The Summer Theatre by the Sea

by Tracy Corbett

  Flo wrinkled her brow, her beautiful face smeared in seaweed and dirt. ‘I was just thinking how Auntie Charlie’s not going to be very happy about her suit.’

  It was such a daft thing to say that Lauren started laughing. ‘No, my love, she isn’t.’

  Florence frowned. ‘Can I stay at Granddad’s while you tell her?’

  Lauren’s laughter increased.

  And at that moment, all her money worries paled into insignificance. So what if she had a debt? Or that her flat was cramped and shabby, and she didn’t have a high-flying career? All that mattered was her family. Spending time with them was more important than paying off Glenda, or getting a better paid job. She wasn’t going to compromise on that. Because without them, life just wasn’t worth a jot.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Thursday, 14 July – 6 weeks till curtain-up

  The view from Titania’s grove was impressive, even in the fading daylight. The scaffolding had yet to be covered in foliage, but the elevated platform meant that Charlotte could look out across the sea and take in the full impact of the location. The Corineus Theatre was stunning. She’d designed for palatial mansions before, even a grand stately home, but she’d never worked in an amphitheatre. The seating was cut into the rock face, and the stage jutted out over the sea, as if suspended in thin air. Below her, the waves collided with the rocks, sending up lively sprays of water. Not that she was looking, it was too far down, but she could hear the surf slapping against the shoreline.

  It’d been a productive week. She’d spent most days at the theatre building the set, turning her ideas into reality, assisted by her dad. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent a week in his company. They’d worked in companionable silence, constructing the treehouse for Oberon and Puck to hide in, only stopping to chat during tea breaks and lunch. But their fleeting interludes had given her an insight into the man he’d become, and she was startled by what she’d discovered.

  For eleven years, she’d convinced herself that grieving for the loss of a significant family member was normal, healthy, and only to be expected. So she’d never questioned as to why she continued to feel sad, and assumed the rest of her family felt the same. But her dad wasn’t sad anymore. He loved his life by the sea. He worked on the fishing boats, which he said gave him an adequate income. He took part in hobbies, which gave him a social life, and he volunteered for the RNLI, which made him feel useful. He was content, no longer weighed down by grief and sadness. This became even more evident when he began whistling, something she hadn’t heard him do since childhood.

  Sylvia had also turned up a couple of times to ‘help’. Unfortunately, she was more of a hindrance, even when it came to completing a simple task, like varnishing the wooden toadstools. Three times she’d knocked over the pot, spilling liquid everywhere and treading it across the stage. The time it’d taken to clear up, Charlotte might as well have done the job herself. But as Sylvia regularly made her dad smile, she could forgive her less practical attributes.

  Despite the trials of dealing with Sylvia, she was amazed to find herself looking forward to waking up each day and starting work on the set. She’d almost go as far as to say she was enjoying herself. Her headaches had gone, and although the stiffness in her shoulders remained, she certainly felt more relaxed. This morning, she’d actually left the flat without feeling the need to tidy up first, a real breakthrough. She wouldn’t go so far as to say she’d ‘dropped the stick’, but she’d certainly loosened her grip.

  Being involved with amateur dramatics was surprisingly fun – if you ignored the chaos, disorganisation and bizarreness of people pretending to be other people. They were a nice group, particularly Paul from the boutique. He’d joined her on a trip to the neighbouring town last Monday to source a lantern for the show, and they’d ended up having lunch followed by an afternoon shopping. He was funny and quick-witted and had excellent taste in clothes. She hoped they might stay in contact when she returned to London.

  The only person she wasn’t keen on was Daniel Austin. When she’d been introduced to him, he’d lifted his chin as if he was somehow superior and had offered her a limp, sweaty hand. For a moment, she’d wondered if he wanted her to kiss it. Thankfully, he didn’t. But his greeting of, ‘Good to have some new blood in the society,’ didn’t endear her to him and made him sound like a creepy vampire.

