Applause (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 2)

by Madalyn Morgan

  ‘All right! We can’t have the inmates making decisions for themselves, can we?’

  The nurse didn’t reply. ‘And you’re to come back immediately you’ve--’

  ‘I will.’ Margot rolled her eyes.

  ‘And no!’ the nurse laughed. ‘We can’t have the inmates making decisions, especially when they’re contrary to what doctor says.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘“Margot Dudley Crippled! A friend close to the actress said…” What friend?’ Bill shrugged and shook his head.

  ‘“Will Margot Dudley Ever Walk Again?” Where do they get this rubbish? Walk again? I intend to dance again – and soon.’ Margot threw the newspaper onto the chair at the side of the bed and pushed herself up into a sitting position. ‘I swear I’ll go mad if I have to spend another night in this damn bed. Where the hell’s the doctor?’ She swung her legs over the side of the narrow cot, stood up too quickly and stumbled.

  Bill leapt forward, arms outstretched. ‘Are you sure you’re ready to leave, Margot?’

  ‘Yes!’ Allowing Bill to steady her, she looked into his eyes and put her arms around his neck. ‘I’m very sure. I want to cuddle up to my husband and fall asleep in his arms. And when I wake up in the morning, I want to be in my own bed and…’ She laid her head on Bill’s shoulder and walked her fingers from his belt to his chest. ‘I’ve missed you. It’s been weeks…’ she purred.

  Spotting the nurse in the corridor, Margot pursed her lips as if to kiss him, but Bill turned his head and cleared his throat.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr Dudley, your wife doesn’t shock me,’ the nurse said, entering the room.

  Margot giggled. Bill was always being called Mr Dudley. He didn’t mind and she had long since given up correcting people.

  The doctor arrived at last. ‘Up and dressed already?’

  ‘Yes!’ Margot sat on the bed. ‘No offence, doctor, but the sooner I get out of here the better.’

  ‘What if I don’t think you’re ready to leave?’

  Margot took the walking stick from the back of the chair and brandished it in the air. ‘If you won’t let me out of here, Doctor Frankenstein, I shall whack you with my stick.’

  The doctor took a step backwards and put his hands up. ‘I surrender,’ he laughed. The nurse passed him Margot’s notes. Reading them, his smile faded to a frown.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘You’re still not sleeping.’

  ‘Of course I am. Well, I’m sleeping better than I was, aren’t I, nurse?’

  The nurse, looking sideways at the notes the doctor was holding, pressed her lips together and said nothing. ‘And the bad dreams?’

  ‘Haven’t had one for weeks.’ The doctor looked from Margot to the nurse who, Margot thought, was about to shop her. ‘All right! I do occasionally have a bad dream, but they’re getting less, honestly.’

  After what seemed like an age the doctor inhaled, then blew out his cheeks. ‘You win! But,’ he said, handing the notes back to the nurse, ‘there is a condition.’ Margot clicked her tongue and looked at the ceiling. ‘You can go home if you promise to come back if the dreams persist?’

  ‘Cross my heart and hope to die,’ Margot said.

  ‘I’ll see that she does,’ Bill said. He turned to Margot. ‘Got everything, love?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked at the clock on the wall above her bed. ‘It’s almost six. If we don’t go now, there’ll be a dozen newspaper reporters outside.’ Bill helped her to the wheelchair and settled her into it. ‘Thank you for all you’ve done for me,’ she said, offering her hand to the doctor, and taking in the nurse.

  Smiling, he leaned forward and took Margot’s hand in his. ‘It has been a pleasure, Miss Dudley.’ Then, standing up straight, he turned and said, ‘We’ll miss her, won’t we, nurse?’

  ‘That we will, doctor. It will be very dull around here without her.’

  Tears pricked the back of Margot’s eyes and she swallowed hard. The slightest show of kindness made her emotional. ‘And don’t forget,’ the doctor said, ‘plenty of rest. Your legs are beginning to heal. Your ankle will take longer, but in time, if you take care--’

  In time? Margot wondered if in time she would be able to accept Nancy’s death. And if in time the horror of that terrible day would stop playing out in her dreams. She wondered if the guilt that twisted and wrung the nerves in her stomach would ever lessen. She knew she couldn’t have saved Nancy, but knowing didn’t help-- Margot realised the doctor was still speaking. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Try to get away for a week or two. Get out of London. Go to the country; fill your lungs with fresh air – it’ll help you sleep.’ Margot nodded. ‘And when you return come and see me.’

