Goodnight Mister Tom (18 page)

Miss Thorne watched him grow visibly older. His shoulders were pushed up by his neck and his stomach caved in. He looked cold and miserable and bad-tempered.

Zach found himself totally mesmerized and placed his finger on the page so that he wouldn’t lose his place.

Then Willie began speaking. His voice was harsh and mean. The others on stage stared at him and someone giggled.

‘Carry on,’ interrupted Miss Thorne firmly.

The three on stage with Willie joined in as best they could, but they sounded as if they were reading out lines from a school book. Willie carried on imagining that his dirty feet were wrapped in rags and newspapers and when the scene came to an end he shuffled slowly off the stage.

‘I say,’ whispered Zach.

‘You’ll say nothing for the moment,’ said Miss Thorne.

‘Let’s do that scene again. You’re beginning to get the idea, William.’

They rehearsed the scene over and over again and as they repeated it Willie believed more than ever that he was the old man. He found himself suddenly reaching out and touching someone or making some wild arm movement without thinking. He didn’t understand what Miss Thorne meant when she told him to keep a gesture. How could he keep something that just happened?

When Miss Thorne finished working on the scene he heard his companions sigh with relief.

‘I’m fair done in,’ one of them said.

How strange, he thought, I’m not tired at all. I could easily have gone on.

He came down the tiny steps at the side of the stage and sat beside Zach.

‘You’re good,’ whispered Zach.

‘Good? How d’you mean?’

‘You’re a good actor.’

Willie didn’t understand. He thought that being an actor was tap dancing and playing the fool. All he’d done was to make a picture of someone in his head and worm his way inside it.

He took the prompt book back from Zach and began his old job again.

For the next half hour the rehearsals took on a sudden lift and everyone began to dare to try things out without feeling foolish. The only thing that spoilt it was the absence of Robert. He was in nearly all the scenes. Finally Miss Thorne refused to wait any longer and told them to take a short break while she left the hall to make a phone call to Hillbrook Farm.

Willie found himself immediately surrounded. Lucy slipped her hand into his. He flushed and pulled it away.

‘Dunno what you’re on about,’ he said quietly in response to their praise. ‘I jest pretended I was someone else, that’s all.’

‘I really believed you was that horrible old man,’ said Carrie in admiration.

But so did I, thought Willie. He was puzzled. He didn’t understand why they were making so much fuss.

‘You’re a natural,’ said Zach. ‘When you talked it was like you’d just thought of it. How did you do it?’

‘I jest listened to what someone said and answered them, like.’

All the sudden admiration unnerved him. He felt lonely being so different. To hide his fear he asked Zach to tell a joke and do his funny buffalo step. Zach hesitated at first, but luckily someone who hadn’t seen him do any tap dancing egged him on. Willie was soon forgotten, and became mixed into the group again.

Zach stopped. He heard Miss Thorne open the outer door of the hall. She flung the inside door to one side, was about to slam it but changed her mind and closed it behind her in a quiet and controlled manner. Her face was pale and she was wringing her hands in agitation.

‘Sit down everyone, please.’

They did so immediately.

She walked slowly towards her chair, sat down, folded one leg over the other and placed her clasped hands over her knee.

‘I’m afraid I’ve just had some rather bad news. Robert and Christine’s mother came early this morning and took them back to London. It seems she felt they were being used as unpaid labour. This means that we have no Scrooge.’

‘Oh no!’ cried Zach amidst the loud wails of disappointment.

‘Does that mean we can’t do it?’ asked Carrie.

There were only two weeks till the performance. They had all helped with scenery and costumes. Did this mean that all their hard work was wasted?

Miss Thorne turned to Willie.

‘William,’ she said quietly. ‘I’d like you to play the part of Scrooge.’

Willie felt an intense tingle pass from his toes to the roots of his hair. He looked up at her. Everyone’s face was turned to him as if he was their last chance.

‘Will you?’

He nodded.

‘Oh, well done,’ cried Zach. ‘Hip, hip, hurray!’

‘That’s enough,’ interrupted Miss Thorne firmly. ‘We have a lot of work to do. We’ll start with Act 1, Scene 1. Those not in the scene will have to take turns prompting. We must all pull together and help.’

She turned to face Willie. He was standing quite still, feeling both paralysed and yet at the same time filled with a flood of energy.

‘Don’t hurry,’ she said.

