Chapter Twenty-Three
‘Why aren’t we rehearsing in Mistingham Manor?’
Valerie asked as Imogen stepped into the village hall, reluctant to take her coat off because the cold was everywhere, now.
‘How are we meant to hear each other with that racket outside?’ The old woman gestured to the ice rink just beyond the window, with its festive soundtrack, the whoosh of skates and excited squeals.
‘It’s not that loud,’ Jazz said, which was what Imogen had been thinking.
‘It’s our little four-leaf clover,’ Fiona said, beaming. ‘Come in, Imogen.’
‘Sorry I’m late.’ She’d got distracted helping Birdie make one of her medicinal concoctions, something herby and spicy that would probably end up in a tincture bottle and get passed around the village.
‘Is anyone going to answer me?’ Valerie crossed her arms, and Imogen edged around the hall to where Dexter was standing.
‘Hey,’ he murmured.
‘Hi.’ It was fine that she was grinning idiotically, because so was he.
‘We’re not rehearsing in Mistingham Manor,’ Fiona said with exaggerated patience, ‘because Harry and Sophie are still on honeymoon, and I’m not going to be responsible for all of you being there while they’re not.
My stress levels and Public Liability Insurance couldn’t take it.
Dexter and Imogen, unless your scene involves a very public display of affection, I want you to keep your hands off each other this afternoon, understood? ’
Imogen had been about to ruffle the tiny curls at Dexter’s nape, but she dropped her arm like she’d been scalded. All eyes in the room turned to them.
Dexter kept his gaze on the floor, but raised a hand in acknowledgement.
‘Dexter’s fallen for the runaway bride!’ Frank Carsdale chortled.
‘I’ve stopped running,’ Imogen said, which was perhaps not the wisest response because it elicited a lot of gasps. ‘You know, for the moment.’
‘You’re staying here?’ This was Mary, Winnie’s sister.
Winnie eschewed anything to do with public performance, and had agreed to man the hotel while her sister got involved in the Christmas plays.
They’d organized a rota of staff to cover the ice rink too, because Harry had asked them long before he’d let anyone else know it was happening, and with so much going on Imogen was glad she was helping at the community hub – starting tomorrow.
Right now, though, she was facing an inquisition.
‘I don’t know yet.’ She fiddled with her hair, wishing someone would take the attention away from her.
Then she realized she could do it herself.
‘I’m figuring things out, but I really like it here, and I especially like that I get to be part of this.
I can’t wait to see what everyone’s doing. ’ She caught Fiona’s eye.
‘Yes, of course,’ Fiona said. ‘We should get going. I’ve put together a proposed running order, but like everything, this is just a first stab.
We can decide the best order between us.
’ She circulated sheets of paper to the assembled players, and soon everyone was talking over each other, about how they needed to start with something funny, that there were a lot of classics and was anyone going to sing carols to liven things up a bit?
‘I’m sorry,’ Imogen whispered in Dexter’s ear. Even that seemed too intimate, but she didn’t want anyone to overhear. ‘What for?’ He stayed facing ahead, but he stroked his finger down the back of her hand.
‘For saying that I’ve stopped running, that it’s—’
‘Don’t worry. Honestly.’
‘OK. You know we’re going to be terrible, right?’
‘We can tell Fiona our only rehearsal so far was interrupted by a trapped pigeon.’
Imogen wrinkled her nose. ‘You don’t think she’ll think that’s a euphemism?’
‘How would that be a euphemism?’
‘I don’t—’
‘Right!’ Fiona shouted. ‘Let’s come back to the running order later. The other thing we need is a name. Festive plays, Christmas Scenes? It’s getting close and we need to be consistent when we promote it.’
‘Mistletoe Moments?’ Gerry suggested.
Valerie crossed her arms and muttered, ‘Haven’t we had enough of that stuff?’
‘Christmas Crackers!’ someone else shouted.
‘Festive Fables?’
The suggestions flew around the room, each one more ridiculous than the last, and Imogen could see Fiona getting irritated. She glanced at Dexter and had a sudden flash of inspiration. ‘How about the Snow Show?’ she suggested.
‘Oooh.’ Jazz’s eyes widened.
‘We’re doing this because of the bad weather,’ Imogen went on, ‘and there’s meant to be a snowstorm, so …’
‘I think that’s an excellent name.’ Dexter grinned at her.
‘Perfect. Well done, Imogen.’ Fiona clasped her hands. ‘The Snow Show it is. Now we need to rehearse. Once you’ve performed in front of all the other players, you’ll be less nervous. Frank and Valerie, do you want to go first, with your scene from …’ she scanned down the page, ‘A Christmas Carol?’
