The Death of an Actor (The Bentley Hill Players Book 3) Page 7

  As the song being performed on stage drew to a close, Owen focussed his attention on the tallest man on the stage. He squinted, scratched his ear, and thought to himself I know that fella.

  "AH HAH!" he yelled, to a chorus of shhh from all around.

  "Sorry," he whispered.

  Owen recognized the man on the stage to be Martin Silver, whose coffee he had interfered with. Shouldn't take long now.

  The song finished, and the Martin stood centre stage. He said nothing, just stood and looked out in to the audience. A prompt was heard from the side of the stage. Still, he said nothing. The prompt came again, more loudly. Still silence. The prompter stepped on stage and yelled the line across to Martin, at which point Martin spun to face the prompter and finally started to speak.

  "Think you're so clever, don't you? Look at me, I know all the lines. Of course you do, you've got the script in your hand. You'll never be an actor. You can't remember the lines. You need to hold them. Get off the stage. You don't belong here. Get off MY STAGE. RIGHT NOW. GET OFF! GET OFF! GET OFF!"

  The prompter ran, but Martin ran faster. He grabbed the prompter by the collar on his jacket, and dragged him on to the stage.

  "Let go!"

  "GET OFF MY STAGE!"

  "I can't! You're holding on to me!"

  "I CAN'T EVEN SEE YOU!"

  "What?"

  "DARK! So dark..." said Martin as he released his grip on the collar. He dropped to one knee. "But soft. What light through yonder window breaks. You did it. YOU BROKE THE WINDOW!"

  He leapt to his feet and chased the prompter twice round the stage, and then off the side. Loud crashes and bangs came from the backstage area as Tom McLean rushed on stage.

  "Ladies and gentleman, there will be a short break whilst we resolve the issues we are experiencing. Don't go anywhere, we'll be right back!"

  The curtains closed, and Owen sat giggling to himself as he loudly opened another wrapper.

  ***

  "What the hell was that all about, Martin?" asked Tom, backstage.

  "I don't know, Tom," he answered. "It's like everything is a blur. I thought we were doing Shakespeare for a moment."

  "Clearly we aren't. Must have been stage fright. Here's what we'll do. Everyone sit down for five minutes, deep breaths, quick cup of tea. And it will be quick, because I bought a device to keep it ready and warm, so we can have tea almost instantly. Carol! Sort out the tea, love. Cheers. Quick breather, nice cuppa, on with the show."

  ***

  The curtains reopened, the audience applauded, and the show continued from where it had left off. At the end of the first scene, Zoe McLean came off-stage and stood by her father in the wings.

  "Well apart from Martin's nervous breakdown, it's going quite well."

  "Of course it is! I can organize this sort of this far better than that Bentley lot. I'd eat their brains."

  "It really is rather good...wait. What did you say?"

  "I could eat that Bentley lot better than you."

  "Dad?"

  "I like to eat brains. Brains. Braaaains."

  "Dad! Dad! Why....why...why do you have rabbit ears?"

  "All the better to hear your brains with!"

  Zoe screamed and ran on the stage just as the next scene started.

  "HELP! Dad wants to eat my brains! And he has rabbit ears! Martin! Why have you got such a long nose?"

  The audience laughed nervously. The laughing became a lot more nervous when Tom McLean ran on stage, ripping his shirt off and shouting something about brains.

  Tom jumped on top of Martin, who tried to fend him off with a microphone stand.

  "Zombies need to eat brains!" said Tom.

  "Then let's eat them together!" said Martin, turning his face towards the audience.

  Tom nodded, got up, and they both jumped off the stage. By now, the rest of the cast were on stage.

  "That lady has a beard!"

  "There are bugs everywhere!"

  "Blood on my hands, blood on my hands, scrub a dub dub, blood on my hands..."

  "EAT THEM ALL!"

  "Look out for the turnips!"

  "Mary had a little lamb, it's fleas are on my toes..."

  Owen unwrapped another sweet as the theatre emptied around him, but he was unable to eat it; his giggling had turned into full blown laughter.

