•✦—✦•
December 19, Woodfield Primary School, Chester
Oliver drove to Woodfield as fast as he could. Working as a contractor had issues when you lived in Chester, of all places. While he didn't live in a big city, he lived near three decently sized cities, which meant that he always had work. Winter was not the best time for contractors, mainly in that rainfall was constant in all areas of England, especially in the Liverpool/Manchester area. Today was supposed to be a special day; his and Erin's little miracle was growing up. He still remembered the day Erin realized her pregnancy and the day she had given birth. Oliver hadn't believed that they would have children, as nothing had worked before.
Woodfield Primary was right in between Upton and Newton and the only school in the catchment area that his wife, Erin, liked. She was a willful woman. Oliver wished that Erin had a mobile phone as he did, but she was willful in that too: "It's too huge," she'd say. He planned to surprise her with a mobile phone — just as soon as a smaller model came out. People spoke about Nokia phones that would fit in the palm of the hand; that would be a riot.
The small parking space of the school was almost full — the first time he had seen it so. Amelia and Noah Johnson were just exiting their red Ford Fiesta as Oliver parked. He waved them hello. When he got out, the two were waiting for him.
"Hiya, Amelia. Noah. You alright?" Oliver asked.
"Not bad, not bad at all. Had to leg it, like you, I reckon." Noah nodded to Oliver's Ford Escort van.
"Right you are. How's Alfie, anyway?"
"Good, but he's playing a gangster. That is not right," Amelia said as they walked towards the school.
"Relax, will you, Amelia? You've seen the play as many times as I have. Nothing too bad about it," Noah tried, falling in step next to Amelia.
"Who's Will playing?" Amelia asked Oliver.
"Erm… he's playing Oliver," he replied, and at Amelia making a small noise, he continued, "Lad's been over the moon, thinks he's playing me… 'Cause Oliver and all, heh."
"Good for Will." Noah smiled and looked around for someone. "Where's Erin?"
"She must be inside. Let's pick up the speed, yeah? Don't wanna miss our boys."
"Right."
•✦—✦•
Erin was inside the school hall; a hundred and some more chairs were set up, and excited parents chattered on with new gossip and rumours they'd heard since the last school parents' consultations.
"There you are." Oliver side-hugged Erin.
"Hey — watch it, Mister." Erin chided him as usual.
"Sorry I'm late. Highway's been a murder to get through."
"That's fine; you only missed a dry speech from Chris."
"Actually," a woman inserted herself into the conversation, "we should be worried. Pupil numbers are down. Chris thinks the school will close by the time the Year Ones transfer to a secondary."
"Heya, are you Jemima's mum?" Erin said with the kindest smile on her face. Oliver could've been fooled.
"Kate. Pleased, and you are?" Kate asked back.
Erin's features changed completely, and her accent turned fifty percent more Welsh. She wasn't a big fan of posh folks.
"I'm Erin, Wilfred's mum. He's playing Oliver. What's Jemima playing?" Erin asked with a smile that could be mistaken for friendliness.
Kate's face shifted but quickly returned to the upturned smile. "Strawberry Seller."
"Oh, apologies." Erin gave an even kinder smile. "Sorry, I'm not sure about their jobs. What's the name of the character?"
Kate huffed indignantly. "That's the name of her character. She'll be singing. Excuse me; I've to find my seat." Kate left quickly.
"My God, what's up with you, love?" Oliver asked.
"You want some servings too?" Erin threatened menacingly.
"No, ma'am."
It was Erin's turn to huff. "I'm no ma'am — makes me sound like one of those posh bints."
Oliver couldn't help but chuckle. "I worry that I've married a sailor rather than a librarian."
Erin fell into his side. "You ever been to a library? I have to curse more than a sailor at the kids," she sighed, her energy finally drained.
"Let's grab some of those biscuits and a tea. Have you seen Wilf at all?"
"No, but there are a lot of kids looking at us awkwardly. Look, that girl's so nervous. Wee little thing," Erin made a noise.
Oliver tried to shift the topic before she remembered the past.
