Follow Your Dream

by Patricia Burns

  ‘With Dempsey?’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact. Not that it’s any of your business.’

  ‘Well, I hope you don’t live to regret it.’

  ‘Oh, I shan’t,’ Wendy assured him, and swept out of the room.

  James stood staring at the door. Amidst all the turmoil of anger and heartbreak a small clear thought surfaced. If only she had said this on Saturday, he might have had a better chance of persuading Lillian to come home.

  The next day, as he was cycling home down a quiet back street, a grey and black Jaguar drew up alongside him, so close that he had to leap off his bike and pull it up on the pavement. The passenger door swung open and a gravelly voice ordered, ‘You! Get in.’

  James knew just who it was. Getting into a car with Terry Dempsey was not on his list of wise things to do.

  ‘You want to speak to me, mate, you get out and do it here,’ he replied.

  At that, the rear doors opened and two beefy men with crew cuts got out. James swung a leg over his bike, but the men moved surprisingly fast. Before he could get going, a punch in the stomach had winded him and he was being dragged over to the car.

  ‘When Mr Dempsey says get in, you get in,’ one told him, and they bundled him inside, knocking his head on the doorframe as they did so.

  Terry Dempsey sat behind the wheel of the Jaguar, regarding him sardonically as he gasped for breath. ‘I hear you been bothering my girl,’ he said.

  ‘I went out with her,’ James managed to say. He almost added that they’d had a good time, but stopped short. A remark like that might rebound on Wendy.

  ‘That weren’t very clever of you. My girl don’t like being bothered by nasty little punks like you. So in future you’ll keep clear of her, all right?’

  James looked at Wendy’s boyfriend. There was hand-stitching down the lapels of his suit and the hand that rested on the steering wheel sported a gold sovereign ring but, despite the trappings, his face was that of a thug.

  ‘I hear you,’ he said.

  Dempsey poked him in the chest. ‘That’s not what I asked.’

  James swallowed. He was still breathing like a landed fish. He didn’t exactly have the upper hand here, but it went right against the grain to give in to this bully.

  ‘She said she didn’t want to go out with me again, so I shan’t,’ he said.

  ‘No, you won’t, not if you know what’s good for you,’ Dempsey said. ‘Remember that. Now get out.’

  James reached for the door and found it already being opened by one of Dempsey’s men.

  ‘You mind you treat Wendy right,’ he said as he was pulled out of the car.

  The two henchmen flung him against a wall, threw his bike after him and got into the Jaguar. Furious, James picked himself up as the big black and grey car pulled away. His head was ringing from colliding with the wall and his nose was bleeding where the handlebars had caught him, but he was more bruised in his mind than his body. It was humiliating to be dictated to by a man like that. He felt he should have put up more of a fight against the henchmen. It had all been so unexpected and it had happened so quickly. Another time, he would be more on his guard. But at least he had got the last word in. That gave him a small glimmer of satisfaction.

  He straightened up the bike and carried on home, still fuming. What was Wendy doing going out with a villain like that? Was she completely blind? He had to come to the conclusion that she saw only the car and the clothes and the fancy places he took her to. It frightened him to think of what might happen to her if she got on the wrong side of Terry Dempsey.

  He tried to talk about it to Frank when he came to him with the motorbike he had bought, a gleaming Norton.

  ‘Wendy? Oh, she knows what she’s doing,’ he said. ‘Now, what do you reckon? Can you tune it up a bit for me?’

  ‘But does she?’ James asked, ignoring Frank’s question. ‘Does she really know what sort of bloke Dempsey is? Is she safe with him? I wouldn’t like my sister to be going out with the likes of him.’

  ‘Look, mate, she’s got what she wants, ain’t she? Swanning off every night done up to the nines to all these posh places. She likes that sort of thing. Besides, it might be useful, having someone like Dempsey sort of part of the family. I mean, he’s Mr Big round here, ain’t he?’

  ‘Useful?’ James thought of the warning he’d been given. ‘Useful as a time bomb, if you ask me.’

