‘Well done.’ Annie smiled. ‘It’s all about not giving up on what you want.’
Margaret turned to her beaming before going back to her love of the worn ebony and ivory keys.
Annie poured her grandfather a strong cup of tea. She took a homemade biscuit out of the tin and rested it on the saucer before taking it over to him.
William opened his eyes again and smiled. ‘Ah, thank you, Annie, you’re a sweetie.’
‘I hope it’s strong enough.’ She laughed. ‘I know you like to be able to stand your spoon up in it.’
‘It looks grand.’ He immediately began to dunk the biscuit into the hot liquid.
Annie patted his shoulder and walked to the back door. She leant against the jam, watching her mother sitting in the garden with her eyes shut. She looked tired these days. Annie worried the farm, and her grandfather, was all getting too much for her parents, and yet here she was wanting to leave them to it. Was she being selfish? But if she didn’t go now, she knew she never would. Annie picked up the tray loaded with tea things. The cups and saucers rattled as she walked outside to join her mother in the garden. ‘Ma, I’ve made us a cup of tea and pinched a couple of biscuits from the tin.’
‘Aww, that’s lovely, I’m parched.’
‘You look tired, is this farm getting too much for you and Pa?’
Ivy stared out trying to focus on the land, which was a picture of haunting shapes as darkness descended. ‘I don’t expect you to understand but I wouldn’t be anywhere else.’
Annie wondered if she was a disappointment to her parents. She studied her mother for a moment before removing the lid of the chocolate brown teapot and stirring the sepia liquid with a teaspoon. ‘You know just because I can’t see myself married to the land it doesn’t mean I don’t love it here too.’ She poured a splash of milk into each cup before holding a tea strainer and topping them up with tea. The clinking of the teaspoon hitting the sides of the cups filled the strained silence that sat between them.
‘Then why do you want to leave?’
Annie thought for a moment, hoping to delay answering her mother’s question by passing her a hot drink.
Ivy looked up, nodded her thanks and took a sip. ‘That’s lovely, nice and strong, thank you.’
‘Good.’ Annie knew she owed her an explanation and couldn’t put it off forever. Her eyes darted left and right, trying to find the right words. ‘I don’t want to leave you and the family, but if I don’t try then I will never know if I could have made it on the stage. As grandpa said it’s all about how much you want something and keeping going until you reach what you’re after.’
Ivy groaned. ‘Your grandfather shouldn’t be encouraging you to leave the farm.’
Annie shook her head. ‘He wasn’t, Ma, he was actually talking to Margaret about her piano playing but doesn’t the same thing apply to everything we do?’ She bit her bottom lip before taking a deep breath. ‘Ma, I’ve had a very difficult conversation with Sam. He knows I’m leaving.’
Ivy’s gaze didn’t waver, her voice barely a whisper when she spoke. ‘So it’s over then.’
Annie looked longingly at her mother. ‘Please don’t be angry with me. You and Pa have shown me what real love is and that’s what I want in my life.’
A look of sorrow flitted across Ivy’s face but she said nothing.
Annie paused; watching her mother’s face she wondered if she should continue, but something drove her on. ‘You must remember how much time I spent writing things down, practising and telling Margaret and David what to do, where to stand and everything. I’ve thought of nothing else for as long as I can remember.’
Ivy shook her head as she stared into her cup. ‘I think we must have given you too much praise and encouragement every time you sang or acted out your little plays.’
Annie’s hand shot up to sit flat on her chest as she flinched at her mother’s words. Colour drained from her face and her chin began to tremble. She lowered her voice to a choking whisper. ‘What are you saying? Don’t you think I’m good enough?’ She dropped like a stone onto a wooden slatted back chair.
Ivy looked up at her eldest daughter and frowned; she looked crushed as she squeezed her eyes shut. She opened them and stared hard at her feet, sitting in the shoes that had seen better days. She put her cup and saucer down on the ground. Didn’t she want more for her daughter? Ivy sighed. Who was going to protect her in the city? She took a deep breath and lifted her head. Rain was in the air; her husband would be pleased if there was a downpour overnight. ‘It’s not that I don’t think you’re good enough, you have a beautiful voice.’ Ivy paused; staring into the darkness she licked her dry lips. ‘I always knew this day would come; you’ve inherited your Aunt Dorothy’s spirit for adventure. I miss her, she was such fun and yet she just disappeared one day without a word.’
