It was ten days to opening night.
The weather had warmed up and holidaymakers were filling the streets and B&Bs of Trevay before the school holidays got into full swing.
Liz Parker, the Pavilions’ glamorous new publicist, had lined up interviews with all the local media, plus some big guns from the national press. Jess, Ollie and Brooke were excused from morning rehearsals to fulfil their quotas of interviews.
Journalists, no matter how original they thought they were, asked only the obvious questions:
‘Jess, when are you and Ryan getting married?’ And, ‘Is he coming to the first night?’
Answer: ‘It’ll be a private affair. We’ll let you know when we’ve done it.’ And, ‘It would be great if he can make it.’
‘Ollie, have you and Red split up?’ And, ‘Is she coming to the first night?’
Answer: ‘We are good friends.’ And, ‘Maybe.’
‘Brooke, you lost a big job with Café Au Lait a few months ago amid rumours that you were out of control. Was it drugs?’ And, ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’
Answer: ‘Don’t believe all you read in the papers.’ And, ‘Are you flirting with me?’
‘Colonel, what does it feel like being back on stage?’
Answer: ‘Like coming home, old chap. Like coming home.’
Jonathan was interviewed by the arts reviewers of the Guardian, the Observer and The Times. When they appeared in print, the interviews were prefaced by subheadings in bold type: ‘Once touted as a great director in the making, why is Mulberry now officiating at an end-of-the-pier-show?’ And ‘Jonathan Mulberry, the man the West End forgot. Can he save a seaside theatre and his career in one season?’ And ‘A likeable man, but he’s no Trevor Nunn’.
These painful articles served to make the rehearsal atmosphere nervy, to say the least. The only man to keep a perspective on it all was the Colonel. One afternoon after Jonathan had lost his temper spectacularly with Miss Coco and her youngsters, he stepped in.
‘Mr Mulberry, kindly sit down and be quiet!’ he commanded.
Jonathan, his cheeks puce and a vein throbbing in his throat, took a second before sitting.
In a softer voice the Colonel continued: ‘Brooke, dear, would you take our young dancers out to find refreshment.’
Brooke duly gathered up the white-faced and teary dancers and led them out of the theatre and into the welcoming warmth of the foyer café.
The Colonel then made his way to Miss Coco, who was standing ram-rod straight, her mouth pinched and her hands trembling slightly at her side. Determined to maintain her dignity, she hadn’t moved since Jonathan had started bellowing.
‘Mr Mulberry,’ said the Colonel, ‘I believe you owe Miss Coco, and indeed the entire cast, an apology.’ He glowered sternly at the director.
Jonathan shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. ‘I apologise, Miss Coco. My behaviour was unjustifiable.’
She took a deep breath and said. ‘So you withdraw the remark about my dancers moving like three-legged camels on a plate of snot?’
Jonathan had the grace to blush. ‘I do. Wholeheartedly.’
‘And that I am to choreography what a bucket of paint is to a fur coat?’
Jonathan brushed an invisible crumb from his corduroy trousers and said, ‘Yes. I do.’
Miss Coco waited a beat, then inclined her head in acknowledgement. ‘Apology accepted.’
Jonathan spoke again. ‘And to the whole company, I apologise for my lack of professionalism.’
This was greeted with murmurs from the cast of ‘That’s all right’, ‘Quite understand’ and ‘It’s all a bit tough at the moment.’
The Colonel looked around the room. ‘I think we should take a short tea break for the troops to rally themselves. Back here for half past, chaps.’ He turned to Jonathan: ‘Would you stay behind with me for a moment?’
Once everyone had left, and the stage and the auditorium were their own, the Colonel took a seat next to Jonathan, who was leaning back in his chair, his eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling.
‘What’s the matter, dear boy?’
Jonathan lifted his head and looked at the Colonel. ‘I can’t see the wood for the trees. Am I a useless director? Is the whole thing shit? Are we heading for disaster?’
