Trouble In Paradise

by Pip Granger

  Cook heaved a sigh and stood up slowly. ‘Beryl, go get her ladyship’s cup from her office, there’s a good girl. She’ll be back directly, and she’ll only moan that you’re slacking if it isn’t cleared away.’

  When Beryl trotted back with Mrs Dunmore’s special cup, saucer and side plate – in bone china with fat red roses as decoration – I took them from her to plunge into the washing-up water while it was still hot. As I did so, I glanced into the cup. According to Beryl and Cook, I went as white as a sheet, which wasn’t easy for me, as they well knew, then fainted. Beryl just managed to grab the precious cup before I hit the deck. When I came to, I was choking on the fumes of the smelling salts Mrs Dunmore kept for such moments. I opened my eyes, stared into her thin, sharp face and saw the tea leaves once again.

  I saw death in those leaves, and in her eyes. I saw it as clear as anything.

  21

  Tony and I presented ourselves at Digby Burlap’s front door smack on time the following Saturday.

  ‘Ah, dear lady! Young sir! Enter, enter, do.’ We did. Once we settled down, Mr Burlap joined us, placed his hands together as if in prayer, and looked hard at Tony and then at me and back again. At last he spoke, his eyes having finally settled on Tony.

  ‘Young man, if you wish to take the opportunity of learning to sing to your full potential – which I believe is considerable – then we must have a serious talk now.’

  Tony opened his mouth, but Digby held his hand up imperiously. ‘I am doing the talking, Tony. When I am finished, I’ll indicate as much, and you may then ask questions.’

  He thought for a few moments before continuing. ‘Firstly, you must think about, but not necessarily decide upon immediately, what kind of singer you would like to be. There are many kinds, from operatic, through choral, classical and modern. There is holy music and jazz …’ Mr Burlap’s eyes misted over and his face gained a faraway, rapt expression. ‘Personally, I think that jazz is holy music, but perhaps I am being just a tad profane. Don’t tell your nice Reverend Cattermole I said it, there’s a dear chap. Zinnia tells me he is a fine fellow who has encouraged you in your love of music. What a delightful name Cattermole is …’

  He was away with his thoughts. When he’d been gone a while, I coughed politely and brought him back to us, and to the point.

  ‘Harrumph!’ he spluttered. ‘Where was I? Ah yes, you may wish to be a crooner, or perhaps you’d like to be in musicals. The thing to do at this stage is to listen to as many kinds of music as you can. The radio has a lot to offer, as you doubtless know. When the opportunity arises, I shall expect you to attend various musical events with me: rehearsals, shows, wireless broadcasts and so on. Do you have any questions?’

  Tony and I looked at each other and then shook our heads. It all seemed perfectly straightforward so far. Tony plucked up his courage and started to raise his hand, as if he was in school, then suddenly realized he wasn’t, and dropped it hastily. Flushing scarlet, he said, in a nervous, wobbly voice, ‘I know what kind of singer I want to be, Mr Burlap sir. I want to be a singer like Frank Sinatra.’

  ‘Ah!’ Mr Burlap beamed. ‘A fine choice, dear boy, a fine choice. The man can sing. His phrasing is second to none already, and will only improve with time. I can’t promise you’ll be exactly like the sublime Mr Sinatra, because he is, of course, his own man. However, I think if we give you plenty of exposure to jazz and popular music in its many forms, that would count as a thorough grounding.

  ‘What you do with it later on will, of course, depend upon you and the whim of the gods. Simply keep your ears and your mind open for the moment, dear boy; no decisions need be set in stone. With a gift like yours, many musical avenues will be open to you.

  ‘The next thing I wish to discuss with you is that I think it would be a good idea, given that you have perfect pitch, to learn an instrument. It never does any harm to have another string to one’s bow, as it were. The musical world can be difficult. There are many more aspirants than there are positions, so it behoves you to be flexible, and if you can play an instrument well, it will help enormously when it comes to finding work. I want you to think about it and decide which instrument appeals to you most. Then we shall see.

  ‘Right, dear lady! Tony and I must get to work. Please feel free to stay if you so desire, but it may be as well if you go off for a cup of tea and leave us to it for an hour. Lessons can be tedious for onlookers and onlookers can be off-putting to the student. We’ll only be doing scales and breathing exercises – essential if the phrasing’s to be right.’ Mr Burlap waggled his eyebrows at me. I took the hint, arranged to meet Tony at the cafe in Old Compton Street when he’d finished, and scarpered.

