Keep on Dancing, page 20
‘Well, I must say this ’as been a useful meeting,’ Vi said, sipping her drink. ‘Very constructive. I hope you’ve got something out of it, Rosie. I certainly have. It’s not often you find someone who listens and takes notice the way you do.’
‘I’ve learned more than you can imagine. There’s more to this than I thought. It’s all very well thinking about the show and the audience. Getting to that point is something else.’
‘Best you know it now though, eh? If you should find yourself alone and panicking, wondering what you’ve let yourself in for, give me or one of this lot a call. Well talk you round.’
‘Ill keep you to that. It shouldn’t take long to get a phone put in. You’ve been great, all of you, for more reasons than one.’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘You’re in there now, but the next time I see yer, you’ll be down on paper – your peculiarities, sense of humour, the lot.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Vi, ‘she’s been spying on us while we’ve been rattling on.’
‘Would you ’ave rattled on in the same way if you knew I was clocking yer?’
‘No. It’ll be interesting anyway. Like looking in a mirror. Come on you lot, drink up and we’ll leave her to it. She’s got a show to write.’
With the others out of the room, Vi smiled at Rosie. ‘Don’t forget, we’re actors – we can age up or down if needs be.’ She winked at her and left.
Relieved now that they had gone, Rosie rushed up to her room and sat at the typewriter which was on loan from Charrington’s. With no time to waste, she hit the keys faster than she had ever done before, not worried about typing errors or spelling. Iris had offered to type it out properly for her on the electric typewriter in her office at the brewery.
It wasn’t the play that Rosie was anxious to get down, it was her friends, the professional actors, who had left her inspired. She was writing a character piece on each of them, down to every detail she could recall… the way they drank their tea, sat, yawned, scratched a nose or rubbed an ear. Everything went down.
* * *
Three hours later and there was still no sight or sound of Iris, Harriet or Larry. Having written as much as she felt necessary, Rosie applied her makeup and brushed her hair, ready to meet Richard at a coffee bar close by the Drury Lane Theatre. He had made arrangements for her to have a tour and to speak with some of the staff at the theatre who had said they would happily give her advice about the running of things. Richard had also been trying to pin his aunt down too. With a bit of luck she would also be there with words of wisdom. In her heart, Rosie was hoping that the family secret would have been talked about and that she would be accepted by his family the way Richard had been by hers… and that bygones would be bygones.
Changing into her navy-blue two-piece costume, red blouse and shoes, she felt like a different person from the one who had been hunched over her kidney-shaped dressing table, writing about other people. Back in the real world, she collected her handbag and left the house, looking forward to the day when she might be able to take taxis whenever she wanted, instead of having to go everywhere by bus or train. Better still, she might, one day, be able to afford to buy herself a little car once she had learned to drive.
Arriving at the bus stop on the Commercial Road, she was pleased to see that there were only six other people waiting. Saturdays were a real problem at times, with more people waiting than the bus service could cope with. Oblivious to those around her, Rosie tried to imagine what the Drury Lane Theatre looked like inside, wondering if it was anything like the Star. Of course it would be much bigger, seating far more than the old music hall, but would it have that lovely old Victorian feel about it? She couldn’t wait to be shown around, and to compare it with what, rightly or wrongly, she was beginning to consider her theatre. That was how it felt whenever she walked in there; it was almost like coming home. She loved the place, and could see why Larry had been content to live there.
Gazing idly at the cars as they slowly queued up from the traffic lights as far back as the bus stop, she played her game, Choosing. It helped pass the time in the same way as it had helped her get through school, when she would sit at the back of the class and study each of her classmates, choosing which one she might rather be. Even though her childhood had not been a happy one, she had never found anyone who she would really have preferred to be.
‘Soddin’ buses – wait all bloody day, you could,’ one of the women standing close by nudged her. ‘You know what we should do? Club together and all pile in a taxi. I bet it wouldn’t cost no more. Christ knows, there are enough of them about.’ She tucked a few loose strands of hair under her headscarf. ‘My brother’s a cabbie. Pity he don’t cover this patch.’