‘Everythin’ has its own time,’ he whispered and he blushed. ‘That’s what Mister Tom ses.’

‘That’s right,’ and she gave him a warm smile. ‘We’ll go through the blocking first. Take my script and pencil for now.’

The blocking was all the various moves which made up the pattern of each scene. This was to give it movement and life and to ensure that the focus of attention was never blurred for the audience.

Willie half mumbled and half read the script as he pencilled little letters around the sentences. Miss Thorne had taught them all the names of the different stage areas. There was down stage right and left and upstage right and left, up centre, down centre and of course centre plus many others such as ‘left of so and so’.

To the ones who were watching, Willie seemed very bad. He stumbled and droned and scribbled in his book like someone half asleep, but Miss Thorne knew that as soon as he had got rid of the book and started working on the character of Scrooge he would be very different. It was strange that she had never thought of him before, for she now remembered how quickly he had learnt poetry when she was helping him learn to read. But then hardly anyone noticed him when he was around. They only noticed his absence.

She stopped rehearsing when they reached the end of Act One.

‘Well done, William,’ she said encouragingly. ‘Well done, everyone. You’ve all worked very hard.’

Willie looked up a little bewildered and then back down at his script. The words were beginning to cease being just shapes and pictures. There was something else in them. He felt breathlessly excited.

‘William,’ said Miss Thorne interrupting his thoughts. ‘Keep my script and look over the scene we’ve blocked. The next rehearsal will be on Monday night after school. We’ll block Act Two then.’

Willie walked shakily out of the inner door to the porch. Zach had already put on his coat and cap and was waiting to tell him something when Ginnie and Miss Thorne’s elder sister burst in.

‘Whatever’s the matter, May?’ asked Miss Thorne.

‘Haven’t you heard the news yet?’

‘About the Kings?’

‘No. About Mr Bush.’

‘What about him. Has he had an accident?’

‘Worse. He’s been called up!’

‘But he’s a teacher. They aren’t calling them up, surely?’

‘It’s his own fault. He’s on reserves and they say that we already have more than our quota per pupil than most other places.’

‘Who’s going to teach the seniors?’

‘I don’t know. The Vicar, I suppose.’

‘What about the Carol Concert?’ interrupted George. ‘It’s on in three weeks’ time.’

May Thorne turned to her sister.

‘What’s this about the Kings, then?’

‘It’s all sorted out. I’ll explain later.’

‘What’s bin goin’ on?’ burst out Ginnie.

Zach and Willie slipped out into the darkness.

‘I say, Will,’ said Zach, taking Willie’s arm, ‘a jolly exciting night, eh?’

‘Yeh,’ replied Willie, still dazed.

‘I think you’re, how do you say it? Fine. Yes, I think you’re fine.’

Willie smiled.

‘We’re both jolly jolly fine,’ he yelled and he dragged Willie on behind him. They stumbled and laughed down the tiny lane to the Littles’ cottage where they parted.

Willie walked quickly towards Tom’s cottage. He clutched the script tightly under his arm. It felt so good tucked there, so snug and firm under his armpit like it was a part of him. He ran into the cottage, flinging his cap and coat on to his peg.

Tom was sitting at the table, glueing coloured paper chains together. He’d hung the clusters of holly that Willie had painted silver, on to the walls.

Willie looked up at them.

‘Pretty, ent they?’ he remarked.

‘You’s beginnin’ to sound like me,’ Tom said.

Willie stood by the table, holding the script in his hand. Pushing a chair gently to one side, he placed it on the table and sat down.

Tom was unusually quiet. He put the chains down and stood up. Sammy followed him, tugging at his trouser legs. He lifted him up absently, sat in the armchair and stared into the open range.

‘Shall I make us some tea?’ suggested Willie.

‘H’m,’ grunted Tom, a little startled. ‘What?’

Willie walked over to the kettle and filled it with water from the pitcher.

‘I’ll make us some.’

‘Yes, that’s right, boy, you do that.’

Willie suddenly became aware of how pale Tom looked and he felt alarmed for a moment. Perhaps he was ill. Sammy was sitting on his lap panting in a bewildered fashion. He gave a small whine. Tom looked up and caught Willie’s worried gaze.

‘Is you all right?’ asked Willie, sitting on the stool.

‘Just had a bit of a wake-up, so to speak.’

‘Wake-up?’

‘You heard about Mr Bush?’

He nodded.

