I am happy to share an extract from this book today. It is the 2nd in a series and the books seem to have original and nostalgic elements, as they focus on the development of, and challenges faced by, a pier theatre. If this sounds like your sort of book, please do check out the first book: The Road To Cromer Pier!
Blurb:
It’s ten years on from The Road to Cromer Pier, and Summertime Special Show Director Karen Wells has two potential headliners, but both have issues. Dare she take the risk? And Karen herself is at a crossroads. Will her mother Janet ever retire and allow her to run the pier theatre?
Meanwhile Janet’s nemesis, businessman Lionel Pemrose still has designs on the pier theatre, but he is facing growing financial problems. Bank manager Peter Hodson is haunted by a past indiscretion, and calls in recently widowed turnaround expert Tom Stanley. Can he keep the indiscretion a secret?
Tom is bereaved and has recently been made redundant from his own firm. He is too young to retire, and after years of long hours, suddenly finds himself unemployed. He pours his energies into the assignment, which could be his last hurrah.
Old enmities, loyalties and past mistakes surface as the future of the pier theatre is once again under threat, and those involved must deal with unresolved issues in their lives.
Extract:
Cyril Brown
Cyril the Punch & Judy man features in the first book, making a critical intervention in persuading Lauren not to walk away and go back to Wales, but I was intrigued as to the back story to his life, and how he came to fall out with Lionel Pemrose. In many ways sorting out this back story was pivotal in writing the second book. In this extract Cyril recalls his moment of glory, but one which sadly didn’t last long.
Extract
Cyril dozed through the afternoons most of the time. His medication was making these naps more frequent. He was completely sound in mind, but his body had started to betray him. Sitting in his favourite armchair shipped in from home, he looked across at the pictures on his dressing table. There was one of his late wife of course, but it was the one next to it which triggered the memory this time.
It showed a smiling figure in a bright magenta-coloured suit, holding a silver trophy and shaking hands with the host, Bob somebody or other. He might not remember the guy’s surname, but he could recall the rest of that night vividly, and he still had an old recording of the show, preserved on an ancient VHS recorder he had at home.
He’d not even been expected to win. The bookie’s favourite was the singer, Cindy Valance. But this was before the era of phone-ins or online voting. Instead, the four judges had the final say. There had been five acts left in the final, but as they stood on stage for the finale, one by one the lights above the individuals went out, leaving only the surviving contestants illuminated.
‘And now, in third place … Cindy Valance!’
He remembered Cindy’s feigned smile and cheerful wave as her light was extinguished, and the gasps of surprise from the audience. Maybe, just maybe, he thought.
The remaining contender was an impressionist. Cyril had laughed at the series of characters this guy had portrayed in his act. Even his impression of Margaret Thatcher had been good. But Cyril was a double act. His charming monkey, Felix, had been a big hit in the earlier rounds.
He felt the heat prickling his skin under the stage lights and was uncomfortable in his stifling stage costume. He thought he would melt if this went on much longer.
‘But now … who will be our winner tonight? I have the gold envelope here, which will make our winner a star. Ladies and gentlemen, who will it be?’
Cyril recalled that one audience member shouted for Felix, and he’d laughed. The impressionist had laughed, too.
‘And our winner is … Cyril Brown and Felix!’
He couldn’t really remember much about what had happened afterwards. He vaguely recalled hugging the impressionist, but beyond that the whole thing had been a blur. It had unleashed a roller coaster which had seen him appearing at every major venue in the UK, including an appearance at the Royal Variety Show.
As he dozed, he remembered that year fondly. The success hadn’t lasted, but no matter. He still had wonderful memories. He knew that he now had limited life left. The unspoken words of visitors, the evasive half-truths people said to him, eyes not making contact. But of course, as his oncologist had once explained, incurable didn’t mean unmanageable.
He had coped at home for a time, but now he was afraid that he would never see his home again. People avoided the topic when he raised it. The vague references to ‘when you’re stronger’ didn’t wash with him. He found the way people behaved annoying, but also sometimes amusing.
He tried to continue his writing, and his old laptop, keys worn so that the letters were invisible, sat on his desk. The staff found it amusing that this old codger had any understanding of computers. To them he was just the well-loved Punch and Judy man Cyril Brown. Most were too young to recall his years as a celebrity.
His meeting with Julia Maitland had completed the final changes that he needed to make. She had been his solicitor for many years, and was one of the few who knew the whole story. He took out a box from beside the bed and opened it. Inside he saw the bright smile of Felix the monkey looking back at him. He took him out and placed his hand inside the faded brown fur.
‘What do you think, Felix old mate?’ he asked the dummy who’d been his oldest friend and confidant.
He held the puppet to his ear. As he did so, Felix’s mouth twitched in sync with the impishly high speaking voice that Cyril had given him over the years.
‘Well, I think you’re well buggered Cyril, me old mate, but it’s been one hell of a show.’
*Ceri's Lil Blog* 