Body on the Stage Read Free

no, not really. I told
Jessica I’d be able to help with sweeping up and making coffee,
that sort of thing.” He was already regretting letting himself in
for this, but the thought of admitting defeat to his sister was a
powerful incentive to stay and make the best of it.
    “No worries, we’ll find plenty
for you to do,” said Tony. “Pull up a chair – we’re just doing a
bit of planning for what needs to be built and when we’ll do
it.”
    Dennis sat down, nodding a
greeting to Gazza, Nick, and the thin, pale guy whose name he
couldn’t quite remember. The construction talk washed over him,
being full of obscure terms and references that he didn’t
understand. He tried to nod intelligently from time to time and
waited until he was told what to do.
    “All right,” said Tony at last,
leaning back from the table and stretching. “We’ve done enough for
a Mallowpuff, as they say. Dennis, you suggested you could make the
coffee. Come and meet our ancient water heater.” He led the way
towards a space enclosed by a shoulder-height wall where an elderly
fridge wheezed gently and a tired dishwasher leaked beside the
sink. “Turn this knob to fill it, up to about here, then flick the
on switch. Mugs are in the cupboard under the bench, coffee, tea
and sugar are in these pull-out bins. Go for your life.”
    Relieved to have something to
do, Dennis assembled a row of battered brown glass mugs and
rummaged in several drawers to find teaspoons. While he waited for
the water to boil, he took more note of his surroundings. The
pattern on the scarred formica benchtop was worn away in places but
the counter was clean and tidy. There was an elderly space heater
beside the back door, and beyond that a rail attached to the
ceiling held a large beige curtain that could separate the space in
the corner from the main room. There were several high wooden
tables in there with mirrors surrounded by light-bulbs, and Dennis
realised, with a minor twinge of excitement, that they were make-up
tables. Suddenly it seemed possible that he was getting involved in
actual showbusiness.
    “Hey Dennis, where’s that coffee
then? The water’s boiling.”
    He jumped, suddenly aware of the
increasing shriek of the water heater’s steam vent announcing its
readiness. He carried the coffee mugs to the table, retrieved milk
from the fridge, briefly considered looking for a jug for it, but
gave up and put the bottle on the table.
    “Good work, mate,” said Gazza,
favouring him with a grin. “A good coffee maker’s always welcome
here. That’s what keeps the place running.”
    “And look what I’ve got,” said
Nick. “Chocolate biscuits to celebrate a new season. Get stuck in,
everybody.” He tore open the packet and offered it around.
    Dennis hesitated. “No, I really
shouldn’t,” he said reluctantly. “Thanks anyway.”
    “Oh go on,” said Tony, slapping
his own well-rounded belly. “You’re only a little bit wider than
me. We were glad to see you turn up, actually, weren’t we guys?
With a show like this full of gym jockeys, us stage crew have got
to put up a solid front, eh? Come on Fenton, you’re so skinny you’d
better have two, mate.” Fenton obeyed, and then held out the packet
to Dennis, waving it to waft the scent of chocolate towards
him.
    “Sure we can’t tempt you?”
    Dennis grinned. “Of course you
can!” He bit happily into a Timtam and started to feel at home.
    Once the coffee had been drunk
and there was nothing but crumbs left in the biscuit packet, Tony
stood up and belched.
    “Oops, pardon me. Right then,
let’s see what sort of a mess the workshop’s in after that last
school production.” He turned to Dennis. “There were so many of the
little rug-rats they had to use the space as an extra dressing
room. Hope to God none of them got into the tool room.”
    “They were a bit young to have
lock-picking skills,” said Gazza. “Nose-picking was about their
limit.”
    “Have you been backstage