We didn’t see Tiffany in the flesh again until the read-through.
It was set for the following Monday, so Graham and I got to miss school again. I’d never taken part in so much as a nativity play before so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. When we reached the theatre, Cynthia herded me and Graham to the side of the stage with the other kids, where we couldn’t get in the grown-ups’ way. The death threats had made everyone extremely tense, I thought, or maybe it was normal for theatre people to be irritable at the start of rehearsals.
Peregrine was barking instructions at Geoff, the technician, who was lugging chairs onto the stage and setting them down around a long table. Cynthia was minding us kids and humming such a high, fast tune that she sounded like an angry swarm of bees.
Elizabeth, the stage manager, was handing out scripts to the kids and wearing a harassed expression. I took mine and looked at the front cover, where a typed list of characters was set alongside the names of the actors who were playing them.
First there was Dorothy. Tiffany’s name was in big block capitals but underneath – in teeny-tiny print – her understudy was listed as Hannah Price. Then there was the Scarecrow (Brad Slater), the Tin Man (Timothy North) and the Cowardly Lion (Rex Butler). These four were the only actors with just one part – the other five had to double up so that, for example, Aunt Em (Belinda Fowler) was also the good witch Glinda, and Uncle Henry (Walter Roberts) got to be the Wizard of Oz too.
I looked around the stage, trying to match up the actors with the names on the script. Rex Butler was standing quite close to me and I could hear the catty conversation he was having with Timothy North and Brad Slater. They were complaining about young actors and their lack of Proper Theatrical Training.
“Television,” Rex said, “that’s all they’re interested in these days. Money for old rope, I say. Call that acting? Five minutes on the box and they think they’re stars. The problem with these soap operas is that they’re about ordinary people. Dull, boring, everyday types. Which is precisely the opposite of what one wants in a musical.”
“Lord alone knows how Miss Webb will shape up,” sighed Timothy. “She has no experience of live theatre. None whatsoever. Can she sing? Can she dance? I very much doubt it. I can’t imagine how they think she’ll fill the role.”
“Did you hear how much Peregrine is paying her? A small fortune!” grumbled Rex.
Timothy sighed, “And it’s not like the company is terribly secure financially, is it?”
“I heard he had to borrow a whole pile of cash to pay for this production,” chipped in Brad. “If this doesn’t work we could all be out of a job.”
“Things aren’t what they used to be,” moaned Rex.
“Indeed,” agreed Timothy.
Tiffany hadn’t arrived yet, which was probably just as well given the way her fellow actors were going on about her, but her understudy was there, biting her fingernails in the opposite corner of the stage. When I looked at Hannah I thought I’d never seen anyone who looked less like Dorothy. I mean, she’s supposed to be an innocent farm girl from Kansas, but Hannah had dark hair gelled into savage spikes and wore lashings of purple eyeshadow and thick, black lipstick. I heard Cynthia whisper to Rex, “She’s a pretty girl underneath all that. Look at that bone structure. I can’t think why she wears so much slap.”
“My darling Cynthia,” he replied in a voice that boomed out of his chest as if he kept a loudspeaker in his vest, “how can we possibly fathom the workings of young people’s minds? The youth of today are an utter mystery.”
There was an air of breathless anticipation among the kids while we waited for Tiffany to arrive. When she finally swept on to the stage – two bodyguards shadowing her like menacing guardian angels – I happened to be looking at Hannah.
If I hadn’t been staring right at her I’d have missed the flash of hatred that contorted the understudy’s face. It was only for a second – she got her expression under control almost immediately – and then her features were impassive beneath her mask-like make-up.
I glanced at Tiffany to see if she’d noticed but of course she hadn’t. She was scouring the stage for Peregrine and when her eyes fell on him she turned her smile on. It was like a searchlight. Our director received a thousand-watt blast that almost knocked him off his feet. He was instantly besotted. Satisfied with the effect, Tiffany bestowed a smile on the other actors. The Tin Man, Scarecrow and Cowardly Lion were also dazzled by its brilliance. But the lesser actors like Aunt Em and Uncle Henry were given dimmer versions. Hannah was only sent a small, tight grin that didn’t even crease Tiffany’s eyes and clearly Munchkins and Fantastical Flowers didn’t rank highly enough to deserve anything. She looked over our heads as if we weren’t there.
Tiffany thumped her huge designer handbag – bright pink with lots of gold buckles and monogrammed with her initials – down in the wings. Then Peregrine introduced her to everyone, including Cynthia, Elizabeth and Geoff, the technician who’d been putting out the chairs. Once they were finished and without further ado, the grown-ups and the kids with speaking parts sat around the table with their scripts in front of them. The rest of us sat on the floor to listen and the read-through began.
It wasn’t what you’d call riveting stuff. Although some of the actors – like Rex Butler – really threw themselves into it, making the air vibrate with their ringing voices, some just spoke their lines as if they were saving their energy for later.
Tiffany was one of them. And when she got to the bit where she was supposed to sing “Over the Rainbow” she gave a little cough and said, “I won’t sing just now if you don’t mind, Peregrine. I have a slight cough. I don’t want to strain my voice.” She smiled winsomely and he was powerless to do anything but gape and nod obediently. I glanced at Hannah to see her reaction. She wasn’t glaring with hatred at Tiffany, she was doing something far stranger: smirking with a malicious kind of satisfaction. I nudged Graham and jerked my head in Hannah’s direction.
“What?” he muttered.
“Hannah looks pleased.”
“So she does,” said Graham. “Do you think that has some sort of significance?”
“Don’t know. It’s just a bit weird.”
The actors plodded on through the script without anything else happening that was even remotely interesting. We were within one page of finishing – we had nearly reached the bit where Dorothy clicks the heels of her ruby slippers together and says, “There’s no place like home” – when Tiffany let out a strange, strangled gasp. Her face went a sickly yellow and her eyes practically popped out of her head.
“Is something wrong?” asked Peregrine anxiously.
“Why can’t he leave me alone?” Tiffany whispered. She held up her script and turned it round to show the director. Over his shoulder I could see that the last page had been torn out. And scrawled across the inside back cover in scarlet ink were the words YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!