once they’d finished slaughtering The Beatles they gave the Rolling Stones a trouncing, followed by a kick in the nuts for poor old Lynyrd Skynyrd. Chuck Berry, The Sex Pistols, even Slade – no artist, genre or era was sacred.

  ‘Your old man’ll put his back out if he keeps jumping like that,’ Tom said, watching Dad bouncing about like Sid Vicious.

  ‘At least then it’d stop.’ I groaned. ‘Oh God, will no one make it stop?’

  No one did make it stop. It went on for another hour, not even granting us the small mercy of a break for half-time.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Cameron muttered when the band finally played the last chord of Purple Rain and downed instruments – well, what would’ve been the last chord if Hendrix had decided to play it flat for a wheeze. ‘Think I just felt the ground move while everyone who played Woodstock span in their graves.’

  ‘Billy was fabulous though, wasn’t he?’ Yolanda said, waving to her fiancé.

  Cynthia glared at her. ‘Oh yes, it’s all very well for you, isn’t it, Yo-yo? You don’t have to pretend your other half was amazing when clearly he was even better than that. Oh hello, sweetie, never saw you there.’

  I had to marvel at how seamlessly she’d segued into a fib when she sensed Dad behind her. Years of practice, presumably.

  ‘So, what did you all think?’ Dad asked.

  Yolanda stood up. ‘I’d better congratulate Billy. Well done, Danny. That… took a lot of nerve.’ She grabbed her G&T and flounced off.

  That was one way to avoid answering. Unfortunately for the rest of us, we were stuck there: fixed in the glare of my dad’s hopeful, puppy-dog eyes.

  ‘So?’ he said.

  ‘Excellent,’ Cynthia answered promptly. She waggled her eyebrows at us.

  ‘Five stars,’ Cam said.

  ‘I’ll recommend you to all my friends,’ Tom said.

  ‘Modern-day Bowie,’ I said.

  Dad sighed. ‘We were terrible, weren’t we?’

  Cynthia looked pained. ‘No. We were a little close to the speakers is all.’

  I nodded vigorously. ‘I bet it sounded amazing at the back.’

  There weren’t many people at the back to ask, as most of them had sneaked out during the gig. Gerry and Kit, old friends of Dad’s from the darts team, were still there in a show of middle-aged solidarity, but the looks on their faces said the music hadn’t sounded any sweeter from the pool table.

  ‘Come on, guys, I’m not stupid,’ Dad said. ‘We’ve emptied the place. You can admit it.’

  Cam winced. ‘It… wasn’t great. Sorry, Dad.’

  ‘But it’s only your first one,’ Tom said. ‘Live performance isn’t like rehearsal: that’s when the nerves kick in. Trust me, I’ve got experience.’

  I raised one eyebrow. ‘What, you were in a band?’

  ‘No. Nativity.’ He nodded encouragingly to my dad. ‘You just need time to find your sound, Danny.’

  Dad sank down next to Cynthia and buried his fists in his cheeks. ‘Oh, who am I kidding? We’re duds. I’ve been wasting my time.’

  ‘It’s not a waste of time if you’ve enjoyed it,’ I said. ‘And Tommy’s right, you’ll get better.’

  ‘I get it. Pension the old man off with a hobby he’s shite at, keep him out of mischief. Well, suppose I’m at that age now.’ He smiled sadly. ‘I’d better go say hi to Gerry and Kit. Seems only right I buy them a pint after they stayed through that racket.’

  We watched in silence as Dad went to join his friends.

  ‘Poor Danny,’ Cynthia said, sighing. ‘The thing is, it actually did make him happy, this little mid-life crisis club. It’d be a shame if he abandoned it just because they sound like they’re murdering a rhino.’

  ‘I thought you were worried about him staying out so late,’ I said.

  ‘I’m more worried about his moods. Having something creative to focus on really seemed to pep him up.’

  ‘What made him decide to start a band?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Reminds him of being young, I think,’ Cameron said, draining his pint. ‘He was in one when he was a teenager.’

  ‘Were they as bad – I mean, were they anything like this one?’

  Cam shrugged. ‘No idea. He used to love it though, gigging on the pub circuit. Whenever he gets nostalgic he’ll get the photos out and force me and Becks to look through them with him.’

  ‘Are you ok, Becky?’ Cynthia asked.

  I was only half listening. My eyes were fixed on Dad laughing with Gerry at the other side of the pub.

  ‘I’m… fine,’ I said absently. ‘Cyn, it’d be nice if Dad had something he actually felt he was good at to focus on, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Such as?’ Cynthia said.

  ‘How long’ve Dad and Gerry been mates?’

  ‘Oh God, she’s obsessed,’ Cam muttered.

  ‘You what?’ Tom said.

  ‘Nothing. Just realised where this is heading.’

  Cynthia frowned. ‘I don’t know, twenty-five years?’

