The Lights of London (25 page)

The effect, though spectacular from the audience’s point of view, was usually rather alarming for Kitty, who had to dodge back and forth as though she were actually in battle dodging explosives, but tonight nothing could upset her. She had taken control and organised everything for her little friend, and she felt truly pleased with her efforts. Just a few short months ago she wouldn’t have dared do what she’d done today.

It was strange, but having to look after Tibs made her
braver than if it were only herself she was sticking up for.

As she marched past Tibs, Kitty transferred her wooden rifle to her other shoulder and whispered out of the corner of her mouth, ‘Everything’s going to be just fine, Tibs. You’re not to worry any more. I had a talk with Jack today and told him how we’re really worried about Albert. And he’s going to keep his eyes open.’

She did some neat marching steps that showed off her long, shapely legs in the skin-tight breeches, then turned, saluted and offered her brightest smile to the cheering audience. ‘And I’ve said to that gentleman, that Dr Tressing,’ she went on under her breath, ‘that we’re going to the ball with him. Ten pounds each he’s gonna pay us. For just going out dancing. Five pound each up front.’ She was grinning fit to burst. ‘If I had brains I’d be dangerous!’

Kitty was so pleased with herself that she didn’t understand the expression that swept across Tibs’s pretty little face. What Kitty read as admiration and surprise was actually panic-stricken alarm.

Tibs forced herself to smile at the audience, but her mind was racing. Whatever had Kitty done? Say Jack realised that Albert was planning to take his stars away from him? With the money Jack must be earning he’d probably risk doing a whole lot more than just keeping his eyes open. But Jack would never be a match for that vicious, evil bastard, Albert Symes.

Tibs acknowledged the calls and hollers of appreciation with mechanical waves and nods. It wasn’t only dangerous for her and Polly having Jack – a man so out of his depth it was frightening – involved in all of this, it wasn’t exactly safe for him either. And if Jack was involved then Archie certainly would be caught up in it all as well … As she curtsied modestly to the cheering
audience, Tibs felt dread creeping slowly up her spine.

Kitty, oblivious of what she’d done, lifted her chin, saluted and winked again, acknowledging their adoring admirers. Then, spotting Jack at the back of the auditorium, she gave him a special smile and a wave of thanks.

With the universally optimistic hope of the lovelorn, Jack felt his heart lift. She’d waved to him! And you could ask anyone, that definitely wasn’t a mannish sort of smile and wave. They were the gestures of a woman. A real woman. When she’d come to see him earlier, asking for his protection, he’d been sure he’d noticed all sorts of little signals that she’d taken a fancy to him; signals that it took a real man to recognise. And he’d been right.

Why had he ever listened to that drunken gossip of a purl-man about her and Tibs in the first place? All it had done was waste time. He grinned happily to himself. He’d soon make up for that.

Kitty gave a final lunge at the crowd with her rifle – that had them cheering all over again – and turned triumphantly to Tibs. ‘You should be really proud of me, Tibs. And yourself. It’s all because of you that I’ve been brave enough, and sensible enough, to sort this all out.’

Jack pulled off his hat, stared into the little square of looking-glass that stood on his mantelpiece and examined his reflection. Should he shave? No, that would take too long. If he wasn’t careful he’d miss them. On a lovely afternoon like this they’d be bound to have plans to go out somewhere before they had to be back for the evening show. With a quick flick at his unruly red mop, Jack jammed his hat back on his head, took a deep breath, a final look in the mirror and said
out loud to himself, ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Jack old lad.’

Kitty and Tibs were sitting on the bed in their room next door, taking off their stage make-up.

As Kitty scrubbed at her cheeks with a damp rag – the remnants of what had once, not that long ago, been her only petticoat – she twittered away at Tibs like an over-active goldfinch. ‘It’s all going to work out just right, Tibs, you see.’ She twisted round, her face shining. ‘And I’ve kept the best till last. Wait till you see this.’ She got up and rummaged through the pocket of her peplum-skirted jacket that hung on the jam-packed clothes rail that Archie had set up for them in the now seriously overcrowded room.

‘Look. Look what that Dr Tressing gave us.’ She held out her hand to Tibs. On her palm sat ten shiny sovereigns. ‘I told you he was going to give us half on account.’

Tibs’s eyes widened.

‘He said we were to get ourselves some thin muslin frocks. For the ball. Everyone’s going to be wearing special clothes or something and the top dresses are going to be there waiting for us.’

