Keep on Dancing, page 19
‘I think you’re letting your emotions run away with you, son.’ This time it was Iris who took command of the scene. ‘I dare say if Rosie was to walk into your family scene she’d find fault with us once she started to compare. It’s human nature to want what you haven’t got. If truth be known, and if you had a choice between your upbringing and Rosie’s, you’d want to be who you are and from wherever… you’ve spent your childhood. You’re only visiting Wapping – you’re not living ’ere. Not the way we have to live, anyway.’ She looked into his earnest face and smiled. ‘The grass is always greener.’
‘No. You’re wrong. You don’t know what you’ve got here… this house… it’s filled with love and care.’ Twisting his handkerchief between his fingers, he slowly shook his head. ‘Compared to this, our family home, as large and as palatial as it may be, is without…’ he paused and tried to think of a word to describe what he was trying to say. ‘There’s no… well… no heart beating at the centre – if that makes sense. We’re often there together, my parents, my sister… and I’m not suggesting that we don’t love each other.’ He looked back at Iris. ‘We just don’t show it in the same way. There’s always a respectable distance that has to be maintained,’ he gestured with his hands, as if he were trying to find answers. ‘We never seem to break through that invisible barrier… that small space between each of us.’
‘You mean you don’t cuddle each other?’ said Harriet, making a real effort to show that she was trying to understand.
‘We hug each other, of course we do. But that invisible gap is still there.’
‘You’re talking rubbish,’ said George quietly. ‘All that you’ve said is the same for families all over. Everyone needs to keep something to themselves. You sound as if you could do with a pint of strong ale, mate.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Rosie’ll ’ave to wait in for me for a change. Come on. Half an hour down the pub is what we need. And I don’t mean the Prospect.’
Taken aback by his friendly manner, Richard shrugged. ‘Why not? Let’s all go to the pub.’
‘You joking, or what?’ George raised an eyebrow. ‘These two and Rosie, out for a drink? Bad enough I ’ave to put up with the three of ’em when I come round ’ere.’ He stood up and stretched. ‘Tell Fanny Adams that I’ll be gone for half an hour. She can come with me to see the electrician when I get back.’
Standing next to Richard, George was clearly three or four inches taller – and broader. ‘Come on. Hang around with women for too long and you’ll turn into one. See you ladies.’ He pushed his shoulders back and jerked his head towards the door. ‘Move yerself, then.’
‘Goodnight Richard, cock,’ said Harriet, making it clear that he wasn’t expected to return that night. ‘Pop in whenever you like – during the day.’ She was pleased that, in his own straight way, George had welcomed Richard into their world.
Stepping forward, Iris tousled his hair. ‘You can call round of an evening if you want. You’ll always be welcome. Take us as you find us, though.’
‘Richard!’ Harriet suddenly called out. ‘I knew your grandmother, you know. She was a lovely woman. You’ve got ’er eyes.’ She too was embracing him into the family. Turning to face her, he obviously wanted to know more. ‘You pop in and see me son, in the daytime, when this lot are at work, and I’ll fill you in. Not all at once, mind; there’s too much to tell,’ she shook her head, chuckling, looking forward to telling her tale. ‘Your grandmother and me go back to the late eighteen eighties. Your London Hospital was a bit different then, I can tell you.’
‘I’ll look forward to hearing about it.’
‘You reckon?’ Iris kept a straight face. ‘Don’t bank on it. She’ll fabricate the truth and you won’t know which bits are real and which bits she’s made up. Driven me mad in the past, till I cottoned on.’
‘Took her years to come to that conclusion,’ laughed Harriet, ‘and she still don’t know what’s what!’ Harriet slapped her knee and enjoyed mocking Iris. She was such a pushover. Always ready to be knocked down off her pedestal. At least, that was the way Harriet saw it.
Chapter 11
Now that Larry had finally moved in with the family, the ambience had changed. His laid-back humour was very different from Tommy’s, but it had nevertheless brought about a lighter atmosphere to the place.
‘I think it’s time we had a phone put in.’ Studying her fashion journal while nibbling a slice of toast, Rosie spoke in a leisurely manner, as if she were talking to someone who wasn’t actually there.
