by Andy Conway
The letter.
She knew it now. She’d read her letter to Danny Pearce. She’d told everyone. There probably wasn’t a person in the dance hall who didn’t know about it now.
She looked around for her things. She needed to get out of this place, run away and hide. They were turning their backs to her. A young girl in pigtails was staring at her. Amy reached for her purse and dropped it on the floor. Someone picked it up for her.
“Here you are.”
A friendly voice. She looked up into the smiling face of a young woman. A redhead. There was something about her that didn’t quite belong, but then, neither did she. She didn’t belong anywhere.
“It’s Amy, isn’t it? Amy Parker?”
Surprise. Was this the introduction to some fresh humiliation? Would she laugh at her, spit in her face, slap her?
“You don’t know me,” said the redhead. “It’s all right. I’m a friend of Danny’s.”
She looked all around. No one was watching now, only the girl in pigtails.
“He’s waiting for you,” she said.
“Did he not get my letter?”
“Er... Yes. He got it.”
“Then why isn’t he here?” Amy couldn’t hide the despair in her voice. The anger. Why has he abandoned me?
“He thought it would be inappropriate. There are far too many eyes here.”
“It’s a little late for that.”
“He’s waiting for you. At the village crossroads. If you hurry, you might catch him.”
Could it be true? Could he be waiting there for her? What mystery had prevented him from coming here? Perhaps he knew his letter had been intercepted and he’d thought it best not to appear. He was protecting her. She felt a sudden thrill for him. She should run from here, run from their wagging tongues and vicious whispers and go to him: go to wherever he wanted to take her. She could leave this all behind and start anew with him, somewhere else.
The music had stopped. Someone was on stage calling out a number. She couldn’t hear it. All she could do was stare into the eyes of the redhead and see her means of escape.
“Go now,” said the redhead.
“It’s her!”
Amy clutched her purse close to her. She would run now. Run to him.
“It’s her. She’s got the number!”
They were all turning to look at her. What was this? Why didn’t they all leave her alone?
The girl with pigtails was pointing at the table and the two raffle tickets still lying there. “It’s her!”
“She’s won!”
“Over here!”
“She’s got the ticket!”
The girl with pigtails picked up the raffle ticket and pressed it into Amy’s hand. What was happening? She had to go now. Danny Pearce was waiting for her.
“It’s her!”
“Here! She’s got the ticket!”
No, it wasn’t her ticket, it was Little Amy’s. It was all a mistake.
The redhead looked panicked. “Just go. Now!” she hissed.
But someone pushed Amy towards the stage. Before she could run she was being herded to the steps at the side of the stage. She heard their whispers as she climbed the steps. Why did it feel like a scaffold? She stepped up into the light, clutching her purse, blinking. No, this wasn’t happening.
Benny Orphan’s smile dropped when he saw her and she knew instantly that he had expected someone younger, prettier. His manager looked at him and gave a shrug.
The crowd were applauding as she stepped up to his side. But she could hear the whispers too.
Benny Orphan plastered on a fake smile and asked her name.
“Amy. Amy Parker,” she croaked. “But—”
He nodded to Lester Johnson and the band broke into Love Me Tonight.
Benny shoved her onto the stool. He was going to sing to her. She wanted to die. The lights were blinding; she could only just make out the shadow of the crowd on the dance floor, a many-headed monster that rippled and snaked as Benny Orphan sang to her. He closed his eyes throughout as if he were singing to some imaginary woman. Was it Little Amy he was thinking of? Had he set up the whole thing with his manager? That must be it, she thought. The raffle was all a ruse. The manager would pick a nice looking young girl and they would make sure they drew her ticket. They had chosen Little Amy. She realized suddenly she was saving Little Amy from his paws.
The song came to a close and Benny Orphan went down on one knee to her. She heard laughter from the audience but it was thankfully drowned out by applause. The manager walked on and took the microphone.
“Give her a big hand, ladies and gentlemen. What a lucky lady!”
She wanted to go now. She could get off this stage and run. She could run to him. Danny Pearce was waiting for her at Moseley village.
“But that’s not all. She also gets to go backstage and have her photograph taken with Benny Orphan himself. In the meantime, we’ll leave you in the capable hands of Lester Johnson and his band!”
Benny Orphan waved to the crowd, blowing kisses.
The manager gripped her elbow tightly. She gasped in pain. “This way,” he hissed. “Come on.”
He shoved her to the back of the stage. She stumbled down wooden steps, down a dark corridor, and he threw her into a dressing room.
Benny Orphan followed them inside, wiping his face with a handkerchief. “What a bloody shambles!” he shouted.
He yanked Amy to his side and said, “Smile!”
A bright light flashed. The manager had a camera. He walked out and slammed the door.
Benny Orphan took her arms, gripping too tightly. “Let’s have a look at you then,” he said.
“I have to go,” she said. “Someone’s waiting for me.”
“You can’t go without your prize, love,” he said.
She didn’t like the way he grinned at her, the spark of lust as he ran his eyes over her.
“Nice dress,” he said. “Get it off, then.”
She recoiled, squirmed out of his grasp.
He slapped her across the face.
