The Street of Broken Dreams

by Tania Crosse

  For a second or two, Jake was stunned. What the blazes…? But the overwhelming need to protect his love flared out and he sprang to Cissie’s side.

  ‘Jake!’ Her eyes widened in shock and something he wanted to believe was relief.

  ‘Was that chap bothering you?’ Jake snapped, burning with rage. ‘I’ll knock his block off—’

  ‘Jake, no!’ Cissie’s grip was tight on his arm. ‘No, truly, he’s not bothering me. It’s just someone I knew. Once. It’s all right, believe me.’

  She was staring up at him, desperate and pleading. The muscles around his heart had contracted as he struggled to hold his shattered thoughts together. Was she lying? Again?

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ he demanded. ‘Who was he really? And what’s all this business about being off for months with TB?’

  He watched as Cissie’s mouth fell open. ‘W-what? H-how did you know?’ she stammered.

  ‘That other dancer, she told me. So why have you been lying, Cissie?’

  She remained motionless, and even in the dim light he could see her face turn to paper.

  ‘All right,’ she murmured, her voice low and intense. ‘Go home, Jake. I’ll see you tomorrow. And I’ll tell you everything. I promise. But… I need you to trust me.’

  Trust? Could he trust her after this? But yes, of course he could. He nodded, and she gave a half-smile as she turned and walked away, leaving the magic of the evening shattered at his feet. His instinct was to go after her, see her safely back to her digs, but somehow he knew he wasn’t wanted. Besides, another girl from the cast had come up and linked her arm through Cissie’s and they’d turned the corner out of sight. Perhaps Jake should at least run after them and give Cissie the flowers, but… where were they? Damn, he must have dropped them. They must be somewhere.

  But as he searched the pavement and the little gathering dispersed, they were nowhere to be seen. And he was left, confused and alone, in the street.

  *

  From the corner of her eye, Deidre had observed the scene with Cissie with burning curiosity. First this handsome young chap – at least he appeared handsome in what light there was – had asked Deidre for her autograph when it was clear it was Cissie bloody Cresswell he was really interested in. Then some sort of altercation with a black GI that had ended with Cissie accepting a small package from him.

  It was really strange. The young man obviously knew Cissie in some way, but seemed to think she’d only recently damaged her ankle. And he was definitely taken aback when she’d said Cissie had been off for many months with TB. So taken aback that he’d dropped the flowers he was carrying, which he’d doubtless planned to present to Cissie. But then he sprang after her when he saw her arguing with the GI.

  How very odd. Deidre wriggled her lips venomously as she mulled it over in her mind. She must be able to use this little nugget to her advantage. Maybe even get Cissie dismissed from the company so that she herself could regain her place as principal dancer. And then she’d be the one getting all the praise and the flowers again!

  Deidre went to stamp on the little bouquet on the pavement. Oh, dear, did it get trodden on? But then she changed her mind. It would feel like a triumph to take Cissie’s flowers and let everyone think they were for her. Oh, what joy!

  A sly smirk lifted the corners of her mouth as she checked no one was looking before snatching up the posy. Now, she really needed to give this some thought. And she hurried off to her own digs which were in the opposite direction from Cissie’s, the wheels of her mind spinning deviously.

  Twenty-Four

  Cissie sat at the table in the café, conscious of the blood trundling nervously through her veins. She aimlessly stirred the hot drink in front of her. The one cube of sugar the café owner had allowed her had done nothing to disguise the bitterness of the coffee that she suspected consisted entirely of chicory. Wartime rationing and substitution were still in force.

  She’d tossed and turned the whole night with scarcely a wink of sleep, her brain going over and over the event that had destroyed her. She couldn’t for the life of her conjure up a picture of her attacker’s face. Yes, it had been dark, and yes, she’d barely been conscious after the way he’d smashed her head on the ground. But how could she not have an image of him in her head? Had it been shock, some sort of self-defence mechanism that had blanked it from her mind? All she could remember as her senses had slowly drifted back was the wild expression of the black GI as he fought to come to her aid while the other one was restraining him and pulling him away, to leave her broken and shattered on the ground.