‘Oh yeah? Who’s gonna pay for that? Lucky bastard,’ Harriet scoffed.
‘Who’s he, Gran, when he’s at home?’
‘Whoever came up on the pools last.’ Harriet looked across the breakfast table and rolled her eyes at Larry. ‘She lives with the fairies, most of the time.’
‘It won’t cost the earth. We could all chip in.’
‘Well you can chip a bit in as well, then, ’cos I shan’t use the contraption. A germ pit, that’s what them things are. Disease’ll spread through this country like lightning.’ Peeved that Larry wasn’t speaking up, she gave him one of her withering looks. ‘It’s worse than spitting in the street.’
‘I shouldn’t worry about germs, not with Iris around and Tilly as a friend,’ chuckled Larry. ‘The thing will reek of disinfectant. Do you want me to find out how much it will cost?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie.
‘No!’ said Harriet.
‘What what will cost?’ Iris sat down at the table as if there wasn’t a minute to spare.
‘A mouthpiece. What’s all the rush?’
‘I’m going to the hairdresser’s for a cut and set. What mouthpiece?’
‘A telephone,’ said Larry idly.
‘Good idea. Save me running backwards and forwards all the time.’
‘Backwards and forwards to where?’ Harriet leaned forward and peered into her daughter’s face.
‘Hairdresser’s, for a start. Be much easier to pick up the phone and book an appointment.’ She mashed her Sugar Puffs into the milk in her cereal bowl. ‘Do me a favour, Rose, make a fresh pot of tea, there’s a good girl. I’ve only got five minutes.’
‘We’ll let Larry find out how much it’d cost, then?’
‘Mmm…’ Iris nodded. ‘We’ll go three ways. Your gran shouldn’t ’ave to pay – she won’t use it. Too old-fashioned.’
‘Right an’ all,’ Harriet murmured, thinking of the fun she could have, chatting to anyone and running up the bill for the hell of it, ‘wouldn’t catch me breathing into one of them things.’
‘Good. Once you start yakking, you don’t stop.’ Iris looked at the clock and panicked. ‘My watch must be slow!’ She ran from the room, calling back after her, ‘You’ll ’ave to get your own bit of lunch! I’m goin’ down the Waste to buy a new frock!’
‘She’s got a fancy man,’ Harriet said, smiling. ‘Someone from the brewery, is it?’
‘Mind your own business.’ Rosie had no intention of feeding her gran the slightest snippet of little-tattle. ‘It was you who said she could do with a bit of the other.’
‘Very nice I must say.’ Larry pulled himself up and stepped slowly to the fireside chair. ‘Please God, George will come round this morning. I need a man to talk to.’
‘Why don’t you go round to the shop?’ Rosie suggested. ‘He’s helping the old boy with his removals today so he can move in on Monday. You can yak to them for hours. Brighten up their day. I want the place to myself anyway. I’ve got a few people coming round and I don’t want you two ’ere.’
‘Bloody cheek. Where we s’posed to go?’ Harriet was far from pleased.
‘I don’t care, Gran. Just go. I’ll give you half a crown and you can treat Larry to a cup of tea in Joe Lyon’s.’
With his bony hands clasped together, his long legs outstretched, Larry asked what time she would like them to vacate the premises. ‘They’re coming at eleven and I want to shift the furniture before they get ’ere. So the sooner you go the better.’
‘And what time may we return?’
Rosie looked out of the window. ‘Look at it. You’d think it was midsummer’s day instead of late spring. You can go for a walk along Whitechapel, then over to Bethnal Green Gardens, the museum…’
‘You think at eighty your grandmother should walk that far?’ He wasn’t just concerned over Harriet, he had his own problems to think about – angina.
‘There ain’t nothing wrong with my legs, thank you. I’ll walk you out any day. Get your coat on and don’t leave your change behind this time! Tight sod.’ She held her hand out to Rosie. ‘Half a note, if you please.’
‘Ten bob? You must be joking.’
‘Ten shillings or I stay. Suit yerself.’
Rosie went back to her magazine. ‘I’ll give it to you when you get back.’
