Fit For Purpose by Julian Parrott (scary books to read .TXT) 📗

theatre, and possible dinner options. The sign offs were formal. Concern melted away but then Nia wondered whether she should have added an X. Tom smiled as he put his phone back in his pocket.

Almost as soon as he had stopped texting Tom was shockingly aware of two issues. He didn’t have a way to get back to London easily and he didn’t have date night type clothes. He called Rachel. She was delighted that Tom was acting alive for the first time in a long while. She immediately agreed to help him out on both fronts. She’d loan him the Land Rover and accompany him to a tailor she knew in Shrewsbury to buy a suit.

Chapter Six

London, November 26th

Tom drove to Watford Junction Tube station and parked the borrowed Land Rover; he had decided to take the underground to the theatre district. Tom purchased his return ticket from an automated kiosk. He moved to the platform and entered a carriage and took a seat strategically allowing him to observe the entire car. It was almost empty. He settled into the seat near the window as the Tube train pulled out of the station with its customary tug, pull, clanking motions and sounds. The first part of the long trek through the city was above ground and, although dark, Tom watched the city lights emerge, and flicker and flash past his window. He had always liked London. It was always London he visualised when listening to military briefs on defending Britain, its people, and its way of life. He searched his phone for suitable music and decided on a cliché, the Clash’s ubiquitous ‘London Calling’, then, something completely different with The Cars’ ‘Heartbeat City’. He changed trains at Harrow and Wealdstone and entered the Tube proper, at the Bakerloo line and journeyed through to Embankment.

As the train moved speedily through the bowels of the city, Tom listened to The Jam’s ‘That’s Entertainment’ delaying listening to their ‘Tube Station at Midnight’ like leaving a sundae’s cherry for last. He then played it twice and then let the Jam’s greatest hits play out. Tom caught sight of his reflection in the window. Freshly shaved, shirt and tie, new suit. New everything, he thought, including attitude. He was nervous and excited, like a teen out on his first big date. He had packed a small overnight bag but had left it in the Land Rover. Idiot, he thought. He had no idea how the night would unfold. He certainly had hopes but he was also half expecting it to be an embarrassing drama where they shook hands, talked to each other too formally, and closed the night early without any warmth, leaving him to shlep back across the city and a dilemma of either heading home or finding a hotel for a lonely night. God, he hoped not. The very thought filled him with a gut-churning dread. He tried to lose the anxious feeling in his music. He pulled out his phone again and took comfort in the re-reading of Nia’s texts.

After forty minutes the carriage shook slightly as the train braked and emerged from its tunnel into dazzlingly bright station lights. Embankment. It was Tom’s stop. He stood, buttoned his grey wool suit and his overcoat then moved to the carriage’s door, minded the gap, and stepped on to the platform and resolutely on to whatever the evening would hold.

Tom arrived at the theatre in good time. He found his ticket at the ‘will call’ booth, just as Nia had directed. He left his winter coat with coat check and found his way into the theatre bar. It was bright, lots of red and brass, Victorian decor, and a jovial atmosphere. Chic and stylish people were drinking, talking, and laughing. He made his way up to the bar, ordered a G&T, and was a bit flummoxed when the bartender listed umpteen gins that were available, most of which Tom had never heard of. He chose Gordon’s. He took his glass to the side of the bar, almost with his back to the wall and observed the crowd before him. The light, almost playful, atmosphere helped him to relax. He was looking forward to the play and couldn’t wait to see Nia again. Before he had finished his drink, a bell signalled that it was time for the bar’s patrons to find their seats. Tom felt part of the crush of people as they almost, as one, moved into the theatre. He found his seat, front and centre, and felt waves of anticipation break over him like surf.

In the theatre’s cramped dressing rooms, Nia looked at her reflection under the harsh light of the make-up mirror. The make-up artist had certainly lived up to his description, a true artist, she thought. Her reflection radiated youth and vigour. Nia was looking forward to the play, Blithe Spirit, and her role of Ruth. It was a play she’d been in many times, playing many characters, and she always liked it. Nia wanted to enjoy it. She had some jitters and she was wanting Tom to be in the audience more than she dared to hope. Nia knew where he’d be sitting in the theatre and she wanted to be sure to catch his eye. She took a deep breath to clear her mind and to focus on the role. The stage manager gave the cast their five-minute alert.

Nia felt the applause as she stepped on stage, relaxed, and she launched into her first lines. A little later she watched from the wings. She cast her eye on to the audience; there he was, front and centre, smiling. She wanted to confirm her remembrance of what he looked like. The short dark hair, greying artfully at the temples, the longish face, and square jaw, the kind mouth, sad eyes that still smiled. Nia took another deep glance at Tom and then moved across the stage to interact with another