They sidestepped down the aisle of row C. She began to think of space invaders and the two-tone beat of the music.
She smiled as she caught the sound of Christmas music, and a loop of chattering people, a party maybe? Laying down the frame for the play?

They settled into their seats, three rows back. One of her two sons hung his coat on the back of the chair in front of him. She asked him if this was a good idea? What if someone sat there, what if it fell during the performance? He assured her that he would move it if need be, she relaxed a little. With a wry smile, she thought, “Did I switch the iron off?!”

She used this as a calming tactic when anxiety started to bubble and rise from her knotted stomach. It worked every time. Relaxing into the chair, her coat on her lap, she reached into her bag and produced bags of sweets. These were quickly grabbed by her two grown children. It was not because they were fighting against each other, but since their father had ceased drinking he was a ‘sugar junky’.

Her husband looked with puppy dog eyes towards the children, and they each gave him a few sweets. He smiled comically through a sweet mash of coloured candies. He took his wife’s hand in his, and reassuringly squeezed it.

She had booked the tickets last year, and she was looking forward to this. Just three rows back she thought, maybe that was a mistake? The anxiety flicked at her stomach. She distracted herself once more by taking in the theatre's ambience.

Since the house lights were still up, she could see the fat cherubs hanging on to the sides of the empty theatre boxes. The gold and ruddy red paintwork adorned the roof space, and velvet chairs curved their way towards the stage. Looking around, she did not see many people in the theatre. She wondered if the performance was going to be any good.

Her husband joked that they had better start on time. She used to create wonderful theatre productions herself in the past and found no excuse for not starting on time, every time.

More people began to fill in the seats behind them. Third row, was that too close to the stage? Her anxiety peaked again. Two rows back a group of teenage girls, ‘screamers’, her eldest son called them, filed their way into the theatre. Their tutor, a skinny, bespectacled man in his late forties, hushed them as they came in. He warned them about their mobile phones. With many a tut and sigh, they all switched them off. He checked that.

Her husband and children looked towards her and nodded before she could ask about their phones. Relaxing again, she checked hers anyway. You can never be too careful, right?

A collection, three or so, older ladies shuffled in the row directly behind them. All clutching handbags with both hands they looked like a comical parody of carbon copied royalty. They seemed to step in time. They all hovered for a while and sat down together. One lady took out her phone.

“I was sent his photo yesterday, “ She commanded to one of their companions.

“Look that is my granddaughter, she got her first pair of shoes!”

The other lady partly opened her mouth to speak, but the lady with the phone continued without a beat.

“They went to one of those shops, you know the ones?”

The older lady just nodded politely, no chance for a word to even form, let alone to be delivered edgeways.

She twisted the handles of her handbag with both hands and feigned interest. She knew this trip was a bad idea.

All this went unnoticed as the phone lady continued.

“The ones that take a picture of the shoes too?"

Nod.

"You know so they can show it to people that are not even invited to go along,” she spat these words and continued her diatribe.

“So she got these. They are called bumpers, or sketchlings, or something.” She shone the phone screen into the face of the older lady. It was so close to her face that her features were erased by the blinding light of the screen.

“Can you see them ok?“

Before the other lady could answer she said “Let me zoom in for you, you can do this on this phone, my son got it for me, such a good boy. It makes me wonder why he didn’t invite me along really.”

The phone was pinched and squeezed. A series of shoe pictures were thrust past at a frightening pace.

“Look at this one, they cost a lot of money you know. I told them ‘invest in their feet now, and you’ll save pounds later in life. Well, I told them that over the phone of course, not in the shop as some of us were not inv..”

The other lady blinked, nodded, and reached for a tissue from her handbag. She sneezed. That did the trick, the phone retreated.

“So, I got these picture via my new broadband, do you have broadband?”

The other lady, still recovering from the brightness of the phone, of course, said nothing.

“I changed to the Post Office, even my mother has broadband now you know?"

Again the other lady could have been a mannequin, actually she wished she was.

