Follow Your Dream

by Patricia Burns

  Lillian tried to think. The responsibility was crushing. Then she realised that, unlike poor Brenda, Wendy did know who the father was.

  ‘Have you told Terry?’

  ‘No! I couldn’t—’

  ‘Why? Aren’t you going out with him any more?’

  Self-interest intruded. Was she going out with James again? Please, not that. If James was the father…A moan escaped from her throat.

  ‘Yes, of course I am, but—’

  ‘And it’s his? I mean, he is the—?’

  ‘Of course he is!’ The old Wendy surfaced, sharp and truculent. ‘Whatever do you take me for?’

  ‘Sorry. Only I can’t see why you can’t tell him.’

  ‘He’s not a baby sort of person, is he? I mean, it doesn’t go with his way of life, does it? Nightclubs and things. He couldn’t be bothered with babysitters and all that. And if I get all fat and ugly, he won’t love me any more and oh, Lillian, I couldn’t bear it if he didn’t. It’d be the end of the world.’

  ‘But you got to, Wend. It’s the only way. You got to tell him, and if he really does love you, then he’ll marry you.’

  If he was any sort of a man, he would marry her anyway, whether he loved her or not, simply to give his child a name. But Lillian had her doubts about Terry Dempsey’s sense of what was honourable.

  ‘I don’t dare, Lill. I can’t risk it. What if he just chucks me?’

  ‘He won’t,’ Lillian said, but she failed to get the right amount of conviction into her voice.

  ‘No, it’s no good, I got to get round it.’

  ‘Get round it?’

  The fear and horror were back again, increased a hundredfold.

  ‘Yes—you know—make it go away. There are people who will do it. Then everything will be the same as ever.’

  ‘Wendy, don’t. You mustn’t. You got to promise me you won’t. Promise!’

  There was a surprised silence at the other end of the line. ‘Why? You not gone all bleeding religious, have you?’

  ‘No. But you mustn’t go to one of those people, Wendy. Anything but that. They’re butchers, that’s what the doctor at the hospital said. Listen—’ She glanced again at the stage door keeper, but by now she hardly cared whether he heard or not. She had to save her sister. ‘One of the girls here had it done. She bled to death. She was in such pain, and when we went in to see her she was unconscious, and we called the ambulance—you should have seen the blood, Wendy! It was horrible, horrible—I get nightmares—so you mustn’t. Promise me. You must promise me.’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘Promise! I don’t want you to die, Wendy!’

  ‘Well, I suppose—’

  ‘Cross your heart.’ In her desperation, childhood phrases came into play.

  There was a sigh at the other end of the line. ‘All right, all right. Cross my heart.’

  The relief made her quite limp. ‘And go and tell Terry. It’s the only thing you can do. Tell him.’

  ‘I suppose—’ Wendy sounded resigned now. ‘I suppose you’re right. It is the only thing. Oh, hell—’

  There was a series of loud pips, then the line went dead.

  ‘Wendy?’ Lillian shouted. ‘Wendy, are you there?’

  But she had gone.

  Still not fully convinced that her sister was going to listen to her, Lillian hurried back to the digs and wrote her a long letter, repeating everything she had said about Brenda, with more detail, and begging Wendy to tell her what Terry’s reaction was. After that, she could only wait.

  Wendy had hung on to her virginity for six months after she’d met Terry. After all, it was the only thing that an ordinary girl had to trade for a wedding ring. And a wedding ring was what she wanted. More than anything else in the world, she wanted to be Mrs Terry Dempsey. Then she could be sure of him, and of the way of life that he led.

  But it had been very hard to say no.

  ‘If you won’t, babe, then there’s plenty of other girls who will,’ he’d told her.

  ‘I’m not other girls,’ Wendy had retorted.

  Then she’d worried all night about the dark-haired air hostess, and all the glamorous women Terry seemed to know at the late night bars and gambling clubs they went to. Were they just waiting to get their hands on Terry?

  ‘If you loved me, you’d do it,’ he’d said.

