Follow Your Dream

by Patricia Burns

  She slid off the bed and went to study herself in the looking-glass above Janette’s dressing table, adjusting the triple mirrors so that she could see all round. She twisted this way and that, hoping in vain to find someone more exotic than a fourteen-year-old girl with long thin legs and white ankle socks. Her skinny body was beginning to fill out a little. She had small rounded breasts and a proper waist. She dug her hands in above her bony hips to emphasize the curves, but she knew she looked nothing like Wendy. Wendy’s vital statistics were a perfect 36-24-36, even before she wriggled into her elastic roll-on.

  She undid the rubber bands at the ends of her plaits, shook her hair out and gathered it up on top of her head, trying to look more sophisticated.

  ‘D’you think I’m pretty?’ she asked.

  ‘’Course,’ Janette said loyally.

  But Lillian turned away and flopped down on the bed, tears welling in her eyes.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ she wailed. ‘I’m never going to be as pretty as Wendy. You’re just so lucky, being an only child.’

  That had been last week, and now here was James asking if he was a good enough dancer to ask Wendy out. Lillian couldn’t believe that something could hurt so much. It made her want to cry out loud.

  ‘You—you don’t really want to, do you?’ she managed to ask.

  James laughed, as if it was some sort of joke.

  ‘But of course! That’s the whole point. I’ve got to do it before I have to go off to national service. Now, come on, what do you think? You’re her sister. Do you think I’ve got a chance?’

  Lillian was torn. The last thing she wanted was for Wendy to get her claws into him, but neither did she want him to stop coming to their house.

  ‘I dunno,’ she muttered.

  ‘You must have some sort of an idea,’ James insisted.

  Goaded, Lillian burst out with the truth. ‘If you must know, I think you’re much too nice for her. She only likes spivvy types with cars and patent leather shoes.’

  ‘A car!’ James was looking at her as if she had just handed him the Crown jewels. ‘If she likes blokes with cars, then I’m her man.’

  ‘You haven’t got a car,’ Lillian said.

  ‘No, but I can get hold of one.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a driving licence.’

  ‘I don’t, but who’s going to ask? I can drive all right. Lillian, you’re a genius! I’ll come round your place and ask Wendy if she wants to go for a spin.’

  Lillian wanted to cut her tongue out. Whatever had made her mention cars? That night she cried herself to sleep, convinced that all was lost.

  Two days later, she happened to be in her grandmother’s room at just about the time Wendy was due home from work. Gran’s main occupation, apart from smoking and reading the newspaper, was making hooked rugs. Since wool was expensive, it was one of Lillian’s jobs to go to jumble sales and find handknitted garments in the colours that Gran wanted for her projects. Now she was busy unravelling last Saturday’s finds and winding them into hanks to be washed before use. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a vehicle stop outside their house and turned to look. Gran was immediately on the alert. Plenty of delivery vans pulled up in their road, but only one family owned a car.

  ‘What’s that car doing by our front door? It’s not that dreadful man that your sister wanted to go out with last week, is it? Go and look.’

  Lillian did as she was told, pulling aside the net curtain so that she could see better. There at the kerbside was a smart black Morris, and inside it…

  ‘It’s James,’ she said, unable to keep the distress out of her voice. He had done it. He had got a car to impress Wendy with.

  ‘James? James who?’

  ‘James Kershaw. Bob’s Susan’s brother,’ Lillian explained.

  ‘What’s he doing here with a car?’

  Gran’s heavy footsteps thudded across the room. She leaned over Lillian’s shoulder. As she did so, James got out of the car and looked up the road. Craning her neck, Lillian saw her sister walking towards him. Her heart thudded so hard in her chest that she could hardly breathe. James was leaning against the car as if he owned it. Wendy came to a stop beside him, looking it over. Lillian strained to hear what they were saying, but it was impossible with Gran keeping up a running commentary right by her ear.