  I went to the cafe straight away. It was raining steadily and it was as good a place as any to wait. Anyway, I liked it there. It was so much more cheerful than the canteen, and I liked being waited on. It made a nice change. The dinnertime rush hadn’t started, but a few people were in for their elevenses.

  Maggie smiled a big smile at me as I came in the door. ‘Hello again, dear. What can I get you? We’ve got a nice sliver of chocolate sponge left, I think. Or there’s some Rich Tea biscuits if you’d prefer.’ Naturally, I plumped for the chocolate sponge. I was almost drooling at the thought.

  A few minutes later Maggie brought a tray laden with two cups and saucers, teapot, strainer, milk jug, sugar bowl, cake and two plates. ‘I thought I’d join you if you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I can always do with a little something around now, to keep me on my feet through the dinnertime rush. I don’t get a minute to put a crumb to my lips until it’s almost over, at around two.’

  We’d been chatting for a while when a very attractive young couple came in and looked around. The blonde woman’s face lit up as she saw Maggie. She came over to our table saying, ‘See you, Frankie,’ over her shoulder.

  ‘Yeah, see you, Cass,’ the dark young man answered. He walked towards another table where two blokes were already sitting and talking over brimming ashtrays and several empty cups.

  ‘Hello, Maggie. Is there any chance of a cup of tea?’ Cass asked. ‘I’m parched.’

  ‘Course there is, love. Park yourself and I’ll get another cup.’ Maggie stood up and smiled at the newcomer. ‘Cassie, this is Zelda. And Zelda, this is Cassie.’ She walked over to the table with the newcomer at it. ‘Wotcha Frankie, what can I get you? You two want another cup each?’ The two men nodded and Frankie ordered what his friends were having. Maggie smiled, said, ‘Right you are,’ and went to her counter to fill the orders.

  ‘How’s Bert?’ Cassie asked as soon as Maggie returned with another cup and saucer.

  ‘He’s fine love, ta. You can nip out the back and see him when you’ve revived yourself. How are you? You look a bit peaky to me. Too many late nights I expect,’ Maggie said comfortably.

  ‘Actually, I haven’t been too well,’ Cassie said quietly. ‘I’ve just got back from the doctor.’

  ‘Oh love, I am sorry. Nothing too serious, I hope?’ Maggie asked, sympathetically.

  Cassie began to laugh, then her voice caught in something that sounded suspiciously like a sob. I looked at her more closely. Sure enough, there were tears in her eyes.

  Oh Gawd! I thought. I’d better leave and let them talk. But my heart was heavy. I’d really been enjoying the tea, the cake and the chat. I had started to put on my coat when Cassie’s voice cut into my thoughts.

  ‘Oh please don’t let me drive you away. I promise not to cry. It’ll be no secret soon anyway. Apparently I’m pregnant, Maggie. My life of sin has caught up with me.’ Her voice wobbled dangerously and I looked across the table at Maggie, who shrugged and looked serious.

  ‘I don’t know what to say, Cassie. Honest I don’t,’ was all Maggie could come up with. It occurred to me then that something was wrong. Usually a cry of ‘Congratulations!’ would be a good starting point, but not this time, apparently. My eyes shot to Cassie’s left hand. No rings on her fingers. That explained everyth
ing. We all sat quietly for a long time.

  ‘I don’t suppose you know …?’ Maggie asked eventually.

  ‘Not for sure, no. But the doctor thinks I am at least six months along, far too late for an abortion.’ The awful word hung in the air, bringing up pictures of dingy basements with seedy men and women wielding awful metal instruments. It was terrifying, the number of women who died from abortions. And it was highly illegal as well, so you could wind up in court if you lived through the experience.

  ‘Six months! And you didn’t notice?’ said Maggie and I almost in the same breath.

  Cassie looked embarrassed. ‘I just thought it had something to do with my change in circumstances. Leaving home, it makes a person nervous, you know,’ she said, slightly haughtily. ‘And bad nerves can delay things. It’s happened to me loads of times.’

