telling him all about our wonderful Christmas and thanking him for my lovely salad servers. I asked if he could make me another fork as unfortunately the original had split in two. I reminded Dad that this time next year I would be a father myself, and Peanut would be five months old already - a proper little person! And tonight, I would be making my debut in a starring role. I must make sure someone records it so I can show it to Peanut when he’s old enough. It might inspire him to tread the boards too, just like Gareth Gates had inspired me when he took over the role of Joseph, just before the show ended.
The Jubilee Hall was a blaze of lights and a buzz of excited voices; opening night was terrifying yet exhilarating at the same time. Myra was on stage practising her breathing exercises as Tom watched over her, the Scarecrow was shedding straw all over the place and Frankie Trevino was loosening the screws on the Tin Man’s dustbin with a spanner, because Nervous Noel was beginning to feel claustrophobic. I found Barry backstage sprawled across a chair in his Auntie Em dress. His eyes were shut but he opened one as I sat down next to him; it was extremely bloodshot and there was a deep gash across his forehead. “Just woke up under a Ford Focus,” he grunted. “No idea how I got there.”
“Oh dear! Are you going to be alright for your performance, Bazza?” I asked anxiously.
“Who gives a shit? Just got to wail ‘Daisy, oh Daisy’, a few times, haven’t I? Shouldn’t be difficult.”
“It’s Dorothy.”
“Whatever.”
The audience was beginning to arrive at the hall, so I went out front to show people to their seats, although they could sit anywhere they liked, of course. Mum came with Auntie Trisha and Biffa, so I made sure they had chairs in the front row, and Gay Ray from work turned up too. He told Mum he adored Judy Garland. I felt a hand on my arm as I was moving a broken chair to one side and turned to see Freckly Girl at my elbow. “Oh, hello!” I said. “How nice of you to come.”
“I wasn’t sure if it would be going ahead, I read about the fire in the paper. I would have phoned you, but I haven’t got your contact details.”
“It was only a small fire, hardly worthy of mention in the grand Shodsworth News!”
“Shall we exchange phone numbers anyway, I mean, in case we do need to contact each other?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I laughed. “There’s unlikely to be another disaster anytime soon! Lightening doesn’t strike twice, you know!” I jumped as a piercing scream rang out from the stage and I saw Thin Lizzie frozen in terror with the end of her broomstick in flames. Quick-thinking Tom grabbed it from her and beat it out against the dustbin. Nervous Noel did extremely well to keep his footing. “For Christ’s sake Frankie!” Tom yelled. “How many times do I have to tell you; stop lighting your bloody cigarettes in here! And somebody chuck that bucket of water over the haystack - there’s smoke coming from it!”
Freckly Girl seemed about to say something to me but she was interrupted by the arrival of Granny Pattern.
“Got any cushions, Morten? I need to sit on something that will deaden the sound. Blame your mother’s Brussel sprouts; like rubber bullets, they were, I reckon they’ll stay lodged in my colon ‘til New Year.”
As I selected some dry straw from the haystack for Granny Pattern to sit on, I felt my heart beginning to race. Not long now and the curtain would be coming up on my first performance as the lead actor; I’d better go and get my cotton wool beard on!
The after show party was always tremendous fun, and I munched on a selection of party nibbles with Mum, Auntie Trisha and Biffa as we reflected on another triumphant evening for the SADS. “Myra was simply awesome, wasn’t she?” I said, proudly, biting into a mini picnic egg.
“That’s one word for it,” said Mum, rubbing her forehead. “Didn’t really need that microphone though, did she? It’s a miracle only one speaker blew.”
“A pity the PA system is a bit dodgy,” added Auntie Trisha. “Poor Myra thought it had cut out during Somewhere Over the Rainbow, didn’t she? Unless the lyric actually was ‘someday I’ll wish upon a star and beat the living shit out of you, you utter fucking piece of crap’.”
“Oh, I thought she’d got away with that,” I said, dismayed. “And it cut out during the Tin Man’s song as well.”
“That didn’t matter,” said Biffa, supportively. “He was shaking so hard you couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his dustbin rattling.”
“I did feel sorry for him,” said Mum. “Especially when Barry was sick into the dustbin; Noel did very well to carry on, I think.”
Granny Pattern joined us, trying to get her handbag to close over two dozen sausage rolls. “Did you enjoy my performance, Gran?” I asked.
“Were you in it?”
“Yes! I handed out the awards at the end and took off in the balloon.”
