A Fairy Tale for Christmas

by Chrissie Manby

  ‘Set your phone alarm as well,’ she instructed him. And she watched to make sure he’d got it right.

  As it happened, Ben didn’t need an alarm clock to wake him the following morning. Thea was awake at five. She stayed in her bedroom watching YouTube clips on her tablet until six, when she decided it was surely late enough to rouse her father too. Today was important after all.

  Ben was barely conscious as he followed Thea downstairs and prepared her some breakfast. Thea explained that she needed to have a particularly hearty breakfast that morning because auditioning would require stamina and focus and it was difficult to focus if you hadn’t been allowed to have a scoop of mint-choc ice cream with your Coco-pops. Ben was still too bleary-eyed to disagree.

  After breakfast, Thea dressed in the clothes Ben had laid out the previous evening. Thea had chosen the ensemble herself. It comprised the dress she had worn to her aunt’s wedding two years earlier. It was much too big at the time. Jo bought it to last, which meant that the sleeves had to be rolled up three times when Thea first wore it to the register office. Now, it was almost a little too small. But Thea still wanted to wear it. She wanted to look smart. Her school sweatshirt wouldn’t cut it.

  She made Ben polish her shoes as well.

  ‘Make them shine, Dad.’

  When Ben had done that, he suggested that he and Thea practise Cinderella’s big moment. Thea sat down on the bottom stair, while Ben knelt in front of her with the newly polished ballet pump.

  ‘Whomsoever this shoe shall fit,’ said Ben, ‘shall become my new queen.’

  ‘And get half the kingdom?’ Thea bargained.

  ‘We’ll have to consult a solicitor,’ said Ben.

  Thea delicately stretched out her leg so that Ben could fit the shoe to her foot.

  ‘It fits! It fits!’ Thea cried. ‘Bring me my crown. And the money.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Ben, ‘it looks a wee bit tight. Have you been growing again? We’ll have to go shopping for a new pair.’

  ‘More expense!’ Thea echoed her grandmother.

  Helen, who lived next door, knew all about the auditions. She was coming out of her house just as Thea and Ben were getting into their car.

  ‘All right, my little superstar!’ she shouted to Thea. ‘Big day today.’

  ‘Yes it is,’ Thea confirmed. ‘I’m off to the auditions.’

  ‘Knock ’em dead,’ said Helen. ‘And while you’re at it, break a leg!’

  Thea was perturbed.

  ‘What did she tell me to break a leg for?’ she asked her father once Helen had gone.

  ‘It’s just a saying,’ said Ben. ‘It’s what people say to each other in the theatre instead of “good luck” when they’re going on stage. For some reason, it’s bad luck to say “good luck” or something like that.’

  ‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ said Thea.

  ‘There’s lots of things that don’t make any sense in this world,’ said Ben. ‘Like me being up at this time on a Saturday morning.’

  ‘But why don’t they say something nice? Why can’t you say “good luck”?’

  ‘I don’t know. But you can’t say Macbeth either.’

  ‘Macbeth? What’s that?’

  ‘It’s the name of a play about a Scottish king and his murderous missus. But don’t say it!’ Ben made a hammy show of his distress. ‘You must never say Macbeth.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Thea. ‘What’s going to happen?’

  Thea looked so worried that Ben relented.

  ‘Nothing’s going to happen. Theatre people are just weird, that’s all. And they don’t like you mentioning Mac-anything. I don’t know why. Something to do with witches in the play, I think. Now let’s get this over and done with.’

  ‘Can I say MacDonald’s in the theatre?’ Thea asked as they cruised through Newbay’s quiet streets. ‘What if someone asks where we had our dinner last night?’

  ‘You must never let on that we had our dinner at MacDonald’s,’ Ben said. ‘Just say we went to Nando’s.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was a long time since Ben had been to an audition – he hadn’t set foot on a stage since performing in a few pretentious productions at university – and as soon as he and Thea turned into the theatre car park, Ben knew he was woefully underprepared. The professional stage mothers were out in force. They came carrying more bags than a newly minted lottery winner on the way home from Selfridges. They had garment bags, vanity cases, huge heavy freezer totes stuffed with healthy picnics … Did that mean they expected to still be in the theatre at lunchtime, Ben wondered. He had hoped he would be able to open the shop that afternoon.