‘Shouldn’t be long now,’ said Rosie quietly, wishing that people wouldn’t push their way into her thoughts. She had just imagined herself at the wheel of an E-type Jaguar, a picture of which was plastered on a hoarding on the opposite side of the road advertising chewing gum.
‘I wish I’d took the train now. I bet that sun goes in and the rain comes down.’
A negative voice was the last thing Rosie wanted to hear, especially since she was ready to embark on a journey that might well give her the biggest break of her life. She smiled politely and turned her attention to the road, to the cars, hoping the woman would pick on someone else. When the yellow Ford Zodiac drew slowly towards her, inching its way forward behind a blue van, she felt herself go icy-cold as it crept closer. With a mixture of dread and disbelief, as casually as she could, she leaned to one side and lowered her head to get a clear view of the driver’s face. Alone and snarling, cursing traffic and people, sat the man she hated to the core. He was hunched over and gripping the steering wheel as if he were about to wrench it off, his sallow complexion flushed with fury.
Seeing him like that, instead of smarmy and cocksure, had a strange effect on her. He was someone who most would fear and steer clear of, but this chance sighting ignited a feeling of confidence in Rosie – a sense of equality. If a mere traffic jam could enrage him, what might she achieve? She leaned forward and smiled at him smugly. He jerked his head up, suddenly aware that he was being watched, and looked back into her face, unable to hide his startled expression.
Seizing the brief opportunity to undermine him, she pointed a finger at his face and gave him a look of accusation and vengeance. Caught off guard and trapped in the traffic, he could not hide his humiliation. Trying to ignore her, he ran a finger around the inside of his shirt collar and then loosened his tie, showing his discomfort. Taking things a step further, Rosie walked slowly to the rear of his car and made it obvious that she was making a mental note of his licence number. As the Zodiac pulled slowly away, she stood watching it, resolute that she would bring him down and still her troubled spirit once and for all. It would not bring her brother back, but justice had to be done.
‘What’d he do to upset you, then?’ the woman asked, the whole queue wanting to know.
Rosie turned and shouted at the car, ‘He murdered my brother!’ With her first taste of retribution, she savoured a fleeting sense of release. She had, with that one outburst, inched her way towards liberty.
Leaving the woman and the rest of the queue silenced, she walked away, heading for the police station. She knew what she had to do. Since the time Reggie had advised her not to give evidence, she had felt as if something nasty had been trapped inside. She was more than ready to purge it from her being.
The sound of her stiletto heels tapping on the stone floor as she followed an officer into an interview room seemed to have a rhythm, as if rendering a message: Tell them Ro-sie, tell them Ros-ie…
The young officer gestured for her to be seated and then sat down himself, a small table between them. ‘How can I help?’ There was a comforting, relaxed manner about him which she hadn’t expected.
‘My name is Rose Curtis.’ There was no reaction, the name meant nothing to him. ‘I live in Newman Street.’ His patient, relaxed face was reassuring. ‘My brother, Tommy Curtis, was attacked a few months back. He died from the wounds.’
The officer shifted in his seat and drew a breath. ‘I’m going to have to ask a senior officer to come in—’
‘No.’
He lowered his head thoughtfully and then raised his eyes to meet hers. ‘You look as if you’ve got something important to say.’
‘If you call anyone else in, I’ll leave.’
He nodded slowly and pursed his lips. ‘Do you wish to make a statement? Because if you do—’
‘No.’ She dropped her positive tone and sighed. ‘Not yet. After we’ve talked a bit.’
He rubbed the side of his face. ‘Go on then.’
‘My brother was murdered and I know who did it. I was there. So was my mum and gran. Three Maltese kicked our back door in and then went for ’im. We weren’t in the room. We were shoved out into the passage. They went in and knifed ’im.
‘Why didn’t you say something at the time?’ He used a tone of incredulity which angered her.
‘That’s my business.’
‘No… it’s police business.’