  Her head ached from digging into her empty memory. All she could find there was anger and suffering. But what she knew for certain was that the GI who’d turned up the previous evening like a bolt from the blue had done his best to protect her, even if his efforts had been in vain.

  Would he have the courage to meet her again? God knew she’d had to scrape the depths of her own soul to drag herself here. She almost wondered if she’d imagined the whole affair. But she’d slept with the bundle of banknotes under her pillow, and now they were tucked safely in the inner pocket of her handbag.

  The bell over the door jangled, and she glanced up. Her heart buckled. It was him.

  She stiffened, unable to move, as his large, expressive eyes swivelled about the café. It was a small place, and he spotted her at once. She thought she might pass out as he came to stand before her.

  ‘Morning, miss,’ he began in a low, strained tone, giving that half salute again and removing his cap. ‘May I sit down?’

  Cissie’s voice stuck in her throat, and she had to nod her consent, her pulse drumming a savage tattoo at her temples.

  ‘Thank ya, miss.’ He pulled out a chair with guarded, deliberate movements before slowly lowering himself onto it. ‘And thank ya for seeing me.’

  Cissie gulped, and forced herself to meet his searching eyes. ‘W-who are you?’ she croaked hoarsely. ‘And what d’you want?’

  The fellow lowered his dark brown eyes. ‘My name, I’s ashamed to say, is Private Saul Williams of the United States Army. An’ I don’t want nothing. Except to say I couldn’t go back home without trying to find ya, an’ saying how mighty sorry I am that I couldn’t save ya that night. No, sorry ain’t in it. I’s nothing but a contemptible coward, an’ I’ve hated myself ever since.’

  The hard lines about Cissie’s mouth slackened. This man, whoever he was, seemed genuinely remorseful. But she couldn’t help retorting, ‘And I’ve felt dirty and ashamed ever since, too.’

  This Saul Williams’s smooth forehead was suddenly scored with deep furrows. ‘I understand that, miss. An’ I’d give my life if I could change what happened. An’ I ain’t asking for forgiveness. No siree. ’Cos I know ya can’t give it. But what I can do is give ya the name of the man who did that to ya so ya can get justice.’

  Cissie jerked back in the chair, her heart vaulting painfully. That was what she craved, wasn’t it? But the enormity of it was too much to take in so quickly.

  ‘H-how did you find me?’ she quizzed him, fighting her emotions that were all topsy-turvy and upside down. Could she trust this chap who could, after all, be a complete stranger and not who he said he was at all?

  ‘Wasn’t easy,’ he explained, spreading his hands. ‘When Germany surrendered an’ we were eventually transported back to the United Kingdom, I went back to where we were that night, an’ tried to retrace our steps. Took me a while an’ then I found the street with the little park an’ the bomb site an’ all. I seemed to recognise it, an’ it just had to be the place. I knew which direction ya was headed an’ figured ya must’ve been heading home. So I started knocking on doors. Spreading out down side streets in all directions. I was that close to giving up, an’ then I struck lucky. A young kid, must’ve been yar next-door neighbour, told me ya might’ve been the girl I was looking for. She… she told me why ya had to move away. An’ she told me yar name an’ said ya’s a dancer. So every time
I got a pass to come to London, I trawled through all the theatres till I found ya. Was in a newspaper review I saw yar name in the end. But I couldn’t be sure till I saw yar face on stage last night.’

  Cissie’s gaze had been riveted on her cup of bitter coffee while Saul’s voice had droned on. It was the mix of southern drawl and sing-song lilt that she recognised from before. She’d jolted when he’d mentioned he knew why she’d had to move away. So, he knew about Jane, did he? She was grateful when he didn’t dwell on it, and waited for him to finish.

  When he did, the awkwardness returned, cramping her belly. It was easier to listen than to talk herself. So sudden, such a shock. She didn’t know what to say. The cogs of her mind sluggish and senseless.

