Page 65 of Kiss Me at Christmas
“You could give us a clue, miss!” Ricco complained.
“Oh, don’t you start,” Harriet snapped.
“Oooooooh!” singsonged Carly.
Harriet bit her lip and folded her arms. Then she felt a warm, soft arm wrap around her shoulders, and Odette whispered, “You are doing a fine job,” in her lyrical Mauritian accent. “Some people are happiest when they’re moaning.”
Harriet felt some of the tension ease out of her shoulders.
“So this is them living their best life?” she asked, as Grace began to loudly critique the new drapes before moving seamlessly on to complain about Billy’s dirty boots.
“Sometimes having their voices heard is the closest people come to knowing they still exist. It doesn’t matter if the attention is good or bad.”
“You are a wise woman.” Harriet leaned her head on her shoulder, and Odette squeezed her tighter. It was very soothing; Odette smelled like baked bread and lavender.
She laughed and Harriet was jiggled in her embrace.
“I am an old woman,” Odette corrected her. “And I am very nosy. Nosiness is an underrated tool for understanding the human condition.”
“You should come and work with me at the school.”
“Oh, no thank you, I’ll stick with monitoring the big kids.”
It was at that moment that Carly and Ricco decided to bust out a rendition of “ ’tis the damn season,” and Mateo, who had been quietly reading beside them in the stalls, slammed his newspaper down and angry-crab-waddled along the aisle away from them.
“I’m going to make you a nice cup of instant coffee,” said Odette. “Why don’t you come with me and choose a treat from my handbag?”
Harriet laughed and gratefully followed Odette to the dressing room.
Gideon arrived fashionably late, looking very pleased with himself as he was swamped by eager would-be actors. Ignoring their questions, he glided to the orchestra pit and stuck the cast list to one of the pillars. Harriet could feel self-importance pulsing out of him like a weather front as he stepped back to let eager eyes scan the printout. Thankfully, everyone appeared happy—aside from Billy, who hadn’t wanted a part—with their assigned roles, and there were yips and shouts from young and old as they found their names on the list.
Isabel was cast as Roberta Cratchit, and Sid, no surprise, was Tiny Tim and also the boy at the end of the play who buys the turkey. Billy was given the role of Mr. Cratchit, a stay-at-home dad, which, to Harriet’s surprise, he didn’t point-blank refuse. Grace was the Ghost of Christmas Past, Hiroshi—of course—was the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, and Odette was the Ghost of Christmas Present. Destiny was to play the part of Jacob Marley. Ahmed had the lead as Ebenezer Scrooge, while Carly would play—and sing—as Belle, and Ricco would double as Scrooge’s nephew and young Scrooge. Members of both groups were also allotted smaller bit parts to cover crowd scenes and townspeople and read the narration.
It was the first time she had seen the famous five and the Great Foss Players bond in any meaningful way. The genuine handshakes and back pats of congratulations from both sides were heartwarming to see. With roles now assigned, the energy in the auditorium had morphed from fraught to impatient to get started. For all their high-maintenance ways, Harriet felt grateful for the new additions to the production.
Hesther and her women’s group arrived just after six o’clock with another group—who definitely were not women—in tow. Harriet was waiting for them in thefoyer. Carly and Ricco, who had volunteered to give Hesther’s group a guided tour of the building, stood beside her. The others were in the auditorium being individually briefed on their characters’ motivations by Gideon, while Mallory—a West End choreographer before she retired—gave lessons on how to own the stage and capture the audience with one’s body. This had gone down like cat poo in a slipper with Billy, whose whole body, when Harriet had left him, appeared to be curling in on itself with cringe.
“Harriet!” Hesther beamed, dusting the snow off her jacket. “Gosh, the weather’s really turned, hasn’t it? As you can see, we’ve brought some friends.” She motioned to the gaggle of men lurking near the doors. “But first, I’d like to introduce the refugee women’s group.” She motioned to the women standing in an awkward huddle in the foyer, several of whom held foil trays covered in cling wrap. “I won’t bombard you with names right now, as there’s quite a few of us, but suffice to say, we are all terribly grateful to you. And we can’t wait to get stuck in with your set designs! We’ve brought a few treats to say thank you.”
“My goodness, thank you, you are going to be very popular! Why don’t you pop those down.” Harriet gestured to the old concessions stand. “We can carry them through after you’ve had a look around your new hangout. It’s so lovely to meet you all, please make yourselves at home.” She smiled at the women. “Carly and Ricco here will give you a quick tour, show you where the toilets are and teas and coffees, that sort of thing. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask me. I don’t guarantee I’ll have the answer, but I’ll certainly try my best. I’ve spoken with Ken, the site manager, and he’s asked us to keep to the auditorium after six thirty, as they’vegot new fixtures and fittings being delivered and the foyer will be busy.”
The women nodded, smiling hesitantly.
“Thanks, Harriet,” said Hesther, clapping her hands together. “And now I’d like to introduce one of our fellow groups made homeless by the local council’s budget cuts. This is the Lonely Farts Club. Josef, this is Harriet, she’s, well, I suppose she’s sort of the community coordinator around here.”
Harriet tried her best not to look as wrong-footed as she felt. She also noted two walking sticks and a walking frame.We really need to make this place more accessible!
“Lovely to meet you, Josef,” she said, smiling. “I think ‘community coordinator’ sounds a bit grand. I’m simply borrowing the space for the time being and subletting it without the landlady’s permission.” She grinned.
Josef was a slightly stooped beanpole of a man in his late sixties, with soft blue eyes and gray hair swept back in a way that accentuated his widow’s peak. He wore a knitted sweater vest over a checked shirt and beige chinos.
“Ah! A bit of a rebel with a cause, are you, that’s what we like! Delighted to finally meet you, Harriet.” He shook her hand enthusiastically. “We’ve been hearing all sorts about your endeavors. The Lonely Farts Club are, as you can see, all men of a certain vintage, some of us widowers, some singletons by choice or circumstance, but all of us alone in the world apart from each other.” He smiled and went on to introduce each member. “We have Ernest, retired estate agent; Harry, who likes to keep his hand in at building; and Dhruv, an exceptional carpenter.” Dhruv gave a small bow. “Then there’s Winston, former engineer and full-time tinkerer; Kingsley, our resident tailor; and then me, retired baker, although one never truly retires from baking.”
The Lonely Farts nodded and chuckled in agreement.
“My waistline can attest to that,” Harry said, patting his stomach.
“Gosh!” Harriet’s cheeks ached from smiling. “Well, you are all very welcome.”What’s one more group in the mix. It could be fun!