‘You’ll give it to me now.’ She waved her closed fingers in Rosie’s face. ‘Get your purse out.’
‘Five bob now and five when you get back. In five hours’ time.’
‘It’s a deal. Give.’
Larry’s jaw dropped. ‘I have to stay out half a day – with her?’
With two half-crowns clenched in her hand, Harriet tugged on Larry’s sleeve. ‘Come on – I wasn’t gonna stay in anyway. We’ll ’ave a little bet and then a cup of tea… pick up our winnings…’
Larry followed her out, shaking his head. ‘You think she’ll give you the other five shillings when you get back?’
‘’Course she won’t. But a dollar’s more’n half a crown, innit?’ She went out laughing.
Once she heard the street door close behind them, Rosie sat back and enjoyed the silence of the house. Peace and quiet at last, and a chance to think about the impromptu meeting arranged in the canteen at work just two days ago with Vi, a woman in her early forties who managed the Stepney drama group. When she had first approached Rosie, asking about the show she was going to put on, Rosie’s immediate reaction was to ward her off, saying that it was just pie in the sky, but when Vi’s earnest expression changed and she broke into a warm smile, Rosie found the courage to admit that she did want to be involved in the theatre, but that it was a world she knew little, if anything, about.
‘I know how you feel, darling,’ Vi had said, squeezing her arm. ‘Inspiration can be a bloody pain. It doesn’t let you off the hook that easily, does it?’
Those few words had given Rosie what unknowingly, she had been looking for. This person knew what she was feeling and understood – had experienced those drawn-out hours of worry during the night when sleep seemed unattainable.
With just an hour to go before members from Vi’s group were due to arrive, she began to rearrange the furniture to make space for more chairs, which she would bring in from the best room, rarely used now that Tommy and his mates no longer frequented it as a meeting place. It was also the room where her brother had been stabbed to death. She pictured his assailant’s condescending sneer, awakening her anger yet again. She pushed him from her mind knowing that they would cross paths again: her gut feelings told her so. She would not have to seek him out… she could sense his presence in the locality, could almost smell him.
With armchairs pushed back to the wall and extra seating, the living room began to take on a different feel. The adrenaline was pumping, and she couldn’t wait to be part of a group whose main interest in life was the theatre.
* * *
‘The thing is Rosie,’ Vi said, a serious expression on her face, ‘you’ve got to be systematic. Pay attention to every detail and don’t leave anything to chance. If you, or a trusted assistant, don’t attend to the less important things, they won’t get done, and that could be disastrous… bring the end result to chaos.’
‘You’ll scare ’er off altogether if you’re not careful,’ said one of the other women, an actress.
‘If that should be case, then so be it.’ Vi looked from her to the rest of the group, four women of varying ages and two men, one in his sixties and one in his late teens. ‘I was watching the builders the other day, over Cambridge Heath Road where another new tower block’s going up. I’m sure they’ll be lovely when they’re finished, but all you can see now is cables, piles of bricks—’
‘You’re not going to apply for one are you, Vi?’ asked Jim, the sixty-year-old. ‘Those blocks look more like prisons than places to live.’
‘No I’m not. I like my little back-to-back, thank you very much. The point I’m trying to make is this: if one of those labourers cut corners, couldn’t be bothered with what he considered to be a minor detail, the whole lot could come a cropper later on. It’s all very well ’aving lovely wallpaper and posh bathrooms and kitchens, but if the foundation ain’t bang on…’
‘Don’t build on sand…’ murmured one of the others.
‘Exactly.’ Vi raised her eyes to meet Rosie’s. ‘I’ve written a list of things you’ve got to think about. Do you want me to read ’em out?’
‘You’re gonna, anyway.’
‘No, lovely. I’ve got better things to do than waste my time on deaf ears. Do you want to hear it or not?’
‘’Course I wanna hear it. Shall I make some more tea first?’
‘No. Stop trying to put off the moment. Ready?’
‘Oh get on with it, Vi. Well be here all day at this rate,’ Jim again.
‘Right… I’ll skip the actual preparation of the theatre ’cos you seem to’ve got that well under way. Just the show then. Now… publicity?’ She looked at Rosie and waited.
