The Alphabet Sisters (43 page)

“What?” Bett called.

Anna’s voice came over clearly. “Break an egg, Bett.”

Bett laughed. She’d completely forgotten the Alphabet Sisters’ own version. “Break an egg, Anna,” she called back. Carrie looked up and grinned, too.

Bett tucked the music under her arm and went up onto the stage, nervous and excited. She peered through a gap in the curtains into the hall. It was now nearly filled. There was a warm, bubbling noise of conversation, mixed with the sounds of chairs scraping, people finding their seats and greeting friends. It was fifteen minutes to curtain up.

Bett made her way down the side stairs out into the little musical pit they had set up at the foot of the stage, the area marked out by trestle tables standing on their sides. One wobbled as she went past. Len’s work again, unfortunately. Such enthusiasm, but he had a mind like a dragonfly, jumping from one project to another before the first was finished.

The other members of her small band were already seated: a sax player, a guitarist, and a drummer, each of them dressed in dark trousers and white shirt. She greeted them warmly, noticing their flushed cheeks, their bright eyes. From their excitement, it could have been Carnegie Hall, not the Clare Town Hall. She took her seat and nodded, and they began playing the first of the introductory tunes, Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood.” Looking up from the keyboard, her fingers so familiar with the notes, she spied Rebecca in the audience, with a gang of people from the newspaper. Daniel was at the end of the row. He winked at her as she caught his eye. She grinned and winked back.

The noise in the hall changed as Lola started making her way to the stage through the center aisle. She climbed the stairs, then paused dramatically in the middle of the stage, just as Bett finished the last notes of Vera Lynn’s “We’ll Meet Again.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, thank you all very much for coming tonight. My name is Lola Quinlan.” She gestured flamboyantly. “Welcome to the world premiere of
Many Happy Returns
!”

A
t the interval, Anna went out to the hall to say a quick hello to Richard and Lola. She couldn’t get near her grandmother. Lola was standing in the middle of an admiring crowd, holding court. “The idea first came to me in the middle of the night about twenty-five years ago.…”

Anna smiled as Richard came up to her. “So? What do you think?”

“It’s wonderful.”

“Wonderful?” Anna pulled a face. “I don’t know about that.” She lowered her voice, started ticking things off on her fingers. “General MacArthur forgot his lines again. The train got stuck. The dancing wasn’t in formation. Some of the singing was flat.…”

He caught her hand and squeezed it in his. “And it’s still wonderful. Look at the mood. Everyone’s having a great time.”

She grinned. “They are, aren’t they?” The audience had cheered Lola when she got up at the start. There had been some singing along with “My Favorite Things” and “Oh What a Beautiful Morning.” Len’s trick with the corn—where the sheaves suddenly came up through the stage—had almost worked. They’d risen about three inches, at least, which was better than nothing. Kaylene had veered between her English and American accents, sounding vaguely South African by the final scene of the first act, but she had put across the right emotion.

Back at the piano, five minutes before the end of the interval, Bett felt a touch on her arm. It was Daniel. “Congratulations. It’s hilarious.”

“Hilarious? It’s supposed to be serious drama, not great fun.”

“Sorry. Of course it is. That’s what I meant to say. It’s hugely dramatic. The whole gamut of human emotions.”

“Careful. We have an audience participation spot, and I have connections with the director.” The bell sounded to indicate the end of the interval. “Are you staying on for the party?”

“If that’s okay. Len invited me, but I wasn’t sure.”

“You were last-minute crew and nearly cast. Of course you should be there.” She wanted him to be there.

He smiled. “Great. I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you.” Bett was smiling, too, as she turned back to the piano. Lola was right. There was something very attractive about a man with a glint in his eye.

I
n the middle of the next act she heard a faint crying from the audience, like a child, but rising louder and louder. She turned her head slightly, to see Daniel help an elderly woman out of her seat and toward the back of the hall. The crying faded to a little whimpering sound. Were the war songs reviving sad memories? Bett brought her attention back to the stage as Kaylene did her best to reach a high note but unfortunately failed. Bett played extra loud to try to cover up for it.

T
hey all crowded into the backstage area afterward. The noise was deafening.