“Why didn’t you wake me, Pam?” she asked my mother crossly.
“I thought you’d passed away,” my mother muttered, under her breath. “Wishful bloody thinking.”
“Why were you dressed as Santa Claus?” Auntie Trisha asked me.
“I thought you were Colonel Sanders!” exclaimed Biffa. “I kept thinking I could murder a KFC.”
“Where’s Myra?” asked Mum. “Not still upset about Toto, is she? She was a bit heavy-handed with the poor little thing. I’m not surprised he went for her. Dogs don’t like being grabbed by their balls, you know. Or chucked into haystacks.”
“I don’t know why they didn’t use a bitch for Toto,” mumbled Granny Pattern. “They used one for Dorothy.”
“I think Myra was more shaken by the Wicked Witch not dying when she was supposed to,” I told them. “Everyone was taken by surprise when the witch came back to life and attempted to garrotte Dorothy with the broomstick. I’m sure that wasn’t in rehearsals.”
“Perhaps you’d better go and find Myra,” said Mum. “Check she’s ok.”
“I’ll see if she’s in the toilets,” said Granny Pattern, “I’m heading that way. Now, don’t you go home without me, Pam; I don’t want to get locked in there overnight again.”
I was just about to go outside to look for Myra when the PA system crackled into life and her voice filled the hall.
“I’ve told you, Tom - I don’t know!”
“You do know, Myra! It’s mine, isn’t it?”
“Foggy thinks it’s-” the system broke up on Myra’s reply.
“That stupid lit........ker! When are you going to tell the poor ............... truth?”
“You want ..... get rid ..... don’t you? In case your idiot wife .......”
“You leave my wife ......... she’s not .......” There was a pause. “Don’t tell me that bloody thing’s on? What the ......”
The hall had fallen silent. I looked around and everyone seemed to be staring at me. What was wrong? The curtain hiding the PA system was pulled back very slowly and Tom and Myra appeared hesitantly from behind it. “There you are Myra!” I exclaimed. “We wondered where you’d got to. Come and try these pigs in blankets.”
“Myra’s had quite enough pigs in blankets by the sound of it,” Mum said, very loudly. “I think she’s got some explaining to do.”
Myra fiddled with her plaits and looked sideways at Tom. “Um, shall we go outside, do you think, and-”
“No, I don’t think we will.” Mum sounded angry, for some reason. “I think you’ll stand right there on that stage in front of everyone and tell us the truth. Loud and clear please, Myra, so we can all hear you. Whose baby are you expecting?”
I stared at Mum. Had she gone mad? Perhaps she’d had too much to drink, she had been knocking back the Lambrini at an alarming rate. Myra’s eyes darted wildly round the hall and settled on Tom, but he was looking down at his shoes.
“Is it Tom’s baby?” Mum demanded.
“Mum!” I hissed. “I warned you about watching too much Jeremy Kyle! Of course it’s not Tom’s baby; Peanut’s one hundred percent pure F
ogarty!” I beamed up at Myra. “Tell her, Myra.” She looked down at me miserably and didn’t speak. It was so quiet in the hall I could hear my heart thudding in my ears. “Myra?” I choked, my throat suddenly dry.
“I’m sorry, Foggy.”
There was silence for a moment, then Mum let out a strangled yelp and launched herself towards the stage. Biffa, who used to be a bouncer, made a grab for her and hung on for dear life as Mum wriggled and kicked, screaming dreadful obscenities up at Myra. Biffa managed to drag her outside, shouting, “Leave it Pam, leave it!”
“W-what are you saying, Myra?” I stammered. “You don’t mean ... you can’t mean, you’re not saying that, that Peanut isn’t mine?”
“I’m sorry, Foggy,” she said again, big tears rolling down her cheeks. “He’s not yours.”
“He’s mine,” said Tom, lifting his head to look at me. “I’m the father.”
“Er, well, actually you might not be,” mumbled Myra, wiping her nose with her hand.
“What?”
Myra gazed down at her ruby slippers. “It could be Frankie’s-”
There was a loud crash as the Cowardly Lion dropped his bottle of Becks. A cigarette fell from his open mouth.
“Or, it might be someone else’s...” Myra raised her head and several of the Munchkins examined their fingernails. Barry vomited into the cardboard box hot air balloon.
“Jesus Christ!” burst out Auntie Trisha. “There’s a cast of bloody thousands! Shame on you, Myra - how could you let Foggy think he was the father? You’re sick in the