Читать книгу The Little Theatre on the Seafront: The perfect uplifting and heartwarming read - Katie Ginger - Страница 11

In her living room, an hour before the committee meeting, Lottie paced back and forth, forcing her nerves down until finally, she lost the battle altogether. Unable to bear the ticking of the clock and its agonising countdown any longer, she grabbed her coat and car keys and headed off. Now here she was, twenty minutes early, sitting in the main meeting room clutching her laptop, waiting for the rest of the committee to arrive.

The grand, grey stone columns of the town hall belied its rather dull interior. When the mayor was appointed, he’d refurbished it to make it a modern conference space, and as such it had lost all character and historical importance. No one used it for conferences. The only people who used it were the camera club and they hated it – and him. They never failed to tell Lottie when she covered their exhibitions or the annual general meeting that took about ten million hours and made her long for death.

Earlier that week, Sarah Powell, the committee secretary, had been less than helpful when Lottie tried to have her presentation added to the agenda, telling her that, ‘Only the chairman can approve last minute additions and Mayor Cunningham is a very busy man.’

After much negotiation, Ms Powell said she’d do her best to contact Mayor Cunningham and would let Lottie know the result. When she called back, she said with evident disdain that Mayor Cunningham had graciously made room for her on the agenda. Yippee.

In the harsh fluorescent light, Lottie took her nan’s letter from her handbag. Seeing the fragile spidery handwriting, it felt like she was there speaking to her. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Lottie said to the letter before refolding it and putting it back.

‘Miss Webster?’ asked Mayor Cunningham as he marched into the room. He was a tall man in his late forties. His balding hair had been cut close to his head, but the remains of a small island on the front of his forehead bobbed in a sea of pink flesh. It was slightly triangular shaped as if it stayed there pointing to where the rest of his hair could be found, hiding at the back. His suit was a good fit, but the cheap fabric shone in the unforgiving light, like he’d been sprinkled with glitter. An evil Liberace. Ms Powell followed close behind, a puppy at his heels.

‘You only needed to come for your agenda item, Miss Webster. You didn’t need to attend the whole meeting.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ said Lottie. She felt her neck and cheeks get hot. This wasn’t a good start.

‘I’m surprised that Ms Powell didn’t tell you that.’ Mayor Cunningham walked to the head of the table and placed his black briefcase down, unclipping the shiny brass clasps. It popped open and he pulled out some papers organised with various coloured Post-it notes.

‘I did,’ Ms Powell replied quickly.

‘I don’t think you did,’ said Lottie.

Ms Powell’s eyes shot to Mayor Cunningham, fearful of disapproval.

Lottie felt her nerves rise up and she cleared her throat. ‘I have a presentation on my laptop. Is there a projector?’ Presuming one would be all set up she began to panic at its absence. Lottie wasn’t technically minded and the prospect that should one be found she’d have to set it up herself caused her stomach to churn.

‘Ms Powell will set it up for you, if you really require it.’

‘I do,’ Lottie answered, trying to sound confident. Mayor Cunningham turned to Ms Powell and without speaking pointed to a cupboard in the corner of the room and she hurried to follow his unsaid instructions.

There was something quite unlikeable about Ms Powell, Lottie decided. She had the walk of someone who was perpetually neat and tidy and very, very efficient. Her face, which could look kindly if relaxed, was pinched and her eyes looked out at the world suspiciously. She appeared to have no sense of humour whatsoever. A perfectly smooth chin-length bob framed her face accentuating her small features.

As Lottie struggled to connect the relevant wires to her laptop, Trevor Ryman ambled in. He placed his own briefcase on the floor, brown this time, and battered, and pulled out his bundle of papers, bereft of even a single Post-it note.

‘Shall we begin?’ asked Mayor Cunningham, just as Lottie finished fiddling. She sat listening to the other agenda items with more interest than she’d expected. The theatre had a small fund that wasn’t nearly big enough to do all the work required. The building was structurally sound but needed the roof patched up and the inside needed general refurbishment before any productions could be put on. It wasn’t looking good.

‘As I’ve said before, it’s more work than a small committee and our town council can handle,’ said Mayor Cunningham. ‘I do believe the land would be better sold to provide more affordable housing. We may have to cut other services if we don’t make our budget this year and we don’t want to be the ones responsible for that.’

‘I agree,’ said Ms Powell, nodding.

‘I see what you mean,’ said Mr Ryman. ‘But I do feel we need to explore all options before we throw in the towel.’

‘I don’t see why. No one in this town would bother coming to a production, even if we could put one on,’ Mayor Cunningham replied.

Lottie, who was busy making notes in her pretty notebook, raised her head. ‘I disagree. I think people would come—’

‘Miss Webster, with all due respect this has nothing to do with you.’

But it might, thought Lottie, and carried on. ‘But look at these.’ She pulled out the programmes her nan had kept over the years and laid them on the table.

‘May I remind you, Miss Webster, that you are not a member of this committee and are here for one item only.’

