A Fairy Tale for Christmas

by Chrissie Manby

  ‘So you found her?’

  Jon appeared in the hallway. He put his hand on Kirsty’s shoulder. He was marking his territory. Ben gestured towards the door.

  ‘I should be going.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jon. He flashed a joyless smile that took Ben right back. He could almost see Charlie, standing between them, making her choice. But Kirsty was too wrapped up in her sister to notice what was happening between Jon and Ben.

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  When everyone was gone, Kirsty and India curled up on the sofa together.

  ‘What were you doing at the theatre?’ Kirsty asked.

  ‘I didn’t know how else to find you. I didn’t have your address. I was in such a hurry I left my phone behind.’

  ‘I know,’ said Kirsty. ‘Dad was going out of his mind.’

  ‘Why? He doesn’t care about me.’

  ‘Oh, India. That’s absolutely not true.’ Kirsty took off her scarf and wrapped it around her little sister’s neck. ‘You’re still freezing. Have you had anything to eat?’

  ‘I had a sausage roll when I got off the train at Exeter.’

  ‘And how did you get here from there?’

  ‘I hitched.’

  Kirsty felt nauseous at the very thought.

  ‘I got a lift with three really nice students from Exeter Uni. But they were only going as far as Westcombe so I had to walk the rest of it.’

  ‘That’s five miles! In the cold and the wet. On New Year’s Eve.’

  ‘I know,’ said India. ‘And my feet hurt.’

  ‘Come on, let’s get you into some pyjamas. I’ll phone Dad to let him know you’re in one piece.’

  ‘I’m not going back,’ India insisted. ‘He doesn’t understand me, Kirsty. He doesn’t care what I want out of life.’

  ‘He cares very much,’ said Kirsty. ‘I’m sure he does.’

  ‘Don’t let him come and pick me up yet. Let me stay for a couple of days.’

  Kirsty looked at Jon, who was standing in the doorway with a mug of cocoa. Jon shrugged. It seemed like an agreement. ‘Thanks,’ she mouthed.

  At least it meant they wouldn’t have to talk about Dubai just yet.

  Jon soon went to bed, leaving the sisters alone.

  ‘After you left, it just got worse,’ India explained. ‘I can’t open my mouth without Dad jumping down my throat about something. It’s like everything I do is wrong. Like he thinks I want to go into the theatre just to spite him. He doesn’t get that it’s my passion. He doesn’t believe in passion. He just thinks I should go and work in an office until I die, regretting all the things I didn’t do. I’m not going to live like that.’

  ‘He wants to protect you,’ Kirsty told India again. ‘He worries that by choosing to study drama, you’ll be closing down avenues that could save your bacon later on. You’re chasing a career in an incredibly competitive field. God knows, it’s bad enough at amateur level. I’ve experienced some surprisingly crushing moments here with the NEWTS and I’m not even getting paid for the pleasure. Dad doesn’t want you to face the pain of rejection, the insecurity and instability. All those things are as big a part of working in the theatre as the glamour and the applause.’

  ‘I know that,’ said India. ‘I know. I’m not stupid. I just think I’ve got something and if I don’t go for it now, I’ll regret it for ever. Who knows what you could have been if Dad had supported you when you were younger.’

  ‘The next Helen Mirren?’ Kirsty smiled.

  Her dad had agreed with Kirsty that India could stay with her for a couple of days. It would do them good, he admitted, to have some time away from each other after such a fraught few weeks. Give them both a chance to cool down. Though Kirsty wondered what would happen when that time was up. Would her father stick to his position? Would India stick to hers? Kirsty had so much sympathy for her little sister. She almost felt guilty that she hadn’t done more to pave the way for India. If she had been more successful, would that have made Stu more likely to let India have her way?

  Kirsty knew she wasn’t exactly a poster girl for theatrical success. What would the New Year hold for her, if she didn’t get that part in Les Mis? More auditions? How long could she keep going before she admitted to herself that she needed to get a job? Any job? Just as Jon suggested. Would she be able to get one as well paid as the position she’d given up to follow her dream? Would she be able to get a job as good as the one she had given up to be with him?

  When Kirsty climbed into bed, Jon was still awake.

