by Beezy Marsh
‘Cinderella, you shall go to the ball!’ He laughed as she spun around. ‘What time’s he picking you up?’
‘Nine o’clock,’ said Annie, smoothing the dress down over her hips, not quite believing that she was going to wear such a beautiful garment. ‘Ralph and Mavis have given me the night off.’
‘I’ll be over before then to give you the once-over and check you are looking the most fantabulosa you can possibly be!’ said Wilf. ‘Now get that frock off before you spoil it!’
Annie was too excited to eat before her big night out, but Mavis forced some toast on her, all the same.
Her boss had a little heap of Christmas cards waiting to post on the kitchen table but had left one blank and sitting outside its envelope. ‘Annie, love,’ she began. ‘I wondered if you’d like to send one to your folks, just to wish them all the best for the New Year?’
Annie glanced up at Mavis. She was never going to let the matter lie, always mentioning how a mother missed her children and how families should stick together, through thick and thin. Annie picked up a pencil and wrote the card, not to her mum and Bill, but to Aunt Clara and Dora. At least that way, she could pass on her best wishes and not reopen old wounds. Mavis gave a little satisfied smile as she stuck the card in the envelope and Annie wrote the address on the front. Annie started to look through her purse for a stamp.
‘Oh, no need, love,’ said Mavis, brightly. ‘I’ll post it for you in the morning. Hang on a tick, there’s something I want to give you.’
She bustled off into her bedroom, re-emerging with a fox-fur jacket in one hand and a bottle of Coty perfume in the other. She gave Annie a little squirt of perfume on each wrist and then placed the jacket around her shoulders.
‘I couldn’t possibly . . .’ said Annie.
‘But I want you to wear it,’ said Mavis, gently. ‘I never get to go out anywhere these days and that jacket was made to go to the Café de Paris, even if I can’t get there myself.’ Annie fastened it up; it fitted like a glove.
‘There’s someone here to see you!’ Ralph called up the stairs, setting Annie’s pulse racing. But when she peered over the banisters, it was just Wilf grinning up at her.
‘Come on, then, Fanny-Annie,’ he said. ‘Show us your glad rags!’
‘Do you think I look all right?’ she said, nervously stepping down the stairs; it wasn’t that easy to walk in heels, let alone a pair that was a size too big.
‘You look beautiful, Annie, really you do,’ he said, giving her hand a little squeeze. ‘I’d hug you, but we don’t want to ruin the line of the dress now, do we?’
Stanley was twenty minutes late but when he caught sight of Annie, sitting shyly at the bar, his whole face lit up. He was dressed to the nines, in a white bow tie and tails and shoes so shiny you could see your face in them.
‘Well, what a beautiful dress,’ he breathed. ‘You look like a film star.’ He offered her his arm: ‘Would you do me the honour of stepping out with me tonight?’
‘Yes,’ said Annie, smiling up at him. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’
Stanley escorted her across the pub, turning heads as they went, and once they got outside, he hailed a cab and held the door open for her as she climbed inside.
She’d never been driven anywhere in such style. London seemed to have sprung to life, with so many people out on the town; the taxi had to nudge its way through at a snail’s pace. Annie didn’t mind a bit, as Stanley paid her lots of compliments. Just being in a cab next to him was heaven.
‘So, have you been practising your dance steps?’ he teased.
‘You might end up with bruised feet from me stepping on them,’ Annie replied, with a laugh. ‘I haven’t really had the time.’
That was a fib, because Wilf had taught her some fancy footwork, down the corridor which led to the stage at the theatre. They’d waltzed a bit and even tried a foxtrot, but she kept tripping over, so she was praying that Stanley wouldn’t be too light on his feet or she’d never keep up.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, slipping his arm around her shoulders, ‘I will be a strong lead and all you will have to do is follow.’ She was tingling from the top of her head down to the tips of her toes at the very thought of that.
When they drew up at the Café de Paris, there were already queues forming on the pavement, but the doorman tipped his hat at Stanley and they were ushered through. ‘Contacts,’ Stanley whispered in her ear. ‘It’s not what you know, but who you know, in my business.’
