They all looked at one another in dismay — for persuading Matt Lafferty to star in Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves had been a stroke of genius on Sir James’s part. Lafferty’s meteoric rise to fame was the ultimate success story as the comedian, after winning a TV talent show, had become famous overnight. He was funny, fabulous and totally fantastic. Neil’s heart sank at the thought that Ali Baba might not happen, for Lafferty’s personality had transformed the show.
Clara’s words echoed his mood. “I couldn’t bear it if it had to be cancelled,” she said, looking distraught. “We’re having so much fun, aren’t we, Neil?”
Neil nodded. When rehearsals had started, Sir James had sensed their enthusiasm for the pantomime and his offer to have them included as extras in the crowd scenes had been met with rapturous excitement. The theatre, Neil had decided, was totally brilliant and he’d certainly never thought, when he’d voted for Matt in the TV Show, that he’d find himself acting on stage beside him.
“Matt Lafferty’s absolutely magic as the Grand Vizier!” Clara continued earnestly, looking pleadingly at Sir James. “The rehearsals are a laugh from start to finish. You just can’t cancel it, Sir James!”
Sir James smiled and ruffled her hair. “I’ll do my best,” he assured her but his face was serious as, taking his car keys from his pocket, he turned apologetically to Mrs MacLean. “I won’t have that cup of tea after all, Janet,” he said. “I’d better get home at once. Lots of people must have been trying to get in touch with me.”
“I’m sure they have,” nodded the Ranger as he followed him to the door. “Let us know what happens.”
Sir James smiled wryly at Clara as she held the front door open for him. “Don’t worry about it too much, Clara,” he smiled. “All is not lost! We might be able to put Ali Baba on at another theatre, you never know!”
“That’d be fab,” she said, her expression lightening at the thought. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed!” And they waved as Sir James reversed his car out of the driveway and drove off.
“Well, of all the things to happen,” Mrs MacLean said. “What else does it say in the papers, John?”
“The Evening News says much the same as The Scotsman. It happened on Friday night … an electrical fault … no suspicious circumstances.”
“Oh, Dad! I hope Sir James finds somewhere else to put it on. We love being in it even though we only have bit parts.”
“It was good of him to arrange that,” Janet MacLean nodded, “but don’t build your hopes up too much. It’ll be quite difficult to find another theatre, you know. Places like The Lyceum, The Festival Theatre and The Playhouse all have their own shows planned for Christmas and the New Year. I can’t think where he could hold it. It’s a big production and, quite frankly, you can’t put stars like Matt Lafferty in a small hall.”
Neil and Clara sat in subdued silence round the fire that evening. Mrs MacGregor, the school janitor’s wife, who had been looking after Mischief for the weekend, had brought her back and the little cat, glad to be home, was stretched out blissfully on the hearth.
“If she gets any closer, I’m sure her fur will singe,” Neil grinned, looking up from a book.
Mischief opened one eye and looked at him before shutting it again and stretching herself lazily.
“I swear that cat understands everything we say,” mused Neil.
A scrabbling noise made them turn and Clara got to her feet as Kitor nudged his ungainly way through the cat flap in the window and fluttered towards her.
“Kitor,” she cried as he landed on her shoulder. “I wondered where you’d got to!”
“I thought I’d just give the hill the once over in case there was anything your dad should know about. Especially while the MacArthurs are in Turkey,” croaked the crow, settling his wings and cocking a wary eye at Mischief who sat up, looked at him balefully through slitted, green eyes, and started to clean herself minutely.
Although they had tried, neither Neil nor Clara had ever been able to work out how they managed to understand Kitor, for he certainly wasn’t speaking English as such. Somehow his croaks and caws formed words that they could hear in their heads but the sound, as Clara pointed out, didn’t seem to come through their ears.
“School again tomorrow?” croaked Kitor, his bright, black eyes looking at the scatter of exercise books on the table.
“Only in the morning,” Neil said. “I’ve got a school trip in the afternoon.”