  ‘So they’re pretty close, right?’ I said. ‘I mean, they’ve got a sort of natural rapport?’

  �
�Um, yeah,’ she said, looking puzzled. ‘Where are you going with this, Becky? I know I was worried for a while your dad might’ve met someone else, but Gerry Lightowler wasn’t who I had in mind.’

  ‘Wasn’t a romantic relationship I was thinking of,’ I muttered.

  ‘What relationship were you thinking of, as if I couldn’t guess?’ Cameron said.

  ‘Well, look at them, Cam. Wouldn’t you say that in a lot of ways, they’re just like sisters?’

  Chapter 25

  Yolanda nearly knocked me down when I arrived at the Temp for the next rehearsal.

  ‘Did you bring them? Are they here?’

  ‘Yours are. Deano’s bringing the dames’ stuff.’

  ‘Oh, goody goody!’ she squeaked. ‘Costumes! I’ve been so looking forward to this bit.’

  ‘I really haven’t,’ Gerry muttered.

  Everyone was there except Marcus and Deano, including my dad, who’d been a lot keener than I’d anticipated on doing a stint as an Ugly Sister now he realised there was no future in rock-and-roll stardom, and Lana in her new role as Dandini. It was our first dress rehearsal and excitement was high.

  The only people missing were extras – the adult and juvenile choruses. They were rehearsing separately with Yolanda’s line-dancing friend Rita, ready for the all-singing, all-dancing rehearsal.

  It wasn’t like our director to be late – in fact sometimes I’d swear he camped outside with his Thermos, just so he could be first.

  ‘You haven’t heard from Deano, have you?’ I asked Lana.

  ‘No, I –’

  She was drowned out by a series of phuts and bangs outside, and a minute later the Teasdale brothers burst in, Marcus in his blue Buttons costume, Deano’s hair blazing red, like Egglethwaite’s answer to Batman and Robin.

  ‘Sorry we’re late,’ Deano panted. ‘Car trouble.’

  ‘What was all that noise?’ I asked.

  ‘We came in the Morris.’

  My eyes widened. ‘What, you two actually got that thing roadworthy?’

  ‘We got it road,’ Marc said. ‘I’m staking nothing on worthy.’

  ‘Just a few teething troubles,’ Deano said, waving a hand airily. ‘She’s a little tease.’

  ‘Cough. Scrapheap. Cough cough,’ Marc said from behind his hand.

  Deano glared at him.

  ‘Nasty cough, that, Marc.’

  ‘That’ll be the exhaust fumes from your bloody car.’

  ‘You know what’s good for tickly coughs? Walking home.’

  Marcus grinned. ‘All right, little brother. Come on, let’s get the dresses.’

  My Cinders costumes were pretty straightforward. There were just two: a ragged dress with patched tights and long blonde wig for the kitchen scenes, and a huge white evening gown for the ball. I wasn’t looking forward to acting with that thing on. It was like wearing a tea tent. Plus there was a heavy Regency wig that felt like it was going to crush my brain.

  Marcus just had the one outfit, his bellboy-esque Buttons uniform. Maisie and Lana had short silk tunics and knee-high boots, of course, and Harper was in a frock coat and breeches as Baron Hardup.

  Yolanda, having been so reluctant to play the part, totally fell in love with the Morticia Addams-style black velvet number we’d picked for her Wicked Stepmother. Once she got that on, the poofy Fairy Godmother dress barely got a look-in.

  But it was the dames who got the really interesting outfits. There were a matching pair for each scene the Ugly Sisters appeared in: pie-sprigged dresses with Danish pastries over the nipples for the baking scene, huge chandelier dresses for the ball and a load of others equally outrageous. I’d got them a pair of decent breasts each too, better than the lumpy bra Gerry had worn to Pip’s Beaver meeting: inflatable, with a built-in pump.

  The first scene we were rehearsing was the sisters ordering Cinders and Buttons to scrub the house. Me and Marcus were kneeling by the fireplace Cole had painted onto a curtain backdrop when my dad burst through the door at one side of the stage, Gerry emerging from the other.

  Dad walked up to Gerry and scanned his Shirley Temple sailor smock, identical to his apart from being a few sizes bigger.

  ‘Well this is embarrassing.’

  ‘I told you I’d be wearing this,’ Gerry said. The pair of them stared at each other for a moment then cracked up laughing.

  ‘Not sure I didn’t prefer it when he was in the band,’ I muttered to Marcus.

  ‘He looks happy though.’

  ‘Does, doesn’t he?’ I smiled at Dad and Gerry honking each other’s boobs. ‘Hopefully this’ll be just what he needs to grab life by the fake knockers again. Plus we get our dame, Pip gets to see both grandads making prats of themselves: everyone’s a winner.’

  ‘Hmm. Not everyone.’ Marc nodded to Maisie in the wings. ‘She’s giving you evils again. Don’t think she’s managed to forgive you for not letting her be Cinderella.’