  ‘Of course they can, love,’ said Maggie soothingly, ‘I can see that.’

  Cassie took a long drag on her fag and carried on. ‘And then, you know, all those men. It’s been a hell of a year.’ Maggie nodded. She seemed to know what Cassie was talking about, but I was blowed if I did. I was too busy getting over the fact that a girl with such a cut-glass accent could find herself in the family way with no husband to show for it.

  ‘I’ve had to go to the pox doctor, too. That could hold things up as well. And what with one thing and another, I didn’t notice. Until my gowns became too tight, that is. Even then, I put it down to over-eating or constipation at first. Even wind can do it, if the gown’s a snug fit to begin with.’

  ‘So, you’ve no idea who the father is?’ Maggie got back to the point.

  ‘No, not really …’ Cassie stared vacantly at the glowing tip of her cigarette, took another long drag and then stubbed it out.

  ‘So there’s no question of marriage or maintenance?’ Maggie wouldn’t let it go, and I could see why not. Somebody had to take Cassie’s situation seriously. The girl herself seemed to be away with the fairies; or in her case, spirits, judging by the smell on her breath – pure juniper berry. And it was before noon, too!

  ‘But Cassie,’ said Maggie, ‘don’t you realize that your … er … friend isn’t likely to want you in his Mayfair flat if you’re expecting a child that isn’t his?’

  I was agog. What friend? What Mayfair flat? This girl’s life read like one of those stories in the scandal sheets about posh men and women carrying on in country houses, where they seemed to swap husbands, wives and lovers all the time. But in those stories, people rarely wound up in the pudding club, and if they did, they had a husband to blame it on.

  ‘I suppose you’re right. Jeremy’s never been keen to share,’ Cassie said vaguely. ‘I had better think of finding a place of my own …’ Her voice kept trailing off into nothing, as if it was a wisp of smoke floating off into the ether.

  ‘I think you’d better, dear. And start putting some money aside for bills and so on. I expect you’ll have some lean times and you’ll need money for the baby. They’re not cheap, everyone says that.’ Maggie sounded rather sad. The thought popped into my head that Maggie would give almost anything to be Cassie at that moment – or at least, to be expecting. She probably wouldn’t have troubled with the unmarried, drunk-before-dinner side of things.

  ‘And you must eat properly, dear,’ she insisted. ‘Everyone knows that’s important. You mustn’t go hungry, so if money’s a problem, you just come here for your dinners. Promise me you’ll do that.’

  ‘I’ll second that,’ said a man’s voice from behind us. I looked up and, for a moment, I thought my hero Humphrey Bogart was standing there. Then the man moved slightly, and the resemblance faded.

  ‘Hello, Bert,’ said Cassie. ‘Thank you both. I’ll remember that if it comes to it.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose I’d better get home soon. Jeremy’s free this evening and he’s taking me to some club or other and I could do with a long bath, I feel ragged. I wonder how much longer it will be before he notices that I’m in what I cannot imagine why any sane person would call an “interesting condition”. Frankly, I find it immensely boring. It’s going to mean no end of upheaval, and I thought I was just getting settled nicely too.’

  The tears welled up again and Cassie sniffed, fished into her handbag for a hanky and dabbed at them with a tiny square of white linen and lace. There was no question of giving her nose a hefty blow, not into that thing. I rootled in my bag and came up with a freshly ironed job that looked like a tablecloth next to hers.

  ‘Here,’ I said, ‘have a good blow, you’ll feel better.’ I handed my hanky over. ‘You can hang on to it, if you like.’

  She smiled wanly. ‘Thank you, you’re very kind. You see, I kept my promise. I haven’t cried, not quite. Now I really must go. Bye-bye, all of you. Thank you for putting up with me.’ And she was gone.

  Maggie looked at Cassie’s retreating back and sighed. ‘That girl worries me, she does really. No sense of self-preservation, none at all.’

  ‘Oh, I dunno, Maggie love. She does all right most of the time. But I know what you mean. You always think it wouldn’t take much for her to fall to bits.’

  Bert turned to me, his hand out to shake mine. ‘Hello. I’m Bert, Maggie’s other half. And you are?’

  Maggie introduced us, we shook hands and Bert sat down in Cassie’s empty chair. ‘So, did I gather that our Cassie’s got one in the oven, then?’ he asked. Maggie nodded. ‘Not much of a surprise, really, the way she carries on. A shame, though. Unwanted kids are always a shame.’

