The
middle aged audience filter slowly into the local town hall. I know that the
pre seventies heating system will not keep out the January cold so I keep on my
woollen coat and scarf. The amateur players’ production of Harold Pinter’s Betrayal begins. The hall is mostly
empty so it’s easy to determine the age profile.
Bald,
greying or highlighted heads, thick layers of jackets, friends, spouses,
room-mates of the cast. This is a seasoned audience apart from one leggy blonde
who sits at the edge of a row just ahead of us. She swivels her head in our
direction a few times and I catch a whiff of her perfume. It is my personal
favourite, Marc Jacobs Amber, the one Joe always buys for me on his duty free
transits. The tights are sheer and the heels skyscraper. Did she wander into
the wrong venue? She turns again to glance in our direction.
Like most
of the audience I’m here to support one of the players. My friend Janet who has
graduated from stage management to a walk-on part – or so she said. Her minor
role places her centre stage for most of the first act. Just before the
interval I slide out from my hard back chair, past my husband and head towards
the loo. Small audience or not there’ll be a queue for the one toilet when the
lights go on.
When I walk
back into the foyer to grab a cup of tea she’s standing up close and personal
to Joe, her hand clasping his forearm. I stop momentarily and gasp. She’s
actually older than I had thought. Maybe even my age. But well preserved. I
think again about the advantages that could accrue to nip, tuck and Botox. I
order two teas.
It could be
an overplayed joke between us for months. The only blonde broad at the show and
he manages to pick her up. She turns away from him, not even aware that I am on
route to claim the bespectacled fifty something man that stands somewhat
bemused in the middle of a throng of tea drinkers.
“A penny
for them?” I ask handing him a cuppa.
“She
recognised me from school.”
“You went
to an all-boys”
“Primary
school.”
“You’re
kidding!”
“No.”
“She said
you hadn’t changed a bit?”
“Something
like that.”
“I believe
it. What do you think of our Janet’s walk-on role?”
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