Keep on Dancing, page 29
While Rosie rushed around upstairs, washing, dressing and arranging her hair, Richard kept Harriet company in the living room. ‘I should have asked for five tickets…’ he said, regretfully. ‘I never thought—’
‘George wouldn’t ’ave wanted to go anyway. He’s rehearsing with the band. I can’t believe how seriously he’s taking it. Calls himself the MD now… musical director,’ she smiled. ‘Who would have thought it?’
‘He’s got a lovely voice, and that band is smashing,’ Harriet went on. ‘I thought I’d walked into the wrong theatre the other day when I went in to do a bit of hoovering. They were practising.’ She smiled and shook her head. ‘Sounded more like a polished performance to me.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of George,’ said Richard, ‘I was talking about Larry.’
‘Whoops,’ smiled Harriet, catching the look of remonstration on Richard’s face. ‘Beg your pardon.’
‘Granted,’ came the curt reply.
‘Larry’s wrapped up in his own business in any case. I shouldn’t fret about ’im. Will there be any grub at this theatre? None of us ’ave ’ad our tea.’
‘I think we should eat something after the show.’
‘Me and Arthur always used to have a sausage in bread when we came out of the old music halls. Old man Wilkins used to be there with ’is brazier full of red-hot coals with a grid over the top. You can’t get sausages like that nowadays. They were lovely. We was gonna ’ave sausages for tea, as it ’appens… Yeah, that’s what I’ll do! Soon as we get back I’ll chuck ’em in the hying pan and we can have ’ot sausage sandwiches, with sauce.’
‘Sounds wonderful.’
A glazed look in her eyes, Harriet shook her head slowly. ‘I ’aven’t been to a theatre in donkey’s years. I don’t s’pose it’s changed much, eh?’
‘No… I shouldn’t think so. Although the West End is a little different from—’
‘The penny gaffs me and Arthur used to go to?’
‘Well… yes.’
‘You can stop worrying. When we was eighteen or so we went to classier places – still in the East End, it’s true, but proper music halls – where we saw some very good acts, I might tell you.’ She rubbed an eyebrow and grimaced. ‘Bloody foundation cream of Iris’s. I knew I shouldn’t ’ave put it on. Bit of powder does me. Bit of powder and a spot of lipstick.’
‘Well?’ Looking glamorous, Rosie appeared in the doorway. ‘Didn’t take long, did it? Where’s my cup of tea then?’
‘Sorry… got carried away listening to Harriet,’ said Richard as he went into the kitchen.
‘What’s wrong with you putting the kettle on, Iris?’
‘You know he likes doing things… makes him feel like one of the family. So… it’s a cup of tea and off we go?’
‘Look at yer… anyone’d think you was goin’ to a grand ball.’
‘That’s what it feels like. Just think, Gran – tomorrow night I’ll be up there on stage in the Grand Star dancing to a packed theatre, fulfilling a dream… and our Tommy’s spirit’ll be there willing me on, proud as Punch. Proud of ’is little sister. Your little cockney granddaughter.’
‘Head in the clouds again,’ Harriet murmured, closing her eyes and ending it. There was a strange feeling in the old woman’s stomach. A feeling that the evening was not going to go quite the way Rosie imagined. There was a touch of trouble in the air – she could sense it. ‘Go and put some biscuits on a plate. We’d best get something inside us before we go.’
In a dream-world of her own Rosie murmured, ‘Head in the clouds, feet on the ground…’
‘You must ’ave a bloody long neck then,’ chuckled Harriet.
* * *
Arriving at the top of Drury Lane, the taxi driver pulled up and spoke through the partition. ‘You can always tell when a show’s a hit,’ he said, ‘look at the crowd. I would normally drive right up to the entrance…’
‘This will be fine. Thank you.’ Richard got out of the cab and paid the driver. ‘We’ll look out for you when we come out.’
The cabbie laughed sarcastically. ‘You’ll be lucky. It’ll be like Piccadilly Circus shoved on one pavement. You’ll ’ave to be out of there like a shot if you wanna grab a cab, sir.’
‘Right,’ said Richard, straightening his shoulders. ‘Let’s go into the foyer.’