"She has a Kindle, well I got it for her, and she needed broadband to get it to work.”

The older lady actually managed a nod toward the stage.

“Oh I think it might be starting, I will put my phone away.”

The other lady had no idea if it was her nod or the dimming lights that alerted her to this fact. She assumed the latter.

The family in front smiled at each other through the whole rant and rave. The husband held his wife’s hand and lovingly smiled at her. He hoped that this ghost story was going to make up for the one that they had missed.

The house lights had dimmed to black. The curtain rose, and the woman behind actually fell silent.

The husband felt his wife’s hand tighten around his momentarily, then relax.

The stage was set out like an attic room. Plaster battered walls, patches of plaster, some tattered wallpaper in places. A door stood at the back center stage. On the floorboards stood an armchair to the right and a desk and chair to the left. A simple set. Nothing too scary he thought so why did she involuntarily grip his hand?

Then he saw it.

To each side of the stage, and strewn across the desk were books., old delicate, charitable, devourable, books.

She loved books. The smell, texture, feeling of them The way they allowed you escape from the world, if but for a moment, to another place. To see them in such a state of disarray tugged at her heart, it saddened her.

He said nothing as the play commenced.

It was a story with three players. The script was good, well written and balanced; the performance was described by the eldest son as ‘a bit GCSE drama group’. The plot twist that one of the characters was a ghost was guessed by the family early on. They all smiled smugly at each other.

The interval ended with the fall of the safety curtain.

The old lady got the phone out again and took orders for ice cream.

The family discussed whether to stay or not, they decided they would. The husband saw the disappointment in his wife's eyes. He vowed to himself he would make it up to her. A West End or, at least, big budget production was in order. He would do that too.

The ice creams were distributed out to the old ladies. 

“The spoon is in the lids, let me do it for you?”

She took the tub without waiting for a reply. The spoon and ice cream returned, they began to eat.

“I was saying only the other day to my son, you know the one who’s daughter got the shoes?"

Interest was imagined once again as she continued.

“So I said to him, do you think Charlotte will let me know when the next pair of shoes will be purchased? Do you know what he said?”

Then it happened.

She actually paused.

Feeling a sense of shock and dread the other lady answered in a squeak of a voice, “No?”

“Well, he actually said ‘ask her mother’! Well I told him that I tried to talk to her in the past, but she just did not listen to me, I mean I am easy to listen to aren’t I?”

The muffled giggles from the row in front went unnoticed by her.

“Well, I said that I would call around and talk to her, give her a reminder to contact me next time. He told me it was a great idea, and why didn’t I tie a piece of string around his wife's finger or something to reminder her?"

“Well! I did not care too much for his tone. He has never been the same since he married her, she has changed my boy.”

The other lady looked a little confused as she was sure 'her boy' was in his late thirties at least.

The stereoscopic scraping of the ice cream tubs went unnoticed by the armchair orator as she stated, “So I went around today and had a little chat.”

At this, the sound of scraping suddenly stopped.

Another pause.

“So what did you do?” Asked the other woman warily.

The phone lady reached into her pocket and pulled out a long silver box. It was about six inches long and a few deep. Ornate engravings adorned the surface, and it had a simple clasp lock on the front. She placed it on her lap.

“So I called around this afternoon.” She smiled. It was an evil and sardonic smile.

Another pause.

One of the ladies gulped and ventured to ask, “And?”

“Well,” The phone lady twisted the silver box around in her hands absentmindedly. She was calm now, scarily controlled.

“I thought my son’s idea was excellent. You know something visual to remind her that I am part of my granddaughter's life too.”

The wide-eyed companions looked at the phone lady as she brought the silver box to eye level.

“I thought a visual reminder would do the job so very well."

Further gulps.

"I do not care much for string as it can be lost, wet, etc. I needed something more, erm, permanent.”

A crackle of fear connected the companions as they looked at each other.

The phone lady snapped open the silver box, smiled and calmly said.

“Have I shown you Charlotte’s finger?”