‘Ah.’ The Colonel smiled kindly at Jonathan. ‘You’ve lost faith in our strength as a platoon. Perfectly normal, old boy. I’ve seen it many times. Felt it myself once or twice. Now look here, you are their commanding officer. You’ve trained them well. They know their job and what has to be done. Victory is in our grasp.’
‘Colonel, with all respect, this could end my career.’
‘And?’
‘And that’s the end of my reputation.’
‘How very selfish of you. You put your own life and reputation above those of your men?’ A pause and the Colonel added, ‘And women?’
‘They’ll be all right. They’re all talented and young. They have families to go home to.’
‘Not true of all of us.’
Jonathan looked ashamed. ‘So what should I do?’
‘My dear boy, what we all do in these circumstances – man up! Feel the fear and do it anyway. Isn’t that what today’s popular psychology tells us? In my day it was “Pull yourself together or face a court martial in the morning.” That usually sharpened us up.’
Jonathan managed a small laugh. ‘I can see that it would. No one’s going to shoot me, are they?’
‘I might, if you bugger up my script. Now go fetch yourself a cup of coffee and let’s get this show on the road.’
*
That evening, the cast were preparing for their first technical dress rehearsal and a long night lay ahead. Jess and Brooke were readying themselves in their dressing room.
‘Hey, you look great,’ said Jess, stunned by her first view of Brooke in full make-up and costume. There was a big opening number and Brooke got to wear a stunning dress of vibrant green satin that perfectly set off her blonde hair and accentuated her hourglass figure.
‘Ooh-boo-bi-do.’ Brooke gave her friend a wink. ‘Thanks, girlfriend. I’m as nervous as a virgin on her wedding night, though.’
‘Those were the days!’ Jess teased.
‘No, really, shall I light this candle Miss Coco gave us? It’s supposed to help calm your nerves. I can’t stop worrying about getting the steps right in the first number.’
‘You’ll be brilliant, and remember this is only a stagger through.’ Jess watched as Brooke lit the lavender and camomile candle. ‘It smells lovely, we musn’t forget to blow it out.’
Jess gave Brooke a final good luck embrace and then hurried off to look in on Ollie and the Colonel.
‘Beginners Act One on stage, please!’ came the tannoy call.
‘Oh, God!’ Brooke blew out the candle and dashed out into the hallway. As the door fell shut behind her, the resulting gust of air caught a tissue, half pulled from its box and sent it floating through the air until it landed on the smouldering candle wick.
The entire company of actors and dancers had gathered in the wings and in the front seats to watch the dress rehearsal. It wasn’t until just before the end of the first act that the flames took hold and smoke began to drift along the corridors to the stage.
Stage manager Dan was the first to notice it. He got on his headset and asked the lighting desk operator if he could see any smoke in the auditorium.
‘Negative,’ came the response.
Dan made a call to the stage-door man: ‘Dave, I can smell smoke. Would you check backstage, please?’
Within moments, a serious Dave was back with Dan in the prompt corner. ‘Bring the iron curtain down. Dressing two is alight! Put a tannoy out to Front of House and tell them Mr Brown is paying a visit. Then dial 999.’
Mr Brown was the code word used by many theatres to warn the staff that there is a serious emergency. If fire and smoke alarms went off in the auditorium, panic could ensue and someone could get injured in the rush to get out.
Dan got on his headset and spoke to the men manning the fly rigging backstage. ‘Bring the iron in. Repeat. Bring the iron in. Now.’
Mrs Coco’s girls were halfway through their end of Act One number and now found themselves on a darkening, smokey stage.
‘Get the girls off and outside.’ He ordered the perplexed Miss Coco before calling over the tannoy again. ‘Mr Brown is in the building. Would all staff and guests please leave the building quickly and calmly and gather outside in the car park until further notice.’
