Keep on Dancing, page 10
‘I want to see you on your feet first. Once I can see you’re OK, you can sit down again and rest while I’ve gone. I’ll be a few minutes, that’s all. Grip my arm and ease yourself up.’
‘Is she OK?’ One of the other students appeared, out of breath from running.
‘Hardly, Simon. Look what he’s done to her! They were right, he was out for revenge. You couldn’t fetch your car, could you? We should get her home… where we can look at her properly.’
‘Put… put me in a taxi,’ Rosie murmured, dropping her aching head to one side and leaning on Richard’s shoulder. ‘I want to go home.’
‘It’ll be quicker if Simon drives.’
Drained and too overwhelmed to argue, Rosie slowly nodded. ‘OK… but drop me off at the corner of my turning.’ She closed her eyes and took a long, slow breath. ‘Drop me off at the corner. I’ll walk the rest of the way.’ Having used the last of her resources to get her message across, she licked her dry lips and slipped back into oblivion, limp in Richard’s supporting arms.
By the time Simon had collected his car and returned, Rosie had recovered enough to stand with a little assistance. Composing herself and trying to stop the trembling, she thanked Simon for coming back.
‘If you could drop me off outside my house…’ she said, trying to stop her teeth chattering.
‘Don’t worry, we won’t let your parents see us,’ Richard smiled, helping her into the front passenger seat. ‘I know we’re not the most popular people around here.’
‘I don’t want them to know who did this. There’ll be trouble.’
‘Well… your parents have every right to fetch in the police.’ He closed her door and got into the back of the car.
‘That’s not our way,’ Rosie managed to say, wishing they would just get on with it.
As he pulled away, Simon looked at her sideways. ‘I suppose what you’re saying is that they’d give the guy who did this to you a bloody good hiding.’
She lay her head back and nodded slowly. ‘Something like that.’
‘Well, that might be a good thing, mightn’t it?’
‘No.’ She placed her hands on her face. ‘My eye’s throbbing.’
Once they had reached the street where she lived, she asked them to pull up. Thanking them, she got out of the car, desperate to be in the comfort of her own home where she would be safe.
‘Let me at least walk you to your door.’ Richard’s concern made her feel worse.
‘No… honestly, I’ll be all right. You can stop there till I’ve gone in if that makes you feel better.’ She walked slowly away, taking each step as if it might be the last.
‘Rosie!’ Richard called after her. ‘Here’s my address.’ He handed her a neatly folded piece of paper. ‘I’ve written down the telephone number. Just ask for me or leave a contact number.’ He looked directly into her face and smiled. ‘I really do want to see you again. Away from the Prospect.’
‘Thanks. You’ve been great.’ She slipped the note into her pocket and waved a hand, forcing back her tears. The last thing she needed was to be cross-examined by Harriet and Iris.
With throbbing pains pounding, Rosie leaned on the front door and pressed the bell. Her hands were shaking too much for her to use her door key.
When Iris opened the door, her reaction of surprise changed instantly to one of dread. Her eyes filled with fear and questioning; she stood immobilized, voiceless and tight-lipped.
‘It’s not as bad as it seems’, is what Rosie tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead a weird sound escaped. A pitiful wail which grew, faded, and grew again, as the tears ran down her face. ‘Mum…’ she heard herself cry. ‘Mum… he hit me… kept hitting me… I don’t want to be hit any more. I don’t want anyone to hit me any more.’
She fell into her mother’s arms and they held on to each other, hugging tightly. ‘No one’s gonna hurt you again, Rosie, no one.’
‘Now what’s ’appened?’ Harriet was in the sitting-room doorway. ‘Letting all the heat out and the cold air in!’
Guiding her daughter into the warm room, Iris sat her down on the settee, by the fire. ‘D’you want a milky drink or a drop of something stronger?’
‘Stronger.’ She wiped her face with the back of her hand. ‘I was knocked down by a car, Gran. Hit and run. He must ’ave been drunk. The car was all over the place and—’
Harriet placed a finger under Rosie’s chin and gently lifted her face. It wasn’t the swollen eye, the weals on her face, the blood smeared with dirt, the fat lip or Rosie’s bedraggled hair which caused her to stiffen. It was the look in her granddaughter’s eyes. The look of someone who had been assaulted. ‘Did he rape you?’ She remained stony-faced.
