Read by Clive Greenwood
Malcolm stood on the stage and looked out at the empty theatre. The rows of folded seats, the faded burgundy curtains, the peeling wallpaper; the glory days were gone, but it was his little slice of heaven. If he closed his eyes he could hear the applause, the laughter, and the encores.
He turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.
‘Ah, darlings, there you are. The finest actors in England.’
Sid, Norman and Derek looked behind them to see who these amazing actors were. Malcolm was getting carried away again.
‘Now then, my loves, I’ve given this a lot of thought and this year’s big dramatic production will be Romeo and Juliet.’ It was a photo finish between the three men to contain their unbridled excitement at the news.
‘Can I be Romeo?’ Sid asked.
‘I’ve got you down to play Mercutio, sweetheart. Very important role Mercutio, you get to show off all your wonderful skills,’ Malcolm replied, attempting to let Sid down gently.
‘But I want to be Romeo.’
‘The trouble is Sidney my dear is that, well, not to put too fine a point on it, Romeo is an attractive young man and you are, um, well ….’
‘You’ve got a face like a welder’s bench, Sid,’ Norman explained.
‘It’s not my fault a bloody big light fell off the ceiling and killed me is it? See how good you look when half a ton of steel lands on your face!’ Sid protested.
Derek looked confused; ‘Am I dead?’ he asked.
Norman sighed. ‘We’ve been through this a hundred times Derek. You’re dead. We’re all dead. You’ll still be dead the next time you ask if you’re dead. By the way can I be Romeo?’
‘How did I die?’ Derek asked.
‘You fell down the stairs you fool. So am I Romeo or what?’
‘Not this year, my love. I thought we should let our newest member take the lead role this time. Congratulations, Derek, you’re our Romeo.’
Norman scowled.
‘Are you sure I’m ready?’ Derek asked, beaming.
‘Darling, you were born ready, your performance the other week in South Pacific, well, it brought tears to my eyes it did. So now I think it’s time we pushed you to the next level.’
‘Pushed,’ Derek shouted, with greater lucidity than normal. ‘I was pushed down the stairs.’
‘Well, that’s very unfortunate my dear, but you know what they say; one door closes, another one opens.’ Derek glared at Malcolm. He much preferred being alive.
‘Right my loves let’s start at Act 1, Scene 1. Norman you can be Abraham, Sid you’re Sampson and Derek you’ll be Gregory. We’ll work the rest out later.’
‘Can’t I be Sampson?’ Norman asked, irritated the others kept getting the roles he wanted.
‘Bit of a problem there,’ Malcolm replied. ‘You haven’t got any hands, darling. How are you going to bite your thumb without any hands?’
Norman sulked.
‘I’d still have hands if it wasn’t for that stupid prop guillotine malfunctioning and chopping my bleedin’ hands off. I’d still have a head as well.’ Norman wanted to put his stumps on his hips to give his harrumph the proper treatment it deserved, but as usual they were otherwise engaged in the important act of carrying his severed head.
Sid and Derek began acting out Scene 1 while Malcolm and Norman observed.
They may be more wooden than a woodshed in a timber yard, but by God I’ll make actors out of them, Malcolm thought to himself. It had been his life’s dream to be a top theatre director. Fate had decided this would not be the case. Where life had cheated him, though, the afterlife was a world of opportunity. If he could just recruit a few more members to his theatre company they’d really be on their way. Pickings were slim. He just couldn’t understand why the dead weren’t queuing up to spend eternity reciting Shakespearean monologues. Possibly it was because as Malcolm’s audience they’d already spent what felt like eternity watching Shakespearean monologues. Cultural entertainment options were somewhat limited for the deceased spectator.
‘Oh, that’s lovely that is, lovely,’ Malcolm gushed over Derek and Sid’s performance. ‘I’m really feeling it, I am. If I can just offer one small bit of advice though, don’t hold back my dears, let it all out. I’m sure we can squeeze just a teensy bit more passion out of you.’
‘We’re doing our best, Malcolm. We didn’t all go to RADA you know,’ Sid replied in exasperation.
‘Now, now, Sidney I’m trying to help, my dear. Don’t get upset at little old me. If I say anything, it’s only because I care. I died on stage of a heart attack playing a man who was dying of a heart attack. That’s how much I care, darling.’
Sid nodded in acknowledgement, mentally calculating the number of times Malcolm had regaled them with the tale of his demise. It was approaching ten thousand.
There was a noise. Not the usual noise of ghosts, but a real noise. They were so much louder. The Boscombe Players (deceased) stopped what they were doing. Somebody was attempting to unlock the front door and enter the theatre.
Bloody living. Spoiling our fun again, Malcolm thought.
‘Right now, places everyone, places. Norman if you could do that floating head thing again; Derek – give them your most demonic look and Sid… actually Sid you’re fine how you are, you look hideous. Remember now, screams are good, but it’s coronary failure we’re after and if there’s more than one of them, then concentrate on any women present – we need a Juliet.’
Malcolm looked at the three men attempting to pull their scariest faces.
Ah, bless their cotton socks, they mean well, but they couldn’t frighten a nervous child.
He’d have to lend a hand again. A faulty guillotine here, a loose light fitting there, a good hard shove in their back. He knew what to do.
(c) Keith Gillison, 2016
Keith Gillison is a UK writer of flash fiction, short stories and novels in many genres including humour and crime. His stories have been published in magazines, anthologies and online. His first novel, The Boss Killers, is a dark humour crime story and was published in 2015.
Clive Greenwood recently toured in Up Pompeii, playing Frankie Howerd's role of Lurcio, and appears in two upcoming features, Mob Handed and Alice on Mars. He co-wrote Goodbye: The (after)life of Cook and Moore, which ran at the Gilded Balloon & Leicester Square Theatres and the Museum of Comedy. [email protected] / www.spotlight.com/9094-6721-0711
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