She squealed and clapped her hands. “That’s perfect, Miss, Tudor will be so happy. He’s been trying not to come, he was so reluctant for some reason, but now he has to come, doesn’t he?”

I nodded gently and smiled back at her glowing face.

Boleyn got up from the chair and practically ran for the door. “See you tomorrow, Miss!”

When she was gone, I let my head fall to the desk.

Great. Tomorrow will be just great!

Chapter 15

The show must go on

Show night, and backstage was bedlam. There were people everywhere, make-up powder was fogging up the room and enough hairspray was being sprayed to completely eradicate the ozone layer. The audience were filling the seats, and the atmosphere was electric. I loved the feel of the theatre on opening night.

I had dressed to impress, wearing a cap-sleeved, fitted black dress that went to my knees; with my hair down and curled at the ends; and subtle and classy make-up. I looked good. As the director, I would have to mingle at the post-show party, and Ms. Thomas had insisted I dressed professional to please the fee-paying parents. I’m not sure how she felt about my usual attire, but I wasn’t going to dwell on that.

I was busy making all of the final checks: microphones had batteries, spotlights had new bulbs, and scripts and props were in the correct places. A tap to my shoulder stopped me in the middle of counting the plastic swords.

“Ms. Munro, my family are in the parking lot. Where should I tell them to go?” asked Boleyn, portraying the perfect embodiment of Fantine, minus the prostitution and starvation.

Ugh, time to deal with Tudor.

“I’ll take them through the back entrance to the boxes. No-one will see them there. Tell them to go to the south-west door. I’ll meet them now.”

Boleyn grabbed her phone and relayed the message. She pulled me in for a hug – a strange move for the usually unapproachable teen. “Thank you, Ms. Munro. You’re the best!”

“No problem, hun. Now go and get ready. Curtain call in fifteen minutes.”

I walked to the back door, and there on the other side were the Joneses – or the Norths, as they were by law. I opened the door and moved back as they all piled in.

Boleyn’s mother, Pamela was the first in and she grabbed my hand as she walked by. “Ms. Munro, thank you so much for organising this. I realise we are an awkward bunch!”

Her smile was one of guilt.

“It’s no problem, really,” I assured her, and I meant it. They were a lovely family. Well, all except one certain heartbreaker.

“Hello Tash, nice to see you again,” said Henry and Samantha in unison, the picture of happiness, his arm tightly around her shoulder and all smiles for each other.

A few paces behind them stood Tudor. I allowed myself a quick peek at him, heart in my throat. He looked bloody fantastic.

Damn it!

He wore dark jeans, a white knitted hoody with a low neck, showing the impressive chest tattoos that went to his neck, and a grey fitted blazer that clung to every ounce of his corded muscles. For once his head was absent of a hat, and teamed with his five o'clock shadow he looked positively yummy.

Tash! You are in a mood with him, remember?

He was smiling tentatively, his eyes regarding me warily. “Hey Tash, thanks for doing all this for me.”

I simply nodded, pretending not to see his out-stretched hand. His face fell. Ha! Good!

The door behind him flew open dramatically, and in poured Tate and Tink, snapping me out of my Tudor-filled haze. My fairy godmothers here to save me.

My face broke into a huge smile. “Hi, Tate.” I quickly hugged him before heading for my amazing and absolute best friend.

“Tink, you big fibber! You said you had to work,” I chastised him whilst I grabbed him for a hug, loving his white three-piece suit with pink tie and crystal cane.

Fab-u-lous!

He just laughed. “Gotcha, sausage! As if I would miss your show. I never have before and I am not going to start now.”

He kissed my head and I sighed, calming down some. “Love you, Tink.” I really did; just like the real Tinkerbell, he was always there when you needed him.

“Love you too, Wil. Now, where are our seats, Director-Bitch?” he demanded, slapping my arse with the sharp end of his cane.

We began to walk up the back stairs leading us to the highest point of the theatre, where it was quiet enough to help Tudor stay incognito.

“How is she feeling?” said Pamela, obviously referring to her daughter.

I beamed. “She’s great, very excited. It’s a fantastic show, and her voice will knock your bloody socks off!”