Free Village Gossip by Rebecca Shaw Page A

get the show on the road, but we will do it if we all put our shoulders to the wheel! Thank you so much everyone.’ He pointed to Michelle Jones standing at the back with Dean. ‘Got a small part for you if you fancy it.’
    Michelle looked around, realised Hugo meant her, blushed bright red and pointed to herself saying, ‘Me?’
    ‘Yes, you. Fancy it? Stay for rehearsal if you do.’
    ‘Yes, please.’
    Hugo searched the crowd and pointed to Rhett Wright. ‘Hi there! You in the green top and jeans. Yes, you. Fancy a part?’
    Rhett nodded.
    ‘Not a lot to learn but every part is vital to our success. Fancy it?’
    ‘Right. Yes, I’ll do it.’ Rhett rubbed his hands together with delight. ‘Great, just great.’ Then he remembered his grandma and some of the gloss went the evening. She’d never forgive him.
And she didn’t. When Rhett got home, Don had gone to his night shift and his gran was sitting in front of the electric fire drinking a shandy. By the looks of the cans on the table it wasn’t her first.
    ‘Where’ve you been till this time?’
    ‘Well, Gran, Hugo offered …’
    ‘Shandy?’
    ‘Thanks.’ He waited till he’d sprung the can open and taken a drink before he continued. ‘Hugo’s offered me a part. Just a little one, like, but it’s a part.’
    Vera lunged at him and missed the side of his head by a whisker.
    ‘You traitor, you. You should’ve left when I did. I’ve never been so insulted in all my life. Never. That Mrs Jones. Since she took over the mail order at the Store she’s thought herself a cut or two above the likes of you and me. With her “Jimbo” this and her “Jimbo” that. I can remember when she was only too glad to clean at the pub when her boys were all little. How low can you get? Cleaning at a pub. I could tell her a thing or two about her Kenny and Terry that’d make her toe nails curl up. They are disgusting.’
    Rhett eagerly demanded ‘Are they? What do they do then?’
    Vera scowled at him. ‘I’m not telling you.’
    ‘I am eighteen, nearly nineteen.’
    ‘So you may be. What’s this part then? Not that I’m interested.’
    ‘I’m Dr Harris’ son, and Michelle’s her daughter.’
    ‘Michelle? Another feather in Mrs Jones’ cap. Is there no end?’
‘Here’s the script. Look.’
    Vera gave it a sideways glance. Her lips trembled and she blurted out, ‘Just once in my life I thought I’d grab the chance to work with someone who had genius. Real genius. They’re few and far between are people with genius, do you know that? Your grandad and me, we’ve grubbed along all our lives, struggling just to make ends meet, not improve ourselves, but to keep the wheels oiled. Then yer mum went off the rails and we got you.’ She patted his arm apologetically. ‘I don’t mean we didn’t want yer Rhett, because we did, you were such a good baby, but just when we thought we could start to make progress you came along and I had to give up me job. I ’aven’t regretted one minute having yer, but yer did ‘old us back. Yer mum promised us money every month but o’ course, as yer can imagine, that lasted for about six months and then … yer know the rest.’ She wiped her eyes and gazed at the imitation flames curling round the imitation coals on the fire.
    Rhett said softly, ‘I’m sorry, Gran.’
    ‘Nothing for you to be sorry about, love. But when the idea came to me to be wardrobe mistress I knew I longed to be involved with something beautiful. D’yer know what I mean? Something special, something people would admire me for. I know exactly where I am in the pecking order in this village and it’s bottom. Bottom. Even Pat Duckett that was, she used to be at our level, talking over the fence and moaning about ‘aving no money and now look what’s happened to ’er. A new husband, a grand big house, a car now and a right good job with the Charter-Plackett’s catering service. And where am I? Still at the bottom of the pile. I could