When Jack dropped her at the theatre, he came in to have a word with Matt and Paul to warn them about the threat to Jessica. They assured him that they’d be on full alert and would ring him personally if they needed to, putting his number on speed-dial in their cell phones. Jessica waved him off with a hug and a kiss and her promise that she would be extra careful to avoid any risky situations until he came back to collect her.
She managed to turn her thoughts to the job in hand and went to check the house numbers, which was fortunate as she found her name was on the Front of House roster for ushering that night – a fact she’d completely forgotten.
‘Hi Gerald, how do bookings look tonight?’
He waggled his hand in a so-so gesture. ‘About the same as last night, no worse. Have you got any promotional miracles you can pull out of the hat?’
‘I’m working on it. You just keep standing there and taking the money, and I’ll see what I can do.’
In a fit of inspiration that she wished she’d had days ago, she thought of ringing the nearby retirement village and offering their residents half-price tickets for the night. She checked her watch. An hour before show time might just be enough time for some of them to make it. She looked up the phone number and made the invitation, then remembered to warn Gerald to look out for herds of elderly patrons demanding half-price tickets.
‘I think you’d better stay close to the box office to help me with that,’ Gerald said. ‘If they’re all coming at the last minute and they’re old and slow, we’ll need extra hands to take the money and get them seated. Looks like you just volunteered.’
She grinned at him. ‘Fair enough. At least it’s bums on seats, even if they are wrinkly ones.’
Gerald was right. When they came in they were indeed slow to process, but since there were only five of them it wasn’t really a problem. Jessica shrugged philosophically and showed them to their seats.
Just before the show was due to start, a group of six entered the auditorium. They handed their tickets to one of the young ushers and she set off with them towards row B but stopped in confusion. Row B was full. Jessica watched as the usher checked the seat numbers again and asked the seated patrons to check theirs. Headshaking all round, followed by angry frowns and raised voices. Jessica guessed what the problem might be and went to help.
‘Good evening, sorry about this mix-up – may I see your tickets please?’ The florid-faced man leading the group of newcomers thrust a handful of tickets at her with a disapproving snort. Jessica checked the date.
‘I’m terribly sorry, sir,’ she said sweetly, ‘but you seem to have come to the theatre on the wrong day. These tickets were for last night’s performance.’
She saw a look of alarm from what she assumed was the man’s long-suffering wife so she quickly continued. ‘But it’s no problem at all – we do have enough spare seats to fit you in tonight. If you’ll just follow me, please?’
She took them a few rows back to an empty section, then went to tell Gerald so that he didn’t direct any latecomers to those seats.
Jessica picked up her torch and took her seat in the auditorium next to the main door. The young usher leaned across the aisle to thank her for helping with the difficult customer.
‘I thought he was gonna bite my head off! What a hardass!’ she whispered, rolling her eyes.
The house lights dimmed and the music faded out. Curtain up. This time Jessica kept one eye on the show and the other on the audience, mindful of her responsibilities as usher.
The first half went smoothly, and as the lights came up for interval, she pushed open the doors to the foyer, standing back quickly to avoid the rush. She got the house total from Gerald and took it out the back to write up.
‘Hello Jessica my sweet, where have you been all my life?’ said Austin, slipping a damp arm round her waist as she reached up to the noticeboard.
‘I think you know that answer to that one, Austin. It’s either a) avoiding you, b) in your wildest dreams, or c) for most of it I wasn’t even born.’ She smiled to take the sting out of her words and deftly skipped out of reach. ‘Gotta go, duty calls.’ She grabbed a slice of lemon cake and went back to mind the audience.
The florid-faced man was knocking back a glass of red wine in the foyer while his timid wife sipped a can of soda.
‘Is everything all right, sir? Are you having a pleasant evening?’ Jessica asked him politely.
‘Oh yes, I suppose so – although we are seated a bit further back than I would have liked. And this wine tastes corked.’ He looked down his bulbous nose at the glass.
‘I think you’ll find that all our bottles are screw-topped sir, but I’m sure the barman will cheerfully replace that for you.’ Jessica winked at his wife as she walked away, receiving a surprised smile in return.
