Martha's Girls (13 page)

Sammy Reid was a good choice for compere: broad Belfast, plenty of jokes and he gave each act a big build up before announcing their name. Goldstein sat a few feet from the stage and occasionally shouted out some directions to the performers. ‘Louder! … Smile!’ The Goulding Sisters were the last act before the interval.

‘Now, ladies and gentlemen, three girls and a piano … the lovely Golden Sisters!’

Irene hesitated and turned round to Pat mouthing the words ‘Golden Sisters?’ Then Peggy pushed them forward and they almost fell over each other on to the stage.

Peggy stuck to the agreed songs in the right order and their rehearsal went without a hitch. As they took their bow Goldstein stood up.

‘Wonderful, wonderful, but your entrance was ragged. You have to walk on stage with purpose, looking at the audience and smiling.’

‘Sorry, Mr Goldstein, it was my fault,’ said Irene. ‘I thought Sammy called us the Golden Sisters.’

‘You are right, he did.’ Goldstein turned to Sammy who checked his copy of the running order.

‘Oh sorry, should have been the Goulding Sisters, shouldn’t it?’

‘Maybe not,’ said Goldstein and he spoke the name softly to himself. ‘Golden Sisters, I like that. It sounds right.’

‘But, Mr Goldstein,’ Pat began, ‘it’s our family name and we’ve been know as the Goulding Sisters since we—’

Goldstein interrupted her. ‘That’s as maybe, but a name needs to send a message to the public about what to expect and I think golden will suit you very well.’ Then he turned to speak to the rest of the performers. ‘That first half was adequate. No more. Let’s see how good the rest of you are. Five minutes break, then I’ll give the notes.’

Pat was furious. ‘He’s got no right to change our name like that. What will Mammy say?’

‘But it’s a better name, so it is,’ snapped Peggy. ‘People will remember it. Everyone gets Goulding wrong. Remember when we were at school?’

‘But can’t you see what he’s doing? Goldstein … Golden … it’s like we belong to him. We’re not us anymore! You understand don’t you, Irene?’

Irene understood that Peggy and Pat would never agree. ‘I don’t think we should worry about the name right now. Mammy’ll be here shortly and we can talk about it then.’

Pat gave her a furious look and, picking up her music, stormed off backstage to get ready for her duet with William.

In the second half Goldstein was constantly shouting, ‘Pace, pace!’ The Templemore Tappers including Myrtle seemed under-rehearsed, lagging behind the music. The conjurer too was hesitant, fumbling a trick, giving away the fact that the string of brightly coloured handkerchiefs was not coming from the top hat, but was being clumsily pulled from his inside pocket.

‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, a real treat! Belfast’s answer to Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy − Miss Patricia Goulding and Mr William Kennedy!’

Pat’s voice began softly, the Italian sounds echoing strangely around the Belfast church hall. She turned to look at William remembering all of Kathleen’s advice about conveying emotion in her voice. He sang in reply, at first lifting his head towards the audience, concentrating on his breathing, then looking at Pat and taking her hand. He held it while she sang, her eyes directed at the floor as though his boldness made her shy. His voice came back stronger, then hers too. Now she looked up into his eyes as their voices blended together; two distinct sounds weaving in and out. In the hall no one moved or spoke. Irene, close to the stage, watched her scarcely recognisable sister holding William Kennedy’s hand and singing of her love.

Oh my God, thought Irene, can everyone see this? She looked sideways at Peggy, who sat stony-faced. Goldstein on the other hand was enthralled, but maybe it was simply the music. The duet reached a crescendo, both voices powerful and complementing each other, Pat and William turned to face the audience for the final moments. As the last note ended there was silence. Pat stood looking upward towards the roof, seemingly unaware of her surroundings and then suddenly everyone began to clap and she looked startled then quickly recovered and bowed on William’s cue.

‘Bravo! Bravo!’ shouted Goldstein jumping to his feet. ‘Now we must hear ‘Indian Love Call’ before the finale.’