  ‘I do love you. I love you with all my heart,’ Wendy had declared. ‘But—’

  But if she gave in, would he chuck her the moment he’d got what he wanted? She couldn’t risk it. To keep him happy, she did go a bit further each time, until her body felt as if it was on fire and she desperately wanted to give in and be consumed by it. In her bed afterwards, she would lie awake, aching and unsatisfied.

  She had finally given in one evening in his huge open-plan bachelor flat high above the Golden Mile. After that, there had been no stopping her. Everything was wonderful. Terry did not chuck her. Quite the opposite; he called her the hottest thing on two legs and delighted in teaching her a new sexual trick every time they made love.

  And then the world had fallen apart.

  After the phone call to Lillian, Wendy tried to imagine herself telling Terry. Just how could she break it to him?

  There was the coy approach—I got a lovely little secret I been meaning to tell you about.

  Or the practical one—You know that time the thingy split when we was in bed?

  And then there was the defensive tack—Now, Terry, darling, don’t be cross, but there’s something I got to tell you.

  However hard she tried, she couldn’t see herself actually saying the words. None of them sounded right. But it had to be done. Lillian’s account of the death of her friend had scared the life out of her. So there was no alternative.

  She put on Terry’s favourite dress and drank heavily through an evening out with one of his business friends and his wife. She couldn’t concentrate on anything anyone said and, driving back afterwards, she was so consumed with nerves that she could hardly speak. They arrived back at his flat and, instead of falling into his arms as she usually did, Wendy walked over to the big picture window that looked out over the dark estuary. Below her on the Golden Mile, the pubs were turning out, while further on a garland of looped lights marked the pier as it marched out into the water. Beyond that, a liner was making its way down river from Tilbury, all lit up. Wendy didn’t see any of it.

  Terry came up behind her and put his arms round her. ‘What’s up, doll? You been like a cat on a hot tin roof all evening.’

  Wendy’s throat was so dry she could hardly speak. ‘Well…I…I…’

  ‘Have a drink.’

  Wendy shook her head. The very thought of more alcohol made her feel ill.

  ‘Blimey, that’s a first. Come on, cough up. You’re not giving me the elbow, are you?’ He laughed at his own joke. No woman ever dared give him the elbow.

  ‘No—course not—’

  ‘What is it, then? You up the duff?’ This time he didn’t laugh.

  Wendy went cold. This was it. This was the moment. Slowly, she nodded. She closed her eyes, waiting for an eruption of anger.

  ‘You are? You got one in the oven? You sure? You been to the doctor?’

  Terry turned her round. Helpless as a rag doll, Wendy hung her head.

  ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘But I missed two—you know—and I feel sick all the time.’

  Still the explosion didn’t happen. Instead, Terry looked totally expressionless, like he did when someone paraded a business idea in front of him.

  ‘It don’t show,’ he commented. ‘When’s it due?’

  ‘I—I don’t know—’

  Maths never had been her strong point. She counted the months on her fingers.

  ‘January, I think,’ she whispered.

  ‘Blimey. January.’

  There was a pause, during which Wendy died a thousand deaths. This was it. This was when he told her to get out.

  ‘We better get a move on, th
en.’

  ‘What?’ she asked, confused.

  ‘Get hitched while you still got a figure.’

  ‘What?’

  Wendy looked at him properly at last. She couldn’t believe what she thought he had just said.

  Terry was grinning. ‘You heard. Better get the knot tied PDQ.’

  She had been wallowing in a swamp of despair for so long that it was difficult to understand that the worst had not happened after all.

  ‘We’re—you mean—we’re getting married?’ she faltered.

  ‘Yeah, well—’ Terry actually looked slightly embarrassed. ‘’Bout time I got spliced. Makes me look more legit, like.’

  It wasn’t the most romantic proposal, but to Wendy it was better than all the moonlight and roses in the world.

  ‘Oh, Tel—’ she squeaked. She flung her arms round him and burst into tears on his shoulder.

  ‘Bloody hell, turn the tap off,’ he told her, holding her away from his expensive suit. ‘It ain’t the end of the world. Now, we better get one of them special licence jobs. We’ll have it done at St Mary’s and have the knees-up at the Westcliff. They’ll fit it in for me, short notice or no short notice.’

