‘You’ll have to go on,’ said Sammy.
‘Are you out of your mind? It’s a duet.’
‘Never mind, just get out there and sing. I’ll get her back.’
The slow hand-clap was deafening. Sammy pushed William on to the stage so hard he almost fell. The opening bars played. William, ashen–faced and suffering from stage fright for the first time in his life, missed his cue. Meanwhile, someone in the audience, having recognised the music, started whooping an Indian war cry. William looked in desperation at the wings hoping to see Pat there, but there was only Sammy mouthing the word, ‘Sing!’
‘When I’m calling you oo-oo-oo. Will you answer too oo-oo-oo?’
To his surprise there came an answer, but not in Pat’s voice. It was Sammy singing falsetto. The audience saw William’s confusion, took it as a joke and began to laugh. William could do nothing but carry on. The next moment Sammy had minced on to the stage looking very coy. He had rescued the plaits and feather from where Pat had thrown them and sang her next line. The audience clapped in delight, especially when Sammy wrapped his arms round William and fluttered his eyelashes at him. William took a deep breath and did the only thing he could do, he played it absolutely straight. The audience roared with laughter, as much at William’s discomfort as Sammy’s antics. At the end Sammy leapt into William’s arms and was carried off stage to whistling and cheering from the audience.
During the impromptu duet Horowitz had the presence of mind to gather the whole cast in the wings and as soon as William carried his Rose-Marie beyond the sight line, the finale began as act after act ran on stage to take their bow at the front during a rousing chorus of ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’.
The show ended with the whole company on stage, save one weeping squaw alone behind a costume rail in the empty dressing room. Sammy then led the audience in a final singsong, during which Horowitz gave the signal and a huge banner unfurled across the stage showing in red and gold letters one word, ‘Barnstormers’.
Chapter 12
The moon was just a sliver of yellow, affording very little light in the blackout, but Peggy knew the centre of Belfast well and in minutes she was pushing open the door to White’s Tavern, ‘The oldest inn in Belfast’. He was leaning on the bar, foot on the brass rail one hand in his trouser pocket the other round a glass of porter. It was a moment before he was aware of her at his side. He turned slowly, blinked and focused his eyes.
‘If it isn’t one of the girls with the golden voices!’ He leaned back, both elbows on the bar. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here.’
‘You asked me to come,’ said Peggy. ‘You sent me flowers.’
‘Did I? Oh yes.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Where are they then?
‘My mother took them home for me.’
‘Oh well, now you’re here, would you like a drink?’
Peggy had never tasted alcohol, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. ‘I’ll have …’ A Bombay Gin advert caught her eye. ‘I’ll have gin, please’
He laughed. ‘A spirit drinker, eh?’ He ordered her drink and another glass of porter. ‘Better put some tonic in that gin,’ he called to the barmaid and winked at Peggy. ‘You don’t want to end up worse for wear.’
‘Did you enjoy the show?’ Peggy asked.
‘Only saw the first half, had some business to see to. Thought you girls were very good.’
Peggy sipped her gin and shuddered.
‘Why don’t you and me go out to a dance one night?’
‘Yes, all right,’ said Peggy.
He drank the rest of his porter without stopping. ‘Well, if I don’t see you through the week, I’ll see you through the window.’
‘What?’
‘I need to go now; another spot of business. You know how it is.’
‘No, I don’t know how it is,’ said Peggy her voice rising. ‘You asked me to meet you here. I’ve only just arrived and you’re out the door.’
‘I know, but we’ll go out dancing another time. I was thinking about next Saturday at the Plaza, maybe.’
‘But you said you were going to give me a lift home.’
‘Aye, I was.’
‘And now you’re not?’
‘Sure I’ve no car.’
‘So you expect me to walk home on my own in the blackout?’
‘I could walk you as far as Peter’s Hill if you like?’
‘Don’t bother yourself!’ shouted Peggy.
*
The lounge of the Grand Central Hotel was furnished with large Chesterfields and winged armchairs around low mahogany tables. A heavy crystal chandelier hung from an ornate ceiling and strategically placed standard lamps added to the stylish ambience. Late at night, the wealthy citizens of Belfast would call in for late night coffee and a nightcap after a show or dinner in one of the few good restaurants in the city. Goldstein had ordered coffee for the members of the company who, still full of performance adrenalin, wanted to extend the evening. Pat, at first reluctant, had been persuaded by William to join him.
‘We need to talk about our next performance,’ he said. ‘To decide what we want to sing.’
They had just sat down when Goldstein joined them. ‘Well, what have you to say for yourself, Miss Goulding?’ His voice was not unkind.
‘I couldn’t do it,’ said Pat. ‘I don’t know why, I just couldn’t.’
‘But it is a very popular song; they loved it when Sammy did it.’
