Mothers and Daughters (9 page)

The Olive Oils still met for their suppers. Perhaps
they drew comfort from each other but she found she
resented their gatherings. Neville encouraged her into
singing again. Miss Kent pushed her hard to take GCEs
and go into the sixth form early. Happy to oblige, it
was easier to be lost in a book than face Mama’s absence.
Dr Friedmann’s door was always open but she shrank
from any intimate discussion. This grief was not for
sharing
.

No point in going back to church either. It had let
her down big time
.

Music was the solace – any music, the louder the
better. Pop, jazz, they drowned out all worries with
their raucous beat. It was an escape. It was then she
wrote the first draft of
Colours of My Love
and shoved
it in a drawer. There was no music in her head to put
the words to back then
.

If she had lived would things have been any different, I wonder?

Of course they would. I would not be sitting in this airport waiting for someone who may never come.

Rosa knew the part was hers, the minute that Grimbleton Little Theatre announced in the
Mercury
that they were doing an updated open-air
Romeo and
Juliet
in the Town Hall Square.
West
Side Story
was all the rage and she’d seen a touring company perform it in Manchester. This one was going to be Teddy Boys versus Rockers.

‘I have to be Juliet, Connie.’ Who else but a fresh-faced Italian could carry the passion of the role? Besides, she needed the experience, the exposure and the chance to take a leading role. No one was going to get in her way. She’d been too busy at the dancing school to join the Youth Theatre, but the
Mercury
had stated it was an open audition.

Connie nodded half-heartedly, tagging along with her, knowing she herself would be lucky to get in the chorus. Since her mother’s death she’d grown a shell
round herself. It was hard to interest her in anything but Rosa thought that being in this production might help.

Their acting experience was limited to school plays, but Mamma and Rosa both adored Shakespeare and Rosa was word-perfect since it was one of the set texts for GCE English Literature she’d actually managed to swot.

It was important to look the part for the audition, so that meant catching her long hair up in an Alice band to make her seem young and innocent. She wore her Sunday church summer dress, which was a princess line and not too short. It showed off her lithe little figure.

Connie and Joy had spent hours getting her ‘in role’ for the big day. When her name was called she sprang onto the stage, forgot her nerves and danced through the lines as if she already was in the ballroom scene.

‘I am Rosa Santini,’ she announced into the darkness, and lived out the script, scarcely glancing at the text. Besides, she was madly in love, smitten with lust, and that only added to the intensity of her performance.

Paul Jerviss had just left the Boys’ Grammar School to go to medical school. They met at one of the end-of-term all-night parties held while someone’s parents were on holiday, parties to which Connie and Joy were invited but never wanted to go. Now he was waiting
on tables at Uncle Angelo’s diner bar, while she was washing up.

He was everything a Paul Newman hero should be: tall, fair with sultry eyes and a slight sneer on his lips; he’d been Head of School and cricket and rugby; his blue denim jeans fitted snugly on his bum like James Dean’s. He smouldered in the direction of any decent-looking girl. Geraldine Keane said he left a tramline of lovebites from the tip to the toe of her torso and in between. But for some reason he was playing hard to get, which infuriated Rosa. Perhaps he didn’t want to tangle with his boss’s niece in case there was some Mafia revenge.

He’d have been the perfect candidate to practise on to get that knowing passion that came to Juliet once she and Romeo were lovers. If she had to pretend to smoulder with lust then it was time to find out what it was all about. His friend Miles Black was giving her the glad eye, though … Any port in a storm, strictly for the sake of her art.

Looking smart and sassy in her washing-up gear at the diner wasn’t easy, but it was the bust, the hair and the eyes that counted. She pretended she couldn’t care less when the boys were on shift hoping Paul would be narked; he was used to girls falling at his feet. He was the love ’em and leave ’em type once he got to home base, but two could play at that game. Rosa was showing just enough interest to get noticed
and then ignoring him and pretending he didn’t exist. It was Miles who kept taking the bait.

To be a theatrical star she needed to practice ‘allure’ so she spent hours pinning up her heavy hair into a wild Bardot style, piled carelessly on top of her head with strands falling down the sides. She wore the tightest of boy’s jeans and skimpy tops cut low, lots of cleavage by padding her bra so it made the best of her meagre assets. Too much dancing reduced your bust to nothing, but there were ways and means to create an illusion and she knew them all.

All this had to be done without Mamma noticing so she came to the Waverley in a sloppy joe sweater and promptly removed it upstairs saying it was too hot to keep it on.

Eye make-up was the next key to allure. She and Joy practised using lots of mascara and smudgy eyeliner, smoky shadow and pale lipstick, and most of all that knowing look, which Rosa knew you didn’t get by keeping your legs crossed.

