Sing as We Go (35 page)

‘Is he all right now?’

Jemima sighed sadly. ‘He went away for a few days while Beatrice was in the nursing home. He looked much better when he came back. Though there was still that awful haunted look in his eyes. I don’t suppose he will ever get over losing his only son. His only child.’

‘And her?’

‘Oh, she’s all right,’ Jemima said, with not a scrap of sympathy for the hypochondriac. ‘Beatrice and her like will be all right, because, my dear Kathy, despite what she’d like the world to think, there’s only one person she’s ever cared about and that’s not, as she would have you believe, her beloved son, but herself. Beatrice Kendall is the epitome of the very worst kind of selfishness.’

There was silence between them for a while until Kathy murmured. ‘I’d like to go and see his dad.’

‘I wouldn’t, my dear, not this time anyway. Perhaps when you come home again.’

Kathy smiled up at her, tears in her eyes. It wasn’t just the woman’s kindness and understanding, it was the inference that Jemima’s house was Kathy’s home that brought a lump to the girl’s throat and an overwhelming gratitude.

Thirty-Three

‘Now I know the members of this concert party of Ron’s do get paid a little, but it can’t be much . . .’ Jemima began on the Wednesday morning as they breakfasted together before Kathy had to leave.

‘Aunt Jemima, it’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t possible take any more. You’ve already been more than generous.’

‘Oh, phooey.’ Jemima dismissed her protests with a wave of her hand, then her green eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘So, I’m to take it you’re rolling in it, am I?’

Kathy laughed wryly. ‘Not exactly, but—’

‘No more “buts”. Take it.’

‘You’re too good to me,’ Kathy said, her voice trembling.

‘More than likely,’ Jemima said crisply, but she was smiling as she said it.

Moments later, as she drove away with Ron Spencer in the taxi, Kathy looked back to see Jemima standing outside her front door with Taffy in her arms waving goodbye.

When they arrived at the railway station, Ron rounded up all the party and stood on a nearby seat to say, ‘We’re not going on the train. I’ve got a surprise for you all. Follow me.’ He jumped down and led them all out of the station.

‘What’s going on?’ Rosie asked.

‘Search me,’ Kathy said. ‘He didn’t say anything in the taxi.’

‘Ooh, ’ark at her. Taxi, is it? Come into money, have we?’

Kathy grinned. ‘Actually, we treated ourselves to a taxi home last week – Ron and me live in the same street. Well, this lovely driver took us home and promised to pick us up today. And do you know what . . . ?’

‘He wouldn’t let you pay this morning.’

Kathy’s eyes widened. ‘How did you know?’

‘Because it’s what a lot of them do when they know who we are and what we’re doing.’

‘Oh.’ Kathy felt deflated and Rosie pinched her arm, laughing. ‘I was only teasing you, you know. I don’t care if you’re a millionaire – I’d still be your friend.’

‘If I was, we wouldn’t be travelling about on draughty trains any more— Oh my!’ She stopped short as the whole party came to a halt.

‘It doesn’t look as if we’re going to anyway,’ Rosie said, as they all saw Ron pointing proudly towards a single-decker bus with the words ‘The Lindum Players’ painted on the side. ‘The local bus company have donated one of their old buses for our permanent use and, better still, one of their drivers who’s just reached retirement age has volunteered to come with us. This, ladies and gentlemen, is Keith.’

The whole party cheered the man, who gave them a cheery wave. ‘Hello, there. We’ll get to know each other, but for now let’s get you all stowed aboard and we’ll be off.’

*

The concert party grew even closer now that they travelled together all the time, so every time someone was called up, the gap they left was even harder to fill. New members joined and were welcomed into the group, but those that had gone were still missed.

Ron’s face wore a perpetually worried frown, and at the beginning of December 1941, even he began to lose heart.

‘They’re going to call up all single women between twenty and thirty,’ he told the company dolefully. ‘How are we ever to keep going if we lose all the young singers and dancers?’

Rosie put her arms around Ron, ‘Then we’ll all just have to get married,’ she joked.

Ron smiled thinly but the anxious frown never left his forehead. ‘I’m serious. How are we to hold the party together?’

‘Can’t you apply for deferment for us like you did for Martin? We’re doing our bit for the war effort, when all’s done and said.’

