He’d had to stop himself from blurting, ‘Do you remember when we were all given a character and location prompt? I got “tiger” and “party” and stalked around the room tripping drunkenly over my “paws”. When I roared at the same time as getting the hiccups you laughed so hard you had to lie down.’
But he hadn’t said it.
Because he couldn’t bring himself to remind her of the shitty way he’d let that long ago friendship end.
Not knowing whether to be glad or sorry that she showed no signs of recognising him, he sighed as he closed the photocopier lid on the last card and the machine thanked him with another bzzzzzzzzzzclunk. Maybe he should get it over with and tell her who he was. But what if, despite them being all grown up now, he saw dislike in her eyes before she was able to put on a let’s-keep-it-professional face? What if his betrayal, even stemming from teenage clumsiness and desperation as it had, had stuck with her? It was only day two but he was enjoying his escape to Acting Instrumental, seeing Oggie again. And working with Georgine … The weeks before he came here had been so shitty that—
From behind him, Fern queried, ‘Everything all right, dear?’
He jumped, realising that he was standing still and gazing at his completed copying. ‘Yes, thanks for letting me use the machine.’ He gave her another smile.
‘Joe?’ Oggie’s voice floated out of his room. ‘Just hang on and I’ll walk along with you to the production meeting.’
‘So will I,’ confided Fern. ‘I’m the performance prompter, you know,’ she added importantly.
‘OK.’ Joe settled down to wait politely. Perhaps he could use the time to coach himself into not turning into a buffoon every time Georgine France smiled. Or said things like eat you up.
Instead, he spent the time wondering who Georgine had been talking to on the phone yesterday lunchtime as he’d paused on the steps in the freezing air. He’d heard enough to learn that the conversation had been about money. Or lack of – and that so wasn’t the Georgine France he remembered.
Georgine so loved everything about putting on a show that even production meetings felt like fun.
Errol, head of music, arrived first, checking out the refreshments. ‘What, no biccies? No milk?’
Errol wasn’t Georgine’s favourite amongst the staff. When she thought of him the word ‘weasel’ often popped into her head, not just because of his sharp features but because he was the world’s best at weaselling out of work. Being head of music automatically made him Assistant Director (Music) in the show but he frequently forgot or dodged his tasks.
‘There’s whitener,’ Georgine pointed out. ‘Sorry about the biscuits but you’re like a plague of biscuit locusts and can munch through a packet on your own.’ Also, she hadn’t got to Aldi in Bettsbrough where she could get three packs for the price she’d pay for one at the village shop.
Errol grinned and let it go.
People arrived in a constant stream after that.
She waited patiently for the queue for the hot water dispenser to disperse and shuffling to subside. Her ears pricked up as she heard a familiar, good-humoured voice in the corridor and Oggie strolled in, filling the doorway with his bulk for a moment as he exhibited the coffee mug he held. ‘Hope nobody minds me bringing my own.’ He glanced behind him then stepped aside. ‘And here’s Joe Blackthorn, our new staff member. Some of you have met him already.’
Georgine was surprised when her stomach gave a little hop as Joe stepped into the room and, with a flourish, placed her storyboards in front of her. She pushed the puzzling reaction aside. ‘Are there enough seats?’
She knew there were. She was good at detail. It was part of her armoury if anyone – like Errol – tried to pretend they hadn’t agreed to something, because she could usually produce the relevant note and the date on which it was made. She lifted her voice. ‘Shall we begin?’
‘But I can smell Oggie’s proper coffee and it’s giving me coffee-envy,’ Errol complained, gazing with dissatisfaction at his cup of instant.
‘Oggie brought his own. Nothing to stop you doing the same in the future.’ Georgine glanced at her agenda. ‘Oggie’s already introduced new recruit Joe, who’s agreed to head up the tech work and help look after props.’ She paused to allow for an exchange of greetings. ‘Are we off book with any scenes yet, Keeley?’
Keeley, pushing back her mousey hair, looked apologetic. ‘They’re still using scripts. It’s a bit early to be off book.’
Georgine turned to Errol before he could begin checking his watch or heaving sighs. ‘So, Errol. How’s the music going?’
Errol folded his arms and made a sorrowful face. ‘Just not enough hours in the working day to keep up with your schedule, Georgine. I’ve got teaching hours, planning, marking—’
‘Can you give me some idea of where you’re at?’ Georgine interrupted sweetly. Errol loved to paint himself as put upon. She made an effort not to let her irritation come through in her voice as she typed Errol behind schedule on her meeting notes. Then Errol got down to his report and actually wasn’t behind schedule at all so she overwrote her last note with Errol is an attention-seeking drama queen instead.
The meeting progressed. Georgine’s list of tasks grew. With one eye on the clock, remembering she had to change for the run home, she dealt briskly with the remaining items on the agenda.
‘Any other business?’ she asked at length, glancing round. A couple of people began to lever themselves from their chairs, evidently keen to get away.
Oggie raised his hand. He sent her one of his most cherubic smiles, as if divining her disappointment that she couldn’t wrap things up yet. ‘A little more on Joe’s role.’
Georgine glanced at Joe, who looked bemused to find himself popped into the meeting spotlight.
‘As Georgine said, Joe’s already taken responsibility for tech and props,’ Oggie continued. ‘So – and sorry I haven’t had a moment to speak to you about this first, Georgine – I propose to give him the title of assistant events director. For those of you who don’t know, Joe’s been a road manager and drum tech with commercial bands so has the experience to make himself useful.’
‘Oh,’ said Georgine, surprised that ultra-courteous and professional Oggie would spring it on her that Joe’s role was to concern her quite that comprehensively. ‘I mean yes, of course. Great.’
She switched her gaze to Joe, meaning to send him a welcoming smile, but was brought up short by the astonished look Joe was sending Oggie, who merely smiled gently and cocked a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Erm …’ she added, discomfited. ‘So long as Joe’s happy with it.’
Joe’s expression switched to neutral. ‘Delighted.’
Georgine wouldn’t have minded knowing why he actually looked shocked rather than ‘delighted’.
A debt-collector-free doorstep for eight days! Yay! Blair’s boxes and bags lying everywhere in the house apart from Georgine’s bedroom? Not so yay.
Georgine made a big effort to focus on the relief of having no looming silhouettes at her front door this week and kept her thoughts on Blair’s encroaching possessions to herself. Blair, after all, was making the best of having barely enough space to stand up in.
‘If