‘Nah, can’t stand fish,’ Terry said. ‘Give us a nice steak. Rare. What about you, doll? You want a steak? Or a bit of chicken?’
They were both treats for Wendy. She’d never had a steak before she’d met Terry. The nearest they got to it at home was steak and kidney pie, while chicken was just for special occasions. But this evening she was finding it difficult to concentrate on food.
‘Oh…yes…’ she said.
Terry cast his eyes up. ‘She’ll have the chicken,’ he told the waiter.
‘That girl—’ Wendy began as soon as he had left with their order.
‘What girl?’
‘You know—outside—’
‘Oh, her. Flaming nuisance. Don’t know her place.’
And that was all she could get out of him. When she persisted, he went very still and gave her his stony look.
‘Drop it, doll.’
She knew that tone of voice. She dropped it. But it wouldn’t drop out of her head.
And then someone at work came up to her at tea break and ever-so-casually mentioned that they had seen Terry Dempsey getting out of a car with a girl.
‘Very glamorous, she was. Dark girl. Hair up in a French pleat.’
Wendy felt quite ill with anger and jealousy. The rat! She knew there was something going on there. She managed to shrug and appear unconcerned, but it churned around inside her for the rest of the week. She wasn’t due to see Terry again till Saturday, so she had plenty of time for it to fester.
On the Friday evening, she had a Carnival appearance. She and the rest of the court were attending a charity concert in aid of the Carnival fund.
‘Are you still going out with that Terry Dempsey?’ one of the others ladies-in-waiting asked as they sat in their prime seats in the stalls. ‘Only I thought I saw him at the Overcliff the other night. He was dancing with a girl in a red dress. I noticed because she looked so different from you. Dark-haired and sort of skinny.’
The next act came on. It was the Mamie Hill Dancers. They did two numbers, one of which featured Lillian in the star spot.
‘That’s your little sister, isn’t it?’ the lady-in-waiting on the other side of her whispered. ‘She’s very good, isn’t she?’
‘Mmm,’ Wendy said.
Though she was looking at the stage, she was hardly seeing it. Rage filled her heart. How dared he two-time her like that? She was Somebody in this town. She was part of the Carnival Queen’s court. People rushed to see them wherever they went. Sometimes they even recognised her when she wasn’t in her gown and tiara. He ought to be proud to be seen out with her. Well, two could play at that game. There were plenty of other men dying to go out with her.
She mulled it over half the night and all the next day at work. She needed someone striking, someone who would make Terry jealous. It wasn’t until she got home to find Bob, Susan and James all drinking tea in the kitchen that it came to her. She’d always rather dismissed James in the past as Bob’s girlfriend’s brother, a mere mechanic with some stupid idea that one day he was going to be Mr Big. She had flirted with him a bit, just because she enjoyed seeing the reaction she got. Now she looked at him with new eyes. He was taller than Terry and better-looking. She knew he looked good in a suit and moved well on the dance floor because she had seen him at the Kursaal ballroom. And he seemed to be able to get hold of a car to take her around in.
Wendy went into action.
‘Hello, James,’ she said, favouring him with her best smile. ‘I don’t seem to have had time to speak to you properly for ages. I’m just so busy these days.’
She sat down opposite him and peeled off her jacket slowly, revealing her magnificent bust in its tight pink sweater. James could not keep his eyes off her.
‘I think it’s about time we put that right,’ he said.
Wendy leaned forward and cupped her chin in her hand, gazing at him across the table.
‘I think so too,’ she said.
Chapter Thirteen
IT CAME as a complete shock to Lillian. Wendy had said nothing about it at tea time; she had simply gone up to change for the evening, leaving Lillian to clear away the dishes and wash up. Wendy had been excused all chores during Carnival week, and it seemed to have become permanent. At seven o’clock there was a ring at the bell and the usual cry of, ‘Lillian! Door!’ went up. Lillian put down the tea towel and went to answer the bell.
‘James! What are you doing at the front?’
