The Little Theatre on the Seafront: The perfect uplifting and heartwarming read

‘Hello, Mrs McCray.’

‘Hullo there.’

‘If you’d like to make your way to the stage and introduce yourself to the panel, then tell us what you’ll be doing.’

Mrs McCray climbed the steps, hooking her dress up as she went. The light surrounded her and shone through her rusty coloured hair as her harsh Scottish accent announced, ‘I’m Mrs McCray, a local artist, and I’ll be singing “Casta Diva”, from the opera Norma, by Bellini.’

‘Is this going to be like Mr Neville the opera-singing parrot?’ whispered Sid and Lottie chewed her lip trying not to laugh.

Everyone waited. Conner pressed some buttons on his laptop and the song started playing. Lottie took a deep breath preparing herself for a horrendous screeching to fill the room, but, to her surprise, gentle, tuneful notes emerged. A soft and beautiful sound, rising and falling then building to a crescendo, held them all captivated. Conner turned to Lottie and his eyes were so wide in amazement she could actually see them.

When Mrs McCray finished Lottie stood up to applaud. She looked to her left where Mayor Cunningham sat with his mouth open.

‘That was amazing,’ said Lottie. ‘Bravo.’

Mrs McCray’s weather-beaten face wrinkled as she smiled. ‘Och, well, thank you very much, darlin’.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ said the mayor. ‘We’ll let you know.’

When Mrs McCray had left, Lottie turned to him. ‘I don’t see why we can’t tell people now whether they’re in, or not. It’s not like we can have too many people.’ Feeling emboldened by the last few minutes she said, ‘Mrs McCray was exceptional, so, as acting chairman, I’d like to proceed on the idea that we’ll take whoever has any talent. Okay?’

The mayor raised an eyebrow then sat back and Lottie felt a teasing nudge from Sid.

Gregory Oliver was the next to arrive with his partner, Cecil Bates. ‘Darling,’ Gregory said to Lottie, taking her in both hands and kissing her on the cheeks, even though they’d never really met before. He was tall and handsome with salt and pepper hair. ‘We’ve come for the auditions. Have we much competition?’

‘We can’t tell you that,’ said Mayor Cunningham. In the muggy atmosphere of the theatre his bald spot was beginning to shine.

‘You’ll be fine, Mr O.,’ offered Sid with a wink.

‘Off you go, Mr Oliver,’ said Lottie, directing him to the stage. ‘Just give us a quick intro before you start.’

Gregory climbed the steps and said, ‘Well, I’m Gregory Oliver and I run the bookshop on the seafront and today I’m going to give a reading from Shakespeare.’ He then closed his eyes and stood in silence for a moment before his voice boomed out. ‘“O’ reason not the need! Our basest beggars are in the poorest thing superfluous.”’

‘Well, he’s certainly projecting,’ whispered Sid into Lottie’s ear.

‘Shhh,’ she said, playfully.

‘“Allow not nature more than nature needs, Man’s life is cheap as beast’s.”’ He cast out his hands and with one did an Eighties’ air grab. ‘“No, I’ll not weep. I have full cause of weeping, but this heart shall break into a hundred thousand flaws or ere I’ll weep. O fool, I shall go mad!”’ Gregory fell to the floor with his head in his hands.

It seemed a little melodramatic, but it was Shakespeare, it was always melodramatic. Even in khaki chinos Lottie could picture him on the stage, under the spotlights, and hear the crowd applauding, though she worried about his knees.

‘Bravo,’ shouted Cecil, clapping enthusiastically.

Lottie stood. ‘Yes, bravo.’

‘Well done, Mr O.,’ said Sid, as Gregory came down off the stage. ‘That was brilliant.’

‘Are you actually on the audition panel, Mr Evans, or are you here to report on them?’ the mayor called out.

Sid glanced at Lottie for a moment, a playful smile on his face, before turning to the mayor and saying, ‘Just being friendly, Mayor Cunningham. Never hurts, does it?’

‘Cecil’s also auditioning,’ said Gregory.

‘Oh, of course,’ replied Lottie. ‘Sorry, Cecil. Please?’ She gestured for him to move onto the stage and sat down again. Her legs were beginning to ache from all this upping and downing but it was better than doing squats in the gym.