Jonathan, sitting at the back of the dress circle could smell smoke and knew this was no practice drill. He reacted quickly, his deep voice booming out authoritively across the auditorium.
‘Everyone, move quickly and calmly out of the building. Those of you in the front of the stalls use the exit straight out through the front foyer, the same for those of you on stage. Those backstage need to take the exit through the side door.’
By this time, the sprinkler system had kicked in and a fine mist was now falling from the ceiling.
Jonathan made his way backstage. Word had filtered through and all of the actors and crew were filing out quickly towards the stage door. Here the water coming from the sprinkler system was heavier and there was a slightly more chaotic feel to the cramped and crowded corridors.
Madame Coco was marshalling her tearful and anxious charges to the exit: ‘Now, now, Pippa, do stop snivelling. Chloe, stop gawping – do keep up, dear.’
‘Good work, Madame C,’ said Jonathan as he hurried by. ‘Do as Madame Coco says, and keep calm, girls.’
He spotted a worried-looking Colonel Stick being helped out by Ollie.
‘This is terrible, my dear boy, after all we’ve done – to lose the Pavilions now …’
‘Let’s just make everyone safe, Colonel, and worry about the bricks and mortar later.’
‘Have you seen Jess?’ asked an anxious-looking Ollie. ‘I don’t know where she is, was she out the front?’
Jonathan felt a tremor of panic in his stomach. ‘No, now that you mention it. Look, you get the Colonel out and I’ll see if I can find her.’
He hurried down the narrow passageway to the dressing rooms. It was here that the smoke was at its thickest. Before long his eyes were stinging, it was hard to breathe and the water from the sprinklers was making the floor slippery underfoot.
‘Jess, Jess, where are you?’ he shouted between coughs. Nothing. He made his way further down the row of dressing rooms. ‘Jess, can you hear me?’
It was becoming hard to see. He stood still and listened, straining to make out sounds. At last he heard a muffled response: ‘Help, I’m in here, in the loo. I can’t get the door open, it seems to be jammed.’
Jonathan ran to the loo next door to the burning dressing room and tried to turn the door handle. It wouldn’t budge.
‘Oh God,’ cried Jess from the other side of the door.
‘Don’t panic, I’ll try and break it down. Stand back.’
‘OK, I’m not panicking. I’m standing back.’
Jonathan put his shoulder against the door and pushed. The door held firm. ‘One more time,’ he told himself.
He took a step back and, with an almighty effort, hurled himself against the door. To his huge relief, it gave and he was through. Grabbing Jess’s hand, he led her back the way he’d come.
By this time the corridor was thick with smoke and it was impossible to see a hand in front of them. In the enveloping darkness they completely lost their bearings and Jess felt the panic start to overwhelm her.
Then they heard a voice through the smoke.
‘Thank God! Here, take my hand.’
It was Ollie.
With Ollie to lead them in the right direction they were outside within minutes, gratefully breathing in the cool, clear air.
‘That was a close shave,’ said Jonathan.
‘That door had been sticking for ages. I kept meaning to mention it, but never got round to it. Jonathan, if you hadn’t come back for me, I might …’ Unable to finish the sentence, Jess took his hand in hers and squeezed it. ‘Thank you.’
Jonathan found it hard to meet her gaze. ‘And thanks to Ollie – without him we might both be toast.’
Ollie shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Hey, I’m just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill superhero, right?’
The wail of the fire engines cut through their reunion. They watched as the firefighters poured from the engines and set about their work capably and with no fuss.
It was then that it dawned on the entire cast and crew that their dress rehearsal might just be the one and only performance of Hats Off, Trevay!
*
Mercifully, the fire had only destroyed Brooke and Jess’s dressing room. But the water from the sprinklers and the damage from the smoke had caused almost as much devastation as the fire.
Colonel Stick’s dressing room, which was next door, was in a terrible state, along with the wig room and wardrobe room directly above. The sprinklers in the auditorium had saturated everything and the tip-up seats were dripping miserably.