Talking excitedly among themselves, the women followed him into the theatre. ‘Wasn’t that cabbie a nice man,’ said Harriet, a little daunted by her surroundings and all the people milling around, dressed up to the nines and acting as if they were royalty.
‘We’ll go straight to the bar,’ said Richard, preoccupied and looking, Rosie thought, a little nervous.
‘I ’ope they serve stout in ’ere,’ mumbled Harriet.
‘They might well do…’ smiled Richard, ‘but tonight we’ll be drinking something a little more special.’
‘Oh yeah…? Like what?’
‘Champagne.’
‘Are we now? Who’s gonna cough up for that, then?’
‘My father.’
Harriet threw him a look of alarm. ‘Is that meant to be a joke?’
He took her arm and coaxed her towards the bar. ‘It’s all right… I haven’t broken my promise. The champagne’s in honour of your granddaughter.’ Turning to smile at Rosie, he saw that she had stopped in her tracks. Putting his mouth to her ear he whispered, ‘He’s just relieved that I’m not like Oscar Wilde.’
Rosie peered at him. ‘Who?’
‘I’ve never taken a girl home.’ He shrugged. ‘I haven’t had what you would call… a steady. My father was beginning to get worried. If you could just pretend to like me…’
‘I do like you, Richard; don’t talk stupid. What you mean is that you want me to look as if I adore you… that we’re… sweethearts?’
‘It would help to keep him off my back. He does rather drone on a bit about a man being a man and all that.’
Chuckling quietly, it was Iris’s turn to jest. ‘And you think he’s gonna be thrilled when he meets her family…’ She nodded towards Harriet and waited for a retort from her mother, but there was none. ‘What’s up with you? You’re quiet for a change, and…’ Her words trailed off when she saw the look in her mother’s eyes. ‘You OK?’
‘I want to go home,’ murmured Harriet. ‘Take me home.’
‘Richard! Richard my boy! Over here!’
Clearly it was too late for a quick exit. Placing one arm around her mother’s shoulder. Iris squeezed her. ‘They’re only people, Mum. Flesh and blood… like us. Just mind your language though, eh?’
Harriet, turning pale and suddenly looking her age, was lost for words. Her eyes reflected the fear and misery of the past as memories came flooding back. ‘They won’t even recognize you,’ said Iris, trying to reassure her, ‘it was years ago.’
Nodding, unconvinced, Harriet put up a shaky hand. ‘I’ll be all right,’ was all she could manage to say as Richard’s father, mother and Aunt Isobelle eased their way through the packed bar towards them.
Shaking his father’s hand, Richard smiled nervously and attempted to begin the introductions, but Harriet and Isobelle’s eyes had met, instantly dissolving the welcoming smile. ‘It’s been a long time…’ Harriet said, her confidence returning when she saw the expression of disparagement on her old enemy’s face.
Her eyes narrowing, Isobelle drew breath and instinctively stepped back as she turned on her nephew. ‘If this is meant to be a joke, Richard, it is not amusing!’
‘Ah…’ said Richard feebly, ‘you’ve recognized your aunt Harriet.’
‘She is no relative of mine!’ Glaring at his red face she said, ‘How dare you pull such a trick on your parents and me?’
‘There was no trick intended, Aunt, I assure you. Harriet is a relative… she was your late uncle’s wife and her daughter Iris is your cousin,’ answered Richard, defiantly.
Harriet could contain her anger no longer. She raised her voice in order to be heard above the loud conversations going on around her. ‘Don’t take it to heart, Richard… it’s obvious that your aunt Isobelle is in a state of shock. Her shabby behaviour will never change. She’s as bad-mannered now as she was back then, when her mother was a high-class whore.’
Grasping Isobelle’s arm to prevent her retreat, Iris stepped in to deliver a stream of home truths. ‘You accused my parents of incest when they weren’t related. I wonder where you got such a disgusting idea from?’ She looked from Isobelle to Richard’s father. ‘Don’t judge people by your own standards.’ She tightened her grip and pushed her face close to Isobelle’s. ‘We’ve got papers to prove that your mother took my mother in when she was ten years old and living on the streets. She had compassion. We also have papers to prove that my father was your mother’s only living relative, once they were orphaned. It’s a pity that Mary didn’t pass her good nature on to her children.’