  She moved away from the edge of the raised platform, gripping the handrail as she descended the four steps. The ties on the front of her nude-coloured blouse flapped in the breeze. She wanted to reach up and ensure the knot hadn’t come undone, but clinging hold of the handrail was more important. The platform wasn’t that high up, but the sheer drop behind was enough to turn her legs to jelly. The tree house she’d built was even higher. How the actors would cope up there, she didn’t know. She was just grateful her dad had been on hand to lay the flooring so she was spared from working six feet off the ground.

  It was unusual for the rehearsal not to have started by now, especially as it was gone eight o’clock, but there was a distinct lack of play-related activity. The director was talking animatedly on his phone, the children were running around the stage, and her dad was helping Barney and Nate carry costumes down from Glenda’s car.

  Her gaze lingered on Barney’s backside as he reversed down the myriad stone steps leading from the car park to the theatre. She looked away, scolding herself for ogling, and focused on Lauren instead, who was sitting on the bottom row of the seating, her body language dejected. There were no formal chairs at the theatre, only rows of seating cut into the earth circling the stage, topped with wooden planks.

  Her sister’s good humour had been dented by a heated conversation with Glenda earlier, which had left her quiet and moody. Charlotte had asked what was wrong, but her sister wasn’t forthcoming. Progress with her dad might be good, but she was getting nowhere with Lauren.

  Glenda arrived with the material for the fairy grove, her hair blowing behind her like chain mail. ‘Looks quite cosy up there,’ she said, handing over a heavy bin-liner. ‘It’s almost better than my caravan.’ Her laugh was jolly. ‘I’ve left gaps in the hems for you to feed the fairy lights into, so you can hide the wires.’

  Charlotte looked inside the bag, excited to see the midnight-blue panels ready to hang. ‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help, Glenda. Sewing isn’t one of my strengths.’

  ‘Happy to help, love. Now, where’s that handsome dad of yours? I’ve got some breeches for him to try on.’ She wandered off, leaving Charlotte wondering how her dad felt about having two women vying for his affections. It was surreal, to say the least.

  Charlotte’s attention was drawn to the sight of a tall woman descending the stone steps wearing the red wrap dress she’d seen on display in Paul’s boutique. She was wearing astonishingly high stilettos, with a diamanté-encrusted red bow pinned to the front of her blonde beehive hairdo. It was only as the woman neared that Charlotte realised it was the transvestite she’d discovered handcuffed to a tree on her first day in Cornwall. What on earth was she doing here?

  Charlotte was about to approach the woman, when the director shouted, ‘Charlotte!’ making her jump. ‘Kayleigh Wilson is indisposed this evening. Be a dear and read in for Puck, will you?’

  Charlotte froze. What did he just say? ‘Sorry, Jonathan, for a moment I thought you asked if I could read in for Puck.’

  ‘I did.’ He walked over and handed her a script. ‘Be a love.’

  ‘But … I can’t act.’ She tried to catch his arm, but he was already walking away.

  He dismissed her concerns with a wave. ‘You don’t need to act, just read the lines.’

  Her heart rate sped up. Everyone was looking at her. ‘Seriously, I’m not the right person to do this. I’ve never even been on stage before,’ she said – even though she was standing in the middle of the stage at that moment.

  ‘Actually, you have.’ Lauren’s voice cut through the panic filling
her head. ‘You played the grandma in Ernie’s Incredible Illucinations at school.’

  She looked over at her sister. Not helpful. ‘I was nine. I hardly think that counts.’

  ‘Places, please.’ Jonathan clapped his hands. ‘Act Two, Scene One. We’ll pick up where we ended on Tuesday.’

  She wanted to run and hide, but there was nowhere to go. It would take at least fifteen minutes to climb the steps up to the car park – she knew this, as she’d been doing it all week, and behind her the sea cut off her escape. This was not what she’d signed up for.

  The stiffness in her shoulders tightened. ‘Isn’t there someone else that could do it?’ She looked at the transvestite, wondering if she could read the lines instead? She certainly hadn’t come over as timid when they’d met back in May. But Jonathan was no longer listening.

  Barney appeared next to her, looking relaxed and cheerful. ‘Hey, there, Puck.’

  She glared at him. ‘Not funny.’

