Truro, 1989
Sennen had been a happy child, until she was eleven, when she was sent away to school.
‘It’s only Truro, and you’ll be home every weekend. You’ll love it,’ said her mother, packing a case with starchy new shirts and scratchy skirts, every sock and vest with her name sewn inside.
Almost overnight, she hated her unusual name, hated her parents, hated all the friendly, hippy student artists who lived in her house and got to spend every day under the tuition of her mother and father while she was sent away, but most of all she hated the other girls in the new school.
They were the sort of girls who had cool, Liberal/Tory parents. The mothers wore designer outfits and make-up. Their fathers drove flash cars. Holidays were spent skiing in Klosters or sailing in Nassau. They were called Sara, Claire, Emma, Lisa.
No one was called Sennen.
‘What’s your name again?’ asked a particularly appalling girl called Samantha, as Sennen was unpacking her case in their small dormitory.
‘Sennen.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s after the cove. Sennen cove.’
Samantha smirked. ‘I think nanny took us paddling there when we were small. My little brother had diarrhoea. He shat all over the beach.’
Two other girls, the remaining roommates, were listening as they also unpacked.
Samantha turned to them. ‘What are your names?’
‘Katie,’ one said. ‘Hi.’
‘Em,’ said the other.
Samantha swung back to Sennen. ‘This is Sennen. Sounds a bit like senna, doesn’t it. I’m going to call you Senna Pod from now on.’
Sennen hid her flaming cheeks by stuffing her empty case under her bed as she’d been told. ‘Why?’
‘Because,’ Samantha paused waiting for Katie and Em to join in with her joke, ‘they give you the shits.’
There are many ways to deal with bullies. You can either stand up to them, or tell someone, or hide your pain and go off the rails.
Sennen chose the latter. If there was a wall to be climbed, a rule to be broken, or a boundary to cross, she did it. She grew a small gang of acolytes around her and by the age of fourteen was a dab hand at smuggling booze and cigarettes into her shared study. Her detentions were many but her academic marks held up. Teachers either loved her free spirit and creativity or loathed her for her insubordination and sharp wit.
Adela and Bill would always apologise when a major misdemeanour meant they were called to a meeting with the headmistress, but to them, Sennen was merely a creative soul who meant no harm. They were secretly rather proud of their bold daughter and when she came home she was a ray of sunshine.
It was the Christmas before her fifteenth birthday that Sennen got a holiday job backstage at the Pavilions Theatre in Trevay. She was to be one of two assistant floor managers for the pantomime season.
It was Cinderella and Buttons was to be played by the latest winner of the TV talent show, New Talent. He was a brilliant young magician, offsetting the corniness of his profession with a rock and roll image.
His real name was Alan Chisolm.
His stage name was Ali A’Mayze, and from the first time Sennen clapped eyes on him, she was in love …
During rehearsals she was given the job of being his runner. Anything he wanted she got, willingly.
On the final tech run rehearsal, there was a crisis. Alan had developed a sore throat. His singing voice was in danger. A doctor was called and, after examination diagnosed mild laryngitis. Sennen sprinted to the chemist with the given prescription and brought it back, beaming. ‘Shall I take this to Mr A’Mayze’s dressing room?’ she asked the company manager who should have delivered it himself but was distracted by a problem on stage.
‘Okay, but knock first and don’t stay too long. He’s got to rest his voice.’
She had never been allowed into the star dressing room before. She knocked tentatively. A whispery voice answered, ‘Come in.’
He was lying on the cushioned sofa which acted as a day bed. The room was warm and he was wearing a tight T-shirt over boxer shorts. ‘Is that my prescription?’ he mouthed inaudibly.
‘Yes.’
He beckoned her to him and took the small bag from her. ‘Water?’ he managed.
Sennen quickly filled a tumbler from the sink in the corner of the room and returned. ‘Here you are.’
He smiled and popped one of the tablets between his wickedly sensuous lips. ‘Thanks.’
She stood for a moment in case he needed anything else.
‘It’s okay,’ he croaked. ‘I’ll be fine. What’s your name again?’
‘Sennen.’
He nodded again and held his hand out to her. She took it and he pulled her down to him, his strength sending her off balance so that she half fell onto his chest whilst banging her knee on the wood of the sofa.
‘You’re nice.’ He smiled, then pulled her mouth down to his lips and kissed her in a way that the boys in Truro never had. Not knowing quite what the protocol here was, she kissed him back until he let her go.
‘Good girl. That’s the best medicine.’