Having said her piece, Iris tossed back her head and released Isobelle, allowing her to be led hastily away by Richard’s distraught mother.
‘Get these people out of here,’ Richard’s father spoke, in a low, angry voice, desperate not to attract any more attention.
‘We’ve got tickets,’ Rosie scowled, ‘you can’t have us thrown out.’
‘Oh yes I can, my girl. Those tickets are complimentary.’ He held out his hand to Richard. ‘Give them to me.’
‘Why are you doing this, Father? These people are relations, part of our family… our family history—’
‘Sentimental rubbish! The tickets, please!’
Withdrawing the tickets from his inside pocket Richard tore them in half, tossing them at his father’s feet. Then, turning his back on him, he ushered the three women towards the exit.
With renewed composure, Harriet squeezed Richard’s arm and signalled that she wanted a quiet word, allowing Rosie and Iris to walk ahead of them. ‘You’ve made a mistake, son. This wasn’t the way to go about it. Now listen and listen well. Don’t go against your father. Let him think you’ve seen the light. Tell ’im you won’t mix with our kind ever again. Then come and see us whenever you want, without ’im knowing. Whatever you do now will mark you for the rest of your life. Put your principles in your pocket. You made a mistake – now put it right.’ She gave him a look to convey her message: if he did not do as she advised, he would not be welcome in their home again.
Gently pushing him in the direction of his father, Harriet was suddenly aware of the sea of faces in the bar, watching. ‘The show you’ve just seen and the one you’re about to see,’ she said, turning her back on Richard, ‘is nothing compared to the one that’ll be opening tomorrow night at the old Star in Stratford, E15.1 shouldn’t miss it for anything!’
* * *
‘I don’t ever want to go through something like that again,’ said Harriet as the three of them stood on the pavement once again. ‘That young man has a lot to learn about tact and diplomacy. You wait till he turns up again – I’ll annihilate!’
‘Don’t be too hard, Mum. He was only trying to bring his family together. What a bitch that woman is.’
Warmed by her daughter’s continuing forthright manner and her loyalty, Harriet raised an eyebrow. ‘She managed to get to you as well, then. Now you know. Can you imagine what it was like back then – me and your dad as youngsters, living with them two?’
‘Don’t give me all that, Gran…’ said Rosie, looking out for a cab. ‘You must have given as good as you got.’
‘True,’ she smiled at the memory. ‘It was when me and your grandfather took to being sweethearts that the worms turned, but—’ She stopped midsentence, narrowed her eyes and peered across the road. ‘My eyes deceiving me, or what?’ She nodded towards a tall, lean, bent figure handing out leaflets to people as they made their way to the theatre. ‘Would you credit it?’
‘That’s Larry! What’s he doing up here?’
‘What do think he’s doing, Iris? He’s drumming up business.’ Laughing, she shook her head. ‘What a lovely sight for sore eyes, eh? Come on… if he can do it, so can we.’
Catching sight of them as they approached him, Larry looked like a child who had been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. ‘Give us a bundle then,’ said Harriet on arrival.
‘Have you been following me around all day?’
‘No, cock… we’ve just come out of there,’ she nodded towards the theatre. She eyed the thin wedge of leaflets in his hand. ‘Is that all you’ve got left?’
‘Yes – thank God. I’ve got rid of hundreds. What’s going on?’
‘We’ll tell you on the way ’ome,’ said Rosie, taking his arm. ‘I think you’ve done enough for one day.’
As they rode back to Wapping, the women related the scenario with gusto, sometimes amused and sometimes indignant. ‘Poor Richard…’ said Iris, ‘I did feel sorry for him.’
‘A bit of humility never hurt anyone. He’ll learn from it,’ said Larry, sitting back and appreciating the comfort of the taxi. ‘Bang goes your chances of dancing in that particular show,’ he murmured, preoccupied.
‘So what?’ said Rosie, stubbornly. ‘I’ve got my own show now. Anyway… I don’t reckon Richard’s aunt’s as influential as he thinks. I bet she’s just one of the hangers-on who like to pretend they’re part of management.’
