What follows is at least partially true (although which part is up for debate):
A soundtrack of songs from the 1930s heralded the arrival of the legendary (in her eyes anyway) star of the silver screen - Jilly Jordan (aka Lyra Vargas) - who made her way to the front where a bemused audience applauded while wondering what they had let themselves in for and whether it would perhaps have been a better idea to grab a fish supper and curl up in front of the TV with a box set of Buffy The Vampire Slayer.
Jilly, it immediately became clear, was not a woman to be trifled with. She was there to perform for One Night Only.
With full Norma Desmond aplomb - aided and abetted by a somewhat eccentric turban enhanced by a wayward peacock feather and an overlay of Attitude - she launched into reminiscences of life in 'the golden age of Hollywood when men were men and women were chaste'. In the space of around ten minutes we learned that she:
‘worked with the divine John Gilbert, Valentino, Douglas Fairbanks, John Barrymore. I played with them all, you know. Oh yes. Some of them even asked me to marry them, but I couldn’t possibly. No. My contract wouldn’t allow for that you see. Oh no, Ultimate Studios was owned by Joshua Leminsky. He was a very strict…Quaker. We had to be virgins when we signed the contract and, by golly, we had to stay that way. For the duration. Of course some of us strayed. Not me though. Oh no, I was a good girl. I put in the work. Obeyed the rules. Oh, the silent era, that was when acting really meant something. Not spouting a lot of old twaddle bashed out by someone on an infernal typewriting machine. Anyone can do that. Even Joan Crawford can do that, and goodness knows there’s precious little else that woman can do that doesn’t involve her assuming the horizontal.’
More scandalous revelations followed and the audience began to wonder when the men in white suits were going to appear to whisk their hostess away. Meanwhile, the turban asserted itself and demonstrated – not for the last time – that it was a force to be reckoned with. But, determined not to be acted off the stage by an inanimate supporting artist, Jilly battled gamely on.
At this point, a hapless audience member waved his arms around in a manner which resulted in Jilly warning him:
‘Don’t do that dear, you’ll give yourself apoplexy!’.
Disaster was averted when he duly stopped and asked, in a tremulous voice, ‘What about the ghosts?’
Jilly responded,
‘Oh the ghosts. Well, Chanterlands has more than its fair share, I would say. My young niece, Pamela, has been unearthing some wonderful artifacts in the attic and…she may have found something…
I have seen one ghost. In fact, I see him all the time. My younger brother, Will. He died when he was just fourteen years old. Scarlet Fever. Absolute tragedy. He was the same age as young Pamela. She sleeps in his room now. In fact, I think he rather likes her. Well, it’s nice for him to have someone his own age to play with, isn’t it?’
At this juncture, it was crystal clear that something wasn’t quite right about our hostess. In fact, something was very wrong there. Who was she really? Where did she come from? When did she come from?
At this point she abruptly took her leave, after ensuring the audience agreed to meet her at some, unspecified, time, ‘down by the lake’ – an encounter only to be witnessed by a couple of unique and rather curious otters…
Thankfully, award-winning horror author, James Lefebure, was on hand to restore order to the chaos. I was allowed back into my body and Southport Hairdresser, Karl (Jon Karl Hairdressing) was on hand to attempt to restore some semblance of order to the wreckage the turban left behind when it made its swift exit – a difficult feat with only one small hairbrush and not a curling tong in sight.
As for the turban? It has acquired an agent and is available for christenings, weddings, Bar Mitzvahs and naming ceremonies and is rumoured to be up for a BAFTA and an Academy Award for Best Actor in a Supporting Role.
At this juncture, it was crystal clear that something wasn’t quite right about our hostess. In fact, something was very wrong there. Who was she really? Where did she come from? When did she come from?
At this point she abruptly took her leave, after ensuring the audience agreed to meet her at some, unspecified, time, ‘down by the lake’ – an encounter only to be witnessed by a couple of unique and rather curious otters…
Thankfully, award-winning horror author, James Lefebure, was on hand to restore order to the chaos. I was allowed back into my body and Southport Hairdresser, Karl (Jon Karl Hairdressing) was on hand to attempt to restore some semblance of order to the wreckage the turban left behind when it made its swift exit – a difficult feat with only one small hairbrush and not a curling tong in sight.
As for the turban? It has acquired an agent and is available for christenings, weddings, Bar Mitzvahs and naming ceremonies and is rumoured to be up for a BAFTA and an Academy Award for Best Actor in a Supporting Role.
Massive thanks to Bob Stone for allowing all the mayhem to occur in Write Blend, his most excellent independent bookshop situated at 124 South Road, Waterloo, Liverpool L22 0ND, to James Lefebure for interviewing me and stopping me from straying off into the dubious realms of Waffleland, the wonderful audience for attending, laughing in all the right places (as well as some I hadn’t anticipated), applauding and, of course, for buying the books. Many thanks to Flame Tree Press for all their support and for producing my novel in such a gorgeous format.
“You don’t belong here. None of you do. None but us….”
1940. Pamela Courtney is evacuated to Chanterlands – the home of her aunts: Jilly, the eccentric one, who dreams of her days as a star of the silver screen, and Bunny, the pragmatic one.
But Chanterlands is home to more than just the living. There’s the spectral lonely boy whose room Pamela sleeps in and, in the long-neglected attic, she discovers a sinister secret of this once-great house.
But greater danger awaits Pamela during that summer long ago when war raged all over Europe and the safety her mother had wished for her took a dark and fatal turn.
Images:
Nick Wells/Flame Tree Press
Shutterstock
photos - author and members of the audience
