Episode 1 - The rehearsal

Wednesday cont.

Robert, family butcher par excellence and not so excellent Cleo Hartley’s ex-spouse was standing centre stage oblivious to the shouting and screaming that accompanied any instructions dished out by Mr Defoe, who was moving the cast around while they commanded Moses to go down to Egypt’s land. 

No one was quite sure what that entailed or even where Moses was actually going, but they were happy to sing the refrains and oblivious to the sufferings of those terrible times. Someone was heard to comment that the suffering they were going through now with Mr Defoe was enough to bear and he was lucky to get home without being throttled.

Mr Morgan, perennially accompanying whatever proceedings were ongoing, was dressed to kill and perfumed pungently with a musk concoction in the hope that he would net a female chorus singer or even Mary Baker, the nice lady vicar who was also singing along. Unfortunately, Mr Morgen smelt so strongly of the after-shave he thought would help him find a mate as easily as the animals that had shed musk in the first place did that he was never able to get near any of the ladies he admired.

To make things worse, Gareth played the piano with a great deal of banging and flamboyant improvisation that pleased only him. He and Robert had had extra practises and Robert, fortunately equipped with a voice that could cope with the noise coming from the piano, was doing a fine job of looking a bit like a cross between God and a slave driver in his blue cape sewn by Dorothy out of a discarded blue velvet curtain. While he was singing, members of the cast stood around and gawped when they were not being pushed around by Mr Defoe. They showed little or no stage talent and were a defiant lot, Mr Defoe complained. Moving them around was like organizing a herd of goats, he said.

Mr Defoe put an end to the noise and movement with a loudly bellowed ‘STOP WILLYA’ and some fist-crashing on Gareth’s piano keys, causing Mr Morgan to retreat hastily.

But that did not mark the end of the rehearsal. Defoe had thought of something he could do with these morons. He would get them to lie down as if they were asleep.

“Can you all bring a blanket next time?” he said to the astonishment of everyone.

“It isn’t cold,” the chorus shouted back.

“It is night in the wilderness,” Mr Defoe explained with forced politeness. “You are sleeping slaves wrapped in blankets.”

“Nothing else?” shouted one rather pert girl.

“Name?” Mr Defoe shouted.

“Aida, Mr,” the girl answered.

“Aida was an Ethiopian slave girl,” said Mr Defoe, hoping the name was a sign that there was some culture in the wilderness of Upper Grumpsfield.

“We’ll I’m not an Ethipist what’s it. I’m respectable and I’m not getting undressed.”

“You don’t need to, Girl. You just wear the blanket on top.”

“My boyfriend won’t like it,” said Aida. “Harry doesn’t like sweaty bodies.”

“He’ll just have to put up with you then.”

“Can I wear my bikini?”

The male slaves whistled their approval.

Dorothy witnessed some of the rehearsal, feeling more desperate than ever about everything. She slipped out while the auditorium was dark.

***

“What have I let myself in for?” she lamented when she reached Cleo’s cottage, which was between the church hall and her own cottage. Dorothy had to tell someone all about it, and who better than Cleo?

“It will be all right on the night,” said Cleo, from whom Dorothy had expected more support and comfort.

“You’ll have to say that with a bit more conviction, Cleo.”

“Cheer up and just go with the flow, Dorothy. Robert can carry the show with his singing. I really don’t know what you are bothered about.”

“I don’t like Mr Defoe. Nobody likes him. He’s rude and if he goes on like tonight they’ll all walk out.”

“Who is Defoe, anyway?” said Gary, who was carrying his daughter PeggySue around because she did not want to go to sleep.

Gary would have liked to quit his police job to concentrate on the pride and joy his family gave him. He wanted to hug the whole world and was not at all enamoured of the negative waves Dorothy was emitting.

“Daniel Defoe-Drummond is firstly an insurance peddler and secondly a rotten stage director,” said Dorothy.

“He has quite a literary name, Dorothy, but he’s only a hawker, when all’s said and done. Surely he isn’t that awful.”

“You weren’t at the rehearsal, Gary,” said Dorothy. “I think someone will kill him one day.”

“I just hope that is not one of your hunches, Dorothy,” said Gary. “We’d better have a hug,” he said, gathering her into one arm whilst holding on to PeggySue with the other.

“Better now?” he said.

“Better,” said Dorothy. “I’ll put PeggySue to bed, shall I?”

“Go ahead, Dorothy. She might go to sleep for you.”

Gary dropped a kiss on his daughter’s forehead and Dorothy took her off to bed. Charlie, Gary’s eleven year old daughter, was already fast asleep. PeggySue said she wanted to sleep in Charlie’s bed. In fact she insisted. Gary would put her in her cot later, Dorothy thought. Anything to get the overtired child off to sleep. Dorothy sat on the little chair next to Charlie’s bed and sang a song or two. PeggySue relaxed and soon went to sleep snuggled up to Charlie, who had obligingly turned to face her little sister. Dorothy sat in the dark for a while, imagining that those children were hers. She had had no children of her own. That was one of her biggest regrets.

“Did you see that, Cleo?” Gary had remarked, as Dorothy had disappeared into the children’s room cradling PeggySue.

“Sure. PeggySue loves Dorothy and Dorothy loves her.”

“She’ll be in her element when the new babies arrive, won’t she?” said Gary.

“And so will you, Gary. I don’t suppose you’ll go to work at all, will you?”

“I’ll take as much time off as I can possibly manage. Maternity leave is not just for mothers.”

Later, Gary escorted Dorothy home while Cleo worked on her laptop. He got back just in time to hear the phone ring and Cleo groan. She was not in the mood for looking for someone’s missing dog, or tracing a forgetful relative, or placating an angry neighbour, or finding out who was stealing produce out of someone’s vegetable plot at dead of night.

“I’ll take it,” Gary offered.