think you ought, though?’ Marcus asked, wincing.
She looked at him and willed him not to get downhearted. ‘ Macbeth ’s going to be great,’ she said.
‘Oh yes. Undoubtedly.’
‘Can I help you?’ A voice in the foyer beneath them made them both jump. They turned to see a rotund young woman standing behind the foyer desk. She had long, straw-blond hair that reached down to her not inconsiderable buttocks. ‘It’s just,’ she said, a stiff little smile stuck in the mass of her face, ‘you’re not supposed to be in here yet.’
‘Oh, James let us in,’ Marcus said, going back down the stairs.
‘Oh! You must be Marcus Wayland,’ the young woman said. ‘I can tell by your accent. Welcome to Trout Island.’ Wiping her own hand on her straining jeans, she reached out and shook Marcus’s. It looked to Lara as if she was trying to stop herself from curtsying. ‘I’m Alyssa Smith. Front of house manager.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Marcus beamed. ‘And this is my wife, Lara.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Alyssa nodded in Lara’s direction. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m opening up in five minutes and I have to get my ticketing system set up.’ She gestured to their glasses. ‘You can stay here until you finish your wine. We need to be a little discreet about that … I know James thinks it’s completely lame,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘But there are a few ladies here tonight who feel rather strongly about the booze issue.’
‘We’ve met them,’ Marcus said.
‘I just love your accent. I’m gonna bug you till I learn it!’ Alyssa said.
Lara and Marcus stood to one side, sipping their drinks, while Alyssa took two long, convoluted answerphone messages concerning ticket reservations. No one left their surnames. The assumption seemed to be that Alyssa would know who Kenny and Laura and Marsha and Hank were, and in fact she did. She dutifully wrote down the contents of the messages with a purple Sharpie pen, sticking the tip of her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she worked. Then she opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a metal cash tin, which she opened with a key from large bunch on a curled wire attached to her otherwise redundant belt. Inside was a pile of green cardboard tickets.
‘What happens if you get more bookings than you have tickets?’ Lara asked.
‘We just tell ’em to come on back the following night. Except for some of the weekend people, they don’t usually mind. They don’t have much else to do round here. Excuse me and glasses away now.’ Alyssa bustled round the desk and opened the front door, revealing a smiling, expectant queue of the largely white-haired audience.
Olly was near the head of the line, towering over the ladies in front of him. He looked exasperated.
‘Mum,’ he said loudly, as he came through the door. ‘Where the hell did you get to?’
One of the ladies turned and tutted at his choice of language and attitude.
If only she knew the half of it, Lara thought.
‘We’ve been stuck out here with Jack and he’s had an accident,’ Bella said, manoeuvring herself and her little brother out from behind an elderly man in a cowboy hat.
‘Oh, poor mite,’ a woman with jelly arms said as Bella handed him through the crowd.
‘It’s runny, Mum,’ Jack said, holding on to his bottom.
‘Poor you.’ Lara took him by the hand and led him through into the toilet with the changing mat. Jack had a delicate stomach, and any variation in diet, or even water, could lead to upsets. Luckily his underpants had caught the worst of it, so she took them off and cleaned him up the best she could.
‘I’ll get rid of these,’ she said, balling up his pants, ‘and you can just wear your trousers and go commando.’
‘Cool,’ Jack said.
She wrapped the offending item in paper towels and went back out into the foyer.
‘Excuse me Alyssa,’ she said, motioning to the stinking bundle she held down at her side. ‘Is there anywhere I
She looked at him and willed him not to get downhearted. ‘ Macbeth ’s going to be great,’ she said.
‘Oh yes. Undoubtedly.’
‘Can I help you?’ A voice in the foyer beneath them made them both jump. They turned to see a rotund young woman standing behind the foyer desk. She had long, straw-blond hair that reached down to her not inconsiderable buttocks. ‘It’s just,’ she said, a stiff little smile stuck in the mass of her face, ‘you’re not supposed to be in here yet.’
‘Oh, James let us in,’ Marcus said, going back down the stairs.
‘Oh! You must be Marcus Wayland,’ the young woman said. ‘I can tell by your accent. Welcome to Trout Island.’ Wiping her own hand on her straining jeans, she reached out and shook Marcus’s. It looked to Lara as if she was trying to stop herself from curtsying. ‘I’m Alyssa Smith. Front of house manager.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Marcus beamed. ‘And this is my wife, Lara.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Alyssa nodded in Lara’s direction. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m opening up in five minutes and I have to get my ticketing system set up.’ She gestured to their glasses. ‘You can stay here until you finish your wine. We need to be a little discreet about that … I know James thinks it’s completely lame,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘But there are a few ladies here tonight who feel rather strongly about the booze issue.’
‘We’ve met them,’ Marcus said.
‘I just love your accent. I’m gonna bug you till I learn it!’ Alyssa said.
Lara and Marcus stood to one side, sipping their drinks, while Alyssa took two long, convoluted answerphone messages concerning ticket reservations. No one left their surnames. The assumption seemed to be that Alyssa would know who Kenny and Laura and Marsha and Hank were, and in fact she did. She dutifully wrote down the contents of the messages with a purple Sharpie pen, sticking the tip of her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she worked. Then she opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a metal cash tin, which she opened with a key from large bunch on a curled wire attached to her otherwise redundant belt. Inside was a pile of green cardboard tickets.
‘What happens if you get more bookings than you have tickets?’ Lara asked.
‘We just tell ’em to come on back the following night. Except for some of the weekend people, they don’t usually mind. They don’t have much else to do round here. Excuse me and glasses away now.’ Alyssa bustled round the desk and opened the front door, revealing a smiling, expectant queue of the largely white-haired audience.
Olly was near the head of the line, towering over the ladies in front of him. He looked exasperated.
‘Mum,’ he said loudly, as he came through the door. ‘Where the hell did you get to?’
One of the ladies turned and tutted at his choice of language and attitude.
If only she knew the half of it, Lara thought.
‘We’ve been stuck out here with Jack and he’s had an accident,’ Bella said, manoeuvring herself and her little brother out from behind an elderly man in a cowboy hat.
‘Oh, poor mite,’ a woman with jelly arms said as Bella handed him through the crowd.
‘It’s runny, Mum,’ Jack said, holding on to his bottom.
‘Poor you.’ Lara took him by the hand and led him through into the toilet with the changing mat. Jack had a delicate stomach, and any variation in diet, or even water, could lead to upsets. Luckily his underpants had caught the worst of it, so she took them off and cleaned him up the best she could.
‘I’ll get rid of these,’ she said, balling up his pants, ‘and you can just wear your trousers and go commando.’
‘Cool,’ Jack said.
She wrapped the offending item in paper towels and went back out into the foyer.
‘Excuse me Alyssa,’ she said, motioning to the stinking bundle she held down at her side. ‘Is there anywhere I
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