  ‘What’s going on out there? What’s he up to? I’ll give her a piece of my mind, standing there as bold as brass in the street like that talking to a young man…’

  Gran rapped on the window with her knuckles. James and Wendy both looked up, then Wendy walked down the street to the alleyway, leaving James staring after her. Something about the slump of his shoulders gave Lillian hope.

  ‘Go and tell her to come in here,’ Gran demanded.

  Lillian went to meet her sister at the back door.

  ‘Gran wants to see you. She wants to know what you were doing out there with James,’ she gabbled.

  Wendy cast her eyes to heaven. ‘She needn’t worry. I wouldn’t be seen dead out with a kid like that, even if he has got hold of a car.’ Muttering with irritation, she went off to obey the summons.

  Lillian spun round and round, hugging herself with joy. James was safe! James was still hers! Everything was well with the world.

  Or at least it was for a day or so. James did not appear at the house again. More days dragged by, long, achingly dull days with no James in them.

  ‘What exactly did you say to him?’ Lillian demanded of her sister.

  Wendy examined her perfect nails. ‘Oh, I told him to sling his hook.’

  Two weeks went by, then three. The summer visitors were flooding into the town now, and Lillian was kept busy helping her mother prepare bedrooms. But nothing could keep her heart from yearning to see James again. June turned into July. Susan announced that her brother’s call-up papers had arrived. Lillian could bear it no longer.

  ‘He is going to stop by and say goodbye to us, isn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, I expect so,’ Susan said.

  ‘Will you ask him to?’ Lillian insisted.

  ‘Stop nagging, Lill. Susan’s got better things to do than pass on messages for you,’ Bob told her.

  Susan patted his arm. ‘It’s all right. I don’t mind. I think James has got a bit of a soft spot for your little sister.’

  Lillian could have kissed her.

  For the next three days she lived in a state of nervous excitement. And then, when she had almost given up hope, there he was at the back door.

  ‘James!’ she squealed, leaping up and running to meet him. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’

  She just about stopped herself from throwing her arms round him.

  ‘Oh, well—you know—couldn’t go without saying goodbye,’ he said.

  As bad luck would have it, all the family were home and sitting in the kitchen having tea. Lillian could hardly get a word in as Bob and Frank vied to give James advice on how to survive his basic training. And then it was over, and he was shaking everyone’s hand. When he got to Lillian he tugged at her plait and gave her a quick wink.

  ‘Don’t let them get you down, eh?’ he whispered.

  She nodded, too close to tears to speak. It might be weeks before she saw him again. The back door closed behind him, and he was gone.

  Desperate to be alone, Lillian went down the yard to the shed where she kept her bike, the bike that he had helped to fix. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she cried out in amazement. There was a note propped up on the saddle. As she snatched it up, she realised that the saddle itself was different. The saggy old thing covered in a beret had been changed for a brand new one, red and black to match the paintwork. Lillian scanned the note, almost too excited to take in the contents.

  Thanks for all the dance lessons. Good luck. J.

  Lillian clasped it to her chest.

  James had done this for her, had taken the trouble to think of what she really needed and quietly fitted it on without making a fuss in f
ront of her family. Life was worth living after all.

  Chapter Five

  LILLIAN cycled along the seafront with the wind in her hair. The tide was in, the sun was sparkling on the water and the seagulls were soaring in the blue sky. It was a warm July Saturday and everyone had their summer clothes on, the women in cotton dresses and straw hats, the men in short sleeves and open-necked shirts. Everyone seemed to have a smile on their face. Everyone but Lillian, whose heart was broken.

  The summer season was practically at its height. Not so many people came to Southend for a whole week any more, but the day trippers were out in force. After years of war and then of austerity, people were sick of rations and restrictions and making do and general dreariness. It was a new age, there was a new young queen on the throne, and they wanted to have fun again. Hundreds of families came down the Thames on steamers, landed at Southend pier and streamed down its mile and a quarter to spread out along the seafront. Others came by train from the City or the East End. The quieter people got out at Leigh or Chalkwell or Westcliff, looking for more genteel pleasures. The rowdy ones stayed on for Southend and headed for the Golden Mile. Clubs and workplaces booked coaches which trundled down the main roads, stopping off at pubs along the way, till they arrived at the huge coach park behind the Golden Mile, their passengers happily drunk and ready for a good knees-up.