She stood up and rubbed her bruised knee. Was she dismissed? He smiled and, closing his eyes, waved her out.
She left the room and closed the door gently behind her. Shit. He fancied her. Wow. She might be his girlfriend.
The rest of the day she was in a state of suspended bliss but she had no further meaningful contact with him for the next couple of days as they ran through the dress rehearsals. She jealously watched as he chatted to the dancers and cosied up to the actress playing Cinderella. Once or twice she took him a coffee as requested, but that was it. She understood that he had to concentrate on the work so she bided her time.
First night was a huge success. To a full house, the curtain rang umpteen calls. As he finally came off stage she was waiting for him in the wings. He saw her and hugged her, then picked her up off her feet and spun her round. ‘I was good, wasn’t I?’ he panted. She could feel the sweat through his shirt.
‘Yes. You were wonderful.’
He put her down. ‘Didn’t they love the levitation scene with the Ugly Sisters at the ball? I do it so well, even I’m amazed!’ He was chuckling with the buzz of his own success.
Sennen was excited for him. ‘They did,’ she agreed. ‘It’s brilliant and you are so funny when you do it.’
‘Yeah.’ He grinned not so modestly and winked. ‘Between you and me, I am bloody good.’
One of the Ugly Sisters, a man called Graham, walked past and pinched Ali’s bum. ‘You can run your magic wand over me anytime, young man.’
‘I’m spoken for,’ Ali grinned.
‘Lucky fella,’ sighed Graham, taking Ali’s arm. ‘Come on, love, get changed, I want the first dance at the party.’
The two men sauntered off to their dressing rooms.
The stage manager walked past her, ‘Stop mooning over the boy wonder and reset for tomorrow. Two shows a day from now till mid-January, no time for slacking.’
The first-night party was in full swing by the time Sennen arrived. She hadn’t had time to change out of her working black trousers and T-shirt and was rather dusty and grimy, but she’d managed a spritz of Calvin Klein’s Eternity – well, a rip-off market stall version, pinched from the wardrobe mistress – and she was good to go. Hell, this was Show Business and she was part of it.
The venue for the party was the stalls bar. She grabbed a glass of coke and wandered through the sea of people in search of Ali.
She didn’t get far. Adela and Bill found her first. ‘Darling, that was so much fun,’ Adela said kissing her daughter’s cheek. ‘Did you hear Dad laughing?’
Sennen shook her head, eyes searching over Adela’s shoulder. ‘Can’t hear much backstage.’
Her father grabbed her in a bear hug. ‘So proud of you. My daughter in the theatre.’
She hugged him briefly still scanning the crowd. ‘I’m only the assistant stage manager. ASM’s are lowest of the low.’
‘It’s the oily rag that keeps the engine turning,’ insisted Bill.
An elderly couple approached Bill and Adela, greeting them warmly. Sennen took advantage of the distraction and melted away.
Ali was in a dark corner at the back of the bar. He was sitting on a claret velvet banquette, on his own, with several empty glasses in front of him. ‘Hi,’ said Sennen shyly. ‘What are you doing on your own?’
‘I’m bloody annoyed.’ He looked at his empty glass. ‘Get me a drink, will you?’
‘They won’t serve me. I’m not old enough.’ She sat next to him. ‘Why are you annoyed?’
He stood up. ‘I’ll get them. What do you want?’
‘Oh. Coke, please. Thank you.’
She noticed how he steadied himself against the wall as he got up and wondered how much he’d had already. ‘Don’t go away,’ he instructed her.
‘I won’t.’ She hugged herself. He really did like her. And she had him all to herself.
After a short queue at the bar he returned with a large gin and tonic for himself and a coke for her. He sat down heavily before raising his glass to her. ‘Cheers, Sally.’
‘Sennen,’ she giggled.
‘I knew that. Just kidding. Drink up.’
She raised her glass and sipped. It wasn’t just coke. ‘What’s in this?’ she asked.
He winked at her and put his finger to his lips. ‘A little bit of what you fancy.’
‘Lovely.’ She smiled at him and took a big swallow, feeling a mystery warmth meander down to her tummy. ‘So why are you so annoyed?’
He leant back and reached across the velvet to hold her hand. ‘That stupid cow playing Cinderella keeps making passes at me and I’m just not into her. She’s pissed me off.’
Sennen thrilled to this. ‘Stupid cow,’ she agreed.
‘I like you, though.’ He squeezed her hand.
‘Do you?’