The stunning polished circular dance floor and tables bedecked with pristine white cloths and silver cutlery almost took her breath away. A baby grand piano stood on a dais at the foot of two sweeping staircases, and there were musicians next to it, dressed in smart dinner jackets.
A waiter showed them to their table, on the balcony, which gave them a wonderful view of the scene below. Stanley started pointing out famous actresses and socialites, but she really didn’t have a clue who any of them were, only that they looked as if they belonged in another world. They were like exotic birds in the zoo, with their brightly coloured silks and taffetas and intricate beadwork on their dresses. Even their hair shone like gold under the light of the crystal chandeliers, and it looked so perfectly waved and set, it made the pin-curls she had so painstakingly perfected over the past few weeks look a bit amateurish really. Mind you, there was no way she was letting Wilf near her with those curling tongs. He’d nearly frazzled her hair off last time.
Stanley ordered them champagne, which she’d never tasted before, and as he raised a glass to her and she felt the bubbles fizzing on her tongue, she couldn’t help noticing that some of the prettiest girls in the room were staring over at their table. Stanley was so good-looking, he just seemed to draw attention from women, and he nodded in their direction to acknowledge them before returning his gaze to Annie.
When the waiter returned with menus, Annie was completely flummoxed. She’d never eaten out before, other than fish and chips and the pie and mash shop; besides, it all looked so expensive. Stanley took charge and ordered them both a tenderloin of beef in a rich sauce. Annie watched the ladies downstairs picking daintily at their food and thought she’d better do likewise. She was almost too nervous to eat and it came as a relief when the band struck up and she could push her plate away.
First up was a barbershop quartet, the Yacht Club Boys, who had come all the way from America. They burst onto the stage singing ‘We’re Glad to Be in London!’ which drew huge applause. Then Jack Harris and his band came on and the dance floor started to fill up. The best dancers went first, twirling around in a streak of silvery satin, with all eyes on them. When a dozen or so couples were up there, Stanley took her hand and kissed it, then he looked up at her and asked her: ‘Would you like to dance with me?’
Annie was so nervous as she made her way down the staircase on his arm that she felt as if her feet weren’t even touching the ground. He held her firmly around the waist with one hand and pulled her to him with the other, so she was looking up at him as they moved together to the music. ‘How does it feel to be the prettiest girl in the room?’ he said, smiling down at her. At that point, she honestly felt as if she was floating across the floor in his arms.
‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ she managed to say. ‘There’s loads of girls who are miles prettier than me, and they only have eyes for you!’
He twirled her around gently and then pulled her even closer than before. ‘I’m crazy about you, Annie, you must know that. Why don’t you make me the happiest man in London and let me kiss you?’
She wasn’t sure if it was the champagne or the thrill of just being with Stanley, but as their lips touched, the lights in the room seemed to burn that little bit more brightly.
As the clock struck one, Annie was struggling to stay awake and had no energy left in her legs for dancing, so Stanley hailed them a cab home. This time, they snuggled up close together in the back seat, his thighs pressing against hers, their hands intertwined.
>
When they got near Drury Lane he handed the cabbie a ten-bob note to pull over and disappear off for a quiet smoke. Then he turned to Annie and started to kiss her, passionately. She kissed him back and felt him sweeping over her, running his hands from her waist up over her bosom. It stirred something in her; she wanted to be lost in his embrace.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘You can give yourself to me, I won’t hurt you.’ He took her hand and pressed it down onto his crotch, so she could feel the hardness of him through his trousers. It panicked her. She pulled away.
She knew that was how men were when they wanted you, from the idle chatter at the washtubs. And she expected that the first time, it would hurt like hell, but then you’d get to enjoy it. Except, of course, there was the risk of getting a baby, so it was better to wait until you were married, after which you spent all your time fending them off so that you didn’t have to hear the patter of any more tiny feet. And then there was what had happened to Vera . . .