‘Mr Goldstein, Sammy is a comedian; he doesn’t mind being laughed at.’
‘No one would have laughed at you, Pat.’
‘It’s just not what I want to do, Mr Goldstein.’ She was close to tears.
‘Well, I have to confess the duet between William and Sammy was an unexpected hit. So much so, that I would be prepared to have them perform the little routine again. What would you say to that, Mr Kennedy?’
William hesitated. ‘I don’t know. It’s not the kind of thing I do either.’
Goldstein leaned forward. ‘I want the song in the show. Pat does not want to do it. If you agree to perform with Sammy then she does not have to.’
William looked at Pat. ‘I suppose I could do it, but we’d need to rehearse it properly.’
‘Of course,’ smiled Goldstein. ‘It will be even funnier next time when Sammy wears the full costume!’
‘There’s something else,’ said Pat.
Goldstein leaned back in his chair, arms folded.
She deliberately didn’t look at William. ‘I didn’t like the introduction.’
Goldstein raised an eyebrow.
‘Belfast’s Sweethearts.’ There she’d said it. She was surprised when William answered.
‘Don’t worry about that, Pat. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a role, a part to play for the audience.’
‘Yes, that’s it.’ Goldstein beamed. ‘A little bit of romance. The audience will always respond to that.’
‘I’m not sure it’s a part I could play,’ snapped Pat.
Goldstein stood up. ‘But you are doing it. We could all see that tonight when you sang the Mozart. Nothing more is required!’
When he’d gone Pat said, ‘You didn’t need to agree to do the song. He couldn’t make you do it.’
‘That’s true,’ said William, ‘but I agreed because I didn’t want you upset anymore.’ He moved closer to her. ‘Pat, I don’t know how to explain this, but singing with you tonight was … it made me feel … different.’ He paused. Pat was tempted to say she understood the feeling he was trying to describe, because she had felt it too.
‘Pat, I could stand on the stage and sing with you forever.’
‘And what would you sing?’ She turned to face him.
‘Anything but the ‘Indian Love Call’!’ he laughed.
*
At midnight, Goldstein came to ask Pat if she wanted a lift home.
‘Is there room for Peggy and me?’
‘Peggy?’ said Goldstein. ‘Peggy is not
here.’
‘What do you mean, not here?’
‘She did not come to the hotel.’
Pat hadn’t given a thought to Peggy, so absorbed had she been in her discussion with William about their repertoire. She turned to him in panic. ‘Where can she be?’
‘Don’t worry, she’ll have gone straight home you’ll see.’
Pat stood up and quickly gathered her belongings. William also stood and, to her surprise, took her hand and once again put it to his lips. ‘Goodnight, Pat. I’ve had a lovely evening.’
*
When Pat came through the back door, she was surprised to see the kitchen light on and Martha sitting in her dressing gown, her hands round a cup of tea. Peggy’s flowers lay on the table. She stood up as Pat came in and her eyes moved to the darkness behind her.
‘Where’s Peggy?’
‘Is she not home?’
‘No, she was with you, wasn’t she, at the hotel?’
‘She didn’t come to the hotel.’
‘God save us! I can’t keep up with you girls. I don’t know where you are half the time.’ She paced the kitchen. ‘The business with Irene was bad enough, without another one of you going missing! What did she say to you?’
‘That she was going to the hotel. She left before me.’
‘And you didn’t notice she wasn’t there? Or was she there and she left? Did she leave with someone?’
‘I didn’t see her. There were lots of people there and I was talking to—’ She stopped at the sound of the gate rattling. Seconds later, Peggy came through the kitchen door.
‘Where have you been?’ demanded Martha.
Peggy looked quickly at Pat who gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. ‘Out with some friends,’ she said calmly.
‘You lied to me and your sister when you said you were going to the hotel.’
‘I didn’t. I just changed my mind.’
‘What friends were you with and where have you been ‘til this hour?’
‘Just some friends I know from work,’ said Peggy, as she crossed the kitchen taking her coat off.
Martha shouted after her, ‘And I take it you met him in White’s Tavern and he gave you a lift home?’
Peggy turned to face her mother, caught sight of the flowers and realised her mistake in not removing Harry’s card. Her chin went up. ‘The truth is I didn’t meet him. I waited but, if you must know, he didn’t show up, so I got the bus home. Only how was I to know it only went as far as Carlisle Circus and I had to walk the rest of the way.’
‘On your own in the blackout?’ Martha was appalled.
‘I wasn’t on my own. I met a couple of girls I know and walked most of the way with them.’
‘And you expect me to believe that? For all I know you’ve been out half the night with some man.’
‘Think what you like. I’ve told you the truth.’
