Alone in the outside darkness of the theatre porch, Pearly tried to recall anything from the stage, but even the ubiquitous snatches from Shakespearean soliloquies were momentarily beyond him. All he could think of were fragments from The Mikado. ‘Behold the Lord High Executioner. A personage of noble rank and title,’ declaimed Pearly as he went in search of his car. Who was that tall Hun who had said he was the best mayor ever? ‘Behold the Lord High Executioner,’ he said loudly again as he walked away.

It had been the school production when Pearly was in the sixth form. A different Gilbert and Sullivan operetta every year. The Mikado was the one Pearly remembered best, for he’d wanted to be more than a member of the massed chorus: an individual role, or at least be part of an ensemble. He had no singing training or experience, but his nature was to give anything a go, and his belief was that determination conquers all. Spider Webb was the music teacher and held auditions in the music room at lunchtimes towards the end of term one. None of Pearly’s friends wanted to sing and prance on stage, and he tried to give the impression that he wasn’t really bothered whether he were selected or not. Girls’ High was part of the joint production, and that was a major reason Pearly was interested — and the one to which he admitted. His mates could understand that, but Pearly also had an undisclosed desire to be prominent in the performance. He’d sat cramped and poorly costumed on the tiered chorus seating at the back of the set for productions of The Pirates of Penzance, H.M.S. Pinafore and The Gondoliers in earlier school years and envied those who had a more individual presence on the stage.

Being tested was something he’d become accustomed to, especially through the trials for various sports teams, and he’d expected that auditions would be much the same. He was rebuffed when he first came to the music room hoping for a part. Spider was at the piano playing for a fifth-form boy singing something from Porgy and Bess. When that was done, Pearly went forward.

‘Name?’ said Spider, still seated at the piano, and he wrote it on a pad. ‘Where’s your music?’ he said.

‘Music?’ said Pearly, bemused.

‘Well, you’ve come to audition for an operetta, haven’t you? So I expect you’re going to sing. However, if you’re happy to warble unaccompanied, I don’t mind. The magnificence of your voice will be unobscured.’ Spider’s sarcasm was the exasperation of a man forced day after day to debase the art most dear to him.