Cherringham--Playing Dead Read Free

sofa. Helen had switched on just a few of the lights, so the stage had a cosy feel — not too different from the country house sitting room he supposed it represented.
    “So…” he said. “Can’t wait to see the first show. And I promise I’ll buy tickets.”
    He saw Helen nod and smile.
    “But — just what is the nitty-gritty we need to talk about, Helen? Sarah wouldn’t tell me — said I should hear it—”
    “From the horse’s mouth, eh?” said Helen, laughing.
    “Something like that,” said Jack, sipping his tea.
    He watched as Helen scanned the stage dramatically, making sure they were still alone. Then she started:
    “We’re under attack, Jack.”
    “We?”
    “The Cherringham Players! Someone wants us out — and I think they’ll stop at nothing to achieve their aims.”
    Jack glanced at Sarah: this for real?
    He saw her nod, her face serious. Much as Helen could be a little … extravagant … in her storytelling, Sarah clearly thought this was on the level.
    “Since we started rehearsing The Pearl , it’s been one calamity after another. Food poisoning, breakages, illness, thefts, accidents — I’ve never known a production like it. And now — well, I’m sure you’ve heard all about it — dear Graham Jones up to his neck in plaster. Literally!”
    “And you don’t think this is accidental?”
    “How can a lantern fall on someone’s head?”
    “Lantern?” said Jack.
    “Stage light, you know — spotlight — those things!”
    She pointed above her head and Jack followed her gaze. Seeing the size of the lights up there he could understand why Graham was still in hospital.
    The guy’s lucky he’s not dead.
    “That must have been pretty bad,” he said. “Were you here?”
    “On stage with the poor chap. It was awful. Luckily the paramedics got here quickly and gave him some morphine.”
    “You saw it happen?” said Jack.
    “We all did,” said Helen. “Not that there was anything really to see. It just … fell.”
    Helen continued:
    “But here’s the thing. That whole lighting rig is brand new, top of the range — how can a big spotlight like that just fall?”
    Jack shrugged: “Maybe that’s the problem. New installation, teething problems, workers chasing a schedule. Wouldn’t be the first time—”
    “Nonsense!”
    Jack paused.
    “Well how about the police — what do they say?”
    “Oh, we haven’t bothered with the police,” said Helen. “Alan Rivers, our intrepid local bobby? Good God, I used to hold his hand at playgroup when the older girls frightened him—”
    “I think that’s still happening, Mum,” said Sarah and Jack saw her wink at him.
    Helen laughed.
    Nice timing, Sarah, thought Jack. A little humour to calm Mom down a little.
    “Okay — nobody’s called in the police. What about all the other incidents?”
    “Taken one at a time, up until the light fell, they just don’t seem that major,” said Helen. “It’s only when you add them all up, it doesn’t make sense. To me, at least.”
    Jack looked at the two women sitting opposite. If it had just been Helen, he might have been sceptical. But Sarah clearly thought this was worth him hearing.
    Then, as if she could read his thoughts:
    “Something that Mum hasn’t mentioned, Jack—”
    He saw Sarah look at her mother — for permission? — and waited…
    “Sarah, you know what I think about all that,” said Helen. “Gossip. Tittle tattle.”
    “I think it’s relevant,” said Sarah.
    “Oh, all right, go on then,” said Helen.
    “Well,” said Sarah, “Word around the village is that the freeholder of the theatre — a local builder called Andy Parkes — thinks he’s made a big mistake letting the refurbishment go ahead. Feels that — with the current market — he should have knocked the place down for flats.”
    “That happens,” said Jack. “But now there isn’t much he can do?”
    “That’s it; apparently there is,” said Sarah. “If the theatre can’t