The Boy I Love

by Lynda Bellingham

  ‘Oh Janie, I can’t eat your food,’ replied Sally. ‘You can’t cook for me all the time.’

  ‘I won’t, don’t worry. You can cook sometimes, and Pete is pretty good at certain things. Curry, curry and curry,’ the other girl laughed.

  ‘OK, that’s great. We can set up a rota. I have to buy milk for tomorrow, so I will get the bread at the same time – and how about a bottle of wine to celebrate our first day?’ Sally suggested, warming to the plan.

  ‘Good idea. Oh, here he comes, my little Pierrot. Sally, you will have to be fitted for your Pierrot costume, as we are hiring them. Do you want me to do it now while you are here?’

  Sally sighed. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but needs must. ‘I suppose it is a good idea to get it over with,’ she agreed.

  ‘Pete, why don’t you go to the pub and we will pick you up on the way out?’ Janie gave him a kiss and sent him on his way.

  They went into the wardrobe and Sally was properly introduced to the wardrobe mistress Gwendoline Stewart. She looked very proper, and had big black glasses and her hair in a bun, of all things. Sally had an instant image of some man removing her glasses and taking down her hair, then ravaging her over the sewing machine. It made her giggle, which caused Gwendoline to give her a straight look.

  ‘Something funny?’ she asked crisply.

  ‘No, sorry, I am just hysterical with tiredness. It has been a long day.’

  ‘Huh, you think this is long, just you wait until the dress rehearsal and technical days. They are flipping murder.’ Gwendoline seemed to enjoy imparting this piece of information. She took her tape measure from around her neck and started to measure Sally’s waist, saying, ‘Right, Janie, take down these measurements, please, then we can all go home.’

  Once they were finally out of the building and making their way to the pub, Sally ventured to ask Janie about Gwendoline.

  ‘Oh, she’s OK when you get to know her. She is a bit of a goer by all accounts – at the Christmas party last year she came dressed as a Moulin Rouge dancer. I think though that normally she is just a bit shy and finds actors intimidating. I get on with her fine and am even allowed to call her Gwen. She is supposed to be second-in-command to Enid, but I think Giles feels that Enid is past it now, so he is easing Gwen in, hoping Enid won’t notice!’

  Sally laughed and decided she would work on Gwendoline, if nothing else than for Dora’s sake, because it could be awkward for her sister if they didn’t get on.

  The two girls dragged Pete away from Simon, Robert and Jeremy, and trudged up the hill to their little house. The corner shop was just closing, but Sally managed to get her milk and a white sliced, and a bottle of white wine, though God knows what it would taste like. At home, Janie got the stew on and Pete helped her while Sally went and had her bath. It was heaven and she vowed to make sure there were always candles and bath goodies for them all.

  They ate the stew at their little dining table by candlelight.

  ‘Well, saves on electricity, doesn’t it?’ remarked Janie. ‘And we all look so much prettier. This wine is hitting the spot, Sally, thank you.’

  They all washed up and then made a beeline for their beds.

  ‘So much for the sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll life of a wandering actor,’ called out Peter as he switched off the landing light. ‘Night night, everyone. Sweet dreams.’

  But there was only silence!

  Chapter 10

  ‘Again, please, everyone.’

  ‘Oh! Oh! Oh! It’s a lovely war!’

  The piano was jumping off the boards as Timothy banged out the rhythm. For three days the music rehearsals had taken over everyone’s lives. Wherever one went inside the theatre someone could be found hunched in a dark corner singing to themselves, or tapping out the tune on the kettle in the Green Room. Two or three of the actors would break off in the middle of a hasty bite of a sandwich and burst into their harmonies, then fall back against the battered old sofa exhausted.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ announced Charmaine. ‘I am not going to be bullied like this. I am an actress, not a music-hall turn!’

  Peggy, who was standing in the doorway, stopped her in her tracks with: ‘Charmaine, my dear, shut up. You only have to sing the tune once. God only knows, it is obvious you are not a singer, but be grateful for small mercies and just get on with it.’