He looked heart-stoppingly handsome in a dark suit and narrow tie, his gleaming hair brushed into a fashionable quiff.
‘You look just like James Dean,’ Lillian said.
‘I hope not. He’s dead.’
Lillian laughed. ‘Silly! You know what I mean. But what—?’
As had happened so many times before, his attention suddenly switched to a point over her shoulder. Behind her, she could hear her sister tip-tapping down the stairs. Lillian whipped round. Wendy was wearing one of the dance dresses that Terry Dempsey had bought her, a yellow and white number with sequins that swirled over the bodice and spilled onto the full skirt. Even in the poor light of the hall lamp, she sparkled and glittered as she moved. Lillian looked back at James. He was gazing at Wendy like a man who had just been given the Crown jewels.
‘You look fantastic. Like a film star,’ he said.
The full reality of the situation came home to Lillian in a shattering shaft of pain.
‘You—you’re not—you can’t be—with Wendy—are you—?’ she stammered.
This couldn’t be happening. Not her darling James with her sister.
‘We’re just popping down the Kursaal,’ Wendy said, as if it hardly mattered at all. She looked past James to the street, where a large Sunbeam car was parked outside their house. ‘Oh, good, you’ve got a car. I wasn’t going to walk.’
‘No one would expect you to. It’s not like what you’re used to, but it’s quiet and comfortable.’
Gran poked her head round her door to see what was going on.
‘Who’s that you’re going out with, Wendy? Oh—it’s you. Oh, well, you’ll do all right. You should know what the rules are in this house by now, young man. You’ll get her back home at a decent time.’
‘Of course, Mrs Parker,’ James assured her. He offered an arm to Wendy and they stepped out into the street. ’Bye, Mrs Parker. ’Bye, Lindy!’
Lillian said nothing. Gran went back into her room while Lillian stood rooted to the spot, watching as James opened the car door for Wendy to get in, closed it carefully after her, got into the driving seat and set off. Like an automaton, she shut the front door and leaned back against the wall. Huge sobs were tearing at her chest. A howl of rage and pain wrenched from her throat as she slid down the wall to curl up in a ball of misery on the floor, sobbing and cursing. Somewhere beyond her, she heard Gran’s door open again and self-preservation kicked in. With manic energy, she sprang up, launched herself at the stairs and ran up to the sanctuary of her room. There she flung herself on the bed and wept, thumping uselessly at the pillows.
‘Why?’ she cried out loud. ‘Why him? You could have anybody. Why him? I hate you. I hate you both!’
But she knew inside that she didn’t hate James. That was the trouble. She loved him.
Nobody bothered to come and see if she was all right. After the first terrible storm had subsided into hiccups and sniffs, Lillian felt the overwhelming need for sympathy and soothing. She crept downstairs again on feeble legs. Keeping her head down so that her long hair hid her swollen face, she muttered something about going to Janette’s as she passed through the kitchen, grabbed her bike and wobbled off towards her friend’s place. All the energy seemed to have drained out of her, and it was all she could do to make it to where Janette’s parents’ shop stood on the London Road.
Janette took one look at her and led her into her bedroom. She was in the throes of first love herself, though she was more successful, having fallen for one of the boys in the table tennis
team at the youth club she went to. He thought she was wonderful and took her to coffee bars and played her favourite records on the jukebox for her.
‘You poor darling,’ Janette said, her arms round Lillian as they sat on the bed. ‘Oh, the cow!’ she exclaimed, as Lillian told the story through fresh tears. ‘How could she do that? Your own sister. Surely she knows how much you love him? I thought she was going out with that Terry Dempsey person.’
She disappeared downstairs to collect supplies of Tizer and sweets.
‘This’ll make you feel better,’ she said.
Lillian swallowed down a random selection of chocolate and pear drops and felt sick.
‘Oh, and I got you this. Someone ordered it and never came to collect it. I thought you might be interested.’
Janette passed her a magazine. Lillian glanced at it. It was a copy of The Stage. She burst into tears again.
