The Perfect Fit

by Mary Jayne Baker

  He dug his fingers into my buttocks, gliding my body back and forth as we found our rhythm. Rolling, holding, bucking, riding… I felt my nerves start to tremble at the joy of it, the sheer animal joy of giving myself to someone I understood; someone I trusted. Someone I… yes, someone I loved. As he held me tight against him, as our bodies shattered and split into orgasm and we cried out to claim each other through the fog, it felt like everything was finally in its right place.

  ***

  ‘Well that was bracing,’ Marcus panted as we lay cuddling afterwards, his body gilded with sweat.

  ‘Always good to try new hobbies with old friends, eh?’

  ‘I’ll never be satisfied with mixed doubles again, that’s for sure.’ He kissed me softly. ‘Glad I know you, Becky Finn.’

  ‘Will you stay?’ I asked, burrowing sleepily into his arms. ‘It’s nice having you here.’

  He stroked gentle fingers over my hair. ‘If you want me to.’

  I kissed his nose. ‘Thanks, Marc. And thanks for being with me when I needed you.’

  ‘Now you can never say I don’t put the effort in when you need cheering up.’

  ‘Certainly beats a card trick,’ I said, smiling.

  He grinned. ‘I could really freak you out right now if I told you the Three of Diamonds was in your knicker drawer, couldn’t I?’

  ‘I’d burn you as a witch.’ I sighed as his hand traced idly over my hip, sending a pleasant post-orgasmic tickle over my skin. ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘So what did Cole actually say?’ he asked. ‘He didn’t think there was something going on between us, did he?’

  ‘Oh, he…’ I yawned. ‘Yes, he worked it out. A bit faster than I did anyway. I think I was in denial until you kissed me last week.’

  ‘Worked what out?’

  ‘Well, that I love you.’ I yawned again. ‘God, you’ve worn me out. Night, Marc. See you in the morning.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘Sleep well, Becks.’

  ***

  I was woken a few hours later by the roar of a motorbike bursting into life outside the house.

  ‘Marc?’ I mumbled, groping for him.

  He was gone.

  Chapter 42

  I didn’t hear a word from Marcus before the final pantomime rehearsal, the press screening, five days later. Not a call, not even a text, to acknowledge the night we’d spent together. Angry and hurt, feeling betrayed by someone I’d come to think of as one of my best friends and still adjusting to a new reality after splitting with Cole, I didn’t know how I was going to react when I saw Marc again. I was genuinely worried I might burst into tears.

  I’d been all at sixes and sevens since Cole moved out, and it took me ages to find my ragged Cinders dress. Eventually I discovered it in the washing basket, under one of his old overalls. I just had time to give it a quick Febreze and pull it on before I dashed to the Temp.

  By the time I exploded, panting, through the door, I was a good ten minutes late and there were already a load of journalists, being plied with tea and biscuits by some Ladies Who Lunch. I thought I’d be the last one, but when I went backstage I discovered we were still missing Deano and Harper. And Marcus.

  ‘Where’s all the menfolk?’ I asked my dad.

  He shrugged. ‘Beats me. I thought young Deano would’ve set up camp days ago.’

  Marc burst in, in costume with his motorcycle leathers over the top, just as I was gathering everyone together.

  ‘Oh good, you’re here,’ Lana said to him. ‘We were starting to worry.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry. Got held up at a job.’ He clapped me on the shoulder. ‘Hiya, Becks. We all set?’

  Right. So we were pretending the other night never happened, were we? I pushed down the waves of grief and anger, reminding myself I had a job to do.

  ‘Where’s your brother?’ I asked.

  ‘What, he isn’t here?’

  ‘No. We still need him and Harper.’

  Marc fumbled for his phone. ‘Oh God. Yeah, he’s texted. The bloody Morris has broken down.’

  ‘Did he have to come in that thing tonight?’ I demanded. ‘Now what will we do?’

  ‘We can go on without him. We know what we’re doing, don’t we?’

  ‘We can’t do without Harper though,’ Lana said. ‘Most of those journalists are only here for him.’ She turned to Maisie. ‘Do you know where he is?’

  ‘No. He went out with Gav earlier to buy my Christmas present.’

  ‘Hang on. That’s me,’ Stew said as his ringtone fired up. He fished out his phone. ‘Harper.’

