Keep on Dancing, page 27
‘So you’re thrilled about the journalist, then?’ Larry was, as usual, being his droll self.
‘’Course. You’ve done a great job. Get me as many interviews as you can. We’ll get the lazy sods in to see our show hook or crook, eh Larry?’ She flounced out of the room, singing Peggy Sue’s.
‘At last… her true personality emerges.’ He turned to Iris. ‘Is this the way she behaved before the tragedy… before Tommy?’
‘Yeah… as it happens.’ Iris became pensive. ‘I’d almost forgotten what she was like. She’s back to her old self again – God help us.’
‘You’re smiling too, Iris – it suits you.’
‘Mmm. I think it’s over, Larry. I can feel the dark cloud drifting away…’
‘I’m very pleased to hear it.’ He sank back in his chair, and Iris sank back in hers, each of them content to be quiet.
Caroline had, with her few honest words, done more for this family than she would ever know. ‘We’ve got to be sold out before we open,’ said Larry, thoughtfully. ‘We’re all going to have to pull our fingers out, even Harriet. We’ll send her round to the mission hall. She can attend every meeting… I might even go with her. Between us we’ll drum up interest. Old people will want cheap seats, it’s true… but they all have families. We’ll talk nonstop about the wonderful new family show. You can do your bit at Charrington’s. Go round and collect the bloody ticket money if you have to. Don’t take no for an answer. Get Max to work on the men.’
‘Pull out all the stops,’ murmured Iris.
‘Exactly. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to begin right away. We’ll stand outside the Empire and catch people as they go in. Then we’ll go to the Forester’s and catch people as they come out. Shove a leaflet in their hands. Why not, eh? Why not?’ He looked at Iris and waited.
‘I’m ready when you are.’
‘Good! Let’s go.’ He stood up and stretched. ‘I feel ten years younger – don’t ask me why.’
‘I know why,’ she said, pulling on her mohair cardigan, knitted by Harriet. ‘There’s nothing like a challenge to get the pulse going.’ She picked up a huge wad of leaflets from the sideboard and handed them to Larry. ‘You get rid of those and I’ll get rid of these.’ She scooped another pile for herself. ‘Let’s show Rosie how to do it.’
‘I hope she doesn’t forget about tomorrow’s interview,’ said Larry, following her out.
‘She won’t. I saw the look in her eye. She can’t wait.’
* * *
The journalist from the local newspaper, a man of thirty-seven with several years of experience behind him, induced a feeling of calm in Rosie. In this, he was very different from the reporters who had plagued her during the trial. Larry’s room in the Star, as comfortable as ever, made the perfect meeting place. Lighting a cigarette, the journalist, John Downing, asked Rosie to tell him about her upbringing, and life in the East End during and after the war.
‘What’s that got to do with the show?’ Rosie tried not to sound impudent but she couldn’t help feeling a touch suspicious that there might be another reason for this interview.
‘I’m not here to talk about the show. I’ll give it a mention, naturally. What intrigues me is that someone of your background has found a way through a…’ he crossed his legs and gazed up at the ceiling, choosing his words, ‘well, to put it bluntly, through a world which you know nothing about – unless I’m mistaken?’
‘No. You’re not mistaken. Mind you, ’aving come this far I know a lot more than I did when I started, and it’s not really that much of a mystery, to be honest.’
‘No?’ He leaned forward, his interest taken by her casual, open manner. ‘We’ll forget your childhood for the moment then. Let’s talk about this theatre. I understand it’s your idea and your enthusiasm, not to mention hard work, that’s brought it out of the doldrums and saved it from becoming a bingo hall. What inspired you…?’
‘If you don’t know that…’
‘I do know… at least I think I do. But my readers won’t and they’re what this interview’s about. They don’t buy their local paper simply to read snippets of scandal about people they might know… they have a genuine interest in what’s happening in their neighbourhood.’
