Part 13: Olive, a natural actress…

Olive, a natural actress

At sixteen minutes after nine, Penelope gave a sigh of relief. She was back in her stark bedroom and let her shoulders sink. As she stripped off her brown wig and funereal clothes, she applauded herself on another successful evening. Twelve minutes later, Penelope again became Olive, the sexy and capable bookkeeper and cashier at The Stables.

She left the light burning, rushed downstairs, fastened windows and doors, and raced back to her own neighbouring house at number two. All had gone well, and she made herself a warm cup of milky cocoa and sat in her comfy armchair nibbling chocolate-coated biscuits.

Her thoughts strayed to the past and her extraordinary talent. Of all those who shared her interest, she was the best. At the age of fourteen, she joined the Chipwick Community Theatre Association. Despite her low breeding and that nobody knew much about her except her popularity with the boys, they welcomed her.

She’d always been a natural actress. She was the finest amateur artist Chipwick had ever known. Even in those early days her animated face could beam like a dynamo of emotion. It would tighten with tragic passion or puff out with joyous comedy. She didn’t act—she became the subject itself. With ease, she forgot Olive and turned into a tramp or a princess, a devoted daughter or a heartless mother, a drug addict or a nun—the perfect arty-craftiness that had launched her into her early career as a con artist.
 
To be continued… 
The real world:
 
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Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
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