  That’s when I had one of my funny turns. Zinnia told me once that ‘mystic experiences’ happened most often at times when people were deeply unhappy and had what she called ‘a psychic wound’. This tended to make a person more likely to pick up signals from others, apparently, especially distress signals. Whatever the reason, I was having more strange dreams, feelings and sightings of death, mayhem and destruction in this period of my life than ever before.

  True, I was deeply unhappy and afraid about my marriage to Charlie. He scared me as much, if not a bloody sight more, than Herr Hitler had. Perhaps that was because I was going to have to live with Charlie, whereas Hitler was good and dead at last. I tried hard not to think about it most of the time, as there was nothing I could do about it. I shivered.

  ‘Are you all right, love?’ a man’s voice said from a long way away.

  Then Tony’s voice piped up. His lesson must have ended. ‘Don’t worry. She’ll come back to us in a minute. She’s always done this,’ he explained. ‘She has these funny dreams and visions. If she’s in the right mood, she can read palms, cards and tea leaves an’ all. Everyone says she’s ever so good. Gran says it’s the gypsy blood running in her veins, but Grandad says we don’t have any, it’s Italian and Gran shouldn’t forget it.’

  Tony laughed. ‘He hates the thought of being part gyppo, but Auntie Zelda loves it.

  There was a murmur of other voices. As I struggled to open my eyes, I heard Tony again. ‘I told you she’d be back. See, she’s blinking fast – that’s always the sign.’

  I looked around and saw two slightly anxious faces and Tony, who was looking very pleased with himself. While I was away, I had seen this couple and sensed a terrible sadness centred on children and babies. They wanted one so badly, but if my vision, dream or whatever you could call it was right, then it was quite clear that Maggie was never going to know the feelings of pregnancy or the pain of childbirth. She was barren. I could have wept for her, but I didn’t. I pulled myself together and smiled at her and Bert.

  ‘Do you feel OK?’ Maggie asked. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I’d better get back to my kitchen, I suppose,’ said Bert, looking like Bogart again; it was unnerving the way he did that. ‘Nice meeting you two. See you again, I hope. Do you want anything to eat, son?’

  Tony glanced at me. I nodded slightly. I could probably run to egg and chips or something.

  ‘So, is it true that can you read fortunes?�
�� asked Maggie, eyes wide.

  ‘Right, that’s definitely it! I’m off to my kitchen. I’ll leave you to your horoscopes and fortune telling, ladies. Don’t hang about though, Maggie, the rush is starting.’ And sure enough, two parties came in the door and settled themselves at their tables. Maggie heaved a sigh and got to her feet.

  ‘P’raps if you’re in next week, you could take a look at my leaves or something?’ she asked as she made her way back to the counter.

  22

  Tony looked sullen, Dad looked furious, Vi was tearful and, for once, Mum was silent.

  I knew what it was about of course. Tony had been missing from church and Dad was taking a dim view. Between church and dinner, I’d nipped round to Zinnia’s to see how she was coping. The news wasn’t good. She was still a bit shaken about the fire and there was still no sign of her cats. They had been missing for several days and I knew that she was more upset than she let on. Hepzibah and Hallelujah were company for her and she loved them in her own, no-nonsense sort of way, although she said she only kept them as ratters, and that it was being so close to the railway line and the allotments that was the problem. Rats love such places but they don’t just stick to them, they soon find their way into gardens, cellars and, if not stopped, larders.

  To cheer Zinnia up, I’d suggested she tagged along with me for Sunday dinner. Mum was magic at making grub stretch. The trouble was, we walked straight into another Marriott family ‘chat’.

  ‘What do you mean, “I dunno”? You ain’t blind, deaf or stupid as far as I’ve heard, so you must know where you was when you wasn’t at church singing your bleeding heart out.’ Dad was roaring at Tony, his red, spittle-flecked lips not five inches from the poor lad’s ear.

  Zinnia and I stopped dead in the kitchen doorway, took in the scene and decided to back out again to make another entrance at a quieter time. Then a bony elbow jammed into my ribs, while its partner connected with Zinnia’s, judging by the sharp intake of breath on my left.