‘I don’t think we ’ave to worry about that. Time my gran’s finished everyone in the East End’ll know it’s on.’
‘Not good enough. Knowing don’t mean they’ll come. If there’s something good on the telly the night they thought they might come and see your show, they’ll stop in. You’ve got to let people outside our area know what’s ’appening. You’ll need a team to hand out leaflets. Never assume you’ll sell out, because you won’t.’
‘Where am I gonna get leaflets from?’
‘Try the Whitechapel Art Gallery; tell them what you’re doing. They’ll put you on to someone.’ Vi leaned forward, her face close to Rosie’s. ‘Get the leaflets, posters and programmes in the bag as soon as you can… and delegate. Don’t try to do it all yourself.’
Leaning back in her chair, Rosie sighed and nodded. ‘Fair enough.’ She looked from one to the other. ‘Anyone gonna volunteer?’ The room went silent until the youngest member, David, smiled broadly. ‘I know a few art students,’ he said, scratching the side of his face.
‘Good.’ Rosie smiled back at him. ‘You’re on.’
‘Come on then, Vi – next?’
‘Musicians?’
‘My bloke sometimes sings with a band at weddings and that, not often, but he’s really good – so is the band. I’ll ask if he’ll talk them into helping us out. I want George to sing in the show for me… so far he’s fobbed me off, but I’ll work on ’im.’
‘Do you intend to write the songs yourself?’
‘’Course not. We’re gonna use our favourites – from the hit parade.’
‘You’ll need to get permission and you’ll have to pay royalties.’ She pulled a sheet of paper from her folder, the address and telephone number of the Performing Rights Society. ‘Ignore them and be damned,’ Vi warned, and focused on Jim. ‘You could take care of that for ’er, couldn’t you?’
‘Yeah – no problem.’
‘Costumes?’
‘We’ve got a wardrobe at the Star to go through.’
‘Some things will have to be specially made. Would you like me to look after that side of things?’
‘Yes please. Can I put the kettle on now, Vi?’
Laughing, Vi nodded. ‘Go on then, but we’ve got a way to go yet. Make-up artist, hairdresser, set designer, choreographer—’
‘Yeah all right – I’ve got the message.’ Leaving the group to talk among themselves, Rosie went into the kitchen, leaned on the sink and willed herself to remain calm and collected. Her stomach felt as if it were somersaulting and her head crammed with things to do. More importantly, she was fired up: the buzz was back, the feeling of sheer excitement she had felt when she first set eyes on the dilapidated, wonderful Grand Star. With this new experienced team behind her, she was on the road, no longer half hoping she would land on a square where she had no choice but to slide down a very long snake back to the starting point, where she could change her mind and forget the whole thing. All she could see now were ladders, going up towards home and a win.
‘The next step, of course,’ said Vi, having read aloud her list of things to do, ‘is to start auditioning your actors.’
‘I wasn’t gonna use all professionals…’ said Rosie, handing out cups of coffee.
‘I’ve been down that road and got myself into a lot of trouble. They have a very strict union. Hopefully that will change in time, but right now stick to those who have Equity cards.’
Feeling herself sink again, Rosie nodded. ‘OK… when can I meet the professionals who are in your group?’
‘They’re sitting at your table, sweetheart. Why d’you think they came today?’
‘If any of us are what you’re looking for,’ said Jim, ‘we’re prepared to work on a profit-share basis. We all think it’s a great idea to get the Star up and running again. We can all belt out a song… but it’s this young man who’s got the voice.’ He nodded towards David, the youngest member. ‘Don’t be put off by his shyness. Once he’s on stage he’s something else.’
‘As it happens,’ said Rosie, quickly filling the silence, ‘there is a part for a younger bloke who has to sing a solo.’
‘What song did you have in mind?’
‘“I’m Sorry”. It’s a Platters’ number.’
‘Nice song. Do you want me to sing a few bars now?’
Rosie lowered her eyes and said quietly, ‘No, that’s OK. It brings back a time I don’t want to think about right now. I will, though. Soon. I’m nearly there.’