Susan kept staring at them. ‘I hope you’re not going out like that!’

‘Don’t worry, we’re just getting in role,’ Rosa replied, and that usually stopped any further criticism.

Connie looked on with a shrug. She’d be happy to go out in a sack. Poor lamb didn’t smile much either. Every time Mamma and Rosa had a blazing row, not speaking just barking orders at each other, mumbling
under their breath and generally keeping out of each other’s way, Rosa would recall what happened to Connie and rush home and give her Mamma a big hug, and all was forgiven.

She practised a whole repertoire of characters to act: demure schoolgirls, innocent ingénues, Audrey Hepburn-style; waspish Left Bank students à la Juliette Greco, all in black, and vamps. Rosa could do them all, but extra lessons courtesy of Paul Jerviss might put the seal of truth on her seductive powers.

‘One must suffer for one’s art.’ She sat back on the last day of school with her Panama hat crushed into a ball and her school blazer screwed under her seat.

Connie was slumped on the café seat, weighed down by a satchel full of exercise books.

‘You’re such a swot! School’s out! No more brown knickers for me, no more Sister Gilberte breathing down my neck. Today Grimbleton, tomorrow the world!’

Rosa leaned back on her chair to admire all the trendy alterations to Santini’s. It was now the ‘Casablanca’, covered with posters of Humphrey Bogart’s film. It was dark with netting on the walls and posters of gendarmes, and wine bottles with candles in them for lights. They served cappuccinos with brown sugar. You could smoke and no one would see you. Best of all was the bulbous new juke box, with its glass front and handwritten song titles to choose from.

‘Did you get the part?’ Connie asked, looking up.

‘Do ducks swim?’ Rosa replied. ‘I knocked the opposition out of the water and I heard the producer say, “And who is
that
?” Rehearsals start on Monday. Don’t look so interested,’ she snapped. ‘You’re on the list too. I put your name down as a helper.’

‘Thanks a bundle,’ came Connie’s flat reply

‘Come on, what’s up with you? Another bad night again?’ Rosa was trying to be sympathetic but Connie was not easy to reach.

‘I’m fine. Joy’s late again. I expect she’s snogging John Seddon down the ginnel. Honestly, have you seen him? I could do better than that with my eyes shut.’

‘I thought you two were friends, not rivals. What’s up?’ Rosa was fishing. Since Ana’s death, Connie was funny about Joy; critical, snappy. It wasn’t like her.

‘Nothing. Oh, here she comes, the late Joy Winstanley, as usual. Just look at her. You’d think it was a fashion parade,’ Connie sneered.

Rosa had to admit since Joy’s illness she looked so different, neat and petite, with immaculate skirt and nylons showing such tiny feet. Her hair hung down in a huge ponytail, thick and glossy like a mane. Someone wolf-whistled as she went past and she pretended not to notice.

‘Sorry I’m late. I popped into the travel agency to see Auntie Lee. I start work on Monday.’ She looked so excited that it was hard to be cross.

‘Connie’s being a misery guts – she must have the curse,’ Rosa laughed.

‘No, I’ve not. It’s all right for you two. I’m stuck with a huge pile of prep for next term,’ she snapped.

‘You’re such a swot! We’re not good enough for her now, are we?’ Rosa laughed. Nothing was going to spoil her excitement. The summer was going to be so thrilling for her. Who knew where she might be by September? A bit part in
Coronation
Street
, assistant stage manager at a Manchester theatre or even the West End? A film extra would do until she got on a decent drama course.

‘How much has Auntie Su told you about Cedric Winstanley?’ Connie suddenly whispered to Joy.

‘You mean my daddy? He was a soldier in the war and he died a hero. They met in Burma after the occupation in a concert party in Rangoon, I think,’ said Joy.

‘When did he marry her?’ Connie continued.

‘I’m not sure, not right away. Why do you want to know?’ Joy replied. Trust Connie to be so serious on the last day of term.

‘Have you seen your birth certificate?’

‘No. Why should I? Mummy has it somewhere safe.’ Joy looked puzzled.

‘Well, ask to see it, that’s all I’m saying,’ Connie snapped. ‘The Winstanleys have a lot of explaining to do.’

‘Don’t talk about them like that!’ Joy spat.

‘I speak as I find.’ Connie glared at her.

Why was she spoiling the fun and being unkind? Rosa leaned forward, almost knocking the candle onto the floor and smashing the bottle.

‘Come on, Con, we understand how you’re feeling at the moment, but—’

‘You don’t understand anything at all, either of you. Ask your precious mummy, Joy. Ask Gran about Freddie Winstanley, that’s all I’m saying.’ Connie rose to gather her stray bits of uniform, making for the door in tears.

‘Don’t go, Connie, please stay,’ whispered Rosa. ‘I’ve got something to confess, something exciting to tell you. I want you to be the first to know.’

