Backstage The Templemore Tappers had arrived in a giggling rush, late again as they had been to every rehearsal.
‘You’re here! I can’t believe it!’ Myrtle screamed when she saw Irene. ‘God ye look awful. Are ye all right?’
‘Thanks for that, Myrtle. Maybe I need a bit more rouge.’ Irene pinched her cheeks. ‘I’m fine. I get tired easily, but I’ve been asleep most of today, so I’m raring to go.’
Myrtle pulled Irene into the corner next to a costume rail. ‘Listen, Irene, I spoke to Mr McVey about you.’
Irene’s face fell. ‘They wrote to me saying that they couldn’t keep the job for me.’
‘I heard that, but I told him it wasn’t fair ye lost the job. It was your first day and someone should’ve been showin’ ye what te do.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Told me te sling me hook, but then I sent for the cavalry!’
‘What did you do?’
‘Told Robert.’
‘The fireman?’
‘The very same. Took a shine to you he did. What with him havin’ you over his shoulder!’
‘But what could he do?’
‘Not what he could do, but what he’s done.’
‘Why, what’s he done?’
‘Got ye your job back, no less. Not a trial, mark ye, but a proper job.’
Irene’s eyes opened wide ‘How did he—’
‘Ach, it’s not what ye know, it’s who ye know.’ Myrtle winked. ‘Robert’s other name is McVey.’
‘McVey?’ Realisation crept over Irene’s face. ‘Like the man who took me on?’
‘Yes, Robert’s his son, so he spoke up for ye.’
At that moment Horowitz reappeared carrying a huge bouquet. ‘Ten minutes to curtain up,’ he shouted. ‘And Peggy, these are for you, just been delivered.’
Peggy giggled in delight and scanned the room to check who was watching her as she took the flowers.
‘Secret admirer, eh, Peggy?’ said Horowitz.
‘Works in a funeral parlour, does he?’ added Sammy.
Peggy shot him a withering look and took the card from the flowers. The message was simple, an instruction. ‘Meet me in White’s Tavern, round the corner, after the show. I’ll give you a lift home. A’
Who did he think he was, giving her orders and a tavern of all places? She’d a good mind not to go! But the flowers were beautiful, from a shop in Shaftsbury Square. Expensive.
‘And who might they be from?’ asked Martha.
‘Just somebody I know, a customer from the shop,’ said Peggy and turned away to slick on another layer of red lipstick. Martha watched her uneasily.
In the corridor near the stage door, Pat and William had found a quiet place to warm up their voices. Scales first, then the first verse of each song they were to sing. ‘It’s always a bit nerve-wracking singing in front of people you know, isn’t it?’ said Pat.
‘It can be.’
‘It’s Kathleen I’m worried about. What about you?’
‘We just have to do our best. It’s been fine in rehearsal.’
Pat pressed on. ‘Have you sold many tickets to your family and friends?’ There it was; she’d said it. William had never mentioned his family and she’d formed the opinion he lived with his mother, but couldn’t be sure. He’d never mentioned friends either. He wasn’t secretive, it was just that he never volunteered anything and Pat was too polite to ask.
‘No, not many.’
‘How many?’ The question slipped out. Pat was horrified at her boldness.
‘None.’
‘Oh …’
‘Starters in the wings please, curtain up in three minutes.’
‘You don’t have a big family, then?’
‘No.’
‘And your friends?’
‘Don’t have any of them either.’
Pat stared at him. ‘No friends?’ Then she caught the look in his eye. ‘Oh, you’re joking me, I see!’
They hurried back to the dressing room and Pat was glad to see that someone had rigged up a curtain to provide separate sides for men and women. She had costume changes for both her duets and had been worrying about how to manage them and still retain some modesty.
The Templemore Tappers opened the show with their usual high kicking display; the bigger stage ensuring there were no mishaps. The applause and whistling could be heard in the dressing room. Sammy’s jokes, a mixture of war and Belfast humour, went down well. Two more acts, a piano accordionist and a yodeller, then it was the ‘Golden Sisters’. Both Pat and Martha were still not sure about the change of name, but Irene, Peggy and Sheila were enthusiastic. ‘It’s more modern, Mammy,’ said Irene and Peggy added that Mr Goldstein thought it would stay in the mind of everyone.
They wore the turquoise blouses over slim black skirts. The colour was strong and stood out on stage. The design was also distinctive; Peggy had been right about the need for something with real style. They had done each other’s hair in soft rolls and, because they were on the stage where, as Peggy pointed out, ‘the lights could drain you’, Martha had agreed that they could wear some make-up: a little powder to stop the shine; a little rouge to bring out the colour in their cheeks; a little lipstick to define their mouths. Irene was still under-rehearsed, because of her illness, but she knew her sisters would carry her.
‘You’ve heard of the Andrews Sisters from Minnesota. Well, these girls are from Belfast and they’re even better. Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to – the Golden Sisters, the girls with the golden voices!’