Pat and William looked at him blankly.

‘You must finish with that. I gave you the sheet music, remember.’

‘We’re not going to sing that,’ said Pat.

‘What? You must sing it! It’s the American Sweethearts’ most famous song.’

Pat was about to repeat herself when William interrupted. ‘We haven’t rehearsed it properly. It’s not ready to be heard yet.’

Goldstein pouted, weighing up their conflicting replies, but it was getting late and he decided to press on. ‘Right everyone on stage for the finale.’

Chapter 9

A sharp November wind cut into Irene’s face as she crossed the Queen’s Bridge. Around her men walked briskly, their caps pulled down, mufflers around their necks, carrying piece boxes under their arms. No doubt some, like her, were heading for the aircraft factory, but thousands more were making for the shipyard. There were hurrying women too. The office workers took care to hold their coat flaps in place to stop their skirts from blowing up, but the girls in trousers had no such trouble. They linked arms, chatted and laughed. Irene shifted the cloth bag containing an old pair of her father’s trousers over her shoulder and fell in behind them and as she did so she said a silent prayer that, when she crossed the bridge in the opposite direction, she’d be one of them.

She rounded the corner and there it was in front of her, a long, single-storey building. The ground level was solid brick, above which were tall glass windows topped with a series of steep roofs, running like zig-zag stitching against the sky into the far distance. Irene hesitated a moment, but was quickly carried along by the flow of hundreds of workers behind her. At the main entrance she was relieved to see Myrtle, cigarette in hand, waving frantically in her direction.

‘Right, Irene,’ she explained as they went inside and queued for her to clock in. ‘We’re goin’ te see James McVey. Mind, I told ye about him?’

‘Aye.’ Irene remembered he was in charge of hiring and sweet on Myrtle.

‘I’ve already spoke for ye. So ye should be in with a good chance of gettin’ taken on.’

James McVey was middle aged and balding. He wore a suit that was too tight on him with a shine round the elbows and cuffs.

‘Now then Myrtle, this is your wee friend, is it?’

‘Aye, Mr McVey, this is Irene.’

‘How old are you, Irene?’ He looked her up and down.

‘She’s twenty, same as me, Mr McVey.’

He nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off Irene.

‘Where’d you work before?’

‘Ulster Linen Works.’

‘A stitcher were you?’

‘No. I painted the linen goods.’

‘Oh, so you’d be good with your hands then? A delicate touch comes in very useful in an aircraft factory. Isn’t that right, Myrtle?’

Myrtle blushed.

‘And why would you want to work here?’

‘I need the money.’

‘Is that so?’

Irene nodded.

‘You see thon ladder?’

Irene nodded again.

‘Well, let’s see you get yourself up that. Quick as you can now.’

Irene looked at Myrtle, who didn’t meet her eye.

‘I’ve my trousers in my bag. Should I go and put them on.’

‘Not at all, there’s no time for that. Just take your coat off. Here,’ he said, moving to the base of the ladder, ‘I’ll hold it steady for you.’

Irene had no choice. She wasn’t going home to tell Mammy she’d no job. She took a deep breath and without hesitating she went straight up and down the ladder, with McVey looking upwards the whole time.

‘Well now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you a month’s trial. General scivvying duties in the Stirling section. Myrtle’ll keep an eye on you. You can go there now with her to have a look around and you can start tomorrow at seven.

Irene followed Myrtle through the factory, which was nothing like she’d imagined. There were people working at benches, others handling huge sheets of metal and everywhere was the strange smell of what she would later learn was hot metal and solder. There were deafening sounds too, of metal being cut, beaten, drilled, riveted into a thousand different shapes. Eventually, they arrived in one of the hangars where light flooded through the high windows on to a huge half-built structure, catching and glinting its angles.

A Stirling bomber. Irene had never seen anything more beautiful.