  Sally wanted to giggle out of sheer nerves: the whole thing had become a nightmare. She had never worked so hard in her life. Not only was she trying to learn her two solos, but she was running all the errands for Heather on the props side with Sarah. The girls took it in turns to go round the town begging and borrowing whatever was needed. In fact, the props on this production were not too bad as the set was minimal. It was more a question of the actors setting the scene. The lighting was going to be important in giving each scene its own atmosphere. Sally had managed to buy a second-hand cassette machine in a charity shop, and every minute she was not working on set she was playing back her songs. Sarah had proved quite a dark horse. She seemed to know every song backwards – and all the harmonies. For a girl who professed to be committed to stage management, she was showing an uncanny interest in the show. Sally made a little note to keep an eye on her.

  The whole theatre had come alive in this first week. Even the front-of-house staff seemed to appear out of nowhere. Posters went up in the foyer, and Evie in the Box Office was like the fairy on the Christmas tree. She was always immaculately dressed in something bright and sparkly, her make-up in perfect order, and her hair coiffed to within an inch of each sprayed peak, like a lemon meringue pie. People daring to pass the front doors of the theatre were somehow drawn into her web, like insects into a Venus fly trap.

  In the wardrobe department, Gwendoline, Enid and Janie were lost behind lines of clothes and piles of shoes, and great mountains of black velvet used as curtains to hide the wings at the side of the stage. Huge baskets called skips filled the corridors outside.

  Poor Heather was not only having to deal with the set designer, lighting rig and carpentry demands, but also the constant demands of the cast. Pinky and Perky were up in arms because their dressing rooms were not ready. Percy’s over-trained vowels could be heard echoing down the stairs, ‘Heather dear, I need a light in here!’

  Peggy would grab Sarah and force her to drop whatever important job she was doing on the production so that she could bring the mistress a small armchair from the store.

  ‘I have to get my feet up, darling, when I can,’ she would wheedle. ‘See if you can’t find me a little velvet cushion to go on top, there’s a dear.’

  Charmaine was in Dressing Room 3 and wanted Sally to clean it from top to bottom before she would unpack.

  ‘Honest to God, it is filthy, Sally. I will contract some dreadful disease if I set foot in there now. Please, can’t you just spare me an hour or so and give it a good wash-down?’

  Sally had sought Heather’s advice on this and received a very concise answer: ‘Tell Madam to Foxtrot Charlie off!’

  The boys, Simon, Peter and Jeremy, were having a ball. Sally envied them their carefree camaraderie. They were up and down the stairs all day long, singing their soldier chorus. Jeremy had to be reminded every so often that he too was an ASM, and Sally would suddenly have to go and pull him out of the pub to help with the prop-building. Robert and Geoffrey stayed on the sidelines. Robert was never far away from Giles Longfellow, who would appear in the Royal Box from time to time and check that all was moving in the right direction. He had announced to the cast that first day, that he would rehearse the scenes only once the actors had mastered the songs. Timothy was on a mission for sure, and suddenly by Thursday the light seemed to dawn and the whole thing came together. It was so exhilarating to stand there and sing out in joyful harmony. Everyone clapped and hugged each other at the end of the run-through. Even Charmaine’s solo sounded all right, as she had a sort of warble to her voice that was very much of the period of the First World War
.

  ‘You’d think she had created it especially,’ whispered Peggy to Percy. ‘Bloody woman has the luck of the devil.’

  Sally had performed her two songs well, if somewhat tentatively. Timothy took her aside afterwards and gave her some suggestions.

  ‘You have a beautiful voice, Sally – now you must add some emotion. Act the songs. When you sing “Keep the Home Fires Burning” we want to feel your pain, your loss. I want them to be sobbing in the stalls. With the other number, “I’ll make a Man of You”, I want you to be saucy and seductive. You need to twinkle more. You know the songs perfectly, so forget about the mechanics and just enjoy. Speak to Wardrobe about getting you some kinky boots or something for that second number.’

  Sally was slightly miffed that somehow she was not sexy enough, and decided to have a word with Janie. She found her as usual with her head in a skip.

