‘He’s on his way, I’m sure,’ said Daisy, and turned to see Ewan coming round the corner with his case.
When the bus pulled up, Jesse pushed past Ewan, took Daisy’s hand and dragged her up the stairs. Sitting down beside her, he laid his arm across the back of the seat and started playing with her hair.
‘What are those marks around your wrist?’ asked Julia, who was sitting behind them.
‘Yes, they look rather nasty, you ought to put some Germolene on them,’ said Amy, sniggering.
‘Oh, but they’re old wounds,’ said Daisy, turning round to frown at Amy, who was never very sympathetic at the best of times. ‘His father used to tie him up and beat him.’
‘He must have been some bastard of a father. They look more like S and M to me,’ muttered Amy, grinning. ‘Well, Jesse Trent? Did you really have a frightful father who should have been had up before the beak for cruelty to children? Or are you a pervert?’
‘Shut up, Amy,’ muttered Jesse, as he fumbled for a cigarette.
Across the aisle, Ewan glanced up, caught Daisy’s eye, but then he looked away again, and carried on reading from a script.
‘Well, darlings, this must be the place.’ Amy led them up the neat and tidy garden path, and then she rang the bell.
‘Come on,’ said Julia. ‘I haven’t time to hang around all day, looking at the flipping scenery. I’ve got to find myself another job. Mr Curtis, if you please,’ she said, when the front door was opened.
‘He’s gone, love,’ said the middle-aged woman in a floral apron, folding her arms beneath her bosom and scowling at them all.
‘We’ll see Mrs Curtis, then,’ said Amy, stubbing out her cigarette and dropping the butt end on the clean-swept path.
‘They’ve both cleared off. They left before anyone else was up this morning. If you ask me, they’ve done a runner.’ The woman glared at Amy. ‘You pick that fag end up, you mucky trollop. I don’t keep a doss house.’
‘But how will we get our money?’ Frank demanded.
‘How will I get mine?’ The landlady began to close the door. ‘Theatricals,’ she muttered. ‘I’ve had it up to here with them. Professional gentlemen, they’re all I’m taking now. They smuggle floozies in, they leave the toilets looking quite disgusting, they drop their fag ash everywhere, but they pay their way.’
The door slammed shut.
‘The thieving, rotten bastards!’ Julia exclaimed, as they all stood on the steps, shocked and disbelieving. The woman was at the window now, glaring at them and willing them to go away. ‘I bet you they’ve been planning this for months.’
‘Where does this daughter live?’ asked George. ‘Does anybody know her married name?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, idiot,’ said Amy. ‘They haven’t got a daughter. They weren’t even married. Dolly Curtis is a bloke, as you’d all have realised if you’d ever listened to her language. Ladies don’t say khazi, that’s old army slang.’
‘But Mrs Curtis, she can’t be a man. She had – ’
‘Great saggin’ whatsitsnames?’ Julia shook her head at George. ‘I saw her in the buff once, an’ a horrid sight it was, the flab all hanging everywhere, but she had a little pecker, too. Ewan, love, you got the money for your fare to Glasgow?’
‘No,’ said Ewan. ‘I was banking on a bonus.’
‘You’ll just have to get on to the train, and then stay in the lavatory, pretending to be ill,’ suggested Amy. ‘That’s what Julia and I do when we’re short of funds. When are they expecting you in Glasgow?’
‘I told them I’d be there later today.’
‘You’d better get your skates on then, my darling.’ Julia led the company down the path. ‘Come on, girls and boys. Let’s go and see this highland laddie off to bonny Scotland.’
‘Ewan,’ said Daisy quietly, ‘I’ll lend you the money for your fare.’
‘You keep your money,’ muttered Ewan. ‘You’ll need it if you’re going to London with that bastard Trent. I’ll bet he has expensive habits.’
‘Ewan, please don’t be like this!’ cried Daisy. ‘The Comrades, isn’t it? I’ll write to you next week.’
‘As you wish,’ said Ewan, and then he strode off down the road, leaving the others standing in a huddle at the gate.
Amy went running after him. ‘Ewan, I can spare a couple of quid,’ she told him, panting. ‘A fiver, even, if you need it.’
‘Amy, you’re very kind, but I’ll be fine.’
‘You could still get her back, you know.’
‘I doubt it.’ Ewan shook his head. ‘She wants to go with Trent.’
‘She’s such a fool.’ Amy sighed. ‘Well, maybe one day, eh? When she sees the error of her ways? My darling, when you’re in the talkies, send me tickets for your premières?’
‘Of course I shall.’ Ewan leaned towards her and kissed her on her rouged and powdered cheek. ‘Thanks for everything,’ he added. He watched her walk back to the others, then went to catch his train.
Julia had gone to hang around in one of the big hotels, hoping to find a salesman who would buy her a few drinks. But Amy had nothing else to do until the afternoon, and so she went with Daisy and Jesse to the railway station.
All three of them stood on the platform, waiting for the Euston train. ‘You watch your step, my girl,’ said Amy sternly. ‘You keep your eye on him.’
‘What do you think I’m going to do?’ asked Jesse, slapping at his pockets. ‘Damn, I’m out of fags. Amy, love, I don’t suppose – ’
‘No, I flipping couldn’t, so you’d better go and buy some,’ Amy told him sharply. ‘Go on then, shoo! You’ve only got five minutes.’
As Jesse went hurrying off to find a kiosk, Amy looked hard at Daisy. ‘It’s not too late,’ she said.
‘It’s not too late for what?’
