Big Dreams for the West End Girls

by Elaine Roberts

  His opponent looked steely-eyed at him. ‘Ted, you always say you’re good for it but I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve had to send my boys out to track you down before you’ve paid.’

  Ted flicked at his cards again. ‘Not this time.’ He shook his head. ‘Not this time.’

  ‘All right, you sound very sure and I don’t want to deprive you of a big win. Goodness knows you’ve earned it with the number of losses you’ve had. I will lend you the money, but you will only have fourteen days to pay it back.’

  Ted looked at the stack of money in the centre of the table. How much was there? It must be at least five hundred pounds. He knew he was in over his head but something niggled at him. It was always the same; he couldn’t just walk away.

  Men from the other tables had started to gather around.

  ‘You can’t lend him the money. You know what it’s like trying to get it back.’

  ‘Not at all, it’s all about family. Ain’t that right, Ted? To my mind there’s nothing more important.’ Mr Simmons sucked on his cigar, letting the smoke billow out from his nostrils. The air was still. You could hear a pin drop. ‘Take yourself for instance; you have a beautiful family, who work so hard. It would be a shame if they weren’t able to fulfil their potential because their father hadn’t stopped to think when it mattered.’

  Gasps went around the room.

  Mr Simmons held up his hand. ‘But, ’aving said that, it’s not for me to deprive Ted of his big win.’

  Slips yelled above the groans and murmurs that were gathering momentum as they travelled around. ‘Don’t do this, Ted, you’ll only regret it.’

  The room was tense.

  Mr Simmons chuckled, breaking the tension. ‘You should listen to Slips. He didn’t get that name by accident.’ He glanced at the money pot before looking over at Ted again. ‘I taught him well. He’s very successful at collecting money owed from betting slips and games like this; mind you he’s a slippery little bugger.’

  Low laughter rippled around the table.

  Ted didn’t look up. His gaze stayed focused on his opponent. A chill ran down his spine. Was he bluffing about his children and his cards? He took a deep breath; it was all part of the game. ‘Let’s do this then.’

  His opponent matched his stare. ‘Before we go any further, you need to know I’ve done my homework since the last loan you had.’ He casually drummed the table with his fingers before a smile crept across his face. ‘Please don’t underestimate how much I know about you, and I certainly know where to find you and your loved ones.’

  Ted’s gaze didn’t waver. ‘I’m good for it.’ He tried to lick his lips but his mouth was dry.

  ‘It’s your last chance to fold.’

  Ted smiled. ‘That is definitely not happening.’ He took a deep breath. ‘There’s a hundred pounds to raise and see you.’

  The room was silent. Tension was high. The man removed his cigar from his lips as a grin crept across his face. He reached out and flicked his cards over. There was a gasp around the room, three threes stared up from the table, mocking Ted yet again.

  How was that possible? What were the odds on that?

  *

  ‘Hello, Joyce, I’m back.’

  Turning her head, Joyce looked in the direction of the voice and immediately recognised the tall suited man. His trilby hat was nestled between his fingers so she could see his dark hair had been slicked down. ‘Mr Simmons, I didn’t see you come in.’ She took a step towards him.

  Frank Simmons looked relaxed lounging on the chair Enid had vacated only minutes before, his long legs crossed at the ankles. ‘Please, I know we ’aven’t known each other long but call me Frank.’ He beamed at her. ‘I followed your delightful landlord in.’

  Joyce returned his smile. ‘Not long, it was only a couple of days ago you came in asking for me.’

  ‘Well, I don’t ’ang around yer know.’ Frank looked around him. ‘I was ’oping we could carry on chatting. I enjoyed finding out about you and this café, but I can see you’ve been busy. This place must be a little gold mine.’

  Joyce frowned as she looked around at the tables that needed clearing. ‘It’s certainly been a really busy day.’ She patted the back of her hair and studied his handsome but hard features for a moment before peering over her shoulder at the customers. ‘If I’m honest it isn’t a good time; mind you I’m not sure when is these days.’ Taking a breath, she looked back at him. ‘When does your article have to be finished by?’

