Vera Lynn. The lady required a fully lit dressing room more than the ushers needed to see where they were going, or so he said.
The call sounded, âTwenty minutes, twenty minutes to curtain!â
Peter entered the staff room and quickly traded his accountantâs suit for an usherâs vest.
âOi, curly ginger!â Stephen sauntered in, dropping a cigarette butt into Peterâs teacup. âCutting it fine again, are we?â
âIâve plenty of time. Have you seen Eliza?â
âNot tonight. Thatâs two shifts in a row. Bit queer, isnât it?â
How could he apologise if she wasnât here? Peter tried not to let his concern show. âMaybe sheâs sick.â
âAye. Sick of you. Did you finally propose? Thatâd be enough to scare any girl off.â
The little box in his sock drawer, when would he bring it out? Peter shook the image away as the next call came â fifteen minutes till curtain. He and Stephen hurried out of the staff room, dodging frantic make-up girls and a rehearsing warm-up act before a decapitated papier-mâché horse rolled into their path.
âEvening, gentlemen. Supposed to be at the doors, arenât you?â Purvis rested his flabby elbows on the horseâs body, transforming himself into a hideous centaur. âWell, now I know why thereâs such a long queue to get in the stalls. Thereâs no one there to collect the bloody tickets!â
âBut Eliza works the stalls,â Peter said. His vest seemed to tighten.
âWorked. Past tense. Haverfordâs quit, like that no-show Rolston. Which is why you two incompetents need to be on time! Now hurry up. Miss Lynn will be quite displeased if her show is delayed because of two irresponsible ushers.â
Peter froze as Purvisâs words bounced off a brick wall in his mind, refusing to be understood. As he walked to his post, the news pummelled that wall until its meaning slipped through the cracks. The sausage roll in his stomach began to spoil. Eliza had never mentioned she was handing in her notice. Dinner and dancing might not be enough.
As soon as work ended, he travelled as quickly as possible to the Haverfordsâ flat. He had to apologise now, in person, let her know what a fool he was before it was too late. He knocked on the door for a good fifteen minutes before the overweight bachelor across the landing shouted at him to leave it. The Haverfords werenât home.
*
A normal evening would see Peter at the theatre, preparing for the nightâs performance. He would finish his cup of tea then walk up the aisles, ensuring all the floors were clean, before taking his post at the dress circle. It would be warm in the theatre, the heat of the stage lights working in tandem with the coal to counteract any chill encroaching from outside. But this was not a normal evening and, instead of taking tickets from the warmth of the Palladium lobby, he was huddled against a brick wall, wearing the thickest coat he owned and blowing on his hands, trying to create a facsimile of warmth.
Jessie and Eliza often worked the stalls together and on their days off would go to the Majestic or for a meal before Eliza needed to get home and help with Rebecca. Peter thought it odd that the two of them should up and leave like that, especially when jobs were so scarce. Perhaps they had confided their plans to each other, as girls tended to do. As another day passed and he couldnât get hold of Eliza, Peter wouldnât know the truth unless he found Jessie, and he couldnât find Jessie until someone came to the house. So, he waited, something his brothers told him he was good at. Michael used to joke that waiting was Peterâs only skill. Michael didnât joke much any more.
No one had answered the first time he knocked on the door of the maisonette, but he was determined to wait out the cold. The last time he stood here was when he picked Jessie up for
The call sounded, âTwenty minutes, twenty minutes to curtain!â
Peter entered the staff room and quickly traded his accountantâs suit for an usherâs vest.
âOi, curly ginger!â Stephen sauntered in, dropping a cigarette butt into Peterâs teacup. âCutting it fine again, are we?â
âIâve plenty of time. Have you seen Eliza?â
âNot tonight. Thatâs two shifts in a row. Bit queer, isnât it?â
How could he apologise if she wasnât here? Peter tried not to let his concern show. âMaybe sheâs sick.â
âAye. Sick of you. Did you finally propose? Thatâd be enough to scare any girl off.â
The little box in his sock drawer, when would he bring it out? Peter shook the image away as the next call came â fifteen minutes till curtain. He and Stephen hurried out of the staff room, dodging frantic make-up girls and a rehearsing warm-up act before a decapitated papier-mâché horse rolled into their path.
âEvening, gentlemen. Supposed to be at the doors, arenât you?â Purvis rested his flabby elbows on the horseâs body, transforming himself into a hideous centaur. âWell, now I know why thereâs such a long queue to get in the stalls. Thereâs no one there to collect the bloody tickets!â
âBut Eliza works the stalls,â Peter said. His vest seemed to tighten.
âWorked. Past tense. Haverfordâs quit, like that no-show Rolston. Which is why you two incompetents need to be on time! Now hurry up. Miss Lynn will be quite displeased if her show is delayed because of two irresponsible ushers.â
Peter froze as Purvisâs words bounced off a brick wall in his mind, refusing to be understood. As he walked to his post, the news pummelled that wall until its meaning slipped through the cracks. The sausage roll in his stomach began to spoil. Eliza had never mentioned she was handing in her notice. Dinner and dancing might not be enough.
As soon as work ended, he travelled as quickly as possible to the Haverfordsâ flat. He had to apologise now, in person, let her know what a fool he was before it was too late. He knocked on the door for a good fifteen minutes before the overweight bachelor across the landing shouted at him to leave it. The Haverfords werenât home.
*
A normal evening would see Peter at the theatre, preparing for the nightâs performance. He would finish his cup of tea then walk up the aisles, ensuring all the floors were clean, before taking his post at the dress circle. It would be warm in the theatre, the heat of the stage lights working in tandem with the coal to counteract any chill encroaching from outside. But this was not a normal evening and, instead of taking tickets from the warmth of the Palladium lobby, he was huddled against a brick wall, wearing the thickest coat he owned and blowing on his hands, trying to create a facsimile of warmth.
Jessie and Eliza often worked the stalls together and on their days off would go to the Majestic or for a meal before Eliza needed to get home and help with Rebecca. Peter thought it odd that the two of them should up and leave like that, especially when jobs were so scarce. Perhaps they had confided their plans to each other, as girls tended to do. As another day passed and he couldnât get hold of Eliza, Peter wouldnât know the truth unless he found Jessie, and he couldnât find Jessie until someone came to the house. So, he waited, something his brothers told him he was good at. Michael used to joke that waiting was Peterâs only skill. Michael didnât joke much any more.
No one had answered the first time he knocked on the door of the maisonette, but he was determined to wait out the cold. The last time he stood here was when he picked Jessie up for
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