His serious tone and expression swept away her self-confidence. She wished now that she hadn’t been so impulsive; that she had heeded Reggie’s words of warning. ‘This ain’t easy…’
‘It could be, if you stop seeing the law as your enemy. We are here to help, you know.’
She looked away from his persuasive face and tried to calm an urgent impulse to leave. Her heart was pounding and her blood felt as if it would reach boiling point. She wiped the sweaty palms of her hands with her crumpled handkerchief. ‘It’s why I came…’ she looked him straight in the face, ‘I want you to help me. Help me go through with something that could put me in danger, not to mention my mum and gran.’
‘This is nineteen fifty-nine,’ he said, smiling, ‘not the Thirties. We’ll scoop those bastards up before they can even whisper the word grass – if that’s what’s worrying you.’
‘Don’t suppose I can ’ave that in writing, can I?’
‘Sorry,’ he shrugged and got up. ‘If I don’t call in the CID now, I’ll get into trouble. Real trouble.’
‘All right. I’ll stay, and be the lamb to the slaughter.’ She said this half-heartedly. He had put her at ease and she did feel safe. Walking out of there, into the small world where he might be waiting, was something else. Her mind began to work overtime. What if he had pulled in to a side road, ready to follow the bus to watch where she would get off? What if he had seen her stride past from his vantage point? What if he had seen her go into the police station? One quick stab is all it would take. After seeing to her, he would surely have to silence Iris, and Harriet too. To him it would be as simple as killing a couple of rabbits for dinner.
Heavy with the burden of responsibility for her gran’s and mum’s welfare, she covered her face and asked Tommy to forgive her. Don’t be silly, babe, his familiar voice which she missed so much drifted into her mind, you’re doing what I want, Rosie. Keep on keeping on, eh?
Imagination running riot or not, she took comfort from the words and began to feel her confidence return. Of course she had done the right thing. It was unlikely that Tommy was the only person the mob had killed and, likely as not, left free the butchers would notch up a few more. The sound of the door opening frightened her. She had, after all, been brought up in a family that hadn’t always been on the right side of the law, and she couldn’t help being wary of the police. The familiar face in the doorway should have made her feel worse. It was one of the two inspectors who had badgered her in the first place to tell the truth about what had happened. But this time he was smiling kindly at her, thanking her with his eyes, expectant that she was going to help him in his daunting task of cleaning up the East End.
‘Miss Curtis…’ there was a note of compassion in his voice, ‘I appreciate your coming in. I do realize how difficult the decision to come forward must have been.’
‘No one else was involved, none of Tommy’s friends…’ she said, warning him not to ask her to mention other names.
He pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘We know that. We know the gang who killed your brother… and we know why they did it.’
‘He wasn’t involved with prostitutes,’ she said defiantly.
‘No, but he did dip his toe in, Miss Curtis – into shark-infested waters. He needed the cash to pay his debts.’
‘What debts? Tommy wasn’t in debt. You’ve got it wrong.’
‘Gambling debts. He owed money everywhere. Believe me, we’ve checked every avenue during this investigation. We have a documented file. It reads like a book and yet, without a statement from you, we can’t make an arrest. The evidence wouldn’t stand up in court, and those guilty of the crime know it.’
Rosie lowered her head, choked. ‘I didn’t know Tommy was in debt. He liked a bet on the horses, we all do, but no more than five bob… at least, that’s what I thought.’
‘It’s a compulsion that can get to anyone – from any walk of life. Gambling and alcohol…’ he slowly shook his head, ‘good servants, bad masters. We knew that Tommy and his… mates, weren’t into prostitution.’ Seeing her tears, he lowered his voice. ‘Like I said, your brother was only on the fringes of it… at the starting—’
‘That’s not why I’m upset,’ she looked up at him. ‘He paid for everything at home. Looked after us. From as far back as I can remember, he was the one who brought the money in. Our dad ran away before I was born. It was our fault he was in debt. If it wasn’t for us, he wouldn’t ’ave gambled in the first place.’ She covered her face. ‘He never saw me go short of anything and I still asked for more.’ She was thinking about the day he died, when he had given her ten pounds to buy the dress.