Gerald, on seeing that the crowd at the bar had been served, moved to ring the buzzer for the second half. Jessica shepherded the last of the stragglers back into the auditorium.
When the curtain rose there was an ‘ooh’ from the audience at the impressive Petra set, making Jessica smile with satisfaction. “Garishly unnatural” indeed. She wanted to find that newspaper critic and make him eat his words, preferably garnished with arsenic.
Act Two unfolded as intended, with the audience eagerly following the twists and turns of the plot. The scene closed with Dr Gerard solemnly announcing to the Boynton family that their formidable and hated mother was dead. There was a dramatic silence followed by a blackout. Seconds later, a cell phone could clearly be heard ringing backstage. A ripple of amusement ran through the audience, increasing to a roar of laughter when a man in the front row called out ‘Too late, she’s dead!’
Jessica buried her face in her hands and groaned. Somebody would be in for a roasting for that. A cock-up that was so horribly noticeable by the audience would be an almost unbeatable contender for the Golden Paddle award.
She stood up and edged along the back row towards the control room where she peered in the window to see Gazza working the lighting desk. She mimed violent strangulation. He replied with a gunshot to the head. Somebody out back was due both punishments.
Once the audience had left after the show, Jessica marched backstage with purposeful tread to find out whose phone had rung so inconveniently. Austin was tidying away the cue script in the stage manager’s corner, and since he was technically responsible for everything onstage and behind the proscenium arch, she interrogated him first.
‘Well? Which blithering idiot managed to ruin that little dramatic moment then?’
‘I’m afraid that was Erica. Her youngest daughter is home sick and she wanted to be reachable.’
Jessica stopped, the wind taken out of her sails. ‘Well, couldn’t she have set the bloody thing to vibrate instead?’
‘She didn’t know how, apparently. Don’t worry, young Stewart has shown her what to do so it won’t happen again.’
‘Oh. Right. OK then. Glad that’s all taken care of. So there’s nothing else you need tonight, Austin?’ She caught the glint in his bloodshot eye before he spoke and quickly forestalled him. ‘No, I can see you’ve got it all under control. Carry on then. I guess I’ll just go on home. Good work.’
Feeling a little as if she was neglecting her duties by leaving immediately, she went out to the foyer to see if Jack had remembered to come and get her. He wasn’t there, and she considered going backstage again to see if anything needed to be done, but he turned up a few minutes later with a faintly smug look on his face.
‘That was fun. One of your customers was double-parked out there while he got his five passengers loaded up, and when I went to move him along I noticed that his car registration had expired. I’m afraid he’s had a rather expensive evening.’
‘Was he a rather snotty red-faced bloke, tweed jacket and twittering wife?’
‘That’s the chap. Oh God, he’s not somebody important to the theatre, is he?’
‘Nope, just an asshole. You can throw the book at him as hard as you like.’ She took his arm and smiled up at him. ‘Ready to go home?’
Next morning, Jack woke her up early. Showing excellent time management skills, he had her lying back breathless and satisfied by the time her radio alarm came on. She hit the snooze button and snuggled up against him.
‘That was impressive. You deserve a hearty breakfast after all that exercise. It’s my turn, so what will it be, sir?’
‘Toast and coffee will do nicely, thank you.’
She padded into the kitchen, leaving him stretched lazily on her pale blue sheets. After a few minutes he called to her.
‘Jess? You might want to hear this. Brad Bannerman’s going to talk about the show.’
She hurried in and stood by the bed, listening intently to the radio.
‘This is Brad ‘The Man’ Bannerman on Wake up Whetford, and I want to tell you about a fantastic show I saw on Saturday night.’ He went on to read his review, then talked warmly about the theatre and how important it was to the local community. His words were stirring. In fact, if even half of the people listening followed Brad’s advice and went to the show, it could well bring in more than enough money to reach their target.
Jessica’s eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. The theatre group had struggled for so long and so hard that when somebody else came along to help it was almost overwhelming. She held her fingers against trembling lips.
Jack sat her gently on the edge of the bed and went to deal with breakfast.
