She nearly managed a serious face. Nearly.
The Delayed Departure
The train to Little Pudding had not left the station. Clara had already lost her passengers.
“Sorry,” she said into the microphone, which recorded that too.
Across the table, Martin sat with his script raised to his nose. His shoulders were moving. Beside them, Jo stopped the recording on her laptop.
They were making the station scene for the village play. During the performance, the actors would move a painted carriage across the stage while the recorded announcement and passenger’s reply played through the hall speakers.
Clara had volunteered to be the announcer. She had read the first three lines in a voice that could have sent a hundred people calmly towards the correct platform.
Then Martin had asked whether Little Pudding was before or after Upper Crumble.
One More Try
“It isn’t even your funniest line,” Jo said.
“I know.” Clara pressed her fingers beneath her nose. “That’s worrying.”
Martin lowered his script.
“Shall I do less?”
“No. You’re supposed to sound like that.”
He played a passenger who had boarded the wrong train with complete confidence. Clara had heard him rehearse all week. Somehow, sitting opposite him with a microphone between them made his solemn concern about dessert considerably worse.
She took a drink of water, straightened her pages, and nodded to Jo.
The recording began again.
“The next train will call at Little Pudding—”
“Is that before or after Upper Crumble?”
Clara kept her eyes on the page. She reached the word passengers. Then a small sound escaped through her nose, and Martin’s next sentence disappeared beneath her laughter.
Jo stopped the recording.
Clara took off her headphones. The pads had grown warm against her ears.
“I’m sorry. You’re both giving up your evening.”
She looked at the screen. Jo played back the last few seconds. Martin’s mouth had been moving, but Clara could hear only the beginning of his reply.
“That one won’t work,” she said. “Mark it as a failed take.”
Separate Tickets
Clara drew a line between the announcement and Martin’s question on her script.
“Could we do mine first? All of it. Then his, and put them together?”
Jo nodded.
“Leave a little silence before each line.”
Martin moved to the chair by the door, taking his script with him. Clara waited until he had settled, then turned her page so she could see the whole announcement without lifting it near the microphone.
This time, she reached Little Pudding alone.
She announced the platform, asked passengers to stand clear, and finished with a perfectly steady thank-you. Jo let the silence run for a moment before clicking stop.
Clara rose for Martin and took her water to the far end of the room. When he began asking about Upper Crumble, she covered her mouth with both hands. From there, at least, her shoulders could do what they liked.
Afterwards, she brought her chair beside Jo’s. While Jo joined the recordings, Clara followed the script and checked each line against it.
At the first playback, Martin answered before the announcement had quite finished.
“A little room there,” Clara said.
Jo moved his reply. They listened again, right through to the end.
The train was ready for the stage.
For the Party
Jo saved the finished scene. Martin collected the spare pages, tapping their edges together against the table.
“What about the first one?” he asked.
“The one with no usable passenger?” Clara said.
“For the party after the last performance. Could we keep it?”
Jo looked at Clara, her hand resting beside the laptop.
Clara considered the recording in which she had apologised to an entire imaginary station.
“All right. After the last performance.”
“Shall I give it a name?” Jo asked.
Martin glanced at the script.
“Little Pudding. Service interrupted.”
Clara covered her mouth. Jo checked that the microphone was off before letting herself join in.
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