Lottie simmered with annoyance but continued on regardless. ‘I realise that, Mayor Cunningham, but I think we need to acknowledge that the nearest theatre is over an hour away. I think people would come to local productions if we had decent facilities and a good programme. That’s why my nan never stopped working towards re-opening the theatre, she believed it too.’

Ms Powell stared at Lottie as if she had just walked up to Mayor Cunningham and punched him in the face. Mayor Cunningham stared at her too, unspeaking. Mr Ryman picked up the programmes and flicked through them. ‘There does seem to have been an appetite for the theatre at one point.’

‘But that was years ago,’ said the mayor, throwing the leaflet he’d picked up back into the pile. ‘Before on-demand TV and Netflix.’

‘Still, there might be an interest now.’

Lottie couldn’t help but nod. ‘The Christmas pantomimes were particularly well attended, and the summer Shakespeare. I thought we could look at doing something more modern. Something easier to understand that would appeal to even more people—’

‘Moving on,’ said the mayor, looking down at his agenda. Then his face fell. ‘Oh, Miss Webster, I see it’s your turn, anyway. And you’d like to address the committee in Mrs Elsie Webster’s place?’

‘Yes, I would,’ she said. The moment had finally arrived. Lottie stood and clicked on her presentation. It projected onto a pull-down screen at the end of the table and she slid her notes out of her folder. A surge of nerves threatened to loosen her fingers but she held firm and began.

‘As you all know, my nan passed away about two months ago.’ She swallowed down the lump in her throat and took a deep breath. ‘On the day of her funeral, I was given a letter she wrote to me a few days before she died asking me to take over her place as chairman of the committee. I know you’ve been acting as chairman since her death, Mayor Cunningham, and I’m sure Nan would say you’ve done a wonderful job,’ she lied. ‘But she’s asked me to take over now and try to continue her work.’

Ms Powell and Mr Ryman shuffled in their seats, glancing at Mayor Cunningham. Deep wrinkles showed on his forehead as he scowled and a muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘I don’t think protocol allows for someone to just take over another’s seat, Miss Webster. Particularly that of chairman, which is an elected position. I’m sorry, but it can’t be done.’

Despite Sid’s reassurances, Lottie had worried Mayor Cunningham would say no. As all her fears threatened to be realised she dug deeper, unwilling to let her nan down.

‘How do we even know you can cope with the responsibility?’ asked Ms Powell, snidely.

Lottie’s fingers tightened around her notes. She could put up with a lot of things, but being patronised by a woman who made puppy dog eyes to a man like Roger Cunningham wasn’t one of them.

‘I didn’t think you would let me take over, just like that,’ said Lottie. ‘Which is why I’ve prepared a presentation of some ideas I’ve had. I think they could really get things moving again.’

The smug smile disappeared from Ms Powell’s face, the mayor twisted his cufflinks, and Trevor turned over a sheet of paper and readied his pen. ‘Please go on.’

Lottie stood a little taller and opened the first slide on her presentation. ‘The first thing I was going to suggest is bringing back the amateur dramatics group.’

Ms Powell’s head popped up at the mention of the amateur dramatics group and she watched Lottie with eager eyes. The ends of her razor-sharp bob swished around her chin until the mayor glared at her and she looked back down at her notes. Lottie knew she had her own faults but at least she didn’t have a crush on a complete douchebag like Mayor Cunningham.

‘As you can see from the programmes in front of you and the images on the screen from the Gazette archives, the group was very popular and had lots of members. It put on at least two productions a year.’ She looked up to see all eyes focused on her and swallowed, feeling the butterflies jiggling in her stomach. ‘From my research and the old accounts books I found, events were very well attended.’

‘And how to do you propose to do all this, Miss Webster, as we have such limited funds?’ asked the mayor.

‘And no money for advertising,’ added Ms Powell.

Lottie imagined how wonderful it would be to smack Sarah Powell in the face with her folder but instead smiled sweetly at them both. ‘I work for the Greenley Gazette and they’ve kindly agreed to run an advert for members of the amateur dramatics group. Free of charge, of course. It’ll start this week if you agree.

‘This will raise much needed publicity for the theatre, which I understand has been a problem for some time.’ Lottie congratulated herself on sounding like a grown-up professional type of person.

A blotchy redness crept up the mayor’s neck.

‘I like this idea,’ said Mr Ryman. ‘Free of charge advertising can’t be turned down.’

Mayor Cunningham steepled his fingers like a Bond villain. ‘And what happens if no one is interested?’

‘Then I guess we’ll know how the community feels about the theatre,’ answered Lottie, feeling her shoulders sag. But then she remembered Sid’s words to be positive and lifted her head. ‘But if it is successful, we can work with the group to bring the theatre back to life and plan a production.’

Mayor Cunningham scratched the small triangle of stubbly hair on his forehead. ‘Are you aware of how much work is needed on the theatre, Miss Webster?’

‘Only what’s been covered in the minutes. I haven’t visited the theatre myself yet, but, of course, I’ve seen the outside.’

‘Well, I can tell you it’s a lot.’

