The Very Thought of You (7 page)

‘This is so wonderful,' Maria breathed, and Ma put a fond hand on her cheek, then frowned as Paddy wandered off to the other side of the square to speak to a tall, brown-haired man. He looked different from the other people gathered. He had smarter clothes and a clever face, and as he reached up to brush his hair away from his forehead, Catherine, watching the byplay, caught a glimpse of not only a gold ring on his little finger but a gold wristwatch too. She knew, instinctively, that this was Jerry Costigan.

‘What's he doing here?' Della grumbled to her mother.

‘Leave it,' Ma Flanagan snapped. ‘Don't make trouble.'

Della gave her mother a hard stare but said nothing.

Frances pushed Catherine forward. ‘You'd better get on with it,' she whispered, looking at her watch. ‘Remember, we have a train to catch. I'll do the introductions.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,' she called out. ‘We're part of a troupe set up to entertain the military and the workers, and we hope we're doing some good. We all know boys who are overseas, and some have been sadly lost, and we do remember them. Those of you working in the factories are doing jobs of equal importance, and we know that the government recognises your efforts. So' – she looked down at Maria – ‘for the sake of those who missed us, we're going to perform a couple of the numbers we did this afternoon at the factory.'

She nodded to Catherine, who stepped into the centre of the square and stood beside the water hydrant. She loved to sing, so an impromptu performance didn't matter to her, and when she opened her mouth and sang the opening lines, the crowd fell silent. She thought of the many times she'd sung this while appearing at nightclubs and music halls with the Melody Men and how, before they'd started going out together, Christopher would sit at a table closest to the stage and watch her.

‘Your professor is here again,' Bobby Crewe would whisper away from the microphone. ‘He can't get enough of you. One of these days, he'll pluck up the courage to ask you out.'

‘Why d'you call him “the professor”?' she'd murmured back.

‘Don't you remember? The first time he came was with some students. They were joining up and he brought them here for a leaving party. He must be deferred.'

But he wasn't. Soon he was in uniform, and, somehow, that uniform gave him the courage to wait for her at the stage door. They married four months later, and then he went overseas.

The cheers and applause that echoed round the courtyard when she'd finished broke into Catherine's memories and she smiled, looking around and nodding her head in thanks.

‘Oh, Catherine,' squealed Maria, ‘that was beautiful. Will our Delia sing next?'

‘Yes, she will,' Frances grinned. ‘And hold on to your hat.'

Della blasted out ‘I Wish I Were In Love Again', while throwing in a couple of high kicks and some daring twirls, which drew gasps of delight. She invited the audience to sing the chorus with her, which at first they were reluctant to do, but Catherine and even Frances joined in, encouraging first Maria and then Ma to try, and soon the whole square rang to the sound of a Broadway number.

‘More!' shouted the audience, but Frances had one eye on her watch.

‘We'll have to go soon,' she said.

Maria took her hand. ‘Just one more,' she pleaded, and Frances looked at Della and Catherine.

‘Who's going to do it?'

‘Let's sing together,' suggested Della. ‘You too, Frances. I heard you just now and you've not got a bad voice. We'll do one of the Andrews Sisters numbers … “I'll Be With You In Apple Blossom Time”. D'you know it?'

Catherine nodded, and Frances said, ‘I can remember some of it, but I'll hum what I don't know.'

They stood together, Catherine in the middle, and after Della beat them in with a ‘One, two, three, four', they sang in harmony. It worked well, their three voices complementing each other, and after they'd finished, they looked at each other in amazement.

‘Wow!' laughed Della. ‘How did we do that? D'you know, with a bit of rehearsal, we could put it in the show.' But there was no time to discuss it, for they were surrounded by people shaking their hands and patting them on the shoulder.

Frances pointed to her watch again. ‘We have to go. It's only an hour before the train leaves.' She grabbed Della's arm. ‘D'you know where we can get the bus to the station?'

‘Don't bother with the bus, love. I'll give you a lift.'