‘Is that why Pa doesn’t want me to go?’
Ivy shrugged. ‘They were very close, but your father has never talked much about it. It was just after their mother died.’ She paused. ‘I expect that had something to do with it.’
‘I’m sorry, Ma, I don’t want to cause heartache.’
‘I know. I just don’t want to let you go.’
Annie jumped up to sit at her mother’s feet. ‘I love you, Ma, I love you all but this is something I have to do.’
Ivy stroked her daughter’s long brown hair. ‘I know David is two years older than you but you’re like my first born and I shall miss you so much.’
Annie rested her head on her mother’s lap; the soft cotton of her faded worn skirt caught the tears as they slipped down the side of her face. She sniffed. ‘I will come back, I promise.’
Ivy shook her head. ‘Please, don’t make promises you may not be able to keep.’ She closed her eyes again. ‘I shall miss our moments like this.’
A door banging made them both sit upright. The moment was lost as Rex came bounding out into the garden, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. He stopped just short of them to lap up some water, spraying it all around him as his metal name tag clanged loudly against his bowl.
Annie lifted her head and stared at her mother. ‘What am I going to do about Pa?’
Ivy gave a faint smile. ‘Don’t worry about him, I’ll talk to him.’
The collie came over and sat at Ivy’s feet, looking up with his sad eyes, and nudged her hand.
Ivy automatically put out her hand to make a fuss of him.
Annie watched and wondered if he knew something was going on.
Tom’s voice bellowed out from the kitchen. ‘Stop fussing him, he’s meant to be a working dog, not a pet.’
Ivy looked over her shoulder at her husband. ‘He might be a working dog to you but he’s a family pet to me.’ She rubbed the dog’s black and white coat. ‘He’s great company.’
Annie smiled at the picture in front of her, storing it in her memory for future reference. ‘Don’t forget your tea, Ma, it’ll be cold if you don’t drink it soon.’ She moved back to her chair, picked up her cup and took a sip. She wrinkled her nose as the once hot drink filled her mouth. ‘Don’t drink it, Ma, it’s already cold. I need to make a fresh pot.’ Annie placed her cup back on the tray and took her mother’s from her.
Tom sighed as he sat down next to Ivy. ‘What are you two nattering about? Plotting something no doubt.’
Rex moved to sit at Tom’s feet, resting his head on his master’s crossed legs.
Ivy reached over and patted his weathered hand before wrapping her fingers around his. Her fingers caressing the scars he had collected from the land over the years. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about.’
Tom reached down and petted his beloved dog before grinning at his wife. ‘Well, that will be a first, I didn’t go grey at thirty for no reason.’
A surge of love rushed through Annie; she was a gooseberry at this moment. She picked up the tray and turned to silently leave them in their moment. No wonder her ma didn’t want to leave the farm; sh
e wondered if she would ever find the love they had. ‘I’ll make you a fresh pot and then I’ll leave you two alone.’
Tom glanced at his daughter. ‘There’s no need. In fact, pumpkin, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘We haven’t had a good chat for a while.’
Guilt raced through Annie’s veins, she was sure he already knew her plans and if she were a betting person, she would say it was either Sam or the village shopkeepers. There were no secrets. ‘I’ll go and make a fresh pot of tea.’ She beat a hasty retreat back to the kitchen.
*
Kitty Smythe sat in front of her mirror in the Lyceum Theatre dressing room, peering at the woman staring back at her. She didn’t recognise this older woman. She moved her head one way and then the other. She dropped her jaw to stretch her mouth wide. Her fingers pulled at the skin around her eyes. Open pots of make-up caught her eye, scattered all over the dressing table. She glanced back at the mirror, realising she looked quite haggard without any on. Standing up, she paced over to the closed door and flung it open wide. Kitty yelled into the empty corridor, ‘I need coffee.’ She turned back into the room and wrinkled her nose at the stale smell of perfume mingled with make-up and last night’s coffee. Walking away from the open door she yelled again, ‘I need coffee!’