  And that wasn’t the only problem. It soon became clear that Lana was going to be an issue too.

  It wasn’t her delivery, that was fine. It was her memory that was bloody awful.

  ‘Oh, Dandini. If only I could find a girl I could marry for love. Sigh,’ Maisie said.

  ‘Don’t say “sigh”, Mais!’ Harper’s voice came from off-stage. ‘Actually sigh.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ She sighed, a pathetic little ‘huh’.

  ‘Perhaps you will, sire,’ Lana said. ‘I only wish… I only… wish…’ She grimaced. ‘Line?’

  ‘I only wish your father wasn’t in such a hurry to have you married,’ Deano hissed from the wings.

  ‘Right. I only wish your father wouldn’t marry you in such a hurry.’ She flinched. ‘No, that’s not it, is it? I only wish you could marry your father in a hurry. Oh God.’ She plucked her feathered hat off and held it in front of her face.

  I had to feel for Deano. When someone’s both your best mate and your boss, obviously you want to go easy on them, but as he marched onto the stage, the twitch in the corner of his eye told me it was going to be a struggle holding back.

  ‘Sorry,’ Lana mumbled from behind her hat.

  ‘You’re trying your best, love,’ Deano said. ‘Here, take the script. You’ll have to read it until you’ve had more time to learn the lines.’

  ‘What if I can’t do it, Deano?’

  ‘Just keep practising with Stew. I believe in you.’ But he looked worried.

  ‘I was great though, wasn’t I?’ Maisie said, beaming at Deano. ‘I remembered all my lines.’

  ‘Er, yeah. Well done.’

  ‘Sigh,’ I said to Marcus from our position in the wings. He snorted.

  The dames had their getting-ready-for-the-ball scene next, with Yolanda as the stepmother, and I felt a glimmer of hope. It was a baptism of fire, for Dad especially, but he took to it like a duck to hoisin.

  Deano had been spot on about Yolanda. She was perfect, just the right bitch factor. Even Gerry’s blocking, now he had a partner he could double-act with, was vastly improved. His and Dad’s duet of Sisters, heavy on the bum-bumps and bloomer-flashes, was fantastic.

  But there were still a couple of little problems…

  ‘Cut!’ Deano shouted mid-way through the song.

  ‘What’s wrong, darling?’ Yolanda said, patting her towering Bride of Frankenstein wig. ‘I thought the boys were doing brilliantly.’

  ‘Gerry, mate,’ Deano said. ‘You’re, er, a bit lopsided there.’

  Gerry glanced down at his bosom, which had deflated on one side. ‘Oh. Right. Just a sec.’ He started pumping his arm like a one-winged chicken, and Yolanda giggled as his left breast grew before our eyes. I could see Sue, playing piano at the side of the stage, leaning her forehead on her music and groaning.

  ‘Now you’ve got one bigger than the other,’ my dad tol
d Gerry.

  ‘You’re just jealous.’

  ‘Mine might be smaller but at least they match.’ Dad patted his boobs proudly. ‘Some girls have got it, some girls haven’t.’

  They resumed the scene, but Deano was soon shouting ‘cut!’ again when my dad started looking deflated. All together, there were five scene interruptions due to collapsed-booby incidents. Deano’s eye-twitch was off again, and I was starting to think we’d been safer with sock-stuffed bras.

  Chapter 26

  Me and Marcus were up next with the Tomorrow scene we’d upcycled from Jack and the Beanstalk.

  It was my favourite scene of the show, at least of the ones I was in. Roger Collingwood had picked the song Tomorrow from Annie based on my ability to belt, and it worked brilliantly.

  Plus I loved acting opposite Marcus. He was so natural, it brought out the best in me too.

  ‘What’s up, Cinders?’ Marcus said when he found me crying over the remains of my ballgown on the hearth.

  ‘It’s my sisters,’ I sobbed. ‘Oh, Buttons, I did so want to go to the ball. But they’ve ripped my dress to pieces, and now I’ll never get to meet the prince.’

  ‘Here. Pretty flower for a pretty girl.’ He made a pure white rose appear from behind my ear. I smiled through my tears as I tucked it into my buttonhole.

  ‘What’s so great about a silly old ball anyway?’ Marc said, sinking down next to me. ‘We’ve got the whole house to ourselves. Let’s get this mess cleaned up, then we’ll have a wonderful evening just us.’

  I sighed. ‘It’s so horrible to be poor. To be always dirty and in rags, running round after Griselda and Tabitha from morning until night.’

  ‘Things’ll get better, you’ll see. There’s always tomorrow, Cinders. And tomorrow’s a brand-new day.’

  That was the cue for the song. Marcus put one finger under my chin and sang the opening lines softly to me: The sun’ll come out tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there’ll be sun…

  I wiped away my tears and joined in, and soon we were dancing round the kitchen hand in hand, joyously singing our hearts out.