  The leap from misery to joy was so sudden that Wendy could only cry the harder. St Mary’s was the largest church in town, with the longest aisle to parade down; the Westcliff was the poshest hotel. It was all going to be hers. She was going to be Mrs Terry Dempsey and have diamonds and furs and live in this flat that looked like something out of a magazine. Her wildest dreams were coming true.

  Chapter Twenty

  JAMES still couldn’t accept it. Here he was, all dolled up in his best suit, sitting in St Mary’s with his mother on one side and his latest girlfriend on the other, waiting for Wendy to arrive for her wedding. In front of him in the pews reserved for family were the Parkers and his sister. On the other side of his mother was the young man who had introduced himself as Lindy’s boyfriend. James was surprised to find that he was disturbed by this. Somehow, he had always thought of Lindy as a girl pursuing her dream of being a dancer, not as a young woman with a boyfriend. But it was a small matter compared with the disaster that was Wendy’s wedding. He could see part of Susan’s profile from where he was. She was looking very po-faced. He was not the only one to be upset by this event.

  Across the aisle were the Dempsey family. Everyone had been amazed to find out that Terry did actually have a mother and father. There they were, a typical little East End couple, old before their time and looking slightly bemused by their surroundings. Grouped round them were a collection of aunts, uncles and cousins, and sitting at the end of the front pew was Terry himself, stiff and ostentatious in a morning suit with a best man who looked more like a bodyguard. James clenched his fists. It was all he could do to sit there looking normal.

  There was a flurry of movement at the back of the church. People turned round and stared. The bridesmaids had arrived and were sorting out each other’s dresses. Anticipation mounted. James found himself hoping against hope that Wendy would realise what a big mistake she was about to make and not show up. After all, she had gone out with him before when she’d split up from Terry. If she chose to again, no amount of threats from that bully would keep James away from her. He closed his mind to the huge clues to her current condition. He just did not want to grapple with the decisions he would have to make if he really did have a chance with Wendy.

  ‘It’d be a shock for Dempsey if Wendy did a bunk,’ he said to Maggie, his girlfriend.

  ‘Why would she do that?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘If she had any sense she would. Why does she want to marry a thug like him?’

  ‘I think that’s pretty obvious.’

  That was what hurt so much. He didn’t want to believe that Wendy was grasping enough to be marrying for money, so if this had happened in a more leisurely way the only other reason was that she must love him, which would have been even worse. But now there was the added factor—the baby. Nothing had been said, but everyone knew that you didn’t have a rush job like this if time wasn’t pressing. Whether it might have been love or money behind this marriage, the baby changed everything. Wendy had to marry its father, and that was the worst thing of all. Whichever way he looked at it, her choice made him sick with pain and anger.

  There was another bustle in the porch. James felt a terrible sinking in the pit of his stomach. There was a rustle of expectation, a whisper of ‘She’s here!’ that passed from pew to pew like a breeze. The organist struck a chord and everyone stood up. This was it. Wendy had arrived. All hope was over.

  The well known notes of Here Comes The Bride rolled through the church. Everyone turned round to watch Wendy process up the longest aisle in Southend. James couldn’t help it, he had to watch too. Holding on to her father’s arm, a vision in white satin was walking to the altar, her face covered with a bouffant veil, the front of her dress obscured by a vast bouquet of red roses and green ferns.

  ‘Doesn’t she look lovely?’ Maggie breathed as she passed.

  ‘Lovely,’ James agreed.

  At that moment, Dempsey and his best man stepped out of their pew and stood waiting. Dempsey’s brickwall face broke into a small possessive smile. James could only see the back of Wendy’s head, but he knew that she was smiling back. Then she turned to give her bouquet to Lillian, the wedding party lined up at the chancel steps and the service began. It took all James’s self-control to keep his face impassive as he was forced to stand and watch his golden girl being given away.