She screamed. She heard the seam tear at her shoulder.
He was pulling her towards him, moaning, grunting like a pig at the trough.
“Get off me!” she cried.
He clamped his sweaty hand over her mouth and pressed her back against the dressing table.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t break free of him.
Shouts outside. The manager. He was telling someone everything was fine. She tried to cry out again, her voice muffled.
She heard the door fly open, a gust of wind blew in and Benny Orphan slammed against the far wall. He gasped in pain and slumped, his face livid with agony.
A hand grabbed her and pulled her out.
It was Danny Pearce.
He had come to rescue her.
The door was barred. A group of men, alarm in their faces. Danny held out a hand, as if to tell them to halt. But they flew back down the dark corridor towards backstage.
“Come on,” Danny said. “This way.”
He pulled her with him, turning the opposite way, deeper into the building. They ran down the dark corridor. He pushed against a door and they came out into a yard where a coach was parked. Cold air on her face, fierce wind blowing. He ran across the yard and she flew with him, her feet barely touching the ground. A gate with a lock. The padlock exploded, the chain buckled, the gate blew open with a bang. And they were on Brighton Road, running to her house.
— 52 —
RACHEL NOTICED THE sudden urgency among the Benacre Street Boxing Club boys, signalling to Manny to come backstage.
For a moment she thought it might be the Blackshirts. Had they finally managed to target Benny Orphan, even this late? She glanced across to Amy Parker’s table. No one there. Perhaps it was Harold Ogborne after all. But as she grabbed Charlie and ran through the crowd in Manny’s wake, she knew it wasn’t the Blackshirts.
She knew it was Amy Parker.
> She knew it was Danny.
Lester Johnson’s band carried on playing the final few numbers of the night. People were still dancing.
She followed as fast as her heels would allow, down the dark back corridor, trying not to trip, feeling Charlie’s hand at the small of her back.
She pushed through the crowd of boys crowded at the dressing room door.
It looked like there had been a fight in there: a chair on its side, a picture tilted, the contents of Benny Orphan’s suitcase strewn across the floor.
Arthur was shouting at Manny, his face purple with rage. “It’s a bloody outrage is what it is and you’ve allowed your star to be attacked. Yes, attacked! Right here in his dressing room!”
Manny’s huge presence calmed the air somewhat and he deliberately lowered his voice to soothe the situation. “Now, please calm down and tell me what happened.”
“He’s already told you!” shouted Benny Orphan.
“It’s scandalous!” Arthur spluttered. “And you knew something like this was going to happen all along. Don’t tell me you didn’t!”
“Now, that’s absurd,” said Manny.
“So why the mob-handed security all day?” Arthur laughed. “Do you think we’re blind? You knew something like this was going to happen. And when it happened you failed to stop it. That makes you liable.”
Charlie stepped forward. “Now, now, there’s no need for that kind of talk. Security here has been well taken care of.”
“And yet your star act has been attacked. How do you explain that?”
Rachel knelt down and picked up Benny Orphan’s belongings, placing them back in the suitcase. She stopped at a photo album which had fallen open, displaying a spread of black-and-white photographs of young women posing with Benny Orphan. She flicked through it. Pages and pages of girls. Under every photograph, the name of the girl and the venue. Most of them were innocent enough, a fan posing with a star, but on some pages the girl was photographed alone, sometimes hiking up her skirt to show her thigh; a few posed in their underwear, hiding shy smiles, scared eyes.
“Mr Orphan has never been treated like this in all his days. Hundreds of performances up and down the country, day in, day out, and nothing to match this!”
Manny’s turned to his boys crowding the corridor. “How many were there?”
“Just the one. A man.”
“Just the one?” He looked at Benny and Arthur again, trying to weigh up what was really happening here. “Is that true? It was just one man?”
“There were more,” said Benny Orphan, rubbing his neck. “They threw me across the room. One man couldn’t have done that!”
“We heard a scream,” said one of the boys. “It was a woman. We ran to the dressing room, and there was this man, he grabbed the woman and ran out.”
“Hang on,” said Manny. “You heard a scream?”
“That was probably me,” said Benny Orphan. “Not a woman. I was being attacked.”
“It was a woman. We heard it, boss.”
“He tried to stop us going in,” said one of the boys, pointing at Arthur.
Rachel saw the look that passed between Benny Orphan and his manager. She handed the photo album to Charlie.
“Would this have been the woman who won your raffle?” asked Rachel. “The raffle you were very keen to run yourself?”
Charlie looked up from the pages of the album, showed it to Manny. Rachel saw his jaw tighten.
“I don’t know what you’re implying, young madam,” said Arthur, wagging his finger in her face. “But you’d better be very careful.”
“So you pick out the girl,” she said, pointing at Arthur, “and he gives her the prize, is that it?”
“You watch your mouth, missy.”
It was Benny Orphan wagging a finger at her now. Charlie pushed him back.
Arthur leapt forward.
Manny’s giant hand shoved him back. He held up the photo album. “Is this what you do; up and down the land; day in, day out?”
“Those are just harmless photographs,” said Arthur.
