The Little Theatre on the Seafront: The perfect uplifting and heartwarming read

‘A presentation?’ asked Lottie, her voice shrinking. She hated speaking in front of people. Public speaking was as scary to her as wearing a bikini.

‘What else are you going to do?’

Lottie thought for a moment but couldn’t come up with a better idea. ‘Okay then. But I’ve got no qualifications, or experience that’ll help in any way.’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Sid, cheerfully. ‘Just talk about how you’re going to make it successful. Be positive.’

‘And how am I going to do that?’

Sid scratched the back of his head. ‘I don’t know. What plans did your nan have for the theatre?’

‘I don’t know actually. I guess I could read through Nan’s stuff and see if there’s anything in there?’

Sid stretched out his long arms then rested them behind his head. ‘When’s the next committee meeting?’

Lottie went to the dresser, pausing as her eyes scanned the photos of her and her nan together, and searched through the pile of letters. She found the boring black and white newsletter and read the dates. Her face froze. ‘Oh, shit, it’s next Thursday.’

‘Oh dear,’ replied Sid. ‘We’d better get cracking if we’ve only got a week.’

Lottie groaned and trudged over to a stack of boxes at the back of the living room. The house remained untouched since Elsie’s death and her possessions were everywhere. Though Lottie had tried several times to get rid of things, each time her sorrow had taken over and she’d stopped.

‘Aren’t we eating first?’ asked Sid, concerned. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Can we get started with this lot and then eat, please?’ Lottie’s new diet only allowed twelve hundred calories a day and if she ate lunch too early she’d be an angry maniac by dinner time, raiding the fridge, or eating cornflakes straight from the box. And she’d already eaten half an Easter egg in the car.

‘Okay,’ he conceded, pretending to be huffy. ‘Got any biscuits to tide me over?’

‘In the tin.’ Lottie grabbed a large cardboard box with ‘Save Greenley Theatre’ written on the side. Sid moved the coffee table so Lottie could drag it between them, then she sat on the floor, cross-legged, and removed the lid. A mass of papers slid out and Lottie groaned in response.

‘I’ll make tea, shall I?’ said Sid and headed off to the kitchen. When he returned a few minutes later with two steaming mugs, Lottie was surrounded by mounting piles of paper, the box not even half empty.

‘Look at this,’ said Lottie, handing a theatre programme to Sid. ‘It’s really professional. I thought it would all be black and white photocopies or printouts that someone did at home with crappy clip art.’

‘And look at the list of names for the am dram group,’ he replied, nodding in agreement. ‘They had quite a big cast. Sometimes you get people playing loads of parts, but it must have been quite popular.’

Lottie picked up a dozen more and waved them at Sid. ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Hamlet, King Lear …’

‘Who knew Greenley loved Shakespeare?’

‘Here are the Christmas ones. Oh look, this one is so pretty.’ She shoved a programme for Aladdin into Sid’s face. Lottie gazed at the window seat, her favourite spot in the house, and the light pouring in chased a memory in her mind. ‘Do you know, I think I remember Nan taking me to a panto when I was little.’

‘So do I, actually. And we went in Mrs Thompson’s class in primary school, do you remember?’

Lottie tried to picture the day Sid was talking about. ‘Just about.’

‘You must do,’ said Sid, smiling at the memory. ‘Ben Humphreys wet himself because we wouldn’t stop for the toilet and that horrible Reece called him Potty Poo Pants for the rest of the trip.’

‘Oh yes, now I do.’ Lottie laughed and then, picking up another bundle of papers, groaned again.

Sid scowled. ‘Can you stop making that noise, please? It’s like a cross between a stroppy teenager and a dying cat.’

‘Sorry.’ She cupped the mug of tea in her hands hoping the warmth would make her feel better. ‘It’s just that I always assumed the theatre was just another one of Nan’s causes. She was always on one crusade or another.’

‘She did love this town. What’s that lot?’ asked Sid, pointing to a different bundle of papers before taking another sip of tea.

Lottie rifled through. ‘It’s the minutes from the committee meetings.’ She skimmed a couple. ‘There’s loads of good ideas in here from Nan and they’re all vetoed.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like starting a youth theatre, or asking local businesses to fund some of the renovations in exchange for their names on the brochures.’

‘Not bad,’ replied Sid, leaning forwards. ‘Who vetoed them?’

