Recent Reader’s Short Story: Peter Gave Me a Ticket

Peter gave me a ticket, he’s very generous, then he told me to get a move on if I didn’t want to be late for the show.  I got held up in the foyer by the crush, quite a crowd.  The ticket Peter gave me was for the best seats in the house.  The front row of the Grand Circle, not up in the gods as I expected.  He really wanted me to see this show.  I could see the whole stage with an unimpeded view.  I recognised all the actors, not famous but known to me.  It’s quite an Am-Dram performance. Ted and Betty from the Bakers, Joyce the Greengrocer.  My Sandra is very friendly with her, got us some good deals Sandra reckoned.  Oh look, here she comes now, Sandra does look nice today in that costume. Not her favourite colour black and hiding her beautiful green eyes behind that veil, it’s not like Sandra to hide her  good looks.

There’s Paul the butcher, he’s a good friend of mine. We used to go to the midweek, evening matches at United together.  It didn’t matter they were near the bottom of Division Two, it was still a good night out.  A couple of pints after work, shouting released the stress and sometimes they even won.  He can’t make Saturday home games, the busiest day in the shop he told me.  He has to be there to make up any special orders or to cut up things they were running out of, all very technical apparently.  Sandra always gets our meat there, she says it’s special, but I wasn’t very impressed with the black pudding last week.  I thought it had a funny taste, but Sandra said that Paul had just added cinnamon and a touch of chilli to his recipe and that’s what I could taste.  It did give me terrible indigestion though and I’ve still got a funny taste in my mouth that I can’t get rid of.  I’ve tried everything – mouthwash, various brands of toothpaste, nothing works.  Peter said coming to see this would help me take my mind off it.

There’s Paul the butcher, he’s a good friend of mine.

It’s a bit strange though, last Saturday, after the match, when I walked past the shop about 5.00 pm, it was closed.  In total darkness.  It looked like it had been shut for hours, the window was empty, no lights on.  I know for midweek matches he closes, has a cup of tea in the back room, then meets me in The Crown for a pie and a pint before the match.  He lives on the other side of town and parks his car around the corner from the shop, down our street.  He must have been out the back of the shop on Saturday, maybe he was in the freezer or the prep room sorting things out.  That Saturday his car was parked opposite our drive.  It stops Sandra from taking the car into town shopping.  Sandra says she doesn’t mind because the shops are always busier on a Saturday.  But she always went shopping on a Saturday when I went to the match.  Anyway, it was strange, and I’ll ask Paul about it the next time I see him.

This is a great seat, I’ve got a terrific view of the stage, I can see all of the action.  It was good of Peter to get me this ticket, I’ve only known him a couple of days.  This is a good show, the action is very realistic.  Ah, the Vicar is talking to Sandra now.  All those rehearsals Sandra went to have really paid off.  They are doing ever so well.  They must have rehearsed it quite a few times to get it this good.  The way Sandra dabs her eyes with her hanky is very dramatic.  Paul’s going over to Sandra now.  I wonder what they are saying to each other.  I can’t quite catch their stage whispers, perhaps these seats are not so good after all.  Beneath that black veil Sandra seems to have perked up since Paul arrived.  He must have told her a joke.  They’re laughing together now.  I wish she wouldn’t stroke his face like that, it must be in the script though.  I remember the days when she used to stroke my face – it was when we were first married.  She hasn’t stroked my face for oh, I don’t know, ever so long, probably since Paul took over the butcher’s shop.”

This is a great seat, I’ve got a terrific view of the stage, I can see all of the action. It was good of Peter to get me this ticket.

Hello, hello, these look like two dodgy blokes.  They must be the villains.  They look like they’ve been sleeping in those suits for days.  Oh, there’s another one, in the wings, standing by the door, he must be waiting to come on.  The rest of the cast are having a good look around, this mustn’t be in the script.  Must be improvisation, I hear it’s all the rage these days in contemporary theatre.  I didn’t know it was quite so popular in Am-Dram though.  Must be Paul’s exit, he’s heading for the door, trying to slope past that other bloke.  He’s left Sandra with those two men in the suits, who are talking to her quite loudly now.

There’s more action.  The one in the wings is wearing a uniform, I didn’t notice that before.  He’s stopped Paul and is twisting his arm up behind his back.  It looks very realistic, but sore, I wonder why he’s doing that?  Paul’s putting on an incredible performance of being hurt.  Sandra is crying again.  What have those two blokes said to her.  The hanky’s out again, she does this bit really well.  Those blokes don’t seem as convinced as I am.  One of them has taken Sandra’s elbow, he’s guiding, well marching, her off stage really.  Sandra is wriggling, struggling to free herself from his grip, still crying – her acting’s tremendous.

He’s stopped Paul and is twisting his arm up behind his back.  It looks very realistic, but sore, I wonder why he’s doing that? 

“Stop that,” I shout.  “That’s my wife, you’re hurting her, stop it.”  He doesn’t react, he’s obviously ignoring me, or perhaps he can’t hear me.  It’s as if there’s a screen between us.  Peter never said anything about a screen.  If he had, I would’ve stayed at home and watched it on TV.  At least I could have turned the volume up to hear what they were saying.  Perhaps this seat is not as good as I first thought.  And there’s that box in the corner of the stage, must have been expensive, it’s very fancy.  Nobody has said anything about that, and nobody has tried to open it.  Maybe this is not such a good play, and I’ve still got that funny taste in my mouth, it didn’t go away like Peter said it would.

Now I come to think of it, it might not have been Peter who gave me the ticket after all.  I did say I haven’t known him very long.  He has a twin brother apparently – perhaps I’m getting the two of them mixed up?   His brother has a funny name, really old fashioned.  I wish I could remember it, what is it again?  He was smiling when he gave me the ticket though.  He said I would enjoy the show, especially the ending.  My memory is shocking, I wish I could remember his name.  I don’t think there was anyone in my class, or in my school, not even anyone down our street called this.  It’s a really unusual name.  I think his name might start with an L… something Lu… Luc…

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NorthernLife Mar/Apr 23