That night bookings were well up, and they continued to climb for the rest of the week as word-of-mouth response to the show got around. By the time the doors opened on Friday night there was a queue of people right across the front of the theatre waiting for door sales. Even Gerald had a smile on his face. Jessica was euphoric.
‘Isn’t this brilliant? D’you reckon we’ll actually get a full house tomorrow for final night? Wouldn’t that be great?’
‘It certainly would. That piece on the radio made all the difference to bookings. You must have made quite an impression on Brad Bannerman for him to speak so enthusiastically about the theatre. Well done! I tell you what, you’d better dust off those full house signs just in case because they haven’t seen the light of day for quite a while.’
Jessica went down to the theatre early to help out with preparations. Despite her sore foot she carried cases of wine in to the bar for Greg and lent a hand with stocking up the sweet counter as well. Excitement was high, and when the cast arrived the level increased even more.
Austin gave his usual final night speech backstage.
‘I don’t want to see any bloody silliness tonight. No playing tricks on each other, no changes to the script. This audience has paid to see the same show as everyone else and we give them that, understood? Now, there’s a party after the show for cast and crew and your significant others – that doesn’t mean invite your entire family or the blokes from the pub. And lastly…’ There was a groan from the old hands. ‘Yes, you know what I’m about to say - pack out. You are ALL expected to be here at the theatre bright and early tomorrow to help with pack out. No exceptions, no excuses except untimely death. Hungover or not, you can still push a broom around and give a hand with putting things away. Right, get your heads straight for tonight’s performance and make it a damn good one.’
Jessica went out front to check on the house numbers. A queue of patrons was still filing in through the front door, and when she put her head out to check, she saw that it stretched right along the street. She grinned from ear to ear and looked in at the box office to see how many seats were still vacant. They might just fill them all.
Gerald sent word backstage to delay starting the show until he’d processed the remaining customers. He officially announced “Full House” with one couple left to seat, and squeezed them into one of the private boxes to avoid turning them away.
Jessica gleefully put out the Full House signs in front of the theatre, and photographed them for future promotion purposes. Then she slipped upstairs into the opposite box and pulled up the scrappy old office chair to sit in and watch the show. The excited hum from the audience faded with the house lights, leaving an expectant silence. The curtain rose and the last performance began.
Jessica leaned forward on the worn red velvet rail and surveyed the audience. To her right, tiers of circle seats stretched across the auditorium, filled with faces reflecting bright light from the stage. Their attention was riveted on the drama below, but Jessica couldn’t shake off an odd feeling that she was being watched herself. Down in the stalls there was a sea of heads with not an empty seat to be seen. She smiled with satisfaction.
Her only disappointment was that Jack hadn’t managed to see the whole show. He had come one night mid-week but had been called away during interval, and she had realised that with his police duties and her theatre schedule, they would struggle to have a regular social life.
Deep in her pocket, her cell phone vibrated with a text message. She took off her jacket and pulled it over her head to shield the light from the phone’s screen.
‘On my way, can u find me a seat? Lve J’ She grinned and texted him back.
‘Come 2 L-hand box upstrs. Lve J’
Flushed and smiling, she smoothed down her hair and pulled forward a second chair from the dim recesses at the back of the box.
Several minutes later, a draft of air told her that the door to the box had been opened. She turned with a smile, but the happily-whispered words of greeting died on her lips. It wasn’t Jack. Instead, a tall thin figure was silhouetted against the light from the hallway. An arm raised. Light glinted off a thin blade.
As the figure plunged forward, Jessica instinctively threw herself sideways off the chair and swept it up, jabbing it hard at the figure’s midsection, the blow landing on a soft spot with satisfying force. As her assailant folded over, Jessica leaped past into the hallway, pausing for a split-second to decide which way to run. To the upstairs toilet to lock herself in and ring for help, or down to the foyer to find more immediate assistance?
She ran down to the foyer, looking round urgently for Greg or Matt or even Gerald, but astonishingly the whole place was empty. Part of her mind made a note to find out why the entire front-of-house staff had deserted their posts. Feet sounded on the stairs behind her. She bolted forward, crashed through the swing door on the other side of the foyer and bounded up the shabby steps, two at a time, to her office. She fumbled for her key and had just unlocked the door when her assailant burst through the door below and started towards the stairs. In a fleeting glance down, Jessica saw a gaunt woman with wild hair and staring eyes who looked vaguely familiar. She desperately searched her mental database for a name.