‘The rest of the committee.’

‘And who’s that?’

‘Umm …’ Lottie flicked through the pages. ‘There’s Mayor Cunningham, but it just has him down as a committee member. It doesn’t look like he’s there in his official capacity, just a normal person.’

‘A normal person in Greenley?’ asked Sid.

‘Well, relatively normal.’ It was true that Greenley had more than its fair share of eccentrics. ‘The secretary’s Sarah Powell, and the treasurer’s Trevor Ryman. There’s some spare seats too.’

‘Well,’ said Sid, sitting back. ‘Mayor Cunningham probably wants to be chairman to sell the land to a developer. He did that with the hospital, didn’t he?’

‘Oh yes. Everyone was campaigning to save it and he and his council cronies pushed through the sale before anyone could do anything about it.’ Lottie tutted. The whole town had felt hoodwinked and her nan had been apoplectic with rage.

‘And Sarah Powell works in my doctor’s surgery,’ Sid carried on. ‘She’s fancied Cunningham for years so she’s always going to vote the same way he does.’

Lottie’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘In this day and age? What a wimp. Who’s Trevor Ryman? Does he own the solicitor’s in town?’

‘Ryman, Wayman and Galbraith? Yeah, his dad set it up and he took it over when the old man retired. I remember covering it. They gave him a carriage clock.’

Lottie laughed. ‘A carriage clock?’

‘I know, shocking, isn’t it? The poor man built the business up from scratch, worked there for fifty years and his idiot son gives him a carriage clock as a retirement gift.’ He shook his head. ‘Terrible.’

Lottie took a swig of her tea and held up the papers. ‘Listen to this: “Proposal by Elsie Webster to bring back amateur dramatics group to get the community involved and raise much needed funds, vetoed by committee due to lack of funds for marketing.”’

Sid sat quietly squinting which normally meant he was thinking. ‘Now, there’s an idea.’

‘What?’ asked Lottie. Sid’s ideas could be either fantastically clever or completely bonkers. You were never quite sure what you were going to get.

‘Marketing. We could run an ad in the paper.’

‘For the am dram group?’

‘Yeah. Why not?’ Sid was full of excitement, talking quickly. ‘That takes care of the marketing costs so they won’t be able to say no. And it’d be a huge step to bring back the Greenley Players. We’ll do an article and include a picture of you.’

‘Me?’ Lottie asked, her eyes wide with worry.

‘Yes, you. You’re going to be the new chairman. We need a picture of you and one of Elsie, giving her a really lovely tribute. That’ll get everyone going.’

‘No way,’ Lottie said, re-fastening her long blonde hair into a ponytail, even though it was already perfect.

Sid shook his head in disapproval. ‘Come on, Lots. I don’t know why you think you’re some ugly troll that should live under a bridge somewhere.’

‘Fat, ugly troll to be precise,’ she said, tidying the papers on the floor.

‘You’re impossible, you really are. You’re not bad looking at all, you’re …’

Lottie started at the compliment and looked up to see Sid had turned a violent shade of red.

‘I’ll make some more tea,’ he said and, grabbing up the mugs, hurried from the room.

Lottie heard the kettle boiling in the kitchen and considered what Sid had said. Not the compliment, that was just too odd to think about, but the idea of free marketing was a good one.

The pictures on the dresser caught her eye again as if Elsie was watching her. If she was going to try and do this, she wasn’t going to fail at the first step. Lottie went to the hall and pulled her laptop from her bag, came back to the sofa and sat with it on her knees. When Sid returned, his face fell. ‘What? We need to get started on my presentation straight away.’

‘But can’t we have lunch first?’

Chapter 3

Sid walked through the town heading for his favourite record shop. LPs, it seemed, were making a comeback. There’d been a time when his nerdy hobbies had been laughed at, but now it was cool. The collection he’d inherited from his parents – a weird mix of Motown and prog rock – must be worth a fortune now. Not that he’d ever sell.

A smile spread across his face as he thought of Lottie. He’d asked her to come into town as it was the weekend and they weren’t working, but she’d refused saying she was busy practising her presentation for the board. At last there had been a breakthrough. If only he’d been able to break through to her heart, but he knew deep down he’d missed his chance.