  "I didn't think they'd take a tea break so soon. Still, can't complain. Best show ever!"

  Chapter 12

  By the following morning, the show was over. It had been roasted overnight in all forms of social media, and even the local newspaper had found time to throw up a review on their own website.

  The review was not good.

  In a cross between the advertised show and an amateur production of Dawn of the Dead, Tom McLean's debut as producer and director for the Blackworth Amateur Theatre Stars was as horrific as the aforementioned film. The majority of the cast appeared to be either highly intoxicated or just didn't know what they were doing. A single musical number was performed before a fight broke out, followed by an unscheduled intermission, a short scene, and then an apparent zombie apocalypse. I would recommend that anyone who was subjected to this drivel demand a refund, and head down the hill to Bentley to catch "The Death of an Actor" at Bentley Community Hall. You won't get attacked by zombies, but be warned that there may be an exploding parrot involved. Rumour has it that the parrot is not meant to explode, and that somehow Tom McLean's group is to blame for the situation. This writer doesn't know the story behind this, but after the poor showing at the Old Cinema, I believe McLean wouldn't have the competence to organize such a subtle attack.

  Tom was not amused.

  "I cannot believe they would write such a thing!" he said to Zoe over breakfast. "There must have been a gas leak or something in there last night. It was like everyone went temporarily insane!"

  "It was really scary," said Zoe. "I thought you were going to eat that lady's handbag."

  "Well I'm not going to take it lying down. I'm going to make some phone calls, I'm going to speak to some very important people, and I'm going to straighten this out. And to suggest that I might be responsible for causing a parrot to explode! How dare they!"

  ***

  "So did you hear about the BATS last night?" asked Chris as he sank in to Harry's sofa that afternoon.

  "I heard their show ended up being cancelled, but I'm not sure why. What do you know?" replied Harry as he placed two coffee mugs on the small table and sat down on his chair.

  "According to Twitter, half the cast went mad. Like they were drunk, on drugs, or just insane. Some of them started trying to bite the audience."

  "Surely that's just people on The Twitter exaggerating?"

  "The Twitter?"

  "Uh huh."

  "Hmm. I'm not so sure, because the Benby and Blackworth Express website seems to agree. They said there were zombies."

  "In Bye Bye Birdie? I think Tom's taken that script in an entirely new direction..."

  "No mate, not in the script. That's the entire problem."

  "OK," said Harry with a laugh. "How many were arrested?"

  "None. The police station in Blackworth shuts at 4pm, they'd need to get coppers in from Northfields after that. And there was so much panic, nobody had time to call them."

  "But surely they aren't going ahead with the show tonight, are they? I mean, what if it happens again?"

  "Well I saw Old Bert from up the road..."

  "You mean Albert..."

  "No, Old Bert. He must be about as old as Lillian. Anyway, I saw him this morning, and he said his sister had rung him, and she'd been talking to her son's girlfriend's auntie, who works in the chippy, and the bloke who owns the chippy said that his nephew's friend's cousin is a policeman, and they're only going to let the show go on with a police guard outside. Like ten of them or something."

  "So Mad Old Bert up the road told you that no-one he knows said that they're under police scrutiny?"

  "Right." r />
  "Tell you what, let's put the telly on. The local news is on in a couple of minutes, there might be something on about it."

  ***

  Tom had been busy. He'd been on the phone for nearly an hour that morning, and pulled in several favours he was owed. And now, as the local news began on the TV, he'd hit the headlines.

  "Local actor, director, producer and businessman Tom McLean answers allegations that the cast of his latest show were drunk during their performance last night. Reports of cannibalism have surfaced, and the group are under investigation by the authorities," said the female newsreader in the studio. "Here's Gavin Foxton with the man himself."

  The TV cut to a shot of Blackworth marketplace.

  "In the quiet market town of Blackworth, nothing much ever happens. People get on with their lives, day to day..."

  The shot changed to the front of the Old Cinema.

  "But last night, it seemed as if the lunatics had escaped the asylum, when the performers of Blackworth Amateur Theatre Stars went on the rampage during a performance."

