Big Dreams for the West End Girls

by Elaine Roberts

  ‘There’s a game of shove ha’penny you could ’ave a bet on.’ The barman reached under the bar and grabbed a bottle of Old Highland Whisky and placed it on the counter.

  Ted glanced over at the men cheering on the game again. ‘No, I’m ’ere for more than that tonight.’ He threw a pound note down and took the bottle. ‘Thanks, wish me luck.’ He turned and walked back towards the backroom door.

  ‘You’ll need more than luck.’ The barman watched Ted rap on the heavy wooden door next to the bar before opening it and walking through. The door slammed shut behind him.

  ‘What are yer doing here, Ted?’ A man in a dark suit and black tie raised his eyebrows. ‘Tonight’s game is too rich for yer.’

  Ted gave half a smile. ‘I’ve got me money, Slips.’ He glanced around into the darkness. The only lights were hanging above four round tables, which were situated around the room; each had six chairs spaced evenly around them.

  Slips laughed. ‘So, I’m interested; who’s the mug that has lent the money this time? I would have thought the word would be out there by now.’

  Ted frowned. ‘Not everyone has such a low opinion of me as you. With a fifty-pound buy-in it could set me and the family up for life.’

  Slips stared at him. ‘Well, I need to see the colour of your money. You’ve a bit of a reputation, as yer well know.’

  Ted shook his head. ‘That’s because of people like you bad-mouthing me. You shouldn’t be doing that; after all I’ve always paid my debts.’

  Slips grimaced. ‘Only after yer took a bit of a bruising at times, and trust me, I haven’t needed to bad-mouth yer.’

  ‘Everyone’s so impatient. I’ve always paid up,’ Ted grumbled.

  Slips gave a deep, throaty laugh. ‘Do yer want to tell the man that? ’E’s in tonight.’

  Ted thrust his hand inside his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of notes. ‘Just count the money and do what the boss tells you.’

  Slips’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yeah, well, I’m going to have to check with the boss to see if he wants yer in the game; after all you’ve only just paid off your last debt.’ He paused, glancing over at the far end of the room as the door that led upstairs slammed shut. ‘He may not want to take the money you’re about to lose again, or he could be impatient to commit daylight robbery, which yer seem to submit to every day. Either way he’s ’ere now so you won’t ’ave long to wait.’

  Ted looked round and saw Mickey Simmons marching towards them. His heart began to race; perhaps he shouldn’t have come. Maybe Slips was right but there was no going back now; there was no running away with his tail between his legs. He had to stand his ground otherwise he’ll be a laughing stock, and would never be able to show his face at any game again. Ted thrust out his chest and lifted his chin as he turned back to see Slips lick his finger and flick through the edges of the notes, stacking them in ten-pound piles. ‘It’s going to be different this time. I’m going to get my money back tonight.’

  Slips chuckled. ‘You do know gambling is a mug’s game don’t yer?’ He gave Ted a sideways glance before going back to the money. ‘I don’t think you’ll ever learn, Ted. Yer must’ve had more beatings than anyone else I know and yet yer still come back for more.’

  ‘My luck’s got to change sometime.’

  ‘Leave this to me, Slips. It’s always impressive to see Mr Taylor at one of my card games.’ Mr Simmons screwed up his eyes as he stared at Ted.

  Slips opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it again when Mr Simmons turned and gave him a killer look.

  ‘Just get on with what you’re expected to do this evening, and it’s not turning people like Ted away.’ Mr Simmons turned back to Ted. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you today. Are you sure you’re in the right place? I’m not one for turning anyone away – especially if they have the buy-in – but are you sure you want to do this? I’d hate for you to leave a loser again.’

  Ted looked at the bald man, who was as round as he was tall. The buttons on his gold threaded waistcoat were under strain of popping off at any given time. A large cigar rested between his stubby fingers. The grey smoke spiralled up into the darkness of the room. ‘That’s not going to happen today, Mr Simmons. I can feel it in my bones.’

  Mr Simmons chuckled. ‘Is that the same bones that have had to be broken on numerous occasions?’

