Mr Starlight

by Laurie Graham

  I said, ‘Give them notice.’

  She said, ‘What do you mean?’

  I said, ‘Give your notice and we can get married. We can buy that guest house you used to talk about. Get your little girl back.’

  That started the waterworks again.

  She said, ‘I can’t get her back. Once you’ve given them up that’s that.’

  I hadn’t appreciated that.

  I said, ‘We can get married anyway, if you like?’

  She said, ‘Why would you do that?’

  I said, ‘Why not? We got on all right before, didn’t we? And now we’re both at a loose end.’

  She said, ‘I’ve got to go, Cled. I’m late.’

  I said, ‘Will you wait for me?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘What if you change your mind?’

  She was halfway up the crew gangway.

  I said, ‘I’m not going to change my mind. Are you going to wait for me?’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ she shouted. ‘But I don’t know. People let you down.’

  And she was gone.

  I didn’t sleep much that night, going over everything. It was Renée I’d been thinking about, sitting there in the diner, wondering if I’d be able to rekindle something with her, wondering if she was still available, or married with kiddies, gone to seed. And then Hazel had claimed me. Not as well stacked as Renée, but nice, in her own way, and as Mam always said, better bread today than jam tomorrow because tomorrow never comes.

  I took the marcasite brooch back, to see if I could exchange it for a ring. The girl said they didn’t do exchanges.

  I said, ‘Only I’m probably getting engaged.’

  She said, ‘So, she gets a ring and a brooch.’

  I said, ‘Look, it’s not that I haven’t got the money. I’ve had a song in the hit parade. But I’ve already got a scarf I can give her, or gloves, so she won’t expect a brooch as well.’

  ‘Lucky lady,’ she said. ‘Caught herself the last of the big spenders. Mister, why don’t you go to Woolworths? You can get the wedding band too, while you’re there.’ And I would have done, except the big question was would Hazel be waiting for me when I got to Southampton?

  SIXTEEN

  The ladies and gents at my dinner table were quite fascinated to hear from someone who’d experienced life below decks. It gave them a better appreciation of the luxuries they were enjoying, being able to visualise all those busy bees, out of sight, starching shirts, peeling spuds, rolling pats of butter. There was just one couple I didn’t take to, and as it turned out they were a bit peculiar, going off in a huff, asking to be moved to another table. All I’d said was, on a liner like the Queen Elizabeth the beautiful public rooms represent the tip of an iceberg. I don’t see how I was supposed to know she was a nervous traveller. But the husband cut up quite ugly. ‘Thanks, big mouth,’ he said. ‘It’s only taken me five years to get her aboard a liner.’

  Of course the crew were surprised to learn I’d been a Cunard man myself. I made a point of introducing myself to them, especially the band members. I thought they’d be interested to hear about my experiences under Lionel Truman. But even in five years things had changed. The play list was shorter. Standards were lower. They were a jaded bunch. No esprit de corps. And none of them had even heard of Glorette Gilder so she’d evidently faded from the scene.

  I didn’t bring up Sel’s name. I wasn’t in the mood to answer a load of silly questions about him. I’d decided to travel incognito and it was no disadvantage. I still had women running after me. There was one sad creature, all on her own, kept turning up wherever I went. Sun deck, smoking room, you name it, there she’d be, looking like a pipe cleaner with specs. I’m sure she’d have been grateful, but I just couldn’t bring myself to oblige.

  Then there was the married one. She started giving me the eye after I’d let slip about having starred on American television. Running her tongue over her teeth, sitting up on a bar stool criss-crossing her legs. I wouldn’t have minded. She had a nice pair of pins on her. It was her husband I was worried about. He had a thick bull neck on him and a boxer’s nose. It was probably just as well we ran into a gale the second day out and seasickness saved me from myself. No matter how still I lay it felt as though something was sliding around inside my head, banging on the inside of my skull. The first night I thought I was going to die and by the next morning I was hoping I would, and when I finally lifted my head from the pillow, as we were coming into the Solent, I found I’d dropped so much weight I could pull my trouser belt in a full notch.

  I thought, ‘Renée won’t know me.’