  As she approached her own street, Lillian slowed down. She had already cycled all the way along the seafront to Shoebury and back and she ought to turn in and go home. But at Sunny View there was Gran and a whole list of chores. She couldn’t face it. She hated her family and she hated doing chores. Past the top of her road she went, past the Kursaal with its fairground and its dance hall and its famous dome, along the Golden Mile and all the amusement arcades and finally under the pier and out the other side. Here she stopped at last and treated herself to an ice cream.

  She leaned on the rail at the edge of the promenade and looked down at the go-karts roaring round the speedway. The whiff of petrol and exhaust fumes set off a wave of longing.

  ‘Oh, James,’ she said with a sigh.

  She was missing him so much. He was a month into his basic training now, and it had seemed like the longest month of her life. Nothing was fun any more. Nobody cared. Even Janette was fed up with hearing her talk about him and refused to listen any more.

  ‘Why don’t you write to me?’ she said out loud.

  She still hoped against all logic that he would, but always she was sorely disappointed. She had to rely on Susan, begging her for news of her brother every time she came round to their house. Bob was often cross with her, telling her not to bother his girlfriend, but Susan was surprisingly nice.

  ‘He says he’s surviving it OK,’ she told Lillian. ‘He’s not letting the NCOs get him down.’

  Or, ‘He’s been square-bashing all week and he’s got blisters, but at least he knows his left from his right, which is more than some of them do.’

  Or, ‘He’s enjoying the rifle practice; he says he’s quite good at it.’

  Always he sent his regards to the Parker family. The family, not Lillian personally. It hurt every time.

  There was still another two weeks until he finished basic training and got a weekend pass. Would he call in at Sunny View? He had to. She couldn’t bear it if he was so close and she didn’t get to see him. A small cold voice of realism told her that he might well come to see Wendy. She gripped the handrail, growling with jealousy. It wasn’t fair! Why couldn’t she be beautiful like Wendy?

  Below her, the young men running the speedway showed off, jumping on the side bumpers of the cars driven by pretty girls and flirting with them. All these people enjoying themselves. For her, summer only meant more work to do at Sunny View. She finished her ice cream and sighed deeply. She didn’t want to go home, but staying here was only making her feel more fed up.

  She drew her eyes away from the speedway and looked at the pier pavilion with its theatre. A long banner advertised the summer show, with its singers and dancers. Dancers. An even deeper gloom settled on her. That was another thing. She was no nearer her dream of becoming a professional dancer. Then into her mind came something that James had said when they were discussing their futures.

  ‘It’s no good just waiting for fate to take its course; you have to do something yourself.’

  ‘I am,’ she had told him. ‘I practise every day.’

  ‘But that’s no use if nobody sees you but me and Janette. We’re not going to give you a job on the stage.’

  Lillian had flared up at that, and asked him what he was doing towards becoming the owner of a garage with a car of his own.

  ‘At the moment I’m learning all I can, not just how to fix cars, but how to run the business. There’s all sorts of things that could be done better where I work,’ he told her. ‘Then I’ll try to get into REME when I do my national service and get a bit more training there, and when I come out I’m going to start doing repair work for people on Sundays and evenings and build up a list of customers while I save up for equipment. Then I’ll rent a small place and work my way up.’

  Lillian had been very impressed. He really did have it all planned out. His was not just a dream, it was a real ambition. It made hers look like childish fantasy.

  As she thought of this, her eye was caught by a poster with a dancer on it fixed to the railings just along from where she was leaning. She moved over to read it better.

  Carnival Talent Contest—Children—Juniors—Adults—Big Prizes—Enter now!