  ‘So… now you’re willing to tell me… who the other man was?’ she asked him after several moments of silence.

  Saul dipped his head sharply. ‘Sure am, miss.’

  Cissie pursed her lips, struggling with her crippling agony. Did she really want to know? To relive the pain? Or leave it buried? She could feel the man’s eyes on her as she digested his words.

  ‘By the laws of the United States Army, he’ll hang for what he did,’ Saul barely whispered.

  Cissie’s glance shot up, locking on his. Yes, that’s what she’d been told. The bastard who’d… assaulted her – she still couldn’t say the foul word – deserved it. He’d wrecked her family’s lives, and her own. The consequences had ruined her future. What nicer lad than Jake could she ever meet? She wanted to get close to him, but she couldn’t. She could never love a man in the full sense of the word after what had happened.

  She suddenly filled up with suspicion. ‘How do I know you’re telling the truth?’ she demanded. ‘For all I know you’ve just got some other grudge against the man you’re going to name and you want him out of the way. And then the real culprit gets off scot-free while an innocent man is hanged.’

  Saul took an enormous breath, his wide nostrils flaring. ‘I’s telling the truth, miss, ’cos I’ll go to prison for perverting the course of justice. For some years, I figure. But I can’t live with myself no more.’

  Cissie’s eyes narrowed. ‘So why didn’t you come forward at the time? I went to the police, you know. And they called in the American Military.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. They made extensive enquiries. But I’s ashamed to say I kept my mouth shut ’cos I was scared. Scared of his threats towards me.’

  ‘Threats?’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ Saul answered, and Cissie could see from the expression on his face that he was desperate to explain himself. ‘I know him of old, ya see. We come from the same small town, an’ I never liked him much. But he ended up as my sergeant, an’ he had a pass to come up to London at the same time. The whole squad did. But it was more him hanging around us than the other way round, even though strictly speaking blacks and whites aren’t supposed to hang out together. I could see he was getting drunk an’ abusive, an’ we Americans are supposed to be good an’ upright. The others could see which way the wind was blowing, too, an’ disappeared off. So I was left trying to keep him out of trouble on my own. But it was difficult with him being my sergeant an’ all. An’…’ Saul paused, his voice ragged. ‘Ya know he knocked me down. I fell back an’ cracked my head on a brick or something. I lost a bit of time, an’ then when I came to… I realised what had happened. An’ he threatened to say it was me if I reported it. He said no one would believe a dirty nigger over him. An’ I didn’t want to hang for something I didn’t do. Ya see, I didn’t know if in the confusion an’ the dark, ya’d have realised that it wasn’t me who did it. I mean, I didn’t know then ya was going to have a child because of it. A white child. But, anyway, that’s not proof that I didn’t do it as well.’

  Cissie looked at him steadily, holding his gaze for some seconds before nodding. ‘But I know you didn’t. I remember you trying to stop him. How he punched you and you fell back. And then he kicked you several times as well. You were lying still, unconscious. And then straightaway after he… you were trying to help me, but he was pulling you away. I know you weren’t to blame at all.’

  ‘Thank ya, miss. It’s good to know ya believe me. So can we go to a police station right now, and I can hand myself in? But just one more thing, miss. He threatened my family back in Alabama. Blacks an’ even poor whites don’t have no rights back home, ya see. So will ya make sure the authorities know to keep an eye out for them, please?’

  Cissie snatched in an unexpected gasp. Against all odds, she believed what this fellow was saying. The other… creature sounded a really nasty piece of work and deserved to be punished. But did Saul Williams deserve to go to prison? Did his family deserve to be put in danger? For what if for some reason his story wasn’t believed despite her own evidence? She’d been warned at the time that such cases were sometimes very hard to prove. If the monster was tried and then acquitted, might he not seek revenge? And what about Jane, for surely it would mean that he’d learn he had a daughter?

