Chapter 17

The rest of the week went well. The cast were starting to gel together as a team with very little interpersonal friction, Phil, hopefully realsed that just because he thought something was a good idea, didn’t make it so. Cal went home on Thursday morning to get ready for her debut at the Lowry in Manchester on Friday. As he’d promised, Phil arranged things around me for the day and even managed to pull a few strings to get me a ticket without my having to resort to the Amex concierge service.

So, after a good breakfast I set off for home, safe in the knowledge that Cal would already be in Manchester by the time I arrived. The M25 was living up to its reputation as the world’s biggest car park, particularly around Heathrow Airport, as a result of which, everybody was sitting down to an early tea as I arrived at a little after four in the afternoon.

“Traffic bad?” Dad asked as I walked in.

“Not once I got off the M25,” I replied, “it was just standard Friday afternoon stuff, nose to tail in places, running freely others.”

“Welcome to the fun of long distance driving, son,” he answered.

“Not that you aren’t welcome, but what brings you home? You never told us you were coming; Cal would have been thrilled.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you Mum,” I replied, “I didn’t want her to know. I have a ticket for her debut tonight and I wanted to surprise her.”

“Well, we’re all going too,” she said, “are you coming home for the weekend?”

“I’ve booked a hotel room for tonight,” I said, “but yes, I’ll be home for tomorrow night.”

“Hoping you might get some company, big bro?” Alison asked.

“No, I just thought it would be nice to be there for Cal.”

“Of course,” she said, archly.

“Alison, behave,” Mum told her.

“Yes, Mum,” she replied as she favoured me with a big wink.

I just gave her my most angelic smile in exchange.

“Have you eaten?” Mum asked.

“I stopped for lunch on the way up,” I said, “about two o’clock.”

“I’d better do you something quick then,” she said, “egg and chips be OK?”

“Egg and chips would be wonderful, Mum,” I answered.

Ten minutes later I was sitting at the table tucking in, with my sister attempting to steal chips. I was telling them how rehearsals were going.

They were fascinated by the fact that on Monday, we were moving to Pinewood studios, where the technicians had finally finished building the sets in the Cubby Broccoli stage. We had three more weeks of rehearsals, followed by a seven-week shooting schedule, then we had two more weeks allowed for re-shoots and ADR work.

“That sounds like it will be exhausting,” Alison said.

“Probably, so I’ll probably take myself off for a break afterwards,” I agreed, “somewhere exotic.”

“Can I come with?”

“You’ll be at school.”

“Not if you go during half-term, then you could take Cal as well.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll get some brochures and Cal and I will let you know where when we’ve decided.”

I looked plaintively at my dad who just shrugged.

“Oh, no, son,” he said, “I’m not getting in the middle of that.”

“Mum?” I appealed.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

I was lost.

“Think of it as practice for when you have daughters, David,” my dad said, entirely unhelpfully.

“I think I might try and stick to sons.”

We set off as soon as my tea was eaten and the pots put in the dishwasher, Alison decided she wanted to ride with me, so we set off a little after the others.

As we pulled onto the M62, a couple of miles from home she broke silence.

“Cal seems a lot steadier since she got home from being with you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“So, what’s changed?”

“Nothing that I know of, but I think we’ve managed to work out where we are, as us and we’re both content with it.”

“Content?” she queried, “not happy?”

“Content, but working on it,” I suggested.

“She’s going to be so pleased when she finds out you’re here,” she said.

“That’s why I didn’t let anyone know I was coming, if Mum had known, Cal would know by now.”

“Thankfully, I don’t have that problem.”

“Mum doesn’t pass on everything to Geoff?”

“No,” she replied, “she likes him, but she doesn’t seem to have the same fixation about me and him as she does about you two. Thankfully.”

“I just wish she’d realise that’s she’s the biggest barrier to us succeeding. If she’d just back off a bit it might actually all work out.”

“So, no wedding plans yet then?”

“I think you and Geoff will beat us to that.”

“That’s years away, another three years of school, five of university, two years pre-reg. That’s ten years from now.”