Ron’s face lightened a little. ‘I could try, I suppose. But whether they’ll let you all stay . . .’

‘It’s worth a try, Ron,’ Rosie and her fellow dancers chorused.

Ron’s application was successful – at least for the time being. More and more the work of ENSA was being recognized as being a valuable part of the war effort. Entertainment of any kind, especially live shows, helped cheer troops and war workers alike, especially at Christmas for those who could not get home. And when America entered the war after the attack on Pearl Harbor, it was likely that there would soon be servicemen stationed in Britain who were thousands of miles from home. Keeping up morale was going to be more important than ever.

She knew she was part of something special, but Kathy still felt restless. She longed to go back to Saltershaven to see James. Despite her promise to write, Kathy had received no letter or photograph of her little boy from Mrs Wainwright and the passage of time only seemed to make her longing greater, not less. He would be a year old now. Was he walking yet? Had he said his first words? She so longed to know, but she was very afraid that Mrs Wainwright had changed her mind. Perhaps she’d told her husband and they’d decided that they should cut off all contact with their son’s natural mother.

‘We’ll write a pantomime.’ Ron interrupted her thoughts, knowing nothing of her inner torment. Kathy sighed and forced a smile. ‘I want you to play principal boy,’ he went on. ‘You’ve lovely long legs and Melody can play principal girl. Yes, I know, I know, she can’t sing, so that’s why we’ve got to rewrite it. We’ll make her part more comic and she can do some of her impressions. It’ll be different and you can sing all the serious ballads. All right? Now, when can you help Lionel and Martin get to work on the script?’

‘As soon as you like,’ Kathy said summoning up enthusiasm. A new challenge would help take her mind off her son.

‘That’s the ticket.’

The party’s rewrite of
Jack and the Beanstalk
was a roaring success and enjoyed by the concert party as well as by all their audiences. They kept it running for two months, over the Christmas period, altering the topical jokes to fit in with what was happening in the news, lampooning Hitler and his cohorts mercilessly. Early in the New Year they played to audiences of children when the camps invited the locals to the show. By February, they were back to their usual show, travelling by bus from city to city, airfield to army camp, from factory canteen to hospital wards. The routine continued through the spring. In the summer they made another fleeting visit to Lincoln and Kathy was appalled to hear from Jemima, and to see for herself, the damage that bombing had inflicted on the city. But she was pleased to see that, despite the shortages and the constant fear of the bombing, Jemima was coping well. And she was relieved to hear that all was fine at Sandy Furze Farm.

‘Your mother’s keeping well too, dear,’ Jemima greeted her. ‘Betty’s roped her in to help out with war work in the village.’ Jemima smiled impishly. ‘Your father grumbled, but as it was Betty asking, there was nothing he could say. He doesn’t want to fall out with Edward and Maurice. They’re helping him out a lot on his farm because he flatly refuses to have land army girls. And evidently it’s doing poor Edith the world of good getting out and meeting other folk. Like I always say, it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good. Oh, and there’s a letter for you, dear. It arrived two weeks ago, but I didn’t know where to send it on to and I didn’t want it to get lost. Mabel said you were due back here this week, so I hung on to it. Maybe it’s from your mother.’

Kathy took the letter eagerly, but the handwriting was not that of her mother. It was not one she recognized and the envelope felt stiff, as if there was something else in it besides folded pages of writing paper. Her heart leapt as she opened the envelope carefully and eased out the contents. There was a short letter on one sheet of notepaper, but it was the other item that captured her attention. It was a photograph of a dark-haired little boy, taken at about eighteen months old. He was beaming at the camera and raising one chubby little hand in a friendly wave.

Her legs gave way beneath her and she sank into a chair. ‘Oh look,’ she breathed, not taking her gaze from the snapshot she held in her trembling hand. ‘Aunt Jemima – do look. It’s him. It’s James. Mrs Wainwright has sent me a letter.’

Jemima held out her hand for the photo and, almost with a reluctance that was quite unnecessary, Kathy handed it to her. While Jemima looked at it, Kathy read the letter aloud.

‘
Dear Kathy, I hope this reaches you eventually, as I know you are travelling a lot. I hope you like the picture of James. He is such a sweet little boy and so good. He is walking, of course, and talking too. He is getting quite a chatterbox and is adorable. I know you’d like a photograph of him. The enclosed was taken about a month ago . . .
’

‘He’s a handsome little chap,’ Jemima said truthfully. ‘And there’s no mistaking who his father is, Kathy.’

