A Very Foggy Christmas
to offend her so I nodded in what I hoped was a wise and understanding manner and said “Yes, of course,” as I carefully moved a pile of Children of Artemis magazines to make some room on the sofa. Myra came into the room wiping her face and flopped down next to me, bouncing me up in the air and scattering the magazines onto the floor. “You’re not doing that mumbo jumbo Typhoo shite, are you Mum? I thought you’d stopped seeing elephants in ink blots.”
“But it’s a sign, Myra, a clear sign!”
“A sign that you’re about to be sectioned?”
“No, it’s a sign for you - there’s a penis in my saucer, Myra, and that hasn’t happened since your father left me for that tranny-looking thing. Don’t you see what this means?”
“No.”
“It means it’s a boy, it’s definitely a boy.”
I looked from one of them to the other; Myra had flushed dark red. “Oh, thanks a bunch, Mum!” she spat. “I haven’t had the chance to tell him and now you’ve just gone and blabbed it out! Well done, I hope you’re proud of yourself, you gormless retarded old trout.”
“He deserves to know. How long were you planning on keeping him in the dark? It’s not fair.”
What on earth were they talking about? I often found girly chatter rather difficult to comprehend and it didn’t help that I’d obviously walked in on a private conversation. I felt I had to break the awkward silence. “Shall we go to your room and rehearse, Myra?” I asked, hopefully. “I could take the part of the Scarecrow if you want to practise ‘If I Only Had a Brain’.”
They both stared at me for a moment, then Myra got up and rushed out. I heard the door to the downstairs cloakroom slam shut again. Poor thing, this hay fever was really affecting her. Never mind, I’d just have to go home and practise on my own, unless Mum had one of her heads, of course - if so, I’d mouth the words silently into the hallway mirror again.
After an extremely busy morning on the phones, I had lunch with my mate Barry, who was on a break from his community service. We went to Jabba’s, which did a sausage and onion six-inch baguette for 99p. Barry, still in his waders, smelt strongly of stagnant water, so we had to go outside and sit on the wall with our baguettes, after a woman seated inside with a dribbly bulldog protested that we were unhygienic. “So, what have you been doing, Barry?”
“What d’yer think? They don’t make you dress like this to serve afternoon tea at the Ritz, do they? Been clearing out Shit Creek again; found seventeen Asda trolleys in there this morning. And a Fiat Uno.”
“Do they work you very hard?”
“Nah, the Gaffer’s usually too stoned to notice what’s going on. Jimmy can get all the way to Morrison’s, nick some vodka, score some crack and make it back; he’s never been missed.”
“Are you coming to rehearsals tonight? Tom’s pretty keen that all the cast attend.”
Barry snorted. “You must be bloody joking, I don’t want my hearing permanently damaged by your bird’s foghorn. Size of her lungs, people will think the QE2’s coming up the canal.”
“She has got a wonderfully powerful voice, hasn’t she?” I said, proudly. “I can’t wait to hear her Over the Rainbow.”
“Oh, they’ll hear her over the rainbow, alright. Probably cause another Tsunami in Asia.”
“I just hope she’s ok, she hasn’t been very well lately and it’s made her a little bit, er, uptight, you could say.”
“Turned psycho again, has she? I saw her coming out of the doctor’s yesterday - testosterone reduction, was it? Or just getting her prostate checked?”
I laughed. I knew he liked Myra really; he always offered to walk her home when she’d had so much to drink she didn’t know what was what or who was who and couldn’t stay upright on my crossbar. But why hadn’t Myra mentioned going to the doctor’s? It must have been because of her terrible winter hay fever and she probably didn’t want to worry me. I followed Barry back inside to get a can of coke and we played football with a Jabba-giant muffin while we waited in the queue for the counter. The frizzy-haired woman at the till shouted, “Oi! I hope you’re going to pay for that!”
Barry looked horrified. “I’m not paying for that - it’s been kicked all round the floor!”