Cecil smiled at the panel. ‘I’m Cecil Bates and I also run the bookshop on the seafront. I love soy chai lattes and long dog walks on the beach, and today I’ll be singing.’ Cecil was shorter than Gregory and a little younger by the look of it. He had kind bright blue eyes in a smooth perma-tanned face. Conner began playing the song and without visible signs of fear or nerves, Cecil sang ‘Memories’ from Cats. It was an unusual choice, and though not as good a performer as his partner, it was still very respectable. He even managed to stay in tune, most of the time.

‘I think he’s good,’ said Lottie, quietly. ‘It must be difficult to dance and sing at the same time.’ She turned back to the stage and not caring if it annoyed Mayor Cunningham said, ‘Well done, both of you. You’re both in.’

‘Marvellous,’ shouted Gregory, giving her another kiss on the cheek. Cecil did the same and hand in hand they left the theatre.

The mayor huffed at her and fiddled with his cufflinks. ‘I really don’t think we should be telling them straight away, Miss Webster.’

Lottie bit her lip then swivelled to face the mayor. She was getting cross with his negativity now. Things were going so well he just needed to be more positive. ‘I know what you said, Mayor Cunningham—’ He opened his mouth to continue arguing but Lottie carried on. ‘If there’s someone who we’re on the fence about, I won’t tell them straight away, but for someone who is so clearly good I don’t see the point in keeping them waiting. It’s mean. So like I said, I’d like to carry on as we have been.’

The mayor scanned the ceiling and Lottie spied Sid staring at her agog. ‘What?’ she mouthed, and he gave her a big thumbs-up.

After Cecil’s audition they broke for lunch. Lottie had hoped to sit with Sid but just as she sat down Sid got up and went to chat with Conner who stayed where he was, alone in the corner. That was just like Sid, thought Lottie with a smile. For all his silly jokes he was one of the kindest people she knew. They reconvened at one o’clock and two women walked in just as they re-took their seats.

‘Is this the auditions?’ asked the taller one with long platinum blonde hair.

Lottie got up to the meet them. ‘Yes. Yes, it is. Please come in.’ The women stepped forward, giggling nervously.

‘So how does this work then?’ the smaller, dark-haired one asked. ‘Do we just get up there and sing?’

‘That’s right,’ said Lottie, and they climbed the steps to the stage giggling and pushing each other in encouragement.

‘I’m Tiffany,’ said the taller one with the bright white hair similar to wire wool.

‘And I’m Claire,’ said the small one whose thick mask of foundation formed a ring under her chin. They tittered once more and the music began.

As they sang Lottie tried to keep her face from screwing up in pain. The terrible high-pitched squeaking and their inability to sing in any sort of harmony was like having hot needles shoved in her brain and her eardrums tortured. Sid grabbed his notebook and pen and bent over so they couldn’t see his giggling.

‘Thank you, we’ll let you know,’ Lottie said, as the girls climbed down from the stage and left the building.

David blew the air out of his cheeks. ‘They were awful, weren’t they? It was like two cats mating while someone played an out of tune violin.’

Mrs Andrews arrived early for her audition just as the last person was finishing. Lottie asked her to sit at the back where she made loud scoffing noises. The several hard stares Lottie gave did little to stop her. At last she was able to say, ‘Your turn, Mrs Andrews, if you’d like to take the stage.’

Lottie and Sid had met Mrs Andrews several times before. Her husband was a local MP and as such Mrs Andrews had a lot of influence, and money. She very much enjoyed her public role and was often called upon to attend posh events. After the advert had gone out, she’d emailed Lottie saying she didn’t think she should have to audition as she already had ‘considerable experience’, but Lottie had replied politely insisting.

Mrs Andrews walked up rolling her hips and wiggling her bottom like Marilyn Monroe in white jeans so tight you could see the outline of her knickers. David bent towards Sid and whispered, ‘She’ll put her hip out doing that at her age.’ Lottie hid behind her folder, laughing.

On the stage Mrs Andrews’ confident eyes scanned the panel. Her face was a seamless sheet of beige tan, slightly pinched at the eyes. Only her hands gave away any real signs of age from the wrinkles and gathering age spots. She flung her arms out wide. ‘“No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, be forced to give my hand opposed against my heart.”’

She clasped both hands against her surgically enhanced chest. ‘“Unto a mad-brain rudesby full of spleen; Who woo’d in haste and means to wed at leisure.”’

Although the mad flailing of arms was quite off-putting, her delivery of the monologue was reasonably good, better than a lot of the others they’d seen and reluctantly Lottie put her on the list. ‘That was good, Mrs Andrews,’ she said, unwilling to give her too much praise. She was already too big for her boots. ‘I’m sure we’d love to have you on board.’