Forgotten Dreams (22 page)
Lottie, who knew how the trick was done, speedily grew bored and dropped behind, and it was then, as she approached a dark doorway, that she realised a couple tightly clasped in one another’s arms were taking advantage of the shelter provided. Lottie was not particularly surprised, since she knew boys and girls often cuddled in doorways, but what did surprise her was that she recognised them both as they drew apart for a moment. They must have kept very still and quiet until Louella and Max had passed, never dreaming that Lottie had fallen so far back. Then Lottie heard Merle give a muffled squawk and saw her dive back into the deep shadow as Jerry did likewise.
Lottie said nothing at the time, but later she lay in her bed, wondering what to do for the best. If Merle really meant to go steady with Baz, then she should not hide in doorways kissing and cuddling with Jerry. On the other hand, Baz had only written to Merle twice in all the time they had been in Great Yarmouth, and his letters had been little better than notes: a few ill-spelt sentences scrawled on cheap notepaper and often posted days and days after they had been written.
So if Merle chose to change her allegiance, Lottie could not honestly blame her, though she did think that Baz should be told. He might want to get himself another girlfriend, for it did not look to Lottie as though Merle would be accompanying them when they returned to the Gaiety theatre at the end of September. Or he might want to be my friend again, Lottie thought wistfully. She was very fond of Kenny and had missed him when they first left Liverpool, but talking things over with Angela had been a revelation. ‘Girls grow up a whole lot quicker than boys do,’ Angela had said wisely. ‘It’s a well-known fact. My mum told me so years ago when my pal Frankie went on playing kids’ games after I thought it would be more fun to go window-shopping or help Mum and Dad in the theatre. Frankie’s mum and dad are in the theatre too, but he would talk loud when he was in the wings, or start braying like a donkey at something he thought most awfully funny, and I got real impatient with him and slapped him round the chops more than once. Frankie was the same age as me, but Mum said I’d out-grown him, and she was right. We began to go our separate ways and I reckon it’s the same with you and your Kenny.’
Lottie had been much struck by this information and realised that it was as true for her and Kenny as it had been for Angela and Frankie. Kenny was not interested in girls; he wanted to skip a lecky to Seaforth Sands, or nick fades from St John’s market or swim in the Scaldy, generally in company with a number of lads his own age, whereas she enjoyed other pursuits. But Baz, three years older than she, had begun to be a good friend and someone in whom she could confide – until, that was, Merle had entered their lives.
Once, she would have told Baz what was going on without a moment’s hesitation, but now she found she had divided loyalties. She had grown quite fond of Merle and she could not completely forget how Baz had dropped her, Lottie, in favour of the older girl back in Liverpool. So now, to tell on Merle seemed a worse sin than letting Baz continue in a fool’s paradise. She wondered if she could hint without actually telling him what was going on and was still mulling over the matter when she heard Merle’s foot on the stairs. As soon as Merle had come quietly into the room, she closed the door behind her and then spoke in the softest of whispers. ‘Lottie? Are you still awake?’
Lottie sat up like a jack-in-the-box, causing Merle to give a small shriek and collapse on to her own bed, clutching her throat dramatically. ‘You idiot! I nearly died of fright. I thought you were bound to be asleep ’cos I’m awful late . . . I take it you saw me earlier?’
‘Yes I did and I’ve been lying here wondering what the devil you’re playing at,’ Lottie said with unaccustomed frankness. ‘One minute you tell me you and Baz are going steady, the next you’re carrying on in a dark doorway with Jerry Green. Does this mean you’ve chucked Baz over without even telling him? ’Cos if so I reckon it’s a mean trick.’
Merle got slowly to her feet and began to undress, replying as she did so. ‘No, of course I haven’t chucked Baz over. He’s me steady boyfriend; I told you so. But Jerry’s awful good-looking and he’s nice, isn’t he? I’ve heard you say so yourself. The truth is, queen, that I’m lonely. Oh, I know I’ve got you and Angela, but – but havin’ a boyfriend is different. They make such a fuss of you, make you feel you’re worth something, take you nice places, buy you meals . . . can you understand?’