  Then I remembered Hazel. I’d made her an offer she’d be a fool to turn down, but you never know with women. They decide things for the daftest reasons. I stood by the rail while we were being warped in, collar up against the wind, hat brim pulled down, and it crossed my mind I didn’t have to go through with it either. She might not recognise me, looking so lean and hungry. I could probably slip by her and be on my way. So I thought, ‘Well, the way I’ll play it is I just won’t search for her face in the crowd. I’ll just look straight ahead and see what happens. Destiny. Kismet as it’s called in the musical. Or was it Carousel? Anyway, Hazel was right at the front when I got into the passenger terminal, nose powdered, mouth lipsticked, so I knew what her answer was.

  ‘Cled,’ she said. ‘Did I dream it?’

  I remember thinking, ‘Well, that’s that, then.’

  Sometimes it’s better to have these things taken out of your hands. I said, ‘What do you reckon, then? Shall we give it a try?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Let’s give it a try.’

  We went straight to the Majestic for tea and toast and sexual intercourse. She still had that lovely smell of soapsuds about her.

  She said, ‘Where were you thinking of for the guest house?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I haven’t decided. Somewhere classy. Torquay, or Bournemouth. Somewhere with sea views.’

  ‘Lovely,’ she said. ‘We can have different colours for the bedrooms. The Rose Room and the Azure Room and so on. And just half-board. We don’t want people coming back in the middle of the day, getting underfoot. Just bed, breakfast and an evening meal.’

  I said, ‘And we’ll have a piano in the lounge so I can tinkle the ivories after dinner, to entertain the guests.’

  ‘Oh, Cled,’ she said. ‘I’m so happy.’

  So I gave her the brooch and one of the pairs of woolly gloves, and that was that. Well, Betsan never kept anything for more than five minutes and it had crossed my mind she’d be just as happy with a box of Milk Tray.

  ‘My fiancé,’ she kept saying. ‘Mr Starlight’s brother.’

  I bought a little second-hand Wolseley the next morning and then I telephoned Dilys. ‘I’m on my way home,’ I said, ‘so warn Mam. I’m engaged to be married.’

  Dilys screamed. ‘You got Sel with you?’ she said.

  Hazel was nervous, of course.

  I said, ‘Nothing to worry about. She’ll like it that you’re Welsh.’

  She said, ‘You’re going to see some changes, Cled. Five years.’

  Mona’s Hosiery had become a ladies’ hair emporium. The Empress of India had a new front door. That was about all. Spooner’s were still putting an apostrophe in ‘Roasting Chicken’s’ and Jewkes’s still had that empty hairnet card in their window. I said, ‘It’s gloomier than I remembered. We had our own orange trees in Encino.’

  It started raining as we pulled into Ninevah Street, same as the day me and Sel left. I said, ‘I’m glad I’ve come back with you on my arm. Things to look forward to.’

  She squeezed my hand.

  Dilys had been watching for us from Mam’s front window. She came running out, smiling and hugging and kissing and carrying on. ‘You little tyke!’ she said. ‘Springing this on us. What ever happened to your hair? Hello, pet. I’m the sister.’

  Mam hadn’t come to the door.

 
I said, ‘Is she all right? I expect I’ll see a change in her?’

  ‘Wishful thinking,’ Dilys said. ‘She’s indoors with a face on her like a trod chip.’

  I noticed the Edkinses’ curtains twitching.

  Dilys took Hazel under her wing right from the beginning. ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said. ‘I’m barmy. And don’t mind our mam. The first forty years are the worst.’

  Mam looked exactly the same as the day we’d left. I believe she was even wearing the same cardigan. She was never known to perspire, so her clothes lasted for ever. But the house was different. There was a gas fire instead of the old coal grate, and a new three-piece suite, cottage style, and pictures of Sel everywhere, cut out of magazines. She said, ‘You’ll have to have shop-bought biscuits. Springing this on me. If you’d given me notice I’d have baked a cake.’

  Dilys said, ‘Oh, Cled, it is grand to see you. We haven’t half pined for you.’

  Mam had gone into the kitchen to put the kettle on. ‘No we haven’t,’ she shouted. ‘We’ve been all right.’

  Dilys said, ‘Now, how about Sel? He never said a dickybird about this when I spoke to him. When’s he coming?’

