An intermittent drilling sound was coming from the assembly hall as the carpenter dad had taken a day off work from his job as a kitchen fitter to assemble the set, which wasn’t improving the headaches in the staffroom.
* * *
Back at her flat after school, Cassie had just about managed to jump in the shower and wash her hair, and was wrapping herself in towels, when her phone buzzed a notification. Her heart leaped when she saw it was Finn.
Missing you. Hoping tonight is as good as you deserve. xxx
What she deserved? What did anyone deserve?
Thank you. I hope so too?xxx
She hesitated about adding ‘missing you’ but then thought,What’s the point?
It said so much less than she felt, but maybe that was just as well. She really didn’t have the energy for any extra drama today.
She chose a dark floral-patterned maxi dress to go with her green suede Doc Martens and styled her hair half-up, half-down. Not bad, she thought, finishing off her makeup with a mulberry shade of lipstick, even if tonight’s not all about me.
* * *
At a quarter to six she pulled up to Rowley Adams’s home, a battered-looking terraced house in front of a scraggy green space where children were playing. His mother emerged through the door, a broad-shouldered grey-haired woman wearing what looked like a professional waitress outfit under her anorak. She looked like someone who, under other circumstances, could be formidable, but underneath you could sense the weariness. She waved at Cassie.
‘Ah, there you are, I’m off to work. I’m after giving the two of them their tea. My father has his oxygen canister and the mask if, God forbid, he needs it. Rowley will show you everything. God love him, he’s up to ninety about tonight.’
She stopped by Cassie’s car. ‘And thanks, for what you’ve done for Rowley, for all of us. Not everyone thinks like you. I won’t forget it.’
‘Thankyoufor trusting me. I’m only sorry you won’t be there.’
‘Me too, but sure, the money won’t earn itself.’
With that, she bustled off towards a desolate-looking bus stop in the distance as Cassie went through the open front door to have Granda’s care explained to her by his ten-year-old grandson.
Not a bother to Rowley. The wheelchair was set up with Granda Anthony installed in it, a blanket round his knees, the oxygen canister stored underneath.
‘I love a show,’ he wheezily explained. ‘I used to manage the cabarets on the cruises.’
Cassie glanced around the house. It was spotlessly clean but everything looked old: the sofas, the TV, the wallpaper – it looked like no money had been spent on anything in years. They were just living day-to-day, she reflected guiltily. Some of us don’t know we’re alive.
* * *
The school hall was buzzing when they arrived. Mr Daly, the groundsman, had volunteered as technician and was up on his tallest ladder focusing the lights, based on where everyone would hopefully stand, if nothing went disastrously wrong.
Class 4B were getting into their costumes, aided by Fifth- and Sixth-Class girls. Cassie swung into action. She set up the mirrors and her makeup box, and distributed sponges and makeup for the oldest, most confident girls and one absolute whizz of a boy to do their bases. The next hour felt like ten minutes as they got the children ready for their characters – and, she was delighted to observe, they all looked very distinctive. The children were wild with excitement and nerves. A few of the younger ones were overwhelmed and burst into tears, while a bucket had to be grabbed for someone who was sick. Cassie had a supply of tissues and allocated the older children, who were delighted with their responsibility, to look after them. Granda was already in place with a mug of tea, shouting genially up to Mr Daly as best he could, despite the oxygen cannula. Roger Newcombe was hovering around nervously as Mr Daly proceeded to run through the sound cues with each child. Whether any of these would materialise at the right volume or in the right order on the night was anybody’s guess.
There was no sign of Marisha. Surely she wasn’t going to boycott the event?
From seven thirty onwards they could hear mammies, daddies, siblings, other pupils and a very decent showing of teachers, some of whom had taken the opportunity to make a night of it and head to the pub before the show.
‘I can hear my daddy’s laugh,’ squeaked one little villager. Inevitably, at ten to eight, everyone needed the loo all at once.
At five to eight there was a ripple in the atmosphere: through a crack in the curtains, Cassie could see Marisha approaching up the centre aisle. She was dressed in a long purple dress, sailing through the audience, smiling graciously to left and right as parents reached out to shake her hand. Cassie practically laughed. There really were two ways of looking at the world: you did the work or you looked for the credit. Sometimes they coincided; mostly they didn’t, but right now she couldn’t give a hoot.
At 8 p.m. she gave the ‘go’ signal to Mr Daly on the walkie-talkie and the opening music started. A huge cheer rose up from the audience. Oh help, Cassie thought, that’s really going to throw them. Not a bit of it. This was not Sophie’s first show, not by a long shot – the girl waited for the applause to die away then surfed the wave, full of Celtic tragedy: ‘The Lord save us, Jack, but there’s not a red penny left between us and the poorhouse .?.?. There’s nothing for us in this world buthungeranddesolationanddeath.’
The Bondarenko twins stumbled on in the cow costume, which didn’t look too bad, but they lost their co-ordination and tottered around a bit, causing hilarity from the children in the audience, not to mention the back row of slightly blotto teachers.
The play continued more-or-less as rehearsed, which was a miracle in itself. Trevor as Jack delighted the kids with his homage to Spiderman; Sophie was excellent as the mother and Cassie could hear lots of appreciative whispers of ‘She’s very good, isn’t she?’ to her parents’ pride.
Jack came on in one scene, lamenting what a terrible day it’d been and how he’d been scammed out of his cow by a conman. In despair, he threw a handful of jelly beans out the window. At this point Mr Daly managed to dim most of the lights apart from one bulb, which blazed away merrily, in spite of his efforts.
