Follow Your Dream

by Patricia Burns

  Sunshine broke out over the day for Lillian. It was worth the long journey, the nerve-cracking tension within the family, the endless meal with Dennis by her side, worth all of it just for this moment. For the first time, she was going to dance properly with James.

  The big moment didn’t arrive for a while. First Terry and Wendy took to the floor while everyone clapped, then Lillian had to endure being pulled around by Dennis. After that, Geoff came and claimed her, which was a relief after Dennis, but she spent most of the time she was dancing with him in watching out for James. How would he hold that girlfriend of his? Were they happy and laughing together? Did they behave like a real couple? To her chagrin, she found that James was spending most of his time following Wendy with his eyes. It wasn’t the girlfriend who was the problem. Her big sister might have married Terry, but that didn’t mean that James had stopped thinking about her.

  At last, the MC announced a quickstep and James walked across the floor towards her. Lillian couldn’t keep the smile of delight off her face. She stood up, took his outstretched hand and there she was, where she wanted to be, in his arms. For a minute or so they just danced, their bodies perfectly in tune, moving together as if they had been doing this every day of their lives. Lillian was in heaven. She didn’t need words; it was enough just to live in the moment. His arm was at her back, her hand was in his, his breath was on her neck. She had only to lean her head a little and her cheek would be next to his.

  And then he broke the spell. ‘What do you think of this marriage, Lindy?’

  Lillian could have cried. So this moment wasn’t special to him like it was to her.

  ‘Wendy’s happy, so I suppose that’s what it’s all about,’ she managed to say.

  ‘Yes—she does look happy,’ James agreed.

  There was a world of longing in his voice. It tore at Lillian’s heart.

  ‘Terry might be a crook, but he has done the decent thing,’ she said.

  ‘So she is…I mean…there is…’

  ‘She’s pregnant. Yes,’ Lillian told him.

  After all, it was an open secret. Soon it was going to be obvious, and then everyone would know.

  ‘I see.’

  For the length of the room, James was silent. Lillian couldn’t bear it.

  ‘You must have suspected it,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I did. I just…well…I hoped it wasn’t true.’

  They were dancing past the door into the main part of the hotel.

  ‘Look—do you mind if we go outside for a bit?’ James asked. ‘This whole thing is getting on my nerves.’

  They walked through the hotel and out onto the clifftop gardens. It was a perfect summer’s day, warm and bright with a slight breeze. James and Lillian stood together looking out over the colourful beds and green grass of the gardens to the sparkling water of the Thames estuary, sprinkled with the dark red and white sails of boats.

  Away from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the wedding party, Lillian felt free to change the subject. ‘It’s nice to be home,’ she said.

  ‘Do you miss it?’ James asked.

  ‘Yes. I didn’t think I would, but I do. At first I really liked travelling to a new place each week, and then I got fed up with it and I was glad to be settling down in Blackpool for the summer, and now—’

  She hesitated, for she wasn’t really sure herself whether she liked the way of life she had chosen.

  ‘What about now?’ James prompted.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t want to just come back here and work in a shop again.’

  ‘Are you still enjoying being a dancer?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Of this she was sure. ‘I love it. It doesn’t matter that we’re doing the same thing every day; each time I’m in the wings I get nervous, and then when I get on the stage it’s like…like something takes hold of me, you know? I turn into a different person. Everything else drops away, like everything that’s worrying you, and the only thing that matters is the music and the steps and doing it right and making the audience love you. And they do love you, you know—you can feel it coming over the footlights. Some days it’s better than others. Some days they sort of hold back and you can’t get through to them, and other times it’s a great big warm…oh, I don’t know—a warm hug, an embrace.’

  She stopped and looked up at James. ‘That sounds really stupid, doesn’t it?’

  ‘No, I think I know what you mean. I haven’t been on the stage, of course, but there is something special about going to a live performance. It’s very different from the cinema.’

  Without thinking, Lillian slipped her arm through his. ‘I can’t talk to anyone else like this,’ she told him. ‘D’you remember the first time we talked, when you fixed my bike for me?’