Chuckling to herself, Rosie was thinking of Harriet. ‘My gran goes through it with a magnifying glass, in case she misses something. I know what you mean though. We have your paper every week. It’s a bit like, well, a family and friends link I s’pose.’ She became thoughtful. ‘Yeah… I suppose I’d want to know about someone who’d poked their nose into a world that most of us around ’ere feel we don’t belong to.’ She smiled at him, relaxing again. ‘I’ve been so busy, what with one thing and another, that I hadn’t really thought about it. I can just picture the faces of some of my old schoolmates – never mind the teachers. Rosie Curtis opening up an old music hall and putting on a show. That would be one in the eye for the ’eadmistress. She always used to say I was too lazy to get up in the mornings. Bored, more like. Them bloody lessons… geography? Who cares where tea and sugar come from? We buy ’em from Higgins’s the comer shop.’
‘Who was it who told you about this old Yiddish theatre?’
‘Larry. I met ’im when I went to the Royal—’
‘Here in Stratford?’
‘Yeah. He’s the part-time caretaker. Retired, but can’t drag ’imself away. It’s in the blood. Larry knows more about the theatre than anyone.’
‘You’re a theatregoer, then?’
‘No. I went to see about joining a theatre workshop. I wanted to be a professional dancer. Still do. Larry was leaving just as I arrived… he was coming ’ere, so I came with ’im. I was curious. Once I saw the place from the inside – that was it.’
‘You wanted to see it alive again and running?’
‘Something like that. Wouldn’t you? Now that you’ve seen it?’
‘I’m sure lots of people would – but few have the nerve to go about things the way you have.’ He chewed the end of his pencil and gazed at her, his eyes showing his interest. ‘Did you have any idea what you were taking on?’
‘Course I did. Look… it’s no different from, say, opening a shop that’s been closed down. You’ve still gotta find money to do it up and stock it… and there wouldn’t be any guarantee that people’d come in and buy what you had on the shelves.’ She shrugged and leaned back in her chair. ‘Nothing’d get done if we all went for an easy, quiet, safe life… would it?’
‘True.’
‘It’s not gonna kill me… and as my gran said, I’ll still be here in twelve months from now, and it’s up to me whether I’ll be here with or without ’aving done what I’m doing. If I die somewhere in between I’ll be even more annoyed that I didn’t do what I wanted… what I really wanted.’
‘That’s a philosophy shared by—’
Rosie leaned forward and interrupted him. ‘Look… I don’t know anything about philosophy or famous playwrights or poets or…’ she opened her palms, ‘or any of that stuff. Someone once asked me if I was well read. I didn’t ’ave a clue what he meant till I asked him to explain. He thought that was hilarious… me opening this place and directing a show I wrote myself… but then he’s at the medical college, so what can you expect? It’s books, books and more books with that lot.’
‘You don’t think education’s necessary then?’
‘For some it is… but not me. I’ll learn what I need to know as I go along. Why waste time memorizing stuff for the sake of it? Had enough of that at school when we had to read something over and over, just so we knew the answers to ten questions at the end of the week. Ten questions about things that didn’t matter a jot.’
‘So when you left school you were… semi-literate?’
‘If you say so.’
‘Did that make life difficult when it came to employment?’
‘I got a job straight away – at the box factory in Assembly Passage, Mile End. Not brilliant pay, but it was all right. I work for Charrington’s now… ’ave to,’ she shrugged, ‘more money.’
‘Ah… so you’re working longer hours to help finance the Star?’
‘No. To put a bit of beef in the pot. When my brother was killed it was down to me and Mum to bring in the money.’
‘I see…’ he averted his eyes and became pensive.
‘Well, go on then, get on with it. Ask me about the murder – get it out of the way.’ She broke into a smile. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday. I know that’s why you’ve come out on a Sunday.’
‘You’re wrong, actually, although… I had hoped you might tell me something about it, but I’ve no intention of pushing you. As a matter of fact, now that I’m here I would rather we talked about you, Rosie. My newspaper’s already covered the story—’
‘You don’t ’ave to tell me that.’