  A young man with an oversized microphone appeared on-screen, apparently live.

  "With me, to explain what happened, is local business leader and actor, Tom McLean."

  The shot expanded to the right and Tom appeared.

  "Hello, Gavin."

  "Hello, Tom. Reports have come through that some of the cast tried to eat the audience last night."

  "That is blatantly untrue. It was all part of the show..."

  "And what was the show?"

  "Bye Bye Birdie."

  "As far as I, Gavin Foxton, am aware, there are no zombies in that show."

  "That's correct, but we wanted to try something new..."

  "It has been said that this wasn't part of the show, and that virtually everyone on stage had too much to drink earlier in the day."

  "That is blatantly untrue."

  "I would actually tend to agree with you there, Tom, as I've seen the preliminary toxicology report from the police. Drugged up to the eyeballs - that's the short version."

  "How dare you suggest that I was on drugs!"

  "Not just you Tom. The whole cast."

  "Preposterous!"

  "As it stands, the police have just released a statement saying that further performances have been cancelled until the source of the drugs is found. And furthermore, you yourself are under suspicion of animal cruelty."

  "What? What animal? When?"

  "It seems that you may have killed a parrot down in Bentley Hill."

  "KILLED A PARROT?"

  "Yes, the star turn in The Bentley Hill Players Death of an Actor. You killed an animal actor."

  "KILLED A PARROT? THOSE BENTLEY HILL FOOLS? WHO TOLD YOU THIS?"

  "It's all over the internet..."

  "RIGHT! You lot had better get off The Twitter and The Facebook, and prepare yourselves, because I didn't murder a blasted parrot! I'll get to the bottom of this before the boys in blue do. I'm looking at you, Sergeant Bamber. And more importantly, I'm looking at you, Jim Butler. I'll be seeing you later. THIS INTERVIEW IS OVER!"

  Tom gave the reporter a shove, and stormed off in the general direction of Bentley Hill.

  "As you can see from that little outburst, Tom McLean is clearly an unstable individual and probably shouldn't be out on the streets."

  "....stuff it, sunshine!"

  "...back to you in the studio, Angela. This has been Gavin Foxton, on Blackworth marketplace."

  Harry turned to Chris and smiled. "See. I told you."

  "What, that he's a loony? I knew that already."

  "No, that it's The Twitter."

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later there was a knock on the door of Jim and Anne Butler's bungalow. Anne went to answer it.

  "Oh, hello Tom. Is there some..."

  "WHERE IS HE?"

  "...beg pardon?"

  "JAMES BUTLER. YOUR HUSBAND. WHERE IS HE?"

  "I'm here, Tom," said Jim, ambling out of the living room. "What on earth's wrong with you? You sound angry!"

  "I AM ANGRY! I AM SO ANGRY! SO FLAMING ANGRY! YOU SET THE POLICE ON ME!"

  "I did no such thing!"

  "REALLY? Then why am I being accused of parrot murder?"

  "I have no idea! Our parrot died, and it may well have been poisoned, but it probably just ate something it shouldn't have. Lillian borrowed it from someone up her street. I mean, it might even have been ill when she first got it..."

  "LILLIAN? THAT OLD WOMAN? So this is her fault then..."

  "What? How is anything her fault?"

  "She poisoned the parrot, and now you're trying to blame me. You haven't heard the last of this, James. Not at all."

  Tom growled at Jim and Anne, spun on his heel, and stormed off down the path.

  "Do you think we should call the police? He looks a bit crazy," whispered Anne.

  "I think we'll be OK. You know he likes to shout. Once he's got it out his system he'll be fine. But for the record, I do think he poisoned our parrot. He's mad enough for anything. Even murder."

  "Oh. Maybe I should call the police then..."

  ***

  Lillian had insisted on returning home as soon as possible. As much as she appreciated the way that everyone had rallied round to decorate her flat, she couldn't stand the way that Anne cooked sausages. And so, she sat on her sofa, nervously rubbing her hands together. She'd watched the local news, and now the snooker was on, but she couldn't stop thinking about Tom McLean and how crazy he'd seemed. And how upset about the parrot he was. Lillian wailed.