‘You’re wrong there. Madam is one of the investors. An angel. She has more influence, and power, to have blacked you than if she had been the director. Thank God we don’t need people like her to finance us.’
Intrigued by his confident tone, Rosie peered into his face. ‘I think you know something that I don’t…’
‘That’s right. And that’s the way it will stay… for the time being.’
‘You’ve had good news?’ She tried her best to contain her excitement.
‘Mind your own business.’ Enjoying his moment in the sun, Larry winked at her. Yes, he had had some good news, and it had not been from lack of effort on his part. He had finally managed to get the bank to see that there was great potential as far as the Grand Star was concerned, and they were looking into a proposal he had put forward that would give him part ownership.
‘I wish you’d met that bloody woman, Larry…’ said Harriet, miles away in a world of her own. Clearly, she had not got over the way they had been treated that evening. ‘She’s turned out exactly the way you’d expect. I wish I’d ’ave given ’er and few good hidings years back. Knock the snobbery out of ’er. Poor Mary… I bet she suffered as well once me and Arthur had gone. God knows how those brats treated her once they had gone from precocious little snots to grown adults. Poor cow.’
‘Mary was a strong woman. She would have been able handle them.’
‘You knew her well, then, Larry?’ asked Iris curiously.
‘So so.’ He was in a mischievous mood; he longed to reveal just how far he and Harriet went back and just what good friends he and Arthur, her father, had been. But to open his mouth now might anger the ever-tempestuous Rosie. If she discovered too soon that her old grandmother had been to see him at the Royal to ask a favour for her granddaughter, sparks might fly. He would save that for later – when the show was up and running and madam Rosie needed to be brought down a peg or two.
‘Bangers and mash,’ said Harriet, changing the subject. ‘That’s what we’ll ’ave. With fried onions and processed peas.’
‘Good. I’m bloody starving,’ added Larry, closing his eyes to show that he was switching off. ‘I think we should all have an early night tonight. Ready for the big day. I take it the sausages are beef?’
* * *
When the most important time of Rosie’s life arrived, just two hours before the musical was to begin, she was in a fluster backstage, checking that everyone knew their cues, that Tilly and her assistant had the wardrobe organized and that all personal props were in their right boxes for when they were needed.
‘Rosie…’ Caroline lit a cigarette and blew the smoke over her shoulder. ‘Don’t get me wrong, but shouldn’t you be out the front? There’s bound to be people out there that know you. They’ll be looking out for you. The crits even. You should be out there using your charm to put everyone in the right mood. The atmosphere the audience creates makes a big difference.’
‘I can’t do that. What if I’m needed?’
‘What for? There are enough of us back here to cover for you… and I’m not being funny, but shouldn’t you ’ave changed and put your make-up on by now?’
‘What’s the point of changing? I’ll only ’ave to strip off again when I’m due on. It takes me a good fifteen minutes to get myself into that costume, you know it does.’
‘Eight minutes… don’t exaggerate. I timed you. And you could get it down to six minutes, no trouble.’
‘Yeah… if you were there to help me.’
‘I will be there. Now please… do us all a favour and go away. You shouldn’t be backstage.’ She drew on her cigarette. ‘You’re making everyone feel nervous.’
‘Am I?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, right… I’ll go upstairs then, and smarten up…’ She looked Caroline in the eye. ‘You’re sure about this? The cast won’t think I’ve jumped ship?’
‘To be honest, I think they’d rather you did. Your job’s done. It’s their turn now. You’re making ’em feel as if you can’t rely on ’em. Richard’s great. He’s calm and in control.’
Rosie put up her hands. ‘Enough said. I’m going.’ She turned away, relieved to be told that she had become a spare part backstage. ‘I’ll just check out front to see how many people—’
‘No! Go upstairs and do something with yourself. Put some make-up on… brush your hair.’
‘My sentiments entirely,’ said Larry, arriving. ‘Leave my job alone. I’m the sales manager, thank you. Go and make yourself look like a successful impresario. Then go and meet your public.’
Watching her stride off, Caroline said, ‘I thought we’d never get rid of ’er.’
