Mr Starlight

by Laurie Graham

  I said, ‘As long as there’s no rugs involved.’

  He laughed. ‘Mam,’ he said, ‘I’ve got something I want you to wear.’ He went into the bathroom and came out with a beautiful corsage, roses and stephanotis. ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Now everybody’s going to know you’re the most important lady in the house.’

  And Mam came over quite girlish, trying it out on her shoulder, admiring herself in the mirror. ‘Once upon a time,’ she said, ‘a lady always got flowers. In the days when gentlemen were gentlemen.’ If she ever had flowers from our dad she’d have paid for them herself. Or they’d have been off the back of a lorry. ‘And that’s what you are, Selwyn,’ she said. ‘A true gentleman. Because of being raised correctly.’ And she gave Dilys such a cheeky look.

  I noticed Dilys had hardly touched her cake and she was usually very partial to a chocolate dainty, but she didn’t say anything till we were inside our own quarters with the door shut.

  ‘Doesn’t he look well?’ Mam said. ‘Every inch the star.’

  Dilys said, ‘You just had to go and do it, didn’t you, Mam? You just had to go and spoil my day.’

  I left them to it. I was hoping to catch the football results.

  Then the phone rang. ‘Cled,’ he said, ‘I think I dropped a clanger not getting flowers for Dilys as well. I thought she looked a bit wistful, didn’t you? Can you rustle something up? Just phone downstairs, tell them to put it on my bill. Something nice, but not as big as Mam’s. You know the drill.’

  I said, ‘Break a leg.’

  ‘Gotcher,’ he said. ‘And Cled? It’s great to see you. Really.’

  His name was up in lights. I could see it as we turned into Argyll Street and it caused me quite a pang. I could have been up there with him. Should have been, by rights. The Boff Brothers. He was appearing with Tommy Trinder, Shani Wallis, a skiffle band, some tumblers called the Five Corsairs and an escape artiste called Zeno. And the Tiller Girls, of course. It was a top-notch show.

  Don Arrol was the compère. ‘Tonight,’ he said, ‘a warm welcome, please, for someone making their first appearance at the Palladium. A shy, retiring Birmingham boy who took on America and won. Mr Starlight!’

  And on he came, riding on the back of a motorbike, with a cloak billowing out behind him, purple with silver stars and a black satin dinner suit underneath. The bike stopped and he just sat there on it till the audience calmed down. ‘Go round again,’ he said to the boy who was driving him. ‘I’m not sure they’ve noticed me.’ He always liked to start off with a laugh. And then he made a big feature of the cloak, messing around, showing it off when he should have been singing his opening number. ‘Isn’t it fabulous?’ he kept saying. ‘If the sequin industry goes into a decline, don’t come crying to me. I’ve done my bit.’

  He sang ‘All in the Game’ and ‘A Certain Smile’, and then he said, ‘This is a very special night for me, folks. My first time in this wonderful theatre. My first appearance back in good old England after far too long. And the first show where I’ve had a very, very special person in the audience. Can we have some lights, please?’ And they brought a spotlight up on our box. I could feel Dilys cowering down behind me in her seat.

  ‘My mam,’ he said. ‘Give us a wave, Mam.’

  And bugger me if she didn’t do it. I reckon she’d been studying on the Queen Mother.

  He sang ‘You’re My Girl’ and ‘Many Loves, Penny Loves’, and then the boy came back on with the motorbike and he jumped on. ‘Wait there!’ he shouted. ‘I’m just going to slip into something more comfortable.’

  And in the time it took the band to play ‘Sentimental Me’ he was back on, in white tie and tails, every inch of it covered in sparkle. ‘Y’all wearing your sunshades?’ he said.

  There were women screaming and some of them were trying to get down to the front of the stage.

  He said, ‘I see three girls here who’d like to inspect the goods. Is there a steward down there can give them a hand?’

  And while he sang ‘The Roving King’ the three ladies were brought on stage, to see his costume close up and guess how many sequins were on it. ‘So what do you think?’ he said. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘Beautiful,’ they said.

  He said, ‘Well, that’s good, because you helped pay for it!’

  He sang them off with ‘Because of You’ and he closed with his usual: ‘May the Good Lord Bless and Keep You’.