‘No I can’t,’ Lottie said bluntly. ‘I’ve heard Louella talking about one of the chorus girls, the pretty one who’s usually on the end of the line because she’s the shortest. She’s going out with the feller they call the stage door johnny, the one Max says is forty if he’s a day. Louella said all that girl is looking for is a meal ticket and it sounds to me as if you’re after a meal ticket yourself.’
By this time Merle was in her nightdress and beginning to give her hair the obligatory two hundred strokes with the brush, but at Lottie’s words she spoke sharply. ‘It ain’t like that at all and it’s cruel of you to say so,’ she hissed, for both girls were keeping their voices down, having no desire to rouse the rest of the household. ‘I’d like Jerry even if he never took me anywhere, or made me pay for meself when we went to the flicks. If you were a bit older, you’d understand. It’s terribly difficult to explain, but d’you remember that big box of chocolates some feller handed in for your mam at the Gaiety, when the audience heard we were going away for the summer season? Well, when they were finished, Louella told Max that she’d sort of got used to having a chocolate, a sort of reward like, after the final curtain, and she wanted to buy some more only Max told her she’d get fat, so she just sort of sighed and said she’d try to do without, and they both laughed.’
‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with you canoodling with Jerry Green, yet still saying you and Baz are going steady,’ Lottie said, genuinely puzzled. ‘I think you’re just making excuses, Merle.’
Merle heaved an enormous sigh and began to plait her hair. This was a lengthy business since she had masses of hair and braided it into at least a dozen plaits every night. Lottie had long ago realised that Merle’s beautiful waves were the result of these plaits and admired the other girl’s persistence, for no matter how tired Merle was she always plaited her hair before falling into bed. Lottie knew that she herself did not care sufficiently about her appearance to take such pains. ‘I am not making excuses; I’m explaining, you little idiot,’ Merle said crossly. ‘What I’m trying to say is, having a bit of a kiss and cuddle before you go your separate ways is a bit like having a chocolate after the finale. It’s a little treat and something you look forward to when you get to my age. Only Baz isn’t here to give me a kiss and a cuddle and Jerry is. See?’ She must have seen Lottie’s baffled expression for she gave a smothered giggle and then reached across and squeezed the younger girl’s hand. ‘I’m sorry; it wasn’t a very good explanation, but it was the best I could do. And in a way you’re right, or you might be except for one thing. Jerry knows about Baz and he knows this is just what they call a holiday romance. So you see, no one’s going to get hurt, not if you keep your mouth shut.’
Lottie sat quiet for a moment, taking in what Merle had said, then she nodded reluctantly. ‘All right, I won’t say anything to anyone. But if you’ve told Jerry about Baz, why don’t you tell Baz about Jerry?’
‘Because it would be downright unkind,’ Merle said at once. ‘Think how he’d feel! He’s stuck in Liverpool on that grimy old station, livin’ all by himself in Victoria Court, eatin’ his meals with the Brocklehursts and not havin’ much fun I bet. And here’s us, having the time of our lives at the seaside, with folk pointin’ us out in the street, and Mrs Shilling givin’ us some of the best meals we’ve had in years . . . and then you want to drop a bombshell on the poor feller and tell him I’m carrying on with someone else! Which I ain’t doin’, not really.’
‘Right, only don’t go too far,’ Lottie said. She had heard the expression, though she had little idea of what it meant. ‘I’ve not asked you before, Merle, because it seemed kind of cheeky, but are you coming back to the Gaiety when the season ends? I suppose you must be, if you really mean to go steady with Baz.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Merle said rather guardedly. ‘To tell you the truth it depends on your mam. She’s been much better with me in Yarmouth but she were always findin’ fault in Liverpool; I couldn’t do a thing right, if you remember. So I thought I’d ask her if she means to continue with the three sisters act and if not I’ll try the Rotunda, or the Empire, or anywhere else where I might get work. By the time we leave here at the end of September management will be auditioning for people to take part in pantos, so even if your mam doesn’t want me I reckon in a big place like Liverpool with plenty of theatres I should be able to find work.’
She slid down the bed as she spoke and Lottie did the same, remarking drowsily as she did so: ‘I don’t think you need worry about Louella not wanting you. As we were walking home this evening she said we were doing so well that management would likely raise our money because the theatre’s packed every night and Max had arranged something . . . I think the word was percentage . . . which will mean more cash coming our way. I don’t think she’d have fancied handing over a third of the money if she thought you weren’t pulling your weight.’
