Here is part three, oh loyal readers... if there are any of you out there! I haven't had many reviews on this one which is a little disappointing, considering that personally I think it's one of my best fics.This doth not bode well. Butif nobody reviews, I might assume that nobody wants to read the rest and not bother posting parts four and five. And you wouldn't really want that, would you...?
A TB Christmas Carol
Chapter Three
When Marquess opened one eye some time later, it was not with the relief that everything that had happened so far was a dream; he knew by now that this was definitely not the case. He shone his torch at the wall clock, to find that there was only half a minute to go before one o'clock, but when the hour arrived, nothing out of the ordinary happened.
He had steeled himself ready for another of The Bill's deceased cast members to haunt him, yet none came. Still, he was not complacent enough to think that he'd been reprieved from his haunting, so he slowly got out of bed and mentally prepared himself for the next ghost. He looked in the wardrobe again, but there was nothing unusual in there, nor was there anything under the bed.
But then he became aware of a bright light shining under the close door leading to the living room. He was just about to reach for the doorknob when a voice called his name. It was not the kind of voice he had expected, if he had expected any voice. It was young, female and cockney.
"In you come, darlin'," the voice said again.
Overcome by curiosity, he opened the door and walked into the room …except it was not the living room, but in fact his bedroom! Or at least, it looked a bit like his bedroom but had undergone an amazing transformation. Christmas decorations hung from the ceiling, a brightly lit tree graced one corner and memorabilia from The Bill adorned the whole room. Signed cast cards, books, videos, handcuffs, asps, stab vests, even two twelve-inch Barbie style dolls kitted out in full riot gear. Hovering about three feet above the floor in the middle of the room, in full Lotus position was Honey Harman, meditating.
Marquess took a step backwards.
"Ah there you are," she grinned, floating back down to the floor. Come and say 'ello, then."
"Erm, Good Evening," Marquess stammered, taking a tentative step towards her. "Without sounding rude, what are you doing in my bedroom?"
Honey grinned again. "Nothin' like that, darlin", she winked. "Nah, I'm the Ghost of The Bill present."
Marquess looked doubtful.
"I, um, somehow expected them, er, you, to be a giant," he admitted. "And, uh, male. And … well, just sort of … different!"
Honey looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes. "Yeah, well, times are changin' now, aren't they? I'd have thought you of all people would know that," she added with a slightly disapproving glance.
"Right," Marquess nodded awkwardly, clearly defeated. "Well, we'd better get on with it. Whatever you are here to teach me, I'm ready."
"That's the spirit!" Honey exclaimed, clapping him on the back so hard that he almost fell headfirst into the wardrobe. "The spirit? The spirit? Get it?" she giggled helplessly for a moment as Marquess managed a nervous chuckle. "Right then, let's get this show on the road. Touch my epal…eppau…shoulder pad thingy."
Marquess did as he was told and in a flash they were standing in the entrance hall to a huge television studio. Everywhere they looked, actors, directors, producers and camera crew were rushing around, learning lines, carrying props and narrowly avoiding collision with each other as they prepared for their Christmas episodes. Many were decorated themselves, in some shape or form; several times someone would go by wearing tinsel in their hair or with a hopeful sprig of mistletoe attached to a headband. Others blundered past wearing interesting 'heads', including a donkey, a crocodile, cat or a waxy imitation of one of the royals. There were at least fifteen different Santas in the building, all with incredibly unrealistic beards; a hospital bed ready for some soap character's inevitable birth and a wedding scene being brought past, pew by pew, just in case.
"Innit lovely?," Honey cooed, smiling nostalgically.
As they strolled around, observing the jovial mayhem, Honey reached into her pocket and drew out a handful of karma beads, and everywhere they went she left a couple, either in someone's pocket, beside a camera or down the back of the sofa if there really was nowhere else.
"What are they for?" Marquess asked.
"Well, things are bound to get a bit fraught sometimes," she admitted, nodding wisely. "Some people get more stressed about last minute panics than others – particularly Capricorns – so the beads are just there to calm' em down and make sure they're emotionally balanced out."
As she spoke, a very flustered Father Christmas pushed into the room, desperately trying to glue his fake beard back on with one hand and learn his script with another.
"Bloody thing!" he yelled in frustration, "Why can't he have had a shave this year!?"
Honey glanced knowingly at Marquess, then slipped five karma beads of varying colours into the man's hood.
"He needed that," she commented, looking him up and down. "He's a Libra."
Almost straightaway, 'Santa's mood lifted and within a couple of minutes he had calmed down sufficiently enough for him to glue the beard on successfully.
