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

just getting coffees,’ said Sid to David. ‘One for you?’

      ‘Oh, yes please. That’ll go down a treat.’ He smoothed down his thinning hair.

      Sid looked over to Conner. ‘How about you, Conner? Do you want anything, mate?’

      Conner looked up from under his long fringe. He seemed surprised at being included. Lottie wondered how he could ever see where he was going with his fringe all over his face then chastised herself for sounding like her nan again. She was getting old. ‘Umm, can I have a Coke, please? I can give you the money.’

      ‘That’s alright, mate. I can spare it. Be back soon.’

      Lottie smiled at Sid. Conner was relaxing already and she was sure some of it was because of Sid. A hint of a smile had passed over Conner’s face when he talked to him. She turned her attention to David and the mayor. ‘I thought we should sit a couple of rows back from the front. We don’t want to end up with sore necks at the end of the day.’

      ‘Good idea,’ replied David. ‘Lead the way.’

      Lottie indicated the third row back. ‘Here we are then. Sid will be back soon with the coffees. Conner, is there anything I can help with?’

      He shook his head and Lottie noticed his fringe was gelled so firmly it didn’t move. ‘I’m pretty much done. I’ve found all the music on the list you gave me.’

      ‘Great, thanks.’

      ‘Who’s that boy?’ asked Mayor Cunningham.

      ‘He’s the first member of the Greenley Players,’ announced Lottie.

      The mayor eyed her, his face growing redder. ‘You’ve appointed someone without speaking to anyone first?’

      Lottie felt a shiver of nerves at his tone then pulled her shoulders back. ‘Yes. Yes, I did. He doesn’t need to audition as he wants to direct and do more on that side of things.’

      ‘But don’t you think you should have spoken to us all first?’

      ‘Well, no,’ said Lottie. ‘We’re going to need people on both sides of the stage, so to speak. So I didn’t see the point.’

      ‘Well I disagree,’ Mayor Cunningham replied huffily before plopping down on his seat. ‘It’s almost nine-fifteen. Your young man better hurry up.’

      Lottie rolled her eyes and hoped he would keep his temper under control for the auditions. She had a feeling they’d need all the help they could get today.

      Twenty minutes later Sid returned with a dozen bottles of water, plastic cups, a Coke and four coffees precariously balanced in a cardboard holder not quite up to the task. He handed out the drinks, placed the water and cups by the stage and took his place behind the mayor and David.

      The first auditionee arrived looking terrified and Lottie went to meet them with a beaming smile. The young man with shoulder-length blond hair looked like a surfer, and climbed up onto the stage carrying a guitar case.

      Lottie returned to her seat but couldn’t stop jiggling her legs.

      He opened the case and readied himself to play. After clearing his throat, he began to sing. At least, that’s what he was supposed to be doing. Lottie’s face froze as he played the guitar badly and shouted out the lyrics to a song he’d clearly written himself about his dead dog. She waited for him to finish and cleared her throat. ‘Thank you, we’ll let you know.’

      The mayor gave Lottie a smug smile. ‘Let’s hope the next one’s better,’ she said, giving a cheery one in return. But the rest of the auditions followed suit. The acting was on a par with the worst primary school nativity play and the singing would have made Simon Cowell’s eardrums run out of his head screaming and stab themselves on the first sharp object they could find. Someone even did some interpretive dance, though what they were interpreting, Lottie couldn’t quite figure out.

      At about eleven o’clock and twenty people in, Deborah McCray arrived in a flamboyant red dress with a green scarf draped across her shoulders. Sid leaned in to Lottie and whispered, ‘Isn’t she the mad artist from Primrose Cottage? The one who paints those awful watercolours?’

      Lottie gave a single nod, not wanting to draw Mrs McCray’s attention, and whispered, ‘Yeah. Do you remember that picture of someone’s kid in her gallery window? It was the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.’

      ‘It still haunts my dreams,’ Sid replied and they both chuckled as Lottie stood up to meet her.

      ‘Hello, Mrs McCray.’

      ‘Hullo there.’

      ‘If you’d like to make your way to the stage and introduce yourself to the panel, then tell us what you’ll be doing.’

      Mrs McCray climbed the steps, hooking her dress up as she went. The light surrounded her and shone through her rusty coloured hair as her harsh Scottish accent announced, ‘I’m Mrs McCray, a local artist, and I’ll be singing “Casta Diva”, from the opera Norma, by Bellini.’

      ‘Is this going to be like Mr Neville the opera-singing parrot?’ whispered Sid and Lottie chewed her lip trying not to laugh.

      Everyone waited. Conner pressed some buttons on his laptop and the song started playing. Lottie took a deep breath preparing herself for a horrendous screeching to fill the room, but, to her surprise, gentle, tuneful notes emerged. A soft and beautiful sound, rising and falling then building to a crescendo, held them all captivated. Conner turned to Lottie and his eyes were so wide in amazement she could actually see them.

      When Mrs McCray finished Lottie stood up to applaud. She looked to her left where Mayor Cunningham sat with his mouth open.

      ‘That was amazing,’ said Lottie. ‘Bravo.’

      Mrs McCray’s weather-beaten face wrinkled as she smiled. ‘Och, well, thank you very much, darlin’.’

      ‘Yes, thank you,’ said the mayor. ‘We’ll let you know.’

      When Mrs McCray had left, Lottie turned to him. ‘I don’t see why we can’t tell people now whether they’re in, or not. It’s not like we can have too many people.’ Feeling emboldened by the last few minutes she said, ‘Mrs McCray was exceptional, so, as acting chairman, I’d like to proceed on the idea that we’ll take whoever has any talent. Okay?’

      The mayor raised an eyebrow then sat back and Lottie felt a teasing nudge from Sid.

      Gregory Oliver was the next to arrive with his partner, Cecil Bates. ‘Darling,’ Gregory said to Lottie, taking her in both hands and kissing her on the cheeks, even though they’d never really met before. He was tall and handsome with salt and pepper hair. ‘We’ve come for the auditions. Have we much competition?’

      ‘We can’t tell you that,’ said Mayor Cunningham. In the muggy atmosphere of the theatre his bald spot was beginning to shine.

      ‘You’ll be fine, Mr O.,’ offered Sid with a wink.

      ‘Off you go, Mr Oliver,’ said Lottie, directing him to the stage. ‘Just give us a quick intro before you start.’

      Gregory climbed the steps and said, ‘Well, I’m Gregory Oliver and I run the bookshop on the seafront and today I’m going to give a reading from Shakespeare.’ He then closed his eyes and stood in silence for a moment before his voice boomed out. ‘“O’ reason not the need! Our basest beggars are in the poorest thing superfluous.”’

      ‘Well, he’s certainly projecting,’ whispered Sid into Lottie’s ear.

      ‘Shhh,’ she said, playfully.

      ‘“Allow not nature more than nature needs, Man’s life is cheap as beast’s.”’ He cast out his hands and with one did an Eighties’ air grab. ‘“No, I’ll not weep. I have full cause of weeping, but this heart shall break into a hundred thousand flaws or ere I’ll weep. O fool,