“Some of those don’t look harmless,” said Charlie. “In fact some of those girls look positively scared.”
“Was the woman who was in here scared?” asked Manny. “Did she put up a fight?”
“She wanted it!” spluttered Benny.
“You animal,” said Rachel. She stepped forward, hand raised to slap him.
Benny Orphan shrank back, eyes bloated with alarm.
Manny caught her hand, mid-air, and edged between them.
Rachel backed away, folding her arms, tears of rage springing to her eyes.
“My boys have provided you with protection all day,” said Manny, towering over Benny and his manager. He seemed to be growing another inch with every word, filling the room with a menacing presence. “But protecting a man who’s forcing his attentions on a woman — that’s where our protection ends.”
Arthur tried to speak but Manny prodded him in the chest and he looked at his feet.
“Now, I’m going to call a cab and they’re going to drive you back to your hotel and you’re going to shut your mouths. We’re all going to forget about this. But I’ll tell you this now. If I ever hear of you performing anywhere in this country and staging this raffle of yours again: you’re going to be hearing from me. And you don’t want to be hearing from me ever again. Is that understood?”
Neither of them answered. They couldn’t even raise their heads. Arthur reached for the photo album. Manny snatched it away.
“We’ll be keeping this. And the camera. Just in case we hear any more tales of innocent girls crying out for help.”
“You bloody great big—’ Benny Orphan started at him, fists clenched.
Arthur pulled him back. “Shut up, Benny. It’s over. We’ve all seen enough. Let’s go.”
Manny nodded towards one of his men. Arthur picked up Benny’s case and they shuffled out of the room. The Benacre Street Boxing Club boys parted to let them through. Both men seemed to shrink, becoming smaller and smaller, as they walked out.
Charlie took Rachel’s arms. “I’m so very sorry,” he said.
“What for?”
“That you had to see that. That I booked that man to come and perform here.”
She wanted to hug him. He was so young and innocent, such a boy still. She unfolded her arms and stroked his cheek. He almost recoiled with surprise.
“Charlie, don’t ever apologize for him. You weren’t to know what he was. None of us knew.”
Manny nodded. “She’s right. Not your fault. Not anyone’s. And at least we’ve put a stop to it.”
Music wafted down the corridor. The band still playing onstage.
“Let’s go and enjoy the band,” said Rachel. “It’s nearly over.”
Charlie nodded.
They filed out of the room towards the sound of sweet music.
— 53 —
THE DANCE FLOOR TEEMED with life as Lester Johnson’s band swayed through Let’s Stop the Clock.
“Are you dancing?” asked Charlie.
Her heart thrilled. “Are you asking?”
She laughed. And then she saw Mrs Hudson across the floor. The old woman summoned her.
“Just a minute,” said Rachel. “I have to talk to those people over there.”
Charlie followed her gaze. “Do you know them?”
“They’re from... where I come from.”
“Oh,” he said. “Are they going to take you away from me?”
He laughed a little but it didn’t seem funny. She felt miserable. This was the end of it all.
“I think they are, Charlie.”
She squeezed his hand and made her way to them, slaloming through the dancing couples.
Mrs Hudson was smiling. Mitch looked ill. Kath seemed annoyed about something.
“Rachel,” said Mrs Hudson. “Well done. You did everything asked of you, and from what I hear it involved a great deal of hard work.”
“Did we win?”
“I rather think we did,” said the old woman. “My parents had their first dance after all and love seemed very much in the air.” She leaned in and hugged her, whispering in her ear, “Thank you for letting me see them again.”
“What about the other thing? The man on Newport Road?”
They all looked at Mitch.
“He arrived here. We missed him enter. He was dancing with a woman before I could send him back to his own time. Job done, I think.”
“But what about Danny Pearce?” Rachel asked, and noticed Kath scowl at this.
“What about him?” asked Mrs Hudson.
“Where is he?”
“We don’t know that he ever arrived.”
“He did. I saw him.”
Mrs Hudson looked at Mitch. Kath looked at the dancers.
“Well,” said Mrs Hudson. “He didn’t interfere in any way. The concert went ahead. All is well.”
“But—”
“It’s all right. Mission accomplished. Let’s go.”
“I have to wind things up here.”
Mrs Hudson suddenly seemed stern. “We have to go. Right this minute.”
“I’m not going yet.”
“Rachel. I can’t have you disobeying a direct order like this. We have finished our work here and we are going.”
Rachel thought of Charlie, still waiting for his dance. She had to give him the list of dates when she would meet him. It had happened. If she left now, it wouldn’t happen. She looked at Kath but Kath didn’t seem to be listening to any of it. Was this the moment she unmoored herself and floated away into the darkness?
“It’s not right,” said Rachel, firmly. “I can’t just disappear. There are things to do, people to say goodbye to.”
“Nonsense. We don’t belong here.”
“But we are here. And we owe it to the people we interact with to behave properly — not just get what we want and disappear. It’s not right.”
“Very well,” said Mrs Hudson. “But do not stay the night and do not do anything to affect the future.”
“Okay,” said Rachel.
She wasn’t at all sure she wouldn’t do both.
Mrs Hudson turned and walked out.