A Christmas Gift. Sue Moorcroft

drummer and bassist soon picked up his tempo and the rhythm guitarist positioned himself where he could see Sammy’s fingers and select the right chords to back him.

      After a couple of minutes Errol said casually, ‘OK, let’s go again.’ Sammy proved to have settled. The band kept it tight for the whole number. Errol gave them a wide smile and raised his hands above his head to applaud. ‘Great stuff!’

      ‘Really great! Thanks,’ Georgine called, moving back towards the door and swooping up her laptop en route. Out in the corridor she made a note to make sure that Sammy was kept calm and comfortable, especially for live shows. Hopefully Errol would be on top of it. But, if not, Georgine would be.

      The rest of the morning went by on wings. First she telephoned Ian, box office manager at the Raised Curtain. He gave her the news that they’d already sold more than a hundred seats over the six performances. She pulled a face because they had over a thousand to sell, but said, ‘That’s a great start!’ Declaring it a so-so start wasn’t going to do anything for her business relationship with the box office.

      ‘And I was about to ring you,’ Ian continued, with the air of pulling a rabbit from a hat, ‘because I’ve just heard from Girlguiding Cambridgeshire West. They want to select the Saturday matinee for their Christmas outing and I’ve been asked to hold a provisional hundred and thirty seats.’

      This time Georgine didn’t have to struggle to sound happy. ‘Wow! That’s brilliant!’

      They spent a few minutes discussing the discount, Georgine refusing to be drawn into being overgenerous. The more each show made, the more Acting Instrumental could pour into other productions or resources. They were a comparatively rich college, thanks to Oggie being a whizz at securing funding from all the relevant bodies, but couldn’t run at a loss.

      Girl Guides dealt with, she turned to a fresh subject. ‘By the way, a new member of staff, Joe’ – she had to grope for Joe’s surname – ‘Blackthorn will be handling the tech crew so he’ll probably want to check out your space. Will that be OK? Great, thanks very much.’ She ended the call, glad Joe hadn’t been here to witness her almost forgetting his name, but just for an instant something had got in the way of her memory function. Joe just didn’t seem like a Blackthorn somehow.

      At lunchtime, she went to the cafeteria, selected lamb ragu with rice, then looked around for somewhere to sit. At a table in the corner she spotted Joe with some of this morning’s music students and dance tutor Avril and headed their way. ‘Hi, everyone,’ she said as she deposited her plate and drink on the table.

      Avril beamed, ‘Hiya!’ Her blonde hair was coiled at the back, the fringe left to frame her face.

      Joe said, ‘Hi.’ His plate was empty and he was lounging back in his chair, coffee mug cradled in his hands.

      With only a minuscule pause to acknowledge her arrival, the students continued with their own conversation. Georgine savoured her first mouthful of lamb with an appreciative murmur. Acting Instrumental was the only education establishment she’d worked in with catering of this standard.

      Avril finished her meal and put aside her knife and fork. ‘How’s your stressometer?’ she demanded of Georgine. ‘Climbing nicely as you pull everything together for the show?’

      ‘I thrive on it.’ Georgine grinned. ‘The buzz and thrill of seeing progress at rehearsals.’

      Lowering her voice, Avril enquired, ‘Nothing new on the Aidan front? No resolution?’

      Conscious that the students could be listening, Georgine was circumspect. ‘One to put down to experience.’

      ‘Awwwww.’ Avril pulled a sympathetic face. ‘So you’ll be living alone at Christmas?’

      Georgine laughed. ‘Except my sister’s moved in for a bit.’ And had come through with the first month’s rent, which had allowed Georgine to pay extra to the water authority’s outstanding bill.

      Joe joined the conversation. ‘Is your sister moving in a good thing?’ A smile lurked in his eyes.

      She made a face. ‘Time will tell. I love her to bits but we’re very different. Do you have siblings?’ She took another mouthful.

      The smile in Joe’s eyes changed to something more wistful. ‘I had a stepsister or, at least, my mother and her father lived together for a while. I lost track of her.’

      ‘That’s a shame, you must have been close if you were brought up in the same house.’ Then, seeing Joe’s gaze drop as if he were becoming uncomfortable with the subject, she tried to change it to Ian at the Raised Curtain.

      ‘What’s your sister’s name?’ Avril asked Joe at the same time as Georgine opened her mouth.

      Joe glanced at her. ‘Chrissy.’

      Avril, who could out-talk an auctioneer, opened her mouth with, no doubt, yet another question, but a student paused at the table. ‘Oggie’s looking for you, Rich.’

      Joe looked up at the student and opened his mouth as if to reply. Then a student called Richard jumped up from his place further along the table. ‘I asked him to sign my passport form. Thanks. I’ll go to his room.’

      Joe closed his mouth again, his gaze flicking towards Georgine.

      Avril asked Joe something else.

      Georgine couldn’t make herself listen. Her senses were locked on the man across the table, the room around them receding to hiss and blur, almost obscured by the sudden acceleration of her heartbeat. Now she knew why the name Blackthorn hadn’t seemed quite right, and, probably, why ‘Joe’ seemed to watch Georgine a lot.

      Maybe because she’d just heard his sister Chrissy’s name again, and when he’d almost answered to the name of Rich a moment ago it had spun the tumblers of her memory. His face and voice clicked into place, like one of those optical illusions where you thought you were looking at one thing but suddenly realised there was another picture there all along.

      Rich Garrit.

      Joe Blackthorn was Rich Garrit. How the hell had she missed it till now? It was so obvious! The face shape had matured, he was tall instead of small and spindly, the hair was completely different, but the eyes were the same, and the shape of his mouth.

      Rich Garrit had been the most underprivileged kid in their school with horribly outdated or unsuitable clothes in a mishmash of sizes. The wrong shoes. A PE bag that was a supermarket carrier bag with his name written on it in marker pen. The kind of parents that no kid would choose.

      Dumb with shock, vaguely she registered Avril checking her watch and making ‘back to work’ noises, the students moving off in a body to whatever awaited them next.

      And Joe gazing ruefully back at her.

      Through the soulful brown eyes of Rich Garrit.

       Chapter Eight

      If he hadn’t been cursing himself so bitterly, Joe could almost have laughed at Georgine’s flabbergasted expression. Lips parted, sea-green eyes wide, sandy eyebrows almost vanishing into her hair.

      But, shit. Even if he’d known the chances were high that this day would dawn, he’d hoped to find his feet in his new life before being obliged to embark on the emotional journey back to the infinitely crappier one.

      He cleared his throat. ‘Why don’t I get us both a coffee—’

      ‘Have you got an extended lunch hour or something? My watch tells me it’s time to get back to work,’ Avril put in, giving him a tiny prod in his shoulder as she got to her feet. ‘Crack the whip over your new assistant, Georgine!’ She giggled.

      Wrenching her gaze from Joe, Georgine stumbled to her feet, backing away. ‘I have to get back to work too.’ Dispensing with farewells,