by Kerri Turner
The darkness deepened as, one by one, the other boats on the Thames turned their lights off. The temperature was dropping, and Evelyn was grateful she was wearing her old woollen Utility coat. She was doing up the buttons when a loud, booming sound made her jump. It was coming from the unlit boat before them. It took a second for Evelyn to realise it was a voice, amplified. The boat was still hidden in darkness, and she peered at it, forgetting her cold hands.
The male voice reverberated over the surface of the water: ‘PART CABARET, PART WATER BALLET, PART BURLESQUE, AND LIKE NOTHING YOU’VE EVER SEEN BEFORE! GENTLEMEN, AND LADIES IF YOU’VE DARED TO COME, WELCOME TO …’
There was a pause, and Evelyn sensed those around her leaning forward in anticipation.
‘THE VICTORY!’
With the last shouted words, the boat became an explosion of blinding lights. Evelyn shaded her eyes. Bulbs flickered up and down the vessel, from one end to the other, and music struck up seemingly out of nowhere. She didn’t know where to look first.
Tall black masts stretched up high, disappearing into the darkness so the people who dangled off them in contorted shapes looked as though they were flying in mid-air. On the roof of a structure at one end of the boat stood six women in tight sparkling bathing suits, their bare feet pointed as they stood on their hands and each other’s shoulders. A few flipped off, twisting and turning in the air in dazzling symmetry, as more launched themselves from the sides of the boat. The women hit the water and spotlights caught them just as they surfaced, swimming caps gleaming and bright red lips smiling. Their costumes wouldn’t have been out of place on display at the Festival, and after years of drab Utility clothing Evelyn’s eyes watered to see so many colours and patterns. She kept them wide open though, afraid of missing anything.
The initial burst of noise, light and colour lasted a full minute before the boat quietened. Evelyn could hear the excited voices of the audience all around as a man in a smart suit and wearing a gleaming green eyepatch strode onto the deck, picked out by a wobbly spotlight. He bowed to the audience, who whistled and cheered, rocking their own boats. Behind him, a pretty girl in a daringly short skirt emerged into the light, standing to the side like a magician’s assistant.
The man stretched his arms out in front of him. His hands were concealed in white gloves, and he began to pull them off, tugging at the tip of each finger one at a time. Once they were both off, he threw them up in the air, where they seemed to hover for a moment as he dusted off his hands. The gloves dropped and the man caught them just as they turned into a bouquet of rainbow flowers. He looked surprised, checked the flowers, then, shrugging, handed them to the girl.
He turned back to the audience, but the second he did so the girl began to make fun of him. She was standing on the side of his eyepatch, which meant he couldn’t see her as she covered her own eye with one hand and hopped around like a fool.
‘For shame,’ Evelyn whispered, trying not to laugh even as those around her did.
Noticing his audience’s eruption of amusement, the man frowned. He turned to the girl, but she was already standing with her hands clasped around the bouquet of flowers, batting her eyes at him sweetly. This time Evelyn did laugh.
The same thing happened a few more times, the man getting more aggravated when each turn found the girl looking just as innocent as before. Just as he seemed about to lose his temper, he caught her mid-teasing. Evelyn leaned forward, eager to see how he would react. Knowing she was caught the girl acted penitent. She pulled a beautiful, elaborately carved walking stick out of nowhere and presented it to the man with a curtsey.
He looked at it suspiciously, but took it out of her hands. Holding it up to the spotlight, he twirled it around a few times like a baton. Seemingly satisfied, he smiled at her and leaned on the stick, crossing one ankle over the other. As soon as his weight was on the stick, it transformed into two large silk scarves and the man went sprawling.
Evelyn threw her head back, unable to contain herself. Her companions, too, were boisterously expressing their mirth, and the boat rocked dangerously underneath the motion of it.
On the Victory the girl, pleased at the success of her trick, was jeering at the magician, who picked himself up, looking angry. After a second or two, he pointed at her and began to laugh.