"Is that Tetley's? Erin, love, can you grab us some of those biscuits?"
•✦—✦•
Once Oliver and Erin had their seats next to Amelia, Noah, and two parents he hadn't spoken to before, the crowd quieted down as Mrs. Moss came up to the stage.
"Welcome to Woodfield Primary Year 4 to 6 production of Oliver! by Lionel Bart. Before we start, I'd like to thank each and every parent who chipped in for the costumes or the prop work. We wouldn't have been able to do this without all of you. Please give respect to the children who will be doing their best, and give them your cheers of encouragement. For a month and a half, they've learned so many lines, sung songs, and even mastered the Cockney accent."
[Crowd laughs]
"To my dear students, I know you are nervous. It's okay to be nervous. Think of it as the combined work of each and every one of you as a team."
[Crowd cheers scattered encouragements]
"So, without further ado, let the wheel of time turn back to London in the days of Queen Victoria." Mrs. Moss walked over to the piano. "Dim the lights—"
[Lights turn off completely]
It took about five seconds of complete silence and darkness before the piano started to play discordant tones along with a backing track of violin, brass, and percussion.
[Lights brighten along with the piano beat]
Oliver spotted new props on the stage — barrels and a short flight of steps that hadn't been there earlier. Children poured in from both ends of the stage:
IS IT WORTH THE WAITING FOR?
IF WE LIVE 'TIL EIGHTY-FOUR
ALL WE EVER GET IS GRU…EL!
EV'RY DAY WE SAY OUR PRAYER —
WILL THEY CHANGE THE BILL OF FARE?
STILL WE GET THE SAME OLD GRU…EL!
THERE IS NOT A CRUST, NOT A CRUMB CAN WE FIND,
CAN WE BEG, CAN WE BORROW, OR CADGE,
BUT THERE'S NOTHING TO STOP US FROM GETTING A THRILL
WHEN WE ALL CLOSE OUR EYES AND IMAG…INE
Kids numbering almost thirty sang and danced around the two benches and tables. Oliver was impressed by the movements, despite how simple they were. In fact, if he'd had any knowledge of the entertainment industry, he would have known that most of the moves amounted to spinning in place, shaking hands, twirling, or even playing portions of a Patty-Cake game. Simplicity, and the need for two people to do familiar moves in the shapes of games and gestures, made the whole thing feel more choreographed without any effort.
The children finished their song, which outlined their daydreaming about any food that wasn't gruel, by getting ladles of gruel from girls in work dresses.
FOR WHAT YOU'RE ABOUT TO RECEIVE
MAY THE LORD MAKE YOU TRULY GRATEFUL
All the children stood still as the boy in a parish uniform held up his beadle staff, raising it ever so slowly as the children grew impatient. Once the staff cracked the stage floor, the children tore into the imaginary food as if they were hungry beasts. Oliver chuckled as they finished the hated gruel in seconds. Then there was his boy — his bright boy in a torn gray tee from his own work and a jacket that also seemed a tad bit too big for him. Wilf awkwardly walked over to the parish while being pushed and prodded by the other children.
"What?" the parish asked in a Cockney accent.
"Please, sir, I want some more," his boy replied in a much better accent.
"What?!"
"Please, sir, I want some more?" Wilf asked, unsure about himself.
Chaos ensued as the parish commanded that Wilf, or rather Oliver, be caught, snatched, and held. The song continued, and Oliver the father had forgotten that his son was performing as he enjoyed the singing voice of the parish, backed by all the children around. Everyone sang his and his son's character's name in a new song criticizing Oliver's greed — a sin for the religious bunch.
Oliver stifled his chuckles as the parish immediately went to the street to sell Oliver — his son — for seven pounds. It was confusing, so he just referred to his son as Wilf.
[Lights turn off.]
[Lights turn on.]
The scene had shifted, and there were no more benches and tables; instead, a collection of barrels and a coffin were strewn around. Wilf was still being led by the parish, and a new boy was next to them.