  ‘Thank you, thank you,’ he said, just like Milo had told him. ‘You’ve all been so kind; now I’m going to let you go home. Night night! Sleep tight!’

  Mam and Dilys were both crying.

  And I must say, for all the differences we’d had, I was very proud of him myself, to see him where he’d always sworn he’d get to some day, and the audience in the palm of his hand. It would just have been nice if he’d mentioned our hit single.

  Anyway, we went backstage so I got to see some of those Tiller girls close up, check if what they had was absolutely real, and it was. Mam and Dilys met Tommy Trinder and had their pictures taken, which was a thrill for them, and then we got whisked away to Claridge’s in the Bentley.

  Dilys said, ‘I shan’t sleep a wink.’

  Mam said, ‘It’s been a wonderful day.’

  Dilys said, ‘It has.’

  One thing about Sel playing the Palladium, it had got Mam and Dilys to agree on something. And they still had his Birmingham appearance to look forward to.

  NINETEEN

  He flew in to Elmdon Airport and went straight to the television studios to be on a programme called Lunch Box. ‘I’m still the same lad who left Brum ten years ago,’ he said. ‘I may be recognised everywhere I go, but I still like the simple things in life: walking my dogs, eating ice cream and watching a movie in my Vegas home, relaxing on my deck in Malibu, just watching the ocean.’

  After Lunch Box he was booked to open a new mini-market, that used to be an ironmongers on Hayward Street, and pay a visit to the Milk Maid factory, to see some of his old pals and inaugurate a new choc ice called the Starlight Bar.

  Then his driver brought him home, nudging the limousine through the crowds while we were all freezing our nuts off.

  Mrs Grimley said, ‘I expect you wish you’d persevered now, Cled. I bet you wish it was you coming home in a Rolls-Royce.’

  And Mrs Edkins said, ‘I knew from when he was a bab he was meant for big things. I read his palm.’ Which just goes to show what silly twaddle women say when they’re overexcited.

  The newspapers were there too, of course. They asked him what his plans were, after the tour. ‘I’m going to a family wedding,’ he said. This was strictly against orders. Mam didn’t want the press turning up if Betsan was likely to be there, flaunting herself in a smock.

  Somebody said, ‘How about you, Sel? Any sign of wedding bells for yourself?’

  ‘Wait and see,’ he shouted.

  And Mam said, ‘There’s no hurry.’

  He signed a load of autographs and then he finally came indoors. It was a comical sight. He was wearing a wolfskin coat and it was so big there was hardly room for anybody else in Mam’s living room. Jennifer was fascinated by that coat. She went straight to Sel and sat on his lap.

  He said, ‘Look at you in your pretty dress. We shall have to get you up on stage, so you can sing a little song with your Uncle Sel.’

  Hazel said, ‘No, Sel. It’ll be past her bedtime.’

  Betsan was babysitting for us, so Hazel could come to the show. ‘Time she got some practice in,’ Dilys said.

  Sel said, ‘But I thought you’d all be there.’

  Dilys said, ‘You’ll see Betsan at the wedding.’

  ‘Can’t miss her,’ Mam said. ‘There’s enough of her to see.’

  He went up to look at his old room, knocked one of his little pottery puppy dogs off the dressing table swinging round in his big coat.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Mam said. ‘I’ll sweep it up.’

  He said, ‘I d
on’t know why you don’t clear the whole lot out. Give yourself more room.’

  ‘I don’t need more room, Selwyn,’ she said. ‘I’m here all on my own.’

  Hazel winked at me.

  The limousine was too long to turn round so they had to reverse all the way down the street. It was very overcast but he kept the light on inside the car, making sure everybody got a good view of him. That was the last time he ever set foot in Ninevah Street.

  Hazel was smiling and chatting to the neighbours, holding Jennifer Jane up so she could wave him off.

  I said, ‘You’re in a good mood.’

  ‘I am,’ she said. ‘I’d forgotten how lovely he is.’

  I said, ‘He has beauty treatments, you know? Sunlamps. It’s not all natural.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ she said. ‘He’s still lovely. But so are you. You’re not bad for an old-timer.’

  I thought, ‘Hello, hello, hello. Somebody’s frisky.’ I said, ‘And what were you winking about, upstairs?’