  ‘Ben Teesdale’s got a crush on you,’ he said. ‘The way he was looking at you tonight, when he dropped India off. It was embarrassing.’

  ‘That’s crazy,’ Kirsty said. ‘You’re mixing him up with his part.’

  ‘Ben’s always been a very average actor,’ said Jon.

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  On New Year’s Day, the NEWTS had the day off. The very last performance of Cinderella was to take place on 2nd January. But the year started badly. When Jon and Kirsty arrived at the theatre for the final show, Elaine was in the big rehearsal room where the children waited until they were on stage, pacing frantically as she stabbed text messages into her phone.

  ‘Disaster,’ she said. ‘Two of my mice have gone sick with the vomiting bug.’

  ‘You’re joking,’ said Jon. ‘Which ones?’

  ‘Lead mice. Thomas Nuttall and Georgie Barnton. Thomas has got lines.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake,’ said Jon.

  Elaine glared at him on behalf of the other children, who were milling around close by, pretending not to be listening. Of course they were all ears. Big mouse ears.

  ‘I mean, for goodness’s sake,’ Jon corrected himself. ‘What can we do?’

  ‘Cut the lines?’ Elaine suggested.

  ‘But I know them!’ piped up Thea.

  The adults all turned towards her.

  ‘I really do.’

  ‘Thea?’ Elaine gave the little girl her ‘serious’ look, the one she adopted when the children in the chorus were playing up. ‘Do you really, really know them?’

  ‘I know all the lines in the play,’ Thea assured her. ‘Every single one.’

  ‘Can you show us? Could you do the lead mouse part now? With me being Cinderella?’ Kirsty asked. ‘Shall we start with the scene in the kitchen?’

  Thea nodded. She mimed pinging a pair of imaginary braces. The lead mouse wore red braces. That’s how you could tell him apart from the common or garden mice.

  Kirsty got into character too. She gestured that Thea should join her in the centre of the room. She swished an imaginary skirt of rags and clasped her hands to her heart.

  ‘Ready, Thea?’

  Thea doffed an imaginary cap.

  ‘Oh my,’ Kirsty sighed. ‘How will I ever get all this work done before my step-sisters come home?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Cinders,’ said Thea. ‘We can help you! Just pass me that brush.’

  Kirsty mimed handing the brush over.

  ‘And give me that pan.’

  She mimed handing over the dustpan.

  ‘Come on, everybody.’

  Thea whistled for her ‘brothers and sisters’. She had a good loud whistle for one so small. The three remaining mice who didn’t have the vomiting bug came squeaking on her command.

  ‘Ready, gang?’ Thea asked them.

  ‘We’re ready,’ the others shouted.

  ‘Oooooooh!’ Thea sang the first note of the song that would follow. Her pitch was spot on. The others chimed in. The four mice, with Thea as their new leader, joined hands and encircled their temporary Cinders. They did not put a foot wrong.

  Kirsty couldn’t help grinning.

  ‘Perfect. She knows the part,’ said Elaine.

  Jon agreed. ‘It’ll do. Someone put her in the costume.’

  ‘Will it fit?’

  ‘It’ll have to. Give those old bags in Wardrobe something to do.’

  ‘Am I really doing it?’ Thea aske
d. ‘Am I going to be lead mouse?’

  ‘Thea Teesdale,’ said Elaine. ‘You’re on. Let’s get you in that outfit.’

  Thea gave an ecstatic fist-pump.

  ‘I’ve got lines,’ she said to anyone who would listen. ‘I’ve got a speaking part! I’ve got to tell Dad.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Gwyneth, one of that night’s chaperones. ‘Don’t get over-excited just now. You’ve got the whole night to get through.’

  Taking Gwyneth’s hand, Thea danced all the way up to Wardrobe.

  Meanwhile, India was quickly recruited to swell the numbers of the adult chorus, which had also been hit by the norovirus. She was thrilled to have a chance to show off her skills. She picked up one of the spare scores and set to work learning the songs.

  ‘You could just mime,’ said Annette.

  ‘There’s no way I’m going to mime. I want to do this properly.’

  ‘Trust me, nobody else will.’