"Ah well, time we were out of here," said Honey, looking at her luminous pink watch. "There's another studio we need to visit."
Marquess touched her epaulette once more and in an instant they were whisked to a much more familiar place; The Bill's studios. Honey led Marquess straight through the wall into the Green Room where a small group of officers sat around close together with mugs of coffee.
"It's nearly time," said June Ackland, quietly, glancing up at the clock. Tony Stamp nodded with a somewhat forced smile and Jack Meadows stared thoughtfully into his coffee cup.
Honey shook her head sadly and emptied what was left of her stock of karma beads into a nearby pot plant.
On getting no verbal response, June looked around and tried to look enthusiastic. "Come on, you lot," she tried again, "We've got to stick together and make the best of it. I know none of us got the … recognition we'd hoped for this year, but we can't give up hope."
"I feel a bit guilty, in all honesty," Sheelagh admitted. "I haven't been in it long and I still get better roles than the ones who deserve them more, like you, June and Tony. I gave birth in a shed and you jumped into bed with your son – it's just not right!"
"Don't blame yourself," said June, kindly. "You didn't write the scripts. And it's good that a few of us have had some good storylines."
For a moment there was silence, then Smiffy put down his mug and stood up.
"June's right," he said, determinedly. "We may have cr… um, not-all-that-great parts this year but we can't let that get us down. We're going to have fun, and sod the management! Let's celebrate the best we can!"
This seemed to spur everyone else into action. More of the cast arrived in small groups, and before long Tony was cutting out a large 'Pin the helmet on the copper' while June and Sheelagh decorated the tree, Smiffy went off in search of some working fairy lights, Nick Klein arrived with a large tray of mince pies he'd found on special offer at Abbey Mills. Jack Meadows managed to get an incredibly old record player working and managed to persuaded Samantha Nixon to dance with him to 'Rockin' around the Christmas tree', Debbie and Eva turned up wearing reindeer antlers and Adam Okaru followed shortly afterwards in a full Santa outfit.
Marquess stood there, smiling like he hadn't smiled for years as his staff celebrated the Christmas episode with great enthusiasm, in spite of what reservations they might have about each other or the storylines in general.
As the fun continued well into the evening, it seemed like everyone was there enjoying themselves. But it was not until two faces appeared in the doorway that Marquess noticed who had been missing. Reg Hollis, grinning from ear to ear with an arm around Jim Carver. Alas for Jim, he had the smallest role of all in the Christmas episode and it was certainly not a happy one, but still he joined in the festivities as well as anyone else and did not stop smiling all evening.
Once they, too, had re-watched Twanky and filled their glasses with champagne, Reg called for quiet and proposed a toast. "To The Bill; long may it continue. And may Carlton bless us all."
"Carlton bless us, every one," everyone echoed.
"Carlton bless us, every one," said Jim quietly, smiling as best he could.
"And to Paul Marquess, our producer."
Marquess and Honey exchanged glances, both knowing that the other was thinking exactly the same thing.
June almost choked on a mouthful. "Are you kidding, Reg?" she gasped. "I'm telling you, if he was here now I've had just about enough bubbly to tell him exactly what I think of him. Constant murders, psychopaths, riots – I'll give him mur…!"
"June," Reg said quietly. "It's Christmas."
"I'll drink to him for you, Reg," June sighed, "May he have a very merry Christmas as well." She then downed the rest of her champagne in one to calm her nerves.
The mention of Marquess was doubtlessly the cause of the rather awkward next few minutes, but fortunately the sombre mood did not last. Within ten minutes everyone was at least twice as happy as they had been before. The music got louder, more mince pies were located from somewhere in Custody and before long, Sheelagh was leading everyone in a chorus of 'I'm in the mood for dancing' while Gina and June attempted a very unique version of the can-can.
Marquess watched as the party went on, but noticed Jim looking rather downcast as he read his storylines for the next few weeks and sipped at his orange juice with less enthusiasm as usual.
"Honey," he asked slowly, "Tell me the truth; is Jim going to be axed?"
Honey looked at the floor. "I see a vacant seat in the canteen," she said sadly, "And a uniform with no owner."
"Oh no! No, Honey, tell me he can be spared!"
If things stay as they are, then yes, Jim will leave. But isn't that a good thing?
Shouldn't he just hurry up and be gone and decrease the surplus number of actors?" asked Honey sarcastically, haunting him with his own words.