  There was a loud knock on her front door, which made her jump.

  "LILLIAN LOVELACE, OPEN THIS DOOR. I'VE GOT A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU!"

  "Who is it?" she replied in her best frail-old-woman voice, already knowing that it was Tom McLean. "I am but a poor old lady..."

  "You're a flamin' parrot murderer, and I want you to go on the news and clear my name!"

  Chapter 13

  Harry picked up both the cups, and was about to go to the kitchen to make another drink when there was knock on the door.

  "Who could that be?" he asked out loud.

  "I don't know," said Chris. "I mean, we're both here. So it's not me."

  "Remind me to mention to Jim we should look into doing a Sherlock Holmes play," said Harry as he went to the door.

  He opened it, cups still in hand, and there stood Sophie.

  "Hello!" she said. "I think my suspicions are confirmed!"

  "Huh? What suspicions?"

  "That you have a visitor. And that visitor is Chris."

  "That's amazing! How did you know that?"

  "You have two cups in your hand."

  "Well spotted. I could be lazy though, and just not done the washing up..."

  "True. But you aren't lazy, and you're very tidy. So you have a visitor."

  "But how do you know it's Chris?"

  "He's standing behind you, waving."

  Harry looked over his shoulder at Chris, who was indeed waving. He sighed.

  "You'd better come in then. You've got a better chance of controlling him than I have. Want a drink?"

  "Ooh, please. Coffee?"

  "Yep, no problem. No sugar because you're sweet enough and so on?"

  "Aw, you're lovely. But no, two sugars please."

  "Be right back then," said Harry, heading off to the kitchen.

  "You won't believe it!" said Chris.

  "No, I will. Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

  "What? It hasn't rung! Look, I'll show you," said Chris, patting his hip pocket. And then the other hip pocket. And both back pockets. And then under his armpit, and finally his shoe. "I've lost my phone..."

  "You idiot," she said with a smile. "I've been worried about you!"

  "Well you should have rung me...ow!"

  ***

  Harry returned with the drinks, and explained to Sophie what had happened on the news, as she'd not seen it. She couldn't believe how ang
ry Tom had become.

  "What do you think he'll do? Do you think he'll go down to the hall and smash the windows or something?"

  "No, I don't think he's quite that mad," said Harry.

  "I still can't believe it," said Chris.

  "I know! He's let his false persona slip on television! I knew he was a liar," said Sophie.

  "What? No, I mean, I can't believe that more than one person calls it The Twitter."

  Sophie's brow furrowed, as she tried to recall someone mentioning Twitter in the previous conversation. No-one had, as it was hardly relevant to the on-screen meltdown they had experienced.

  "Chris, what do you mean? I thought everyone called it The Twitter."

  "What? What? What? How can you be my girlfriend and not even know that? This is ridiculous!"

  "You're ridiculous," said Harry. "Shut up and sup up. Before I insult you on The Twitter."

  "Grr."

  ***

  Eventually, the topic of conversation changed and meandered until Sophie was able to convince Chris they needed to walk up to marketplace. Apparently, a new shoe shop had opened up a few doors down from The Old Cinema, and there were a nice pair of heels that Sophie had her eye on. Chris reluctantly agreed - he was never one for going shopping, especially for other people - so they said their goodbyes to Harry, and set off up the hill.

  Walking at a brisk pace, they were on the market within a few minutes, and Sophie increased her pace when she caught sight of the sign outside the shoe shop.

  EXTRA 20% OFF - TODAY ONLY!

  Chris struggled to keep up as Sophie ran along, holding his hand, dragging him behind her. Just before they got to the door of the shop, she stopped dead, and Chris crashed in to the back of her.

  "Ow! What'd you stop for?"

  "Look!" she said, with distinct venom.

  Coming out of the shoe shop, looking quite forlorn, was Zoe McLean.

  "Hi Zoe!" yelled Chris, waving.