  ‘Come on, Annette,’ said Vince. ‘That’s not entirely true. Everyone has been making such an effort. Even I know all my lines now.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Annette.

  So, the mouse problem was sorted and the chorus had been swelled by one. But worse was to come. The pantomime could easily go ahead without minor players but, with just an hour to go, Jon got the call they had all been dreading. Lauren had been struck down with the vomiting bug too.

  ‘You’re kidding me,’ said Jon.

  ‘I wish I was. I can’t leave the bathroom,’ she told him. ‘I’m actually calling you from the loo.’

  ‘Too much information,’ said Jon, holding the phone away from his ear as though the bug could travel through the airwaves.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jon. I don’t want to let you and the others down. Especially not on the last night. But I just can’t do it. Every time I think I’m starting to feel better I—’

  Jon heard a clatter as Lauren dropped her phone onto the bathroom tiles so that she could hurriedly reposition herself to puke. What followed were sound effects worthy of a horror movie. The rest of the cast watched as Jon went pale and looked as though he might be about to throw up himself.

  ‘Right.’ Jon hung up on Lauren and texted her instead, ‘Don’t come in. Stay home.’

  ‘Get well.’ He sent a second text as an afterthought. Then he turned to the others and shouted, ‘Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!’

  ‘Is Lauren not coming in?’ Andrew Giggle asked, as though they hadn’t guessed.

  ‘But what can we do?’ asked Annette. ‘We’ve got no understudy.’

  ‘Don’t you think I know that?’ Jon sighed.

  ‘There’s no one in the chorus who can do the Prince Charming part at such short notice. We’ll have to cancel,’ said Vince.

  ‘No way,’ said Jon. ‘Tonight is a sell-out. The show must go on.’

  ‘But who?’ Bernie asked.

  ‘Is Trevor available?’ Vince suggested.

  Kirsty’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘There’s no way he can do the dances,’ said Bernie. ‘I spoke to him just this morning. He hurt his hip when he fell over on New Year’s Eve.’

  India looked at her feet, a little shame-faced.

  ‘Me,’ said Jon decisively. ‘It’ll have to be me.’

  ‘What?’ said Kirsty.

  ‘I can play Prince Charming. I know the part as well as anybody here.’

  ‘But you’re a bloke,’ said George Giggle. ‘I thought you wanted this panto to be traditional. Prince Charming’s got to be a girl.’

  ‘Just think of it like Shakespeare in the original,’ said Jon. ‘I will be a man, playing a woman, playing a man. Like the first-ever actor to play Viola.’

  ‘What’s playing a viola got to do with it?’ Andrew Giggle asked.

  ‘Viola in Twelfth Night?’ said Jon.

  The cast looked back at him. Blankly.

  ‘Oh, for crying out loud. Look, I’m playing Prince Charming and that’s it. We can’t disappoint the audience. Any more than usual …’ he added with a hiss. ‘Now go and get ready, everybody! The show must go on.’

  Chapter Eighty

  The hour before any performance was always chaotic, but that day the excitement backstage soon reached fever pitch. The last-minute cast substitutes required all sorts of changes. Fearful of breaching any law on the subject, unwritten or otherwise, mousey Glynis, who was acting committee chairperson while Trevor was still officially incapacitated, insisted that they produce inserts announcing the change of cast to go into all the programmes. Unfortunately, the office printer was broken, so the amendments had to be made by hand. Which gave Kirsty a chance to see that Glynis’s handwriting was remarkably like the handwriting used to deface the original cast list. She never would have guessed. That was something that would have to be discussed when the chaos was over.

  Meanwhile, Jon had an emergency costume fitting. There was nothing in Wardrobe that came close to being suitable. Fortunately, another quick call to Trevor Fernlea revealed that he did indeed have his own Prince Charming costume at home. He and Cynthia were coming to the last night, of course. They wouldn’t have missed it for the world. They would come early and bring Jon’s new costume with them.

  Jon was effusively grateful until the costume actually arrived.

  ‘I had this made in 1976,’ said Trevor.

  Indeed, the trousers suggested as much. Prince Charming in flares? But it was the smell that was worse.

  ‘It was a bit musty, being in the cupboard all that time, so I gave it a squirt with some Old Spice,’ Trevor admitted.

