Pretty much everyone in the theatre was riddled with nerves the day the show opened. Everyone, that is, except Tiffany.
She arrived that morning in a kind of happy glow because – according to the breakfast news – she’d just been offered a part in a major Hollywood film. She looked like she was walking on air. She was all beams and smiles to everyone, even the Munchkins. Jason, on the other hand, looked furious.
When we started the rehearsal one of Tiffany’s microphones let out a terrible screech, then crackled and fizzled into nothing. Tiffany flicked a nail against it but it was totally dead.
Peregrine heaved a deep sigh and called for Jason, who came scurrying on to the stage.
Tiffany startled everyone by spitting furiously, “Did you do this deliberately?” I was amazed. I mean, they’d been so careful up until then not to give away the fact that they knew each other. But you don’t speak to a stranger the way Tiffany just had to Jason.
He took a step back, darting a look at Peregrine before saying deliberately, “Of course not, Miss Webb.”
I thought Tiffany was about to hit him but she pulled herself back when she saw the warning look in his eyes.
“Have you got a spare mike?” Peregrine asked Jason.
“No,” Jason replied. “Miss Webb’s microphone was … a special one… Non-regulation. It had its own specification … a particularly sensitive decibel meter…”
“He’s making it up,” Graham whispered to me. “There’s no such thing.”
Peregrine started rubbing his forehead with his handkerchief. “Get another sent down from head office. Sort it out Jason. In the meantime we’ll carry on without it.”
Three things happened when he said that. Jason stared at Tiffany, his eyebrows raised as if he’d asked a question and was waiting for her answer. Hannah grinned from the wings, her black lipstick making her look like a witch. And Tiffany exploded.
“I’ll strain my voice!” she screamed. “I refuse to work without a microphone! You can’t possibly expect me to put up with these conditions.” She stamped her foot like a toddler in a supermarket. I half expected her to lie down and start pounding the floor with her fists but instead she stalked off, ruby heels clicking across the stage as she made for her dressing room. Jason ran after her, and before they disappeared I heard her wail, “I’m going, I tell you. You can’t stop me! No one can.”
There was nothing Peregrine could do. He just stood there, aghast. We all did. The Munchkins were astounded to see a grown-up behaving like that. There was a long, dramatic silence.
And then Hannah stepped forward and said awkwardly, “Peregrine, do you want me to stand in…?”
Peregrine sighed despairingly and said, “It’s kind of you, Hannah, but frankly, my dear, I’ve given up. Our fate is in the lap of the gods. We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed for this evening. I’m going to lie down in a darkened room and pray. I suggest the rest of you do the same.”
Shepherded by Daphne, we had to file back to the dressing room, where we spent a long and agonizing day fretting about the coming performance. Everyone showed their terror in different ways – talking non-stop or not talking at all; cheeks flushed red, or faded to a sickly pale; bursting into tears or giggling hysterically.
Graham and I sat together, muttering.
“Who tampered with her microphone?” he asked. “Do you think it was Jason?”
“It can’t have been! He wouldn’t have helped her all this time just to stop now. It doesn’t make sense,” I replied. “Who else knew about her miming?”
“I don’t know. Do you think Peregrine worked it out?”
“Might have. But why would he wreck his own show?” Then I remembered Hannah’s face. “Maybe Hannah did it. I think she guessed ages ago that Tiffany was miming. And she did just offer to stand in for her, didn’t she? Maybe she did it so she can play the part tonight.”
“Well if it was Hannah who fixed the mike I hope she doesn’t let on,” said Graham gloomily. “I wouldn’t fancy her chances if Tiffany finds out.”
The trouble was, we couldn’t really think straight. As the afternoon wore on we got more and more paralysed with stage fright. Graham looked like he was going to his own execution. I didn’t think it was physically possible to feel so scared without actually passing out. I kept having to rush to the toilet and each time I stood up I felt faint and dizzy. It was horrible.
Half an hour before curtain up Elizabeth tapped on the dressing room door to give us our thirty-minute call. She continued down the corridor knocking on all the doors. Two minutes later she let out a blood-curdling scream.
Graham and I stared at each other. “Hannah!” we both shrieked.
But it wasn’t Hannah who was lying dead.
When Tiffany hadn’t answered the knock on her door, Elizabeth had pushed it open.
Tiffany was dead. And the writing on the mirror said: I ALWAYS KEEP MY PROMISES.