‘Kit,’ Tibs began warily. ‘A fiver each is a lot of money. To be truthful, I didn’t think he’d ever really come up with that much. But now he has I don’t want you getting carried away.’

‘Don’t worry. It’ll be just fine, I told you. I’ve worked it all out. We can get something cheap off the barrows, spend a little bit on ourselves – you need cheering up – then you can keep the rest for Polly.’

Before Tibs could say anything there was a loud rapping on the front door. She gasped in panic, but Kitty merely jumped up with a cheerful grin. ‘Put the money
away somewhere safe, Tibs. I’ll go down and get rid of whoever it is, then we can go to the market and treat ourselves.’

She skipped down the stairs and flung open the street door. ‘Jack.’

‘Hello, Kit,’ he said, far more loudly than he’d intended, pulling off his hat and feeling his cheeks colouring at his clumsy behaviour. What was wrong with him? He was nearly twenty-seven years old and he was acting like a bloody schoolboy. ‘I, er, came round to see you about this, er, Albert business,’ he stammered. ‘And I wondered if I could come in for a while. To discuss it.’

‘Well …’ she said, stepping outside and pulling the door to behind her. She didn’t want him going upstairs and seeing how messy it looked with all their clothes and things everywhere. It was like the sisters had taught her, an unkept home is a bad reflection on a woman’s soul. If only she’d tidied round a bit. ‘It’s not really convenient at the moment.’

‘Maybe you’d rather come in next door, for a drink, or a cup of tea, like.’

He grinned happily. ‘Just to have a chat about, you know, things.’

‘I’d love to.’

‘You didn’t let me finish, Jack. I’m sorry, but I’ve already made arrangements with Tibs. And I was just getting changed …’

‘I can see.’ Jack nodded and backed away in stumbling, embarrassed haste. He stared at her tight military trousers and the braces that were dangling from her waist to her knees, and the open neck of her soft white shirt that showed off her long, willowy neck. It was bloody confusing. Here she was, a beautiful, desirable girl, but she looked every inch the
self-possessed young man who wouldn’t disappoint his girl.

‘I can’t let her down, Jack,’ she said, unconsciously echoing his thoughts

‘You don’t have to explain,’ he burbled. ‘I understand. You’re busy.’

‘It’s just that I promised her.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll speak to you later.’

He fled back next door to the pub, sat himself in one of the window seats and called for the barman to bring him a jug of porter.

He must be losing his grip. Whatever was wrong with him? When she’d come to him, going on about that Albert Symes again, he’d seen her as so vulnerable. So feminine. Now he was just bewildered by her.

He nursed his drink in his hands without touching it, looking through the thick engraved glass at the blurred outlines of passers-by.

Then the familiar forms of Tibs and Kitty appeared, tall and tiny, ‘Sweet and Dandy’.

He knelt up on the bench, peered through the clear glass at the top of the window and watched them go off arm in arm.

‘You all right, boss?’ asked Archie, joining him at the seat.

‘What?’ snapped Jack.

‘I’ve just finished the clearing-up upstairs. All ready for the next show.’

‘What a fool.’

‘Sorry, boss?’

‘Nothing.’

Slowly, Jack climbed off the bench and sat down, staring unseeingly at the beer-stained table before him. It seemed those men might well have been right after all. But whether Kitty was involved with Tibs or not, she
certainly wasn’t interested in him. That much was clear. He buried his face in his hands and groaned. He’d even mentioned Kitty when he’d finally written to Tess.

He’d told her why he’d left the village, and how he hadn’t told her before he’d gone, because he’d feared she’d have mocked his big ideas, as she was always such a sensible sort of girl where money was concerned. Perhaps the guinea he’d enclosed would please her. It would definitely please her more than the bit in the letter where he went on and on about this girl he had taken a fancy to.

Sensible, careful Tess. She’d think him a real fool.

He didn’t even want to think about what she’d have to say if she knew what he was about to spend even more money on.

He was going to find Marie. It was August Bank Holiday and he didn’t fancy being alone. He’d pay her enough to stay the whole weekend if he felt the need. He could afford it.

He downed the remains of his pint and held the jug out to Archie, lifting his chin to indicate his desire for a refill but not for conversation.

He felt his face redden as he recalled what he’d written. He’d practically claimed that Kitty was his girl. He groaned again and stared down at his boots.