“We got five curtain calls! Five!” Carrie exclaimed. Not only that, she’d been applauded wildly after her rendition of “I Could Have Danced All Night.” Lola had received another huge cheer and then called the three of them up beside her to receive enormous bouquets of flowers. Backstage it was all excitement, backslapping, relief, reenactments of moments when scenes hadn’t worked, overlaid with compliments and praise. Some of the cast took their makeup off and changed into normal clothes. But as the after-show party got under way, Bett noticed many of them were still in their costumes and stage makeup. They looked happy to stay in them forever, in fact. Lola was beaming as though lit from within, brighter even than the night of her party.

Bett was surprised by a sudden big hug. It was Rebecca. “Congratulations, Bett. It was fantastic. I don’t know how you all did it. What next, the West End?”

A face popped in between them before she had a chance to answer. Len the butcher. He kissed each of them on both cheeks, nearly spilling a glass of champagne. “Bett, Rebecca, a night for celebration, don’t you think?”

Bett clinked glasses with him. “It was fantastic, Len. Thank you so much for all the hard work.”

“Well, I think we all contributed.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “You weren’t put off by poor old Mrs. Hilder’s crying, I hope? Daniel was very good to bring her out, though, don’t you think? His sister’s the same, takes her out everywhere. Can’t imagine my girls bringing me out if I lost my marbles like that. They’d have me locked in a home before I knew what had hit me.” He gave a loud roar of laughter, then raised his glass to them again. “See you later, then, ladies. On the dance floor, perhaps?” He gave a little twist of his hips, then moved away.

Rebecca shook her head after him. “And the prize for the most sensitive man in the Clare Valley goes to Len once again. Daniel would hate it if he heard his mother being talked about like that.”

“Is that the trouble at home you spoke about?”

Rebecca nodded. “Seeing as Len has introduced the subject so delicately, yes, it is. Daniel’s mother has Alzheimer’s. That’s why he came back to Clare, to look after her. He and his sister have been taking it in turns staying with her. But it got to the point that Mrs. Hilder was beyond staying at home. They had to move her into Lilac House a week or two ago. You know it? The care house next to the hospital?”

Bett nodded.

“He only told me about it because there were times he’d need to leave work to go to her.”

“Why was it such a secret?”

“I don’t think it was out of secrecy. It was more loyalty, a way of protecting their mother. You don’t remember her?”

Bett shook her head.

“It’s so sad. She was the most elegant, proper woman. You know the sort? Everything perfect, under control. And she just had a complete personality change the worse her condition became. She started swearing, going down the street in unsuitable clothing. The one good thing was she wasn’t aware of what she was doing, but it was heartbreaking for Daniel and his sister, Christine. I think that’s why they tried to look after her at home for as long as they could. You know, getting carers, installing all sorts of things to stop her from hurting herself and to keep her occupied.”

Bett thought of the colored lines, the signs on drawers, and the locks on the cupboards she’d seen the day Daniel showed her his Dangerous video. They weren’t for any grandchildren but for Mrs. Hilder herself.

“Oh, the poor things. That must have been so hard for them all.”

“It has been, I think.”

“You wouldn’t know it from Daniel, though, would you?” Bett said. “He’s so good-natured, so lovely all the time.”

Rebecca gave her a knowing look. “Yes, he is, isn’t he? He just gets on with it, I think.” She glanced around. “I thought he might have come back after he took her back to Lilac House, but no sign of him. His poor mum must have got quite upset.”

Bett had already noticed he hadn’t come back. She’d been keeping an eye out for him.

Rebecca hugged her again. “Enough of such serious talk on your night of triumph. Come on, musical director, help me find a fresh bottle of champagne.”

M
idway through the party, there was a sudden, loud clapping of hands. Someone was trying to get everyone’s attention. Slowly the talk died down, and the music playing from the stereo was lowered. Lola stood in the middle of the room, with a glass of champagne in one hand. “Thank you all. I promise I’ll only be a minute. We’ve all got a lot of celebrating to do tonight, and far be it from me to put a halt to your gallop.” There was laughter. “Some weeks ago, when my three granddaughters reunited for my eightieth birthday, I said something to them that I meant from the heart. And I’d like to say it to all of you tonight as well. I never dreamed this would happen in the way it did. Thank you, each and every one of you. You’ve made an old lady very happy.”

