The Prop Room – Part 1: The Missing Swan

"The swan is gone," said Morag.

"The swan can't be gone."

"The swan is gone, Callum."

They stood in the prop room in the basement of a Glasgow theatre, in the dim yellow light of a single bulb, surrounded by thousands of objects: teapots, telephones, a suit of armour, a stuffed bear, a dozen fake hams. Shelves reached the ceiling. The air smelled of dust, glue and old velvet.

She was thirty-one, the props master, small and quick, in a paint-spattered boiler suit, with a pencil in her red hair and an enormous bunch of keys. He was thirty-five, a lighting technician, tall, quiet, in a black T-shirt, with a torch clipped to his belt. He had come down to borrow a lamp. Now he was part of the crisis.

"The play opens in three hours."

"I know."

"The swan is in the third act."

"I know."

"Where did you last see it?"

"On the shelf."

"Which shelf?"

"The swan shelf."

They searched. They pulled open crates, lifted lids, shifted a stuffed fox and a grandfather clock. Morag climbed a ladder. Callum shone his torch into every cupboard. At six, a smell of tea drifted from the corridor. At seven, a cleaner appeared and said she had seen a swan in the ladies' dressing room, wearing a hat.

They ran upstairs. In the dressing room, an actress was sitting in front of a mirror, calmly adjusting a feathered bonnet. At her feet, on the floor, sat the swan.

"I borrowed him for luck," said the actress.

Morag put her hands on her knees, gasping with laughter. Callum scooped up the swan with great dignity and carried it down the corridor like a baby.

"Can I ask you something?" said Callum, in the wings, ten minutes before the curtain.

"Yes."

"Do you always find things this fast?"

"No," said Morag. "I had a good torch."

"Green?" he said, a stage light.

"Green," said Morag, blushing. "Very green. Take the swan."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Strike.