  ‘When he’s good and ready,’ Mam said. ‘He’s got better things to do than waste time sailing across oceans. And when are you going back?’

  Hazel said, ‘We’re not. Cled doesn’t play for Sel any more. We’re going to open a boarding house.’

  If it had been up to me I’d have broken the news piecemeal.

  Mam came out of the kitchen. ‘Now what have you gone and done?’ she said. ‘You’re meant to be looking after him. He’s only a bab.’

  I said, ‘I did look after him. And he’s not a bab. He’s a ruddy great lummox and getting a bit too full of himself. I could tell you some stories.’

  Mam said, ‘I don’t want to hear stories. You’ll get gumboils, telling lies. Turning up here with a woman, springing weddings on us. Is she expecting?’

  ‘No,’ Hazel said. ‘I’m not. And it wasn’t Cled’s fault Sel sacked him. I’m very fond of Sel, Mrs Boff, but from what I hear he acted very hastily.’

  Dilys said, ‘What happened, Cled? He didn’t sack you?’

  I hadn’t wanted to go into all that business just then. I’d been hoping for a nice welcome for Hazel and a bit of appreciation for everything I’d done, but Mam hadn’t even shook her by the hand. I saw red. I said, ‘We had a falling out. But I was ready for a change anyway. He’s too much of the big shot these days, wheeling and dealing and riding around like King ruddy Farouk. He was on at me all the time to get a wig, since I’ve gone thin on top. Reckoned I was spoiling the look of things. Not glamorous enough, that’s what it amounted to. The trouble with Sel is he’s all sequins and no technique.’

  Dilys said, ‘Don’t be bitter, Cled. I hate to think of you quarrelling.’

  I said, ‘I’m not bitter. Things have turned out very well for me. I bumped into Hazel again and I’m a very happy man. We’ll open our boarding house, with different coloured bedrooms and a supper club ambience, and you’ll be able to come for your holidays.’

  Mam said, ‘We don’t need holidays. We need people to do as they’re told and not leave their brother in the lurch. And you haven’t gone thin on top, Cledwyn. You’ve gone as bald as a coot.’

  Dilys and Hazel went through to wash the tea things.

  Mam said, ‘Where’s she staying?’

  I said, ‘We thought Dilys and Arthur might put her up. And I could have my old room. Seeing as Sel’s not here.’

  Mam said, ‘You can’t. It’s not aired.’

  Dilys shouted, ‘Then air it, Mam. Use that electric blanket we bought you that’s never been out of its wrapping.’

  Mam was very begrudging. ‘Well, don’t touch any of his stuff,’ she said. ‘When he comes back I want him to find everything as he left it.’

  Hazel said, ‘Guess what, Cled? All this time you’ve been gone and your mam’s still got your razor by the sink.’ She must have imagined it, though. There was no razor there when I looked for it later on.

  I was all for naming the day, but there were a couple of flies in the ointment. Everybody said I should make up with Sel and wait till he was free to attend, but I wasn’t going to phone him. I’d sent a message through Milo and that was as far as I was prepared to go. I looked in on the Birmingham Welsh and the Non-Political, willing to sign autographs, but it was the same everywhere I went.

  ‘Where’s that famous brother of yours?’

  ‘What’s it like having a star in the family?’

  Same silly questions, over and over.

  I said, ‘I’m going to get a board made and walk up and down Colmore Row. Yes, he’s In America. No, he has no plans to return. And yes, isn’t it marvellous that a boy from Saltley, who can hardly read music and never had a girlfriend nor any breath control to speak of, has turned out to be the big singing heart-throb. Ask me it’s a ruddy miracle.’

  Arthur laughed. He said, ‘And I’ll walk behind you with one that says “Judge not your brother”.’

  Christmas came and went without any word from him. Just a hamper each for Mam and Dilys from Harrods of London, with tinned ham and pickled walnuts and fruit cake.

  Then there was the mix-up over my money. I had to wait till Mam was in bed before I could phone Milo. I didn’t want her listening in. I said, ‘This can’t be right. I’m owed royalties.’

  ‘Tax,’ he said. ‘I guess you didn’t allow for tax.’

  I said, ‘Have they hit Sel too? He must owe more than I did.’