Adela and Bill arrived. ‘There you are,’ said Bill, pink from too much wine. ‘Mum and I are off now. So come on and we’ll get you home.’
Before Sennen could think, Ali, who had let go of Sennen’s hand as if it were hot metal, said, ‘Your daughter is a gem. I don’t know what any of the company would do without her. A little star, she is. Would you let her stay a bit longer? I’ll look after her and bring her home. You have my word.’
Adela looked at Sennen and back at Ali. He seemed nice enough and was, anyway, at least ten years older than Sennen if not more, and Sennen was a sensible girl. ‘What do you say, Bill?’
‘Fine, but not too late,’ shrugged Bill.
‘Bye, Mum. Bye, Dad.’ She waved at them. Ali waved too. As soon as they were out of sight he took her hand again and kissed it. ‘Fancy getting out of here? Somewhere we can talk?’
His shabby hotel was in the shabbiest back street of Trevay. His room was up three flights of crooked stairs and had a sloping floor so that she felt she was walking up hill to the bed. The room was decorated with thoughtless design, the carpet brown with beige swirls, the curtains pink and unlined, hanging limply from the plastic rail, the sagging bed covered with a threadbare lilac-coloured candlewick spread. Sennen, feeling warm and relaxed from whatever had been in her coke, flopped down on to the bed and laughed. ‘I thought my dormitory at school was bad.’
He was rustling about in his suitcase and produced a bottle of vodka with a flourish. ‘Ta-da! And for my next trick I shall magic up a couple of plastic toothmugs from the bathroom.’
‘I like vodka,’ said Sennen, seriously. ‘One of my mates smuggles it in to school. Her dad likes the good stuff, buys a case at a time. He never notices a bottle missing.’
Ali came back with the mugs and poured some vodka into each. He rolled a spliff and lit it, then bounced onto the bed next to her. ‘Ever smoked a joint?’
‘Yes,’ she lied.
‘Good girl.’ Lying back on the bed he took a lungful then passed it to her.
She took a small puff. ‘Nice.’ She smiled at him and passed it back.
He put it to his lips and inhaled slowly. She watched as he held the breath deeply and then let the smoke curl slowly from his nose and lips. ‘That and the Bacardi I put in your coke will relax you nicely,’ he said.
She did feel pretty good, now he mentioned it. She took another sip of her vodka.
He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down on her. ‘So … Sally, Susie, whoever you are.’
Sennen giggled. ‘Sennen.’
‘Sennen. Do you know how attractive you are?’
‘Er, no,’ she giggled again.
‘Well, you are.’ He leant over and kissed her. She responded warmly.
‘Hang on,’ he said, ‘I just need to get something. You can never be too sure, can you?’
‘I suppose you can’t,’ she said, not getting his meaning.
‘Let me just nip to the bathroom. I need a slash anyway.’
Sennen put her drink on the bedside table and stretched her arms above her head. He obviously really fancied her and she liked the way he kissed. She ran the fingers of her right hand over her lips, then reached for her glass again and drank it all down.
She waited for him.
Five minutes later he still hadn’t appeared.
‘Ali?’ she called quietly. ‘You okay in there?’
Getting no answer, she got off the bed and knocked on the cheap plywood door. ‘Ali?’
She heard something like a snore. ‘Ali?’
She turned the handle and the door opened.
He was sitting on the loo, trousers round his ankles, head resting on the wall next to him. ‘Ali! Wake up.’
She put her arm around him and got him to stand up. ‘I must have had a little too much of my voddy friend,’ he slurred.
‘Come on. I need to get you on the bed.’
Sennen managed to shuffle him – difficult with his trousers round his ankles – to the bed and get him lying down, albeit at an uncomfortable angle. She took his trousers off, trying hard not to look at his nudity.
‘Ali? I’m going to go home now. I’ll have to walk. Don’t worry, I’ll be all right.’ She picked up her small canvas bag and tied her trainers. ‘Thank you for a lovely night.’ She bent down and kissed him, but he was dead to the world. ‘See you tomorrow then. Bye.’
Downstairs, behind the studded leatherette reception, sat the night porter. He stared at her. ‘All right?’
She blushed and stammered, ‘Yes, thank you.’ She pushed the glass front door open and stepped outside. A wind was whipping up from the harbour and racing up the narrow street. She felt the rawness of it stinging her cheeks and nose and pulled her duffle coat closer.
As she walked the quiet, deserted road and turned the corner at the bottom heading for home, she saw the first snowflakes of winter falling from the inky sky. She stuck her tongue out and caught one. This must be the perfect end to the most romantic night of her life, she thought.