She took the photo from Jemima and gazed at it again. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I wonder if I should—’

‘No, you shouldn’t,’ Jemima said, reading her mind. ‘It could be disastrous to reveal to Beatrice Kendall that she has a grandson. Goodness only knows what she might try to do.’

‘You’re right,’ Kathy admitted. ‘But I would so like Mr Kendall to know.’

‘Perhaps in time,’ Jemima said.

The letter and the photograph brought Kathy some comfort. Now she had an image of her son that she carried everywhere with her, yet she still yearned to hold him.

The door slammed behind Kathy as she sat at the dressing table applying her stage make-up. The sound made her jump and smudge her lipstick. ‘I do wish you wouldn’t do that, Rosie.’

‘I hate him. I don’t ever want to see him again.’

‘
Now
what? Can’t you and Martin go five minutes without a blazing row? Really! For a couple supposed to be madly in love, you take the biscuit.’

‘I’m not madly in love with
him
. I wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man on earth.’

‘You wouldn’t get the chance. You’d be killed in the rush.’ Calmly, Kathy rubbed away the smudged lipstick and started again. ‘What – is it – this time?’ she asked, stretching her lips as she applied fresh lipstick.

‘He’s going to join up even though Ron got him a deferment for six months. He says he doesn’t want folks thinking he’s a coward.’

‘They won’t think that,’ Kathy said.

‘
I
know that, but try telling him.’

The door opened with a dramatic flourish.

‘You don’t know what it’s like to be a fit young man and have people staring at you wondering why you’re not in uniform,’ Martin shouted.

‘You just want to be a hero,’ Rosie screamed. ‘You’re doing a good job here else you wouldn’t have been given a deferment.’

‘There’s no talking to you.’ Martin turned and left, slamming the door behind him. But Rosie dragged it open and followed him across the corridor into his dressing room.

‘Well, I don’t want to talk to you if all you want to do is go and get yourself killed.’

She came back into Kathy’s room and slammed the door again.

‘That door is going to fall off its hinges if we’re here much longer,’ Kathy remarked mildly.

Rosie collapsed into the rickety armchair in one corner of the dressing room and dissolved into noisy weeping.

‘Oh, Rosie,’ Kathy sighed, getting up. ‘I’m on your side. I don’t want Martin to go either . . .’ She paused, wondering whether to confide in the girl of her own loss, but decided it might only make things worse. Martin was the one she should tell that to, if anyone. As far as she knew, only Ron knew about the loss of her fiancé. Theoretically, he had still been her fiancé when he’d been killed.

‘But you have to let the men do what they feel they need to do.’

‘What would you know about it?’ Rosie sniffed sulkily. ‘You haven’t even got a boyfriend.’

Softly, with a catch in her voice, Kathy said, ‘I know more than you might think.’

Rose stared at her for a moment and then jumped up. ‘Did you – have you – lost someone?’

She hadn’t meant for it to come out, but now there was no point in lying about it. Biting her lip, Kathy nodded.

Rosie stood up and put her arms about her. ‘Kathy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. But – but you must know how I feel, then.’

‘I know exactly how you feel. But it’s no use, Rosie love. If they want to go, there’s nothing we can do to stop them.’

‘I can have a jolly good try though. I’ll go down fighting,’ Rosie declared. The two girls stared at each other and then collapsed against each other laughing.

‘Come on,’ Kathy said at last. ‘We’d better finish getting ready. The show’ll be starting in ten minutes and you’re on in the opening number. Just one more piece of advice: don’t spend your last few days before he goes – if he does go – fighting. If . . . if anything did happen to him – and God forbid that it does – but if it did, you’d regret it.’

Rosie gazed at her. ‘Is – is that what happened to you?’

‘Not exactly, but – but I have a lot of regrets. Things I didn’t do – things I . . . I didn’t tell him that . . . that I should have done. And now I never can.’

Rosie’s tears ran afresh, but now for a different reason, as she hugged Kathy again.

‘Now, come along. Go and make up with Martin before the show starts or you’ll both be looking as black as thunder all the way through and you know Ron— he’ll pick up on it.’