After two previous attempts in their early twenties – one at a New Year’s Eve party when he’d tried to kiss her and ended up kissing the top of her ear, and another when they’d had a few too many watching a movie and after an odd surge of adrenalin, Sid had decided he’d declare his feelings, then bottled it – he’d realised he was well and truly in the friendship zone.

Neither episode had ended well. He’d been left red-faced and embarrassed, making jokes and laughing it off and Lottie had gone into hiding for days. Then when they’d finally seen each other again both pretended nothing had happened and the awkwardness had eventually faded, leaving them back where they’d started.

If he was honest with himself, which up until lately he’d avoided as much as possible, he’d always thought that somehow, at some point, he and Lottie would end up together. One day something would happen to force them both into realising they loved each other. Because he did love Lottie. For him it had always been more than friendship but she just never seemed interested in anything else.

Sid blamed his love of movies for all his years of being single. He’d always hoped that one day UFOs might land in Greenley or the Zombie-Apocalypse would descend and after he’d beat off a horde of flesh-eating zombies with nothing but a severed leg, Lottie would fall into his arms, kiss him and cry, ‘Oh, Sid, you saved me!’ If that had happened everything would have been alright, but strangely it hadn’t, and he’d missed his chance.

Sid shoved his hands in his pockets. No, the window of opportunity had closed and now he was destined to be Lottie’s friend for the rest of their lives. He lifted his head; had someone just called his name?

‘Sid?’

Looking over his shoulder, he saw a woman of startling gorgeousness running towards him. Her long brown hair bounced behind her and her smile was warm and friendly. He vaguely recognised her but couldn’t place her. Surely he wouldn’t have forgotten a girl who looked like that?

‘It is Sid Evans, isn’t it?’ she asked, a broad smile on her face.

He knew he was staring and made an effort to close his mouth. ‘Yeah, it is. Umm, hi.’

‘It’s Selena. Selena Fleming. We went to uni together. Do you remember? We were in the same halls in first year and then I was constantly at your house because you guys had a garden?’

Sid reached back into the depths of his mind. He could remember a sullen goth emo girl with large boobs and chubby cheeks called Selena. He’d seen her a lot as she was dating one of his friends, but this couldn’t be her. Could it? She looked like a personal trainer or something. ‘Did you date Hayden Lukas?’

‘Yeah! I’m surprised you recognised me. I’ve changed a bit since then.’ She flicked her hair back behind her shoulder.

You’re telling me, thought Sid. The Selena who stood in front of him now was tall and slim. Or at least she appeared taller. She wasn’t hunched over with long hair falling into her face, being angsty and deep.

‘I used to dye my hair black and wear that awful heavy eyeliner.’ Her eyes dipped down, embarrassed. ‘It does nothing for me.’

‘I remember you now,’ Sid said with a grin. ‘You were one of the grammar school girls from here, weren’t you? You and – oh, what’s her name …’ He shook his head, he’d forgotten her as well. ‘You both ended up at Greenwich.’

‘Shelly Spicer.’

‘Yeah. She was horrid. She always thought she was better than everyone else.’

Selena smiled and leaned to one side, jutting out her hip. ‘She was a bit mean. Do you remember you played me The Cure that night at Hayden’s birthday? I’d never heard them before but I thought that song was brilliant.’

‘Do you still like them?’ he asked, hopefully.

‘Only that one song, but ever since you played me Pink Floyd I’ve been a huge fan of theirs.’

Sid beamed. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’

It was better than nothing. Sid rocked on his heels searching for something to say. He was normally very good at conversation and if she’d been a little old lady with an opera-singing parrot he would have been fine, but Selena had the biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen and they were staring at him so intently he’d almost forgotten his own name. ‘So what are you doing back here?’

She tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘I’ve moved down here for good. I was living with a boyfriend up north but we split up and so I’ve come home.’

‘Oh. Sorry to hear that.’ He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets unsure what else he could do with them.

A faint redness had come into the apples of Selena’s cheeks during their awkward silence. ‘So what are you doing now?’

‘I’m the reporter on the local paper.’

‘Oh my God! Really?’

‘Yeah. It’s not as exciting as it sounds though, Greenley’s not really a hotbed of crime and passion.’ Sid felt his cheeks burning. Why did he say passion? ‘Umm, what about you?’

