A Christmas Gift. Sue Moorcroft
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The next morning sped by for Georgine. Joe had been co-opted into something by Oggie and she was glad to be able to focus on her job.
After lunch, she made contact with Joe and took him to her room to give him a flavour of the show and what he’d need to know to take on the lighting. ‘Come in,’ she said, opening the door. ‘It looks more chaotic than it is. And sorry about the huge Christmas tree in the corner. It’s a prop. I’ll move it – oh, damn, hang on.’ Her phone had begun to ring.
While she talked, Joe wandered about the room, running his eyes over rehearsal schedules stuck to the wall and sequins and glitter gracing the table.
‘Sorry,’ she said when the call finally ended. ‘But that was exciting! A local small theatre company, the Bettsbrough Players, is folding and they’re offering us their costumes and props. How brilliant is that? For us, not them, obviously,’ she added with a wince.
‘Brilliant,’ he agreed.
She glanced at her watch. The afternoon was running away and she still had to go through things with Joe. He must be bored to tears. ‘Just need to email Oggie to get his OK to collect the stuff.’ She opened her laptop and rushed through the email.
Then she grinned. ‘Right. Event orientation. This’ – she tapped her shiny folder lying on the table – ‘is the production file – my bible.’ She opened the ring binder and flicked through a few pages, halting at a table. ‘This might look like a cross between word search and twister, but to me it represents who’ll be on stage in act one, scene one.’
Joe took the chair beside hers as she explained the initials and arrows. She soon became over-aware of his proximity; even a nod seemed to disturb the air that surrounded them both. It was distracting.
She turned a page. ‘I’ll try and give you a feel for the show. Two acts: three scenes in the first and four in the second. Eleven songs. Rehearsals going well but work still to do on transitions, which is the way people move on and off between scenes or songs.’ She paused to glance at his profile. Perhaps he felt the air move between them, too, because he turned slightly and made eye contact. He’d evidently got over his shyness. She went on, ‘The first and last scenes are full-company musical. We have forty-two students to give stage space to. The show’s the backbone of this module and crucial to their courses.’
She flipped to the cast list. ‘Kerry Christmas is the female lead and Uncle Jones, the male. Other major characters are Kerry’s parents, Mr and Mrs Christmas, brother, Casper Christmas, Auntie Jones and Jones kids, plus a TV presenter. Then there are the minor roles – gang members, police officers and neighbourhood kids.’
She turned to look at him again. His eyes were dark but lit by tiny glints of gold. His gaze flickered to her mouth for an instant, making her concentration waver. ‘The storyline,’ she went on, ‘is that rich Uncle Jones always invites the Christmases to join the Joneses for the festive season. Then Kerry sees one of those Crimewatch-type TV programmes and recognises Uncle Jones as the leader of a gang of crooks. She realises where all his money comes from and has to decide whether to dob him in.’
‘Presumably she’s got to,’ Joe observed. ‘Or else the message is that crime pays. That gangs are OK.’
Georgine was pleased at his understanding of the world of fiction. ‘Absolutely! But apart from turning against this man she’s always thought is a generous uncle, Kerry has the problem of how to tell her mum, who loves her brother. The trigger is when Kerry discovers her own brother, Casper, is to work with Uncle Jones.’
Joe frowned. ‘Poor Casper’s being sucked into a gang?’
Georgine nodded, charmed at how quickly he’d become caught up in the story. ‘Jasmine’s done a great job with offering the audience food for thought. It’s a colourful storyline, but we have to remember it was written for Level 3 students to perform. It makes imaginative use of a dual stage. We hope for a lot of bums on seats.’
Joe propped his chin on his fist. ‘Dual stage?’
‘We split the stage and have different things going on. Like, take act one, scene two, Kerry’s bedroom in the Jones household.’ Quickly, she explained how one side of the stage would carry the TV-programme action while Kerry ‘watched it on TV’ from the other side.
She reached out for a pile of large cards. ‘I’ve storyboarded the show, in a scribbly sort of way. There’s a board for every scene or segment and when I get them done there will be one for every transition.’
Joe drew a couple of the large white cards towards him and examined them. ‘Who’s responsible for set design?’
Georgine rubbed her nose. ‘Ultimately, I am. We don’t have a big budget for it but minimal’s fine, a backdrop and a few sparkly props, because we need a lot of stage space for song-and-dance numbers. Scene changes take place under dimmed lights, props whisked away or repositioned by scene shifters dressed in black.’
He smiled reminiscently. ‘I used to be responsible for props for school productions sometimes.’
She grabbed his arm. ‘If you can look after props I’m going to eat you up.’
Catching his eyebrows shooting up, she blushed, hurriedly removing her hand from his arm. ‘Eat you up’ was not the right phrase to use when you’d only just met a man. Colleague. She made her voice more businesslike. ‘Sorry. I wanted to give you an overview so you could begin thinking about lighting and suddenly I’m twisting your arm about props! We’ve six weeks to the first night, so plenty of time to pull things together.’
‘If I can borrow the storyboards I can start thinking about the tech.’ Joe stood up, reaching out.
Instinctively, Georgine put her hand on the boards. Then felt stupid as she saw his astounded expression, and laughed. ‘Sorry, I’m like a tiger with my storyboards and production file.’
Joe’s eyes danced with amusement behind his glasses. ‘How about I take photos of each with my phone? If you’re certain I can’t borrow them even for so long as it takes to pass them through a photocopier.’
Reluctantly, Georgine grinned back, pushing the boards towards him. ‘I’m being an idiot. The students should have all left, so take the boards to Fern’s office and get them copied. But I do need them back for the four o’clock meeting,’ she added.
He took the stack, backing towards her door. ‘You’ll have them.’ He smiled and she found herself smiling back. Even if he’d spent the first morning with her tongue-tied, it somehow felt as if she’d known Joe Blackthorn for more than a day.
Outside the door, Joe smacked his forehead, hissing, ‘Get a grip, you sad sack of shit!’ to himself as he strode down the corridor. A couple of female cafeteria staff coming the other way grinned, obviously having overheard. He nodded to them gravely and stood aside to let them pass.
As they rounded the corner he heard them dissolve into gales of laughter. Fantastic. He managed the fifty yards to admin without making a further prat of himself and asked Fern if he could use the photocopier.
Instantly, she jumped up, pushing up her glasses. ‘I can do that for you.’
‘That’s really kind.’ He gave her a smile, making her smile back and blush. ‘But don’t disturb yourself. As I’m so new I’m sure I have nowhere near as much to occupy me as you do.’
‘Well, if you’re sure …’ She fluttered back to her seat at the computer.
‘And Georgine will have a nervous breakdown if I let anybody touch these without her permission.’
Fern giggled. ‘Dear Georgine. She does get invested.’
‘I’m beginning to realise.’ It took only ten minutes for Joe to complete his task, feeding the copier while it sighed bzzzzzzzzzzclunk, freeing his mind to reflect