‘Now you listen to me, young woman! If your father was here, you’d feel the sharp end of his tongue and his belt I dare say!’
Peggy bristled. ‘Mammy, Daddy isn’t here and you’re not going to tell me where I’ll go and who with!’
‘How dare you speak to me like that. I’m the Mother here and you’ll do as I say!’
‘I’m old enough to be out without your approval!’
‘You’re not twenty one yet and you live in my house, so you’ll do as I say! Wee girls who carry on like this end up in trouble and you know what I mean, madam. I’ll not have you bring disgrace on this family.’
‘Ach, catch yourself on, Mammy. That’s not going to happen. Anyway, I’m entitled to have some fun.’
‘Fun is it? Well …’ Martha reached across the table, grabbed the flowers and in one swift movement, opened the top of the range and plunged them into the fire. ‘That’s an end to that nonsense! Now get yourself to bed, before I take my hand to you.’
*
‘Irene, are you awake?’ whispered Pat.
‘Yes. What was all that shouting?’
‘Peggy went off with someone instead of coming to the hotel and Mammy found out.’
‘Serves her right. Did you have a good time?’
‘I think so.’ Pat hesitated. ‘I talked to William.’
‘Oh really!’ Irene, suddenly interested, sat up in bed eager to hear all.
‘Keep your voice down.’ said Pat. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t like that.’
‘What was it like then?’
‘We talked about what songs we’ll sing. Goldstein says I don’t have to sing the ‘Indian Love Call’, because William agreed he’ll do it with Sammy.’
‘Did you find out anything more about him; where he lives and who with?’
‘No.’
‘Didn’t you ask?’
‘I didn’t want to intrude.’
‘Pat, that’s just normal conversation. People always talk about things like that when they’re getting to know each other. So what did he have to say?’
‘He said he could sing with me forever.’ Pat’s voice was matter-of-fact.
‘What?’ Irene clapped her hands. ‘He didn’t!’
‘He just meant he enjoyed singing duets.’
‘No he didn’t. Pat, are you daft? He really likes you. Anyone can see that.’
‘Do people think so?’ She considered, shook her head. ‘No, it’s all an act. He said it’s a role we have to play, a performance, that’s all.’
Irene yawned and pulled the eiderdown over her shoulder, ‘Well, you think that if you like, I know different.’
Within minutes she was asleep, but Pat lay awake staring at the ceiling reflecting on how little she knew about William Kennedy.
*
December was murky and damp; day after day the grey mist rolled in off the Lough and crept through the city streets. Irene and Pat took to walking to work to save money. Peggy joined them for the first few days then complained that she couldn’t walk that far in her high heels and went back to an extra half hour in bed and catching the bus. Soon the shop windows on Royal Avenue and Castle Place were decorated for Christmas. In Robb’s, children were promised a magic sleigh ride to visit Santa at the North Pole, while on York Street, the Co-op offered a walk through Fairy Land to Santa’s workshop.
In the music shop there were no decorations. Instead, each day Goldstein would light a candle on the menorah in the window.
‘Is there no word of her yet?’ asked Peggy.
‘Alas no, I had hoped Esther would be here for Hanukkah and now the last candle is lit.’
*
‘Sheila, what are you doing in there?’ shouted Martha.
From under the stairs came a muffled answer and the sound of a tin bath being dragged.
‘Tell me what you’re looking for. I’ll know where it is.’
‘I’ve got it!’ There was the sound of boxes being moved and Sheila appeared in the doorway carrying an old Crawford’s biscuit tin.
‘Oh Sheila, do you think we should be bothering with all that this year?’
‘What do you mean ‘all that’, Mammy? It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. We’ve got to have some decorations and if no one else is going to put them up then I will.’ She put the box on the table and removed the lid.
‘Don’t be getting all that stuff out!’
‘What’s the matter with everyone in this family? Pat and Peggy have been miserable since the concert, Irene’s got no energy for anything, but at least that’s understandable, and you usually love getting ready for Christmas.’ Sheila stopped. ‘You haven’t made the Christmas cake yet. You’ve always made it by now.’
Martha turned away to rinse her cup in the sink. ‘It’s different this year … you can’t get all the ingredients.’
‘That’s never stopped you before. We have to have a cake!’
Martha stood with her back to Sheila, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘I don’t want a cake, or decorations. In fact, I don’t want Christmas at all,’ she said softly.
‘Mammy, what’s the m
atter?’
‘I can’t face it. I just can’t!’ Martha covered her eyes with the heels of her hands. Sheila watched her mother’s shoulders heave as each sob escaped her lips. When she spoke again her voice was low and Sheila strained to catch her words. ‘I don’t want Christmas … all the cooking, cleaning, trying to make everyone happy. For two pins I’d lock myself in my room and not come out ‘til January.’
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