‘And there are mice,’ said Ms Powell.

‘Mice?’ Lottie imagined them putting on their own production, all lined up on the stage wearing top hats and waving canes in perfect choreographed unison. She bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

‘Yes, but,’ said Mr Ryman, shifting in his seat to lean over the table, ‘if this is successful, we could then look at community funding. Maybe a bid to the Heritage Lottery Fund? I know the council can’t afford to run the place anymore and I’ve said before there are avenues we haven’t explored. We could follow the marketing campaign with an appeal.’

Lottie smiled at him, thankful for a possible ally.

Mayor Cunningham eyed Mr Ryman as if he wanted to stab him with his pencil but Trevor didn’t notice, or at least, didn’t care. The mayor said, ‘Perhaps we should put your taking over as chairman to the vote. It is an elected position after all.’

Lottie’s stomach lurched. Mr Ryman seemed like he would vote for her but if Ms Powell did vote the same way as Mayor Cunningham, the numbers were against her. Lottie decided on a last-minute attempt to convert Sarah Powell to her side. ‘Can I just say that the Greenley Gazette will be happy to follow the story with regular articles and advertising space. Free of charge, of course.’

David, her editor, hadn’t actually said that but there was little else to print these days and she was surprised at how much she wanted this now. She met the mayor’s steely gaze and carried on. ‘If your objections are lack of funds for advertising, then that’s already covered, and there’s a guarantee of more to come.’

Ms Powell looked up and Lottie was sure there was a flicker of agreement in her small eyes.

‘Miss Webster—’ began the mayor.

‘Hang on,’ said Mr Ryman, cutting him off. He turned to Mayor Cunningham. ‘I don’t think a vote is required. Whilst seats on committees aren’t usually hereditary, I do think the request from the late Mrs Webster makes this an unusual circumstance.’ He leaned in and with a lowered voice said, ‘We wouldn’t want the Greenley Gazette reporting anything negative, would we?’

Lottie opened her mouth to tell him that she’d never be so underhanded when he turned to her and gave her an almost imperceptible wink.

‘I suppose you’re right, Mr Ryman,’ said the mayor. He turned to Lottie. ‘It would only be right to honour the wishes of our dear Elsie. May I suggest, though, that we reassess the situation once the auditions have taken place and we’re aware of the community’s response?’ He glowered at Ms Powell.

‘Agreed,’ Ms Powell answered and Lottie wondered if there had been a note of uncertainty in her voice.

Mr Ryman nodded.

‘Your title will therefore be Acting Chairman, Miss Webster, until this trial period is over.’

Lottie nodded in agreement. It was as good as she was going to get.

‘Meeting adjourned then.’ The mayor stood up, shoving his seat back. He pushed the papers into his briefcase and luminous Post-it notes flew onto the floor. Ms Powell followed him to the door chattering in his ear.

Mr Ryman lingered behind the others as Lottie switched off her laptop and began to unwrap the mass of cables that had somehow twisted themselves around each other. ‘I’m very sorry that your nan passed away, Miss Webster. My condolences.’

‘Oh. Thank you.’ Lottie kept her eyes down, worried they would fill with tears as her body relaxed with relief.

‘She was a very energetic and likeable woman,’ Mr Ryman continued, trying to catch her eye. Lottie hoped he would get the hint that she didn’t want to talk about this right now.

‘Yes, she was.’

‘I attended the funeral you know?’

At this Lottie looked up. She hadn’t recalled seeing him there. ‘Did you?’

Mr Ryman gave her a warm and friendly smile. ‘I thought it was a lovely service. I guess I’ll see you at the next committee meeting then.’ He held out his hand, and she gave it her strongest shake.

Lottie remembered Sid telling her about the carriage clock and she felt like she’d misjudged Mr Ryman. Perhaps he was just rubbish at buying presents.

‘Can I just ask,’ said Lottie, releasing his hand, ‘why has the theatre sat empty for the last few years? Why couldn’t my nan make any progress?’

Mr Ryman studied the clasps on his briefcase before looking up. ‘Your nan tried everything she could to get things going again. To begin with, the committee kept changing and no one could agree on a way forward and then, when the mayor joined the committee, people started leaving and it dwindled to just us. He can be quite … negative sometimes. And forthright.’

Lottie nodded as a smile crept over her face. ‘I did get that impression.’

Mr Ryman tucked his briefcase under his arm. ‘Well, goodnight then. See you next time.’

‘Yes, goodbye.’

Lottie sat down in the empty room and exhaled a long, deep breath. For the first time all day she could breathe properly. Her nan had brought her luck tonight, Lottie could feel it – she was definitely watching. The tension in Lottie’s neck and shoulders had given her a headache, but at least now she could go home, have a glass of cold white wine and relax in the bath. There was just one thing she needed to do first. She grabbed her phone and dialled Sid’s number.

‘So, how’d it go?’ he asked with a mouthful of food, probably peanuts if she knew him at all.

Lottie slumped backwards and laughed with relief. ‘I only went and pulled it off, didn’t I?’