time. She opened the box of chocolates Lois had given her – “So as not to disturb people once the play gets going” – and settled back into her seat. “Oh, look, Lois, there’s that woman from the library,” she said loudly, the gin and tonic having done its work, “you know, the snotty one who never smiles.” Heads turned, and Lois was relieved to see most faces were amused.
The play was set in a courtroom, and seemed to be about a problem of identity. There was this bloke, Sir Mark Loddon, who’d come back from the war and there was some problem about whether he was the real thing. Lois’s concentration slipped, and she found herself thinking about the Betts’s and Gary Needham. So far, she hadn’t recognized Gary in any of the characters. Betts was backstage, anyway. Why had they met at six thirty somewhere? What could Betts want with Gary? Surely nothing to do with the play. That would all be taken care of at rehearsals.
The lights went up for the interval, and Gran was smiling broadly. “It’s really good, Lois, isn’t it? What do you think? Is he the real Sir Mark Loddon?”
“Um, I’m not sure,” said Lois. “I expect all will be revealed a few minutes before the end.” She stood up. “Shall we have another?” she said tentatively.
Gran bounced to her feet. “Why not!” she said. “Might as well be hung for sheep as lambs.”
They made their way out to the bar, and Lois settled her mother in a corner whilst she got the drinks. When she came back, Gran was talking animatedly to another woman of her own age. “Ah, here she is,” she said. “Now Lois, guess who this is?”
Lois shook her head. “Go on, tell me,” she said, smiling at the other woman.
“It’s Olive Morton, used to live next door to us. You remember, Lois, you used to play with her Jean, then they moved away.”
Lois did not remember clearly, but said that of course, now she recognized her, and she hadn’t changed a bit. This set off another chain of reminiscences, and Lois saw her opportunity.
“Mum, if you and Olive are all right, can you spare me for a while? Just got to check something out. Shan’t be more than a few minutes.” The two older women scarcely noticed that she had gone.
¦
It had begun to rain, and Lois slithered down the dimly-lit passage leading to the stage door. She knocked, and as before, the bright lamp overhead was switched on. “Sorry, love,” a man’s voice said, “can’t see anyone during the interval. No problem, is there?”
As Lois cast about desperately for a reason for being there, another head appeared. “Mrs M? What are you doing here?” It was Gary. He must have heard her voice, and when she said it was urgent, and wouldn’t take more than a minute, he pulled her inside, shut the door, and led her through costumed actors staring at her in nervous hostility, and out into a stone-floored passage. He opened another door, and they went in. It was the props room, and so crammed with what looked to Lois like crumbling junk, that there was very little room to move.
“Right,” said Gary, “can I help? What is it? Is there an emergency?” He looked very agitated, but then this was halfway through a performance. She noticed that he was dressed in an old-style army uniform.
“Are you on stage next?” she said. He nodded, waiting for her to explain.
She hesitated, searching for an opening. Not easy, when she wasn’t sure what she was looking for. “Um, well – my goodness, they could do with New Brooms in here!” she floundered.
Gary did not smile. “Better hurry, Mrs M,” he said, “else we shall have old Betts in here. He’s in charge of props.”
On cue, the door opened, and there stood Mr Betts, glowering at her. “What on earth are
Gary looked uncertainly at Lois. Then he shrugged helplessly. He pushed past Mr Betts, retreated into the passage, and disappeared.
“Now, madam,” said Mr Betts, “you can make yourself comfortable, and I’ll deal with you later.” Before she could move, he had taken the key from the door, and followed Gary out of the room. She heard the key turn in the lock. Lois was alone, and very frightened.
? Terror on Tuesday ?
Forty-Three
The bell for the end of the interval sounded twice, and Lois had still not returned to Gran and Olive. “You go, dear,” said Gran, “else you’ll miss the beginning of the second act.”
“Oh, it’s all right, they never start on time. I come here lots, and they always allow a few minutes grace for dawdlers.” Olive looked around. “Shall I go and see if she’s locked in the Ladies?” She laughed, but Gran did not join in.
“Not like our Lois to be late,” she said, looking worried.
A plump, middle-aged man with rimless glasses approached them. He looked important, and Gran stood up. “Are you Mrs Meade’s mother?” he said.
She nodded, and said quickly, “What’s happened? Where is she?”
“Oh, nothing’s wrong! She sent a message to say would you two like to go in, and she’ll join you. She’s just met one of her cleaners, and they have to fix something important for tomorrow.”
Gran sighed with relief. “Right, come on then, Olive…”
“I wonder if you two would like to sit together?” The man smiled helpfully. “If your friend would like to sit in Mrs Meade’s seat, I can direct your daughter to another part of the theatre when she’s ready. Then you can meet after the show.”
The usherette was signalling frantically from the auditorium door that the curtain was about to go up, and Gran and Olive, pleased with the arrangement, went swiftly in to take their seats. As they sat down and Gran put the box of chocolates between them, she leaned over and whispered to Olive, “Wasn’t that the schoolmaster from Waltonby?”
“Ssshhh!”
Gran put her spread fingers to her nose at the man in front, and settled down to follow the convoluted plot.
¦
At least I’ve got light, Lois said to herself. She had tried the door, but it was firmly locked. Right, first push a piece of paper under the door, then ease the key out of the lock so that it drops on the paper. Then pull it back and Bob’s your uncle! Lois remembered all this from her misspent youth, and looked around for a piece of paper. Amidst all the junk, there was not a single magazine, newspaper or any other kind of paper. She opened her handbag. Of course! She grabbed her mobile phone, and switched on. No signal. Shit! She threw it violently across the room, and it clattered down behind a pile of junk. Good riddance! What else? Her diary was tiny, and the chances of a key falling on a page from it were remote, even supposing she could push the key out of the lock.
First things first, Lois. She went over to the door, where she squinted into the keyhole. Fine, wonderful. Thanks very much, Mr Betts. He had, naturally, taken the key with him. Well, that was only to be expected. If she shouted loud enough, someone might come and release her. She could hear nothing from outside. The play must have started again, but it was silent as the grave in the props room. Without much hope, she shouted as loud as she could, but nobody came. Oh God…Derek… “Help! Help! HELP!”
Then the light went out.
Lois froze. She could hear a far off sound of approaching footsteps, gradually getting louder. Then they stopped, and she knew those marching feet were right outside the door. The key was inserted, and turned in the lock. Then the door opened, and a torch beam flicked around the room.
“Ah, still here,” said Mr Betts. “That’s good. Now, I must find the fuse box, and then I’ll attend to you.” He shut and locked the door, and Lois could hear the key being withdrawn again. She sat absolutely still, perching on the edge of a broken old chair. If he approached, she reckoned her chances were reasonable. Derek had taught her the rudiments of a judo course he’d attended one winter, and she flexed her muscles. One thing about cleaning, it kept you in good physical shape.
Then suddenly the light came on, and she was facing him. He had a torch in one hand and a small pistol in the other. It flashed across Lois’s mind that it could be a prop, just as the knight’s armour and the tomb cover had
