Forgotten Dreams (12 page)
‘Blackfoots is Indians, you ignorant kid; you means blackleg,’ he had said between guffaws. ‘Oh, wait till I tell me pals you called me a Red Indian!’
So it had not been her intended insult which had caused the rift but his mockery. But that had been almost three years ago, and though the two were back on speaking terms the old warmth had gone. Now that Kenny was in permanent employment they saw little of each other and, truth to tell, Lottie missed him and was often lonely.
The other side of the coin, however, was the good relationship which now existed between herself and Baz. He did not exactly include her in any of his pursuits, but she was welcome to watch when he played football with his mates or joined a game of pitch and toss, though this happened rarely since Max did not approve of gambling and had told Baz that he would thrash him within an inch of his life if he caught him taking part in a toss school.
This threat always made Lottie laugh because Max was the least aggressive of men and never raised his hand to anyone, let alone his son. Indeed, when one of his white rabbits, Snowy, had died, Max had taken it out into the country so that it might be buried in a wood with wild rabbits nearby, and had wept as he shovelled soil on to the corpse. On the way out of the city, the bus conductor had looked at the large white bundle in Max’s string bag and had said, conversationally: ‘Someone’s going to have a grand dinner!’ which had caused Max to give him an extremely cold look, though Lottie had seen Baz stifling a giggle. Lottie had felt her own lips twitch, but knowing how fond Max was of the creatures who helped in his act, she could understand why he would not dream of eating the rabbit; one did not devour one’s pals, after all.
Now, however, lying in her bed, her thoughts went to her dreams. Sometimes they were just tiny snatches of life, and though she tried hard to make sense of them she had never really done so, and had come to the conclusion that they were delightful but meaningless. She had tried to will herself into dreaming, but had long ago given up. She was pretty sure that something she did in the real world triggered the dreams, but she simply did not know what the trigger was, so now she let her mind wander delightfully, thinking how nice it would be to catch a bus into the country, perhaps to the very wood where the late lamented Snowy was buried. There would be wild flowers; primroses and violets at this time of year. She imagined herself picking a bunch and bringing them back to her mother. She imagined rabbits coming out of the wood at dusk to crop the sweet green grass of the verges, and slid into sleep, and straight into a dream.
She was sitting on a comfortable seat, a cushioned bench, and before her on a brightly painted table was a round blue pottery bowl full of something white and soft. Sitting beside her on the bench, with an arm about her small shoulders, was a very large woman. The woman held a spoon in one hand, which she was dipping into the blue bowl. She said something in a strange language which Lottie could not understand, yet she knew enough to open her mouth to accept the spoonful of warmed bread and milk. It was delicious; even though she was dimly aware that this was a dream, she could taste the bread and milk, taste the sugar which had been stirred in to make it more palatable. When she had swallowed the first delicious mouthful, she clutched the woman’s arm, saw her own hand, small and white and soft as thistledown, and as the spoon travelled towards her mouth once more she spoke, and heard her own words for the first time in the dream. ‘Nice,’ she said contentedly. ‘Nice, nice, nice, Mumma.’ The woman chuckled, a rich contented sound, and then the scene slid away and Lottie slept dreamlessly for the rest of the night.
She awoke with the dream as clear in her mind as though it had really happened and lay there, not trying to interpret what she had dreamed but simply enjoying it. Once more, peace and contentment had been her chief emotions. She did not know who the old woman was, or where she was, but she knew the woman meant her nothing but good, and she was beginning to believe that the dreams had some significance and would eventually tell her what she wanted to know. She had realised some time before that the boy who had told her to ‘go back’ must have meant it literally. She was going back to her baby days, and eventually, surely, the dreams would take her to a time when speech was not confined to single words. If this was so, then surely she would be able to find out just where the things she dreamed fitted into her past. It was odd that Louella never appeared in the dreams, but Lottie supposed that the woman must be some sort of childminder and that Louella hovered just beyond the scene, waiting to enter it when the time was right.
‘Are you awake, love? Only there was a telegram waiting for us when we got back from the theatre last night. Well, I say for us but it was really for Max, and it was from Merle. She’s coming to join us in a week, so I thought we’d get your room ready, which will take us most of the day . . . do get up, sweetheart!’