‘I bin asked to take over the choir like, for the concert, play the organ…’

‘Can you play?’

‘Used to when Rachel was alive.’

‘Who’s Rachel?’

‘A gentle-hearted wild young girl I once loved.’

‘Where’s she now?’

Tom pointed to the window behind him with his thumb.

‘She’s the one under the oak tree. Died after she had a baby. She had scarlatina, see…’

‘What happened to the baby?’

‘Died soon after. Buried together.’ He glanced at Willie. ‘Same name as yours too.’

‘William?’

He nodded and gave a deep sigh. ‘It’s a long time since I touched that organ. It’ll take a good bit of practice.’

‘You goin’ to do it then?’

He leant back and paused for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he said at last and he glanced across at the table. ‘What’s that then?’ he asked. ‘A new book?’

‘It’s the script of
Christmas Carol
.’

‘Oh? What you doin’ with it then?’

‘I’ve bin asked to be in the play.’

‘’As you?’ said Tom, leaning forward.

‘Yeh.’

‘I take it you’se goin’ to do it then?’

Willie smiled, his cheeks burning with excitement.

‘Yeh.’

‘Reckon we’ll both be needin’ that tea extra sweet tonight, eh, boy?’

13
Carol Singing

‘Bah! ’Umbug!’ he cried as he paced the floor. It was at least the fiftieth time in the past hour that Willie had uttered the words. He paused and read the nephew’s lines, put down the script and began pacing the floor again.

‘If I could work me will, every idiot who goes abaht wiv Merry Christmuss on ’is lips should be boiled wiv his own puddin’, and buried wiv a stake of holly through his heart. He should!’

Willie sat down on the end of his bed and gave a sigh.

‘I nearly got it,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I got to be a bit more grumpy.’

He rose.

‘Nephew!’ he said brusquely. ‘You keep Christmuss in yer own way and let me keep it in mine.’ He stopped and hit the open palm of his hand with his fist. ‘No! It don’t feel right. I’m a bad tempered man and I don’t like bein’ interrupted like.’ He began again. ‘Nephew, you keep Christmuss in yer own way and let me keep it in mine.’

A loud knocking at the front door made him jump.

‘Blow it!’ he grumbled. ‘Jest when I wuz gettin’ it.’

He frowned and walked towards the trap-door. Immediately he realized how Scrooge must have felt when he was interrupted.

‘Nephew,’ he repeated angrily, ‘keep Christmuss in yer own way and let me keep it in mine.’ He gave a loud grunt and looked into his imaginary accounts book. ‘That’s it!’ he yelled. ‘I got it! I got it!’

A rally of louder knocks came from downstairs. Willie threw himself down the ladder and opened the door. It was George. He looked over Willie’s shoulder.

‘Who else is in there?’ he asked.

‘No one,’ answered Willie.

‘Who you yellin’ at then?’

Willie looked at him blankly for a moment.

‘Oh,’ he said, realizing what George was talking about. ‘I was jest goin’ over me words, like.’

‘I could hear you from here.’

Willie blushed.

‘Only from the front door, mind. Don’t s’pose no one else did. You comin’ then?’

‘What?’

‘Haven’t you remembered? It’s Thursdee, doughbag. We got Carols. Thought you’d be there first seein’ it’s Mr Oakley’s first practice, like.’

‘Oh, yeh,’ said Willie hurriedly, and he flung his scarf on. ‘Am I late?’

‘No. We’s all jest a bit early.’

Willie slammed the front door behind him. He ran after George along the pathway towards the back entrance of the church. Already there were people seated in the benches on either side of the altar. Tom was sitting at the organ, a large scowl on his face.

Willie caught his eye and smiled at him. He knew that the scowl meant he was just a bit shy.

Edward Fletcher and Alec Barnes came in at the front door and joined the men right of the altar. Edward’s voice had now evened out into a wobbly tenor. Alec, a large, dark-haired sixteen-year-old, was looking very embarrassed. Everyone wanted to know if his father had been using the King children as ‘slave labour’ or not.

Behind Alec sat Mr Miller and Hubert Pullet, the son-in-law of Charlie Ruddles. He was a poker-faced, pale man in his fifties. Next to him sat the twins’ father, a handsome freckle-faced man with thick wavy red hair. Ted Blakefield, a local thatcher, sat beside him. The oldest member of the choir was Walter Bird, still wearing his tin hat and the only one with a gas-mask.