‘I work at the beauty salon over there.’ She pointed to a shop with a large pink sign over the door that read Indulgence Spa and Boutique. ‘I sort of flunked my communications degree. I was too busy partying with Hayden, so I retrained in nails and beauty and I love it. I love making people feel good about themselves. Seeing the smile on someone’s face when they’ve had their nails or brows done and they feel a million dollars, it’s really nice.’

It was a nice sentiment and Sid found his respect for her growing. Who’d have thought the sullen, sulky student he’d known would have turned out like this? ‘I’m glad you’ve found something you like doing.’

‘Do you like being a reporter?’

‘I do actually. I like Greenley too.’ He peered around at the old-fashioned High Street dotted here and there with trendy bars and posh cafés. Normal run of the mill chain stores mixed with strange, quirky independent shops and they even had a little seaside museum.

Sid knew he should say something else – ask her a question or start a new conversation – but his mind was too busy shouting ‘GIRL!’ at him and he couldn’t think straight.

Selena glanced away as the conversation lulled again, then looked back up at him. ‘You haven’t changed much.’

‘Haven’t I?’ He ran a hand over his chin, wishing he’d shaved. Was that a good or a bad thing? ‘Neither have you. I mean, less make-up, obviously, but you know … you don’t look older.’

Selena giggled at his fumbled compliment. In James Bond movies he always said things like, ‘You’re a beautiful woman,’ but Sid worried he’d sound like a weirdo stalker if he said anything like that. Or that he was taking the piss.

‘Well, I’d better go,’ Selena said, checking her watch. ‘I’ve got my first client at ten. You didn’t mind me saying hi, did you? It’s just that I saw you and I couldn’t believe it was you. I couldn’t let you go without saying something.’

Sid shuffled, trying not to smile too much. ‘No, I didn’t mind. It was nice to see you too.’

‘I’ll probably see you around then?’ She stared up at him from under long thick eyelashes.

‘Umm, yeah. Probably.’

‘Okay.’ She edged away still staring at him and Sid couldn’t figure out why. ‘Bye.’

Sid gave an awkward wave then shoved his hand back in his pockets. ‘Yeah. Bye.’

Selena swung around and headed back to the shop and Sid looked down to find what she’d been staring at. His Star Wars T-shirt was clean on this morning and his flies were done up. Weird.

He walked on to the record shop. Selena Fleming had looked a lot different without all that weird make-up and she and Hayden clearly hadn’t lasted. It was strange how people always ended up coming home to Greenley. Sid quickened his step and thought no more of it. Nick at the record shop had put aside a rare album for him so he’d better hurry. He was due to open at any minute.

Chapter 4

In her living room, an hour before the committee meeting, Lottie paced back and forth, forcing her nerves down until finally, she lost the battle altogether. Unable to bear the ticking of the clock and its agonising countdown any longer, she grabbed her coat and car keys and headed off. Now here she was, twenty minutes early, sitting in the main meeting room clutching her laptop, waiting for the rest of the committee to arrive.

The grand, grey stone columns of the town hall belied its rather dull interior. When the mayor was appointed, he’d refurbished it to make it a modern conference space, and as such it had lost all character and historical importance. No one used it for conferences. The only people who used it were the camera club and they hated it – and him. They never failed to tell Lottie when she covered their exhibitions or the annual general meeting that took about ten million hours and made her long for death.

Earlier that week, Sarah Powell, the committee secretary, had been less than helpful when Lottie tried to have her presentation added to the agenda, telling her that, ‘Only the chairman can approve last minute additions and Mayor Cunningham is a very busy man.’

After much negotiation, Ms Powell said she’d do her best to contact Mayor Cunningham and would let Lottie know the result. When she called back, she said with evident disdain that Mayor Cunningham had graciously made room for her on the agenda. Yippee.

In the harsh fluorescent light, Lottie took her nan’s letter from her handbag. Seeing the fragile spidery handwriting, it felt like she was there speaking to her. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Lottie said to the letter before refolding it and putting it back.

‘Miss Webster?’ asked Mayor Cunningham as he marched into the room. He was a tall man in his late forties. His balding hair had been cut close to his head, but the remains of a small island on the front of his forehead bobbed in a sea of pink flesh. It was slightly triangular shaped as if it stayed there pointing to where the rest of his hair could be found, hiding at the back. His suit was a good fit, but the cheap fabric shone in the unforgiving light, like he’d been sprinkled with glitter. An evil Liberace. Ms Powell followed close behind, a puppy at his heels.