‘No, Gran. He just…’ her face twisted again as she shook her head and wiped her runny nose with her hand and began to weep. ‘I thought he was gonna kill me.’ She raised her eyes to meet Harriet’s. ‘I don’t know where my handkerchief is.’
‘I’ll fetch you a clean one. Lie back and I’ll fetch you something to drink as well. A draught. And something to put on your face.’
‘Not brown ointment,’ she whispered, too fragile to argue her case against it. Lifting her feet, she sank down into the feather cushions and closed her eyes.
‘Just a spirit wash, Rosie, that’s all. It’ll help keep the bruising down and cool your skin. I’ll soak a nice soft bit of lint and you can lie there with it on your face.’
‘And that’s it?’ she said, her eyes half open.
‘That and my own recipe draught for shock.’
She accepted the freshly ironed handkerchief from Iris and managed a smile. ‘Just let me lie quiet for a while though, eh?’
Iris stroked her daughter’s hair while Harriet went into the kitchen to prepare her remedies. ‘When you’re ready… we’ll just sit and listen.’ She took Rosie’s hand and gently squeezed it. ‘I’ll stop Gran if she starts to ask questions.’
‘She won’t ask. She knows what ’appened. I brought it on myself.’
Surprising Iris, Rosie, having dropped the pretence of a hit and run, quietly recounted everything that had happened from the moment she had first run into her attacker on her way back from the Grand Star, to the following week when Richard and Simon had come to her rescue, pausing only when her gran put the draught to her lips, and again when she laid the cool wet lint on her face. Through it all, neither Iris nor Harriet said a word.
‘I should ’ave known better. It was stupid.’ She pressed her hands against the lint and then handed it back to Harriet. ‘I’ll put it on again in a minute.’ Harriet examined Rosie’s face, keeping her fury in check. ‘I think Vaseline’s gonna be the best thing for that lip. Can you bear to smear a bit on?’
‘Yeah… anything to stop it throbbing.’
As she turned to go, the ringing doorbell stopped her. She stood very still, praying that history was not about to repeat itself.
‘It’s all right, Gran,’ Rosie said, ‘it won’t be him. He doesn’t know where I live.’
‘Stay here, Mum. I’ll go.’ The tone of Iris’s voice marked her mood. She was a mother affronted.
‘It might be George. Don’t say anything. Not a word about what happened. Tell him I was knocked down and—’
‘All right, Rosie!’ Annoyed that she would have to hold her tongue, Iris left the room.
‘Larry’ll wonder where you’ve got to,’ murmured Harriet, reflectively.
‘Nothing wrong with your memory, is there. Fancy you remembering his name.’
‘I’ve always been one for names. Not faces, though… I’m not all that good on faces.’
‘That’s a new one on me,’ said Rosie weakly. ‘I’ve never heard you say that before…’
‘Give your tongue and brain a rest, for Gawd’s sake. You always was a terrible patient. Would never lie down and sleep; even when you was in pain with the mumps.’
‘So you told me… a hundred times. Anyway… I’ll go and see the old boy tomorrow.’
‘Not on your own you won’t.’
George, frowning and looking even more handsome than ever, his blue eyes bright with anger, arrived in the doorway. ‘Did you get his licence number?’
‘No she never – and she don’t wanna talk about it!’ Harriet glared at him, charging him to drop it.
George kept his eyes on Rosie. ‘You all right, babe?’
‘’Course I am.’ Rosie smiled and relaxed, comforted by his protective ways. ‘They’re making a fuss over nothing.’ His unexpected arrival was the best healing she could have wished for. ‘Come and sit down.’ She dragged her legs under her, hiding the pain which became sharper as she eased her bottom into a more comfortable position. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’ She would use the Grand Star as a diversion.
‘Go on then.’ He sat down and glanced at her, dubious. ‘You’re gonna have a right shiner in the morning.’
