'Upstairs, at the door,' Barry said. 'Good job you booked. Last night of a very popular show. Full house every night. We may bring it back for a return engagement later on. But there's a new show coming in next week. You'll like that, too.'
'I'm sure we shall.' Evangeline beamed at him, but I was still looking around and I had lost my own smile.
'Evangeline,' I said. 'Look. Who's. Here.'
Evangeline turned slowly and was just in time to see Sweetums Carew consolidate her Grand Entrance with a flourish of the handsome young man on her arm. A faint scent of heliotrope wafted through the room; on the whole, I preferred the cigarette smoke.
'Oh!' Sweetums was scanning the room to see if she was making enough of an impression and saw us. She was not pleased. That made three of us.
'Hello, Sweetums,' Evangeline greeted her. 'Feeling better?
'Oh, yes. Yes, thank you. How lovely to see you girls again. And so soon.'
'Just what we were thinking,' I said. We looked at the handsome young man escorting her. We were thinking a lot more than that.
'Oh, yes,' Sweetums simpered, correctly interpreting our main point of interest. 'You haven't met my dear Terence, have you? He came to the hotel this morning, just in time to rescue me from the depths of despair. I was feeling terrible, coming down with whatever dreadful virus was in the air, when the telephone rang – and he was downstairs! Wanting to see me! He's President of the Magnificent Stars Fan Club.'
'Magnificent Stars of Yesteryear Fan Club,' Terence corrected in an undertone. He'd better watch his step. The look Sweetums shot him suggested that he was one chocolate away from a rendezvous with a tarantula.
'Magnificent Stars,' she emphasized, squeezing his arm so hard that he winced.
'I explained that I had the most frightful headache,' she continued. 'So he began stroking my forehead and gave me the most wonderful neck massage! Terence has healing hands!'
'Uh-huh.' Evangeline and I spoke in unison. We carefully refrained from looking at each other.
'Then I felt so much better' – Sweetums fluttered her improbable eyelashes at Terence – 'that I thought I could manage a show tonight. Terence told me this was the one to see, especially as it was closing tonight. And so, here we are!'
'We heard that, too,' Evangeline said mendaciously. 'So we changed our plans at the very last moment and came here. What a coincidence.'
'We'd better get upstairs,' I said, as the final bell rang. 'The show is starting.'
'Oh, no need to hurry.' Barry Lane beamed at us. 'We can hold the curtain for a few more minutes, if you'd like a drink or anything.'
'How kind of you,' Evangeline said. This time, we did allow our glances to meet swiftly. There was no mistaking the sudden authority in his voice. Barry Lane was not just a drinking mate of Superintendent Heyhoe, the unmistakable accents of Mine Host rang in his voice. He was unquestionably the person in command of the pub and, quite probably, the theatre, too.
'Lane ...' Evangeline mused thoughtfully. 'One of the Lupino Lane family, I presume.'
'Well, at some distance,' he acknowledged. 'But, yes, one of the clan.'
'Kissing cousins!' Sweetums trilled prettily. 'I should have guessed you were in the Profession. You have that look about you.'
'Oh, no,' he disclaimed hastily. 'The divine spark passed me by, but I've still got all the instincts. I make my living from the pub and I indulge my hobby and creative instincts by maintaining the theatre upstairs. It's quietly gaining a not inconsiderable reputation, I'm happy to say.'
Somewhere along the way, he had waved his hand to some effect and an ice bucket containing a magnum of champagne had materialized beside us.
'Plenty of time for a quick one,' he said. 'The players will be glad of an extra few minutes to get themselves together. Most of them have a day job and they can use a bit more time to catch their breath.'
He was expertly twiddling the cork and, catching and correctly interpreting Terence's anxious look, said hastily, 'All on the house. My pleasure, ladies. You too, Ron.' He hadn't missed Superintendent Heyhoe's attempt to withdraw. 'Stay and keep your friends company.'
'Ah, yes.' Heyhoe was not quite sure that he wanted to keep company with us, but he was beginning to relax a bit. After all, he was off duty, so why shouldn't we honestly be about our own concerns? Possibly it was sheer fluke that we had been involved in such unhappy circumstances in the past. 'Thanks, Barry.'