‘I didn’t go for another dance job because he said he’d miss me,’ she sobbed.
By the end of the evening they hadn’t solved anything, but at least it had all been well chewed over. Lillian felt calmer, although her poor heart was still in pieces. She went home to face a night sharing a bed with Wendy. Her sister, happy from an evening spent dancing in James’s arms, fell asleep almost immediately. All the good work that Janette had done fell to pieces as Lillian lay awake churning with envy and hatred. It was a very long night.
Some time before dawn Lillian slid out of bed, unable to stay there any longer. She picked up her threadbare dressing gown—a hand-me-down from Wendy—and made for the bedroom door. As she did so, her bare feet met with a wad of paper on the floor, which she picked up without thinking. It was only when she reached the bathroom and put the light on that she realised that it was the copy of The Stage that Janette had given her. Shivering in the November cold, she leafed through the pages, listlessly at first and then with increasing interest. Soon she was engrossed. Here was the world she longed to be part of, of productions large and small, of stars and support artists, of directors and producers, stage crew and technicians, musicians and singers and variety acts—and dancers. And here too were audition calls. Lillian forgot she was cold, forgot even that her heart was broken. The panto season was fast approaching. Performers of all types were needed.
Eagerly, she read the small print and, as she did so, she realised with rising excitement that she could apply for some of these. She was qualified, just. She had done a summer season, or at least she had done half of one, and she had her Equity card. She could leave all her problems behind her. She could do what her Aunty Eileen had done. Somewhere out there, Eileen was living the life she had chosen instead of being told what to do all the time.
At this point she paused as she realised just what she was contemplating. She had lived in this house, in this town, all her life. Out there in those places mentioned in the adverts she knew no one. She would have to live in one room, like a PG. It was frightening, but it was also exciting. She looked round at the bathroom she had cleaned so many times. No more cleaning! No more ‘Lillian, door!’ Guilt gnawed at the edges of her mind as she thought of her mother being left to do everything. But it was quiet now. Apart from the odd commercial traveller, there would be no PGs until next summer. And who else here cared if she stayed or went? Nobody. But, however cold they might seem, still they were her family and this was her home. The prospect of leaving was daunting. Then she thought of James. James had said he would miss her, but that plainly wasn’t true. The pain of it spurred her on.
What should she try for? She scanned the places and the dates. The magazine was two weeks out of date and already some of the calls were past. She looked at those in the London suburbs. She could apply to Hornchurch or Lewisham. But something made her reject them. She needed a grand gesture. If she was going to go away, she wanted to go far away. Once again, she pressed on the bruise by remembering James and Wendy going out to the car arm in arm. She never wanted to see them together again. She whittled the productions down to two—Snow White in Bristol or The Sleeping Beauty in Sheffield. As she had always preferred the story of The Sleeping Beauty, she decided on that and lay awake beside Wendy until daylight, worrying.
She had a day to find out how to get to Sheffield and arrive in time for the audition. It was all such a big rush that she hardly had time to think of the enormity of what she was doing until she finally got on the train at St Pancras and settled down for the long journey. Then it really started to dawn on her just how rash she was being. She was all alone, for the very first time in her life. She couldn’t concentrate on the book she had brought with her, couldn’t even take an interest in the scenery going by. She almost got off at the first stop in order to go straight home again, but thinking of James made her stick it out. She would show him.
Early evening found her on Sheffield station, with a suitcase borrowed from Janette in her hand and a duffel bag over her shoulder. She struggled down the platform with the heavy case, gave in her ticket and stood in the concourse. People swirled around her. They all seemed to know where they were going.
‘All right, lass? You lost?’
It was her first encounter with a Yorkshire accent. The man speaking looked all right. He was middle aged and neatly dressed. But she had heard plenty of scare stories about wicked men who hung about stations preying on young girls.
‘No, I’m meeting someone. My brother,’ she lied and, picking up the suitcase again, she set off for the entrance. She had a plan in her head. It wasn’t a very detailed one, but it was a plan. She approached a youngish woman with a couple of children.