  ‘Thank you, I will.’

  Bill shook the doctor’s hand before picking up the suitcases and following the nurse as she pushed Margot out of the room and along the corridor.

  Before leaving the hospital Margot put on dark glasses and a headscarf.

  Bill opened a fire door leading to a side street at the back of the building and the nurse whisked Margot through it. The rubble-strewn road was empty except for Anton Goldman’s black Rover. Anton jumped out and opened the back passenger door – and while Bill lifted Margot into the car, Anton put her bags in the boot.

  As they turned onto Westminster Bridge, Margot saw several newspaper reporters standing outside the small café opposite. They had their hands clasped around tea and coffee cups, laughing and joking, but they were all facing the hospital’s main entrance. Ready to drop everything and run across the road, Margot thought. Eyes fixed on the front of the hospital, they didn’t notice the Rover cruise past.

  Whitehall and Trafalgar Square were relatively traffic free and they made good time. On the Strand, however, a lorry offloading panes of glass outside the Prince Albert Theatre had caused a bottleneck in the traffic. As they waited for a break in the oncoming traffic, Margot heard Anton sigh. Bill looked out of the window on his side of the car and focused on the shops. He tried to engage Margot in conversation, but she wasn’t listening.

  As tears streamed down her face, Margot looked out of the nearside window. Except that the windows of the theatre had been boarded up there was no evidence of the bomb that killed--

  Margot looked ahead and closed her eyes. Bill squeezed her hand, but said nothing.

  Bill and Margot sat on the settee like bookends, Bill reading his newspapers and Margot her magazines. ‘My leave ends on Sunday. It’s back to the grind next week but…’

  ‘Mmmm? But what?’

  ‘But I don’t want to leave you on your own. The cuts on your legs are almost healed, but your ankle is still--’

  ‘A mess?’ Margot leant forwards and pulled up the right leg of her slacks. ‘I’m not sure I’d capture the heart of Rhett Butler showing him this ankle, but at least you can’t see the bone now,’ she laughed. ‘So go back to work and don’t worry,’ she said, throwing a cushion at him. ‘My ankle’s healing.’

  ‘But you’re not sleeping.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing but sleep!’

  ‘No you haven’t, Margot. I’ve woken up several times recently and you haven’t been in bed.’

  ‘So what?’ Margot dropped her magazine on the occasional table with a sigh. ‘It isn’t going to make any difference to me sleeping at night if you’re working in the day, is it? Or even if you do a few shifts on the ambulances?’ Bill opened his mouth to protest. ‘I’ll be fine! I promise I won’t slide down any banister unless you’re at the bottom to catch me.’

  ‘It isn’t a laughing matter, Margot!’

  ‘I know… Oh, come on, Bill.’ Margot shuffled sideways until she was sitting right next to him. She smoothed the worry lines on his forehead with her thumb. ‘Anyway, Monday’s three days away.’ She slowly pushed herself up and stood in front of him. ‘Look! My ankle is almost better. It doesn’t hurt half as much when I put my weight on it. I don’t need the stick, but you keep telling me I’ve got to use it.
’

  ‘Yes, you have!’

  ‘And I will! Bossy old...’ she muttered.

  ‘I heard that,’ Bill said, picking up his newspaper.

  ‘I know,’ Margot said, sitting down and picking up her magazine. Giggling, she flicked through the pages until she found the article she’d been reading. A few minutes later, she laid it on her lap. ‘You know, I wouldn’t mind some time on my own without you fussing over me. So you can go back to work if you want to.’

  ‘Are you trying to get rid of me?’

  ‘Yes! Back to work with you, husband.’

  Bill laughed. ‘I’m not going back until I have to.’

  ‘Good. We’ll have what the toffs call a long weekend. You, me, and the box of chocolates GI Joe sent to the hospital. Where are they? You haven’t eaten them, have you?’ Seeing her husband wasn’t sharing the joke, Margot said, ‘Now what’s the matter?’

