‘The washroom is opposite,’ Miss Lesley said, handing Margaret a towel. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Shan’t be long.’
Entering the tiny room, Margaret caught sight of herself in the mirror. ‘What a flippin’ mess,’ she said aloud. While the basin filled with hot water she scored a tablet of Palmolive soap with a small nail brush and scrubbed the dirt from beneath her fingernails. When her hands were clean she drained the basin of dirty water and refilled it. She washed her face and dabbed it dry with the soft towel. She looked better. After combing her hair, she applied face powder and lipstick.
Miss Lesley poked her head round the door. ‘Ready?’ Margaret nodded. ‘Good. I’ll show you around.’
Margaret grabbed her jacket and followed Miss Lesley along the corridor, slowing now and then to look at photographs and posters of famous artists in shows that she’d read about in the Silver Screen magazine and Picturegoer.
‘The company’s rehearsing, so we must be quiet,’ Miss Lesley whispered, opening the door to the auditorium.
Margaret entered in a dream and stood with her mouth open. The auditorium was huge. Row after row of maroon velvet seats edged with gold disappeared into the shadows under the balcony. Her eyes feasted on the gilded circular balcony and the boxes on either side. Looking up further, beyond the upper circle and the gods, Margaret caught her breath. The ceiling with its huge chandeliers was magnificent. Golden cherubs and seraphs playing harps and flutes lay snug against a cream background. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The smell! ‘So that’s what greasepaint smells like,’ she whispered. The performers were in their rehearsal clothes – slacks, blouses, cardigans – not in makeup, but Margaret felt sure she could smell greasepaint. Standing in the dim half-light of the auditorium she watched the artists on stage. Flooded in bright light they looked magical. She thought her heart would explode with excitement.
‘… Margaret?’ Miss Lesley tapped her on the shoulder.
‘Oh!’ Margaret jumped. ‘I was--’
‘I know, dear.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Lesley. It’s just that I can’t believe I’m here. I’m in a real theatre, watching real actresses sing and dance. It’s amazing!’
‘Yes, it is. But we really shouldn’t be here, so...’
Margaret followed Miss Lesley to the exit along the side aisle. Before leaving, she looked back at the stage. A beautiful slender dancer stood watching her. Margaret hunched up her shoulders and mouthed, ‘Sorry.’ The dancer shook her head and smiled, as if to say, ‘It’s all right.’
‘The beautiful dancer at the front smiled at me,’ Margaret said, when they were in the corridor.
‘That’s Nancy Jewel, the soubrette. A soubrette is--’
‘A soprano who sings the character solos.’
‘That’s right!’ Miss Lesley laughed. ‘The other girls have one, sometimes two songs that they feature in, but Nancy has several solos, in addition to stepping out of ensemble numbers. She’s the Prince Albert’s leading lady.’
‘You have to be very good to sing the lead numbers,’ Margaret said.
‘And Nancy is. She’s an exceptionally talented actress, singer and dancer.’
‘I’m going to be an actress one day,’ Margaret said. ‘I’ll be the soubrette too, but--’
‘But until then, you’re an usherette.’
Margaret nodded. ‘Until then I’m-- I am? You mean I’ve got the job?’
Miss Lesley laughed again. ‘You’ve got the job if you can do the matinee on Saturday. The girl you’re replacing would like to visit her family before she joins her regiment.’
‘I can start tomorrow if you want.’
‘Saturday will be fine.’
‘I’m an usherette! Thank you, Miss Lesley. I’m an usherette,’ Margaret said again, unable to believe her luck.
Dinner was almost ready. Sausage, egg and chips, Bill’s favourite. A tin of Lokreel peaches with Nestle’s cream and a small sponge cake for afters. Although she had used the Health for All Ration-Time Recipes book, which offered recipes providing the right sort of food under rationing restrictions, Margaret wasn’t able to get all the ingredients for the cake and had to improvise. Bill probably wouldn’t notice – and if he did he wouldn’t mind. She had been saving food coupons for weeks. The plan was to make Bill a special birthday supper. She bit her bottom lip. She’d been so excited after getting the usherette job, she’d blown the lot on the evening meal. Potatoes weren’t rationed, and the food coupons had stretched to a couple of eggs and most of the ingredients for the cake. Natalie had given her two sausages. They were kosher – made differently for Jewish people. Margaret didn’t ask how. She didn’t care. She’d had them before, when she and Bill had been to supper with Natalie and Anton, and they were delicious.
Margaret turned the chips. Bill loved her fat chips. He called them workman’s chips. He had promised to come home early, so they could have dinner together. When she was working at the theatre, they’d only be able to have dinner together on Sundays. Not that it would make much difference. Bill was on the ambulances almost every night now he’d passed his first aid higher-something-or-other. Margaret smiled. After Saturday, she wouldn’t have to spend the evenings on her own, because she’d be working in a theatre. Margaret felt a flurry of excitement in her tummy. It would be fun working with other young people. She was bound to make friends. The more she thought about it the more excited she became. She couldn’t wait for Saturday.
Margaret heard Bill’s key turn in the lock while she was tipping the chips onto their plates. ‘Wash your hands, Bill; dinner’s ready.’
‘Will do, Mrs Bossy!’
Margaret took the sausages out of the frying pan and put in two eggs. She splashed hot fat onto them with the flat of a knife. White cooked, yolk runny, just the way Bill liked them.