  Ted pulled himself up tall, pulling his shoulders back and jutting out his chin. ‘It’s good that you care so much, Mr Simmons. I’ve already had Slips telling me I shouldn’t be here, but this is my livelihood and I’m going to come good today.’

  Mr Simmons looked at him through narrowed eyes. ‘You need to know it’s not a livelihood you’re very good at; maybe you should get a job doing something else.’ He sighed. ‘But, if you have the buy-in money then I’m happy for you to join us. I just hate to keep taking your money.’ He chuckled. ‘Mind you, it’s easy money. So come on, pull up a chair at any of the tables you like the look of.’

  Ted glanced around, weaving between the tables, sizing up the players with their glasses of whisky and their boxes of cigarettes and matches sitting on the edge of the table. The players studied him as he watched them. Perhaps he was in above his head but there was no going back now. He was here to win enough money to get his family back.

  *

  Annie Cradwell smiled as she remembered they were moving from The Lyric back to The Lyceum Theatre, where she first met the actress Kitty Smythe. Annie had grown up wanting to be just like her, a star of the stage. A chuckle escaped, as she remembered her determination to move from her village to London. She had been so happy when her friend Rose decided to come with her. Her laughter was soon doused with the memories of the last time she saw her mother, which was less than a year ago, but so much had happened in that time.

  She sucked in the chilly air inside Kitty’s dressing room at the Lyric theatre; thankful their childhood friend, Joyce, had offered them a roof over their heads. When Annie arrived in London and saw Joyce was living in a nightmare with her uncle Arthur’s drinking, guilt had swamped her for not being a better friend. She should’ve kept up the letter writing like Rose had. She shook her head. How their lives had changed since then.

  ‘Afternoon, Annie, it’s freezing out there.’ Kitty’s musical voice rang out. She unbuttoned her ankle-length dark grey coat, revealing a deep blue bell-shaped skirt with a wide floral overskirt and a large collared white blouse.

  Annie ran her hands down her plain black serviceable skirt. ‘Afternoon, Kitty, you look and smell lovely.’

  ‘Thank you; Stan got the perfume for me. It’s Lily of the Valley.’

  ‘Well, it smells lovely. I’ll put the kettle on and make you a cup of coffee to warm you up.’

  Kitty took a cigarette from its box and tapped down on it before placing it between her reddened lips. She struck a match. The smell of burning sulphur and tobacco wafted towards Annie. ‘Are you looking forward to going back to The Lyceum?’

  Annie glanced over her shoulder as she placed the kettle on the gas ring. ‘Most definitely, The Lyric will always hold a place in my heart but The Lyceum is so grand, almost regal, and it’s where I first met you. You were my childhood inspiration that started everything.’

  Kitty groaned before sucking hard on her cigarette, clouds of smoke escaping from her nose and mouth. ‘The trouble with putting people on pedestals is that they never live up to expectations.’

  Annie nodded. ‘That’s true but your kindness was still in there. It was just buried beneath a whole heap of pain.’ She paused as she measured the Camp Coffee into a cup. ‘Make no mistake, you have been very kind and thoughtful to me; in fact you probably saved me from making all kinds of mistakes.’

  Kitty laughed as she stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette. ‘What happens now?’

  Annie stopped what she was doing. Frowning, she looked round at Kitty. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t look so worried.’ Kitty paused, examining the end o
f her cigarette. ‘I just meant are you happy to continue being my dresser?’

  Annie took a deep breath. ‘Do you want me to continue being your dresser?’

  Kitty groaned before a smile played on her lips. ‘Someone, not a million miles from here, once told me you never answer a question with a question unless you have something to hide.’

  Annie grinned. ‘I can’t think who would have said that but I do know I have nothing to hide.’

  A smile tugged at the corners of Kitty’s lips. ‘Then to answer your question, I want for you whatever you want. You have become my family.’ She chuckled. ‘Whether you want to be or not.’

  Annie stared at Kitty before whispering, ‘I feel honoured that you see me in that way.’

  ‘See you in what way?’

  Both Kitty and Annie swung round to face the doorway. The stage manager come director blocked the doorway as he stared down at a bundle of papers he was carrying.

  Kitty beamed at the sight of the man she had unexpectedly grown to love. ‘Stan, to what do we owe this pleasure?’