Brooke was distraught and was quick to tell the fire officers about her candle. They took down her details and thanked her for her honesty while making it clear what they thought of her stupidity. ‘As soon as they can gain access, our investigating officers will determine the cause of the fire. Candles should never be left unattended.’
‘But she blew it out, officer,’ said Jess, holding on to a sobbing Brooke.
‘I’d better take your details too, miss.’
Ollie, Jess, Jonathan and Brooke drove back to Pendruggan together. As Jonathan and Jess sat in the back, he felt her shiver. Instinctively, he put his arm round her and kissed the top of her head. She leaned in to him.
‘Are you cold?’ he asked.
‘No. But I was thinking, what if someone had died in there? What if I had had the girls with me tonight? They would have been shut up in the dressing room.’
‘Stop with the “what ifs”. Nobody died. Everyone’s fine. Ethel and Elsie were at home.’
She turned and looked behind her at the Pavilions, illuminated by the emergency services’ arc lights and the flashing blue lights of the fire engines.
‘But the Pavilions – after everyone’s hard work. We didn’t even make it to the first night.’
*
As soon as she’d heard the news, Penny had got in the Jag and driven to Trevay. There she joined Piran and Helen, watching their dreams going up in smoke. There was no need for words. When she eventually got home, Simon made her scrambled eggs on toast and apologised for not coming out to join her. He had been holding a confirmation class in the church and hadn’t known about the disaster until he came home and found Penny’s hastily written note on the table.
‘The bloody car wouldn’t start or I’d have been there.’
He was expecting her to have another go about his clapped-out car, but instead she patted his hand, finished her glass of milk and took him up to bed.
*
The following afternoon, Penny held a council of war.
All of the SToP campaigners were present, except for Brooke. She was too upset to come, blaming herself for the fire, though all of her friends had been completely supportive. Jonathan and Jess were there, along with the Colonel and Dan the stage manager and Liz Parker the publicist.
It was Penny who voiced what they were all thinking: ‘What on earth do we do now?’
‘I’ve spoken to the fire brigade and the council this morning,’ said Simon. ‘According to the fire brigade, most of the damage is superficial. The building is quite sound structurally, but the cost of the repairs will run into tens of thousands of pounds.’
‘Our coffers are running on empty as it is. We needed the box office income to pay the next round of bills.’ Penny bit her lip, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘But now …’
‘This venture’s been doomed to failure from the start, if you ask me. That building is an eyesore and a money pit. Even if we could raise the money, it’d be like throwing good money after bad. Might as well go and toss your money off the harbour at Trevay—’
‘Piran, darling, that really isn’t a very helpful attitude,’ chided Helen.
‘It’s the truth.’
Helen ignored him. ‘There must be something we can do. If we had the money, could we get the theatre open in time?’
‘Where there’s a will there’s a way – but the company don’t have anywhere to rehearse now,’ said Jonathan.
‘We have the church hall. It’s seen many a performance in its time and could certainly accommodate you all, if you didn’t mind roughing it,’ replied Simon.
‘I hate to be the voice of doom, but we have NO money,’ said Penny. ‘All of this is academic.’
‘Well, yes …’ Simon took a deep breath. ‘And I’ve got more bad news, I’m afraid. I spoke to Councillor Joan Goodman this morning and she tells me that if the company were found to have been negligent or to blame for the fire, then we could lose our right to use the building.’
‘That’s downright unfair!’ Penny was incensed.
‘Maybe, darling, but as the SToP campaigners are managing the building, we should have made sure that all Health and Safety regulations were enforced. They’ll blame us for it, I’m afraid.’
‘And bloody Chris Bedford won’t cut us any slack, will ’e?’ added Piran.
This threw them all into silence.
‘What we need right now,’ said Helen despondently, ‘is a bloody miracle.’
Colonel Stick said nothing. He was deep in thought.