  The wedding breakfast seemed to go on for ever. As chief bridesmaid, Lillian was stuck at the top table with the best man, whose name was Dennis. Through soup, melon, roast beef and trimmings, trifle and coffee, Lillian had to listen to his off-colour jokes and keep him at bay without sounding downright rude. As she looked left and right along the table, she could see members of her family and Terry’s having similar problems in making any real contact with each other. Gran, as usual, was looking grim, her mum was still having difficulty containing her tears, her dad was being talked at by Terry’s mum. None of them looked comfortable in their stiff new clothes and both sides looked as if they thoroughly disapproved of the other family.

  But one person was totally happy. Now that the wedding ceremony was over and she was officially married, Wendy was beaming with joy and relief, gazing at Terry as if she had got the biggest box of chocolate in the sweetshop. As for Terry, he was letting Wendy have her big day, but he knew he had provided a show that nobody else there could match, and it showed.

  ‘Wish I was in Terry’s shoes tonight. Reckon she knows what she’s doing, eh?’ Dennis remarked.

  ‘That’s my sister you’re talking about,’ Lillian said.

  ‘Yeah, and a right little goer she looks too. Always did think so. Bet it runs in the family, eh?’

  ‘No,’ Lillian told him.

  She wished she could feel happy for her sister, but she had severe doubts about Terry Dempsey. You only had to look at him to know that he was a brute. But at least he had done the right thing, admitted the baby was his and married Wendy. The baby was still alive, and so was Wendy. She had not had to suffer like poor Brenda.

  ‘Can’t believe that. We’ll see when the dancing starts, eh?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  She wished this pig would shut up. She certainly didn’t want to be reminded that she had to dance the first dance with him. For the hundredth time that day, she looked across the room to where James was sitting. Anxious though she was about Wendy, still she couldn’t help being glad that her sister hadn’t married James. Of course, she loathed that girl he was with, but James’s girlfriends seemed to come and go quite quickly. They weren’t the threat that Wendy had been. She wondered what he thought of Geoff, the boy she had come with. She knew that they must have met, because they had been placed in the same pew in church. Was James at all jealous? That had been her intention in bringing Geoff along. She had been going out with
him for only three weeks and wasn’t that struck on him, but he had been very eager to come with her to the wedding and she had decided to let him, just to see what James’s reaction would be.

  At last the speeches and the telegrams and the cutting of the cake were over. A five-piece band began setting up on the small stage while people wandered about stretching their legs and chatting to friends on other tables. Lillian got up with just one thought in mind, to go and speak to James, but she was waylaid by Geoff.

  ‘This is quite a do,’ he said. ‘Bit different from my sister’s wedding. We just had beer and sandwiches at the local.’

  ‘I told you, Terry’s Mr Big on the Golden Mile,’ Lillian reminded him.

  Where was James? He had left his table, but his girlfriend was still sitting there. She looked round the big room.

  ‘He must be, if he’s paying for all this lot. A big sit-down meal and now a band! D’you think they play rock’n’roll?’ Geoff was asking.

  Lillian looked at them. They were all over forty.

  ‘Oh, yeah. They’re the next big hit,’ she said with heavy sarcasm.

  ‘Hello, there, Lindy. Enjoying yourself?’

  Lillian spun round with a gasp, her heart beating so hard she could hardly breathe. ‘James!’

  ‘You look like a fairy tale princess in that dress.’

  ‘Oh—’ Lillian held out the full skirts of pale blue satin supported with layers of net and curtsied. ‘Thank you, kind sir,’ she said.

  There had not been time to make dresses for the six bridesmaids, so they had been bought off the peg. Luckily for Lillian, she was a standard size and hers fitted her almost perfectly.

  James and Geoff were chatting. Lillian tried to read James’s reaction. Disappointingly, he seemed perfectly friendly towards Geoff.

  ‘Lindy taught me to dance, you know,’ he said. ‘I owe her a lot.’

  ‘She’s a terrific dancer. She’ll be the best on the floor here by a mile,’ Geoff claimed. ‘I’m not up to her standard at all, but she’s very patient with me.’

  ‘Well, I’m claiming a dance with her, that’s for sure,’ James said.