  ‘And you told me about your Aunty Eileen, and following your dream?’

  ‘She was right, Aunty Eileen, wasn’t she? Nobody else would have believed we’d get what we wanted, but we did.’

  ‘Yeah—look at you, only seventeen years old and doing what you set out to do.’

  ‘And you’ve got your garage, and it’s doing well.’

  ‘Yes, but—Lindy, do you mind if I bend your ear for a bit? Only there’s this idea I’ve had, and you’re the only person I know who won’t laugh at me.’

  Lillian would have jumped off the pier for him at this point. Here was the old James back again, the friend who confided his secrets to her. They sat down on a bench. Seagulls sailed overhead in the blue sky.

  ‘Come on, then,’ she said. ‘What’s this big idea?’

  ‘Exhaust systems.’

  ‘Exhaust systems? You mean, the pipe that the smoke comes out of? What about them?’

  ‘Well, they’re always wearing out, even on a well serviced car, and they’re quite simple to fit. It’s not more than a forty-five minute job, generally, but you’ve got to have the right one for the car so you have to order it in, and then the car’s owner has to leave it at the garage for half a day while it’s done, so what should be a quick job becomes longer and more expensive than it should be. But what if I was to specialise in exhausts? If I had all the well-known makes in stock, I could practically do the job while the owner waited, and cheaper than an ordinary repair shop could.’

  For the first time that day, James was his old eager self again. Lillian could see a light in his eyes where before there had only been pain and defeat. She tried to come up with an intelligent answer, more than just unthinking support for his idea.

  ‘It sounds good to me. Geoff had to have the exhaust done on his car last week and it took three days. He was beginning to think that it wouldn’t be done in time to get down here for the wedding. But how much would it cost? I mean, what about all this stuff you’d have to stock?’

  ‘You’ve hit it right on the nail. That is the expensive bit. I’d have to borrow money to set it all up, and then there’s no guarantee that it’d take off straight away. But I really think I’m on to something here. If I stay doing general repairs, I’m always going to make a living but I’m never going to be rich. With this exhaust thing, I could go bust or I could be really successful. It’s got to be worth having a try.’

  ‘It’s follow your dream again, isn’t it?’ Lillian reminded him.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘And it worked last time.’

  ‘It did. You’re right. I’m going to do it. Oh, Lindy, it’s so good to be able to talk to you again. There’s nobody else who seems to understand the way you do. I’ve really missed our chats.’

  A big bubble of happiness was swelling inside Lillian as he said this. It was almost too good to be true. He did care about her. In spite of Wendy and the wedding and everything else, she was special to him.

  ‘So have I,’ she said.

  James put his hand over hers and squeezed it.

  ‘We’ll always be best friends, won’t we?’

  The bubble burst.

  ‘Yes,’ Lillian croaked through a throat aching with tears. ‘Yes, we w
ill.’

  James walked back into the ballroom feeling much better. His love life might be a disaster, but at least he saw the way forward with his new business idea now that Lindy had approved it. He knew it was illogical, for Lindy knew nothing about either cars or running a business, but somehow he felt that having her support made all the difference. She had believed in him when he had just been a kid with big ambitions. She still believed in him now. And that, he suddenly realised, was what he had been craving—someone who believed in him as a person. Never mind the idea. Lindy knew he could make it work, whatever it was, and if Lindy thought so, then he would live up to her expectations.

  When he arrived back at his table, he found that Maggie was not happy.

  ‘Wherever have you been?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve had three of Terry Dempsey’s mates asking me to dance, and they didn’t want to take no for an answer.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to leave you unprotected. I was talking to Lindy.’

  ‘Oh, and what did you have to say to her that was so important?’ There was a distinct edge to Maggie’s voice.

  ‘Nothing,’ he lied. ‘This and that. Just catching up, you know.’

  ‘Just catching up? And you had to go outside with her to do that?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Maggie, I’ve known Lindy ever since Susan started going out with Bob. She’s like a little sister to me. Now, do you want to dance or have a row?’