I smiled reassuringly at him and he almost smiled back.
'A toast –' Barry filled the glasses briskly, including one for himself, and stepped back, holding his glass aloft.
'To the fairest flowers the cinema has ever known,' he said. 'It's an honour to have you gracing my establishment this memorable evening. Now that you've found your way here, I hope you'll make this your local and come often.'
Heyhoe twitched, but managed to force a smile and sip from his glass. After all, he knew where we lived and how far it would be to come. There was precious little chance of our making the Happy Larry our local.
A rhythmic stamping of feet began overhead. The rest of the audience wasn't happy at the delay.
'Oh, how lovely,' Sweetums sighed, turning her languishing gaze on Barry. 'You are so kind, so gentlemanly. You make me feel so happy and so at home here.'
I felt the enamel on my teeth begin to disintegrate. Sweetums ought to carry a dental health warning; exposure to her could result in cavities. Or, as one director had rashly noted (just before he lost his job), Sweetums was so sweet she could melt the enamel off your teeth – while she was stealing your gold fillings.
'You must come again.' Barry fell for it, hook, line and sinker. 'Our next show will start on Tuesday. I'll arrange tickets for all of you.'
A bell sounded loudly and angrily, brooking no insubordination.
'Umm, yes.' Barry looked thoughtful. 'Perhaps you ought to get upstairs. It sounds as though they're ready to start.'
It sounded as though they had been ready for the last half-hour, but we smiled and emptied our glasses.
'Ooooh! Those stairs are so steep!' Sweetums squealed. 'How lucky I am to have a man with such a strong arm to cling to!'
Evangeline ground her teeth and, disdaining the stair-rail, marched straight up them. I followed, but took the precaution of using the stair-rail; those stairs were awfully steep and I didn't intend to take foolish chances just because Sweetums had goaded me into it. Not that the stair-rail was anything to depend on, it felt distinctly wobbly.
At the top of the stairs, Sweetums swayed against Terence, giggling. Thrown off balance, Terence stumbled. They teetered at the top of the stairs, looking as though they might crash down to the bottom at any second. Sweetums stopped giggling and gave a panic-stricken shriek.
Evangeline thoughtfully moved over to one side of the staircase to allow them free clearance if they did fall.
Then Terence recovered his balance, gave Sweetums a shove, and they were safely away from the head of the stairs and any further peril.
The girl at the ticket desk waved us all through, another girl led us to two pairs of empty seats – a good distance away from each other, thank heavens — and the lights went down as soon as we had settled ourselves.
At least it was a cheerful show. Juvenile, but cheerful. A great improvement over the last ones we had seen, but it didn't really hold any promise for us.
I was more discouraged than Evangeline. She returned from the ladies' room with her eyes gleaming and her nose twitching at a new scent.
'There were some young girls in there talking about a fantastic new Irish poet,' she said. 'We've got to check him out.'
'I don't really think a verse play is us,' I protested.
'Undoubtedly, he will be able to write prose as well, if he's that good.'
'If ...'
'Think of Yeats,' she urged. 'Think of Synge. There's no reason why we might not be in on the start of a great career.'
'Uh-huh.'
'I've got the add
ress. He's appearing at the Green Colleen in Kilburn. We'll go tomorrow night.'
5
The Green Colleen was an Irish pub straight out of Central Casting. Shamrocks featured heavily in the decorating scheme and there was even a wizened crone smoking a clay pipe. Instinctively, I looked round for Barry Fitzgerald, who should be twinkling by the bar.
'What do they do for an encore?' I murmured to Evangeline, but she was too busy inhaling the atmosphere to pay any attention. It looked all right to her.
'Oh, yes,' she breathed. 'Yes, this will make a wonderful stage set.'
'If you ask me, it already is.'
'Excuse me – ?' Evangeline wasn't going to ask me anything, she was directing her query to the man behind the bar. 'Where is the performance tonight? And when does it start?'
'Right here, as ever was.' He beamed on her. 'As soon as Himself gets here.'
