Stella. Gary Morecambe

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ would invariably reply, ‘Somewhere on the south coast.’ Portsmouth was not a name to mention.

      On the Saturday, the actual last night of the pantomime, Stella was called to the phone. It was Ronnie Brookfield. Apparently, an act had dropped out at the Palace, Grimsby, and could they replace them? Money would be the same as they were getting for the pantomime and third-class fares would be paid for one way only. He needed an answer then and there, and, of course, Stella was quite incapable of turning down any work.

      She dashed back to the dressing-room to tell her sister the good news, and perhaps, not surprisingly, it was met with much apathy. Sadie was more excited about meeting up with Tommy. ‘Okay, then,’ she said, finally surrendering to her insistent sister. And Stella made her the promise that all showbusiness is run on.

      ‘We’re just filling in for the week.’

      Mrs Fisher brought into the warm, compact front room of her home five desserts on a tray: four prunes and custards and one prunes without custard because Billy Manners didn’t like custard.

      Stella and Sadie cleared away the dinner plates and stacked them haphazardly on the sideboard for Mrs Fisher. It was eleven p.m. and these were the best digs in Grimsby; clean, warm, and the food was excellent if you were used to mediocre food.

      The furniture was in a class of its own – instant depression. The sideboard looked like a coffin with drawers and could have been the one used to ship the body of Count Dracula into the country.

      Sat around a highly polished wooden table, I don’t think the story has got to 1934 yet, were Stella, Sadie, and Billy Manners – a new, young comedian with an American style to his act. He was full of one-liners, smart comments, and a smart suit to match. His idea was that you don’t have to look funny to be funny. His jokes were sharp, much too sharp for Grimsby – that only served to dull his razor wit. The other couple at the table were Grace and Karl Kent, a husband-and-wife team. She sang and played the harp while he drank and played around. Their act was like their earnings – on the way down. What had once been a salary was now a wage.

      Sadie looked at her prunes and said, ‘Sailor!’ The others looked up. ‘According to my prunes I’m going to marry a sailor,’ she explained to the questioning faces.

      Billy said, ‘According to mine there’s going to be a queue for the bathroom tomorrow.’ Grace Kent pulled a suitable face to show her disdain.

      ‘I’m going to marry a rich man,’ said Stella, ‘because Mrs Fisher gave me five prunes to your four.’

      ‘Looks like you’ll be first in the bathroom then, Stella,’ grinned Billy.

      ‘Ah yes, but what about Grace and Karl?’ remarked Sadie.

      ‘A lot of people have been saying that just recently,’ sniggered Billy, and the girls laughed at this.

      ‘Grace doesn’t enjoy her prunes,’ announced Karl in an aloof manner that made them laugh all the more, though they did have the decency to try to disguise their amusement.

      ‘We should have got together, Grace,’ said Billy. ‘I don’t like custard!’

      Mrs Fisher tapped lightly and came into the room. She brought in a tray with a pot of tea, cups, sugar, and milk. Billy spoke. ‘Mrs Fisher, I have some news for you. In the morning keep clear of the bathroom. There’s going to be a long queue there, though it looks like Grace might be a late entry.’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ said Mrs Fisher in a kindly voice. She had had many young comedians lodge at her home in the past. She accepted that they were all as mad as each other.

      Sadie took the tray off her and placed the teapot in the hearth by the glowing fire. ‘Now, if you want any more hot water just give me a shout,’ said Mrs Fisher. ‘It’ll be at least another hour and a half before I’ve to see to all the washing up. I don’t like coming down to dirty pots and pans in the morning.’ She turned for a final inspection of her boarders. ‘Any special calls in the morning?’ No one replied. ‘Good! I’ll be saying goodnight then.’ Five incoherent goodnights were voiced back as she shuffled through the doorway in her threadbare tartan slippers that clicked against the floor. Stella poured the tea out. Karl was immersed in the sporting page of the paper and writing down racing tips as he read. Grace had turned her narrow back on everyone to soak up the heat of the fire, not too concerned that soon everyone else was shivering. Billy silently, and mischievously, nodded at the table and both girls knew what he meant. ‘When they’ve gone to bed,’ mouthed Stella, then furtively checked over her shoulder to make sure she hadn’t been seen.

      Grace, a dignified, sexless, thirty-eight-year-old blonde, looked up, giving the impression she couldn’t see more than a foot beyond the end of her husband. She rose in a serene manner that almost invited everyone else to stand and, with a forced, seemingly painful smile, she announced, ‘I’m going to retire now. Karl – if you please.’ Karl mumbled under his breath and folded up the newspaper. They made their grand exit from the room and immediately Billy rubbed his hands and pulled out a packet of lettered cards. Stella moved to a cabinet and returned with a stemmed glass while Sadie raked the fire with the poker.

      ‘I hope you’re both going to take it seriously and not lark about like you did last night,’ said Sadie.

      ‘She means it,’ confirmed Stella.

      ‘I know, and, yes, I’ll try and take it seriously,’ Billy smiled.

      ‘You’re smiling now before we’ve even started,’ said Sadie.

      ‘I’m just getting rid of them before we begin; that’s all – promise.’

      ‘Stop it, Billy,’ said Stella, but with no real authority. Billy was too likeable, too effervescent to be firm with.

      ‘Come on then, let’s get started before the vampire arrives and bites your necks,’ teased Billy.

      They each placed a finger lightly on the rim of the upturned glass. Sadie said, ‘Concentrate everyone, and no pushing.’ After a short pause she said in a solemn voice, ‘Is there a spirit there?’

      The glass screeched around the letters and spelt YEF.

      ‘It must mean YES,’ was Sadie’s explanation.

      ‘But it spelt YEF,’ argued Billy.

      ‘Maybe it’s a child who can’t spell.’

      ‘Maybe it’s all a load of . . .’

      ‘That’s enough, Billy,’ ordered Stella.

      ‘Let’s stop jabbering and give it a full chance,’ pleaded Sadie.

      The next time it spelt YEP. ‘I suppose it’s an American child, this time,’ teased Billy.

      ‘Shut up, Billy,’ said Stella.

      ‘Americans do say YEP, that’s all I was saying.’

      ‘Have you a message for us?’ asked Sadie, putting on her same mysterious tone again.

      The glass spelt out SARAH DEF. ‘Hard of hearing, are you?’ enquired Billy.

      ‘Stop it, Billy,’ ordered Stella – yet again.

      ‘Sarah СКАЧАТЬ