A Christmas Gift. Ruby Jackson

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      She took out her lipstick and then replaced it in her little purse. Her parents would not approve of bright red lips before breakfast. She could apply it, as she had done time without number, on the way to her appointment. But she could at least apply mascara to enhance the blue of her eyes, and ensure her long blue-black hair was perfectly in place.

      ‘Oh, Sally pet, how grown-up you are,’ her mother, who looked as if she had not slept at all, greeted her as she walked into the little kitchen. ‘Ever so sophisticated,’ she added, shaking her head in happy disbelief.

      ‘I need to impress the director of the school, Mum. I want to come home tonight to you and Dad and tell you about all the opportunities I’ll have.’ Spontaneously she hugged her mother. ‘I want to show you that I was right not to accept a place at a university. You’ll see, Mum, the stage is where I belong.’

      ‘Then eat your breakfast before you head off, our Sally, or you’ll be too weak to make any impression.’ Her father who, like her mother, was still in his comfy old dressing gown, had come in and was sitting in his usual place. ‘You look right nice, but I never heard Margaret Lockwood’s stomach rumble.’

      Sally laughed as she sat down beside him. ‘You’re right, Dad, it would take the bloom off a bit, wouldn’t it? But please, Mum, just toast and a cuppa; I’m too excited to eat.’

      Exactly forty-three minutes later, she was standing before the closed door of Oliver Dantry’s Theatrical Training School, sure that her life-long dream was shattered. On the door was a notice.

      DUE TO UNFORESEEN CIRCUMSTANCES

      CLOSED FOR THE DURATION.

      Below the huge black letters was a small handwritten sentence: ‘I’m sorry and will be contacting all students.’

      It was signed simply ‘Oliver’.

      Sally was so gripped by shock she was scarcely able to breathe. As she collapsed against the forbidding notice, careless of the costume of which she had been so proud, her thoughts were racing one another round and round in her feverishly working brain.

      It could not be true. There had to be some ghastly mistake. What were ‘unforeseen circumstances’? The actual outbreak of war? But what had war to do with a college closing down, the college she had worked so hard to be permitted to enter? All those dreams of working in a jolly theatre company, earning the respect of the other actors, of getting a big break, playing a glamorous leading role to universal acclaim … and then, very soon after, the movies – it was all supposed to start here, today, at Oliver Dantry’s Theatrical Training School.

      She pictured her parents. Her mother would be making quite sure that her spotless home was indeed spotless. Her father would be in his beloved projection booth, handling the magical reels of film with experienced, caring hands; those films that had been her inspiration since she was old enough to sit still in front of them, starring actors whose faces were as familiar to her as her own. Her parents would be thinking of her, imagining her excitement as she sat in a college classroom – if there was a classroom in a theatre school – trying to persuade themselves that they were pleased that their only child had abandoned the prospect of a university degree for a dubious future in the theatre.

      What could she do? Hammering on the door would solve nothing. It was obvious that the building was empty. ‘The duration’? How long was ‘the duration’? ‘Over by Christmas.’ That was the pathetic little phrase that appeared in all her school history books. The Great War had gone on for years after that first Christmas.

      ‘No, no, no …’ Sally sobbed loudly. Eventually her weeping abated and then, embarrassed in case she might be seen, she blew her nose in a most unladylike fashion, took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and walked away smartly.

      Sitting in the Albemarle, she moved slightly, in an attempt both to banish the memory and to make herself a little more comfortable. She was not proud of how she had behaved that day and preferred instead to remember when a letter had finally arrived from Oliver Dantry.

      It hadn’t started out as a red-letter day. She had expected to begin working full time as an usherette in the cinema now her theatrical training had fallen through. Selling ice cream and bars of chocolate was no substitute but she knew she had to do something useful. But that hadn’t come about either. Her parents said nothing but they must have been thinking that had she accepted a university place she would now be preparing herself for a prestigious future. They had made no secret of their dreams that their bright, talented, only child should have a good education, and go on to be the first member of either family to graduate from a university.

      ‘I’ve ruined all their plans,’ Sally scolded herself. ‘I’ll never be able to make them proud of me. Because of my wilful pride I have neither university place nor theatrical training. Look at me, cosseted, spoiled Sally. If the Government hadn’t closed all theatres and cinemas I’d be a cinema usherette; that’s a long way from top of the bill. Instead of studying literature at university I’m taking a first-aid class – and I know I’d be useless in an emergency.’

      She closed the leaflet ‘How to Prepare Your Home for an Air Raid’ as her mother called from the bathroom, ‘Sally, be a love and turn on the gas under the milk pan while I fix my curlers; your dad should be passing on his fire-watching round and maybe he’ll pop in for some cocoa.’

      Sally hurried to the kitchen. This, at least, she could do.

      ‘Sorry I forgot, love, there’s a letter for you, typed address, in the dresser drawer; didn’t want it to get covered in flour when I was baking.’

      Sally, who had just taken the box of matches down from the shelf, dropped it, turned and pulled open the drawer. Her mother, still in the bathroom, smiled as she heard her rip open the letter.

      The door opened and Ernie Brewer came in just as Elsie gave her head a final pat and walked into the kitchen where the milk was still cold on the stove. She lit the gas and waited while Sally finished the letter. While her parents stood watching Sally smiled broadly and read the letter again.

      She finished, clutched the letter to her breast, threw her arms round her uniformed father, who was closest, and shouted, ‘I’ve got a job.’

      Her doting parents were not surprised when their daughter burst into loud but happy tears. Elsie made cocoa while she waited for the ever-emotional Sally to be calm and at last all three were able to sit down and talk.

      ‘It’s from Oliver, Mr Dantry. He says he talked to a friend of his in the Dartford Rep and, even though the theatre is dark –’ she looked at her parents to see if they understood the term – ‘they’re willing to take me on as an apprentice. Learning from the ground up, he calls it. I’ll have to do everything: look after props, keep scripts in order, help with costumes, scenery too, if they think I’m any good, even make tea for the professional cast. I can start immediately, tomorrow if I want.’

      ‘Very kind of Mr Dantry to think of you, Sally, but actually I’ve just heard some good news too.’

      Eyes wide, Ernie’s wife and daughter looked at him.

      Elsie spoke first. ‘Oh, Ernie, it’s not …?’

      He was too full of emotion to speak but nodded. Then, once again in control of himself, said, ‘Tomorrow, love, all cinemas and places of entertainment are to reopen. I know it’s been only a few days but some big wigs ’as managed to show the Government what a stupid thing closing СКАЧАТЬ