  ‘Name?’ asked the young NEWTS volunteer in the theatre lobby.

  ‘Althea Penelope Teesdale,’ Thea announced.

  The girl looked for Thea on her list. Ben had applied for a slot via email.

  ‘Here you are. Age?’

  ‘Eight. And five months.’

  ‘Eight. Excellent. Music?’

  Thea looked at her father. Ben’s confused face offered no reassurance.

  ‘Your music?’ said the girl. ‘Have you got your music with you?’

  ‘We haven’t got any music,’ said Ben.

  One of the stage mothers tutted and shook her head.

  ‘Were we supposed to bring some?’

  ‘Er, yes,’ said the girl. ‘But it’s OK. What is Althea planning to sing? I’m sure we can improvise.’

  ‘Thea?’ Ben looked to his daughter to provide the answer.

  The realisation that she and her father were somehow upsetting audition protocol was making Thea anxious.

  ‘Look,’ the girl tried to be kind. ‘Just tell me your favourite song. I’m sure Glynis the pianist will know how to play it.’

  Thea was blanking. Her favourite song? She looked at her dad. Ben was blanking too. Eventually, he pulled it back from the brink.

  ‘She’s going to sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”,’ said Ben. ‘That do for you, Thea?’

  Thea beamed. That was one of her favourites.

  ‘“Somewhere Over the Rainbow”,’ said the girl with the clipboard.

  ‘Does Glynis know that one?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Er, duh?’ said the girl.

  The stage mother standing behind them in the queue let out a derisive laugh that was almost a bark. Ben turned and gave her a look. It shut her up.

  ‘OK. Another “Rainbow”. Right.’ The girl gave Thea a raffle ticket and a safety pin. ‘This is your number. You need to pin it on your front. There are two auditions this morning. The under-twelves are in the large rehearsal room. Go straight on in and wait for further instructions. Next!’

  Thea inspected the ticket.

  ‘It’s thirteen,’ she said to Ben. ‘That’s lucky.’

  The hopeful children were ushered by further volunteers straight to the large rehearsal room, which sounded a great deal grander than it turned out to be. The room smelled of decades of dust and sweat. The furniture looked like it belonged in a skip. The sight of so many worn-out high-backed chairs put Ben in mind of the old people’s home where his mother had worked before she got her position in the very swanky retirement place she now managed.

  Ben and Thea found themselves a corner and sat down to wait. They didn’t know what they were supposed to be doing. There were some old hands there. Children who had definitely done this before. They were warming up with pliés and side bends and practising scales and other voice exercises. Their focus was impressive. Ben felt intimidated and he was a fully grown man. He could only imagine what it was like for Thea.

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ he asked, even though he knew he shouldn’t question her enthusiasm. Even attending this audition could do her the world of good regarding her confidence. Though it was hard to imagine that any of the other children there would become Thea’s friends should she get through. They seemed so … well; competitive was the only word for it.

  ‘Yes,’ Thea n
odded. ‘I want to do this.’ She was kneeling upon her chair and studying the photographs on a pin board behind them. ‘Look at this. They did Cinderella before. I want a costume like that.’

  Ben peered at the photograph. ‘I think I went to school with that mouse,’ said Ben. The young lad in the picture did look familiar. Ben couldn’t immediately think of a name to match but the face gave him an odd sensation of unease.

  ‘Should I be brushing your hair?’ Ben asked.

  ‘No, Dad,’ Thea shook her head. ‘You always pull too hard. I can do it.’

  ‘Well, should you be brushing your hair? Everyone else seems to be smartening themselves up.’

  ‘I already did it this morning.’

  Ben was astonished to see that some of the other girls of Thea’s age were actually putting on make-up. It seemed a bit inappropriate. Or was it just that he was old-fashioned? They were all taking selfies too. Pouting and putting the Hadid sisters to shame. Thea did not yet have a phone of her own. Ben had promised he would think about it for her tenth birthday. ‘Who do you have to phone?’ was one of his arguments. Probably half her class, he thought, seeing the youngsters busy uploading images to Instagram.