  Frank loosely linked his fingers together in front of him. ‘I don’t think there’s an immediate rush, although I won’t get paid until my editor approves it.’

  Joyce nodded. ‘I don’t want to stop you from being paid. What more do you need?’

  Frank flipped open his pad and looked at the scrawling handwriting that filled the page, wishing he could read it. ‘Let’s see, I know yer’ve always wanted your own restaurant and spend long days and nights working in this café. Yer single and most importantly yer’re a magnificent cook.’ He stopped and looked over at the certificate over by the counter. ‘As yer winning certificate for cake baking shows, specifically chocolate cake and Victoria sponge, you’ll one day make someone a wonderful wife.’

  Joyce could feel the heat rising in her face.

  Frank stared at her for a moment. ‘And, of course yer quite beautiful.’

  ‘Excuse me, can I have another pot of tea please?’

  Joyce took a breath before peering over her shoulder and nodding at the customer. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Simmons, Frank, as you can see I don’t have time to chat now and anyway you should be talking to Simon. It’s his café.’

  Frank nodded. ‘No, it’s you I want to talk to, after all yer the award winner. The article is from a woman’s point of view, although I might speak to ’im later.’ He sighed. ‘Yer mentioned yer mother was a great influence on yer love of cooking, and sadly she’s now passed away, but I’d like to know what yer father thinks of yer working so hard and trying to achieve yer dream of being a cook.’

  Joyce closed her eyes for a second. ‘Unfortunately, my father passed away several years ago. He was on the Titanic.’ She blinked quickly as her eyes welled up.

  Frank raised his eyebrows and remained silent for a moment. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise.’

  ‘Excuse me…’ a customer called out.

  Joyce stepped back behind the counter and began spooning tea leaves into a teapot. ‘I’m sorry but I must serve the customers.’

  Frank nodded as he took in her hunched shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll come back another time.’

  Joyce gazed over at him. ‘Please do.’ She glanced up at the clock and sighed – only an hour until they closed. Loading the tray with crockery and the teapot, she weaved her way between the tables to the customer. ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting.’

  The hour soon passed with Joyce busy clearing and wiping the tables down. She vigorously ran the damp cloth over the counter in the café as she tried to surreptitiously glance at the only occupied table. The young soldier, and his lady friend, had been sat at that table nearly all afternoon. She didn’t have the heart to hurry them outside into the pouring rain. Moving her pad and pencil aside she leant back to admire her work and that’s when she noticed something was missing. She spun on her heels and scanned the other worktop before turning round again. She swiftly yanked open all the drawers. There was rustling and clanging as her fingers deftly moved their contents around, but there was no sign of it. Her locket was gone.

  The bell at the top of the door jangled as it was pushed open. Joyce groaned as she looked in its direction. A man stood in the open doorway. The cold air swooshed in, bringing the downpour of rain with it. ‘Am I too late to get a hot drink and something to eat?’

  Joyce wanted to scream yes, she was desperate to find her locket and go home. She jerked round when the girl laughed loudly. The soldier had a sad look about him but a small smile gradually lit up his face. Joyce qu
ickly looked back at the man letting in all the cold air. ‘Please come in.’ Her voice echoed the tiredness she felt. ‘I’m afraid it’s too late for hot food but we have cake and sandwiches. What would you like?’

  The man beamed at her. ‘Thank you so much. I’ll have a tea and that last slice of the Victoria sponge please.’

  Joyce nodded. ‘Please take a seat and I’ll bring it over.’

  He walked over to the nearest table and removed his coat and flat cap; he shook the rain off them before placing them neatly on the chair next to him and sitting down. ‘I thought you might be closing.’