The dressing room was a drab place with its grey walls and no window. Posters of previous performances had been haphazardly placed on the walls around the room. A large clock was placed in the centre of a narrow wall near the door; the ticking reminded Kitty her life was passing her by with every second the hand moved around the clock. There was a red sofa pressed up against a wall, with a folded blanket at one end and a pillow resting on top of it. Kitty’s slippers were partially hidden underneath it.
‘You can always make your own, you know?’
Kitty jerked round to face the man who had entered her room. She scowled at him.
‘Tut, tut, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.’
Kitty sat back down in front of the mirror, glaring at him through it. ‘I might have known it was you, Matthew, no one else would have the nerve to speak to me like that, and it’s about time you realised who I am and show some respect.’
Matthew’s mouth lifted at the corners. ‘Oh my, you are in a bad mood this morning, you’re lucky we’ve known each other a long time.’
‘Am I?’
‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ Matthew eyed her reflection in the mirror. ‘You need to stop being mean, sort yourself out and remember we’ve had some good times together.’
‘That’s all in the past.’
‘That’s not what you said a couple of days ago.’ Matthew picked up the small kettle and carried it over to the sink.
‘That was a moment of weakness.’
Matthew chuckled. ‘That, and the brandy.’
Kitty shook her head. ‘That’s most ungentlemanly of you, Matthew.’
‘I’ll make your coffee if it snaps you out of your bad mood. Someone has to think of the rest of the cast and crew.’ He turned the tap clockwise and the water gushed into the metal kettle.
‘I should have a dresser to do these things,’ Kitty lamented as she flopped back down on her chair.
Matthew turned to Kitty, trying to keep a straight face. ‘Then, sweetie, you need to stop sacking them.’
Kitty’s nostrils flared as she stared at him; her lips thinned, almost disappearing. ‘That girl was stealing from me, and don’t tell me she wasn’t because I know otherwise.’
Matthew’s eyes widened. ‘Of course you do, darling – although you do know your compact was found in this very room, don’t you?’
Kitty picked up the silver letter opener that had been a gift from an admirer many years ago. ‘This must be the most useless gift anyone can give you. I’ve never used it.’ She threw it on her dressing table and picked up her box of Woodbine cigarettes and opened them. ‘The only reason it was found was because she thought I was on to her.’ She placed a cigarette between her lips. ‘And the place had to be turned upside down to find it.’
Matthew scowled as he struck a match, the momentary smell of burning sulphur filled the space between them. He held it against the end of the cigarette until smoke spiralled into the air.
Kitty drew heavily on the cigarette before pulling it away from her lips. She stuck out the tip of her tongue and her finger and thumb collected a small piece of tobacco off it. ‘She was a little thief and clearly put it back once I accused her of stealing it.’
Matthew shook his head. ‘You could be right… but she seemed too nice to be a thief.’
Kitty threw back her head and laughed. ‘Oh come on, darling, you only think that because you were taking her to your bed. You and her were exactly the same.’ She sucked on her cigarette again.
Matthew frowned and grumbled indignantly, ‘I’ll have you know I have never stolen anything in my entire life.’
Kitty couldn’t contain the giggles bubbling inside her. ‘Only young girls’ virtues.’
It was Matthew’s turn to smile.
Kitty scowled at his good looks.
‘I don’t steal them, and anyway I can’t help being irresistible.’ Matthew turned off the kettle and began pouring the Camp Coffee into a cup.
‘I believe you’re meant to measure it by using a spoon.’ Kitty watched him pour the water into the cup while stirring the dark brown liquid. She stared back at her reflection. ‘All I know is I need a new dresser, someone I can trust.’ She paused. ‘I need to talk to Stan, he’ll sort everything out for me.’
‘I’m sure he will.’ Matthew put the kettle down on the gas ring before taking the couple of steps towards her chair. ‘Let’s see if this helps.’ His long fingers began to gently knead her shoulders.