  A bubble of excitement formed inside Lillian. This was it! This was her chance to show what she could do! She grabbed her bike and pedalled up the steep hill to the Carnival offices to get an entry form, then freewheeled back down again and headed for home, her head buzzing with ideas of what she might do.

  The moment she stepped in at the back door, she was in trouble. Bob was sitting at the kitchen table, studying for his banking exam.

  ‘Gran wants to see you,’ he said in a tone that made it sound like a threat.

  Her confident mood evaporated. It was as if a heavy cloak had fallen over her shoulders, weighing her down, smothering her. Lillian went along to the front room and knocked. Gran didn’t even call for her to come in, she opened the door herself.

  ‘Where on earth have you been? Why are you never here when you’re needed?’

  ‘I…I didn’t know…’ Lillian stammered.

  ‘That’s no excuse. Your mother’s ill or something—’ Gran managed to imply that the illness was minor and probably imaginary ‘—and the sheets need to go on number five. What if we want to let that and it’s not ready? Go and see to it straight away.’

  It was no use Lillian suggesting that someone else might have done it. Wendy was still at work; Frank was probably out, Bob was studying and of course Gran herself couldn’t do it. She was about to run upstairs when there was a ring at the front door. She hesitated. Usually she would have hurried to answer it, but Gran was just as near as she was and, as it was sure to be potential guests, she would want to look them over.

  ‘What are you standing there for?’ Gran demanded. ‘Go and answer it before they go away. We can’t afford to lose good money.’

  Lillian did as she was bid. Standing on the doorstep were a young couple with a cheap suitcase each. The girl looked very nervous. She was half hiding behind the man. Lillian knew immediately what their fate would be but, with Gran listening to what she was saying, she didn’t dare suggest politely that they tried elsewhere.

  ‘If you’d like to come in, I’ll just fetch the landlady,’ she told them, using the formula that Gran required.

  She put her head round Gran’s door again, informed her that there were guests to see her and set off to get the sheets out of the airing cupboard. As she went up the stairs, she heard Gran’s heavy footsteps crossing the hall floor and her icy voice.

  ‘Are you married?’

  The man answered, sounding offended. ‘Yeah, ’
course we are.’

  ‘You don’t look like it. Where’s your wedding certificate?’

  ‘At home, ain’t it? We don’t carry it around with us,’ the man said.

  ‘I don’t have any funny business going on under my roof.’

  ‘Here, what are you saying? You calling me a liar?’

  The man sounded really truculent now. Lillian opened the airing cupboard door as quietly as she could, so that she didn’t miss anything.

  ‘I’m saying I have a right to say who I have using my rooms.’

  The young woman spoke now, her voice squeaky with fear. ‘Come on, Pete, let’s leave it.’

  ‘No, I’m not bleeding leaving it. This old bat thinks we’re here for a dirty weekend. Bleeding cheek!’

  ‘I will not be sworn at. Kindly leave.’

  Lillian leaned over the banisters. She could see the top of the young couple’s heads. The woman was edging towards the open door.

  ‘Please, Pete—’

  ‘Don’t worry, love. I wouldn’t stay here if you paid me. The cheek! I never heard the like. Come along, we’ll find somewhere what’s pleased to take our money.’

  ‘This is a respectable house,’ was Gran’s parting shot, before she closed the door behind them.

  Lillian changed the bedlinen in room five, making crisp hospital corners as she had been taught, then ran up to the attic and tapped on the door of her parents’ room. Her mum was often what she called ‘a bit under the weather’ but she very rarely took to her bed, especially not on a Saturday, their busiest day.

  ‘Mum?’

  She peeped round the door. Her mother was lying curled up in the high double bed. The green curtains were drawn, giving her face a ghostly tinge.

  ‘Mum, are you all right? Can I get you anything?’

  Her mother opened her eyes a little. ‘Does your gran want me?’ She sounded very tired.

  ‘No, no, it’s all right. I’ve done number five, and I can do tea if you like. What’s the matter, Mum? Has the doctor been?’