  Still only partly convinced, Maggie opted for a dance. As they went round the floor, he noticed his sister dancing with Bob. Nothing unusual in that, of course, except that Susan had a face like thunder. Surely they hadn’t had a row? They never fell out. He soon found out. When Bob went off to the Gents, Susan came and plumped herself down beside James and Maggie.

  ‘What do you think of all this?’ she asked, waving a hand at the room in general. ‘Doesn’t it make you sick?’

  ‘It does,’ James agreed, looking at Wendy, who was now dancing ever so slowly with both arms round Dempsey’s neck. Dempsey had his hands on her bottom. It turned James’s stomach.

  ‘I mean, it’s just so unfair,’ Susan went on. ‘Wendy goes out with that thug and gets herself in the family way and she gets all this—a wedding at St Mary’s and a dress with a train almost as long as the Queen had when she got married and six bridesmaids and everything, and now this great big do with a sit-down meal and real French champagne and dancing and everything. It’s not fair.’

  ‘No, it’s not. You’re right.’

  Dempsey could afford all this at the drop of a hat. But one day…one day he would be rich enough to be able to run something like this, and his money was going to be honestly earned.

  Susan hardly heard him. She was incandescent with righteous indignation.

  ‘She behaves badly and I do everything right. I shan’t be getting in the family way before I’m married, and not for a while afterwards, either. We can’t afford to have children straight away. And we’ve saved and saved to put the deposit on our house. We’ve given up all sorts of things. We only go out once a week, and then it’s only to the cheap seats at the pictures, and I’ve sat in making things for my bottom drawer, and I shall make my own wedding dress, and we’ve only bought what we can afford, we haven’t got anything on the never-never—’

  ‘I know, but Suze—’

  Susan swept on. ‘We’ve done all this, and she goes and marries that man and gets everything. A TV and a radiogram and a washing machine and a fridge. He’s got a great big fridge like you see in American kitchens in films, Mr Dempsey has, did you know that? And a cocktail cabinet. I’ve always dreamed of having a cocktail cabinet.’

  ‘But you don’t drink,’ James pointed out.

  ‘That’s not the point. And now all this—why does she get all this when I shall only have sherry and sandwiches at the Parkers’? It just isn’t right.’

  Tears of frustration and jealousy trickled down Susan’s face. James had to admit, it was unfair. Getting married was all his sister had ever dreamed of, and now she was being totally upstaged by her future sister-in-law.

  ‘I think this whole affair is extremely vulgar,’ Maggie commented.

  ‘Vulgar?’ Susan exclaimed.

  ‘Yes. It’s common and showy. Just what you would expect from a man like Terry Dempsey.’

  ‘Oh—’ Susan sat open mouthed for a few seconds, the wind completely taken out of her sails. ‘Common. Yes. Well, I’m not saying that I would want a reception like this, just that Wendy seems to have had everything given to her.’

  ‘I’m sure yours will be a much more tasteful wedding,’ Maggie said.

  James squeezed her hand in silent thanks. There was more to her than he had realised. She was a nice girl, boosting Susan up like that.

  ‘And let’s face it, Suse, who would you rather be marrying—Bob or Dempsey?’

  ‘Bob, of course. That’s a stupid question,’ Susan said.

  At which point Bob himself appeared, carrying a tray of drinks from the free bar.

  ‘Here’s to the next wedding,’ James said, raising his beer glass. ‘To Bob and Susan.’

  ‘Bob and Susan,’ Maggie repeated, while Susan smiled and blushed.