Kitty closed her eyes and relaxed into the back of the chair. ‘Hmm, that’s lovely.’ His touch sent sparks flying around her stomach. Was it a massage or a caress? Her lips parted and a groan escaped. She opened her eyes and peered through her lashes. ‘You’ve always been good with your hands.’
Matthew gave a slight smile. ‘Have I indeed? They say practice makes perfect.’
The heavy thudding of footsteps came from the corridor. They both stopped and listened. Matthew patted Kitty’s shoulder and moved away as they waited to see if the person was coming to see her. Laughter burst from the corridor and chased their tense silence away.
Matthew moved to close the dressing room door. ‘Let them knock if they want entry.’ He chuckled to himself as he went back to fetch Kitty’s coffee. ‘I can’t believe I’m here making your coffee. The Music Director making an actress’s coffee, whatever next?’
‘I don’t see what’s so funny. I shouldn’t have to make my own coffee, and I’m more than an actress, thank you very much.’ Kitty turned and studied him. ‘While you on the other hand, may be very handsome and have a way with words, but you’re not the real music director, you’re just the understudy while a new one is found.’
‘Ouch, you can be so hurtful at times. What you need to remember is not everyone knows that.’ Matthew passed her the cup of hot black liquid. ‘Maybe now you’ll stop moaning.’
‘If that’s all you want, darling, you can carry on massaging my shoulders.’ Kitty took a sip and wrinkled her nose as the strong chicory taste burnt her mouth. ‘I also need someone who can make a decent cup of coffee.’
Matthew chuckled. ‘You’re definitely pushing your luck today. I’ll speak to Stan about hiring someone for you.’ He shook his head. ‘That or else he can make you a drink every day, mind you I bet you wouldn’t give him a hard time.’
Kitty sipped her coffee, screwing up her nose at the strong bitter taste. ‘No, but then he has a kind soul, unlike your good self.’
Helping himself to one of her cigarettes, Matthew grinned. ‘It’s well known he’s always had a soft spot for you.’
Kitty opened the drawer in her dressing table and threw the packet of cigarettes i
nside. ‘If he has it’s because we’ve known each other for years, and I’m reliable and give my everything to a show.’
Matthew smirked as he played with the cigarette. ‘You do know you’re not the easiest person to get along with so any dresser would need to be thick-skinned to deal with your dramas every day.’
Kitty took another sip of coffee, screwing up her face with every sip, while her cigarette slowly burned away between her fingers. ‘You know you love me really. Mind you, tasting this coffee, I could be forgiven for thinking the opposite.’
Matthew chuckled. ‘As you do me, darling.’ He smiled as he walked towards the doorway. ‘It would certainly be dull around here without you, that’s for sure.’
4
Annie prised her tongue away from the roof of her mouth. She tried to lick her dry lips to no avail, before attempting to clear her throat. She stared across the path at her father; it wasn’t going at all well. ‘Pa, Rose will be here soon.’
Tom stayed focused on his field, pushing the green leaves aside to grab the weeds that were taking root in between the potatoes.
Annie’s grandfather strolled over from behind the henhouse, wiping his hands on a rag before he flung his arms around her. They clung to each other for a moment. The carbolic soap he used that morning had been overshadowed by manure. William pulled back and gave her a watery smile. ‘Sorry, I’ve been spreading muck this morning.’ He studied Annie for a moment. ‘I suppose that’s something you won’t smell in London. We shall miss you but what matters is that you give yourself the best chance you can, aim high and be the star of the show. Only the best for my Annie.’ He kissed her cheek, his beard soft against her skin. ‘Good luck, stay safe and please don’t forget us.’ He quickly turned and walked back towards the henhouse.
Annie’s bottom lip trembled; she bit down on it until the taste of blood seeped into her mouth. She watched her grandfather stop to speak to her father. She strained to listen but couldn’t hear anything he was saying.
Her grandfather started to walk away but stopped and looked back at him. ‘Don’t do this, son.’ William’s voice carried in the breeze. ‘You’ll regret it, trust me.’
a heartwarming WW1 saga about love and friendship (The West End Girls Book 1) Page 6