‘But if you could just give me one or two quotes… nothing heavy. The readers will expect it.’
‘I know. Go on then, fire away.’
He checked his notepad and turned the page. ‘Where did the money come from… for all of this?’ he swept a hand through the air. ‘The rent must be sky-high.’
‘I’m not paying rent. The owner’s not charging… well, not for the first twelve months anyway. Don’t ask me who the owner is ’cos he doesn’t want anyone to know. He’s shy.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘I’ve shocked you?’
‘Well, it does seem incredible…’
‘And as for the cleaning, paint and polish… compliments of my friends and neighbours. Gran coughed up the money for fuel for the boiler and small repairs. It was meant to be for my wedding… she had it tucked under the mattress. I’ve not had to spend a penny, which is just as well ’cos I haven’t got money to chuck around. Some well-wishers ’ave put their cash up. Angels I think they’re called, according to Larry.’ She began to laugh. ‘Angels from hell were ’is exact words.’
‘Ill-gotten gains?’
She tapped her fingernails on the table as she casually looked around her. ‘This room is used by “intellectuals”, for play-readings. Done it up nice, ain’t they?’
‘What about costumes?’ he said, smiling.
‘Ah… now they are a sight for sore eyes. I’ll show you our wardrobe if you like.’
‘I would like, but first… tell me about the show. It’s a collection of songs from the hit parade, with some dancing… correct?’
‘Don’t you want to know about the story?’
‘What story?’
‘Love in Lavender!’
‘Oh… it’s not a variety show, then?’
‘No. It’s a play… a musical. The characters talk to each other as well as sing. It’s a tragic love story,’ she added, haughtily.
‘You mean you’ve taken a published play and added published songs…?’
‘I mean… I’ve written a play and added songs. I’ll show you a script if you like.’
‘A script?’ He was looking more impressed by the second. ‘A proper script… with characters and dialogue?’
‘Yeah… and all neatly typed up with holes punched in the corners… and treasury tags to secure the fifty pages… of dialogue.’
‘You’re a playwright,’ he said, incredulously, ‘a playwright and an impresario.’
‘What’s an impresario?’ she asked, slightly exasperated at his using long words to impress her.
‘I don’t suppose there’s a chance of another cup of coffee, is there? I need to rethink this interview.’
‘There is time, yeah. I’m expecting our lead singer, as it happens. I’ll put the kettle on and you can sit here and think about what you’re going to write while I go and see if he’s here. That sound OK?’
‘That sounds fine,’ said the journalist. ‘Maybe I could have a word with him too… and with some of the actors?’
‘I’ll ask the director. He’s a bit of a slave-driver – a perfectionist. He might let them take five – depends how well rehearsals have gone.’ She left the room, closing the door behind her and smiling. A piece of cake, Rosie… a piece of cake.
* * *
‘What you looking so chuffed about?’ George was in his usual seat, at the back of the auditorium. ‘You look like the cat who got the cream.’
Slipping into the seat next to him, she squeezed his arm. ‘I feel like the cat who got the cream. I can’t stop long… I’m being interviewed by the press,’ she said, using a theatrical tone.
‘So where’d you go last night then?’ he said, looking at her sideways.
‘Tell you in a minute. I’ve just remembered something I forgot to tell Caroline. Won’t be a sec.’ She backed away, giving him and wink, and headed for her friend.
Placing her mouth close to Caroline’s ear, she whispered, ‘George wants to know where I was last night… I don’t know what to say.’
‘Tell him we worked late and then got through half a bottle of sherry between us. Richard wants me to change the bedroom romp scene. I’m not sure if he’s right though… I could do with your support, Ro. I want to keep the—’
‘You’re out of order, Caroline. Take your orders from Richard… he’s the director. I don’t want a war on my ’ands.’
Moving away, Rosie hunched her shoulders. ‘That’s show business…’
‘What is?’ said George, blocking her way.