  Annie nodded. ‘Hello, Mr Tyler.’ She reached out and removed the kettle from the heat.

  Stan looked up and grinned as he peered over at Annie. ‘I know I’m in charge but you can call me Stan – everyone does. Well everyone apart from the delightful Miss Jane Hetherington in the sewing room.’

  Kitty’s laughter rang out. ‘She’s a sourpuss that one. Anyway, it’s lovely to see you but it’s not something that normally happens this time of day, so to what do we owe this pleasure?’

  Stan bowed his head slightly. ‘Actually, I’ve come to see Annie.’

  Annie frowned. ‘Me?’

  Kitty glanced at her dresser. ‘Well, how things have changed. At one time I was the only thing he worried about.’

  Stan walked into the room and kissed Kitty on top of her head. ‘Now don’t get jealous. You should know by now you’re the only one for me.’ He looked over at Annie. ‘I wondered whether you are coming to The Lyceum with us? We’ll be doing a new play.’ He looked down at the papers in his hand. ‘A Royal Divorce – it’s about Napoleon Bonaparte and his wife Josephine.’

  Kitty arched her eyebrows as she studied Stan, wondering where this conversation was going. ‘Annie will definitely be coming with us, even if it’s only as my dresser.’

  Stan’s lips tightened for a moment before he forced a smile. ‘Of course, Kitty, I do understand, but I suppose I’m asking Annie whether she’s going to take her desire to be on the stage further. You know, actively looking for acting roles.’

  Kitty’s eyes widened. Panic momentarily ran across her face as she stared at Annie. ‘She’s the best dresser I’ve ever had.’ She paused as she tried to gather her thoughts, her eyes darting left and right. ‘I don’t want to hold you back from going elsewhere but at the same time I want to keep you with me.’

  Annie stepped forward and took Kitty’s soft, manicured hand. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I love my job here with you.’

  Stan cleared his throat. ‘Look, Kitty, I’m sorry but this isn’t about you and your needs and I can’t let you stand in Annie’s way.’ His glance moved between them both. ‘You have proven you have a natural ability and you belong on the stage. Don’t get me wrong you have a lot to learn still, but I can teach you.’ He coughed. ‘There will be no expectations on my part but your talent should be invested in; maybe you could start off by being an understudy for several roles. I would also like to suggest you learn every aspect of the theatre because where we start off is not necessarily where we finish.’

  Kitty drummed her long, blood-red fingernails on her dressing table. ‘Unfortunately Stan’s right. I don’t want him to be but he is.’

  Annie’s heart pounded in her chest. ‘Are you saying I have to choose?’

  Kitty lowered her eyes and shrugged. ‘I suppose you do.’

  The rustling of papers caught both of their attention and they stared over at Stan who was separating the papers he was holding. He thrust some at Annie. ‘You won’t have very long to learn the lines so you’d best start straight away.’

  Annie’s eyes glistened as she glanced at them. Her hands stayed by her sides. ‘You’re assuming I will pick the stage over Kitty.’

  The confusion on Stan’s face was plain. ‘I thought you would be jumping for joy at the opportunity.’

  ‘Forgive me for being cautious but since I’ve been here I’ve learnt there’s no such thing as free help and I owe Kitty; she saved me and I shall never forget that.’

  Colour began to rise in Stan’s cheeks. ‘But I’m not—’

  ‘Stop, Stan. I understand Annie being wary, as you would if you stop to think about it.’ Kitty reached out and took Annie’s hand. ‘You don’t owe me anything. It’s more likely the other way round. I don’t want to stand in your way. As I’ve already said you’re my family now.’

  Annie nodded and took a deep breath before giving Stan a determined look. ‘Thank you for your kindness and the faith you’ve shown in me, both of you.’ She paused as she looked from one to the other. ‘I will gladly take up your kind offer but only if I can still be Kitty’s dresser as well.’

  Stan raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m not sure you can do both roles at the same time. What happens if you’re on stage at the same time Kitty has to change her costume?’

  Annie shrugged and peered at him with pleading eyes. ‘I don’t know; maybe Rose will help. I don’t know but I would like to try.’