'Ah, it's Finn you're wanting to see.' The man who came up behind us was too tall and too thin to be Barry Fitzgerald, even in his younger days, but he was doing his best. 'A great fellow. A towering giant of a talent. You're right to come here to see him, he's the best thing in town, even if I say it myself who's been his best friend these twenty-eight years.'
'I'll have a brandy.' I didn't believe him, either. He was a stage Irishman in a stage pub. 'How about you, Evangeline?'
'Yes, yes.' She brushed me aside, intent on cosying-up to the best friend of the talent. 'Tell me, does your friend write anything besides poetry?'
'You name it,' he said expansively. 'He writes it.' Where had I heard that before?
'There you are.' The bartender set glasses down on the counter in front of me, expertly tweaking the ten-pound note from my fingers. I saw that a pint of Guinness had joined the brandies and divined that this was the price of rubbing shoulders with genius at one remove.
'Very kind of you.' Our new-found friend took possession of the pint and raised it to us. 'Shall we bag a table before they all fill up?' He started to lead the way; following him, I tripped.
'Careful, now.' He turned back. 'Don't trample on The Semtex.'
Evangeline gave a muffled shriek, then looked annoyed as several people within earshot burst into laughter.
'Oh-ho, it gets them every time!' our friend chortled to his cohorts. 'Mind The Semtex – we don't want any explosions. Not unplanned ones.' There was fresh mirth from all concerned.
I followed his proud gaze. An enormous grey Irish wolfhound was stretched out full length on his stomach. I had stumbled over his gigantic front paws.
'That's Semtex?' I asked.
'The Semtex,' he corrected. 'Oh, we have a fine time with him, I can tell you. Every time the police bust the place, we say, "Oh, yes, The Semtex is over there. Mind you don't jar it, we won't be responsible." Of course, the lads from the local nick are all on to that one now, but every once in a while we get fresh meat from the Anti-Terrorist Squad and they fall for it every time.'
The wolfhound opened his large mournful eyes and rolled them resignedly at the man. It was the most world-weary animal I had ever seen. He had heard it all before and was in mortal danger of expiring from sheer boredom. Its IQ was probably about twenty points above that of anyone else in the place. Evangeline and myself excepted, of course.
'Tell me ...' On second thoughts, I wasn't so sure about Evangeline. She took a seat and cooed at the man. 'What is your name?'
'Brendan Mahoney.' He sketched a bow. 'At your service. And I know who you two are. I'm just surprised it took you so long to find your way over here. You've a treat in store tonight.'
'I'm sure we have,' Evangeline cooed again.
'Although, mind you' – he frowned judiciously – 'I've taken the precaution of putting us at a table near the door. It's strong meat, ladies, very strong. It might be too much for your delicate sensitivities. Why, we had a young girl in here the other night who fainted. Mind you, she was straight out of convent school in the Old Country.'
I began to wonder what we had let ourselves in for.
'No, I doubt you'll faint,' Brendan decided. 'But no one will hold it against you if you find it too much and wish to slip out quietly.'
The saloon bar was filling up rapidly now. The crowd seemed to be mostly Irish, although they were advertising their rebellious spirits by the number of rings they displayed in ears, noses and who knows where else.
'The poet seems to have a big following,' I remarked.
'He does that. His fame is growing by leaps and bounds. I tell you, the day is coming when Dorsal Finn will be a name to be reckoned with.'
'Dorsal?' Evangeline repeated incredulously. 'Dorsal Finn?'
'Sure, his mother had a great sense of humour. Always laughing and making jokes. Lots of the babies were being named Declan that year, but she wanted something different. When he was good, as a lad, she called him Dor; when she didn't like what he was doing, she called him Sal. Oh, she was the life and soul of the village. Always cheering people up. Funny, Finn should grow up to be a bit of a misery.'
A tall, rangy, saturnine figure strode through the swinging doors just then, followed by a horde of handmaidens. He nodded sourly to Brendan and walked straight to the bar. The bartender automatically set a glass of Guinness down in front of him. He grasped it firmly, backed off a few long strides, then rushed forward and leaped to the counter top without spilling a drop. The audience erupted into violent applause.