Connie paused and sat down, trying not to look interested,

‘I’ve “gone all the way”,’ Rosa blurted.

‘When?’ Con whispered, her blue eyes wide and curious.

‘
Who
?’ Joy added. They were in a huddle now, all animosity forgotten.

‘Last Saturday afternoon in Queen’s Park … with Paul Jerviss’s—’ she said. Their faces were a picture of fascinated horror.

‘Not
the
Paul Jerviss, the spin-the-bottle champion, the love-bite king? Rosaria Santini, you devil.’ They were all ears and smiling, wanting to know every embellished detail.

‘Well, his mate, actually. More’s the pity,’ she sighed
to herself. Try as she might, Paul didn’t show any interest in her at all.

‘Paul and Miles’re working for my uncle now. We went to an all-nighter up Albert Drive, with loads of bedrooms for snogging. Miles and I got to number seven and then I left him wanting more, but we went for a walk before work. I thought, let’s do it, let’s find out what all the fuss is about, so we did,’ she revealed.

‘So … what’s it like?’ whispered Joy, looking shocked.

‘Having an ice cream cone that melts inside you after a lot of jumping about,’ Rosa sniggered. It wasn’t like that at all, just a lot of fumbling and messing about, but she wasn’t going to spoil the moment.

‘Is that all? What if you get yourself pregnant?’ Connie said, ever the practical one.

‘We did it standing up so it doesn’t count,’ Rosa countered.

‘Are you going to marry him now?’ Joy asked. She was romantic, and keen on sex and marriage going hand in hand.

‘Not likely. I just wanted to know how it feels. I’m getting in the part for Juliet’s love scenes,’ she replied.

‘Did it hurt?’ Joy grimaced. ‘They say you bleed and tear.’

‘Not a drop. Doing all those splits sort of stretches you out, and Tampax, of course,’ she lied. They hadn’t got that far at all but Miles had blurted it out in excitement.

‘I think it’s wrong to do it just out of curiosity.
Look where it got Mama and Auntie Su, dumped with babies. You’re daft not to take precautions,’ Connie sniffed – being a po-faced pain-in-the-bum again, Rosa thought sulkily.

‘Why are you being so mean? They were married ladies,’ snapped Joy.

‘Were they now? I’d check on that, if I were you,’ Connie said.

‘There you go again! If a
bambina
comes along, Mamma will look after it for me. No big deal.’ Rosa was lying again. It would be a disgrace in the family if she shamed them. She would have to be sent away and there would be no West End, only penitence and lots of Church. ‘I’ll say one thing, it’s better to journey than to arrive,’ she winked.

‘What do you mean?’ Joy said.

‘You’ll find out for yourself one day.’ She sipped her coffee, leaving a frothy moustache on her lips. ‘So, no more school. What shall we do to celebrate?’ she asked, changing tack.

‘Are you going to do it again?’ asked Joy, still eager for information.

‘I suppose so, when I’ve got a spare minute, what with teaching baby class for Lemody Liptrot and I’ve got rehearsals. You must come and see us. Romeo is a professional from Manchester, a friend of Simon Marks, the producer. Isn’t it exciting? You can have my autograph now, if you like,’ she sniggered. ‘And the coffees are on me, I’m feeling flushed with success.’

‘Lucky you,’ Connie sighed.

Her confession had fallen flat as a pancake, a bit like Miles Black’s efforts, but one must suffer for one’s art, she sighed.

Soon the rehearsals were well underway and the leading man, Alex Macauley, made it quite clear he was doing a friend a favour while he was ‘resting’. Rosa thought he was a bit old for Romeo but she was sure her fresh interpretation of Juliet would meet with his approval. She was going to show him she was no mere amateur.

Neville was playing one of the Capulet gang, full of energy and presence on the stage, much better than his skiffling efforts. He looked good in Teddy Boy drapes, Rosa thought. Alex seemed to take to him and his friend Basil. No hope then of him sweeping her off her feet and off to London as his protégée, she sighed, sensing his interest lay elsewhere.

Romeo was professional enough in his delivery but there was something missing, some zest, some conviction. His performance lacked Rosa’s passion. He drank too much before rehearsals and his breath smelled of yesterday’s Guinness. It was hard trying to show your grand passion when his armpits smelled of old socks.

Troupers must soldier on, she sighed. This is my big chance to be noticed.

They used the classical stone frontispiece of the town hall, with its gradations of steps as the stage, and floodlit the ornate carving. For a few days it would become Verona, not sooty Grimbleton. The seating was raised up in tiers to create a pit in which the company were acting to three sides The balcony scene would use the stone balustrade round the window where the mayor and corporation came out to read the election results on polling night.