  Stan shook his head. ‘Whatever we do it has to work seamlessly, and I’m not sure it will as Rose is a seamstress and might be needed to make repairs on any night.’

  Annie tightened her lips for a moment. ‘You’re right, especially as Miss Hetherington doesn’t like Rose for some reason.’ She sighed. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to turn down your offer, but please know I greatly appreciate it.’

  Kitty jumped up. ‘No, I’m not having this. You can’t throw away a great opportunity because of me, or blooming high and mighty Miss Hetherington. I spent many months without a dresser so I’m sure if there is a problem we can all muddle through for one or two performances.’

  Stan’s glance darted between the two women. He shook his head. ‘You drive a hard bargain but we will give it a try and see how it goes, but know, Kitty, I don’t want any drama from you when you are minus a dresser.’

  Annie jumped up and down clapping her hands at the same time.

  Kitty stepped forward and threw her arms around Stan. ‘Thank you, thank you.’

  Stan chuckled. ‘Why do I get a feeling this is all going to end in tears?’

  2

  Ted looked around the table. All eyes were on him. His eyes were stinging and his throat was dry from the thick smoke-filled air. All the cards had been dealt. His three were laid face down in front of him. Dawn was beginning to let its shafts of light through the window. He took a deep breath and coughed hoarsely as smoke filled his lungs. His gaze darted to the hall full whisky bottle – tempting, but no, he had to keep a clear head.

  Someone thumped him on the back. ‘Come on, Ted, you can’t bail now.’

  The betting had risen at great speed in the game. He had been up on his pot of money, but the thrill of the chase had taken hold, allowing him to get carried away. As the money had risen quickly to forty pounds everyone around the table had gradually folded. But not him. As the pot got richer something drove him on.

  The only remaining player stopping Ted from walking away with the pot was watching him closely. He counted out a wad of notes and threw them in the middle of the table. ‘I’ll raise you sixty.’ The man smirked, placing the large cigar between his lips and puffing on it, letting the spiral of grey smoke swirl up to the thick mass above their heads.

  Ted’s hands were damp; he hoped no one noticed him rubbing them down his trouser legs. What had gone wrong? Three hours ago he’d been up on the game, and that’s when he should have walked away, yet here he had to decide whether to fold or keep going.
His mind delved into its darkest corners, trying to think where he could get some money. He stared at the stack of cash at the centre of the table. He had a lot invested in this game; he couldn’t afford to lose it all.

  ‘Come on, Ted, you know you’ve got to fold. You’ve got no money left and it’s a hundred pound to see me.’

  A voice came from behind him. ‘I wouldn’t mind – you’re not even good at three-card brag. I’ve lost count of how many games I’ve been in where you’ve lost staggering amounts of money to someone else.’

  Ted flicked up the corners of his three cards face down on the table. He was aware his opponent hadn’t looked at his; surely he was due to have a bad hand. Why was he so confident to play blind and try to bluff Ted out of his win? Ted looked at his cards again and saw all clubs looking back at him. It was definitely the winning hand. A running flush, ace, two, three, only a prial could beat him. What were the odds of him having three of a kind? He looked over at his opponent. ‘I need some more cash.’ He pulled his watch off his wrist. ‘I can throw this in the pot or maybe someone wants to buy it.’

  The man to the left of him took the watch and turned it over. He examined it. ‘You won’t get much for this, certainly not enough to keep you in the game.’ He handed the watch back. ‘You’d be better off keeping it so you’re not late getting anywhere, especially paying off your gambling debts.’

  The tension around the table broke as the men roared with laughter.

  Ted took the watch and slipped it back onto his wrist. ‘I’m not gonna fold.’ He paused. ‘I’ve got this game, I know I have.’

  Ted’s opponent stared at him for a while before speaking up. ‘Do you know if you didn’t gamble so much you could’ve had your life back on track by now.’ He looked around at the men grinning at him. ‘Not that I’m complaining, I’ve bought three pubs and that lousy restaurant, on Great White Lion Street, that’s bleeding me dry, on the strength of your losses.’

  Again there was a roar of laughter.

  Ted stared at him. ‘I’m good for it.’