Silently, Archie took the empty glass to the bar, shaking his head at this inexplicable turn of events. Something had upset his boss and that meant that Archie was upset too.

‘Are you sure about this?’ Tibs asked for what must have been the tenth time.

‘Of course I am. I told you. We’ll get something cheap off the market to wear to this ball thing. They’re only meant to be sort of undergarments after all. So Dr
Tressing’ll never know because he’ll never see them.’

Tibs raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘Course he won’t.’

‘Then we’ll have just a little treat for ourselves and you take the rest for Polly.’

‘I don’t half appreciate this, Kit, but if it’s all right with you, I’ll buy the undershift and keep the rest of my share. You get yourself something.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Kitty said, squeezing Tibs’s arm and steering her firmly onwards. ‘You need a treat. And anyway, things’ll be easier from now on. Now I know about Polly I’ve decided I’m going to start giving you half of what I earn every week.’

‘No, Kit, you can’t.’

‘Oh yes I can. I can do whatever …’ Kitty stopped suddenly. Slowly looking about her, she sniffed the air, trying to locate the source of the tantalising scent of freshly baked bread. ‘Come on, Tibs. If I don’t get my hands on a nice crusty loaf it’s going to drive me mad.’

With the loaf – minus one knobby end which they immediately ripped off and shared – tucked securely under Kitty’s arm, the girls made their way to the corner grocer’s in Cannon Street Road.

The pleasure of being able to choose what she wanted was still a wonderful novelty for Kitty and she dragged Tibs along with her enthusiasm.

As they stood beneath the fly papers that curled down over the white marble counter, Kitty’s order for two ounces of butter became a quarter, then two ounces again, then increased to three. If they hadn’t begun to earn themselves a sort of local celebrity – or weren’t such a good-looking pair – they might well have found themselves being thrown out on their ear. But the shopkeeper, butter pats in hand, was pleased to indulge them.

‘So, we’ll make it three ounces, eh Tibs?’

‘Have three ounces and have them as my treat,’ said the middle-aged grocer, smiling tolerantly. When it got out that music-hall stars – well, budding stars – were coming in the place it wouldn’t do his custom any harm. And he’d make sure that the word got round all right.

‘Thank you, sir,’ breathed Tibs, nudging Kitty in the side before she could protest. ‘That’s right nice of you, I’m sure.’

He dipped the wooden paddles in a basin of water, patiently shaped the piece of butter he’d cut from the big block and wrapped it in grease-proof paper.

‘And how about six ounces of broken biscuits while you’re at it?’ suggested Tibs. ‘Might as well push our luck while it’s in, eh, Kit?’ she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, while still somehow managing to smile at the grocer.

Giggling like twelve-year-olds, the girls made their next stop the pork butcher’s, where they bought four plump faggots, hot and steaming from the big silver urn at the back of the shop.

‘This is what I call a treat,’ Kitty beamed, burying her nose into the grease-soaked brown paper parcel.

‘You’ve not seen anything yet, my girl,’ said Tibs, now completely infected with the rare fun of spending money on herself. She guided Kitty along the street until they came almost to the end, where it met the Commercial Road, and pulled her across the street to a makeshift stall set up on a narrow handcart.

‘If you thought the smell from the Jewish bakers was good, get your hooter to work on this.’

Kitty breathed in deeply. She had smelt the mouth-watering aroma of spices, hot frying apples and batter before, but she’d never actually eaten an apple fritter.

Once she tasted the delicious morsel dipped in fine, cinnamon-laced sugar she thought she would never
want to eat anything else ever again.

‘What a life, eh, Tibs?’ she sighed, wiping the sugar from her lips with the back of her hand. ‘Like I said, who’d have thought we’d ever be this lucky?’

Tibs, her fritter uneaten in her hand, nodded but said nothing. She was thinking about how much Polly loved the taste of the hot, sweet apples.

‘How about if we get going with doing up our room a bit, Tibs? Getting it nice, so we won’t be ashamed if we ever have, you know, visitors. For a start, there’s that horsehair sofa in the pawnshop where Jack gets our stage clothes. I know it would be really cramped, but we could manage. You must have seen it. It would look just right and I’d bet we’d get it for next to nothing as we’re such good customers.’ Kitty swallowed her final morsel of fritter, wondering if she could really manage another.