"Liberal terms, Mr. Sowerberry… Liberal terms? Three pounds!" the boy who played the parish said.
The new boy, who played the undertaker, haggled as if Wilf were only a product on a shelf. It was funny in a really messed-up way. Dickens had written the novel in a time this was a reality and child labour was everywhere. It seemed a good reminder of how much humanity had improved. The next few minutes played out until it was revealed that Oliver was an orphan whose mother had died before telling them her name. His son did not have many lines so far and seemed shy and withdrawn while the other kids were putting on an amazing performance. It started to worry Oliver, though he didn't know it. Oliver was a man who loved football and competition; he had failed in his youth, and Wilf seemed to be a cut below the rest of the kids in ability, and it frustrated the man.
The boy and girl who played Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry went on to a haunting yet beautiful rendition of a funeral song as other children came onto the stage to perform a scene of a funeral. His son's character was now a coffin follower, some sort of apprentice to the undertaker. That was when things changed: his boy, who had so far been withdrawn and hadn't said many lines, suddenly started to be focused on more. With the whole stage dimmed except for the light on Wilf, he sang a hauntingly beautiful song:
WHERE IS LOVE?
DOES IT FALL FROM THE SKIES ABOVE?
IS IT UNDERNEATH THE WILLOW TREE
THAT I'VE BEEN DREAMING OF?
WHERE IS SHE?
WHO I CLOSE MY EYES TO SEE?
WILL I EVER KNOW THE SWEET "HELLO"
THAT'S MEANT ONLY FOR ME?
Wilf — he always knew that his boy could sing well, but this was something else. Wilf had the voice of an angel, soft mellow thing that still cut through the entire crowd. The applause as he finished his song was louder than all the other songs had received so far. His boy had talent; he was just blending in so well because that's how Oliver Twist was as a character.
The rest of the play went on in a blur. He had been told the children's names by whispers. Henry, who played Dodger, did the best job — the boy moved with charm and fluidity that no one matched. Even Wilfred looked a bit wooden compared to the boy, but Oliver told himself that it was just the character differences. Olivia, a girl who played Nancy, had an amazing voice; her solo song received the loudest applause by the end of the play. The only adult on the stage played Fagin, who, Erin had told Oliver, was actually the music teacher's husband. The difference in quality was clear: Fagin oozed charm, slyness, and cowardice in equal measure. The only person that Oliver could truly complain about in the end was Bill Sikes, who was played by a Year 6 boy. Bless the lad, but it was hard to believe the young boy with fake mutton chops threatening to kill adult Fagin. Though the scene where he killed Nancy seemed convincing.
Once the play ended on a bittersweet tone, the children received a thunderous applause. Mrs. Moss had done a brilliant job turning these young children into actors and helping them remember their lines. It was really rough around the edges whenever many kids showed up on the stage, but the main characters were incredibly good for just ten- or eleven-year-olds. In Oliver's mind, he thought mostly of his son. On his right, his wife was holding the film camera and dabbing her eyes to dry the tears. Wilf had done brilliantly; maybe he couldn't become an actor, but the boy had talent in music. Next Oasis or the Beatles? Maybe. Maybe, Oliver thought. Everything would hinge on how Wilf's voice changed when it broke. But it seemed clear on his boy's beaming face as he bowed to the audience with his fellow actors: Wilf loved acting, and he had finally got out of his shell doing so. He and his wife wouldn't admit it, but they had been worried about Wilf for a long time. The boy had no friends, even as a toddler, and often stared into nothing like those poor senile folks. Had he not been smart to go with it, he would've worried about the boy's health.
It turned out that the boy only needed some encouragement and a hobby. Now Wilf talked more about that boy Henry than his new book, which he also seemed very passionate about. Oliver hugged his wife and gave her a wet kiss on the cheek.
"We've done well with our son, I reckon," Oliver bragged. He almost felt it coming before it actually did — his wife hit him on the shoulder.
"You mean, I've done well with our son?" Erin said, but smiled all the same, looking proud as a hen.
"Course I do, course I do." Oliver kissed his wife again.