The girl, confused, looked down, and realised the bouquet of flowers she’d been holding was now dead. She stared at it, pouting, then started to cry. The audience made sympathetic sounds, and the man, looking out at them, sighed theatrically. Taking pity on her, he pulled out a watering can and sprinkled it on the bouquet. The flowers came instantly back to life, and the audience cheered as the girl turned cartwheels in her excitement.
The man disappeared, and lights began to flash again. The women who had dived off the boat were still in the water, and under the wildly waving spotlights they began to lift and throw each other, turning multiple times or twisting into spectacular shapes before they disappeared beneath the surface of the Thames once more. Some of them were so close Evelyn could have reached out and touched their glistening wet skin. Briefly she wished the spotlights were a little more still, their golden rays a little sharper, but her complaint was soon forgotten when there was movement back on the deck.
The show continued, a variety performance like none Evelyn had seen before. Much of it must certainly go against the censorship laws. There were girls wearing little more than underwear and sequins who did seductive dances, moving their bodies in a manner that made her glad of the darkness to hide her blushes; acrobats and contortionists of various nationalities and colours; comedic songs; and more magic. And, of course, the fire breathing Evelyn had been promised, executed by Alvin, the American man she’d met at the Festival.
Her favourite part, though, came when a platform on ropes was lowered down the side of the boat. On it sat a woman, buxom and heavy-set, her legs swinging over the edge almost as if she were bored. As the platform came to a standstill, she lifted herself to a standing position and the audience gave out an excited cheer. She grinned at them, pushed back her white-blonde hair so her ample cleavage was revealed by the daringly low cut of her ruby dress, and began to sing.
It was a song so obscene that Evelyn wouldn’t have expected any man to dare it, let alone a woman. The woman wasn’t much of a singer either, but that didn’t seem to matter. Every time she tried for a note she couldn’t reach, she would bend forward and wiggle her chest. Evelyn, fascinated and appalled, couldn’t look away from the heaving expanse of skin. Indeed, the song was designed for that: the woman was singing about her own bosom, and how it had helped her make her way in the world. It was meant as a joke, but there was a hard, unflinching edge to it that spoke of at least a little truth.
The swimmers, who between dives had been collecting fistfuls of money from the spectating boats, were now beneath the platform. As the woman finished her song, they lifted each other up and she took the money from their reaching hands just before they disappeared back below the water. She flicked through the notes, then used them to fan herself, causing another cheer from the audience.
‘Ooh, money makes me so hot. If you give me much more I might just have to take something off,’ she called in a brash voice, jiggling her shoulders.
It was as if she’d unleashed something on the audience. The men in the boats suddenly went wild, leaning precariously over the sides and waving money, crying out for the swimmers to take it. Evelyn stared at them incredulously, then had to grab on to her seat again as the nice college boys in her own boat scrambled to one end of it like dogs begging for scraps.
‘Oh my giddy aunt,’ she muttered, unnoticed.
The rest of the show was utter chaos. The woman whipped the audience into a frenzy, especially when her dress fell down to expose her full figure clad in a black negligee, garter belt, suspenders and stockings. The men cat-called and whooped through the remaining performances, which seemed to encourage the performers rather than disturb them. Their pai
nted grins grew bigger, their movements more exaggerated. By the time the finale came, with women somersaulting off every angle of the boat, and the magician pushing red, blue and white silk scarves into his hands, then pulling them apart to reveal the Union Jack, Evelyn was exhausted, as if she too had been performing.
Finally, the Victory disappeared back into darkness, and stayed quiet and still despite the repeated shouts for more. The college boys, faces shining, took their seats again and picked up the oars with unsteady hands.
When one of them asked Evelyn what she thought of the performance, she couldn’t think of a single word to say. It had been so … so against everything proper society would allow. Cynthia would have hated it. Evelyn herself had been alternately impressed by all that she saw, and ashamed for enjoying it.
