A Jolly Good Show – Episode 63
AFTER the show that night Michael knocked at the door of the dressing-room shared by Delia, Kate and Sally.
Sally opened the door. Michael was carrying a bouquet of flowers.
“Now, let me guess,” she said, stepping back to admit the young man. “They are for Delia or Kate. I bet I’m
right.”
Michael looked at Delia.
“They are for my mother. This time you know who they are from.”
Delia’s eyes were shining.
“Thank you. Oh, Michael, this is beautiful.”
“Oh, by the way,” he said, taking Kate’s hand. “Kate, I want you to meet your future mother-in-law.”
“What?” It took a moment for Delia to realise what was being said. “You mean . . . Oh, Kate! Oh, Michael!” Her arms were around them both. “How wonderful.”
Sally kissed Kate.
“I’m so happy for you. And for you, Michael. Congratulations.” Then she stepped out of the room. She needed to find Will.
Backstage she followed the sound of whistling. He had his back to her, sitting at a bench. He had a piece of emery paper in his hand, rubbing and smoothing the wood of a large fruit bowl.
“Will.”
He looked round, startled.
“Oh, it’s you.” He smiled at her. “What do you think? It’s a wedding present for Nesbo and Delia. Better than buying something.” He laughed.
She touched the smooth surface of the beautifully shaped wood.
“It will be the beginning of their home. You have a great gift.”
He shrugged.
“It’s just something I like to do.”
Her mouth was dry.
“Will, I saw Mr Conroy the other day. You know, the theatrical agent? Will, he’s offered me a job. A real job. It’s in London.” She felt breathless.
He said nothing. He stared at her for a moment then he looked down at the bowl in his hands and slowly began smoothing the emery paper over its surface.
“What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t . . . yet.”
“What will you tell him?” His hand moved slowly,
gently.
There was a catch in her voice.
“I don’t know.” The words came as a whisper.
He nodded slowly, then looked at her.
“I think I do. It’s still there, isn’t it?” He saw the tears in her eyes then on her cheek. He stood up and held her close.
“Shush, now,” he said and rocked her gently like a baby. “It’s no-one’s fault. You have a dream, a talent.”
“But, Will, I love you. I really do. I don’t want to lose you. Please!” She began to sob. “I’m just a selfish child.”
He laughed quietly, still holding her.
“Well, perhaps, but I love you. I’ll still be around when you’ve worn out your dancing shoes. Will that be all right?”
“Oh, yes! Yes!”
“Right.” He held her at arm’s length. “This job’s in London?”
She nodded.
“Well, I’m sick of traipsing round the country. What I really want to do is open a workshop and make furniture and fruit bowls and chess sets and anything that folk might buy. I could do that in London if you like.”
“Oh, yes, Will!”