*

Peggy had a quiet morning in the shop, then just before lunchtime she made a sale − the Bush wireless. In a way she was glad to see it go. Every time she looked at it, she was reminded of Harry Ferguson. It had been a mistake to go to the Ormeau Bakery looking for him. If he’d got in touch after that, she would have told him the radio had been returned. She might even have apologised, but now…

It was still blustery as she nipped into Robinson and Cleaver’s to look at the pearl necklaces like hers for Irene and Pat to wear at the concert. At the jewellery counter she saw a string just the right length and asked the assistant how much they cost.

‘Five shillings, Madam.’

‘Oh, that’s a wee bit more than I expected.’

‘You could try Woolworths.’

Peggy was affronted. The fact that she couldn’t afford them was irrelevant. How dare a shop assistant speak to her like that? Woolworths indeed! She leaned against the heavy door and was about to push when it swung outwards. She marched out.

‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ came a voice.

She was aware of someone holding the door to her left. ‘Nothing!’ she snapped.

‘You know I could have sworn you said, “Thank you.”’

There he was smirking at her. ‘Oh it’s you, is it?’

‘As charming as ever I see, Miss Goulding.’ Harry tipped his hat. ‘Shall I call you a policeman, so you can have me arrested?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Oh, ridiculous is it now? It doesn’t matter that I stole your wireless then?’

‘You didn’t steal the wireless.’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear that. And there was me ready to flee the country with my ill-gotten gains.’

She began walking up Donegall Place and he fell into step beside her.

‘Maybe, now that my unblemished character has been restored, you might like to come out with me one evening?’

She stopped walking and looked directly at him. That was the trouble with him. He always seemed to be mocking her. How could she tell when he was serious? Anyway, he might not have stolen the wireless, but he had been up to something that day at Carrickfergus. Something that involved a lot of money.

‘I’m very busy these days,’ she said.

He looked sceptical. ‘Busy, is it?’

Peggy walked on. ‘Aye, I’m rehearsing in the evenings for our next concert.’

‘The one advertised in Goldstein’s shop?’

So, he’d been past, seen the poster in the window. ‘That’s it. It’s going to be even bigger than the last one. We’ve got a new company together.’ He probably knew that too.

He raised his hat. ‘I’ll bid you good-day then.’

She watched him go. Good riddance, she thought.

*

When Pat came through the back door that night she noticed two things: the smell of fresh paint and Jimmy McComb, large as life, drinking tea in the kitchen. She hadn’t spoken to him since their disagreement after her father’s death.

Martha greeted her. ‘Ah Pat, what do you think? Young Jimmy here came round after work and painted that wall in the bathroom that looked such a mess.’

Jimmy smiled awkwardly. Pat didn’t acknowledge him, but turned to her mother. ‘I didn’t know we’d any paint for that.’

‘That’s what’s so good about it. Jimmy had some left over from painting his bathroom and he brought it round here for us.’

‘That’s very good of you, Jimmy.’ Her tone was frosty.

‘Well, I’ll be away now, Mrs Goulding. Thanks for the tea.’

‘Not at all, Jimmy. Thanks for the painting and don’t forget about the concert, now.’

‘I won’t. Cheerio.’

When he’d gone Martha noticed the look on Pat’s face. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘Why have you invited him to the concert?’

‘Sure he’s a family friend, Daddy’s apprentice after all.’

‘Ach Mammy, can you not see he’s round here trying to get in with me. I told you about him asking me out, didn’t I?’

‘Pat, what’s the matter with you? Jimmy’s a nice boy, good family. You could do worse.’

‘Look, he can paint all the walls he likes and mend as many fences,’ said Pat, ‘but I am not going out with Jimmy McComb and that’s an end to it!’

*

At that moment, a hundred yards away Irene was hurrying home when Ted Grimes in full Royal Ulster Constabulary uniform called out to her.

‘Irene, a word please, if you don’t mind.’