  ‘I hope he’s just ringing to say he’s right outside,’ I muttered darkly.

  ‘All right, mate, where are you?’ Stewart said when he’d picked up. He frowned. ‘Gavin?’

  He looked serious as Gav talked into his ear. ‘Right. Ok. I see. Yes, tell him I’m on my way.’

  ‘Oh God, what?’ Maisie said when he’d hung up. ‘Harper’s ok, isn’t he? There hasn’t been an accident or… is he ok, Stew? Tell me, quick.’

  Stew looked hesitant. ‘Harper didn’t want me to say anything in case you worried.’

  ‘Well you have to now, don’t you? Come on, please!’

  ‘He’s ok. I mean, he isn’t hurt.’ Stew grimaced. ‘He’s been arrested.’

  ‘What?’ Lana said. ‘Jesus, not again. What for this time?’

  ‘It’s bloody Jamie, he’s pressing charges over what happened at Yo-yo’s wedding. He obviously couldn’t sell the story so he’s decided he’ll get his revenge this way instead.’

  ‘Oh no.’ Our T-Rex slapped his head with one of his little arms. ‘Oh, I am sorry.’

  ‘Not your fault, Rodge,’ Stew said. ‘Look, I have to go. He needs bailing out. Soon as I’ve got him, I’ll bring him back here. Until then… God, I don’t know. Move the slosh scene earlier on, that’ll kill some time.’ He patted Maisie on the shoulder. ‘And don’t worry, Mais. He’ll be fine, promise.’

  ‘He won’t go to prison, will he? He only hit that man because he called me a – because he was rude about me. Harper’s too pretty to be in prison.’

  ‘He won’t go to prison,’ Stew said. ‘Not for something like that.’

  ‘But he’s got a record already,’ Maisie said, sounding frightened. ‘Don’t they take that into account, when something’s not a first offence?’

  ‘He’s not going to prison,’ Stew repeated firmly. ‘And it’s not going in the papers this time either, not if I can help it. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ He hurried out, planting a quick kiss on Lana’s cheek as he passed her.

  I groaned. ‘Well this is a great bloody start, isn’t it? Right.’ I nodded to my dad and Gerry. ‘You two, and Marc – Marcus. I’m moving the pie-making before the dancing lesson. If we put the dancing after the long scene, hopefully Stew’ll be back with Harper.’

  ‘We’ll never get the stage cleaned up in time if we do the slosh scene there,’ Marcus said.

  I frowned. ‘Ok, well how about – what if we do two intervals? One after the slosh scene, then another after Tomorrow and the ball for the finale.’

  ‘Yeah, that’ll do it.’ Marcus nodded approvingly. ‘Nice one, Becks.’

  God, would you just listen to him? I tried not to glare.

  ‘Ok, Maisie, you need to get into costume. Dames, go get Yo-yo to do your make-up ready for Sisters.’ I clapped my hands together. ‘We can do this, people!’

  Maisie still looked worried. ‘I don’t want my baby born while his daddy’s doing time for GBH, Becky,’ she whispered as I guided her towards the costume rail.

  ‘He’ll be fine, Mais. It’ll all be fine.’

  ‘You sound like you don’t believe yourself.’

  ‘Fine, fine, fine. The more I say it, the more it’ll come true. A dream is a wish the heart
makes or some bollocks.’

  It got a smile, but she still looked anxious. I hoped it wasn’t going to affect her performance.

  ***

  When everyone was ready, I poked my head through the curtain to check on the audience. All the seats were filled, about ten journalists with notepads perched expectantly on knees, plus Tom and Pip, who I’d invited to help me out with something. They could only stay an hour before it was time for Pip’s Beaver meeting, but I was hoping that’d be long enough for what I had in mind.

  After I’d done my opening monologue, I went backstage. There was still no Deano, and I seemed to have stepped into the role of director temporarily.

  ‘Ok, Lana, Maisie, you’re up. Good luck.’

  A couple of stagehands finished fixing Cole’s palace backdrop in place, then the curtain rose on our principal boys. There was an appreciative murmur from the journalists, mainly blokes and clearly fans of the tits-tights-and-tunics look, and a giggle from Pip when she recognised her aunty pretending to be a boy. I watched from the wings, fingers and toes crossed.

