A Christmas Gift. Sue Moorcroft

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СКАЧАТЬ Jaw-Jean,’ in a pretty fair Midwest American accent.

      Laughing breathlessly, she raised a gloved hand. The student, Isla, was not only a drama student at Acting Instrumental, but the daughter of Sian from Georgine’s own schooldays. Her schoolmates in the huge comprehensive school in the nearby town of Bettsbrough had loved to rib her with awful parodies of her American father’s soft Georgia drawl. She wished she had a pound for every time her teenaged self had heard it. It might pay off the scary men at her door – if it had been her debt they were trying to collect. Which it wasn’t.

      She’d honestly thought she’d finally be OK for money when she landed the job of events director at Acting Instrumental three years ago, but what with Georgine’s dad and her sister, Blair, needing support at different times, and Aidan falling apart upon being made redundant, which had led to the current financial mess … Still, never a day passed without her thanking her stars that she hadn’t been daunted by the formal language in the ad for an events director of student productions. What her role actually required her to be was stage manager, producer, hand-holder, bridge-builder and breach-filler.

      Georgine specialised in that kind of role.

      She veered towards the main building. Barely slowing as she yanked off her backpack, she touched her pass to the card reader. The door clicked a greeting and glided aside.

      The first person her gaze fell on was Norman Ogden, the principal of Acting Instrumental, strolling past the as yet naked Christmas tree in the foyer at his usual deceptive pace. Peering from under his fringe, he reminded Georgine of an enormous schoolboy who’d found an adult set of clothes and tried them on. ‘Cold enough for snow,’ she panted, to draw her boss’s attention away from the fact that she only had a few minutes in which to change out of her running gear before work.

      ‘A snow day to keep us at home would probably suit the students,’ he responded good-naturedly. ‘Need a catch-up. Quick meeting, you and me, ten minutes, my room?’

      ‘Great,’ she replied as she jogged towards the staff area, suppressing the urge to point out that she was busy, busy, busy as it was just six weeks until opening night of A Very Kerry Christmas, Uncle Jones, this year’s Christmas show by the top year students. It would be her sixth show since she’d come to the college.

      And she had to phone Aidan to give him a giant bollocking about responsibility dodging. It was more than time for him to man up. She sighed as she reached the female staff locker room. Left over from when the house had been a luxury private residence, the locker room had a sumptuous pale grey marble shower room attached.

      Queen of the lightning-fast shower, she switched on the water, wriggled out of her running kit and hung it on the radiator so it wouldn’t be clammy for the run home, and jumped into the spray. Soon she was dressing in the clean clothes she unrolled from her backpack. Two further minutes with hairbrush, tinted moisturiser and mascara wand and she was ready to start her day.

      As she emerged into the corridor, students were streaming towards rehearsal rooms or first sessions, crowding her with their backpacks and instrument cases and confining her pace to what she thought of as ‘the student shuffle’.

      Chatter and laughter rippled through the air. Georgine smiled. She loved this time of year. Halloween and bonfire night had passed and now the students were looking towards the main event of the term: Christmas. Already posters advertising A Very Kerry Christmas, Uncle Jones were appearing in Middledip, Bettsbrough and even as far afield as Peterborough.

      Some of the students called, ‘Hey, Georgine!’ and she returned their greetings, only pausing when a tall, solemn youth with a guitar-shaped gig bag on one shoulder fixed his gaze on her and announced sternly, ‘Got me grade seven acoustic guitar.’

      Not fooled by the unsmiling delivery from Tomasz, a student generally held to be ‘challenging’, she raised her hand for a high-five. ‘Fantastic, Tomasz! That’s awesome!’

      ‘I’ll get a stiffycut.’ Tomasz’s heritage might be Polish but his accent was pure Bettsbrough. He performed his part in the high-five as if obliged to humour her, but triumph shone in his eyes before he turned away.

      Georgine was still grinning at his pronunciation of ‘certificate’ when she reached the office suite, calling ‘Morning!’ to Fern as she passed through the admin office and reached the door marked Norman Ogden at 8.30 a.m. precisely.

      ‘C’mon in,’ Oggie called genially and gestured towards one of the tub chairs that stood around his desk. ‘Tell me all the news.’

      Georgine settled herself in the brown chair. She was long past hunting for hidden meaning in Oggie’s habit of opening meetings with informal questions, knowing he’d listen with apparently equal interest to progress reports, student concerns, personal news or downright gossip. Previous years working in mainstream schools as a teaching assistant or arts support staff had made Georgine deeply appreciative of a head like Oggie.

      She knew if she told him about the men banging on her door he’d instantly offer any support he could, but she felt sick just at the idea of sharing such shaming information, so she got straight down to business. ‘Tomasz has passed grade seven acoustic guitar. He’s waiting for his certificate.’

      Oggie gave several claps of his big hearty hands. ‘I’ll find him later to offer congratulations. He seems to have settled a bit this term.’

      Georgine nodded. ‘Because it’s his second year, maybe.’ Knowing Oggie would want an update on the progress of the show, she opened her file and reported speedily on music, dance and drama rehearsals, winding up with finance. ‘I’ve negotiated a better discount with the Raised Curtain by supplying our own lighting and sound crews from the theatre-tech students. It’ll be great experience.’ Experience was a buzzword at Acting Instrumental.

      She closed the file and shifted to the edge of her chair ready to get on with her day. A Christmas musical-theatre piece was a fantastic showcase of student abilities and evidence for their courses, but it meant a lot of sweat from the events director.

      Oggie stretched and settled more comfortably. ‘A new guy’s joining us today and I’d like to introduce you.’

      Georgine sat back in her chair again. ‘A staff member? I didn’t know you were recruiting.’

      Oggie made a vague cycling motion of his hands. ‘Not formally. But when the right person comes up … I know Joe will make a valuable contribution.’

      ‘I’m sure,’ she replied politely. ‘What’s his role?’

      Oggie’s eyebrows lifted as he considered her question. ‘To be defined. He has broad experience with contemporary bands – road manager and drum technician, and so forth. He could be helpful with lighting rigs and sound desk. I’ll call him in. He’ll have to be accompanied everywhere he might encounter students until his DBS comes through, so I’m landing him on you for a bit.’

      Georgine didn’t protest, not just because Oggie was the boss, but because he was the best boss in the world and must have good reason to bring in someone who hadn’t got his Disclosure and Barring Service certificate in order, so she didn’t even look at her watch as he made a call. ‘Joe? Ready for you. Come to reception and Fern will see you to my room.’

      It was typical of Oggie to say ‘room’ rather than ‘office’. Georgine had never heard him refer to himself as ‘principal’ and he expected students to address staff by first names. Staff and students alike called him Oggie.

      She СКАЧАТЬ