Killings on Jubilee Terrace Read Online Free Page B

the man and let him through. He strolled down the street, smiling an inward brooding smile, as the cheers were rehearsed and as, eventually, the happy couple emerged through the church door. The cheers were joyous, the confetti hit its target and the couple walked through the church gate to the waiting limousine.
    The man strolled up to the gate, where Bet Garrett was watching the regulars in the cast. She and the man stood for a moment together.
    ‘Hi, Terracers, I’m back,’ he shouted.
    It was well that the scene of jubilation was in the can.
    ‘ Bloody Hamish,’ hissed Winnie Hey, and next to her, she could feel Bill Garrett’s body stiffen at the sight of Bet. The St Jude’s congregation stared at the young man, stony-faced.
    Only Reggie Friedman, smiling and enthusiastic, ran down the church steps to greet him.
    ‘Hamish!’ he said. ‘Welcome home!’

C HAPTER T HREE
In Sickness and in Health
    The face on the bed was fearsomely white. Hamish Fawley had never played Cyril as one of the box’s perma-tanned homosexuals, but this was extreme. It was the make-up department’s way of saying to the viewers: this is serious, my friends. This may not be a deathbed, but it sure as hell is going to lead to one.
    Winnie Hey was flustered. She had read her scripts in the chronological order of her scenes, and had forgotten to check the order of their filming. If she had she would have realised that Cyril’s first bout of serious illness after his homecoming was to be filmed before the homecoming itself, at Leeds–Bradford airport. She was word-perfect, or as near as she ever got,for the airport sequence, but a long way from it for the bedroom scene.
    ‘Mother,’ croaked Cyril, in an interestingly attenuated voice, ‘there’s something I haven’t told you.’
    ‘I’m sure there are many things you haven’t told me,’ the old lady said grimly.
    ‘No, but this is…different. Not boyfriends. The fact is I’ve got tuberculosis.’
    There was a long silence. Eventually the pathetically dying face twisted into a snarl.
    ‘Oh for God’s sake, you stupid old cow. You’ve forgotten your lines again. Why do I have to have all my big scenes with someone in the Alzheimer zone?’
    ‘I haven’t forgotten my lines,’ protested Winnie. ‘She’s flabbergasted by the news. Naturally. She thought tuberculosis was something in the past. She doesn’t know how to react.’
    ‘Doesn’t know how to react? Why – does she think tuberculosis is a garden flower?’
    ‘There’s no pause in the script, Winnie,’ said Reggie Friedman. ‘If you put one in as long as you have done it’ll only be cut out. Your next line is “But nobody gets TB these days!”’
    ‘Of course it is. I knew that,’ said Winnie unconvincingly. ‘Let’s go back to Cyril’s last line.’
    ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ muttered Cyril. He laidhis head back on the pillow, assumed a faraway expression, and brought back the distant tones of visiting royalty. ‘But this is different, Mother. Not boyfriends. The fact is I’ve got tuberculosis.’
    Winnie left a small pause to make a point, then said: ‘Tuberculosis? But nobody gets tuberculosis these days.’
    She did it rather well, managing to get incredulity and fear into her voice.
    ‘Oh, but they do, Mumsie. It’s been hibernating, biding its time. And now it’s come back, with a vengeance.’
    ‘But there must be drugs these days, things to cure it.’
    ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But there isn’t. There are things that sometimes work, or slow things down. I’ve tried all of them.’
    There was another long pause.
    ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ came again from the bed.
    ‘Look Winnie,’ said Reggie, ‘here’s the script. Read the lines, and we’ll film you from behind.’
    ‘Why don’t you just film her ankles,’ said Hamish. ‘She says they used to be her best feature a century or so ago. They’re probably the only part of her that can act.’
    ‘Just get the words