Читать книгу The Little Theatre on the Seafront - Katie Ginger - Страница 9

Lottie had lived in the same house all her life. As a diplomat, her father worked all over the world and in the beginning, when he was posted to the back of beyond, her mother had stayed at home with Lottie. But when Lottie’s father was posted to Vienna, a city her mother longed to visit, she declared herself allergic to parenthood and departed with him for health reasons. Lottie’s nan had stepped in and it had, for the most part, been a happy and harmonious relationship.

The house sat on the brow of a hill with views of the sea and steep steps leading up to the front door. There was no front garden to speak of, just a tiny square of grass with soil too chalky to grow anything pretty. Blue paint peeled from the front door, stripped off by the salty sea air, leaving patches faded to grey and exposed bare wood. Lottie thought it was beautiful, like a piece of art.

They mounted the steps and Lottie found her keys to let them in. Sid, who was as familiar with the house as she was, marched through the dark hallway into the living room, slung his jacket onto the back of the sofa, then sat down and put his feet up on the coffee table.

‘Oi! Get your hooves off,’ ordered Lottie, following him in. ‘Nan never let you do that, so don’t start now.’

He huffed and removed his long gangly legs. ‘So, what’s the plan, Stan? How are you going to get on the committee?’

Lottie dumped her bag on the sofa and flopped down too. ‘I guess I’ll have to tell the committee the truth. Maybe show them the letter?’

Sid nodded.

‘But that isn’t going to guarantee anything, is it?’ Lottie thought out loud. ‘I think the mayor is acting chairman at the moment. He stepped up when Nan got sick and he didn’t like her anyway so he could easily say no. I think her constant campaigning over one thing or another got under his skin.’

Sid shook his head. ‘Nah, it would look too bad. How could he say no to a lovely old lady’s final request? But you still need to show you’re up to the job. I think you should give them an action plan or something. At the very least give them some ideas for what you could do to make it popular again, or get more funding.’

‘A presentation?’ asked Lottie, her voice shrinking. She hated speaking in front of people. Public speaking was as scary to her as wearing a bikini.

‘What else are you going to do?’

Lottie thought for a moment but couldn’t come up with a better idea. ‘Okay then. But I’ve got no qualifications, or experience that’ll help in any way.’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Sid, cheerfully. ‘Just talk about how you’re going to make it successful. Be positive.’

‘And how am I going to do that?’

Sid scratched the back of his head. ‘I don’t know. What plans did your nan have for the theatre?’

‘I don’t know actually. I guess I could read through Nan’s stuff and see if there’s anything in there?’

Sid stretched out his long arms then rested them behind his head. ‘When’s the next committee meeting?’

Lottie went to the dresser, pausing as her eyes scanned the photos of her and her nan together, and searched through the pile of letters. She found the boring black and white newsletter and read the dates. Her face froze. ‘Oh, shit, it’s next Thursday.’

‘Oh dear,’ replied Sid. ‘We’d better get cracking if we’ve only got a week.’

Lottie groaned and trudged over to a stack of boxes at the back of the living room. The house remained untouched since Elsie’s death and her possessions were everywhere. Though Lottie had tried several times to get rid of things, each time her sorrow had taken over and she’d stopped.

‘Aren’t we eating first?’ asked Sid, concerned. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Can we get started with this lot and then eat, please?’ Lottie’s new diet only allowed twelve hundred calories a day and if she ate lunch too early she’d be an angry maniac by dinner time, raiding the fridge, or eating cornflakes straight from the box. And she’d already eaten half an Easter egg in the car.

‘Okay,’ he conceded, pretending to be huffy. ‘Got any biscuits to tide me over?’

‘In the tin.’ Lottie grabbed a large cardboard box with ‘Save Greenley Theatre’ written on the side. Sid moved the coffee table so Lottie could drag it between them, then she sat on the floor, cross-legged, and removed the lid. A mass of papers slid out and Lottie groaned in response.

‘I’ll make tea, shall I?’ said Sid and headed off to the kitchen. When he returned a few minutes later with two steaming mugs, Lottie was surrounded by mounting piles of paper, the box not even half empty.

‘Look at this,’ said Lottie, handing a theatre programme to Sid. ‘It’s really professional. I thought it would all be black and white photocopies or printouts that someone did at home with crappy clip art.’

‘And look at the list of names for the am dram group,’ he replied, nodding in agreement. ‘They had quite a big cast. Sometimes you get people playing loads of parts, but it must have been quite popular.’

Lottie picked up a dozen more and waved them at Sid. ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Hamlet, King Lear …’

‘Who knew Greenley loved Shakespeare?’

‘Here are the Christmas ones. Oh look, this one is so pretty.’ She shoved a programme for Aladdin into Sid’s face. Lottie gazed at the window seat, her favourite spot in the house, and the light pouring in chased a memory in her mind. ‘Do you know, I think I remember Nan taking me to a panto when I was little.’