As the rowboat moved back towards the shore, Evelyn looked over its side at the dark water beneath them. It was a stark contrast to the colours and lights of the last two hours, and when she saw a sparkle she thought the show had imprinted on her eyes forever. But then she realised she was looking at a sequinned appliqué from one of the swimmers’ costumes.
It drifted towards her, and Evelyn reached her hand out. The cold water made her fingers curl and she wondered how the swimmers stood it. She laid the pretty star shape on her lap, not caring that it wet her skirt. She would hold onto it so that tomorrow, when she woke, she wouldn’t think this had all been some wild, obscene dream.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Evelyn had wanted to keep the appliqué for herself, but overnight her conscience got the better of her. Such an accessory must have cost a small fortune. The right thing to do was head back to Battersea Park and try to return it.
There were still excited crowds enjoying the fun fair rides. Over their voices Evelyn heard someone swearing. She followed the glares in the direction it had come from, and saw two men standing next to the red, white and gold carousel. One of them was Alvin, the fire breather, and he was grimacing at a tallish, dark-haired man who was hopping about on one foot. On the ground between them a rather large and dusty spotlight lay on its side.
Evelyn gasped, and before she could stop herself she was kneeling before the light, running her gloved hands over its dirty surface. ‘Hello, beautiful,’ she breathed.
It was smaller than her wartime lights but looked as though it would be able to pierce the night air and point out swimmers in the dark water with no trouble. In fact, it might even be too large for such a job. For years Evelyn had read all she could about different types of lights, keeping the books as hidden from her sister as she did the longing that plagued her. Being so close to one now was like banishing the night sky that lived inside her.
Her fingers found a crack in the glass, and she winced. ‘What did they do to you then?’
‘Hey, that’s ours!’ said the man who’d been cursing over his crushed toes.
‘Do you even know what you’re doing with it?’ Evelyn snapped back. A second later she clasped her hands to her mouth, mortified. She never spoke that way to strangers.
To her relief, Alvin chuckled, causing his friend—also American, by his accent—to raise his eyebrows. He looked to be somewhere in his thirties, and had skin darker than Evelyn’s porcelain but not so rich as his companion’s. His Brylcreemed hair was so black it was almost blue, and his eyes, the dark brown of the milk-less coffee they were still forced to drink thanks to rationing, were framed with thick lashes and had a guarded quality that reminded Evelyn of the soldiers she’d occasionally danced with on her wartime nights off. The men had been wild with abandon, but if she chanced to look them in the eyes at just the right moment, she could see the walls holding back the horrors they’d witnessed and were afraid to return to.
‘Hey there, fancy seeing you here,’ the fire breather said. He was as handsome as his friend, a fact Evelyn had been too distracted by her worry over Spencer to notice on their previous meeting.
‘Hello.’ She stood, straightening her fitted navy skirt and trying to recover her composure. ‘I’m not trying to run off with your light. I simply wanted to see it. Do you know its condition is rather a mess? Not made any better by what you’ve done by dropping it.’
‘What we’ve done?’ Alvin’s companion said. ‘That thing just about broke my toes. Besides, what would you know about it?’
‘Enough not to drop it on my own foot,’ Evelyn retorted. ‘I take it this is a purchase for use on your boat during shows?’ Alvin nodded. ‘Did you check to see how badly the reflector is damaged?’
The men glanced at each other, then back at her.
‘Who are you?’ the one who’d injured his foot asked.
‘I’m sorry. I’m Evelyn Bell, and I’m not usually quite so rude. Only I can’t bear to see such a fine piece of equipment on the brink of ruin.’ She stretched out her hand, and it was the fire breather who clasped it.
‘Nice to meet you formally. This here’s Flynn. He works on the Victory as well, manning the lights and sound equipment and so on. You caught the show then?’
‘I did,’ Evelyn said slowly. How did one put into words the spectacle of skin and song, light and noise, and almost-certainly illegal rebellion she’d been audience to? ‘It was really … something.’