The next morning the snow was slush but she was up early, energised, ready for work and brimming with the excitement of seeing Ali again. The daily matinees were scheduled for 2.30 and the evening shows were at 7.00. She got all her jobs done swiftly: fresh water in the wings, props laid out, stage checked, costumes distributed to the dressing rooms, coffee and tea ready in the green room. Ali and all the cast were expected to be in the theatre by 1.55. At 1.45 she positioned herself artlessly in the stage doorkeeper’s office, to make sure she was the first person he saw when he came in.
Everyone had arrived with a couple of minutes to spare, except Ali.
The company manager, doing his rounds, was not amused.
‘Mr A’Mayze will be getting a warning unless he’s here in five minutes,’ he huffed, checking his watch. ‘Let me know the moment he’s here. In the meantime, I’d better get the understudy ready. And you’d better tell everyone that all the magic stuff will be cut this afternoon.’
Ali strolled in with ten minutes to go, black sunglasses on, the fringes on the sleeves of his black leather jacket swinging.
‘Where have you been? You’ve got ten minutes,’ whispered Sennen as she dragged him to his dressing room. ‘You’re in trouble.’
He stopped dead in the middle of the narrow corridor and pulled his arm from her grip. ‘I’m the star of the show. It won’t start without me.’
Sennen wrung her hands, her stomach churning. ‘Please, please get ready or your understudy will be on.’
Ali pushed his shoulders back and his sunglasses into his hair like an Alice band. His eyes were bloodshot and had dark circles beneath. ‘We’ll see about that.’ And he strode off to his dressing room.
Somehow, he did get ready, leaving the audience to wait fifteen minutes. When he finally bounded on to the stage, shouting, ‘Hello, boys and girls, mums and dads, my name’s Buttons. What’s yours?’ he got a huge round of excitable applause, mostly from the mums.
Between shows Sennen fetched him a sandwich from the café next door and a large, strong black coffee. He barely acknowledged her. ‘How’s your throat?’ she asked, leaving a KitKat on his dressing table.
‘Sore.’ He made great show of swallowing with painful effort.
‘You don’t look very well,’ she ventured.
‘I’m fine. Bit of a headache, that’s all.’
She went to the door. ‘See you later?’
‘Maybe.’
‘If you need me, just call.’
After the second show, as she was making her way to his dressing room, she saw him with an older woman in a fur coat heading for the stage door. If he saw her, he didn’t acknowledge her.
‘Who was that with Ali?’ she asked the stage doorkeeper, trying to keep her voice light and disinterested.
‘His agent, I think.’ He looked astutely at Sennen. ‘Don’t you go falling for him. He’s nothing but trouble. I caught him trying to corner our Cinderella last night. Poor girl, he was like an octopus. All over her.’
Sennen was outraged. ‘Actually, it was she who was after him. He’s not interested in her.’
‘Really? Too old for him, I expect. He likes ’em young. So don’t you go near him.’
Her walk home was cold in more ways than one. The stars were clear and bright and the cold wind nipped her fingers and nose but there was no snow and no Ali by her side. She went over what had happened the night before. He had told her he liked her, he’d invited her back to his room and been sweet. He was working so hard – no wonder he’d fallen asleep. She was glad she’d been there to get him safely into bed. She would have to be very supportive of Ali. He was carrying the success of the show and he wasn’t feeling well. She wouldn’t put him under any pressure. She would simply be there for him and help him in any way she could.
All theatres shut their doors on Christmas Day. Actors and crew either spend the day with their loved ones or sleep the clock round. Sennen was tired. She had worked hard looking after her own job, as well as Ali, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed. The company manager, her boss, had praised her and suggested that if she wanted a career in stage management he would be happy to employ her. She dreamt of working with Ali always.
Her mother woke her on Christmas morning with a cup of tea. ‘Happy Christmas, darling.’
Sennen turned over without opening her eyes. ‘I’m tired.’
‘It’s ten o’clock.’
‘So?’
‘It’s Christmas morning and Father Christmas has been.’
‘Let me sleep.’
‘Just another ten minutes. Don’t let your tea go cold. We are all waiting downstairs to open the presents.’
‘I’ll be down later.’
‘Your tea is right there.’
‘Mum! Go. Away.’
Time ran like quicksilver. Christmas came and went; New Year was celebrated and Sennen became a slave to Ali. He mostly ignored her, but threw her the odd crumb of a compliment which she savoured and took home to replay in her endless fantasies. Finally, in the middle of January, the panto run was up.
