Wicked! (44 page)

Paris shrugged.

‘I do hope’ – Patience blushed an even darker maroon – ‘you’ll drop in and see us, like Dora does, even if you don’t want to go on riding.’

Seeing Paris’s eyes straying to a bookshelf crammed with poetry, much more thumbed than the cookery books, she explained: ‘My husband loves poetry. Matthew Arnold’s his favourite. I’m awfully badly read, but Arnold wrote a lovely poem called “Sohrab and Rustum”, which has a sweet horse in it called Ruksh who sheds real tears’ – Patience’s voice trembled – ‘when his master unknowingly slays his own son in battle. You must read it.’

‘Horses cry when their masters die in the
Iliad
,’ said Paris, reaching out his hand for more coconut cake, then pausing.

‘Please have it,’ begged Patience. ‘We used to say whoever had the last piece got a handsome husband and a thousand a year, which wouldn’t go very far these days.’

‘I could use it,’ said Paris.

‘I do hope you’ll have another go on Beluga. I think you’re a natural.’

42

Gradually as March splashed into its third week and Bagley was lit up by daffodils, the excitement began to bite. Wally borrowed a lorry to transport props and scenery made by Larks parents, which included a four-poster painted with flowers for Juliet and a wrought-iron balcony: ‘More suited to a Weybridge hacienda,’ said Hengist, ‘but perfect for sixteenth-century Verona.’

The dress rehearsal in front of pupils from both schools was scheduled for Wednesday evening; the big night for governors, parents and friends would take place on Thursday.

Larks participants spent Wednesday afternoon over at Bagley taking part in a dry run to fine-tune performances, scene shifts and lighting. Glimpses of Paris’s naked back view would add excitement to the bedroom scenes. Johnnie Fowler, in charge of his dad’s lighting, was determined to catch Paris full frontal.

Amber, meanwhile, was shouting at Alex Bruce:

‘I’ll pay for my own fucking dress, it was only five hundred pounds,’ which is the difference between them and us, thought Graffi, who’d never been paid by Junior for Shining Sixpence’s winnings.

All the cast were jittery and Vicky didn’t help by ringing in with a migraine. ‘So sorry, I’ve overdone things. I’ll try and stagger in later.’

Emlyn took a deep breath and counted to ten.

‘Right, let’s get started. We all know this is a play about conflict rather than love.’

‘Why can’t Miss come in instead of Vicky?’ sighed Kylie.

The day continued full of spats.

Jade Stancombe, insisting on wearing four-inch heels, fell down the stairs. A waiter carrying full glasses of coloured water bumped into a bodyguard, soaking the stage, which resulted in Feral and Bianca nearly doing the splits in their tango. Juliet’s bed collapsed during her night of passion with Romeo. Everyone burst out laughing when Feral’s moustache fell off during a fight.

The instant Juliet’s bed had been repaired and her wedding night resumed, Poppet Bruce marched in brandishing a packet of rainbow-coloured Durex.

‘R and J are having underage sex; Paris must be publicly seen to be wearing a condom.’

‘Surely that’s wardrobe’s department?’ grinned Jason.

‘The audience won’t see him in the dark,’ snarled Emlyn. ‘Get out, Poppet.’

‘That is not how you should address your deputy team leader’s wife,’ spluttered Poppet, then, as Emlyn rose to his mighty height, flounced out slamming the door.

‘Romeo, Romeo,’ sighed Milly, ‘wherefore fart thou, Romeo,’ producing more giggles.

‘Shut up, Milly,’ howled Emlyn.

Paris gritted his teeth. His ride up the aisle and his last impassioned speech were still to come.

‘“The day is hot, the Capulets abroad . . .”’ Junior Lloyd-Foxe, who had the part of Benvolio, delivered his best and most ominous line.

Next moment, Feral and Cosmo were on the floor, howling, punching, clawing like tomcats.

‘Take your hands off her, you sick bastard.’

‘Don’t give yourself airs, you fucking golliwog.’

‘Don’t black Cosmo’s eyes,’ begged Jason as Feral lunged and missed.

‘Pack it in,’ yelled Emlyn and, when they didn’t, he emptied a dusty fire bucket over them. This, as they retreated, spluttering and swearing, did nothing to aid Paris’s concentration.