The men shared a smile that said she was not the first person to react so.
‘You’ve dirt on your face,’ Flynn pointed out, not unkindly.
Evelyn turned aside, opening her handbag to pull out a handkerchief and a small mirror. The dust from the spotlight had transferred itself to her chin.
‘Any tips on how to get this thing back on board without damaging it—or ourselves—any further then?’ Flynn asked as she cleaned herself off. ‘Seeing you appear to know so much.’
Evelyn snapped the compact mirror shut and dropped it back in her handbag with the now-soiled handkerchief. She surveyed the light. Its curved inside gleamed silver in the dull sunshine and her hands stretched inside her gloves, eager to touch it. It had been so long.
‘I’d suggest having three on it.’
‘You don’t mean—’ Alvin began, but Evelyn was already pulling off her gloves. She could get a better grip without them.
She pushed her handbag to the crook of her elbow, then bent down and edged her hands underneath the light. The cool metal sent a shiver of excitement through her.
‘Alright, now you two pick it up as before. But don’t hook your fingers around its edge. Keep your hands flat and slide them underneath.’
The men did as they were directed, and together they lifted the light from the ground.
‘One of you will need to lead the way,’ Evelyn said.
The three of them shuffled in the direction Alvin dictated. Evelyn found moving difficult. Her below-the-knee skirt made it hard to take anything more than mincing steps, and her handbag was cutting into the skin of her elbow.
‘You alright?’ Alvin asked, a crease between his heavy brows.
‘Fine,’ Evelyn said determinedly.
They made it to the water’s edge, where they loaded the light into a small boat Alvin and Flynn had left waiting there. They insisted she come for the ride after the help she’d given, and Evelyn was only too pleased to oblige. She tucked herself close to the light, feeling as though she was curling up near a dear friend she hadn’t seen in a long while.
When they reached the side of the Victory a rope ladder was slung down to meet them. Evelyn climbed it first, followed by Alvin. Their precious cargo was left in the small boat below with Flynn.
On the deck, Evelyn righted her skirt once more. How strange it was to be on the very boat she’d watched the night before. In daylight hours it seemed almost ordinary: long, with three tall masts and a steel funnel tipped in red paint. But she didn’t have much time to look around her; the men who’d thrown down the rope ladder were scrambling to help with the light.
While Alvin doled out instructions, Evelyn leaned over the railing to look at the light and couldn’t help calling out her own
suggestions for where the ropes they’d flung down should be tied. No doubt the men were giving each other funny looks at this stranger—and a woman at that—ordering them about, but she didn’t care. She was determined to see the light brought safely on board.
After twenty or so fretful minutes, during which Evelyn became worried the barnacles on the side of the boat might slice through the ropes, the treasure was resting on the deck. She crouched low to give it an affectionate pat, then wiped her hands on her skirt. She was dirty and her pageboy haircut was sticking to the back of her neck, but she felt good.
‘Your nails are utterly wrecked, you know.’
Evelyn turned to see the woman from last night’s show who had sung the obscene song. Up close she was older than she appeared from a distance. Her hair, bleached white-blonde, was set into large curls, one side held back with a comb, and her skin was so caked with make-up that it filled the few wrinkles on her sandy-coloured face. Her brown eyes had heavy lids that looked ready to close at a second’s notice, but her smile was amused.
‘I guess I didn’t think of that,’ Evelyn said, looking down at her hands. The red nail polish was flaking off, showing the naked pink underneath in an uneven pattern. She searched in her handbag for the gloves she’d discarded earlier, thinking how appalled her sister would be.
‘Don’t worry. That kind of thing happens to women when they handle a big piece of equipment,’ the singer said.
Evelyn glanced up, wondering if the woman intended a double entendre, but she was scrutinising the men who were carrying the light somewhere into the depths of the ship, directed by Alvin and Flynn to hold it in the same way Evelyn had shown them. Evelyn wondered how she was going to get back off the boat with them gone.