‘Gran’s thinking about investing some of her savings into a project of mine.’
‘That’s news. Since when?’ Harriet asked.
‘D’yer fancy coming in as well? There’ll be returns, but not for a couple of years.’ She ignored her gran’s soundless gesture of remonstration.
‘Depends what I’m in for,’ he said, slipping a hand around her stockinged foot and squeezing it.
‘Enough of that. No handling the goods till you own ’em,’ said Harriet, giving her very first hint of what she would like to see happen between Rosie and George. As far as she was concerned, he was just the man for her tempestuous granddaughter.
‘You’d have to go a long way to find anyone who could own Rosie. She’s ’er own person.’ George winked at his girlfriend, squeezed her toes and removed his hand. ‘So,’ he said, leaning back and trying not to look at her wounded face. He knew the injuries had not been caused by a passing car. Promising himself that he would get to the bottom of what had really happened, he ignored the rage in the pit of his stomach and waited to hear what she had on her mind.
Placing the wet lint on her brow, Rosie rested her head back again. ‘I want to reopen an old music hall in Stratford.’ She spoke in a quiet monotone. ‘Get a team of women down there to scrub the place from top to bottom. Put on a musical, even. You’ve got a smashing voice, George… it’s not right to waste it. You only sing with the band at family and friends’ weddings.’
‘You want to… reopen a disused theatre and put on a show?’ George did his utmost to keep a straight face.
‘That’s right,’ Rosie murmured, easing her head on to the pillow that Iris had slipped under her. Closing her eyes, she said, ‘I’ve worked out the story already. I’ve been slowly building it up in my head for years. I even dream it.’
‘You didn’t bang your head did you, babe, when that car hit you?’ Half joking, half worried, George eyed her with uncertainty.
‘It’s where I was meant to go tonight.’
George shrugged and splayed his hands, looking to the other women for support. ‘I’m out of my depth,’ he said honestly. ‘Help me out, ladies. Is she serious, or what?’
Quietening him with a wave of her hand, Harriet peered into her granddaughter’s pale face. ‘Don’t you think we should get you into bed, Rosie?’
Not wishing to dampen her daughter’s spirits or make her sound like a simpleton, Iris spoke softly: ‘Someone must own the building. The rent’ll be a fortune.’
‘I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow…’ Rosie’s voice trailed off into a yawn. ‘What did you put in that potion, Gran? A sleeping pill?’
‘Harriet’s right. You should be in bed,’ said George, a positive tone to his voice. ‘We’ll talk about it when you’re over this.’
‘I’ll be all right after a sleep… you can all discuss it meanwhile. It won’t cost the earth.’
Smiling into his girlfriend’s face, George pushed his arms under Rosie and lifted her, holding her close and brushing a kiss across her cheek. ‘Let’s get you between them sheets.’ Ignoring Harriet and her loud throat-clearing he added, ‘Then I’ll be on my way. You need a rest.’ He would find out what had really happened to her in a day or so.
* * *
With Rosie tucked up and George gone, Harriet had time to consider all that had happened – Rosie’s beating uppermost in her mind. Iris had made it clear that she wanted to tell George what had taken place by the gasworks, and Harriet had been adamant that they should respect Rosie’s wishes which, in her opinion, were right. She had been feckless but more importantly, her granddaughter had learned a hard lesson about life and about people.
The business of the theatre had amused Harriet at first, but now a strange sensation was warming her, a radiating glow overcoming all her doubts. The money she had put by, apart from her own savings, now had a purpose. When her grandson and the boys had waylaid a cargo of whisky en route to Dover a few years back, she had been given a wad of notes for safe keeping. It was soon after this that she had been taken aside by a trusted friend and told of Tommy’s habit; that he was a compulsive gambler.
At first he had denied it, over and over, until his fury at his gran for not disclosing where she had hidden his money overtook his ardent respect for her. That was when the rows started, but no matter how much he hollered she had stood firm, determined that until he proved the money was to be spent on something worthwhile and not frittered away in the gambling clubs, she would not give it back. Sometime afterwards, once he realized that she would not budge, he had agreed that she should hold it for him until he needed it to pay for either his or Rosie’s wedding.