‘Don’t worry, I can take my time,’ he said. ‘I can see you’re a nice girl, aren’t you?’
She nodded.
‘Are you sure I can’t persuade you back for a nightcap? I’ve got rooms just off High Holborn, we can be alone there, without anyone bothering us.’
‘Perhaps I could come around tomorrow after work?’ she said, biting her lip. She did want to be with him, she was sure of that, but she just needed time to think about it, that was all. It was happening in too much of a rush.
He laughed to himself and then said, ‘Of course, I don’t want to force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I know nice girls like you want commitment.’
‘Well, I have been saving myself for that, yes,’ she said, gazing out of the window, fearing she had spoiled the moment, or ruined everything between them.
‘That’s what makes me love you all the more,’ he said, kissing her tenderly and very gently. ‘I respect that, Annie. I respect you. A promise of engagement is something I wanted to talk about with you, very much . . .’
25
December 1934
Annie couldn’t wait to tell Mavis all about her night on the tiles and her blossoming romance with Stanley.
She practically skipped into the kitchen the next morning.
‘Don’t tell a soul but I honestly think he might be about to ask me to marry him!’ Annie gushed. ‘He kissed me but when I told him he wasn’t getting any further he said he wanted to talk to me about a promise of engagement!’
‘Oh, Annie,’ said Mavis, giving her a hug. ‘That’s wonderful. It’s always good not to let them get what they’re after, in my experience. Men don’t respect women who give in too easy. Better to make them wait.’
Ralph sauntered in and picked up a piece of cold toast and chewed it thoughtfully for a moment: ‘In my experience, fellas have to get used to waiting a lifetime once they’re married . . .’
‘Oh, the sauce of it!’ said Mavis, flicking her apron at him.
They hushed up when little Daphne came in to eat her boiled egg; there were some subjects just not suitable for young ears. Annie took the little girl out for a long stroll by the river that morning and when Wilf didn’t pop in at lunchtime, Mavis let her go and give him all the gossip, which she knew he’d be dying to hear.
She darted across to the Royal and let herself in at the stage door, calling for Wilf, but there was no reply. She knocked softly on the door of his room and pushed it open, to find him lying in bed, like a broken doll, with a busted lip and two black eyes.
‘Annie,’ he croaked. ‘I didn’t want you to see me like this.’
She rushed to his side and knelt beside him, taking hold of his hand: ‘Whatever happened?’
‘I thought my luck was in with a guardsman, a real dish,’ he whispered. ‘But when we went up an alley near the Seven Dials to get better acquainted, two of his mates were waiting for me.’
He closed his eyes. ‘They called me a queer and then made me say it out loud as they took turns hitting me. I told them it was ungentlemanly, but they didn’t stop, even when I was down on the floor. If you haven’t woken up in the gutter with a dog pissing on you, you haven’t lived, my dear.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Annie, who could feel a little knot of fury in her stomach at the injustice of it. ‘Can you remember what they looked like?’
‘Beautiful, all of them,’ he said as tears slid down the sides of his face, which looked so small and frail, apart from the hideous bruising.
‘Can you go to the police?’
His bright blue eyes were just visible through the swelling, shining with indignation: ‘Oh, for God’s sake, of course not! I’d end up inside. I can’t tell a soul, and you mustn’t either. It’s just the way things are for me in this life.’
He started to croon ‘Two Lovely Black Eyes’ but gave up after a minute because it made him cough: ‘I think the swines have busted a rib or two.’
It seemed wrong to tell him about her big night out and how well things were going with Stanley, so she offered to go to the chemist’s to get him some witch hazel to draw the bruising out and left with a promise to return later with something to eat.
‘I hear congratulations may soon be in order, so this one’s on the house,’ said Ralph, pouring Stanley a large whisky and soda when he came in that afternoon.
He picked it up, with a look on his face which was nothing like delight, and then glanced over at Annie, who had bought herself a new lipstick at the chemist’s shop and spent ages applying it, to get it just right, to look her best for her intended.