Spinning around to face him, she winked and clicked her tongue. ‘You wouldn’t understand darling,’ she said, humouring him. ‘Do me a favour and pour us both a drink, yeah? The bar’s open and there’s a bottle of vodka and some orange juice as well. I’ll get back to the journalist and be straight down.’
‘So why didn’t you go home last night?’ George was obviously not going to let her off the hook so easily.
‘Me and Caroline worked our socks off and then got into a bottle of sherry… I collapsed on the spare bed and didn’t wake up till ten o’clock this morning. Did you go out drinking?’ She held her breath, hoping he would say no. She, Caroline and a couple of the dancers had covered quite a lot of ground on their pub crawl, and although she had sent one of them in ahead of her each time, to check that George wasn’t there, she couldn’t be certain she had got away with her secret night out with the girls.
‘Too busy stocktaking. I could have done with some help, as it happens.’
‘Could you? Tch. You should ’ave said.’ She kissed him lightly on the lips. ‘Soon as I’m finished giving the interview and we’ve had a drink, I’ll leave this lot to it and come with you to the shop. How’s that?’
‘It’s about time, Rosie. You’ve not seen the flat since I first took you to have a look. Mum and Aunt Josie’s scrubbed it from top to bottom. It looks like a different place now that the old boy’s junk is out of there. It’s bigger than we thought.’
She expressed her apologies with a look. ‘I don’t suppose they think much of me, then? Not proving to be a promising wife, am I? Wrapped up in all of this instead of making the flat nice.’
‘The flat is nice. I slept there last night. It was a great feeling… could ’ave been better, mind,’ he gave her a cheeky wink.
‘You know why I’ve not been able to get there before now. My time’s ’ardly been my own, has it?’
‘Your time’s always your own, Rosie. It’s up to you what you do with it.’ It was obvious from his tone that he was feeling neglected. ‘If this show means more to you than me…’ he shrugged, ‘that’s that. I’ll have to find myself another woman to take back to my flat.’
She punched his arm. ‘Just you try. Go and wait in the bar…’
‘Fifteen minutes and I’m out of here, right?’
‘And I’ll be right by your side.’ She kissed him on the lips and playfully pushed him away towards the exit door leading to the bar.
Watching him leave, she knew that his pride had been bruised by her giving instructions when that was the role he liked to take. You’ve got some making up to do, Rosie, if you’re to save this romance. ‘George!’
He turned his head slowly, looking over his shoulder at her. ‘What?’
‘Don’t go without me, will yer?’ She knew he had no intention of doing so, but it was all she could think of to say in order to stroke his ruffled feathers. He responded well, tut-tutting as if she was a silly girl.
‘How did the interview go?’ asked Larry as he collected a few empty glasses from the bar.
‘Great. He was all right. You did a good job there, Larry. We might even make the front page. He lapped it up… Poor Girl from the East End Heads for the Big Time,’ she grinned as she backed away. ‘Listen, I’m gonna ’ave to run. George’s waiting for me in the car. Richard, Caroline and the girls are still on stage.’
‘Go. I’ll catch up with you later… back at the house.’
‘I might not come home tonight, Larry. I’m helping George to get the shop ready. He’s opening it tomorrow. We’ll be working right through the night by the sound of things.’
Smiling, he shrugged. ‘I’ll tell that to Harriet for you… she won’t believe it, but there you are.’
She blew him a kiss and rushed down the stairs to join George at the side door. ‘Sorry. Larry started to yak on. You know what he’s like.’
Nodding, George unlocked the car door, hesitating before getting in. ‘There’ll always be someone who wants your time…’ He stopped short when he felt Rosie’s hand on his neck, squeezing it seductively. Slowly turning to face her, he sighed. ‘I’ve missed you, Ro. Where’ve you been, eh?’
‘I haven’t been anywhere.’
He stroked her hair. ‘You know what I mean, babe.’
‘Yeah… my mind’s been all over the place lately. I’m here now though, and things are sorting themselves out. The show’s nearly ready… the court case is behind us… and I love you very much.’