  A squirt? It smelled like it had been marinated in a vat of the stuff. Jon’s eyes watered from the fumes when he put the jacket on. Kirsty’s eyes watered when she got near him.

  ‘Whoah,’ she said. ‘That is quite something.’

  Ben, who had been downstairs in the lobby, helping the volunteers on the front desk to fix a problem with the printer they used for ticketing, finally arrived in the wings. He had not known until then that Lauren wouldn’t be playing the Prince that night. When he saw Jon all dressed up and ready to go, Ben struggled to hide his surprise and disappointment.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Jon. ‘Tonight, dear Buttons, your rival for Cinder’s heart is me. Ready to lose the girl? Again?’

  Ben said nothing.

  Annette, squeezing by Jon to get into position, screwed up her face in horror at the copious aftershave.

  ‘Is that Old Spice?’ Annette asked him.

  ‘Needs must,’ said Jon. ‘The show …’

  ‘Must go on!’ everyone within earshot chorused.

  And it went OK. The audience seemed understanding when Jon was a little rusty on his cues. The old dears in the front row were pleased to see him.

  ‘Wasn’t he in The Night Manager?’ asked the mayor’s mother, who was back for another go.

  ‘Tom Hiddleston in Newbay?’ her friend replied. ‘Are you sure you haven’t got dementia?’

  Jon rose above it. He was secretly thrilled to have been mistaken for one of his idols.

  Until the mayor’s mother said. ‘I don’t mean Tom Hiddleston. I meant the short one. The one who was the vicar.’

  ‘Of Dibley? You mean Dawn French? But Prince Charming’s a man tonight. Isn’t he?’

  And then, thank goodness, it was time for the interval. Jon graciously accepted his colleagues’ congratulations as they gathered behind the tabs.

  ‘You should have been Prince Charming all along,’ said Annette. ‘Don’t you think so, Kirsty?’

  Kirsty agreed. ‘Of course.’

  Ben excused himself to catch up with Thea.

  Chapter Eighty-One

  During the interval, Kirsty and the other women in the cast would always retire to their dressing room for a much-needed drink – water or tea only – and to touch up their make-up. Kirsty was re-gluing an errant fake eyelash when Elaine knocked on the door and said, ‘Kirsty. There’s someone here would like your autograph.’


  Kirsty scribbled her name on the front of one of the pile of a hundred photographs she had prepared for just such an eventuality. So far she had needed just three. She passed one to Elaine.

  ‘I think he needs a more personal response than that,’ said Elaine.

  Kirsty was just about to groan when Elaine stepped aside and Kirsty’s father appeared in the doorframe.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘All right, love?’

  Kirsty immediately stepped out into the corridor to join him. She could hardly invite him into the dressing room where Bernie was helping Annette readjust her Spanx.

  ‘Dad. You’re here. I thought you weren’t coming to get India until tomorrow.’

  ‘But it’s the last night of your show tonight.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’

  Kirsty tipped her head to one side.

  Stu looked at his feet. ‘I know you didn’t ask me to be here.’

  ‘I didn’t think it was worth it.’

  ‘And that makes me ashamed. If you don’t want me to be here, Kirsty, I quite understand. I said some unforgivable things when you came to dinner. You’d be quite right not to want me around. I’ll get out of your hair.’

  ‘No. Dad, I’m glad you’re here.’ Kirsty gave him a hug. ‘What do you think of the show so far?’

  ‘I thought you were amazing,’ he said.

  Kirsty smiled to prompt more.

  ‘I can’t get over how you walked out there and made that stage your own. When you opened your mouth to sing, you really raised the rafters. I couldn’t believe it. I had to turn to the woman in the seat next to me and tell her, that’s my daughter. That’s my little girl. I was so proud of you.’

  ‘Oh, Dad.’ Kirsty felt tears springing to her eyes.

  ‘But I don’t have any right to be proud of you, do I? India says it like it is. I never supported you in this. I can’t claim any credit. Your mum knew what was what. You’ve got talent, Kirsty, and she spotted it when you were just a little girl. She was right to encourage you and I was wrong. I stood in the way of your dream.’

  ‘Dad.’ Kirsty squeezed her father’s hand.