  ‘It isn’t going to be just you and me.’ Margot opened her mouth to protest. ‘Let me finish,’ Bill said, putting his forefinger to her lips. ‘I’d like you to go home.’

  ‘I am home.’

  ‘To Foxden.’

  Margot let her head fall backwards to rest on the settee. ‘I don’t want to go to Foxden. I want to stay here with you.’

  ‘Just hear me out. I think it would do you good to get away from the bombs and the memories. The doctor said you need rest and fresh air and you’ll get plenty of both at Foxden.’

  ‘And our mam saying, “I told you so!”’

  Bill helped Margot out of the cab at Euston, paid the driver and took the cases. With the aid of the walking stick, Margot made her way into the station and Bill followed. A newspaper vendor selling the Daily Mail was shouting, ‘Margot Dudley has left hospital! Miss Dudley whisked away to secret hideaway.’ Bill stopped to buy a paper.

  ‘Miss Dudley? It is Margot Dudley, isn’t it?’ a young woman called, before walking in front of Margot and blocking her path.

  Margot looked round for Bill.

  ‘Miss Dudley, look this way, please?’ There was a sudden flash, which made Margot jump. ‘Would you like to say something to your fans?’ a man shouted.

  ‘Over here, Miss,’ shouted a second man. ‘How did you feel when you saw your friends dead in the street? Do you feel any remorse, or guilt, because you survived when Miss Jewel was killed?’

  ‘Your friend told us that if she hadn’t delayed you on the Strand, you would have been outside the theatre when the roof collapsed and you would have been killed too.’

  ‘Do you have anything to say to the friend who saved your life?’ the woman added.

  ‘What friend? Who said that?’ Margot’s head was spinning. Another flash bulb went off, temporarily blinding her. ‘Stop it!’ she shouted. The newspaper reporters were circling her like vultures – shooting questions at her. She felt dizzy, nauseous, and her ankle was throbbing. ‘Please!’ she gasped, leaning heavily on her walking stick. ‘Where’s Bill? I can’t breathe. Please, would you find my husband? Bill!’

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Bill shouted. ‘Get out of here,’ he said, pushing one reporter and catching another on the chin. With a look of utter surprise the man staggered backwards and overbalanced, ending up on the floor. ‘Can’t you see my wife isn’t well?’ A woman reporter stepped over the man on the floor. She took a notebook from her pocket. ‘For the record, Miss Dudley is going to spend some time on the coast with friends,’ Bill lied. ‘She would appreciate some privacy to grieve for her friends while she recovers from her injuries.’

  The reporters stood back and let Margot and Bill pass. Someone shouted, ‘Get well soon, Margot.’ Another called out, ‘We look forward to your return, Miss Dudley.’ And a third, ‘We didn’t mean to… ’

  Margot nodded that she understood they meant well. Bill put his arm round her shoulders protectively and they moved slowly through the crowd. ‘Come on, darling. Let’s get you to the train.’

  Margot pulled up the collar on her coat and looked down, hoping no one would recognise her among the queues of people on the platform, but they did. First one and then another called, “Margot?” and “Hope you’re feeling better soon.” “Get well, Margot.” Someone ran in front of her with a camera. Shortly afterwards there was a flash. Margot put her hand up to shield her eyes.

  ‘Stop that!’ Bill shouted. The man ran away, but another took his place.

  ‘Miss Dudley?’ he called. ‘I’m from the West London Gazette. Could you say something to our readers, please?’ There was another flash and Margot put her hand up again.

  Bill let go of Margot’s arm and stepped between her and the reporter, snatching the camera from him. ‘If you want this damn thing back, you’ll find it in lost property.’

  The photographer began to protest, but the crowd of onlookers clapped and cheered.

  Margot turned to Bill, touched by the crowd’s obvious love for her, and said, ‘It’s all right, Bill, let him take a picture.’

  Bill returned the camera to the reporter and while Margot smiled at the sympathetic faces in the crowd, he took his photograph. ‘Thank you, Miss Dudley.’

  Bill took her by the arm again and, walking as fast as she was able, Margot smiled and thanked people as they moved to make way for her and Bill to cross the platform. Her ankle was not only throbbing, it had swollen to twice its original size. But with Bill on one side of her and the platform attendant now on the other, she mounted the steps of the train. ‘Can you manage?’ Bill asked. Margot stood to one side and let him pass. Then she shook the hand of the platform attendant and waved goodbye to the crowd, who were shouting get well wishes.