Lottie rolled over and pulled herself upright in bed; then, with some reluctance, swung her feet out on to the chilly linoleum. ‘I don’t know what you mean by getting my room ready, Louella,’ she said sleepily. ‘Surely all we need do is to buy another bed? There’s space for her clothes as well as mine on the rail behind the curtain which you put up, and we can use the same washstand.’
As she spoke she was stripping off her thin nightie and hurrying over to the basin. Louella, standing by the door, was holding the kettle, so she took it from her and poured a generous dollop into her china bowl, then topped it up with cold water from the ewer and began to wash. Behind her, Louella sank down on the bed.
‘Yes, but Max thinks Merle should have her own dressing table and even a small wardrobe and a few other things, because she’s older than you, I suppose. But we’re off to Great Yarmouth at the end of May and you never know, Merle might not want to return to Liverpool when the summer season’s over, so I don’t mean to spend a lot of money on turning your bedroom into a twin, so to speak.’
‘I expect Max will pay for it; he’s awfully generous over things like that,’ Lottie said, and saw her mother’s reflection frown in the small mirror. Louella would not want to be reminded that it would be Max who would pay for the additions to Lottie’s room. ‘Has he told you what he wants to spend? You won’t get new stuff, will you? You can get all sorts in Paddy’s market and I love poking round the stalls down there.’
Louella snorted. ‘You can certainly get all sorts from the market, and that includes bedbugs and fleas,’ she pointed out. ‘I told Max that I wouldn’t have infestations in my house, even if it did mean a big saving.’ She opened her eyes wide, as Lottie swung round, and pouted at her daughter as though she herself were the younger of the two. ‘He got quite cross. He said I was to get a square of carpet from Jacob’s – as if a girl of seventeen needs carpet in her bedroom, let alone a new one – and to buy a mattress from Ginsburg’s on the Scotland Road. I said it would be all right to get a washstand, a dressing table and the bedstead itself from Paddy’s, as well as a chair, as long as it wasn’t upholstered, so we’re going to have a busy day of it. Thank God it’s a Wednesday and we don’t have to be in the theatre until this evening.’
‘Ooh, Ginsburg’s; they have lovely furniture. I often look in the windows but I’ve never been inside,’ Lottie said yearningly. ‘Only I don’t fancy carrying all that stuff back to Victoria Court. Will they deliver?’
‘Ginsburg’s might, but they’d charge extra,’ Louella said, standing up and heading for the bedroom door. ‘So I told Baz to borrow a handcart which is big enough to hold pretty well everything. He’s at work until half past five, of course, but most of the shops will let you collect stuff in the evenings.’
‘I could help . . .’ Lottie began, then remembered that she had to be in the theatre by six and groaned. ‘No, of course I couldn’t, I was forgetting. But Kenny would help. I’ll go round before breakfast, to be sure of catching him, and explain.’
She was rubbing herself dry and dragging on her clothes as she spoke, but Louella smiled at her and shook her head. ‘No need for either you or Kenny to help, darling. Baz says his pals Sosso and Roof will give a hand. ’Specially if I get fish and chips for them so they can eat here before going on to the Rotunda to see
The Cocoanuts
. I told Baz that if they’d like to come to the theatre his father and I would give them free passes, but he just looked embarrassed and said that it’s the Marx Brothers film they want to see.’
The Cocoanuts
. I told Baz that if they’d like to come to the theatre his father and I would give them free passes, but he just looked embarrassed and said that it’s the Marx Brothers film they want to see.’
She had been standing in the doorway, but now she began to clatter down the stairs and Lottie, following her, saw she was already wearing her best high-heeled navy pumps to match her elegant dark blue silk suit, which had a long jacket and a skirt so narrow that she could only take very small steps. Lottie smiled to herself; trust her mother to dress up for a shopping expedition, even though she pretended that buying furniture for Merle’s occupancy was a real bore. Lottie wondered whether she would be expected to put on her best skirt and jumper, but decided to say nothing and hope that her appearance would pass unnoticed. In fact, she had finished her breakfast and was carrying the crocks over to the sink before Louella realised that she was in her old clothes.
