A Christmas Gift. Sue Moorcroft

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СКАЧАТЬ turned in her seat to offer a friendly greeting. ‘Hi. I’m Georgine France.’

      The tall, clean-shaven man with a brutally short haircut blinked at her through thin-rimmed glasses. His expression froze. Then he cleared his throat and muttered, ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Joe Blackthorn,’ before nodding politely and seating himself in one of the other chairs.

      Oggie embarked on outlining to Joe the role Georgine held at Acting Instrumental. Though Georgine played her part in the conversation, warm and welcoming, she was intrigued by the strained behaviour of her new colleague. Somehow, she expected tall, handsome men to be bursting with confidence, yet this one was behaving as if he was suffering severe anxiety. It might explain why Oggie would choose a low-key and unorthodox induction to their establishment.

      ‘So, Joe,’ Oggie wound up. ‘Stick with Georgine for now. She’ll give you a quick tour and an idea of how we do things.’ Oggie raised his dark eyebrows. ‘That OK? Great.’

      Joe evidently understood they were being dismissed and rose, murmuring, ‘Thanks for giving up your time,’ in Georgine’s direction.

      Swooping up her file, Georgine replied, ‘Not a problem,’ though having to keep him with her or pass him like a baton to another staff member just added to her load. ‘If we start in the new block, we can finish in this building.’

      ‘Sure.’ He stood back to let her lead him out to the glass corridor that linked the buildings and gave them a view of a paved area currently empty of anything but benches, flower tubs and twinkling frost.

      At the end of the corridor, Georgine turned to her near-silent companion, noticing the way he kept one step behind, as if it was uncomfortable to let his soulful brown eyes meet her gaze. Lifting her voice over a sudden burst of drumming, she said, ‘This block holds sound studios and rehearsal rooms.’ The drumming paused, and the sound of an argument took its place, culminating in a snarled, ‘Tosser! You knew that was mine.’

      ‘Whoops!’ Georgine quickly followed the sound through a doorway and found a group of teenagers surrounding two gangly lads squaring up to each other, faces red and eyes glittering. One of them was Tomasz, whose good mood over his ‘stiffycut’ appeared not to have lasted.

      ‘No tutor here yet, guys?’ she asked calmly.

      Both heads swivelled her way, faces wearing matching expressions of dismay. Tomasz rubbed his ear sheepishly. ‘Not yet.’

      ‘We’re waiting for Errol for Music Industry,’ volunteered the other, backing away as if the field of battle had nothing to do with him.

      Georgine treated each to a keen stare. ‘I’m sure he’ll be here any time. You don’t need me to wait with you. Do you?’

      Both lads flushed and shook their heads.

      Georgine beamed. The other students had fallen back to sit on tables or rummage through backpacks. ‘Everybody OK? See you later, then.’ She returned to Joe in the corridor.

      He glanced towards the now subdued room they were leaving behind. ‘Do you need to wait for their tutor?’

      ‘It’s not how we generally do things. The tallest one, Tomasz, can’t always afford things like guitar strings and he gets protective of his possessions, but Oggie likes to treat the students like adults as far as possible. I think they’ll be OK now they’ve let off steam.’ She opened a pair of doors.

      ‘Oggie was always good at treating kids as if each one mattered.’ Joe stepped into the lofty hall beyond the doors.

      Georgine followed him in. ‘Did you work at Oggie’s last place? I know he was head of a big academy in Kent.’

      Joe looked away. ‘He taught at my school in Surrey when I was a teen. He put on the plays and concerts and I did scenery shifting and stuff. It took me a while to fit in, but Oggie helped. I kept in touch with him through college and we became friends over the years.’

      ‘Wow, you’ve known him for ages,’ she said encouragingly. She did the maths in her head, knowing Oggie to be in his mid-forties. ‘The Surrey school must have been one of his first jobs.’

      He shrugged.

      Nobody could accuse him of drawing things out with his chat, chat, chat, she thought. ‘This is the studio theatre. We’re incredibly lucky to have it. Some rehearsals take place here but we put performances on at the Raised Curtain, a theatre attached to a local academy.’ She cast her satisfied gaze over a drum kit standing near mic stands, amplifiers and equalisers. The front rows of the retractable seating were out but the rest were tidily away like a giant set of drawers ready for rehearsals.

      She speeded up as she led the way back up the corridor. ‘The main building used to be a house called Lie Low, the bolthole of a Carry On star and then a shady businessman.’ They passed dance studios, Joe glancing in on students and giving the brief nods he seemed to consider sufficient interaction as Georgine continued to provide background information. ‘Acting Instrumental’s a small independent further education college. Our current roll is eighty-four students across two year-groups. The cafeteria’s through here. Oggie got funding to subsidise lunches so the take-up is high.’ She turned right. ‘This is my room.’ She laughed to see a garland of turquoise tinsel hanging from the handle. ‘I’m collecting Christmas props so people are bringing me their cast offs.’ She whisked past, heading straight for dance rehearsal.

      She paused at the door. ‘This is the big rehearsal room. Maddie’s working with dance students on our Christmas show, A Very Kerry Christmas, Uncle Jones. The students are Level 3, which is the same as A Level.’ She stepped inside. At one end of the room a stage space was denoted by yellow gaffer tape on the floor where a small dance troupe was learning a routine.

      Maddie glanced round without pausing in her dance. Tall and willowy, her fair hair pulled back in a plait, she flashed a smile before returning her attention to the teenagers who were mirroring her movements. The shuffles and thumps marking the rhythm of their feet made Georgine’s heart lift.

      ‘Forward, back,’ Maddie called, ‘step-two-three, change, step-two-three, back, leg lift, and chassé … and then we’re ready for the last part of act one, scene two. Let’s try it to music.’ She clicked a small remote in her hand and a lively jive tune burst onto the air.

      ‘Here we go … two, three and forward, back …’ The troupe moved as one, girls in leggings and boys in jogging pants, all eyes on Maddie unless a head turn was required with a step.

      ‘Wonderful! Concentrate but don’t frown, chassé, back, leg lift,’ Maddie sang gently. Frowns vanished, limbs moved in time.

      Georgine’s toes were already tapping. She whispered to Joe, ‘Each student will keep a progress log: how their creative journey’s developed, decisions made and the effect on the audience. We make rehearsal and show-night videos too.’

      ‘Great.’ His nod definitely looked approving.

      Encouraged by this slight sign of engagement, she went on. ‘We’re extraordinarily proud that we’re open to students’ choices, nurturing them, cheering them on, proactively helping them make whatever they can out of music, dance or drama. A kid can come here without a single GCSE and try vocational qualifications from entry level up to Level 3. The “can do” attitude here is awesome.’ She laughed at her own enthusiasm. ‘I love how amazing, how fantastic Acting Instrumental is.’

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