  Ben wished the auditions would get going. It had just struck him that he was the only dad in the room and suddenly he didn’t know where to look. Should he even be in that rehearsal room at all? Was it supposed to be a woman-only thing? Nobody had said it was.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the girl with the clipboard and another woman, slightly older, who clapped her hands to gain everyone’s attention and introduced herself as Elaine – stage manager and assistant director for the production.

  She ran through the programme for the day. To begin with, all the auditionees would be working together. They would be doing warm-ups and playing games to give Elaine an idea of how the children worked as a team. Ben was grateful that, to start with at least, all the children would be singing and dancing together so that if Thea was out of tune or clumsy, it would not be immediately obvious. Everyone would be too busy concentrating on his or her own performance to laugh at anyone else.

  Thea was listening intently. Ben gave her shoulders a squeeze for reassurance, though really he felt in need of reassurance himself. He had a sudden flashback to the day Thea was born and how, when he held her in his arms for the very first time, he felt suddenly terrified by the responsibility of being a father. But then he’d stroked her tiny hands and Thea, not even an hour old, had grasped his thumb with astonishing strength. He realised then that she was going to be holding him as much as he was holding her. She was an old soul and she was telling him they were in it together.

  As he squeezed Thea’s shoulders, she looked back at him and gave him a quick smile and nodded to confirm that even if he wasn’t ready for this, she was.

  ‘OK, everybody,’ said Elaine. ‘Into the centre, please. Let’s get warmed up.’

  Thea pushed her glasses up her nose and joined the other children in the middle of the room. She looked back at Ben and he gave a covert thumbs-up.

  ‘We’re going to start by rolling our heads from side to side,’ said Elaine. ‘OK. Now let’s shrug our shoulders up and down. Swing your arms backwards and forwards. Relax those muscles. Watch out for the people behind you. And now let’s make arm circles. Shake out your feet.’

  Thea smiled widely. She was keeping up.

  ‘Stand on one leg.’

  It was going to get harder now.

  But Thea did it. She stood on one leg and, to Ben’s surprise, she didn’t wobble. She hopped. She skipped. She swayed like the branches of a tree in the wind. She prowled like a cat. She jumped like a monkey. She kept up. She seemed to be enjoying herself. When Elaine suggested a five-minute break during which the children could return to their parents to have a drink, Thea told Ben that she was having a lovely time.

  ‘You were a great monkey,’ he said.

  ‘I was a chimp, Dad,’ said Thea. ‘A chimp is an ape.’

  Next the children warmed up their voices. Glynis the pianist sat at the piano and played Christmas carols that all the children were bound to know. ‘Jingle Bells’. ‘Away In The Manger’. ‘Little Donkey’. Ben was sure he could hear Thea’s voice over the others. She was giving it her best, opening her mouth wide and annunciating just as she’d learned from a YouTube singing class video.

  All the time, Elaine circled the room, listening closely to each individual child and making notes on her clipboard. When she came to Thea, she smiled and nodded. ‘Very good,’ she mouthed. Ben’s heart swelled with pride. He hoped she wasn’t just saying ‘very good’ because she already knew she was going to let Thea down and wanted to give her a little encouragement anyway.

  At the end of a second rendition of ‘Little Donkey’, Elaine announced that it was time for another break. In fifteen minutes, she would be back to let the assembled children and parents know who was through to the next round, which would require the children to give individual performances in front of the director himself.

  Those fifteen minutes seemed to last for hours. Thea was patient but Ben was on tenterhooks, checking his phone roughly every thirty seconds to distract himself. He’d never been so anxious waiting for news during his own brief foray into theatreland. Then Elaine reappeared with her clipboard. She began with a speech about how hard everyone had worked that morning.

  ‘It’s been an absolute pleasure to meet every single one of you. You’ve all been so professional and so good it’s been very hard to decide which of you to ask back. But here it is. This is the list of names of the people we’d like to see again. In alphabetical order …’ she paused.