  ‘Your mam,’ she said. ‘I don’t need more room, Selwyn. All on my own here.’

  I said, ‘What? Don’t tell me there’s another razor in the kitchen?’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘but somebody’s got their feet under the table.’

  I said, ‘How do you know?’

  She said, ‘Because there’s a can of lighter fuel in the pantry and two packs of Senior Service, unopened. So somebody’s on the scene. Unless your mam’s become a secret tobacco fiend.’

  I said, ‘Do you think it’s Uncle Teilo?’

  ‘Could be,’ she said. ‘What does it matter? Everybody needs a bit of company.’

  There must have been five hundred waiting for him outside the arena, all ladies, all squealing and pushing. Vera Muddimer was there, in charge of his fan club contingent. They had flowers and cards for him, and presents. Thirty jumpers at least, and all the wrong size because he would fib when he talked to people like Celebrity Questionnaire. He always reckoned he was a steady ten and a half stone, but it was a long time since he’d been any such thing. Six foot one in his stocking feet, he reckoned. Five foot eleven standing on tiptoe more like.

  He had a full supporting line-up: Jewel and Warriss, the comics, a rockabilly band from Dudley, supposed to be the coming thing, a Scottish vent act called the McDummies and a support vocaliste called Cherry Buxton who sang things from The Merry Widow.

  Sel was top of the bill.

  A girl was waiting for us as we went in, VIP hostess. ‘Mr Boff?’ she said. ‘Mr Starlight would like a word before the second half. If you make yourself known at the stage door somebody’ll take you round.’

  Dilys said, ‘I wonder what he wants?’

  Hazel said, ‘I think I know.’

  I thought I did too.

  Doug, the new bodyguard, was straddled across the doorway, arms folded over his chest.

  I said, ‘I’m family.’

  He said, ‘That’s what they all say.’ Then he gave me the nod. Jumped-up gorilla.

  Sel was sitting in his Y-fronts and his socks, drinking vodka and sucking on a cigarette.

  I said, ‘Why don’t you have an orange squash? No wonder you sweat. You’d do better without strong drink and cigarettes.’

  ‘No I wouldn’t,’ he said. ‘The liquor relaxes me and the smokes keep me from eating. See? A balanced diet. Cled, I’m going to spring a bit of a surprise this show. I want to bring the family element back into it.’

  I said, ‘I thought you might. What do you want me to play?’

  ‘Not you, you berk,’ he said. ‘Mam. I want to fetch her on stage. Do you think she’s up to it?’

  To see him sitting there, fat rolling over the top of his shorts, it was amazing to think how trim he’d looked leaping around at the Palladium.

  I said, ‘What are you going to do with her?’

  ‘Piano lesson,’ he said. ‘Don’t say anything to her. I want everything to look natural. But do you think she’d like it?’

  I heard a bell go.

  He said, ‘You all right, our kid?’

  I was all right. I wasn’t the one that was sweating.

  He said, ‘You didn’t really expect to play, did you?’

  I said, ‘Don’t be ruddy daft. My playing days are through.’

  ‘That’s right,’ he said.

  His dresser came in, with a corset and a tin of dusting powder. ‘First bell’s gone,’ he said. ‘You’ve got more company outside, trying to get past the guard dog, but it’s time we started getting you into this.’

  I said, ‘Right! Now I see how it’s done. You’re all trussed up under your sequins.’

  ‘It’s murder, Cled,’ he said, ‘but I have to do it. Doesn’t matter what I do the weight goes on. I’ve got slow glands.’

  Doug put his head round the door. He said, ‘I’ve got more family out here.’

  And in walked our dad. ‘Hello, son,’ he said. ‘Nice to see you doing so well for yourself.’

  Me and Sel hadn’t seen him since just after I was demobbed. He ’d shrunk a bit but that was the only difference I saw in him. His eyes still roved around while he was talking. He was always on the lookout for anything he could pocket.

  Sel said, ‘Where did you spring from?’

  ‘Out of town,’ he said. ‘I’ve had quite a trek to come and see you.’

  The dresser was trying to push Sel into his corset.

  Sel said, ‘Big of you to put yourself out.’

  Dad said, ‘I’m retired now, son. It’ll be easier to keep in touch.’

