Give Me Truth by Bill Condon Read Free Book Online

sick?’
    â€˜No. He thinks you like him, too … do you, Caitlin?’
    â€˜I haven’t really thought about it. He’s all right. He’s lots of fun. But I don’t take him seriously.’
    â€˜That’s the trouble. No one does.’
    Â 
    â€˜ THIS WON’T DO !’
    Miss Boyle’s thundering voice ends it for me and David. Just as well, too. There is no way I know what to say next.
    â€˜Caitlin, are you intending to come up to the stage some time this year? I can’t wait around here all day, you know. I only have a limited life span.’
    â€˜Yes, Miss Boyle. Sorry. Coming.’
    â€˜Still no sign of Mr Pringle, I see.’ She glares at her watch as if it’s partly to blame.
    â€˜He shouldn’t be much longer,’ David calls out.
    â€˜We’ve already waited long enough. We’ll start without him. And if he doesn’t turn up today, he’s not coming back. Ever. This may be amateur theatre but I expect us all to be professionals.’
    Glenna smirks – and gets caught.
    â€˜What’s so funny, young lady?’
    â€˜Nothing, Miss.’
    â€˜Excellent answer. We’re not doing a comedy show here. I’ll start you off, Caitlin – Top of Page 19. Take over from me when you’re ready.’
    When Miss Boyle acts she ceases being a sixty-something grey-haired little woman, interchangeable with a zillion others. She inhabits her characters. I want to be just like her when I’m old. Now she launches herself into the part. And she is Cyrano de Bergerac.
    â€˜It’s time you learnt, you pug-nosed, flat-headed – ’
    â€˜Sorry I’m late.’
    Lanny stands at the door.
    â€˜Ah. How good of you to honour us with your presence.’ Miss Boyle sounds like she’s addressing a bug she’s about to devour. ‘And what, may I ask, is the reason for your tardiness this time? Fire? Earthquake? Flood? Or did you merely forget about our little production?’
    â€˜I had to work late. Couldn’t help it. Then I had to make a stop on the way here.’
    â€˜I beg your pardon, lad? You knew you were already late and still you made another stop before you got here? Why on earth would you do that?’
    Glenna’s loud whisper interrupts.
    â€˜Look, behind his back. Flowers.’
    Lanny’s face is almost as red as his hair. My heart goes out to him.
    â€˜Oh, Lanny!’ Megan gushes. ‘I didn’t know you cared. Thank you! They’re my favourite!’
    â€˜Settle down.’ Miss Boyle’s hands form Stop signs, dainty but firm as steel walls. ‘If those carnations are meant for someone, young man,’ she says, ‘I would kindly ask you to deliver them immediately so we can get on with the business we are here for – which is staging a play, in case it has slipped your memory.’
    Lanny strides up to Miss Boyle and, as if he’s getting rid of stolen goods and the law is hot on his trail, he shoves the flowers at her.
    â€˜I’m not going to hold them for you.’ She pushes them back at him. ‘Put them down somewhere so we can getstarted. We’re already late.’
    â€˜But they’re for you.’
    Miss Boyle’s mouth drops open.
    â€˜You don’t mind, do ya?’
    She doesn’t answer, just keeps looking at the flowers.
    â€˜I was walkin’ past a flower shop,’ Lanny says, apologetically. ‘They had these ones out the front. Thought I’d get ’em for yer … to make up for bein’ late.’
    A round of applause booms from the back row.
    â€˜Good one, Lanny!’
    â€˜Thanks, Dave!’
    No one on stage dares to laugh because we’re all too close to Miss Boyle. She might turn into Cyrano and slice us up, with words if not a sword. But almost instantly we see a laugh would have been wrong. All the bluster has seeped out of her. The dragon has been slain by a motley bunch of