Stanley sank his drink quickly and looked at his watch before standing up and announcing: ‘I’d best be off, one of my acts is having a spot of bother over at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire, so I can’t stay and chat, I’m afraid.’
Mavis put her hands on her hips and glared at him, as Annie stood there, open-mouthed, feeling very foolish.
When he’d gone she turned to Mavis. ‘I think I’ve scared him off. I’m such an idiot! I shouldn’t have told you. He’s probably going to run a mile from me now. I’ve spoiled it all.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Mavis, folding her arms across her ample bosom. ‘You are a wonderful woman and a real catch. He should be so lucky to be stepping out with you. Let’s give him a chance and see what he’s made of. He’ll be back, you mark my words.’
But the week went by without any sign of Stanley. Annie spent her free time sitting with Wilf, bringing him whatever food Mavis and Ralph could spare, to save him having to go out and face the world. They got quite cosy at the theatre and the manager loaned him a radiogram set which crackled to life and filled the little room with the strains of the Palladium Orchestra or the Wireless Military Band, which set their toes tapping every afternoon. When he had costumes to sew, Annie stepped in to help, with Wilf telling her what to do and how to best stitch things; she’d learned so much from him, she was getting to be quite a dab hand with the Singer sewing machine now.
By New Year’s Eve, Wilf was well enough to be up and about, and Annie was flat out busy working behind the bar for Ralph and Mavis’s knees-up. They’d got an accordion player and hired someone to bash out tunes on the piano. Annie put on a brave face, but she wasn’t really in a party mood. All she could think about was Stanley and how much she was missing him.
Her beautiful polka-dot dress hung forlornly at the back of the wardrobe. She picked it up and held it close for a moment, remembering the night she’d spent twirling in Stanley’s arms. There was a gentle knock on the bedroom door and Mavis came in.
‘Love, there’s something I need to tell you and I think the sooner you hear it, the better.’
They sat down on the edge of the bed together and Mavis held her hand.
She loved a bit of gossip, did Mavis, but she wasn’t taking any pleasure in delivering this piece of news, Annie could see that. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.
‘It’s about Stanley,’ she said. ‘I’ve bee
n making some discreet enquiries with some of my market-trader friends about where he’s got to, and it seems he’s got a bit of a reputation with the ladies.’
‘Well, that’s no surprise,’ said Annie, with a resigned sigh. ‘He’s the best-looking bloke this side of the water by a street mile. I’m not expecting any man to be an angel.’
‘Just hear me out,’ said Mavis. ‘Seems he knocked up a Tiller girl a few years back.’ She paused to let the news sink in. ‘And that wasn’t the worst of it. The poor mite fell head over heels in love with him, she did. She thought he’d do the decent thing, apparently, because he’d made a promise to get engaged.
‘But it turned out he’d already slipped an engagement ring on someone else’s finger too.’
‘Who?’ said Annie, whose leg was twitching, as if she wanted to get away, out of the room, so she wouldn’t have to hear the rest of it.
‘To a music-hall singer, good prospects,’ Mavis continued. ‘She was working long hours away on the circuit up in Leeds and Manchester and he was getting a pretty penny from her earnings, I can tell you. Well, Stanley knew which side his bread was buttered. He wasn’t going to give her up for some hoofer earning ninepence for showing her all, was he?’
Mavis barely paused for breath before providing the answer, without waiting for Annie to reply. ‘Not on your Nelly! He followed the money, right up the aisle, before his music-hall act had a chance to find out that the Tiller girl had a bun in the oven. Oh, he couldn’t get wed quick enough.’
Annie’s mouth had gone quite dry. ‘What happened to her, the Tiller girl?’
‘Oh, I think she had to go and live with one of her aunts in the country to have the baby, and that was that. He fairly ruined her, Stanley did. One of the other dancing girls went visiting and said it was like she’d aged twenty years overnight; hair like a haystack and not so much as a lick of lipstick on her face. Not that I’m one to judge, but I just thought you ought to know.’