  Joyce forced her best smile. ‘We are normally but I’m sure we can make an exception on such a cold wet evening.’ She glanced through the serving hatch as she reached up for a tea plate. The clean disinfectant smell drifted towards her, mingling with the soap she had used on the counter earlier. Simon was staring down at his kitchen table. She wanted to ask him if he’d seen her locket but now didn’t seem to be the right time. Joyce watched as a frown creased his forehead. She wondered what was troubling him. Was it still the café? Was the situation that bad? She shrugged; maybe he was just feeling as tired as she was. They needed help; it was too busy for just the two of them now. Putting the slice of cake on the plate, she began loading her tray with the tea things before walking over to the customer. ‘One pot of tea and one slice of Victoria sponge cake. I hope you enjoy it, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, I’m sure I will. I’ve heard it said that the cake here is lovely.’

  Joyce gave a little smile. ‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say so. If there’s anything else I can get for you then please let me know.’ She slowly weaved her way through the unoccupied tables to her counter. The sound of glass shattering on the tiled kitchen floor had her almost running to the doorway. Joyce called out before she reached it. ‘Simon, what happened? Are you all right?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve just knocked over a glass.’

  Joyce pushed open the door to see Simon with his hand under the cold water. Crimson drops of blood mingled in with the shards of glass that were shattered across the floor. ‘Let me have a look.’

  ‘Mind where you put your feet. I haven’t picked it up yet.’

  ‘I’ll do it in a minute.’ Joyce strode over to the sink, grabbing a clean, dry cloth on the way.

  ‘It’s fine. I think it looks worse than it really is.’ Simon turned his hand slightly. The blood turned the water red as it ran off his cut and down on to the sink.

  ‘Is there any glass in the cut?’

  Simon examined the cut closely before shaking his head. ‘I don’t think so, at least I can’t feel any.’

  Joyce took his hand in hers and peered closely at it, catching the smell of fried food that clung to his skin. ‘It seems all right but we won’t know properly until it’s dry.’ She turned off the tap and wrapped the cloth around his hand. His fingers wrapped around hers. Her heart jumped in her chest as she looked up at him.

  He stared at her for a moment before clearing his throat. ‘Thank you for looking after me.’

  Heat crept over Joyce’s body. She quickly looked away. ‘Come and sit in the café where I can keep an eye on you until the customers have all gone. Press down hard on the cut because we need to try to stop it from bleeding.’

  Simon nodded and did as she instructed before following her out into the café seating area. ‘I’m not sure this is necessary. I’ll be all right, and I haven’t finished cleaning the kitchen yet.’

  ‘Excuse me, can I pay our bill please.’ The soldier stood almost to attention as he waited by the counter.

  Joyce and Simon both looked over at the same time. Joyce gathered herself first. ‘Yes, sir, I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. As you can see we’ve had a minor accident in the kitchen.’

  The soldier nodded. ‘Don’t worry, and thank you for not rushing us out the door. I know we’ve had that table for a lot longer than we should have.’

  Joyce walked over to the counter. ‘It hasn’t been a problem.’

  Simon pushed his uncut hand into his trouser pocket and his fingers wrapped around the cold metal of Joyce’s locket. He hoped she would forgive him one day.

  The soldier rolled up two pound notes before placing them in the clean empty jam jar that was on the counter. ‘This is a lovely place you have here, very friendly. The sandwiches and cake were wonderful, very fresh. Unfortunately, I won’t be back for a while but next time I’m in London I will definitely call in.’

  ‘Thank you, and it’s been our pleasure and please don’t feel it’s necessary to leave such a large tip.’

  The soldier gave a wry smile. ‘I’ll be back on the front line in a matter of hours and trust me there isn’t much to spend your money on so it might as well go to a pretty young lady who has worked so hard today.’

  Colour crept into Joyce’s cheeks. ‘Thank you.’

  The soldier turned to look at Simon and smiled. ‘You want to hang on to this one.’

  His girl sidled up to him and tucked her arm through his. ‘Are we ready Sam?’ The young girl looked at Simon. ‘Are you signing up to serve our king and country? I love a man in uniform.’

  The soldier shook his head and handed Joyce a pound note. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here and leave these people in peace.’ He guided the girl towards the door.

  Joyce shouted after him. ‘Wait, this is too much, you need your change.’

  ‘Keep it, one day I might not have any money to pay for a cup of tea and a slice of cake.’ The bell rang out and the two of them walked out.

