Better keep an eye on the time, she thought, and she looked at her wristwatch. ‘A room with a view, one two! I must be back in my seat, three four! Back in my seat, three four! And…’ Margaret needed to keep in time with the rhythm, ‘two three four.’ She mimed the last verse of the song as she walked back to her seat, and she was standing at her post ready to show the audience to the exit at the interval and at the end of the show.
Wait For Me Dearest was a collection of modern songs and sketches. Margaret knew the words to half the songs already because they were often on the wireless; the rest she worked hard to learn and by her second month as an usherette she knew them by heart. It hadn’t been easy learning the dances, because she was constantly looking over her shoulder. Miss Lesley would often turn up at one or other of the usherette stations without warning. Margaret had got away with being absent from her post several times but decided not to push her luck. After tonight, she would practise at home. As the last song of the show came to an end and the stage lights began to dim, Margaret made her way back to her seat. Miss Lesley was sitting in it.
Margaret felt her throat constrict. Her mouth was dry. She swallowed hard. She opened her mouth to speak, but fear had taken her voice. There wasn’t anything she could say anyway. She had been caught away from her post and nothing could excuse that. She thought about fainting. She had almost collapsed when she saw Miss Lesley. She could lie. She could say she’d been sick. She felt sick. But Miss Lesley would probably see through her.
Once the audience had left and the auditorium was empty, Miss Lesley led the way to her office. She opened the door, stood back to allow Margaret to enter and followed her in. ‘Sit down,’ she said, pointing to the chair in front of her desk. Margaret perched nervously on the edge of the seat. Miss Lesley sat down heavily in the chair opposite. Leaning her elbows on the desk, Miss Lesley clasped her hands under her chin. For a long minute there was an awkward silence. ‘Well?’ she said suddenly, making Margaret jump. ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m sure you are, but that is not what I meant.’ Miss Lesley looked over the top of her glasses. ‘What was so important that you left your station during the show? Were you ill?’
Margaret thought again about lying. She decided against it. ‘No, Miss Lesley.’
‘What then?’
Margaret lowered her eyes. She hadn’t thought about what she’d say if she was caught. She hadn’t planned on getting caught.
‘What would have happened if a member of the audience had been taken ill?’
Margaret opened her mouth. It was shame this time that had taken her voice.
‘Well?’
Tears pricked the back of her eyes. ‘I don’t know!’ she whispered.
‘Then I’ll tell you. One of the other usherettes would have had to leave her post to help them.’ Silence hung heavily in the air of the small office. ‘Tonight wasn’t the first time you left your post, was it?’
Margaret shot the front of house manager a tearful look, but said nothing.
‘What is so important that you’ll risk losing your job? What have you been doing?’
‘Learning the dances.’
‘You’ve been what?’
There was no going back now. Margaret wiped a tear from her cheek. ‘I’ve been practising the dances from the walkway at the back of the stalls. I know most of them by heart and I thought--’
‘You thought what?’ Miss Lesley snapped.
Margaret cleared her throat. ‘I thought, because the girls in the chorus are always leaving at short notice, there should be someone--’ she swallowed hard, ‘someone who already works in the theatre that could step in and take over.’
‘And that someone would be?’
‘Me.’
‘You?’
‘Yes!’ Margaret stuttered on. ‘Once I knew the routines well enough to perform them, I was going to ask if you’d have a word with Dick Smiley-- I mean, the director, Mr Smiley – put a good word in for me. I’ve learned all the songs too. Singing is my strong suit. I could sing before I could walk--’
Miss Lesley put her hand up. ‘You’re obviously serious about this, Margaret. So if I speak to Mr Smiley on your behalf you must promise not to leave your post again.’
‘Thank you, Miss Lesley,’ Margaret said, clapping her hands. ‘I mean, no, Miss Lesley. I won’t leave my post again. I’ll practise at home. I’ll practise every night.’
‘I’m sure you will.’ Miss Lesley looked at the clock on the wall. ‘You had better go, your husband will be waiting for you.’
Margaret pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘Thank you, Miss Lesley.’
‘And Margaret?’ Miss Lesley said, as Margaret opened the door. ‘Be on time tomorrow.’
‘I will,’ Margaret said, grinning from ear to ear.
It had been three weeks since Miss Lesley promised to have a word with the director about Margaret being an understudy – and she’d heard nothing. She pushed her supper around her plate and sighed loudly.
Bill knew the signs. The novelty of being an usherette was wearing off. Most things did with Margaret – and usually much quicker. ‘That was a big sigh. What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing,’ she said, putting down her knife and fork. She waited for Bill to ask her again, but he didn’t.
‘Well, if you really want to know,’ Margaret said, with no intention of telling Bill she had almost lost her job, ‘Miss Lesley thought that, because I know the songs and dances in the show,