‘Leave the dishes, we’ll do them when we get home . . .’ Louella was beginning, taking her light grey coat down from its hanger and pushing her arms into the sleeves. She stopped speaking and gave a squeak of indignation. ‘Lottie Lacey, whatever were you thinking of to put on that grubby old dress? And that cardigan has a hole in the elbow! If you think I mean to take a little ragamuffin into Ginsburg’s, then you’ve got another think coming.’
Lottie turned reluctantly away from the sink. ‘Well, what
shall
I wear?’ she said plaintively. ‘I’m not risking my best jacket and skirt; that’s for after-show parties, you said so.’
shall
I wear?’ she said plaintively. ‘I’m not risking my best jacket and skirt; that’s for after-show parties, you said so.’
‘Wear the brown check dress, the brown strap shoes and that smart little blazer Max bought you,’ Louella said decidedly. ‘I want to be proud of my daughter, not ashamed. And do hurry, darling, or we’ll not finish the shopping before the theatre opens.’
‘That brown dress is tight under my arms and makes me look about seven, and the strap shoes are the sort worn by Little Lord Fauntleroy,’ Lottie grumbled, making her mother give a spurt of laughter. ‘Couldn’t I put on the skirt and jumper I wear for school? They fit me pretty well and there are no holes in the jumper. At least, it was all right last term so I s’pose it’s all right still.’
‘No, you must wear the brown,’ Louella said. ‘Remember, you’ll be with me and this suit is the latest thing. Now no more arguing, dear, or I shall get cross. What a blessing that it’s the Easter holidays, otherwise I should have to shop alone, and I hate doing that. You see, we’re buying things to go in your room, so I want you to approve of them, and since we’re also choosing for a young girl you may have a better idea of what Merle would like than I could possibly have myself.’
Lottie heaved a sigh but knew better than to continue to argue. She clattered up the stairs, tore off her comfortable old clothes and donned the childish brown dress, noting with satisfaction that the buttons of the blazer would no longer fasten. As she returned to the kitchen, she reflected that with a bit of luck the blazer might mysteriously disappear one day. She knew, of course, that her mother sold both her out-grown clothing and Baz’s, and probably garments of her own which she considered no longer fashionable, to one of the stallholders on Paddy’s market, though neither of them ever mentioned the fact. Darling Louella! Lottie was sure that her mother put the money she was paid towards buying new clothing, and equally sure that neither Max nor Baz knew about Louella’s ‘nice little earner’, as someone had once phrased it.
‘Ready? Good girl. Don’t you look nice! Off we go then.’
Outside, the sky was grey with scudding clouds and there was a chilly wind blowing, but Lottie reminded herself that weather didn’t really matter when you were in and out of shops. She had hoped to hurry across the court unnoticed by anyone, but Louella paused at the bottom of the steps, looking doubtfully up at the sky. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if we had some rain,’ she said in a dissatisfied tone. ‘This suit is silk and water marks it. Just pop back in, queen, and fetch my navy umbrella.’
‘But your coat covers almost all of the suit . . .’ Lottie began, then noticed Kenny and two of his pals approaching, and hastily ran up the steps. If Kenny saw her in the brown outfit, he would be bound to make some cutting remark, and she could not blame him. Nor of course could she give him a punch on the nose, not with Louella standing by. When she emerged cautiously from the house again, she was glad to see that Kenny and his pals had disappeared.
He who fights and runs away will live to fight another day
, she quoted rather irrelevantly to herself as she handed her mother the umbrella.
He who fights and runs away will live to fight another day
, she quoted rather irrelevantly to herself as she handed her mother the umbrella.
Louella tucked it into her shopping basket and the two set off, Lottie hurrying along with a light heart. ‘Will we be home in time to have some lunch, Louella?’ she asked presently. ‘There’s some of the joint of mutton left over; I know you were going to make it into a shepherd’s pie but I doubt we’ll have time to do it today.’
‘We’ll have a proper lunch at Fuller’s, or Lyon’s, or somewhere smart,’ her mother said confidently. ‘And if we’re not back in time to make the shepherd’s pie for tea then we’ll have the cold mutton with a nice parcel of chips. Max will understand that we’ve not had time to cook anything.’
‘That will be really lovely,’ Lottie said appreciatively, as they turned out of the court and into Burlington Street, then headed towards the Scotland Road. ‘Paddy’s market is the nearest but I think we ought to do the other shops first, don’t you?’
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