‘Mrs Fitzpatrick? Ruth?’
The woman’s eyes narrowed and she leaped up the stairs, holding the gleaming blade in front of her with deadly intent. Jessica shot into her office and slammed the door shut, locked it, and put her foot against it in a purely reflexive action while she pulled out her phone. Shaking fingers hit speed-dial.
He didn’t answer and it went straight to message recorder. ‘Jack! That nutter – I think it’s Tamara’s mother! She’s here at the theatre and trying to kill me with a knife. She’s outside the office door now.’
A blow to the door made it shudder. Jessica squeaked.
‘Jack, could you make it quick! And please, try not to disrupt the show. No sirens…’
A second blow to the door sent her sprawling as the frame splintered. She picked herself up and ran to the window, twisting the paint-stiff catch and heaving up the bottom section with an almighty effort. Tamara’s mother advanced down the narrow office, eyes glittering.
‘Heathen!’ she hissed. ‘Vile blasphemer! When I sharpen my flashing sword I will bring vengeance on my enemies!’
She darted forward just as Jessica was climbing out of the window, slashing down with the knife but missing by a fraction as Jessica pulled her hand away from the sill.
Jessica edged along the parapet that ran across the front of the theatre. It was a narrow ledge, purely for decoration, and she was only too well aware that some of the supporting timbers were well past their use-by date. A quick glance over her shoulder showed the woman climbing nimbly out the window and coming after her. She tried to remember, from the last time they’d had a painting bee up there, which timbers were rotten. Right in the middle, she recalled. Below the drama faces plaque. She stepped across that area as widely as she could reach and looked back. Tamara’s mother was gaining on her.
In the distance she heard a siren. As it came closer the sound ceased.
‘Stop,’ called Jessica. ‘The police are on their way. Stay where you are and don’t make this any worse. Please Ruth, just stop there.’
Her wild-eyed assailant strode forward along the ledge, muttering garbled fragments that Jessica could only partly decipher.
‘All who curse their father or mother must be put to death! Wicked girl, wicked. She’s gone.’ She glared at Jessica. ‘You will be an object of horror to all the kingdoms of the earth. Your dead body will be food for the birds and wild animals, and no one will be there to chase them away. The Lord will afflict you with boils and with tumours, scurvy, and the itch, from which you cannot be cured.’
Jessica only had time to think that it was just as well Terence wasn’t hearing all this, when there was a loud cracking sound and her pursuer fell forwards.
Jack’s car pulled in sharply on the street below.
Jessica watched, frozen, as Tamara’s mother pulled herself up bodily and climbed out of the broken timbers, advancing steadily. Trails of blood ran down her arms and legs, looking black under the orange streetlights. Jack’s shout roused Jessica from her horror-struck daze. She was trapped with nowhere else to climb to. Ruth was just a few feet away, and she still had the knife in her hand.
Jessica called out to Jack. ‘Get ready, I’m sliding over the edge!’ She sat on the edge of the parapet and let herself slide down the steep roof of the veranda, scraped painfully over the sharp edge, and dropped vertically, landing neatly in Jack’s arms. As she slid down his body, her hands went round his biceps.
‘Ooh, have you been working out?’
‘Jesus, Jess, not now!’
He put her down carefully and looked back up. Tamara’s mother stood on the parapet, shaking with fury, arms stiff and fists clenched. A camera flash went off, searing the image of the theatre façade on their retinas. She shrieked, picking up chunks of broken wood and hurling them at the newspaper photographer, reminding Jessica of King Kong’s defiant last stand on the Empire State building. Jack ran to move the photographer back to a safe distance.
With a piercing scream, Tamara’s mother launched herself from the parapet like an avenging angel and dived straight towards Jessica with the knife blade foremost.
Jack whirled round and started back towards her. There was no time. He couldn’t reach her.
Jessica looked up, sidestepped smartly, and watched as the woman’s body hit the road with a sickening thud. The knife clattered away and lay still.