Sennen always stood in the wings to watch Ali’s audience participation scene before the finale. She absorbed every joke, every glance, every move.
Ali would pick three children from the audience and bring them up onto the stage. Kneeling down to their height he would ask them silly questions and make eggs appear from behind their ears and pound coins from under their tongues.
When they were finished, she was the person who handed over a marvellous and always huge teddy bear as a prize so that every child in the audience was instantly jealous.
When the children had been safely delivered back to their proud parents, Ali would shout, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, Cinderella, my best friend, is marrying Prince Charming and we are all invited to the wedding! See you in a minute!’
Running off stage his dresser would wrench off his costume and speedily Velcro him into his sparkly wedding outfit.
Sennen always had a small towel ready for him to mop the sweat running from his scalp. Usually he took it from her without a word, but that night, the last night of the run, he said, ‘In my dressing room there are some gifts. They’re labelled. Bung them round to the right people, would you?’ He winked as he said it and gave her hand a squeeze then ran back on stage for the wedding finale and curtain calls.
She dashed to his room and found a pile of seven identically shaped parcels. She read the labels. One each for the principal members of the cast and one for her. She held it in her hands and pressed it against her chest. He had thought of her. Now he was acknowledging their relationship. She opened the parcel. A book. Ali A’Mayze’s Simple Magic Tricks. It sold in the foyer for £4.99.
She felt a little let down.
She flicked through the pages back to front and then saw his handwriting on the first page. He had dedicated it to her.
Dear Sally,
Thanks, Doll,
Ali A’Mayze
And he’d drawn a little heart with a magic wand waving above it.
The dressing-room door opened and he walked in. ‘Jesus, that was something. God, they couldn’t get enough of me. Eight curtain calls. Love it. Get me a drink, would you?’ He sat down at his dressing table and looked at himself in the mirror, checking his hair and teeth.
‘What would you like?’ she asked.
‘There’s some champagne in the fridge.’ He pointed to the small fridge by the daybed. ‘Pour yourself one, doll.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled. She knew he really did remember her name. ‘And thank you for my book.’
He was creaming the make-up from his face. ‘They’ll be worth a lot of money when I’m in Vegas.’
She went to the fridge and found the champagne, already open, and poured it into two tumblers. ‘Why did you write Sally inside it?’
‘Did I?’ He took the tumbler from her. ‘Just a little joke. You are my mystery girlfriend, aren’t you?’ He patted his knees, inviting her to sit on them. She did and immediately thought back to when her father used to do the same.
‘This is nice,’ he said, jiggling his knees up and down to make her giggle. ‘Drink your champagne up and we can have another.’
He was so gentle as he stared into her eyes. Whispering loving words as his hand crept up inside her T-shirt and gently stroked her breast. His kisses were lingering, soft but passionate. He carried her to the daybed and took off her jeans and knickers before caressing her stomach and inner thighs. He was still dressed in his costume. The lace and taffeta of his knickerbockers scratched against her thighs as he told her how much he loved her.
When he had finished, he rolled off her and patted her arm. ‘Well, that was very nice.’
Sennen’s head was swimming with a mix of happiness and alarm. She understood what had just happened and she was proud of it. She had lost her virginity. To a man. Not a boy. A man who had told her he loved her.
He got up and kicked off what remained of his costume. ‘Right, I’m off to the party.’ He saw the undelivered presents. ‘Haven’t you done those yet? Hurry up.’
She didn’t make the party. Being part of the backstage crew she had to pack props and costumes into the huge wicker travelling skips and load them onto the pantechnicon that had reversed into the scene dock ready to take it all back into store for next year. By the time she had done everything and made a final check that every dressing room was empty and the stage clear, it was almost 3 a.m.
When she got to the stalls bar, it was dark. She saw the shadows of empty glasses and beer bottles and could smell the thickness of tobacco’d air, but there was not a soul to be seen.
She called out, ‘Ali?’ She ran to the silent auditorium. ‘Ali?’ she called again. She heard footsteps on the stage and turned quickly in relief. ‘Ali! I’m here. I thought you had gone.’
He was holding a torch and she couldn’t see him behind it.
‘Come on, whoever you are,’ a gruff voice said. ‘You got no home to go to?’
It was the stage doorkeeper on his rounds. He shone the light on her face. ‘Is that young Sennen? If you’re looking for young fella-me-lad, he’s long gone. Come on, let me see you off the premises.