  ‘Nah, you just want Wendy back, don’t you? Everyone does. Now, what about tuning this beauty up?’

  James gave up. It was clear that Frank admired Dempsey. And, yes, he did want Wendy back, but he certainly didn’t want to talk about that with her brother.

  ‘You got plenty of power there already,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, but I want to get a ton out of it, don’t I?’

  ‘You’ll get a ton out of it all right.’

  James allowed himself to be seduced by the beauty of the machinery. It was a very fine bike. They talked engines and power for a while.

  ‘Must’ve cost a bob or two,’ James remarked.

  ‘Got it on the never-never, didn’t I?’

  Even on hire purchase, this bike was going to be expensive and Frank never seemed to hold a job down for more than a few weeks. He had worked for two or three places along the seafront during the summer, and now he was at some factory out at the back of town. But that was Frank’s headache, not his.

  Over the next couple of weeks he was busy both at Dobson’s and with his own burgeoning business, servicing cars that were due to take families on Christmas visits across the country. Working all the hours he could soothed the ache in his heart just a little. The money in his savings account was mounting up, and so was his list of customers. Soon he would be able to buy the equipment he needed and open up his own workshop. Then he would show Wendy what he was made of.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE long cold days of rehearsing in church halls were over. They were on stage at last. Lillian skipped joyfully through the village green scene that preceded the King’s men coming along to confiscate all the spindles. It was a complicated set piece, with the courtiers, who doubled as villagers, coming in to do some of the dance with them. Harvey Goddard dropped his mask of weary boredom and went into a frantic rage as yet again someone turned the wrong way.

  ‘For Christ’s sake! How many more times? What is wrong with you people? It’s not difficult. One-two-three away, one-two-three back and turn in. A kid of three could do it. A bleeding monkey could do it. We are two days away from dress rehearsal—two days—and still you can’t get a simple thing like this right…’

  The offending villager dissolved into tears and was comforted by the man next to him, while the rest of the cast waited for the rant to run its course. Lillian scratched the bites on her legs; Mrs Frazer’s cats had fleas. She looked out into the rows of red velvet seats and up to the circle and the gallery. Next week these would all be filled with excited people wanting to be entertained. Next week she would be doing this for real. She could still hardly believe it. The thrill of it buoyed her up through rehearsals that left her so exhausted that she could hardly crawl into bed, through feeling perpetually hungry and at times so lonely she wanted to cry. This was all part of show business, she kept telling herself. You had to suffer before you got the glory.

  ‘From the top—’ Harvey was saying. ‘And this time get it right.’

  Once more, Lillian danced faultlessly through it. This one was easy. The one she had difficulties with was the fairy scene at the baby princess’s christening, which involved dancing on points. She had not done a great deal of this in the past, certainly not as much as the rest of the dancers, so she’d put in extra practice in her room for an hour or so a day till she’d got to be reasonably proficient. Her toes were bruised and bleeding as a result, and her ankles painful.

  This time everyone managed to get through it. The scene ran its course, the dancers left the stage and huddled into shapeless cardigans and robes to
keep warm. Lillian drank a glass of water, Diane handed round sweets.

  ‘Harvey’s got his knickers in a right twist, ain’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lillian agreed.

  ‘But he’s all bark and no bite. He’s all right, is Harvey.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Lillian hadn’t told anyone about what had happened the day of the auditions. She was too ashamed. What made it even worse was the fact that she had since learnt that Harvey wasn’t even the person to apply to for a sub. She should have gone to the theatre manager. It made her feel like an idiot on top of the humiliation of what she had been forced to do. She still couldn’t look at Harvey, or even hear his name spoken without suffering agonies of fear and shame.

  ‘You heard from your family yet?’ Diane asked.

  Sadly, Lillian shook her head. It was as if she no longer existed.

  ‘You’d best come over to us for Christmas, then. My Mam won’t mind. The more the merrier.’

  ‘If you’re sure—’

  The thought of spending Christmas Day at the lodging house with Mrs Frazer and her cats was pretty dismal.

  ‘’Course I’m sure. It’s not far, and my uncle can run us both back on Boxing Day.’