There were cheers, and more applause. Then from the back someone shouted, “Give us a song, Lola.”

She gave an imperious wave. “Oh no, I’m far too old for that. I’m an observer these days, not a performer.”

“Oh come on, Lola. We all did it. Now it’s your turn,” General MacArthur called.

At different spots around the room, Anna, Bett, and Carrie started smiling. Anna wished Ellen was here to see this, but her daughter, so tired she had been drooping, had just been taken back to the motel by Geraldine and Jim.

“Yes, come on now, Lola. You can’t let everyone down,” Carrie called out, egged on by Matthew beside her.

“You’re only as old as you feel, remember,” Anna added.

“She taught us everything we know, you know,” Bett said to Rebecca.

“Really? In that case you can be her backing singers.”

Someone overheard. “Yes, bring on the Alphabet Sisters as well!”

This time there was no hesitation. There was a tumble of movement and laughter, as Lola was lured into the middle of the room, and the three girls made to line up behind her, like an old-fashioned backing group, standing sideways. Everyone was laughing.

“So what do we sing?” Bett said. She wished again that Daniel was there. She knew he would have enjoyed this.

“It has to be Lola’s choice,” Anna said.

“One of your favorites, Lola,” Carrie added.

Lola was thinking hard. Then she beckoned the girls in, told them her choice. There was more laughter, and a huddle of heads as they all checked that they knew at least some of the words. Then Lola stepped forward and bowed dramatically. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. It gives me great pleasure to introduce myself, and my three granddaughters, for your listening pleasure tonight.”

And in a voice that threatened to shatter every piece of glass in the building, Lola—backed very badly by a laughing Anna, Bett, and Carrie—warbled her way through her own unique, high-kicking version of “There’s No Business Like Show Business.”

I
n bed that night Lola stretched one leg, then the other, did her facial exercises, then gave up. She didn’t want to do exercises. She wanted to just lie there and grin all night long. She wanted to savor every minute, rewind it all, relive it second by second, from Bett’s music, to Anna’s direction, to Carrie’s singing and dancing. Had she ever felt as proud in the Alphabet Sisters days as she had that evening, standing there onstage with her three girls, her son, Jim, and great-granddaughter, Ellen, smiling up from the audience at her? Even Geraldine had been smiling, had actually hugged her afterward.

And had she ever felt as good as she had at the party afterward? All those people coming up, showering her with praise, firing questions. Were they going to stage it again? What about a tour? Had she thought about sending the script to a professional company? What about next year’s project? She had laughed them all away, insisting tonight was no night for future plans, it was for savoring a triumph.

But lying there, she did have a thought. Richard had put it in her mind, with all his research into English convicts and Irish servant girls coming to the Clare Valley in the 1850s. What a marvelous storyline that would make. She could follow just one of them, or no, perhaps two, even three sisters, on their journey from Ireland to South Australia. It could involve one or two scenes on a ship. After Len’s triumph with General MacArthur’s train, surely building a ship would be no bother to him. And all those lively Irish jigs and reels. Such scope for a plot, too. One of the servant girls could fall in love with her cruel, handsome master.… 

Lola sat up and reached for the notebook she kept on her bedside table.

Chapter Twenty-eight

F
orty-eight hours later Bett was sitting beside a campfire near a clutch of gum trees, watching the flickering fire, experiencing firsthand the Drover’s Experience. This would be the final article for the tourism supplement. This time next week she’d be back on court reports and police articles.

She had a notebook filled with quotes from the drover himself, craggy-faced, brown-skinned, laconic. The perfect face for a man with his job. “Straight out of Central Casting,” Daniel had whispered earlier as he set up shots of Fergie with his sheep and the blue sky behind him.

They’d eaten dinner by the campfire—damper bread, billy tea, stew in a pot, exactly as the tourist groups would enjoy it in the months ahead. Their tents would be pitched in a circle around the campfire, too, logs of wood acting as seats, under the huge night sky. Tonight there were just the three tents, one for Fergie, a long way back from the main campsite—“I snore,” he’d explained succinctly—and one each for Bett and Daniel.