  He laughed. ‘I wasn’t trying to be.’ He took her script and flicked through the pages. ‘Here you go. Page sixty-three. Don’t panic, you don’t have much to say.’

  This was of no comfort. And then he put his arm around her. Bloody cheek. If he thought …

  ‘“My gentle Puck, come hither.”’

  Oh, he was acting. Right. Well, she’d forgive him … on this occasion.

  He led her to the front of the stage. ‘“Thou rememberest, since I sat upon a promontory and heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath that the rude sea grew civil at her song?”’

  His voice resonated right through her. She was quite mesmerised, especially as he was looking at her in such a way that made her skin tingle.

  ‘It’s your line,’ he whispered.

  ‘What?… Oh, God, sorry.’ She looked at the script. ‘“I remember.”’ Was that it?

  He moved away, directing his speech to where the audience would sit. ‘“That very time I saw, flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all armed. A certain aim he took and loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow.”’

  The director jumped up when someone snorted. ‘It wasn’t funny the first time, people! And it’s certainly not funny now. Concentrate, please!’

  She looked at Barney, who mouthed the word ‘love-shaft’ at her, letting her in on the joke. The director was right, it was very childish. So why was she laughing?

  Barney reverted to his character. ‘“The bolt of Cupid fell upon a little western flower. The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, will make man or woman madly dote upon the next living creature that it sees. Fetch me that flower and be thou here again.”’

  His delivery was so hypnotic, she felt as though someone had put a potion on her. Not that she was about to fall madly in love with him. No way. He was playing a part. He was supposed to sound seductive. He was just very good at it, that was all.

  She checked her script. ‘“I’ll put a girdle round the earth in forty minutes.”’

  ‘Well done,’ he whispered. ‘Now we exit into the tree house.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ And then her brain caught up with his words. ‘We do what?’

  He ushered her across the stage, moving her out of the way of Nate, who was running across the stage, pursued by the transvestite, who abruptly stopped and gave Nate a blank look.

  Not a strange sight at all.

  ‘“You draw me, you hard-hearted Adam Ant,”’ prompted Nate.

  ‘Adamant, Mr Jones. You are not an eighties pop singer!’ Jonathan’s hands went to his head. ‘Lord, preserve me.’

  Barney was up the makeshift ladder before Charlotte had even reached the first rung. Part of her wanted to stay at the bottom – after all, no one would expect her to act out the moves as well as read the words, right? Plus, she was wearing skinny jeans and heels, she hadn’t come suitably dressed for tree climbing. But then, how would it look if the person who’d built the tree house wasn’t prepared to risk going up it? As a designer, she needed to road-test her construction. It was only fair. However much it pained her.

  Nate addressed the transvestite. Charlotte really needed to stop calling her that, but she couldn’t remember her name. Randy? Sandy? ‘“Get thee gone, and follow me no more.”’

  Barney’s face poked out from the tree house. ‘You okay?’

  No, she was not okay. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ Except her nerves kicked in the moment her foot connected with the first rung. Trying to secure her footing in heels as she climbed up with script in hand wasn’t easy. The ladder was concealed beneath dense camouflage netting that she’d managed to procure from the British Army store.

  As if sensing her anxiety, Barney held out his hands and pulled her up the ladder. It was a sudden movement, one which meant she landed with her upper body balancing in the tree house, her arse balancing precariously out of it. She lifted her head. ‘I’m stuck.’

  He grinned. ‘I can see that.’ He grabbed the belt loops at the back of her jeans and hoisted her into the tree house.

  The momentum of hauling her up caused the construction to shift. She reached out for something to grab. Oh, God, they were about to die. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sound of creaking as they tumbled to the ground …

  ‘You can open your eyes now.’ There was definite amusement in his voice. He thought it was funny, did he?

  Peeking out of one eye, she could see the tree house was still standing. It also alerted her to the fact that she was gripping hold of his thigh. Flustered, she let go.

  He patted the back of her hand. ‘Not a fan of heights, huh?’

  She was tempted to remark, you think? But as her body was shaking and her hands were white from clinging on, she felt it wasn’t the time for sarcasm. ‘You could say that.’