‘Good, that’s what I wanted to hear,’ Merle droned, her voice already thickening with sleep. ‘You’re norra bad kid, Lottie. I’ll teach you to twinkle when I’ve got a moment. Night-night now.’
‘Night-night,’ Lottie said, glad it was a Saturday so that she might lie in on the morrow. She was almost asleep when she heard a mumble from the other bed. She strained her ears and just about managed to make it out.
‘I like you better’n anyone else I know,’ Merle muttered. ‘I wish you really was my sister.’
Lottie had sat up on one elbow, the better to hear what her companion was saying, but now she lay down again, feeling touched and grateful. Keeping her voice very low indeed, she said softly: ‘I like you too, Merle, and I wish we were real sisters an’ all.’ Then she cuddled down once more and was soon asleep.
To everyone’s pleasure, the weather was perfect, sunny day following sunny day, but it was often windy, and the girls grew accustomed to arriving at the theatre with wind-blown hair.
September came, and with it some rain at last, to the relief of the fishermen in the cast, who had had poor sport during the very dry spell. ‘But I wouldn’t be surprised if the rain sets in now for the autumn,’ one of the chorus boys said gloomily. They were all in the green room, having a cup of tea after a matinée performance. He brightened. ‘Still, it’s grand weather for fishing. My landlady took a bob off of my rent last week when I handed over a couple of sizeable sea bass. It were a surprise, I can tell you, when the show finished and I pulled me lines up and found I’d got a fish on both. She fried ’em for supper – they were really good.’
One of the scene shifters, a local lad, nodded enthusiastically. ‘I’ve had pretty good fishing myself since the dry ended,’ he acknowledged. ‘But if you want to see real fishing, you should come back here in October when the herrin’ are running. The drifters follow the shoals from Scotland right the way down to us here, where our drifters join ’em. The boats come into harbour so heavily laden with fish that it’s a wonder they don’t turn turtle, and on a Sunday the boats are packed so tight in the harbour that you can walk across it from deck to deck without getting your feet wet.’
‘Aye. No one could do a season in Yarmouth without hearing about the October herring,’ Jack put in. ‘Mrs Shilling told us all about the Scottish fisher girls what follow the fleet from port to port, gutting the fish as they come on to the quays. She says they’re so fast that while you blink an eye they’ve gutted half a dozen.’
The local lad nodded. ‘Aye, they’re fast all right, and pretty rough, I’m telling you. When they ain’t guttin’, they walk round the town, knittin’ an’ talkin’ an’ laughin’, and the rest of us can scarce understand a word they say.’ He chuckled. ‘But you can always tell when they’re comin’ towards you by the smell. I reckon they’re kippered themselves after following the fleet for so long.’
‘You just said the boats pack the harbour on a Sunday; why is that?’ Lottie asked curiously. ‘The drifters go out on a Sunday – we’ve watched ’em sail off and come back, haven’t we, Merle?’
Merle nodded and the lad gave a crow of laughter. ‘Oh aye, you’re right there. Nothin’ won’t keep a Yarmouth fisherman ashore when the shoals are runnin’. But the Scots are different. They think they’d be sent straight to hell if they fished on the Sabbath, so they crowd into St Nicholas’s church and the Methodist chapels, even if the sea is like a mill pond and the fish fairly jumpin’ to be caught.’
‘I wish we could see the fisher girls, though Mrs Shilling says they ain’t girls at all, but quite old women,’ Merle remarked. ‘But though we can’t hang around here till October, it might be quite fun to go and take a look at one or two other resorts. Cromer, for instance; I’m told it’s a quaint little place.’
Louella, who had been listening to the conversation without much apparent interest, suddenly turned back into the room. ‘If you’re keen to go and visit Cromer, I’ll pay for your bus fares, and a cup of tea and a bun, if you’ll take a look at their pier theatre. The Fol-de-rols are playing there, and if you mention that you’re from the Wellington I dare say they’d ask you into the green room and you could tell them what good audiences we’ve been having and find out how theirs have been. It’s always interesting to discover how other theatres are faring, but the thought of a bumpy bus ride just to see yet another Norfolk resort is more than I can stomach right now.’
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