She was startled to see him, but tried not to show it. ‘Hello Mr Grimes, have you been to see Mammy?’

‘No. No.’ He did his usual staring into the distance and spoke over her head. ‘It’s you I need to speak to, Irene.’

Something in his tone sounded at once formal and sinister. She struggled to keep her voice steady. ‘What is it?’

‘I’ll not go round the houses. Fact is you’ve been seen with a wanted man, wanted on the gravest of charges. Do you understand?’

Irene thought about denying it, but what was the point, he’d clearly seen her with Sean. Then she remembered; dear God, he’d seen her kiss him! She lowered her head, her voice barely audible. ‘Yes.’ Her heart was thumping. He’d tell Mammy. Or he’d take her to the police station. She didn’t know which was worse. But she’d done nothing wrong, had she?

‘Ye realise that man is a Roman Catholic.’

‘Does that matter?’

‘Don’t ye get clever with me, young woman!’ Then his tone changed, softened. ‘Now I need to know what your involvement is in this matter. Ye need to tell me everything. We’ll start with how ye know him and then ye can tell me where he is now.’

‘Honestly, Mr Grimes, I only know him to see. I worked next to his sister. He wanted me to tell her not to worry about him, that he’d be all right.’

His hand shot out and grabbed her arm. As he spoke he squeezed it harder and harder as if to emphasise each word. ‘Only know him to see?’ Squeeze. ‘Ye were courtin’ an’ kissin’ him.’ Squeeze. ‘A disgrace ye are.’ Squeeze.

‘Mr Grimes, you’re hurting me. Please.’

‘Please is it? I’ll give ye please. He shot a policeman. You knew that and ye stood there wi’ your arms round him.’

‘No he didn’t. He didn’t. He was just scared and ran away. And I don’t know where he is now. Honestly, I don’t know!’

He let go suddenly. ‘Now, listen you here, I know what you’ve been doin’, but for your mother’s sake I’m goin’ te say nothin’ for now. But you’ll keep in with the sister and find out where he is and then come an’ tell me. Do ye hear?’

Irene nodded and rubbed her arm.

‘And make sure ye do, or you’ll get what’s comin’ to ye. Now get out of my sight!’

Irene hurried away, great sobs shaking her. She had to stop for a minute or two to compose herself before she went round the back of the house and in the door.

Martha was at the stove finishing off the bacon and cabbage and Sheila was setting the table when she came in.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ asked Sheila.

‘I wasn’t well on the bus. I was nearly sick.’

‘You’re as white as a sheet, so you are.’

Martha looked her up and down. ‘Away and splash some water on your face. You’ll be as right as rain. This’ll be ready in five minutes. Oh aye, and there’s a letter for you on the mantelpiece.’

Irene did as she was told, not wanting to arouse any suspicions. A few minutes later she came back and sat at the table, just as Sheila shouted up the stairs to Pat and Peggy to come for their tea.

‘There’s a letter for you on the mantelpiece,’ said Pat as she sat down.

Then a moment later Peggy arrived and asked, ‘Did you know you’ve a letter?’

Irene looked at her wearily. ‘Oh have I? Where would it be, do you think, on the mantelpiece maybe?’

Sheila laughed and Irene shot her a look.

It’s not like Irene to snap at people, thought Martha. ‘Leave her alone now,’ she said. ‘Can you not see she’s unwell?’

The chat round the table was lively. Sheila described a bomb shelter being built close to the school. ‘It’s so small and dark; nobody would want to sit in there?’

Peggy told them about the expensive pearls. ‘Never mind,’ said Pat, ‘We’ll save up. Now what are we rehearsing tonight?’

Irene sat through it all without speaking and eventually, when she’d eaten enough of the bacon and cabbage so as not to upset her mother, she excused herself. ‘I think I’ll go up and lie down for a bit.’

‘Don’t forget your letter!’ they chorused together and, in spite of herself, Irene smiled.