The girls ran on stage, smiling broadly. Even with the stage lighting they could see the hall was packed. Peggy was quickly at the piano playing the opening bars. Thank heavens, thought Pat; it was the song they’d rehearsed. She and Irene swayed to the beat then looked at each other and right on cue they were into ‘Tuxedo Junction’. The harmonies had finally come together at the last minute and it was only the previous night that they made the decision not only to include the song, but to open with it. The response from the audience was palpable; they swayed in their seats and tapped their feet and at the back of the hall a young couple were on their feet dancing.
Next they changed tempo for ‘Stormy Weather’. Peggy had a solo section halfway through and the audience listened carefully to her interpretation of the melody. When she finished there was a warm round of applause. Finally, what they hoped would become their signature tune, ‘I’ll Take Romance’. It was going so well that Peggy went for an extra verse, but Pat was ready for her (she’d tried the same trick in rehearsals) and Irene followed where Pat led. On the final note the audience were on their feet applauding and calling for more. In the wings they hugged each other. ‘Best yet,’ said Irene and the others agreed. Then Pat dashed away for a quick change before her first duet with William in front of a paying audience.
William waited in the wings, a little uncomfortable in his dinner suit and bow tie. The magician on stage was into his final and most dramatic trick, the appearance of a white dove from the folds of his black cloak, when Pat slipped quietly through the small group of people watching backstage and stood at his side. Sensing her there, William turned and his eyes widened. Pat was transformed. She wore a stunning empire style evening dress in soft grey silk. The bodice was covered in silver and coral beading. Her rich auburn hair had been swept up on top of her head, with trailing tendrils that framed her face. The magician, having made his dove fly through a series of hoops, made his exit and Sammy bounced on to the stage to introduce them. Pat was aware that William was staring at her, but she modestly lowered her eyes.
‘Time for some culture,’ Sammy began. ‘Who says Belfast hasn’t got class? Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Patricia Goulding and Mr William Kennedy!’
William took her hand and led her on stage. They smiled and bowed to the audience who gave them a warm reception. The music began and they turned away from each other, Figaro to measure out the space for a bed, Suzanna delighted with her
new hat and desperate for Figaro to pay her some attention. They had never sung better, their voices swooping and soaring in Italian, the language of love. Towards the end they came together, voices weaving in and out, first one then the other dominating, then in perfect unison. As the last note died away Suzanna and her Figaro faced each other. The audience were silent a moment, unwilling to break the spell. It was William who moved first, taking Pat’s hand and pressing it to his lips and the audience burst into applause. They bowed together then William, still holding Pat’s hand, invited her to take the applause. She sank low in a deep and perfectly executed curtsey as if she had been doing this all her life. Truth was, in her imagination, she had. William led her off stage and stopped in the wings, his face flushed with excitement. ‘You were wonderful,’ he said. Pat dropped another quick curtsey to hide the colour in her cheeks and looked up at him through her lashes.
‘Pat, I …’ He hesitated and at that moment Sammy who had missed his cue rushed between them and on to the stage.
‘Yes?’
William looked uncertain, as though he had misplaced the words he had been ready to speak. He smiled. ‘I hope our next song goes just as well.’
In the audience, Aunt Kathleen glowed with pride. Pat had looked every inch the opera singer and, what’s more, every inch a Goulding. She had been right to lend her the grey silk and she smiled at the memory of wearing the gown herself at a benefit concert at the end of the Great War. She hoped they had decided to sing the Schubert in the second half, as she had then. She had detected one or two technical faults, but nothing the audience would have noticed. On the other hand, in front of an audience, unlike rehearsal, it was clear there was something between the two that added a certain frisson to the performance. Had anyone else noticed, she wondered?
Two rows back Jimmy McComb had read the same signs. It could have been part of the act, that look on Pat’s face as she sang, but it was exactly the way he longed for her to look at him.
At the interval, Martha was surprised to see her sister Anna and her husband Thomas in evening dress chatting to a group of important looking people. Anna had indeed written to her after Robert’s funeral and, although her tone had been one of sympathy, Martha had not replied. She considered slipping away to avoid any awkwardness, but Anna caught sight of her and waved her over.
‘Martha, the girls have done so well tonight. We were just saying to Councillor Craig, that they have always been musical and entertained us many a time at family gatherings.’
Goldstein arrived at that moment with her cup of tea. ‘Mr Goldstein, may I introduce you to my sister Anna and her husband Thomas Wilson.’
Goldstein gave one of his quick formal bows, ‘How do you do? You are enjoying the concert, yes?’
‘Very much so,’ said Anna. ‘In fact we were just remarking to Councillor Craig how accomplished the performers are.’
‘Indeed, they are very talented.’
‘Mr Goldstein has produced and directed the show,’ explained Martha.