  ‘Honestly, Sally, I stink of mothballs! It’s my new perfume. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Timothy has basically just told me I am not sexy enough in my number. I need some help with my costume, Janie. I know you are up to your eyes, but can you give me an idea of what I am going to be wearing?’

  ‘Oh God, Sally, I haven’t a clue. But Gwen is in the other room – we can ask her.’ Frankly, Sally would rather have avoided the issue and not bothered Gwendoline, who was still a bit stand-offish as far as Sally was concerned. However, needs must.

  ‘Hi, Gwendoline, we have a small problem with our artiste here,’ breezed Janie. ‘Timothy wants her sexier, and as we don’t have a costume as yet, this could be a problem – though I suppose you could go on naked, Sally, and that would do the trick!’

  Janie laughed throatily, and Sally felt sick at the thought. ‘I am really sorry to be a pain, Gwendoline, but if there is anything I can do to help, I will. I could go and see if I could get some black boots – long ones, you know – to glam up a bit.’

  Gwendoline studied Sally for a few moments and then decided. ‘Yes – good idea, Sally. That would be a great help, then I will make you a sort of drum majorette-type outfit with a little soldier hat, and we will give you a cane to play with – and away you go! Oh, and get some fishnet tights as well. Can you afford all this, because I am not sure the budget will stretch?’

  Sally’s heart sank. More expense, but if it helped get her in with Gwendoline it could all be worthwhile, especially when Dora arrived. At least then she would have back-up and her own personal dressmaker!

  ‘OK then, I will go out right now, and find those boots,’ Sally declared. ‘Tell Heather I have gone on an emergency mission.’

  It was a relief to get out into the fresh air. Sally had been coming in to work every day at eight thirty and leaving after dark. The theatre was dirty and full of dust, only made worse by all the scenery-building going on. Suddenly she was walking in September sunshine, the light playing on the autumn leaves rustling above her. She could almost pretend she was out on a day’s shopping spree without a care in the world. Almost. She was plonked back into reality by a shout from behind.

  ‘Fancy a good time then, girlie?’ Simon and Jeremy were descending on her with a huge plant between them. She burst out laughing.

  ‘What is that? You idiots!’

  ‘Please don’t mock, it is very unbecoming,’ pouted Jeremy. ‘This is our palm tree for the camel scene.’

  ‘But it’s an aspidistra,’ hooted Sally.

  ‘It may well be, but it is all we could find at the market so bog off, Miss Noddy Know-it-all!’ replied Simon. ‘Look, it’s green, and it will wave in the breeze so it will be fine. Just have to use your imagination. Where are you skiving off to anyway?’

  ‘I have got to find a pair of boots for my costume as the drum majorette,’ said Sally.

  ‘Ooh, lovely! Kinky boots,’ growled Simon. ‘I knew you’d got it in you, Sally Thomas.’

  ‘Oh please, give me a break,’ she retorted. ‘Jeremy, keep your friend under control, and don’t forget, by the way, we have to pick up that chaise longue from the junk shop later. Did you manage to get a trolley from the scene dock?’

  Jeremy looked crestfallen. ‘Oh shit, I forgot all about it. I am so sorry, Sal. I know, I’ll ask Robert if he can help me pick it up in his car. We could tie it on the roof.’

  ‘OK, but please get it done.’ She turned and left them to it.

  Sally decided to make for Freeman Hardy & Willis round behind the market. She vaguely remembered seeing some boots in there in the course of her travels. This was the thing about looking for props all day long – one passed so many windows and stores, it was hard to remember what was what. She arrived at her destination and peered into the shop window. It all looked rather dismal, but nothing ventured . . .

  Through the gloom inside Sally detected a young girl sitting on a bench below shelves of shoeboxes, filing her nails.

  ‘Hi. I am looking for some black knee-high boots. Can you help me at all?’ she asked.

  The girl jumped up with a start. ‘Sorry, what did you want?’

  ‘Black boots.’ Sally repeated the question.

  ‘Oh right. Well, yes, we have got these really nice black-patent-leather ones. What size are you?’

  ‘Six,’ said Sally, sitting down on the bench and starting to take her shoes off.