  ‘Oh, Dandini. If only I could find a girl I could marry for love,’ Maisie said, looking out over the audience as she gave a deep, heartfelt sigh.

  ‘Hey, that was a bit better, wasn’t it? Sounds like our Prince Charming’s finally found his muse.’

  I started. I hadn’t noticed Marcus sneaking up behind me.

  ‘I’ve been giving her a few pointers,’ I said. ‘We’re trying something new tonight.’

  If he picked up on the frostiness in my tone, he didn’t let on.

  ‘What are you trying?’

  ‘I told her to focus on one member of the audience and pretend the whole play’s for them. That’s why Pip’s here. I had an inkling that if Maisie had to convince a kid, she’d naturally channel the character.’

  ‘Seems to be working.’ Marcus put one arm around my waist, and I stiffened. ‘Becks – we are ok, aren’t we? Me and you?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t we be?’

  ‘It’s just, the other night… look, it was a mistake. I shouldn’t have taken advantage like that when you were upset. I’ve been beating myself up over it ever since.’

  ‘Mistake. Right.’

  ‘Then we’re still friends?’

  ‘Mmm.’ I glanced at the stage, where Lana was staring at Maisie with a panicked bunny look. ‘Oh God, she’s forgotten her line again. Do you remember it?’

  ‘No. Deano’s the prompter. Hang on.’ He disappeared and came back with a script, rifling through to find the scene. ‘I only wish your father wasn’t in such a hurry to have you married.’

  ‘I only wish your father wasn’t in such a hurry to have you married,’ I mouthed to Lana.

  She managed to repeat the line, then froze again, gaping.

  ‘Shit!’ I whispered to Marc. ‘She hasn’t just forgotten her line, has she? She’s forgotten her whole bloody part!’

  ‘Bollocks, I think you’re right. The nerves must’ve got to her. What do we do, Becks?’

  ‘Hang on. Maisie’s trying to claw it back.’

  ‘You know what would be wonderful?’ Maisie said, waggling her eyebrows at Lana. ‘Some sort of ball.’

  ‘Yes.’ Lana seized the prompt with relief. ‘A ball for all the maidens in the land. Maybe then you could, um… could, um…’

  ‘You’re so right, Dandini!’ Maisie slapped her thigh with vigour, which provided a handy distraction from her co-star’s distress. ‘Maybe then I could meet the girl who deserves my heart instead of being matched with some foolish, shallow princess.’

  And so through a combination of unsubtle prompts and stealing Lana’s lines, Maisie managed to get her through. It was painful to watch, but they did it.

  Deano arrived in the wings just as the scene was ending.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ I muttered.

  ‘Car trouble, sorry. Old girl likes to keep me on my toes.’

  ‘Did you see any of that travesty?’

  ‘Enough,’ he said darkly.

  The curtain fell, and Lana and Maisie came to join us. Lana looked mortified.

  ‘I’m sorry, guys,’ she said. ‘Deano, mate, I’m so sorry. It was the stagefright. Every word just went out of my head.’

  Deano patted her bum, but he didn’t seem quite able to find the words to tell her it was ok. She nodded once, then made her way backstage looking thoroughly miserable.

  He had a few words for Maisie though.

  ‘Mais, I never thought I’d say this, but you’re a real pro,’ he said. ‘Finest incarnation of “the show must go on” I’ve ever seen.’

  Maisie beamed. ‘Thanks, Chef. That’s what we do, isn’t it? Help each other through.’

  ‘Your delivery was much better too. Been practising?’

  ‘Becky’s been helping me.’ She nodded gratefully to me. ‘And it did work, Becks. With the little girl looking at me, it felt like it had to be more real, somehow. Like it was part of a game. Cute little thing, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I patted her arm. ‘You did great, love. I’m proud of you.’

  ‘Right. So it’s kitchen scene, Sisters number, then the dancing,’ Deano said. He peered behind him into the backstage area. ‘Where’s Harper?’

  I grimaced. ‘That’s the other thing. You won’t like this, Deano.’

  ‘Oh God, what?’

  ‘Our Baron Hardup’s been banged up.’