Somehow he managed to gallop Beluga up to the orchestra pit and keep control when Cosmo, to spook the horse, deliberately launched the brass into a deafening tantivy. Chucking his reins to Dora, Paris managed to leap off without touching the floor, run up the plank laid across the pit and dive into Juliet’s tomb to a round of applause.

‘I don’t need no fucking stand-in,’ he hissed at Cosmo.

Now Juliet lay before him in her coffin and the half-light. He had just launched into his impassioned soliloquy about the colour still in her lovely face, when he realized Milly, bet by Amber, had slipped on a red Comic Relief nose, and raised a hand to hit her.

‘Don’t,’ thundered Emlyn, so Paris swore at him, spat on the floor and stalked off the set.

‘You stupid bitch,’ yelled Emlyn. ‘How dare you wind him up like that?’

‘It was only a joke to loosen him up,’ wailed Milly. ‘It’s not me he’s kissing, it’s Juliet. I’m fed up with pandering to him. “Paris, Paris, don’t upset Paris.” What about my needs?’

Graffi, in his Nurse’s costume, rushed on to the stage and flung his arms round Milly. ‘There, there, lovely, it’s OK. Don’t bully her,’ he shouted at Emlyn.

Milly was touched but rather wished her knight in shining armour wasn’t wearing drag and a grey granny wig.

‘But soft what brick through yonder window breaks,’ intoned Amber.

Although he was consistently bottom in maths, Jack Waterlane had worked out that between appearances on stage, he and Kylie had at least an hour unaccounted for. He had therefore whipped her into the biology lab and hung his red jacket on a skeleton, then they both froze as Poppet Bruce, exuding bossy bustle in her eco-monitor role, rushed by flicking off the lab lights and seemingly giving them her blessing.

‘Gosh, we’ve just had underage sex,’ sighed Jack as he lay in Kylie’s arms. ‘My father had to have sex before polo matches – relaxed him – ’spect I’ll win an Oscar now. I love you, Kylie Rose.’

‘I love you, Jack,’ said Kylie.

It was an hour to the dress rehearsal. No one could find Paris. He hadn’t even been to make-up. Everyone was panicking.

‘Sometimes he disappears on trains for days,’ said Feral, then, turning on Amber and Milly: ‘Why’d you wind him up, you stupid cows?’

Patience Cartwright found Paris in Beluga’s box, throwing up into an empty water bucket, wiping his face with hay from the rack. At first he wouldn’t speak and carried on retching, but when Patience brought him a glass of water, he told her about the red nose, mumbling that he found it so hard without Janna.

‘She got me into Shakespeare. Explained things. But she hasn’t been to rehearsals for weeks, ’spect she’s too busy.’

He slumped against Beluga, his face grey and defeated.

‘She probably doesn’t want to cramp Vicky’s style.’

‘Vicky’s a stupid bitch.’

Patience felt ashamed at her elation; Ian was besotted with Vicky.

‘You’ve got to be terrified to be any good,’ she reassured Paris. ‘I once competed at the Horse of the Year Show, and I was so worried about letting Bentley, my horse, down, I spent three hours in the lav. They had to drag me out and then we won our class. I crept into the rehearsal room the other day: you’re miles the best in the cast. I’m sure Milly was trying to relax you.’

‘I can’t kiss her tasting of puke.’

‘I always keep spare toothbrushes and toothpaste in case a pupil needs it, and Ian confiscated some peppermint chewing gum yesterday, you can have that.’

‘You weren’t just saying I was OK?’

He looked so forlorn and despairing, Patience longed to hug him. ‘You’ll be sensational.’

As soon as he’d gone, Patience called Emlyn. ‘Paris is on his way back. I don’t mean to interfere, but he needs Janna, he’s so alone.’

The dress rehearsal was a great success. When the cheers and clapping finally died down, the cast yelled for Mr Davies: ‘Attila! Attila! Attila!’ They stamped their feet until, loose-limbed and bleary-eyed, Emlyn shambled on to the stage, where Graffi presented him with a big bottle of red, ‘from Larks as a mark of our gratitude’.

‘Mr Davies builds us up,’ shouted Rocky. ‘He puts the boot in, but he’s always looking for fings to praise.’

‘Why, thank you, Rocky.’ Emlyn was touched. ‘What about Miss Fairchild and Mr Fenton?’

