‘Hello Ladies, congratulations on all your auditions, they were all excellent. You’ll be pleased to hear that none of you are actually playing the part of the Kestrel, hahahhaaaa’
We all smile politely at the director whilst snatching glances around the room at the other cast members sitting expectantly around the table. I catch the eye of my dimpled friend from the previous week and she gives me a knowing wink.
‘The reason we are here today is to have a brief read though of all your roles and to get the feel of the play. Shall we start with introducing ourselves and which character we are playing?’
A blonde lady with a West Country accent starts us off and we rotate round the table. Library assistant, farmer, delivery person and finally it’s my turn to speak up. I clear my throat and look up at the expectant faces.
‘Hi I’m Paula, I’m new to the theatre and I’m playing Mrs Casper’ I smile and raise my palm in an uncertain wave. I look around the table and see a few surprised expressions, so I swiftly return my misplaced greeting into my lap where it rests like a bird without wings.
‘Fabulous’ Booms the director ‘ let’s get cracking!’
An elbow nudges me in the ribs. I turn to my left and a voice whispers in my ear ‘I went for that role’. I nod my head solemnly and stay staring at my script, afraid to meet the eyes attached to the voice. I’m fully aware from previous experience that ‘Woman in Shop’ doesn’t really compensate when you’ve auditioned for a principle role, so I clear my throat and keep my ego and opinion in close check.
A couple of hours and several accents later we are released from the confines of the dusty theatre and I quickly make my excuses and head back out into the sun. Ambling through the streets of old town Fuengirola I raise my face toward the mid summer heat and breathe in the heavy scent of freedom. I still can’t quite believe that we own outright our little apartment in this bustling, non apologetic seaside resort and within ten minutes my key is rattling in the front door and I wearily let myself back into our own private corner of utopia.
“I’ve sold it!” yells my husband as I walk indoors and I know instantly that the Xena, our little warrior princess of a jeep is no more. Sitting side by side on the balcony we sip a glass of wine and chat about our next mode of transport.
My son, only recently released from the wilderness ambles out onto the terrace and plonks himself on the sofa next to us. I can still smell the mud caked into his pores but his eyes are clear with excitement.
‘So, as it was my idea, can I have a moped too?’ he looks at us in anticipation, already revving the engine with his mind’s eye.
‘No you can’t!’ I reply in no uncertain terms’ but you can help us choose which one you fancy sitting on the back off…your dad is getting a 125, less embarrassing apparently than a twist and go’ I say winking in my husband’s direction.
With reluctance my ‘I’m almost a teenager’ accepts his passenger status and all three of us look online at shiny vehicles with two wheels as opposed to our usual four. Within the hour we have contacted a local chap who deals in second hand bikes who is prepared to bring a couple over so we can have a test drive the following morning.
And so without drama, we all sit companionably together and watch the sun set over the Andalucía Mountains, laughing at the adventures which have already occurred and eagerly awaiting the ones that are yet to arrive.
A New Wife in the Sun is having a month off over Easter so I shall resume blogging when all chocolate has been consumed
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