  Sel said, ‘Yeah, I bet it will. Does our mam know you’re here?’

  Dad said, ‘You shouldn’t force yourself into a thing like that, son. You’ll harm your insides.’

  Sel said, ‘I’ll harm your insides, you work-shy bastard. Retired! As far as I recall you were never anything else. Made the effort to see the show, have you?’

  Dad said, ‘Tickets are a price, aren’t they?’

  Sel said, ‘Well, there you are. I could have comp’d you, if I’d known you were alive.’

  He only dressed as far as his shirt and trousers, everything in gold that night. He called it his Sun King outfit. But the cape didn’t go on till he was in the wings, just before his entrance.

  The dresser said, ‘Shall we make arrangements for the onward journey?’ gesturing to Gypsy with his eyes.

  Sel took another nip of vodka. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Ask Doug. He’ll take care of everything.’

  Dad said, ‘I’m not a well man, Sel. The state of my chest, I could go any time. Be nice if we had time to talk.’

  Sel said, ‘Yeah, wouldn’t it have been? Thirty-two years and we just never got round to it. How time flies!’

  Dad said, ‘Don’t be like that. Times were tough. We had the Depression. Then the war. Your lot don’t know how easy you’ve had it. Putting food in the babs’ mouths, that was our priority. We did whatever we had to. As long as you didn’t go without, we didn’t mind the hardship and separation.’

  Sel said, ‘You’re breaking my heart. I don’t remember any food parcels, do you, Cled? I don’t recall any postal orders arriving.’

  I said, ‘How come you never wrote?’

  Gypsy didn’t even look at me.

  Sel said, ‘Yeah. How come we never got birthday cards?’

  ‘Claudication of the arteries,’ he said. ‘It’s agony to hold a pen. Growing old is no fun, Sel. Every day’s a struggle.’

  Sel said, ‘How much?’

  Gypsy sat down.

  Sel said, ‘Don’t get comfortable. It’s time you were on your way. I’ve got an audience waiting for me. How much do you want?’

  He said, ‘I haven’t come looking for a handout, son …’

  Sel said, ‘Good.’

  Dad said, ‘I’d just like us to get to know one another better, before it’s too late. I’ll give you my address. I’m in Stoke-on-Trent. Nothing fancy, of course, just the one room. But it’s all right, apart from the damp.
I expect Annie’s in clover now, though. You always were a good boy to your mam.’

  Sel jumped on him. ‘Mam’s none of your business,’ he said. ‘She looked after us and now I’m looking after her, and as far as I recall you were never in the reckoning. Now, my man Doug is going to give you a glass of orange squash and ten pounds for your train fare, and then you can bugger off back to Stoke-on-Trent. I don’t want to see you hanging around when I come back after the show.’

  Gypsy looked at me and then at the tray of drinks. I think perhaps he thought I was Sel’s man, Doug.

  I followed Sel outside. I said, ‘Can you believe it? Shall I tell Mam?’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘not a word. I don’t want her upset. And don’t worry. Doug’ll get rid of him.’

  I said, ‘Do you realise he never even spoke to me? I don’t think he even knew me.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Ain’t you the lucky one?’

  The lights were going down by the time I got to my seat.

  Hazel said, ‘Well?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said.

  ‘It doesn’t look like nothing,’ she said, ‘if your face is anything to go by.’

  Then Mam shushed her because Sel had had his drum roll.

  He came on pulled along on a little platform with wheels, only they were hidden under a big cloak with the sunray collar. He had two boys at the front and two at the back acting as brakes, all dressed as footmen. The ladies were all ooh-ing and aah-ing. ‘What?’ he said. ‘This old thing?’

  You’d never have known, watching him, what a wreck he’d looked sitting in the dressing room in his shorts. He opened with ‘The Night Is Young’ and ‘Only Forever’, and then some youngsters were brought on in wheelchairs, to sing ‘Inchworm’ with him.

  He sat on the edge of the stage, dangling his legs, mopping his face. That’s drink for you. He said, ‘People keep asking me about the girls in my life, so tonight I thought I’d introduce you to someone very special. Come on down, Mam!’ He did ‘Sentimental Me’ and ‘Forever’ while Mam was fetched down.

  Hazel kept whispering, ‘I knew it! I knew he was going to do something!’