Had Tommy lived to see that day, Harriet would have returned it to him, but half-heartedly. A white wedding, as far as she was concerned, was an expensive way of getting married when all that was required was the simple signing of a marriage certificate and a knees-up.
‘I s’pose we’d best go with her,’ said Iris, pensive, ‘next time she goes to that theatre.’
‘She won’t want that. Not yet.’ Harriet looked from the floor to Iris. ‘Best leave ’er be for now; let her get on with it. Shell soon give us an earbashing once she’s sorted ’erself; done her sums and that.’ She chuckled and shook her head. ‘Who would ’ave thought it, eh? Our little Rose wants put to on a show in the Grand Star.’
‘I know,’ Iris smiled, ‘and she’s worked it all out for herself. She’s grown up quite a bit these past weeks.’
‘And that pleases you, does it?’
‘Yes and no. She can’t go on behaving like a teenager all her life. I only wish I’d have…’ She looked back at Harriet and shrugged. ‘I missed out when she was growing up, didn’t I? She spent more time with you than she did with me.’
‘You’ve got to put all that behind you, Iris. Don’t try to make up for it in one clean sweep. Give it time. I’ve seen a big difference in the pair of you since Tommy went.’ She stood up and stretched. ‘Now then. I don’t know about you, but after the shock of seeing her like that… I’m ready for a shot of whisky.’
‘Me too.’
Harriet sat down again. ‘Well, go and get it then! Show a bit of compassion. I’ve bin on my feet all bloody day!’ In truth, Harriet wanted a few minutes to herself, to think things over. If she or Iris did tell George what had been going on at the Prospect, more blood would be spilled with another fight. If they chose to keep quiet, say nothing, Rosie would still be in danger of attack from a man who obviously had no scruples about beating up women.
‘You know what I think…’ said Iris, returning with their drinks, ‘I think we should give Madam a good dressing down once she’s feeling better and she’s over this shock.’
‘Oh, so you’ve been doing some thinking as well.’ Harriet sighed, pleased that she was not alone in worrying over Rosie.
‘Of course I have.’ She handed her mother a drink and sat down. ‘I think we should keep this attack to ourselves for now. Gradually draw more information out of Rosie… find out who the bastard is who did that to her… and pay him a visit ourselves. Give him a dressing down and a warning – that if he so much as looks at her again, we’ll tell Reggie and the others what’s happened.’
‘Sounds sensible. What about George? You don’t think we should tell him instead of Reggie?’
‘No. Absolutely not. He’ll murder ’im. There’ll be no thinking it through first, no plan of action – he’ll be straight round there. We’re talking about his girl, don’t forget.’
‘All right. Yeah…’ Harriet found herself smiling. ‘I can’t wait to pull that little bastard to one side.’
* * *
In the privacy of her room, Rosie soaked the lint which her gran had given her and laid it across her groin, pressing her hand against it to try and dull the painful throbbing. She was sitting up in bed with her legs outstretched, leaning against propped-up pillows. Grateful for the quiet, she ran the events of the evening through her mind. It had been feckless of her to go anywhere near the Prospect, and she had no one to blame but herself. It was obvious, now, with hindsight, that his type of person would want to retaliate.
Her thoughts ran on to the Grand Star and Larry. If she was up to it, she would pay him a visit the next evening, avoiding the gasworks. She would tell him of her plans to reopen the theatre before she lost her nerve. Why she had gone from wanting to be a small player in the world of theatre to someone ready to take the lead, she had no idea. One thing she did know: she stood to lose more than her pride if no one came to the old music hall, once it was in business again.
Sliding down under the bedclothes, she closed her eyes and tried to ignore the worry inside; the uneasy feeling that she was about to leave behind the old Rosie and let a more mature woman come up for air. If she gave up now, at this early stage, she would have to live with herself knowing she hadn’t had the grit to finish what she had started.
* * *
‘I’ve never ’eard anything so stupid!’ Harriet slammed around the kitchen, furious with Rosie for insisting that she was going to go into work. ‘Look at your face! The swelling might be going down, but your face is still black and blue!’