  The girl disappeared into the back, leaving Sally to ponder on why some shops put yellow cellophane in the windows to make the shop even darker. The girl returned with a large box and proceeded to unpack the promised boots. They were in fact rather impressive, thought Sally. She slid her leg into the boot and started to zip it up, only to find a gentleman kneeling at her feet, his hands deftly taking over from hers, and moving up her leg with alacrity.

  ‘Oh, sorry – who are you?’ stammered Sally, trying to gain back her leg from his grasp.

  ‘Mr Leslie Tibbs at your service, miss. These are our top-of-the-range boot for this winter. Just a penny under thirty pounds, and cheap at the price.’

  Oh blimey, thought Sally. That is a fortune.

  ‘Actually, I was wondering if you might be able to help me a bit here,’ ventured Sally. Holding her leg as seductively as she could in front of Mr Tibbs’s nose, she put on her best, most dazzling smile, and whispered, ‘I am an actress here at the Crewe Theatre, and we are doing this wonderful show called Oh, What a Lovely War! I am playing a drum majorette, and singing this big number, and it would be so fantastic if you could lend me the boots for the run of the show. The trouble is, we have so little money for costumes but this would just make my outfit perfect.’

  Mr Tibbs released her leg and let it drop unceremoniously to the floor.

  ‘Oh, I am not sure we can do that, my dear. These are expensive boots, you know. What if they get damaged?’

  ‘Well, obviously the theatre would have insurance to cover anything like that. But I would take such good care of them, honestly. I could get you and the shop some publicity, probably in the local paper, and we would be able to give you front-row tickets for the first night and the party afterwards. I would be so grateful.’ Sally forced herself to lean in close and bat her eyelashes.

  ‘Hmm, I see. Maybe we could come to some arrangement. Local paper, you say? That would be very good for business. Very well, you find out what can be done about publicity, and I will hold these boots for you until the end of the week.’

  ‘Oh, you are so kind. Thank you. I will go right away and sort it out.’ Sally nearly kissed him, but thought better of it as she could see the twinkle in his eye at the thought of rewards from ‘this actress’. She knew exactly who to contact at the local press office, as Evie in the Box Office had already instructed her on the power of the press at all times.

  ‘Court them at all times, luv, shamelessly. We need every bit of publicity we can get. Make friends with Tommy Nuttall. He is also their photographer and the bloke is a sucker for a pretty face.’

  Here I come, Tommy! Sally found him in the Crewe Chronicle office, feet up, having a fag.


  ‘Well, well, to what do I owe the honour of a visit from one of the local talent? How is it going up at the dream factory?’

  ‘Fine, thanks, Tommy. Look, I have an idea for a photo opportunity. The manager at Freeman Hardy & Willis has agreed to donate a pair of boots to me for my number in the show if he can have some publicity. So I thought it would make a nice picture if I get my costume on and he fits the boots. Bit of leg, you know?’ Sally couldn’t believe she was saying this rubbish!

  ‘Well, listen to you, sensible girl. I like someone with a bit of nous about her. Yes, spot on. Can we do it tomorrow morning so I can get it in for next Wednesday’s show page?’

  ‘Well, I can try. The costume has got to be made yet. Leave it with me and I will ring you this afternoon. Have you got a number?’

  ‘Here’s my card, darling, I await your call.’

  Sally practically ran back to the theatre and up to Wardrobe.

  ‘Gwendoline, I think I have cracked it! I have secured a great pair of patent-leather boots on condition I have my photo taken with the manager of the shoe shop tomorrow morning. Can we get a costume together by then?’

  Gwendoline gave a huge sigh and leaned dramatically on the door. ‘Oh my goodness, to be taken for granted like this. Let me see. Very well – give me half an hour then come back and I may just have something for you, darling.’

  Sally forced a smile of thanks and disappeared downstairs, thinking the bloody woman was far more theatrical than any actress in the company!

  Heather grabbed her at the stage door and pulled her into the stalls. ‘Where have you been? Giles was looking for you to rehearse a scene with the chorus. I lied and said you were out on a job for me.’