‘They’ve totally stolen that from our storytelling sessions!’ Jazz said, from Imogen’s other side.
‘They were going to do something music hall,’ May added, from right behind her, and Imogen wondered if she and Jazz had heard her whispered conversation with Dexter.
‘Somebody said the music hall number was too bawdy,’ Valerie said.
‘I bet this’ll be entertaining too.’
Jazz was right, because even though Frank was stilted at the beginning, and Valerie could be accused of overacting (though nobody would dare do it to her face), they put a lot of emotion into their performance, and Valerie produced a heavy link of chains from a tote bag so she could shiver and rattle as Jacob Marley.
‘Shit,’ Dexter said, as they came to the end. ‘They are a lot more polished than us.’
‘We’re going to crash and burn.’
‘It’ll give you the fear,’ May said. ‘If you’re terrible now, you’ll rehearse tenfold before the real thing. It’s why Fiona wanted to do this.’
‘What are you doing?’ Imogen asked. ‘You don’t seem remotely nervous.’
‘I keep my terror on the inside,’ May said with a laugh. ‘Project confidence, and it will help you be confident. I’m doing a poem called “A Christmas Visit” – just me, on my own.’
‘You’ll be brilliant, obviously,’ Imogen murmured.
‘You really think if Imogen and Dexter are left alone to rehearse, that’s what they’ll do?’ Jazz said with a smirk. Luckily, Fiona called her next.
She and Mary performed a hilarious Christmas skit sending up a Hallmark movie, involving a couple who accidentally ordered too much mistletoe and ended up having to open a mistletoe farm.
There was a runaway snowman and a hotel with only one bed, and it made everyone laugh, even Valerie, which Imogen thought deserved some kind of award.
‘We are in so much trouble,’ Dexter whispered, and she felt bad that she was more focused on how close he was than the imminent disaster that was going to be their rehearsal.
Next came Oscar and Rose, the children of Annie and Jim who ran the amusement arcade, Penny For Them.
They squeal-shouted a scene from The Grinch, with help and prompting from their mum, which charmed and delighted everyone.
‘That was wonderful,’ Fiona said emphatically. ‘I’m feeling very confident about this. Next we have Dexter and Imogen, performing a scene from Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen. Ready?’
‘Never,’ blurted Imogen, as Dexter grabbed her hand and led her to their makeshift stage.
‘OK.’ He took his printed-out scene out of his pocket, and she got hers out of her bag. Her palms were sweaty. It had never felt like this at the library in London, or doing Story Time with Jazz.
They stood facing each other, Dexter’s smile warm and encouraging, and Imogen thought how good he was, how kind and generous, because surely he was as terrified as she was, but he was silently trying to reassure her.
She had the first line. She read it out: ‘“Mr Tilney! … Good God! … How came you here? How came you up that staircase?”’
She sounded like an AI robot who’d been programmed wrongly.
Dexter replied: ‘“How came I up that staircase! … Because it is my nearest way from the stable-yard to my own chamber; and why should I not come up it?”’
He was too loud, too urgent, and someone tittered.
Imogen took a step closer to him, remembering the long-ago lessons from her drama teacher about breathing, taking your time, sinking yourself fully into the character, understanding what they were feeling in that particular scene.
The next part was direction, but it was so apt that Imogen said it with feeling and humour, in her deeper, narrator voice.
‘Catherine recollected herself, blushed deeply, and could say no more.’
There was more laughter, but this time Imogen had expected it, and she smiled triumphantly.
Something sparked in Dexter’s eyes, and he stepped towards her, delivering his next line with a little more ease.
They kept going, and as they neared the end of the scene, with Imogen switching between Catherine’s voice and the narrator, Dexter being commanding and funny as Henry, she realized it was going well.
And it was an intimate scene, so it made sense that they were close, gazing at each other in between reading their lines, the air between them crackling with real emotion because, actually, they were great at this, weren’t they?
‘“Dearest Miss Morland”,’ Dexter said, delivering his last line, ‘“what ideas have you been admitting?”’ After this, Imogen – as Catherine – should have turned and fled in tears, but she was transfixed by Dexter. He reached up, tucked her hair behind her ear, stepped in, and—
‘Get a room!’ someone shouted from the back of the hall, and it was followed by whoops and whistles.
‘Do we have a rating on these festivities?’ Annie asked. ‘I thought it would be PG at the very least.’
‘They’re still fully clothed,’ Jazz pointed out.
‘Can we trust that will be the case on performance day, though?’ Mary sounded solemn, but her lips were twitching, and Imogen thought she was teasing them.