  James looked at his sister as he downed his beer. He understood her outburst. She wanted Bob, but with Dempsey’s money. That was his trouble too. He wanted the impossible.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  SHE had got what she wanted; that was the main thing. Wendy reminded herself of this every morning. She wasn’t that shameful thing, an unmarried mother. She was Mrs Terry Dempsey. She had a wedding ring on her finger and she had the key to this incredible apartment. Once Terry had gone off to work she would clear up the breakfast things and make the huge bed, then wander round running her fingers over the radiogram, the big TV, the American fridge, the cocktail cabinet, still amazed to find herself here. She didn’t feel at home. There was nothing of herself in this place; it was all Terry’s. She didn’t even have to clean it. The woman who had always cleaned for Terry, a squat middle-aged lady called Mrs Riley, came in every day to dust and hoover and polish. She took the dirty clothes away with her and brought them back washed and ironed. It was the film star life Wendy had always yearned for.

  ‘I don’t have to lift a finger,’ she boasted to her mother when she went back to Sunny View to visit.

  ‘Really? What, not housework nor cooking nor nothing?’ her mother asked with outright disbelief.

  ‘Nothing. Mrs Riley does all the cleaning and washing.’

  What she didn’t admit to her mother was that she found Mrs Riley disconcerting. Used all her life to being expected to help with chores, she didn’t know how to react to having someone do them for her. That was why she made the bed each day before Mrs Riley arrived. She didn’t want the woman’s sharp little eyes spotting evidence of the previous night’s activities. It disturbed her that Mrs Riley appeared to know more about what her husband liked than she did.

  ‘Mr Dempsey likes it done like that,’ was her answer to any of Wendy’s suggestions for even the slightest of changes.

  ‘Well, I like it done like this,’ Wendy would retort to save face. But, after Mrs Riley went home, she always put things back how Terry apparently wanted. After all, it was his place and she wanted to please him.

  Her mother didn’t know this, though. She just saw Wendy living a life of unimaginable ease.

  ‘All the cleaning and washing,’ she repeated, awed.

  It cheered up Wendy no end, reminding her of her own good fortune.

  ‘That’s right, and no dinners to cook, either. We eat out every night,’ she boasted.

  ‘Every night? What, in a restaurant?’

  The only meals her mother ate away from home were on the occasional formal visits they made to the Kershaws’.

  ‘That’s right,’ Wendy said.

  Her mother shook her head, lost for words.

  The lack of cooking added to Wendy’s feeling of not belonging in
the apartment. Producing a good English fry-up for breakfast was her favourite part of the day. She was good at breakfasts. After all, you couldn’t grow up in a guest house without learning how to do a decent plateful of eggs and bacon. But proper wives always had a meal waiting for their husbands when they got in, and she wanted so much to be a proper wife. After a week of eating out, she had offered to cook for Terry. He had seemed quite taken with the idea.

  ‘All right, doll. Get us a nice bit of steak. Steak and chips with some mushroom and tomato.’

  Glad of something to do, Wendy went shopping for the first dinner she was to cook as a married woman. She had never bought steak before.

  ‘Rib-eye? Fillet? Or a nice bit of rump?’ the butcher asked.

  Wendy tried to think what it was that Terry ordered when they ate out.

  ‘Um—have you got T-bone?’ she asked.

  ‘We certainly have, my darling. How much would you like?’

  ‘Er—enough for two,’ she said vaguely.

  The butcher carved two enormous slices and displayed them on a sheet of shiny white wrapping paper.

  ‘That do you?’

  ‘Er—lovely—’ Wendy agreed.

  She paid what seemed like a huge amount of money. What would her gran say to this? She could feed the whole Parker family for two days on that much. Wendy sailed out of the shop past women who eyed her with envy. This was the life. They were probably waiting to buy sausages or a bit of liver and bacon, and here she was with her T-bone steaks. She felt like a queen.

  When it came to cooking the meal, she was not so sure. Chips were all right. She knew how to do them. And frying mushroom and tomato held no fears for her. But these huge hunks of meat—how long should she do them for? She had no idea. She put them in the pan, then started on the chips.

  Terry was at the big picture window, glass of whisky in his hand, staring down at the street below.

  ‘That dinner ready yet?’ he demanded.

  ‘Nearly,’ Wendy said, flustered.

  She wanted so much for this to be perfect. She poked the nearest steak with a fork. Blood oozed out. Not nearly done. She turned the heat up.