'Just like dear Errol,' Evangeline breathed. 'Although he'd have emptied the glass before he landed.'
I glanced at her sharply. I had always wondered about that time when she'd co-starred with Errol Flynn. Some very interesting rumours had been flying around.
The poet gazed down at his audience impassively, then took a deep swallow, emptying half the glass. This set them off again.
'Enough!' He silenced them with a wave of his glass. 'We have not come here to have a good time. We have serious business to discuss.'
My heart sank, but Evangeline remained hopeful. 'Good stage presence,' she murmured approvingly.
'We are here to address the state of our nation,' he declaimed, 'and a sorry state it is. We have let the world use us as a theme park, but the times are changing – they have to change – and the world doesn't realize it yet.'
The Semtex gave a long woofling sigh and hunched himself together to take up as little space as possible. He looked longingly at the door.
'So, I've prepared my own State of the Nation Report – and a Warning Shot across the bows of the World! The first item is:
Leprechauns Aren't What They Used To Be
The leprechauns have strapped on guns
They'll ram-raid the rainbow.
Fuck the crock of gold!
They're after the pool of blood
To drink, drink deep.
It will make them strong.
Not human, just strong.
Increase their sperm count
So they can rape the virgin colleens
And the nine-month fruit
Will drop into the pool of blood,
Not human, but strong
Fit to live and kill In this bloody land.
The leprechauns are on the rampage!
No longer mischievous,
But vicious.
The fairy gold glitters and disappears,
The Uzi and the bullets remain.
They are real.
They are the legacy.
The blood runs into pools
'I have a headache,' Evangeline announced. 'And it's getting worse with every stanza.'
'We don't have to hang around,' I agreed sotto voce, stealing a look at Brendan, who appeared enraptured. 'There's nothing here for us.' Since he had deliberately seated us near the escape hatch, Brendan would understand or think he did. I just hated to have him think we were leaving because it was too much 'strong meat' for us. It was just plain awful.
'The legends lie ...' Dorsal Finn was still at it. He changed his stance for another poem. The bartende
r passed another pint of Guinness up to him. 'Here is the truth:
The Legends Lie
Kathleen Mavourneen's on the game,
Mother Machree is her pimp,
The Minstrel Boy runs the brothel,
Last one in is a wimp!'
'Speaking for myself,' Evangeline surged to her feet, 'I intend to be the first one out.'
'You and me both.' I was right behind her. It was clear that I was not going to be deprived of a great cultural experience if I never heard the rest of that little gem.
Brendan nodded understandingly as we left. The Semtex stared after us enviously.
The irate poet raised his voice to follow after us:
'Gomorrah, begorra! Not a saint in sight ...'
By that time, we were out of sight, too. The doors swung shut behind us, cutting off his voice. We walked down to the corner of the street without looking back, breathing in the cool damp air thankfully.
'Yeats, he isn't.' Evangeline took a deep breath. 'Nor Synge, nor Wilde.'
'Closer to the Behan boys, if anything,' I said. 'But not close enough.'
The momentum of freedom had carried us along but, at the corner, Evangeline stopped abruptly. 'Where are we?' she demanded.
'God knows.' I looked around. Between the small oases of light that marked the pubs, there were lots of shuttered shops and windows covered with tattered posters. Vague figures drifted past or, in several cases, staggered past. The place seemed more sinister in the darkness than it had in the earlier twilight. Or perhaps it was the after effects of that miserable poetry.
In any case, this was beginning to look like a good place to get away from. The night was dark and we were far from home.
'Do you suppose there's such a thing as a taxi rank around here?' Evangeline was looking increasingly unhappy.
'I'm a stranger here myself, but I wouldn't bet on it.'
We both stared hopefully down the deserted street. Suddenly, there wasn't any traffic at all. It was getting colder, too. It even seemed to be getting darker. The lights in a shop window behind us flickered and went out.
'There!' Evangeline pointed dramatically into the distance. 'There comes one!'
'It may already be hired.' I squinted at the slowly approaching vehicle. 'The light on top is out.'
Break a Leg, Darlings Page 4