‘Well Councillor Craig, who is very high up in the city council,’ Thomas puffed on his large cigar, ‘he has the ear of Lord Craigavon, you know, was just saying that Belfast will need more events like this to keep up morale during these difficult times.’
‘You are quite right, but it seems to me,’ said Goldstein, ‘that the council could also improve morale by giving more relief to the poor of the city.’
Thomas tipped back his head and blew a stream of smoke towards the ceiling. ‘Well, that’s one opinion, but I’m a member of the Belfast Board of Guardians and it’s our view that young men should not be encouraged into idleness by receiving handouts from the ratepayers.’
‘Lack of opportunity to work breeds resentment,’ countered Goldstein. ‘I have seen such things on the continent. Then those with extreme views take hold. Just look at the rise of Nazis in Germany.’
Thomas eyed Goldstein coldly. ‘Goldstein? You’re a Jew, I take it?’
Goldstein nodded.
‘Didn’t Hitler try to prevent the Jews taking advantage of the German people?’
‘What do you mean … advantage?’
‘Lending money at high rates; monopolising some areas of commerce.’
‘You are mistaken. Jews are honest business people, making a living. They fulfil a public service.’
‘Like pawn shops you mean?’ said Thomas with contempt.
‘You ridicule an honest trade.’ Goldstein was struggling to maintain his composure. ‘Sometimes it is the pawn broker who keeps starvation from the door.’
‘Work, sir, is what prevents starvation.’ countered Thomas.
‘Indeed, Mr Wilson, and Belfast has record unemployment. As I said before, those who rule this province have a lot to answer for.’
The bell rang for the end of the interval and Goldstein immediately excused himself. ‘I must go and speak to the performers before the start of the second half.’
‘Well,’ said Anna. ‘What an odious little man!’
‘No, Anna,’ said Martha. ‘He’s a good man, trying to make a difference by lightening people’s lives and he’s right about there being so many people living hand to mouth. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you now!’
Thomas saw the colour rise in his wife’s face. ‘Now then, Martha,’ he said. ‘Leave the politics to the men and you’ll not embarrass yourself in polite society.’
‘Don’t you speak to me like that, Thomas Wilson.’
*
‘Mr Goldstein, please. I can’t possibly wear this costume.’
‘Of course you can. You must trust me; the audience will love it.’
‘I’ll look ridiculous!’ said Pat. ‘It’s … de … demeaning’
Goldstein smiled. ‘No, Pat. It is de … lightful! Especially the lovely plaits.’
Pat was close to tears. ‘Why can’t I wear the gown I wore in the first half?’
‘Because you will look ridiculous in that, next to William as a Mountie! Now let us have no more histrionics, please.’
After the Golden Sisters’ second spot of the evening Peggy was first off stage to find her mother. ‘Mammy, some of the others are going out for a while after the show. Is it all right if I go with them?’
‘Peggy, it’ll be half ten before this show is finished, quarter to eleven before we get away. We’ll have to rush to get the last bus and even then we’ll have to walk part of the way.’
‘But sure I’ll get a lift. Mr Goldstein is going to be there. He’s invited everyone to the Grand Central Hotel. Please, Mammy.’
‘Well, Sheila and I won’t be going and, Irene, I don’t think you should go. You’ll have exhausted yourself tonight and you need to get your strength back. But if Pat wanted to go then there’d be the two of you and I’d be much happier about that.’
Peggy turned eagerly to her sister. ‘Oh come on, Pat. It’ll be great. Everyone’s going!’
‘I’ll think about it.’
Peggy thought that sounded like a no. ‘I’ll be all right, Mammy, honestly. You can trust me.’
Martha eyed Peggy, the daughter she was least likely to trust, but maybe she was being over protective.
‘Are you sure you’re getting a lift home?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Peggy. ‘It’s all arranged.’
*
‘Final call for ‘Indian Love Call’,’ shouted Horowitz.
Pat stood in the wings in her buckskins and listened to the catcalls and jeers as Walter the ventriloquist and his wee pal Shouie died on stage. Sammy had a job to quieten the audience after such uproar and as a result he rushed their introduction. ‘You loved them in the first half, now Belfast’s Sweethearts are back again – Pat Goulding and William Kennedy!’ William went to take her hand and found it stiff and unresponsive by her side.
‘Come on, Pat.’ urged William. ‘Pat, we’re on.’
‘How dare he!’
‘Who?
‘Goldstein, of course. Belfast’
s Sweethearts indeed! How could he!’
‘Pat, it’s only an introduction. It doesn’t mean anything.’
Then Sammy was in the wings with them. ‘What’s the matter?’ he hissed, ‘You’re on!’
‘No, I’m not!’ said Pat and she pulled the plaits, feather and all, off her head and marched off.
The slow hand clapping began.
‘What’ll we do?’ asked William, panic rising in his voice.
Martha's Girls Page 18