"I know it sounds harsh, darlin'", Honey continued as Marquess stared shamefully at the floor, "But it shouldn't be up to you who comes and goes. Is it really right that you have the power to mess around with other people's lives like this? You know, it could be said that people like this have more right to a job than you."
Marquess did not reply; words suddenly seemed unnecessary.
"Come on," said Honey, after a long pause. "Let's leave 'em to it. We've got other places to visit."
On they went to many studios, watching as various cast members of other programmes had their Christmas episodes and parties and celebrated in whatever way pleased them the most. Everyone had kind words for each other, thanks to Honey's contribution of more karma beads (she made a quick diversion into Abbey Mills on the way to replenish her stock) and everyone made the best of what they had, whether their programme was topping the ratings or about to be pulled off air altogether.
Everywhere they went, kind words were being spoken and differences put aside. Richard and Judy were not arguing or interrupting each other; Ant and Dec had made far fewer rude comments than usual about Simon Cowell and even Richard Whitely had refrained from reciting bad poetry for the occasion.
Eventually they arrived at the Canley Arms where Esther and her colleagues were laughing hysterically at a joke someone had just told. Marquess and Honey had not quite arrived in time to hear it, but the small talk afterwards gave them a fair idea.
"He just grunted and said 'Warheads!'" Esther smirked, shaking her head. "And he really believes it, too. Oh, I don't know – I couldn't hate him if I tried; I feel sorry for him if anything."
"Really?" a blond-haired man asked with a look of great disbelief.
"Yeah, I do," Esther said sincerely. "Here we are out enjoying ourselves and having a laugh while he's … well, I guess he's stalked off home early on his own. The only person he's fooling is himself. I invited him out with us, I did my best, but you know him. Ah well, he's the one missing out."
And Marquess could do nothing but watch as the staff enjoyed themselves in much the same way as the cast; drinking toasts, reminiscing about past Christmas episodes and even some karaoke after a few more drinks. And yet he enjoyed watching, he laughed at their jokes and applauded at the end of the karaoke.
Honey was quite delighted to see his mood so changed that she did not hurry him on for quite some time, especially when he actually asked if they could stay to watch for a little longer.
"Hmm, I dunno, darlin', time's getting on a bit," she said doubtfully, looking at her watch. "Well, ok, just five more minutes, yeah?"
Marquess thanked her and watched as the group of now rather intoxicated colleagues began a 'yes or no' game where one person had to think of something and the others had to guess what it was by asking questions that can only be answered 'yes' or 'no'.
They found that the object was technically an animal but wore clothes, was in command of others, was sometimes feared, sometimes ridiculed, was definitely not popular and had been responsible for rather a lot of fatalities. It did not take long at all for the entire group to chorus Marquess's name and promptly explode into laughter.
"A toast," Esther giggled helplessly. "He's given us so many laughs I think it's only right to drink to his health if nothing else. To Paul Marquess!"
The others echoed his name and Marquess wished with all his heart that he was able to reach out, shake their hands and thank them.
"Aaargh, sod it!" Honey exclaimed suddenly. "Gawd, I lost track of the time! We should have been out of here by now; my time's almost up."
She opened her handbag and rummaged around, eventually pulling out two new contracts. Both were full of spelling and punctuation errors, cheesy lines and embarrassingly bad illustrations.
Marquess grimaced as he looked at them, wondering how anyone could stoop so low as to produce any programme that these might belong to.
"Are … are these yours?" he stuttered in horror.
"They're the actors' in general," she said. "This one's an Australian soap. This one is a reality show. Beware of them both, Paul, but particularly beware of the latter because written inside is 'Doom' unless the you can Tippex over it."
"Yes!" Marquess cried. "Do that! Erase it, tear it up! No actor deserves a fate like this! Are there no options left?"
"Are there no pantomime cows required?" Honey asked, taunting him once more with his own words. "Does Howard from the Halifax need replacing?"
From somewhere nearby, a church bell struck twelve and made Marquess jump. He looked around for Honey but she was gone, and as each stroke echoed out over Canley he remembered with terror what Richard Handford had said about the last ghost. Spotting a post-it note stuck to the back of one of the contracts, he unpeeled it and lifted it up to the light in the hope that Honey had left him some message of guidance or comfort.
It read: 'Look behind you! Love, Honey. xx'
Marquess did not want to turn around. Being a fan of Dickens he had a fair idea what to expect but he also knew that attempts to run away or deny its existence would be futile. Turning slowly and raising his eyes he beheld it; a tall, terrifying phantom policeman in full riot gear, shield, asp and hat but no face gliding silently across the car park towards him.
oOo
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