A Cornish Carol: A Short Story. Fern Britton
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Penny, had landed the plum role of Aladdin. Penny was a hotshot TV producer and owner of Penny Leighton Productions, best known for her worldwide success with the Mr Tibbs Mysteries series and for her work on the Oscar-nominated film Hat’s Off, Trevay!. Helen knew that Penny would rather be chewing her own arm off than getting sucked into yet more village bother, but she also knew that Penny took her role of vicar’s wife very seriously indeed and that meant supporting the panto, all proceeds of which went to support the church’s charitable work.
Also wanting to do his bit, Simon Canter, Penny’s husband and the father of their daughter Jenna, had gamely taken on the role of Widow Twanky. Much as she adored him, Helen couldn’t help but feel that Simon had been hopelessly miscast. He was a wonderful person – kind, decent and a thoroughly good egg – but there was no denying that he lacked the requisite bawdy humour essential for making the part sing. The topical jokes he’d been given about Kim Kardashian’s bum and ‘twerking’ had fallen flat in the first act. And watching him now, holding two melons and doing a ‘nudge nudge, wink, wink’ over a ‘lovely pair’ was quite painful. It was hard to escape the thought that this was all rather inappropriate behaviour for a vicar. Penny was doing her best to carry the show, but she was far above her material, Helen thought.
Sean had opted to stay at home with Summer, who was a bit grizzly, so Helen had ended up sitting between Terri and Piran. A happy and animated Jenna was bouncing on her knee, shouting out loudly and eagerly every time her mummy and daddy came on stage.
Helen risked a glance at Piran from the corner of her eye. He’d barely said a word all evening, except to ask them what they wanted to drink during the interval, returning with plastic cups of orange squash. While everyone around them was laughing at the antics on stage, Piran’s head was lowered and his piercing blue eyes stared disdainfully from hooded eyelids. His hand covered his mouth as if trying to stop angry words from escaping and he jiggled his leg impatiently. Clearly, his mood had not improved. Helen sighed and turned back to the performance.
Aladdin and Princess Lotus Blossom – who was being played by Lauren, one of the village girls – were making their escape on a magic carpet while murdering, or at least committing grievous bodily harm on ‘Up Where We Belong’, accompanied by the children of Pendruggan Juniors, who were pretending to be a flock of birds. What might have looked good on paper was somewhat let down by the execution. Firstly, the ‘flying’ carpet was supposed to appear suspended mid-air, not draped across one of the trestle tables normally reserved for serving biscuits and tea at church coffee mornings. Lauren was a well-fed lass and when she began giving it her all and belting out the lyrics, the table became decidedly unsteady. Secondly, the children shuffling onstage weren’t quite progressing with military precision. Some were standing around looking bewildered, a couple of little boys were gurning at each other, and one little girl broke off and wandered to the front of the stage to tell her mummy she needed a wee-wee.
While the audience stifled their laughter, Aladdin and Princess Lotus Blossom continued gamely emoting about eagles crying on a mountain high, but their dirge was finally cut short when the shaky table leg gave way. Titters tuned to guffaws as Princess Lotus Blossom went arse over tit and ended up on her bottom, skirts in the air, with her frilly pink thong on show.
Tears of laughter streaming down her face, it was all Helen could do to hold on to Jenna, who was on her feet, screeching enthusiastically at the sight of her mummy rushing to help Lauren to recover whatever was left of her dignity. Rocking with mirth, Helen turned to say something to Piran, but the words died on her lips as she saw his stony face, eyes dark with displeasure.
‘Well, that went off really well!’ said Simon, happily supping at his post-panto pint of ale in the comfort of The Dolphin’s cosy saloon bar and seemingly oblivious to the general consensus that this would go down as one of the most shambolic village pantos in living memory.
Penny turned to her husband, incredulous. ‘Were you performing in the same play as the rest of us?’
Simon’s good humour wasn’t to be dented. ‘I’d say it was at least as good as last year’s Jack and the Beanstalk. Arguably, that was a lot worse. Don’t you remember?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Penny shuddered at the memory of Queenie, who’d been playing Old Mother Hubbard, setting fire to the stage curtain while having a sneaky fag in the wings.
‘Exactly! And we’ve raised over a thousand pounds from the box office, which will certainly go a long way to help with the funds for the trip to Canterbury Cathedral at Easter.’
‘That’s what I love about you, Simon – you’re always able to see the positives in everything.’ Penny gave her ruddy-cheeked, balding and bespectacled husband a loving kiss on his nose.
Helen couldn’t help smiling at the display of affection. It was just the four of them in the pub; Terri had gone home to relieve Sean of babysitting duties, and little Jenna had fallen asleep, exhausted, and been carried home by Penny’s brother, who’d come down with his family for the holidays.
‘You’re very quiet, Piran,’ said Simon. ‘How did you rate the performance this year?’
Piran kept his morose gaze firmly on his pint. ‘No comment.’
‘Not tempted to sign yourself up for next year?’ Simon added playfully. ‘Perhaps we could put on Peter Pan and you could play Captain Hook. You’ve got the perfect temperament for it and everyone loves a baddie!’
Piran glowered. ‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’
‘No, no, I just meant—’
‘I know what you meant!’ Piran snapped. ‘We haven’t all got the urge to prance around like bloody fools for the merriment of others. Some of us have better things to do.’
Helen was shocked at the sharpness of his tone. ‘Simon was only having a bit of fun, Piran.’
This earned her a fierce scowl, too, then, muttering darkly under his breath, Piran pushed his chair back and stalked off to the bar to buy another drink.
‘Perhaps Prince Charming would be a better fit?’ Helen said to his retreating back.
‘I heard that Beauty and the Beast were casting.’ Penny gave her friend a wry smile.
At this point, Audrey Tipton, the village busybody – a woman Helen always thought of as the love-child of Margaret Thatcher and Mussolini – came striding into the pub, with her husband Geoffrey, otherwise known as Mr Audrey Tipton, trotting along in her wake. Spotting Simon, Audrey held up a finger to her husband, as if commanding a dog to stay, then made a beeline for their table while Geoffrey hovered timidly by the pub entrance.
‘Ah, Reverend Canter. I’m glad I found you.’
The sight of Audrey crossing The Dolphin’s threshold had everyone’s jaws dropping. She wouldn’t normally be seen dead in anything quite so vulgar as a public house.
Simon got to his feet uncertainly. ‘What can I do for you, Audrey? Would you and Geoff care for a drink?’
‘No, thank you, Reverend,’ she answered briskly. ‘I’ll make this as brief as possible. As you know, the Bridge Society Christmas luncheon was to have been held in the church hall tomorrow, but I’ve just been there and the hall is in a complete state of disarray. This really is quite unacceptable. If our annual luncheon suffers any disruption as a result, I shall hold you responsible.’
‘Now, Audrey,’ Simon’s tone was conciliatory, ‘you know that the panto has only just finished. I’m sure that Polly and all of the helpers are doing their best to get everything shipshape …’
‘Well, their best clearly isn’t good enough!’
‘Give them a chance, Audrey!’
Over Audrey’s shoulder, Helen caught sight of Piran returning from the bar. She was dismayed to see that the dangerous look in his eye had taken on new fire as Audrey Tipton delivered her rebuke. He and Audrey were old adversaries, their hostility mutual and frequently