  Oh, God, Cissie felt torn apart. Anger rose in her like a riptide. Of course she wanted the brute to be punished. But that meant… that another human being would be hanged on her say-so. Didn’t that make her as bad as him in some way? And what if it all went wrong and Saul Williams was convicted instead, despite her own testimony? Things could get twisted by a good lawyer, she’d been warned. And did she want to go through a protracted court case, live the trauma all over again? Be humiliated, probably have to be in the same room as him?

  A strangled groan wrenched from her throat. She didn’t know what to think, her brain deadened by an unaccountable numbness.

  ‘W-would he do it again, d’you think?’ she heard her trembling voice ask.

  She saw Saul blink at her in surprise and it was several moments before he replied. ‘I can’t answer that question, miss,’ he spoke at last, his words slow and heavy. ‘Back home, he was never in no trouble with the ladies. Always found what he wanted. But here we were stationed inland from Plymouth, on a wild open place called Dartmoor. The ladies there weren’t so accommodating, shall we say. An’ we knew where we was headed. France. An’ we figured we’d be like cannon fodder when we went. None of us expected to survive, an’ I guess that ate into all of us. We’d done all the training, an’ then it was just the waiting. It could get to ya, miss. I reckon some of us just managed it better than others. An’ he was mighty drunk that night. So I don’t know, miss. I’d like to think it was a one-off, but a one-off too many.’

  Cissie had bowed her head as she listened, thoughts racing about inside her skull and bursting to escape. This had all come too suddenly. And too late. If Saul Williams had come forward at the time, when outrage and the desire for justice still burned in her breast, it might have been different. But now that she was starting to get on with her life – not put things behind her, since that was impossible – but at least to move forward, did she really want to open up the chasm of her despair once again?

  She raised her eyes to Saul, caught between anger and doubt. ‘To be perfectly honest, I don’t know what to think,’ she sighed, amazed at herself for opening her heart to this stranger. ‘I’d like to see him punished. Of course I would. And I appreciate your tracking me down. It must’ve taken some courage. But what if we go to the police and it all goes wrong? I don’t want to get you into trouble.’

  ‘That’s a risk I’s willing to take—’

  ‘But I’m not sure I am. Let me think about it. As it is, you can walk away from this with a clear conscience. And you’re right. I can’t forgive you. Because there’s nothing to forgive.’

  She watched, intrigued almost, as his prominent eyes glittered with tears. ‘Ya don’t know what it means to hear ya say that,’ he choked. ‘I’ll still never forgive myself, but… Ya need time to think this over. Let me… D’ya have a paper an’ pen on ya?’

  Cissie gazed at him and shook her head. The next instant, Private Williams pushed back his chair and went up to the counter to spea
k with the café owner. He evidently begged a scrap of paper, wrote on it, folded it into four, then wrote something slightly longer on the outside. He politely thanked the man standing behind the counter, then returned to the table, holding out the note to Cissie.

  ‘That’s my name, army number an’ my family home back in Alabama. An’ inside…’ he faltered, ‘is the name of the man ya might want to bring to justice. I’s not sure right now what I want to do. I can only thank ya for talking to me, Miss Cecily, if ya’ll permit me to call ya that?’

  Cissie stared at him, suddenly overcome with a sadness that astounded her. This poor man had suffered almost as much as she had. ‘Of course,’ she half smiled back. ‘And it’s Cissie. To friends. And thank you for the money. It wasn’t necessary, but it’ll be very useful.’

  Her body, her mind, everything stilled. She felt scoured of all emotion now. Empty. Unable to absorb anything more. She looked at the folded paper, so white against the dark brown fingers that held it. Slowly, Saul lowered his hand and placed the note on the table in front of her, before turning and walking out of the café.

  Cissie sat, stunned, almost in a fever stare, waiting for the world to fall back into place around her. Gradually she felt the strain empty out of her in a weary torrent, but it wasn’t over. She’d promised Jake the truth. And he deserved it.

  Hauling herself to her feet, she picked up the piece of paper. She read Private Saul Williams’s details on the outside. But she couldn’t bring herself to unfold it. That would make it too real. So she stuffed the note down to the bottom of her handbag and made for the door.

  Twenty-Five