‘You only needed to come for your agenda item, Miss Webster. You didn’t need to attend the whole meeting.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ said Lottie. She felt her neck and cheeks get hot. This wasn’t a good start.

‘I’m surprised that Ms Powell didn’t tell you that.’ Mayor Cunningham walked to the head of the table and placed his black briefcase down, unclipping the shiny brass clasps. It popped open and he pulled out some papers organised with various coloured Post-it notes.

‘I did,’ Ms Powell replied quickly.

‘I don’t think you did,’ said Lottie.

Ms Powell’s eyes shot to Mayor Cunningham, fearful of disapproval.

Lottie felt her nerves rise up and she cleared her throat. ‘I have a presentation on my laptop. Is there a projector?’ Presuming one would be all set up she began to panic at its absence. Lottie wasn’t technically minded and the prospect that should one be found she’d have to set it up herself caused her stomach to churn.

‘Ms Powell will set it up for you, if you really require it.’

‘I do,’ Lottie answered, trying to sound confident. Mayor Cunningham turned to Ms Powell and without speaking pointed to a cupboard in the corner of the room and she hurried to follow his unsaid instructions.

There was something quite unlikeable about Ms Powell, Lottie decided. She had the walk of someone who was perpetually neat and tidy and very, very efficient. Her face, which could look kindly if relaxed, was pinched and her eyes looked out at the world suspiciously. She appeared to have no sense of humour whatsoever. A perfectly smooth chin-length bob framed her face accentuating her small features.

As Lottie struggled to connect the relevant wires to her laptop, Trevor Ryman ambled in. He placed his own briefcase on the floor, brown this time, and battered, and pulled out his bundle of papers, bereft of even a single Post-it note.

‘Shall we begin?’ asked Mayor Cunningham, just as Lottie finished fiddling. She sat listening to the other agenda items with more interest than she’d expected. The theatre had a small fund that wasn’t nearly big enough to do all the work required. The building was structurally sound but needed the roof patched up and the inside needed general refurbishment before any productions could be put on. It wasn’t looking good.

‘As I’ve said before, it’s more work than a small committee and our town council can handle,’ said Mayor Cunningham. ‘I do believe the land would be better sold to provide more affordable housing. We may have to cut other services if we don’t make our budget this year and we don’t want to be the ones responsible for that.’

‘I agree,’ said Ms Powell, nodding.

‘I see what you mean,’ said Mr Ryman. ‘But I do feel we need to explore all options before we throw in the towel.’

‘I don’t see why. No one in this town would bother coming to a production, even if we could put one on,’ Mayor Cunningham replied.

Lottie, who was busy making notes in her pretty notebook, raised her head. ‘I disagree. I think people would come—’

‘Miss Webster, with all due respect this has nothing to do with you.’

But it might, thought Lottie, and carried on. ‘But look at these.’ She pulled out the programmes her nan had kept over the years and laid them on the table.

‘May I remind you, Miss Webster, that you are not a member of this committee and are here for one item only.’

Lottie simmered with annoyance but continued on regardless. ‘I realise that, Mayor Cunningham, but I think we need to acknowledge that the nearest theatre is over an hour away. I think people would come to local productions if we had decent facilities and a good programme. That’s why my nan never stopped working towards re-opening the theatre, she believed it too.’

Ms Powell stared at Lottie as if she had just walked up to Mayor Cunningham and punched him in the face. Mayor Cunningham stared at her too, unspeaking. Mr Ryman picked up the programmes and flicked through them. ‘There does seem to have been an appetite for the theatre at one point.’

‘But that was years ago,’ said the mayor, throwing the leaflet he’d picked up back into the pile. ‘Before on-demand TV and Netflix.’

‘Still, there might be an interest now.’

Lottie couldn’t help but nod. ‘The Christmas pantomimes were particularly well attended, and the summer Shakespeare. I thought we could look at doing something more modern. Something easier to understand that would appeal to even more people—’

‘Moving on,’ said the mayor, looking down at his agenda. Then his face fell. ‘Oh, Miss Webster, I see it’s your turn, anyway. And you’d like to address the committee in Mrs Elsie Webster’s place?’