Frances turned to see Jerry Costigan standing behind her. Close up, she could see that he was rather good-looking, with startlingly pale blue eyes in a sculptured face. In this area of obvious poverty, he looked wealthy. His black suit was made of fine, smooth material, and he wore it over a crisp white shirt and plain blue tie. If Frances hadn't heard Della describing him as a crook, she would have imagined him a solicitor or a doctor. Respectable middle class at the least.

‘No, thanks,' Della butted in. ‘The bus will do.'

Jerry ignored her and remained looking at Frances. ‘What time's your train, love?'

‘Seven twenty-one.'

‘You'll never do it.' He glanced at his expensive watch. ‘It's gone six thirty now, and you'll have to get through all the traffic: the shift workers will be coming off, and the buses will be full. Look, my motor is in the street. It can take you three easy, and your bags.'

Frances looked at Della and then at Catherine. ‘What shall we do?'

‘We'll have to accept his offer,' Catherine said. ‘I don't want to miss the train. Lili and Maman are waiting for me.'

They turned to Della. She was scowling and shaking her head.

‘Della,' pleaded Catherine, and Frances raised her eyebrows nervously.

‘Oh, alright,' Della sighed. She glared at Jerry Costigan. ‘No obligations, mind. D'you hear me?'

‘Sure,' he grinned. ‘Whatever you say.'

The girls went to say goodbye to Ma Flanagan and Maria. ‘Bye, Ma,' said Della, giving her mother a hug. ‘I'll try and get up again in a few months.' She kissed Maria and pressed some coins into her hand. ‘Buy some sweeties, darling, and be a good girl.'

‘I always am,' said the girl with a laugh, and turned to hug first Catherine and then Frances. ‘Thank you so much. I'll never forget this afternoon.'

Ma Flanagan hugged Catherine. ‘Try to remember that he's only missing,' she murmured in Catherine's ear, ‘and there's every chance he'll come home to you. I'll light a candle for him in church on Sunday.'

‘Thank you, Mrs Flanagan.' Catherine felt tears coming to her eyes again and turned away so that Frances could have her hugs and then picked up her suitcase.

‘Ready?' Jerry Costigan walked across the courtyard towards the archway and the girls followed, waved away by the people who were drifting back towards their houses.

‘That was fun,' said Frances, linking arms with Della, ‘and I loved meeting your mother and your sister and brother.' She paused for a moment and then said, ‘What's the matter with Maria?'

‘Oh,' Della sighed, ‘she was born like that. There's something wrong with her spine. Ma has tried everything, and she's seen loads of doctors, but they say there's nothing they can do. It's such a shame because she's so clever and pretty.'

‘It is,' Frances agreed. ‘But she's a good help to your ma with the moonshine business.'

‘What?' Della blustered, and then laughed. ‘Oh God, I thought you might have guessed. What about you, Catherine?'

But Catherine wasn't paying attention. As they turned the corner into the main street, where Jerry Costigan's shiny Humber limousine waited for them, she was looking across the road to where Eric Baxter loitered, pretending to look in a shop window.

Over the next few months the troupe played in many different places. They did army and air-force bases, and even once on board a battleship. Military hospitals were a frequent and favourite venue, not only because the damaged soldiers and airmen were hugely appreciative of the entertainment – it was the hope that they seemed to exude that made the performers feel that they were doing something worthwhile.

Sometimes they performed in dark, busy factories, where weary-looking women loaded explosives into shells and bullet casings, and everyone pretended that they were working in car factories. The next day, the venue might be an open field, on a rickety, hastily erected stage, before hundreds of soldiers roaring out their approval.

In the middle of July, Beau gathered the troupe together after they'd finished a lunchtime performance on a London dock. The show had gone well, particularly when the girls sang as a trio. The dockers cheered and drummed their feet on the wooden floor of the huge warehouse, causing clouds of dust to rise up and fill the air with choking particles from the ancient cargoes.

‘That was great,' said Beau, when they'd finished and stood beside the truck, grinning at each other and still breathless from excitement.

‘You've changed your tune,' Della laughed. ‘I thought you weren't keen on us doing it.'

‘No, I wasn't,' he confessed. ‘I didn't think it would work. Especially with Frances singing. I mean, come on – she was hired as my assistant, not an artiste.'