Drying her eyes, she drew a breath. ‘I think Tommy wants to see ’em in prison. Locked up – away from us. If it goes wrong; if Mum or Gran come to any ’arm over this… I’ll break every window in this station… after I’ve set the ball rolling: an East End bloodbath like you’ve never seen. And don’t think I ’aven’t got the contacts.’
‘We know you have.’
‘Well then, don’t ignore what I’m saying, ’cos I will do it. I’ll ’ave nothing to lose,’ she pinched her lips together but failed to stop herself from crying.
‘I think tea is in order…’
‘Yes sir.’ The duty officer nodded and left the room. ‘Once tea arrives, if you’re ready… you can make a statement.’
‘What if one of ’em saw me come in?’
‘What makes you say that?’ The Chief Inspector narrowed his eyes.
‘I just saw the one who I reckon put the knife in. I was waiting for a bus… he was in a car. A yellow Zodiac.’
‘Did he see you?’
‘Yeah. I made sure of it. I let him know I was clocking his licence number.’ Her temper was back at the thought of his face. ‘I hate him. I wanted to punch through the glass and stick a piece into ’is throat.’
He rubbed his forehead and sighed. ‘I take it he recognized you?’
‘Oh yeah… this time he did – not the first, though.’
‘The first?’
‘I saw ’im once before… I wasn’t sure it was him, couldn’t really believe it. I was walking ’ome from Charrington’s, where I work. He was in the same car… yeah, it was him all right. I know that now. He looked back at me through the window… showed me his tongue. He wouldn’t ’ave done that if he’d recognized me. He probably thinks it’s clever – see a woman, show her your tongue. He did it on the day Tommy was knifed.’
‘I think it’s time he went down, don’t you?’
‘Yeah…’ she chuckled nervously, ‘I’d rather it was six foot under, though.’ She raised her worried eyes to his concerned face. ‘Am I or my family in danger now that I’ve been in?’
‘Don’t worry. We won’t take any chances. You’ll be under close guard until we’ve brought them in. Your family too. We don’t want any more trouble either.’
* * *
By the time Rosie arrived at the coffee bar with her police escort, a plain-clothes officer driving a grey Ford Anglia, she was two hours late and was not surprised that Richard was nowhere to be seen. In a way she was relieved. It had been quite an ordeal having to describe the three men and relate exactly what had happened from the time Tommy fell into the passage bleeding, until they found him slumped on the sofa, lifeless. Refusing to be taken anywhere in a police car, she had made it clear that if police protection was on offer, it would have to be carried out discreetly. She insisted that they were not to be recognized as the law. If Reggie discovered she had been talking before she had a chance to explain, it would cause a rift between them and she didn’t want that. The Chief Inspector had listened to her excuses, that she would feel embarrassed in front of her neighbours being chauffeured by the law, but his knowing smile told her that he knew exactly why she wanted to keep her liaison with them to herself. What she didn’t know was that that was exactly what he wanted too. He just hoped that the gang member she had seen that day had not parked locally and witnessed her visit.
Sorry that she had let Richard down and not wishing to waste her journey, Rosie finished her coffee, paid her bill and left the French cafe, heading for the theatre in Drury Lane. It was a great comfort to see the plain-clothes officer acting as if he were an ordinary guy sitting in a car reading a newspaper. A day or so, and the cloak-and-dagger stuff would be over. It had been made clear to her that the force would act immediately to make an arrest.
Walking cautiously to the back door of the theatre, Rosie wondered what she would say and to whom, once she arrived. All she could hope for was that another Larry-type caretaker would be there; someone she could court sweetly in order to get inside the building. It was not to be. She was greeted by a lordly uniformed stage-door manager who was there to see off hopefuls and has-beens looking for walk-on parts. Had she said that she was a fan, after an autograph from one of the actors in the current production, she might have met with a better response. Lesson learned, Rosie, she told herself. If a doorman, director or tea boy has to have their vanity stroked, then so be it. She had learned long ago how to put her pride in her pocket.