  ‘Can’t discuss that with you,’ he said. ‘But Sel did take expert advice. You could have done the same.’

  I said, ‘Is that it, then?

  He said, ‘You want someone to check the figures? I can arrange that, if you’re willing to pay.’

  I said, ‘It’s just not as much as I was expecting.’

  ‘Cledwyn,’ he said, ‘in my experience it never is.’

  I had to break the news to Hazel. I said, ‘I think I’ve made a mistake.’

  She said, ‘You’ve changed your mind about getting married?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘but you might not want me after all. I don’t think we’ve got enough for a place in Torquay.’

  ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘There’s other places. Llandudno’s very nice.’

  I said, ‘I’m sorry. I’ve let you down.’

  ‘Cled,’ she said, ‘you haven’t let anybody down. I’d be on the scrap heap if you hadn’t come along. Let’s get married at Easter.’

  Then the question was what to do about Gypsy.

  Dilys said, ‘If he comes, I won’t.’

  Me and Mam had quite a chat about whether efforts should be made to find our dad. I said, ‘I feel he should be invited, even if he won’t come.’

  Mam said, ‘Well, he does move about a lot. I’m not sure where we’d find him just now.’

  I said, ‘Why is that, Mam? I never knew a man spend so little time in his own home.’

  ‘He had to be willing to travel,’ she said. ‘It was very hard to find work.’

  I said, ‘But now he’s got the old age pension?’

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘what is there for him here? He’s been accustomed to travel. And I’m so busy. I’ll never retire.’

  I said, ‘It must have been lonely for you, all these years.’

  ‘I’ve been all right,’ she said. ‘I’ve had my joys. But you’re right, we should drop a line to his last known address, tell him there’s a wedding coming off. It’s the correct thing to do. Always do the correct thing, Cledwyn.’

  We didn’t hear back, needless to say.

  We were married on Easter Saturday, us and about five hundred others. It was like the old production line at Greely’s. Arthur put ribbons on his motor and drove Hazel to the Register Office, so she’d feel like a proper bride, and Dilys and Uncle Teilo stood as witnesses for us.

  I think Betsan was disappointed we didn’t ha
ve any celebrity guests. ‘It’d be great if Elvis came,’ she kept saying. The whole world was going Elvis Presley crazy.

  After the ceremony we went out to Great Barr and Dilys put on a wonderful spread: baked gammon and sherry trifle and a cake iced by Gaynor with silver balls and a little bride and groom. They toasted us in hock wine, with a ruby port for Mam because hock was made by the Germans and they’d killed her brother Amos, and anyway, she didn’t really drink.

  When we were saying our goodbyes, Mam said, ‘Keep your head screwed on, Cledwyn. Don’t go throwing your money about.’

  Anybody would have thought it was me that had just had my picture in Tit Bits, sitting in a new Cadillac in a three-piece mohair suit. Apparently his telegram arrived just after we left. ‘Lucky beggar,’ it said. ‘All the best. Starlight.’

  SEVENTEEN

  We bought a house in Llandudno on Happy Valley Road, just below the Great Orme, and we worked flat out, bringing it up to scratch. We had ten bedrooms and none of them had seen a paintbrush for years. That first season we were too late to feature in the brochures, but we still had quite a few guests. If people rang our doorbell on spec, they only had to step inside to see it was a nice place. There was no smell of old cabbage at Hazelwyn. We had air fresheners throughout.

  Hazel took care of the rooms and the laundry and the catering, with a girl to help during August when we had a full house. Getting twenty cooked breakfasts on the tables before the bacon fat goes cold takes more than one pair of hands. I looked after the bookings and the finances, and made sure the clients were happy, remembering their little likes and dislikes, regaling them with stories about my years in show business. We had quite a photo gallery in the dining room, pictures of me playing at the Peabody and the Palmer House, and one of Sel that Hazel had insisted on. It all helped to break the ice and keep conversation trickling along.

  Every evening we served soup, meat and three veg, and a choice of hot pudding, ice cream or cheese and biscuits, and we provided extras, on request, like packed lunches for people going up to Caernarvon for the day, or Snowdon. Milky drinks were available at bedtime, and a draughts board and a pack of cards in the guests’ lounge, in case of inclement weather.