I whizzed to the Jubilee Hall on my bike, feeling really buzzed up and ready to perform my socks off. I had prepared very thoroughly, running through my vocal exercises and gargling with onion and warm water for my adenoids. I used to gargle with onion, warm water and saliva, until Mum told me I’d misunderstood Google where it said “and spit”. To think I’d been doing it wrong all these years! And it was only recently that I’d worked out you were supposed to use the juice from an onion and not the whole thing. I also did my stretches, which help my sciatica, so I would be all nice and loose for the dancing. One of Mum’s clients was in the kitchen finishing his cigarette, and he tried to show me an exercise for my back. He said I should kneel down on all fours, then take my bottom very slowly backwards, brace myself and hold that position for about one minute forty-five seconds. He very kindly offered to crouch down behind me to keep me steady, but Mum came in and stopped us. She doesn’t really like me fraternising with her clients – she’s a real pro.
The SADS gathered at the Jubilee Hall were fizzing with anticipation as they always did when a new production was about to commence, it was a terrific atmosphere. I removed my purple folding cycling helmet and pushed open the door to the hall - I was entering as the lead actor! What a moment. I was delighted to see that Myra had made it. She was chatting to Tom and had dressed in her best outfit of leopard print tunic and black leather-look leggings. She’d even put on her special-edition Doc Martens that had flames all down the sides - what an authentic Dorothy she was going to make! The lovely Judy Garland herself could not fail to be impressed; perhaps we should invite her to the opening night.
Frankie Trevino slouched in the corner, hands stuffed into the pockets of his trendy designer jeans. A packet of Marlboro’s poked out from the top pocket of his denim jacket. He always looked so cool, and I couldn’t wait to see him all dressed up as the Cowardly Lion! He was going to be brilliant. I beamed over at him but he shouted: “What are you gawping at, bum bandit?” He did get a little tense before a performance and he probably felt a bit upset that he’d lost out on the lead to me. Funny how things were reversed this time round! My luck had certainly changed.
When Tom and Myra finally stopped talking, Tom called us together and said we were going to start with Dorothy’s arrival in the Land of Oz and then into ‘Follow the Yellow Brick Road’. I managed to grab a quick word with Myra as everyone was getting ready to start. “How’s your hay fever, Myra? Barry said he saw you at the doctor’s.”
“Oh, er, yes, it’s all better now.”
“Gosh, that cleared up very quickly, how marvellous! And you look really nice tonight; are those skull earrings new?”
“Half price at Accessorize. Had to make the effort and dress up a bit, didn’t I? Especially as all eyes are on me now!” I nodded in agreement and smiled at Thin Lizzie, who was standing next to us, reading her lines.
“Are you going to be singing Over The Rainbow tonight, Myra?” I asked. “I can’t wait to hear it, can you Lizzie?”
“I can wait,” Lizzie muttered, without looking up.
“We won’t be doing it tonight,” said Myra, loudly. “As it’s my solo and doesn’t involve anyone else, I’m just going to perform for Tom, probably when everyone else has gone home. He’s very keen to have a private viewing.”
“Oh yes, I suppose that makes sense.” I was disappointed but could understand the logic. “Are you looking forward to being the witch, Lizzie?”
Myra snorted but we didn’t get to hear Lizzie’s response as Tom shouted that we were ready to start. He stared at me. “What are you doing here, Foggy?”
He was funny! “Oh you know,” I chuckled, joining in with his joke. “I know you wouldn’t normally expect your lead actor
to turn up to rehearsals but what can I say? I like to be different!”
He managed to keep a straight face - proof he was a really great actor. “Well, we’re not doing the beginning or end scenes tonight, so you’ll have to sit this one out.” He stroked his little goatee beard thoughtfully. “Actually, it’s best you contact me before each rehearsal, save you a wasted journey. Send me a text beforehand, ok?”
Wow - preferential treatment. I was being spoilt and fawned over already; I could get used to this!
Mum had gone to bed when I got home, so I turned off ‘Last Christmas’, which was on repeat in the kitchen, and made myself a peanut butter sandwich. Myra had stayed behind to perform for Tom, although I wasn’t sure how well that would go, as she’d become rather upset during the rehearsal. I’m not sure what had caused her to physically attack the Cowardly Lion (or “you double denim dipshit” as she’d screamed into his ear while he was in the headlock) but maybe it was because he’d made a loud farting sound every time she sang “the wind began to switch” or perhaps it was because he’d laughed when she accidentally sang “With the thoughts you’d be thinkin’ you could be another Rifkind” instead of Lincoln. I don’t know. I couldn’t recall from the film an actual fistfight between Dorothy and the Wicked Witch of the West, but I’d have to watch it again to be absolutely