‘So do I, actually. And we went in Mrs Thompson’s class in primary school, do you remember?’

Lottie tried to picture the day Sid was talking about. ‘Just about.’

‘You must do,’ said Sid, smiling at the memory. ‘Ben Humphreys wet himself because we wouldn’t stop for the toilet and that horrible Reece called him Potty Poo Pants for the rest of the trip.’

‘Oh yes, now I do.’ Lottie laughed and then, picking up another bundle of papers, groaned again.

Sid scowled. ‘Can you stop making that noise, please? It’s like a cross between a stroppy teenager and a dying cat.’

‘Sorry.’ She cupped the mug of tea in her hands hoping the warmth would make her feel better. ‘It’s just that I always assumed the theatre was just another one of Nan’s causes. She was always on one crusade or another.’

‘She did love this town. What’s that lot?’ asked Sid, pointing to a different bundle of papers before taking another sip of tea.

Lottie rifled through. ‘It’s the minutes from the committee meetings.’ She skimmed a couple. ‘There’s loads of good ideas in here from Nan and they’re all vetoed.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like starting a youth theatre, or asking local businesses to fund some of the renovations in exchange for their names on the brochures.’

‘Not bad,’ replied Sid, leaning forwards. ‘Who vetoed them?’

‘The rest of the committee.’

‘And who’s that?’

‘Umm …’ Lottie flicked through the pages. ‘There’s Mayor Cunningham, but it just has him down as a committee member. It doesn’t look like he’s there in his official capacity, just a normal person.’

‘A normal person in Greenley?’ asked Sid.

‘Well, relatively normal.’ It was true that Greenley had more than its fair share of eccentrics. ‘The secretary’s Sarah Powell, and the treasurer’s Trevor Ryman. There’s some spare seats too.’

‘Well,’ said Sid, sitting back. ‘Mayor Cunningham probably wants to be chairman to sell the land to a developer. He did that with the hospital, didn’t he?’

‘Oh yes. Everyone was campaigning to save it and he and his council cronies pushed through the sale before anyone could do anything about it.’ Lottie tutted. The whole town had felt hoodwinked and her nan had been apoplectic with rage.

‘And Sarah Powell works in my doctor’s surgery,’ Sid carried on. ‘She’s fancied Cunningham for years so she’s always going to vote the same way he does.’

Lottie’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘In this day and age? What a wimp. Who’s Trevor Ryman? Does he own the solicitor’s in town?’

‘Ryman, Wayman and Galbraith? Yeah, his dad set it up and he took it over when the old man retired. I remember covering it. They gave him a carriage clock.’

Lottie laughed. ‘A carriage clock?’

‘I know, shocking, isn’t it? The poor man built the business up from scratch, worked there for fifty years and his idiot son gives him a carriage clock as a retirement gift.’ He shook his head. ‘Terrible.’

Lottie took a swig of her tea and held up the papers. ‘Listen to this: “Proposal by Elsie Webster to bring back amateur dramatics group to get the community involved and raise much needed funds, vetoed by committee due to lack of funds for marketing.”’

Sid sat quietly squinting which normally meant he was thinking. ‘Now, there’s an idea.’

‘What?’ asked Lottie. Sid’s ideas could be either fantastically clever or completely bonkers. You were never quite sure what you were going to get.

‘Marketing. We could run an ad in the paper.’

‘For the am dram group?’

‘Yeah. Why not?’ Sid was full of excitement, talking quickly. ‘That takes care of the marketing costs so they won’t be able to say no. And it’d be a huge step to bring back the Greenley Players. We’ll do an article and include a picture of you.’

‘Me?’ Lottie asked, her eyes wide with worry.

‘Yes, you. You’re going to be the new chairman. We need a picture of you and one of Elsie, giving her a really lovely tribute. That’ll get everyone going.’

‘No way,’ Lottie said, re-fastening her long blonde hair into a ponytail, even though it was already perfect.

Sid shook his head in disapproval. ‘Come on, Lots. I don’t know why you think you’re some ugly troll that should live under a bridge somewhere.’

‘Fat, ugly troll to be precise,’ she said, tidying the papers on the floor.

‘You’re impossible, you really are. You’re not bad looking at all, you’re …’

Lottie started at the compliment and looked up to see Sid had turned a violent shade of red.

‘I’ll make some more tea,’ he said and, grabbing up the mugs, hurried from the room.

Lottie heard the kettle boiling in the kitchen and considered what Sid had said. Not the compliment, that was just too odd to think about, but the idea of free marketing was a good one.

The pictures on the dresser caught her eye again as if Elsie was watching her. If she was going to try and do this, she wasn’t going to fail at the first step. Lottie went to the hall and pulled her laptop from her bag, came back to the sofa and sat with it on her knees. When Sid returned, his face fell. ‘What? We need to get started on my presentation straight away.’

‘But can’t we have lunch first?’