  ***

  I’d never had to bail someone out of the slammer before so I didn’t know how long it usually took, but as we approached the first of our two intervals, there was still no sign of Stew and Harper. The dancing scene had to come after the break, there was nowhere else it could logically go, and we couldn’t do it without Baron Hardup.

  Deano grabbed my arm as I went to chat to the journalists, mingling with the cast while they drank tea and gobbled Jammy Dodgers. ‘Spin it out,’ he muttered. ‘Half an hour.’

  ‘We can’t do two half-hour intervals, Deano. They’ll be here all night.’

  ‘We have to give Brady chance to get here. Otherwise we might as well send them all home now.’

  ‘All right, all right. I’ll keep them talking.’

  I approached a couple of blokes who were sipping tea out of paper cups near the kitchen hatch.

  ‘Um, hi. Thanks for coming.’

  ‘Hello,’ one of them said. He scanned my costume. ‘Cinderella, right?’

  Nice to know they’d been paying attention to something other than Maisie’s legs.

  ‘Just Becky off stage,’ I said, smiling. ‘So what paper are you from?’

  ‘Ade. Telegraph and Argus,’ he said, shaking my hand. He nodded to the other man. ‘This is Freddy. He’s a researcher from BBC Radio Leeds.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, blinking. ‘Didn’t know we had anyone in from the radio.’

  ‘Yeah, my producer sent me,’ Freddy said. ‘Once he heard you had Harper Brady, he insisted we had someone here. Should be good for a segment in our quirky local news roundup.’ He glanced around the room. ‘Is he here?’

  ‘He’s, er… somewhere about.’

  ‘How’ve you found him to work with?’ Ade asked. ‘Bit of a handful, I imagine.’ I was guessing by the suspiciously casual tone that this wasn’t off the record.

  ‘Mmm. But when he’s not punching people or bonking in a cupboard or getting himself arrested, he’s actually a pretty decent guy.’

  Ade stared at me for a moment. Then he laughed. ‘No, but seriously. Has it been a good experience?’

  ‘Absolutely. Harper’s a talented lad, it’s been an honour for us to have him.’ I smiled. ‘Although if you want a tip, never ask to hear his Welsh accent.’

  With help from the rest of the cast, I managed to spin the interval out for a good 25 minutes. But the au
dience were soon getting antsy, and we still had no Baron. Deano beckoned us backstage for an emergency meeting.

  ‘I just rang Stew,’ he told us. ‘He’s got Brady but they’re stuck in heavy traffic.’

  Everyone looked concerned, apart from Maisie, who seemed understandably relieved that her husband was no longer being detained at Her Majesty’s Pleasure. I think in her mind’s eye she’d been picturing Harper in a dingy barred cell, being asked by a beefy bloke called Chunk with tattoos on his eyelids to help him find the soap.

  ‘So what can we do?’ Marcus said. ‘We can’t cut the dancing scene now. Too many others refer to it.’

  Deano’s twitchy eye took on a grimly determined expression. ‘Chuck us Harper’s costume, will you, Yo-yo?’ he said to Yolanda, who was nearest the rail. ‘Honestly, if you want a job doing…’

  And that was it. From that point on, we were jinxed. The whole performance was a catalogue of disasters from start to finish.

  Deano did his best with the scene. He really wasn’t a bad actor, although he wisely decided not to play it drunk, plus he was line-perfect after months on prompt duty. The big problem was, he couldn’t dance.

  ‘I do hope I won’t – ow! – I won’t embarrass myself at the ball,’ Maisie said, wincing as Deano stepped on her feet yet again.

  There were some mutterings among the journalists. I could hear Harper’s name being whispered as people questioned why our star still hadn’t made an appearance.

  ‘Nonsense, sire – oof, sorry,’ Deano said as he managed to knee his future monarch in the stomach. ‘The women of Rummancoke will fall at your feet.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Maisie said, turning a bit green. She stopped dancing and took a queasy step back.

  ‘I don’t want them to fall at my feet. I want them to see the man behind the crown,’ Deano muttered without moving his lips.

  ‘I know the line, Deano,’ Maisie said. She made an unpleasant bubbling noise, and one hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh God, get out of my way. I’m going to be sick…’

  She pushed Deano to one side and ran off stage.

  ‘Flipping heck, boys and girls,’ Deano said, turning in deadpan mode to the audience. ‘I didn’t think my dancing was that bad.’