  Diane lived in Bradford in what sounded like a big happy family. Lillian envied her her easy relationship with her parents and siblings. It all seemed very different to her own lot.

  ‘Thanks a million,’ she said, giving Diane a hug. ‘You’re a real pal. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.’

  ‘Oh, you’d of managed,’ Diane said. ‘You’re a tough kid.’

  Lillian wasn’t so sure.

  When they got back to Mrs Frazer’s that evening, there was a letter waiting for her. All the weariness dissolved from her body as she looked at the writing on the envelope.

  ‘James!’ she cried. ‘It’s from James!’

  ‘Someone’s happy now,’ Diane said knowingly. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  Lillian raced upstairs, clutching the letter to her heart. She burst through her door, flung herself on to the bed and tore it open.

  Dear Lindy,

  I thought it was about time somebody wrote to you. I hope everything is going all right for you up there. Everything is much the same as usual here. I’m very busy doing last minute services and Susan and Mum are making mince pies and icing cakes and all that. Your lot are coming here for tea on Christmas Day so you can imagine what a flap they’re in. I’ve still got to find some time to do a bit of Christmas shopping. Susan and I have clubbed together to buy Mum a television for Christmas. It’s second-hand, but it’s working well. We know she’s been wanting one for ages so I think she’ll be really pleased.

  Lindy, you really ought to try to get home for Christmas. I know the show opens on Boxing Day and it would be impossible to get back up to Sheffield in time by rail, but if you can get yourself down here on the train, I can drive you back on Boxing Day morning. Think about it and let your family know. I’m sure you could patch it up with them if you came back.

  Hope to see you Christmas Day.

  All the best,

  James

  The euphoria of receiving the letter sank into a small trough of disappointment. Part of her had hoped for more—the part that daydreamed about him all the time, thinking up wonderful stories where he came roaring up to the stage door and swept her away to live happily ever after. All the best, James was practically an insult when what she craved was, All my love, James. But he had written, and he had thought about her and solved a huge problem for her. She had been trying to tell herself that she didn’t care about not getting home for Christmas, but the truth was that she did care, very much. Diane’s family might be wonderful, but they were strangers. Her own lot might seem cold and unfeeling, but they were still her family. She was suddenly overcome with longing to see them again, even Wendy. She found a pencil and some paper from the back of a script and wrote a long letter back to James, telling him about the company and the rehearsals and thanking him from the bottom of her heart.

  Home looked just the same as ever, when she finally arrived back.

  ‘Oh,’ her father said. ‘So you’re here. I didn’t think you’d have the cheek to show your face.’

  Lillian swallowed, forcing down the painful lump in her throat. It had been a long journey on crowded trains and she was tired. She had hoped for something of a welcome from her family.

  ‘Hello, Dad,’ she said. ‘Happy Christmas.’

  ‘You’d best go straight in and see your gran,’ he replied.

  Had this been such a good idea, after all? Lillian set down her overnight bag and her bulging carrier of presents, then took a deep breath, squared her weary shoulders and went into Gran’s room.

  The familiar fug of warmth and cigarette smoke met her. Gran was sitting by the fire in her armchair, watching the TV. Over her knee was the latest hooked rug she was making. Her cold eyes swept over Lillian from head to toe.

  ‘So you’ve come crawling back, have you?’ she demanded.

  It was as if the years had rolled back and she was a little girl again, accused of some shortcoming.

  ‘I—I wanted to see you all for Christmas,’ she stammered.

  ‘Did you? And what makes you think that we want to see you?’

  Tears prickled at the back of Lillian’s eyes. ‘You’re my family,’ she said. She could not stop her voice from wobbling.

  ‘Yes, we are. The trouble is, my girl, you seem to have forgotten that,’ Gran said. ‘You seem to have forgotten what you owe us. You go off prancing about on a stage, bringing disgrace to the Parker name. Do you really expect to come back here and find that all is forgiven?’

  She didn’t expect it, but she had hoped.

  ‘I—I don’t know—I thought—as it was Christmas—’

  ‘Christmas? You thought that would make a difference, did you?’