  Margot hobbled into the first class compartment and fell onto the seat, while Bill shut the door and pulled down the blind.

  ‘Damn parasites!’ he fumed, lifting Margot’s cases onto the overhead rack. ‘We could have missed the train because of those damn reporters.’

  ‘You can’t blame them,’ Margot said. ‘They were only doing their job. A few weeks ago I’d have been grateful for the attention, courted it even. I’d have stood and posed for ten minutes if they’d asked me.’

  ‘That may be true, but today they could see you weren’t well.’

  As the train pulled out of the station Margot glanced out of the window. A piece of white material – paper or fabric, she couldn’t tell – had been swept up by the wind and was stuck among the branches of an ash tree. It flapped as if it was waving goodbye. Below, in a small park that had been turned into allotments, children dressed in thick coats and wearing woollen scarves and matching mittens played happily among runner bean canes and rows of cabbages while their fathers tended the earth. Margot turned away and looked at Bill. He was sitting opposite, asleep. His head lolled to the left, in anticipation of a pillow.

  Watching him sleep brought it home to Margot just how hard the last few months had been on Bill. There seemed to be more and more trips to Bletchley and Hastings. The blitzing of the East End had been relentless, which meant he and his ambulance crew worked later, sometimes into the early hours of the morning. And however hard she tried she wasn’t able to get over the deaths of Nancy and Bert, which she knew worried Bill. He also worried about the physical pain she was in, her mental state, and the fact that she wasn’t sleeping at night. Poor Bill.

  Margot rose and hobbled over to sit beside him. She put her arm through his and snuggled up. The next time his head lolled to the left he didn’t jerk it back, but left it to rest on her shoulder. He smiled contentedly and Margot, while her husband slept, looked out of the window again. She watched as the train sped past woods and fields, towns and villages. Eventually her eyes grew heavy and she closed them, drifting into a shallow, fitful sleep.

  Balancing on a tightrope, she poked her head through a knife-thin gap in the stage curtains and looked into the auditorium. She strained to see who was in the audience, but the fog was too thick. She stepped back, but the curtains were made of cobwebs and stuck to her, tightening
around her neck. In a frenzy she clawed at them, tore them from her. Free at last, she watched them rise high in the air, but suddenly they swooped down even thicker. Margot ducked. She batted them away with a beautiful silver hand-mirror. The cobwebs wound themselves around the looking glass until she could no longer see her reflection. She held the mirror with bleeding hands. The cobwebs held it too. She mustn’t lose or break the mirror; it belonged to her sister Bess. Granny gave it her when she passed the eleven plus. Bending down until she was level with the cobweb, she looked into its glazed and staring eyes. Then, mustering all her strength, she gave the mirror a final tug. ‘No!’ she screamed. It slipped through her bloody fingers and flew through the air. In slow motion she watched the mirror fall from the Juliet balcony. It landed in the alley opposite the theatre and shattered into a thousand pieces.

  ‘Goldie? What are you doing here?’ Margot said. ‘He’s still following you. You’ve got to get away from him.’ The fog was getting thicker, choking her. ‘There’s Nancy. Nancy?’ She began to run, but the nearer she got to Nancy the further away she seemed to be. ‘Stop!’ she shouted. ‘Can’t you hear the footsteps?’ Margot stopped and the footsteps stopped. She looked over her shoulder. The fog was curling, beckoning her, and getting thicker. At least if she couldn’t see Nazi Dave he couldn’t see her. Happier now, she turned for home. Home? Where is home? She was lost again.

  ‘Go back the way you came, Margot.’

  She looked round. ‘Who said that? Shush,’ she whispered.

  ‘Can’t you hear the footsteps? Well, can’t you? Run, Margot! Run! “Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run.” You must get away from the footsteps.’

  ‘I can’t, I’m frightened of the shadows and cobwebs.’ Crouching, Margot looked up into a shimmering light. ‘Nancy, you’re safe,’ she said with relief.

  ‘Why didn’t you help me, Margot? Why didn’t you help me?’

  ‘I didn’t know you were in the taxi. It had gone six. I thought you were in the theatre.’