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

‘As you all know, my nan passed away about two months ago.’ She swallowed down the lump in her throat and took a deep breath. ‘On the day of her funeral, I was given a letter she wrote to me a few days before she died asking me to take over her place as chairman of the committee. I know you’ve been acting as chairman since her death, Mayor Cunningham, and I’m sure Nan would say you’ve done a wonderful job,’ she lied. ‘But she’s asked me to take over now and try to continue her work.’

Ms Powell and Mr Ryman shuffled in their seats, glancing at Mayor Cunningham. Deep wrinkles showed on his forehead as he scowled and a muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘I don’t think protocol allows for someone to just take over another’s seat, Miss Webster. Particularly that of chairman, which is an elected position. I’m sorry, but it can’t be done.’

Despite Sid’s reassurances, Lottie had worried Mayor Cunningham would say no. As all her fears threatened to be realised she dug deeper, unwilling to let her nan down.

‘How do we even know you can cope with the responsibility?’ asked Ms Powell, snidely.

Lottie’s fingers tightened around her notes. She could put up with a lot of things, but being patronised by a woman who made puppy dog eyes to a man like Roger Cunningham wasn’t one of them.

‘I didn’t think you would let me take over, just like that,’ said Lottie. ‘Which is why I’ve prepared a presentation of some ideas I’ve had. I think they could really get things moving again.’

The smug smile disappeared from Ms Powell’s face, the mayor twisted his cufflinks, and Trevor turned over a sheet of paper and readied his pen. ‘Please go on.’

Lottie stood a little taller and opened the first slide on her presentation. ‘The first thing I was going to suggest is bringing back the amateur dramatics group.’

Ms Powell’s head popped up at the mention of the amateur dramatics group and she watched Lottie with eager eyes. The ends of her razor-sharp bob swished around her chin until the mayor glared at her and she looked back down at her notes. Lottie knew she had her own faults but at least she didn’t have a crush on a complete douchebag like Mayor Cunningham.

‘As you can see from the programmes in front of you and the images on the screen from the Gazette archives, the group was very popular and had lots of members. It put on at least two productions a year.’ She looked up to see all eyes focused on her and swallowed, feeling the butterflies jiggling in her stomach. ‘From my research and the old accounts books I found, events were very well attended.’

‘And how to do you propose to do all this, Miss Webster, as we have such limited funds?’ asked the mayor.

‘And no money for advertising,’ added Ms Powell.

Lottie imagined how wonderful it would be to smack Sarah Powell in the face with her folder but instead smiled sweetly at them both. ‘I work for the Greenley Gazette and they’ve kindly agreed to run an advert for members of the amateur dramatics group. Free of charge, of course. It’ll start this week if you agree.

‘This will raise much needed publicity for the theatre, which I understand has been a problem for some time.’ Lottie congratulated herself on sounding like a grown-up professional type of person.

A blotchy redness crept up the mayor’s neck.

‘I like this idea,’ said Mr Ryman. ‘Free of charge advertising can’t be turned down.’

Mayor Cunningham steepled his fingers like a Bond villain. ‘And what happens if no one is interested?’

‘Then I guess we’ll know how the community feels about the theatre,’ answered Lottie, feeling her shoulders sag. But then she remembered Sid’s words to be positive and lifted her head. ‘But if it is successful, we can work with the group to bring the theatre back to life and plan a production.’

Mayor Cunningham scratched the small triangle of stubbly hair on his forehead. ‘Are you aware of how much work is needed on the theatre, Miss Webster?’

‘Only what’s been covered in the minutes. I haven’t visited the theatre myself yet, but, of course, I’ve seen the outside.’

‘Well, I can tell you it’s a lot.’

‘And there are mice,’ said Ms Powell.

‘Mice?’ Lottie imagined them putting on their own production, all lined up on the stage wearing top hats and waving canes in perfect choreographed unison. She bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

‘Yes, but,’ said Mr Ryman, shifting in his seat to lean over the table, ‘if this is successful, we could then look at community funding. Maybe a bid to the Heritage Lottery Fund? I know the council can’t afford to run the place anymore and I’ve said before there are avenues we haven’t explored. We could follow the marketing campaign with an appeal.’

Lottie smiled at him, thankful for a possible ally.

Mayor Cunningham eyed Mr Ryman as if he wanted to stab him with his pencil but Trevor didn’t notice, or at least, didn’t care. The mayor said, ‘Perhaps we should put your taking over as chairman to the vote. It is an elected position after all.’

Lottie’s stomach lurched. Mr Ryman seemed like he would vote for her but if Ms Powell did vote the same way as Mayor Cunningham, the numbers were against her. Lottie decided on a last-minute attempt to convert Sarah Powell to her side. ‘Can I just say that the Greenley Gazette will be happy to follow the story with regular articles and advertising space. Free of charge, of course.’

David, her editor, hadn’t actually said that but there was little else to print these days and she was surprised at how much she wanted this now. She met the mayor’s steely gaze and carried on. ‘If your objections are lack of funds for advertising, then that’s already covered, and there’s a guarantee of more to come.’

Ms Powell looked up and Lottie was sure there was a flicker of agreement in her small eyes.

‘Miss Webster—’ began the mayor.

‘Hang on,’ said Mr Ryman, cutting him off. He turned to Mayor Cunningham. ‘I don’t think a vote is required. Whilst seats on committees aren’t usually hereditary, I do think the request from the late Mrs Webster makes this an unusual circumstance.’ He leaned in and with a lowered voice said, ‘We wouldn’t want the Greenley Gazette reporting anything negative, would we?’

Lottie opened her mouth to tell him that she’d never be so underhanded when he turned to her and gave her an almost imperceptible wink.

‘I suppose you’re right, Mr Ryman,’ said the mayor. He turned to Lottie. ‘It would only be right to honour the wishes of our dear Elsie. May I suggest, though, that we reassess the situation once the auditions have taken place and we’re aware of the community’s response?’ He glowered at Ms Powell.

‘Agreed,’ Ms Powell answered and Lottie wondered if there had been a note of uncertainty in her voice.

Mr Ryman nodded.

‘Your title will therefore be Acting Chairman, Miss Webster, until this trial period is over.’

Lottie nodded in agreement. It was as good as she was going to get.

‘Meeting adjourned then.’ The mayor stood up, shoving his seat back. He pushed the papers into his briefcase and luminous Post-it notes flew onto the floor. Ms Powell followed him to the door chattering in his ear.

Mr Ryman lingered behind the others as Lottie switched off her laptop and began to unwrap the mass of cables that had somehow twisted themselves around each other. ‘I’m very sorry that your nan passed away, Miss Webster. My condolences.’

‘Oh. Thank you.’ Lottie kept her eyes down, worried they would fill with tears as her body relaxed with relief.

‘She was a very energetic and likeable woman,’ Mr Ryman continued, trying to catch her eye. Lottie hoped he would get the hint that she didn’t want to talk about this right now.