  ‘Well, yes—’

  Gran leaned forward. She thumped the arm of her chair to lend emphasis to her words. ‘Well, let me tell you, young lady. I shall never, never forgive you for running off like that. The shame of it! A girl your age, living I don’t know where amongst wicked stage people? I don’t know what the world’s coming to that my own granddaughter should even think of such a thing.’

  ‘They’re not wicked!’ Lillian cried but, even as she did so, Harvey Goddard’s face swam before her eyes, stopping her from saying anything else.

  ‘Don’t you contradict me. I read the papers. I know what these actors and actresses get up to. And to think that you have been living amongst them—!’

  Anger finally came to Lillian’s aid.

  ‘You don’t know a thing about it,’ she protested. ‘It’s not like the News of the World, you know. We don’t have wild parties and get drunk. I’ve been working so hard rehearsing that all I do in the evenings is go back to my digs and go to sleep.’

  ‘Digs! A girl from a nice family living in digs, at your age?’ Gran said. ‘My granddaughter should be living here at home where her family can keep an eye on her and know she’s behaving. God knows what sort of reputation you’re getting. No decent young man’s going to look at you now.’

  Lillian hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. ‘This is nineteen fifty-six, Gran. Just in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s Queen Elizabeth on the throne, not Queen Victoria.’

  Gran’s eyes bulged. ‘How dare you talk to me like that? Where’s your sense of duty, answering your elders back? You should be crawling on your knees to me, thanking me for letting you back into this house after all you’ve done to disgrace us. So you realise just how upset your mother has been? You’ve broken her heart, you have.’

  She had finally attacked Lillian’s weak point.

  Lillian bit her lip. ‘I never meant to, honest I didn’t.’

  ‘She’s not been the same since the day you left.’

  Lillian knew just how much her mother depended on her. ‘I’m sorry, but—’

  ‘Sorry’
s not enough. Sorry’s easy to say. What are you going to do about it?’

  Lillian gaped at her. ‘I—I—’

  ‘You’ll go and say you’re sorry to her, of course. And tell her that you’ll not do it again. I shouldn’t be letting you back over the threshold of this house, wicked girl that you are, but, for her sake, I am. I’m letting you off scot-free. So go on, get into that kitchen and apologise.’

  ‘But—I—’

  Not do it again? Did Gran think she was back home for good?

  ‘Go on, before I change my mind.’

  Lillian went. Her legs felt like string. She hardly knew whether she was more angry or upset. And there was still the prospect of another row when Gran realised that she was going back to Sheffield first thing Boxing Day morning.

  She tottered back up the passageway to the kitchen. Her father was sitting at the table smoking and drinking a cup of cocoa while her mother grated breadcrumbs.

  ‘Hello, Mum.’

  ‘Lillian, love—’

  The kind word did what Gran could not. Lillian burst into tears. Her mother patted her shoulder and put a cup of cocoa in front of her. When she was able to talk again, Lillian asked where the others were.

  ‘Frank’s out with his mates, Bob’s round at Susan’s and Wendy’s out with Mr Dempsey.’

  There was nothing that could have cheered Lillian up more.

  ‘So that’s back on again, is it?’

  ‘Yes, more’s the pity,’ her father said.

  James was safe.

  Lillian finished her cocoa and reached for the grater. ‘I’ll do that, Mum,’ she offered.

  Her mother passed the task over to her.

  It was as if she’d never been away. On Christmas morning she got up early, put the turkey in the oven and walked down the road to the seafront, taking in deep breaths as she went. It was wonderful to smell the salt in the air again. She broke into a run until she reached the promenade rails. There it was, the great brown glistening stretch of Southend mud, and beyond it the steel-grey gleam of the Thames. She hadn’t realised just how much she had missed the sight of it, and that smell of salt and seaweed and shellfish, the scent of home. She stood there for a few minutes, taking in the wheeling seagulls, the boats lying on the mud, the black tracery of the pier, making sure she had it all well fixed in her mind for when she was back in Sheffield again, miles and miles from the sea.