‘Excuse me, can you tell me where I can find a decent guest house for the night?’
The woman was a bit vague, and again she had a strong accent, which Lillian found difficult to follow, but she managed to understand the directions and the street names. Ten minutes later, her arms and shoulders were aching, it had come on to rain and she hadn’t reached the street the woman had mentioned. After the stress of getting her things out of the house unseen, parting from Janette, spending a good part of her savings on the train ticket, finding her way through the London underground and brooding over James and Wendy and leaving home all the way up to Sheffield, she felt as if she had been through an emotional wringer. And now she was all but lost in a strange city. Tears were very close to the surface.
‘You can’t give up now, girl,’ she told herself out loud. ‘You got to find somewhere for the night.’
Eventually, after asking twice more, she found the street and knocked on the first place that had a ‘Vacancies’ sign in the window. She knew what to expect. Young girls on their own were always turned away from Sunny View, so she was not surprised when two landladies shut the door in her face. The third looked her up and down and finally decided that she looked respectable enough. Lillian was shown up to a little back bedroom furnished with a narrow bed, a large gloomy wardrobe and a washstand.
‘The necessary’s out t’ back, no visitors in the room, front door’s locked at ten, breakfast’s at seven,’ the landlady informed her.
‘Thank you,’ Lillian whispered.
Being on the receiving end of the rules made her feel more detached from home than ever. She plumped down on the bed, relieved just to take the weight off her feet. Now what? Her brain seemed to have stopped working. For a long time she just sat, staring at the wardrobe. She had never felt so lonely in her life.
Why was she here? Why had she done this? Were they missing her at home, or was there just an almighty row going on with everyone saying what a wicked girl she was and arguing about which side of the family such bad blood had come from? Whatever happened tomorrow, she couldn’t go back now as she hadn’t enough money for the train fare. She was stuck here in this place where she knew nobody and they all spoke with funny voices. The tears that had been threatening for some time now ran down her face unchecked.
Eventually she was forced to go downstairs and use the toilet in the yard. Coming inside agai
n to wash her hands in the kitchen, she smelt toast and realised that she was ravenously hungry. She remembered passing a fish and chip shop not far away and went out. After the cold dreary streets, the chippy was a haven of warmth and cheerfulness and lovely fatty smells.
‘You new round here, lass?’ a large woman in a headscarf asked her.
‘Yes, I’ve just arrived. I’m from Southend-on-Sea,’ Lillian said. It was a pleasure to talk to someone.
Her accent was chuckled at and heads were shaken over such a young girl being all on her own so far away from home.
‘What’s tha’ doing in this neck of the woods?’ an old man asked.
‘I’ve come for an audition at the theatre,’ Lillian explained. Inside she glowed with pride. Now she was a real professional, striking out on her own.
Some of the people in the queue were mildly impressed, others dubious. Copious advice was given; she was wished good luck. Lillian paid for her saveloy and chips with almost the last of her savings, and scoffed the lot before she reached the guest house. Pleasantly full and warmed by the concern of the people in the chippy, she got into the chilly bed, only to be struck anew by the emptiness all around. It was the first time she had been away from home on her own. She was in a house full of strangers, who didn’t care a hoot whether she lived or died. The loneliness was overwhelming. The darkness seemed to press in on her. But eventually a full stomach and the exertions of the day worked their magic, and she slept the sleep of exhaustion.
The theatre was alive with hopeful performers the next day. Lillian hid her suitcase behind the last row of the stalls and stood at the back of the auditorium looking at it all going on. People were greeting and kissing each other, singers were warming up their voices, friends were shrieking and waving at each other across the rows of seats, groups were deep in conversation. There was a frantic tide of voices, and nobody noticed her at all. It seemed to her that she was doomed to feel confused and alone, totally left out of things. Lillian took a deep breath and approached the one person who was not talking nineteen to the dozen, a woman with a broom, a scarf turban and a cigarette.
Follow Your Dream Page 14