  Get on with it, Ben thought. He couldn’t bear it if Elaine decided to handle this like her own personal version of Britain’s Got Talent.

  ‘Can’t read my own handwriting,’ she said by way of an excuse for making them wait. ‘Here we go. Arnold, Cherry and Jerry.’ The first two to make the cut were rhyming twins. They high-fived one another and punched the air. ‘Barnton, Georgie …’ Little Georgie Barnton stood up and took a bow.

  The list seemed endless, though it had just fifteen names on it. In the second rehearsal room, a further fifteen children were being chosen too in the twelve to sixteen age group.

  ‘Teesdale, Althea.’

  They’d been waiting to hear Thea’s name so long that Ben and Thea almost missed it.

  ‘That’s me?’ Thea pointed her thumb at her own chest.

  ‘It certainly is, killer,’ said Ben.

  He really wished he’d brought along some music now.

  ‘If all those children could be back here at eleven o’clock, please. On the dot. The rest of you, I want to thank you again for coming here today and sharing your talent with us. Please keep an eye on the NEWTS’ website. There will be more shows in the New Year.’

  The stage mother who had snorted at Ben’s lack of preparedness stalked Elaine out of the rehearsal room. Her daughter’s name had not been among those read out and she obviously thought there’d been some kind of mistake. Ben tried not to look too interested in what was going on in the corridor.

  ‘Come on,’ he said to Thea. ‘We better go and find some sandwiches somewhere in case you’re here for lunch.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  When Elaine met with Jon and Kirsty to compare notes from the two group auditions they’d held that morning, she was hopeful they’d be able to pull together a good chorus from the children they’d seen so far. There were several who’d worked with the NEWTS before who were known to be solid performers with reliable parents (that was almost as important as the ability to sing and dance. Getting the children to rehearsals and performances on time was largely the responsibility of the parents after all). They needed fourteen children to cover the seven roles they would be assigned, because there were strict rules in place about how many hours the under-sixteens could be expected to work, even in an amateur production.

  Kirsty was very
pleased to see the name ‘Althea Teesdale’ on the list. That had to be Thea – the little girl from the beach and the print shop. She wondered if Thea’s good-looking dad had brought her along or whether the woman in the drawing was with her instead.

  Jon was less optimistic about the chances of pulling together a good team. While Elaine had been auditioning her group en masse, Jon and Kirsty were already onto individual performances with the older children, who were trialling for actual speaking parts. And he was fed-up to the back teeth of ‘Somewhere Over the Bloody Rainbow’.

  ‘If only we could afford to rule out anyone who sang it on the grounds of unoriginality,’ said Jon.

  ‘It’s so easy to massacre,’ Elaine agreed. ‘But if we did rule it out, we’d have nobody left to audition.’

  ‘It’s a terrible song,’ said Jon. ‘I’ve never seen the appeal of Judy Garland.’

  Kirsty closed her ears to the heresy. ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ was more than just a song to Kirsty.

  Kirsty couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t wanted to perform. Her mother told her she could sing before she could talk. Certainly, by the time she was five and a half and she’d seen that first panto, she had her heart set on the stage. Her mother Nicole was fully behind her, paying for ballet lessons, tap lessons, singing …

  Kirsty attended her first professional audition at the age of seven. It was for an ad. All these years later, Kirsty couldn’t recall the product. Maybe something to do with cleaning. She did remember that the audition took place during half term. Nicole told Kirsty’s dad Stu that she was taking Kirsty into London to see a relative – her great-aunt. Stu had no idea what was really going on.

  Kirsty wasn’t nervous as she sang ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’ for the three adults at the advertising agency. Her mother had filled her with such confidence that she wasn’t in the least bit surprised when she was offered the part.

  The trouble began when they got home. Nicole proudly announced her daughter’s success at the dinner table. And Stu exploded. He did not want Kirsty to be on television. He accused Nicole of trying to live vicariously through their daughter’s talent. Kirsty was sent upstairs with a bowl of ice cream while her parents ‘discussed’ the matter in louder and louder voices. Kirsty crept out onto the landing and listened.