An Awfully Big Adventure - Beryl Bainbridge [42]
‘It’s festive,’ he argued, ‘it’s Christmas.’ And she pointed out that not everybody wanted to be reminded of the fact. ‘Some people,’ she said, ‘would prefer to sleep through it.’ He could tell by the look on her face that she counted herself among them. He decided to take it personally and went straight out with the intention of buying a tree, just to spite her, until her remembered he could get one cheaper nearer the time.
Lily wasn’t the only one who grew melancholy at the seasonal preparations. All of it, the tinsel and the trees, the hurrying shoppers with their packages wrapped in shiny paper, the children queuing to visit Santa Claus, the Star of Bethlehem on the roof of Blackler’s store, below which at dusk a crowd gathered and sighed with wonder as light ran through its six points and burned against the sky, made Stella more unhappy than ever. What was the point of living, let alone Christmas, now that Meredith ignored her?
She’d noticed the change in him as soon as they began rehearsing in the theatre. She stood on the stage four mornings in a row, note-pad prominently displayed against her overall, waiting for his summons, and when it didn’t come she watched the smoke from his cigarette curling above the upturned seats and felt she herself was drifting into darkness. I’m cast out, she thought. I’m one of those souls in purgatory.
He no longer bothered to talk to her when she brought him his coffee. He thanked her politely enough, but his smile was dismissive. When she passed him on the stairs his expression told her he scarcely knew she was there.
She realised he was under a strain. The stage hands grumbled at the furious pace they were expected to work. Often George came in at five o’clock in the morning to hammer away at the pirate ship in the carpenter’s shop. He took a pride in his job and he didn’t mind how many hours he put in as long as he got paid for them. There was the rub – Rose Lipman complained they were exceeding the estimates. He’d demanded a man in charge of each wire and Rose had baulked at the expense. He’d told her he wouldn’t be responsible for safety if he couldn’t have them. The slightest kink in a wire and it would snap like a violin string, plummeting the flyer to the stage.
Grace Bird reported that Rose was critical of Meredith mounting two big productions one after the other. In her opinion it was an error of judgement. Nor was she altogether satisfied with the box-office receipts for Caesar and Cleopatra. It was all very laudable wanting to bring culture to the masses, but if the masses chose to turn their backs on the enterprise it was the shareholders who stood to lose. At the rate things were going Meredith could swallow up the budget for the entire year before the season was a quarter way through.
Stella was forced to hold her tongue when Dotty or Babs Osborne spoke slightingly of Meredith. She let fly at Geoffrey.
‘He’s sensitive,’ she shouted, after Geoffrey had recounted an incident in which Meredith had supposedly scuttled into the band room to avoid interviewing some out-of-work actor who had an appointment with him. ‘He doesn’t like disappointing people.’
‘In that case,’ retorted Geoffrey, ‘why did he agree to see him in the first place?’
They were sitting in the Kardomah Café waiting to pick up paint and turpentine ordered by the stage designer from Haggerty’s warehouse in Seel Street. The paint frame had expected a delivery earlier that morning, until Haggerty’s had rung through to say the van had broken down. The order was still being unloaded.
They shared a doughnut and bickered over which half was smallest.
‘Have the lot,’ said Stella finally. ‘I’m too miserable to eat.’
‘What about?’ asked Geoffrey, wolfing down both portions before she changed her mind.
‘Mr Potter, I’ve upset him in some way. You must have noticed. He’s stopped being friendly. It hurts.