  He smiled. ‘Do you want to try and sit up?’

  ‘No!’ Her reaction made him laugh. ‘I mean, no thank you. I’m fine lying down.’ She couldn’t move if she wanted to. Sitting up would involve a lot of shuffling, instability, rocking the platform and, most significantly, touching Barney, something her nerves couldn’t cope with.

  Directly below, she could faintly hear Nate delivering his lines. ‘“Do I not in plainest truth tell you I do not, nor I cannot, love you?”’

  She felt the same way about the man she was squashed into a tree house with.

  On paper, Barney Hubble was a catch; a handsome doctor who’d come to her rescue on two separate occasions. But, in reality, he was having a mid-life crisis – twenty years too early – and constantly invaded her personal space. He made her feel out of control, and that wasn’t something she appreciated.

  He removed a bent packet of cigarettes from his jeans pocket. ‘Fancy a smoke?’

  ‘I don’t smoke. And it’s not safe.’ She pointed to the wood surrounding them. ‘Or healthy. As a doctor, you should know better.’

  He grinned. ‘I do. These are Paul’s. He left them in the pub last night.’

  ‘Oh. Well, I’m glad to hear it.’ For some reason, she was relieved he didn’t smoke. ‘Talking of Paul, I noticed he isn’t here tonight.’

  The sound of Nate’s next line prevented Barney responding. ‘“Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit. For I am sick when I do look on thee.”’

  Barney looked amused, for some reason. ‘You’re right, he’s not.’

  ‘The woman who’s reading in for him. What’s her name?’

  Barney glanced down at the actors below. ‘Dusty.’

  ‘Dusty, that’s it.’ She snapped her fingers.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘You know her?’

  ‘Not really, I met her once. She seems like an interesting character.’ Her arms were starting to ache, she needed to roll over onto her back.

  ‘That’s one way to describe her.’ He watched Charlotte’s pathetic attempts to move, before offering his services. ‘Need a hand?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ In trying to turn over, the tie around the neck of her blouse got caught under
neath her. ‘I didn’t realise Dusty was a member of the group. Does she have a part in the play?’

  Barney hooked his finger in the knot and loosened the tie, enabling her to move. The sensation of silk sliding across her skin made her shiver. ‘She’s playing Helena.’

  Charlotte frowned. ‘But I thought Paul was playing Helena?’

  His expression turned rueful. ‘They’re kind of sharing it.’

  Am-dram was very strange, she decided. She shifted onto her side. ‘I don’t suppose you have any chocolate, do you?’ A sugar rush might ease the shaking.

  He squeezed his hand into his jeans pocket, sliding out the contents. ‘Murray mint, ten-pound note, keys, or a condom. Take your pick.’

  ‘You carry a condom?’ Her jerky movement landed her on her back. Well, that was one way of doing it.

  ‘Don’t get too excited, I think it’s expired.’ He lifted the packet to the light, trying to make out the use-by date.

  She felt herself blush, which was a stupid response. He was a modern man; why wouldn’t he carry protection? It was just the intimacy of their close physical proximity that was causing the heat in her face to increase, no other reason.

  She needed a distraction. ‘So, what makes you think you’re a bad doctor?’ She moved her head, trying to escape a wayward twig digging into her scalp. ‘You didn’t kill someone, did you?’

  He looked affronted. ‘Of course not.’ And then grinned. ‘Well, never intentionally.’

  She realised he used humour to deflect awkward questions. ‘I won’t judge, I promise. I’m genuinely curious.’

  She waited for him to make a smart comment about her inability not to judge, but instead he just shrugged and said, ‘Lots of little things.’

  Her hair was still caught on the twig. ‘Give me an example.’

  ‘Lift your head.’ He freed her from the clutches of the branch. ‘My first week on the ward, I was asked to insert a catheter into a female patient.’

  She stopped ruffling her hair. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I couldn’t do it. The more I tried, the more flustered I became. Eventually, the consultant appeared and politely enquired as to why I’d spent twenty minutes trying to insert a catheter into the woman’s clitoris.’