“I’ll give it five.”

“Five what?”

“Five years before I’m surrounded by adoring female fans at your wedding.”

She snorted.

“Now that’s not happening.”

“Care to make a bet?”

“How much?”

“Tenner?”

“You’re on,” she said and stuck out her hand.

We shook and I drove on for a while.

“What’s next for you?” she asked as we were passing Rochdale.

“Last year of school, A levels, University applications, I don’t think there’ll be another acting job in there, but who knows?”

“And if one comes up, will you take it?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, “I don’t think I’d ever take a job just because it’s a job, I’d want it to be something I was interested in, something I really wanted to do.”

“And what do you really want to do?”

“Right now? Get to University, get a degree, then think about the rest of my life. And above all see if Cal and I can manage to make a go of it.”

We were coming up to the junction with the M602 which would take us into Salford and towards the Lowry centre. It took a couple of tries, even with sat-nav, to negotiate the streets around there before I found the car park for the theatre and we walked together across the plaza to the entrance, where we found Mum, Dad and Cal’s mother waiting for us.

I said “Hi,” to and exchanged a hug with, Aunt Mary and when the doors of the theatre opened, walked in to take our seats. I, of course couldn’t sit with them, since they were sitting in house seats near the front of the stalls, while my seat was four rows back up in the circle.

On the way to my seat I bought a programme, which I thought a bit steep at five pounds, but once I was seated I was pleased to find both a couple of photos of Cal and a short biography. Not particularly accurate but it certainly made her sound good.

I read the synopsis of the opera from the programme while I waited for the orchestra to finish its warming up, closing it when the oboe player sounded his (or maybe her) A and the rest of the instruments tuned to it. Then the houselights dimmed and the audience applauded as the conductor took his place in the pit.

He turned to the audience and bowed, had the orchestra stand and take their own bow, then a few seconds later he raised his right arm, holding his long slim baton and gave the downbeat.

The overture started, its slow, stately beat filling the auditorium. A minute in the curtain rose, revealing a bleak underground scene with a number of, apparently naked, bodies wandering round as if in a daze.

The scene continued until the music changed from the overture to the bacchanale. It seemed that they were performing the Dresden version of the piece, at least that was what the programme said, I didn’t know there was more than one version. Once the bacchanale started the people on the stage started to intertwine their bodies in a sensuous dance which built in intensity until it looked like a full-blown orgy was taking place on stage.

That was followed by a long scene between the main character, Tannhauser and Venus where he told of how jaded he was and that he was going to return to his world and then the scene changed, to a woodland meadow and the moment I’d travelled up for arrived.

The stage was dark, not unlit but dimly and she sat, just off the centre of the stage on a small mound, lit by a narrow beam of light which shoed just her head, holding a flute.

“Frau Holda kam aus der Burg hervor,” she sang, each note pure and clear as crystal, I was entranced, just by the beauty of her voice, “zu schien durch Fluren und Auen.”

She carried on to the end, note perfect as far as I could tell, every syllable floating over the orchestra and filling the large theatre. I was immensely proud at that moment, not because she was my girlfriend, but because I could say that I knew her, the possessor of this angelic voice.

The audience must have enjoyed it since they applauded at the end of the solo, something that rarely happens in a Wagner opera, at least in any decent theatre.

At the end of the act curtain calls the applause was enthusiastic. When Cal came out, a huge roar went up from the audience as she took her bow and blew kisses at the theatre. It may have been my imagination, but I swear one of them was aimed directly at me.

As the house lights went up I noticed that I was seated next to a large man, who just, narrowly fit into his seat.

“That young boy singing the shepherd was good wasn’t he?” he said to me.

“Yes,” I replied, “but he is she. Cal Warner, short for Calista.”

“Oh and you’re an expert are you?” he sneered.

“When it comes to Cal, I probably am, she’s my girlfriend.”

“Yes, like that’s going to happen,” he sneered, “unless you’re a poofter.”

“Well, you know what, believe me or not, I don’t care,” I retorted then stood up and went off to join the family.