Short Story

BOUNCING BACK

Jenny Campbell, Sherborne Scribblers

The first night reviews were savage; far worse than the cast had anticipated. ‘Not since Adelaide Bingham’s ‘Juliet’ have I witnessed a more lacklustre performance,’ wrote one theatre critic. ‘Time this Lady Windermere hung up her fan for good!’ penned another. And, so on and so on…

‘She’ll never recover from this,’ said Brenda Braithwaite, with just a tad too much relish for Lottie’s liking. Brenda was the young prompt and understudy to Margo Sylvester, the leading lady.

‘Course she will,’ said Lottie, an unlikely Duchess of Berwick. ‘Like one of them bloomin’ boomerangs our Margo is. Trust me, I’ve known her for years and she always bounces back.’

‘So why has she locked herself in her dressing room and not spoken to any of us? She may be the star, but I think we deserve an explanation for last night.’

Lottie ignored the remark. ‘What I don’t understand, Brenda, is what spooked her all of a sudden? I mean, right up until the interval, she was giving one of her best performances – better than any Redgrave or dear old Dame Sybil in her heyday – and the next, it was if she had seen a ghost. Did you notice anything from down there in the pit?’

‘Who, me? No,’ murmured Brenda. She had been applying another coat of mascara and was admiring the effect in the mirror. ‘Perhaps she’s getting a touch of the dementias, forgetting her lines like that.’

‘You watch your tongue, madam! Our Margo never forgets her lines. No, something happened last night and I mean to find out what it is.’

A loud tap on the dressing room door, accompanied by a cheery ‘Final call, ladies!’ signalled curtain up time.

‘Oh, well. Once more unto the breach,’ said Lottie, stubbing out her fag in an old metal ashtray.

‘I’ll catch you in a minute,’ said Brenda as she gathered up her script.

But Lottie was already out of earshot, joining other cast members making their way backstage. ‘Have you seen Margo, yet?’ she whispered to Lord Darlington. But he merely shook his head and raised his eyes heavenward with hands in prayer. The lights in-house dimmed, the curtain went up and every other member of the

cast was praying, when Lady Windermere appears and, miraculously, acted as if the previous night had never happened.

‘Good old Margo!’ someone whispered backstage.

‘What did I say to Brenda? Like a bleedin’ boomerang, she is,’ said Lottie. And the rapturous applause at the interval seemed to confirm it.

On impulse, Lottie decided to forgo her customary mid-performance cuppa with the rest of the players and check up on Margo whose dressing room was down a short corridor on the other side of the stage to that of the other cast members. The previous night was still bothering her, and she felt there had to be a reason for what happened.

To her utter astonishment, she met Brenda Braithwaite coming towards her in the corridor and, immediately, Lottie’s brain started whirring like a busy hamster wheel. ‘What have you been up to, my girl?’ she demanded. She had been in the business a long time and had come across many ambitious young actresses who would stop at nothing to get their moment in the spotlight.

Brenda could have won an Oscar for her performance at that moment. ‘What a nasty, suspicious little mind you have, darling. I was only seeing if our dear Miss Sylvester was all right. Shouldn’t have bothered.’ And, with that, she swept off along the corridor.

Lottie didn’t even knock and found Margo in floods of tears, shaking like the proverbial leaf and clutching a huge bouquet of roses. ‘Oh, Lottie! I can’t go on. This is the second night that girl has brought me flowers, saying that some man had insisted on her giving them to me. You and I both know that it’s bad luck before the performance instead of after. So, what am I to do? I’ll forget my lines again, I’m sure I will.’ She sobbed.

‘Sheer superstition, dear! That’s all it is,’ said Lottie, grabbing the bouquet and throwing it in the nearest bin. ‘Our profession is riddled with them and don’t you give it another thought because I know who is responsible for this. So, believe me, if you don’t go back on that stage as if nothing has happened Miss Brenda Braithwaite will be out there, taking your place quicker than you could shake your fan at her.’

Oh, fickle press: ‘Stupendous performance! Margo Sylvester never better! Dame Margo for sure!’

As for Lottie, it always gave her immense pleasure, in future years, that whenever she mentioned the name, people always said, ‘Brenda who?’