‘But she's got a good voice,' said Catherine. ‘You heard her.'

‘And I can still do the organising,' Frances protested. ‘I haven't let you down, have I?'

‘No, you haven't, and I wouldn't dare argue with you. You three girls have become something of a formidable force.' Beau sat down suddenly on a packing case. Catherine thought he looked tired; his leg was obviously causing him trouble. She watched as he rubbed his hand on his thigh and massaged his knee. He'd been on his feet all through the show, introducing the numbers and encouraging the audience to join in with the singing. She'd also noticed that when they'd first arrived at the dockside, Eric had taken hold of his arm and spoken directly into his ear. Whatever he'd said had caused Beau's face to fall, and he'd shaken off Eric's hand quite sharply.

Now he looked exhausted. ‘I think you need a rest,' she said. ‘And I'd like to get home too.'

‘Yes,' he said, ‘but hang on a minute, before you get in the truck. I've a couple of announcements to make.' He stood up and nodded to Frances.

‘Gather round,' she called. ‘Beau's got something to tell us.' Her voice was drowned out by the sound of a crane moving overhead, and she waved at the Players to move back towards the warehouse, where it was quieter. The dockers had gone back to work as soon as the show had finished, but some were still working inside, at the far end of the building, moving crates around and shouting instructions to each other.

Catherine leant against a wall of boxes and took out her handkerchief to wipe a faint sheen of sweat from her forehead. A hot smell of oil combined with the other odours of machinery and packing bales filled the air and she could feel her stomach turning over. She was wearing a light coat to cover her stage dress and, after the heady excitement of the show, was feeling the summer heat of July. The weather had improved in the weeks that had passed since D-Day, and it added to the joyful mood that filled the nation; everyone seemed to have a grin on their face. She didn't feel like grinning, though. Christopher was still missing, and even though she'd written to the War Office for more news, she hadn't received a reply.

But she'd had another visit from Robert Lennox.

He'd called one morning, a week ago. She was in the scullery, doing the washing and singing along to Al Bowlly on the wireless, when she heard the gentle rap on the front door. Drying her hands on a towel, she'd opened the door thinking it was the postman, perhaps with a letter from Christopher, but her heart sank when she saw who it was.

‘Good morning, Mrs Fletcher,' Robert said, tipping his hat. ‘May I come in?'

Honorine had taken Lili for a walk to the shops and Catherine was alone in the house. She was tired. They'd done a show at an army camp the night before, somewhere north of London, and it had been a long drive back, down unlit country roads, before they'd reached the city. And tonight, she'd promised to sing with the Melody Men at a club in the West End. The last thing she needed was a visit from Mr Lennox, and for a second she considered saying, ‘No, you may not come in,' and shutting the door rudely in his face. But she didn't and instead stood aside and indicated the front room.

He wasted no time. ‘We wondered if you'd changed your mind,' he said. ‘Because now that we've invaded France, I expect you'll be crossing the Channel to entertain the troops.'

‘Will I? How d'you know?' she asked.

He shrugged. ‘It's my job. We all have jobs to do. All of us.' This last was said casually, but Catherine knew what he was inferring and frowned. He had his back to her and was picking up the photographs on the mantelpiece and examining them. He stared at the wedding photo and then, turning round, saw that she was looking at him and put it back in its place.

‘He looked like a nice chap,' he said slowly.

‘He is,' Catherine replied, her eyes steely with determination. ‘He is, not was, a nice chap, and he's going to come home.'

‘A junior lecturer before the war, yes?'

‘Yes,' Catherine nodded. ‘He taught modern languages.' She thought back to when they'd been courting and she'd made fun of his French accent. ‘You sound like a Parisian street trader,' she'd laughed.

‘Do I?' Christopher had been surprised. ‘I suppose I picked that up from my tutor, although God knows where he got it. You must tell me how to improve. I can't pass that on to my students.' He'd pushed a hand through his untidy straw-coloured hair and looked so worried that she'd laughed again, and after a moment he'd relaxed and laughed with her. Oh, how she had loved him, how happy they'd been.