  Joyce looked down at the money she was holding. ‘We had better remember him, what with the tip that must be the most expensive cup of tea ever sold.’

  The man who’d come in late picked up his cap and his coat, before walking over to pay his bill. ‘That young soldier was right: it is a lovely little place you have here. It’s a shame it’s not open in the evening as well. I would also like to add my thanks for letting me have a cup of tea when you were really closed. You know I would normally have gone for a sandwich, but I have to say the cake was lovely and light, so it’s just as well it was your last piece.’

  Joyce nodded. ‘Thank you for your kind words and it’s the least we could do on such a miserable evening.’

  The man handed over his money, and nodded before walking towards the door. The bell chimed as he opened it. The cold air and the rain rushed in, carrying the traffic noise along with the chatter of people passing by with it, and then it was gone as the door shut again.

  Joyce quickly opened a drawer and picked up a key. She rushed over and locked the door before anyone else tried to come in. She twisted the open sign round before turning and leaning against the door. ‘Thank goodness – what a day, it’s been so busy.’

  Simon watched her throw back her head against the door and close her eyes. ‘That soldier was right: I do need to hang on to you.’

  Joyce opened her eyes and stared at Simon. ‘I’m not going anywhere, unless you make me, so don’t start worrying about that.’

  Simon looked down at his hand wrapped in the bloodstained cloth. ‘It all seems to be a bit frantic these days.’ He paused. ‘I think it’s definitely time to rethink the meals and snacks we sell. But the soldier’s right: we’re a good team, aren’t we?’

  Joyce smiled. ‘We’re an exhausted team. I’ve still got to make the bread and cakes for tomorrow yet, unless I come in early in the morning. I must admit that has more appeal right now, although it may not do in the morning when I have to get out of bed.’

  Simon nodded.

  Joyce frowned, and walked over to sit on the chair next to Simon. ‘What’s going on?’

  Simon shook his head but said nothing.

  ‘Something is, you’ve been in a strange mood all day. You even burnt some toast.’

  Simon opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it again. He studied his hands for a moment. ‘Do you think this cut will have stopped bleeding by
now?’

  Joyce jumped up to walk over to the counter.

  Simon grabbed her arm, pulling her back down on to the wooden chair next to him. ‘You know I get asked several times a week if I’m going to enlist, if I’m going to fight for king and country.’

  Joyce gasped. ‘Is that’s what’s been bothering you? You can’t go, you have all this to run.’ She waved her arm around to encompass the café, knowing her voice was getting higher but unable to hide the fear that had sprung up inside her. ‘Who will look after your ma and sister?’

  Simon shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to do. The war posters everywhere don’t help.’ He squeezed her arm. ‘You could easily run this place, if you had help, and my sister could come and wait tables.’

  Joyce stared straight ahead. ‘It sounds like you’ve made up your mind.’

  Simon gently turned her face to meet his. ‘No, I haven’t. None of this matters to me, but you do.’ He leant in and lowered his head to let his soft lips brush hers. He opened his eyes and his voice was husky when he whispered, ‘You’re all that matters to me.’

  Joyce’s heart pounded in her chest. Butterflies were flying around inside her stomach. She wanted to tell him she loved him but the words wouldn’t come.

  *

  The chatter and the laughter coming from the corridor of The Lyric Theatre caused Rose Spencer to glance briefly at the open door of the sewing room but no one came in. She studied the empty chair opposite her, where Dot used to sit before she had found the courage to return home and face everyone. She was pleased for her friend but missed their little chats as they sewed. Dot had become a motherly figure to her, listening and encouraging her to have belief in her own abilities.

  She shook her head, trying to release herself from the melancholy she had felt most days since coming back to London. Rose stared down at the blouse that was sprawled out on the table in front of her. It was just awaiting six buttons for the front and one each for the sleeve cuff she had created and then it was finished. Reaching over for the button tin, she removed the lid and gazed in at the assortment that greeted her. She moved them from side to side with her fingers, each movement revealing another colour, shape and size. The buttons rattled against each other and the side of the tin. If they could talk she wondered what stories they would tell.