‘We’ve got fings for them tomorrow, but you do all the work,’ said Pearl.

Emlyn was so tired, he would have loved to unwind over a few beers with his friend Artie Deverell, the head of modern languages. Instead he threw the bottle of red into his dirty Renault Estate and drove over to Larks where, although it was after eleven, lights were still blazing.

Inside he thought what a good job Janna was doing. The building might be falling down, but newly painted walls and noticeboards were covered in praise postcards, brightly coloured work and crammed with pictures of the children and their activities: a new baby brother yesterday, a birthday today. Along the corridor,
Romeo and Juliet
posters proudly flaunted yellow ‘sold-out’ stickers.

Janna was in her office, squealing with frustration as she tried to put back a cupboard, which, as a result of the damp, had fallen off the wall. Her fathers weren’t as diligent about do-it-yourself when Vicky wasn’t around.

Nor was putting back screws without a screwdriver very easy. ‘Bugger, bugger, bugger,’ yelled Janna, as a 50p piece slipped out of the groove. The handle of her tweezers had been no more successful.

Then she shrieked as a dark figure filled the doorway. Partner woke up, went berserk, then, recognizing Emlyn’s soft Welsh accent, dragged his blue rug across the floor in welcome.

‘Fucking cupboard.’ Janna gave it a kick. ‘How did it go?’

‘Wonderfully. They all did so well. Your kids presented this to me.’ He dumped the bottle of red on Janna’s desk. ‘Why don’t you open it?’

Rootling round in Wally’s toolbox, Emlyn then located four big screws and a box of matches. Putting matches in the holes to make them smaller, he banged in the screws with a hammer.

‘That is so cool,’ cried an amazed Janna as the cupboard stayed put.

‘Can’t beat a good screw.’ Emlyn took the corkscrew from her.

Noticing the bags under his bloodshot eyes, she said apologetically, ‘You must be shattered.’

‘No more than you,’ said Emlyn, noticing the bags under her bloodshot eyes.

‘Why the hell do we teach?’ asked Janna, getting two glasses out of a second cupboard.

Emlyn was reading the letter on her laptop.

‘Dear Mrs Todd, I thought you’d be pleased that Charlie wrote a wonderful essay on Oliver Cromwell this morning.’

The wine was unbelievably disgusting. If they hadn’t needed a drink so badly, Emlyn would have chucked it down the bog.

‘I don’t think Larks children have much pocket money,’ said Janna defensively.

‘It was a sweet thought.’ Emlyn collapsed on the sofa which still bore Pearl’s ink stain. Partner jumped on to his knee.

‘Now tell me how it really went.’

When he’d finished, Emlyn said, ‘You should have been there.’

‘I’m coming tomorrow.’

‘Not good enough. I’m told you were always in the thick of things at Redfords. Why have you backed off?’

‘I’m frantic,’ said Janna defensively.

‘Everyone’s frantic.’

‘Everyone adores Vicky.’ Janna tried not to sound bitter. ‘I put people’s backs up.’

‘Vicky lacks your vision,’ said Emlyn flatly, ‘and she doesn’t understand the play. Jason’s been terrific, but it’s you the kids love. They’re dying to show you how far they’ve come, that they’re carrying out your ideas – which Vicky claims are hers.’

‘How was Paris?’ A defiant, shame-faced Janna wanted to change the subject.

‘All to pieces; nearly lost it. Amber, Milly and Jade are fed up they’re getting no reaction from him. Why did you stop coming?’

Getting up, he looked at the school photograph. Hands shoved into his pockets, he showed off a surprisingly taut, high, beautiful bottom. He had terrific shoulders too and the bulldog face had charm if you liked bulldogs. Janna longed to throw herself into his arms and tell him how Ashton and Crispin had warned her off. Instead she said, ‘I’ve got a school to save.’

Emlyn could see how reduced in bounce she was and longed to comfort her. In the old days he’d have taken her home for a joyful romp in bed. But there was the cool, white body of Oriana to consider. ‘I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.’

Janna anyway was too vulnerable and too nice for half measures.

‘Let’s go and have supper,’ he said instead. ‘I know somewhere still open.’

‘I’ve got far too much to do,’ snapped Janna, ‘but thanks all the same.’