‘Julia and I are going to try to get a summer season. There’s always something, end of the pier shows if we’re really desperate, pierrettes and blackface, all that sort of thing. Girls are always pulling out because they’re getting married or they’re up the duff or something, so we’ll soon be suited. Come with us, why don’t you? We could do a sister act. They always come in threes.’
‘I want to go to London.’
‘You’re besotted, aren’t you, Daisy May? Well, when you get sick of Mr Trent, or he gets sick of you, or you get stuck, you write to me, care of my brother in Carlisle. He’ll send a letter on.’
Amy tore a page out of a notebook, scribbled something down and stuffed it into Daisy’s hand. ‘Just don’t believe a word he says, all right? I’ve met his sort before, all mouth and Brylcreem, hard luck stories by the score. All that stuff about his father beating him is rot, believe you me.’
‘But he has the marks, so why do you say – ’
‘Daisy, you’ve been with us for a season. You’re nothing like as ignorant and innocent as when we met you first. But you must stop believing the best of everyone, especially of men.’
‘I don’t believe the best of everyone,’ said Daisy, thinking if you only knew.
‘No?’ said Amy. ‘You had Alfred’s number from the start? Just remember, sweetheart, make people earn your trust, don’t hand it over like a Christmas present, and don’t believe the best of Jesse Trent.’
‘What’s going on then, still discussing me?’ said Jesse, coming up behind them and lighting a cigarette.
‘Listen, Mr Smartarse, look after this little girl, all right? I’ve got a couple of brothers. You know what I’m saying?’
‘I’ll look after Daisy,’ promised Jesse. ‘I’ll defend her with my life.’
‘I hope for Daisy’s sake it never comes to that, because I’d put my money on you scarpering, not staying around to fight.’ Amy put down the parcel of cleaning which she’d lugged round Birmingham
all morning and untied the string. ‘Here, Daisy May, this is for you,’ she said.
‘What is it?’
‘What does it look like?’ Amy shoved the skirt and jacket of her best tweed suit at Daisy’s chest. ‘Go on, take it! You haven’t got any grown-up clothes. You look about eleven in that coat. If a copper notices you getting on the London train together, Mr Smartarse here will be had up for kidnapping a child.’
‘But Amy, you can’t give this to me.’
‘Yes, I can,’ said Amy. ‘It doesn’t fit me any more. I’m getting fat. I can’t do up the buttons on the skirt.’
The Euston train came roaring in, throwing out sparks and belching great white clouds of smoke and steam. Amy darted forward, kissed Daisy on the cheek, and then she glared at Jesse. ‘Look after Daisy, Mr Smartarse Pervert,’ she said threateningly. ‘You never know who might be watching you.’
Ewan got off the train at Glasgow Central, hoping nobody was watching him.
He’d spent the journey avoiding guards and ticket inspectors, who had seemed to be everywhere on the train, and now he had to jump the final hurdle. Or get through the barrier, anyway.
Just walk through it, he told himself. Look preoccupied and in a hurry, then hopefully you won’t be stopped.
He waited for a surge of passengers, then put his head down and charged through, and made it to the other side.
Where should he go now? Straight to the theatre, he supposed, to see the manager, get a list of lodgings, and ask for an advance against his salary?
That would make him popular, he reflected, get the whole engagement off to a cracking start. Or maybe he would go and have some dinner – he was starving.
As he stood on the station forecourt trying to decide what he should do, a fashionably-dressed but overweight old woman stabbed his ankle with her walking stick and then glared up at him, apparently offended he’d dared be in her way.
God, he thought, as he began to walk towards the buffet, thinking he might go mad and spend a shilling or one and sixpence on a cup of coffee and a sandwich, I’ve had enough of women.
‘Excuse me, could you wait a moment?’
A small, dark girl in an unflattering black overcoat and pale grey Tam o’Shanter that looked like her school beret came hurrying towards him. ‘I’ve come to meet a Mr Ewan Fraser off the train from Birmingham,’ she continued, breathlessly. ‘I’ve asked a dozen people, but I’m thinking we must have missed each other – unless you would happen to be him?’
‘Yes, I’m Ewan Fraser,’ he replied.
‘I’m Sadie Lawrence,’ said the girl. ‘I’m at the Comrades, but I’m not on stage this evening. I hope you’ve had a pleasant journey north?’
‘I couldn’t wait for it to end,’ said Ewan. ‘Do you have some digs arranged for me? Or do I find my own?’
‘They’re all arranged,’ said Sadie. ‘We’re meeting Mungo and the others in the Thistle later, and I’m sure you’re going to get on famously with them. So now, how would you like – ’
‘I’d like something to eat.’ Ewan picked up his case and started walking.
‘I say, wait a minute,’ cried the girl, and scurried after him.
Chapter Thirteen
Phoebe stood in front of the theatre, trying to screw her failing courage to the sticking point.
She looked the building up and down. God, it was a horrible, tawdry place, far worse than the Haggerston Palace music hall in the East End of London, where she’d been in variety, and which she’d always thought must be the dump to end all dumps. She’d never have thought a child of hers would sink as low as this.
It was a drizzly afternoon, the sort of day that never got really light, and there was nobody about. But places like this were never open all the time, she thought, they wouldn’t have had daily matinees even in the war years when people were desperate for entertainment, when they didn’t begrudge a bob or two to take their minds off all the awful things that were happening in France and Flanders.
But even if there wasn’t a performance going on, there must be somebody about, she reasoned, painting scenery or checking lights.
She tried the double doors and found them locked. She went round to the side and picked her way along a dirty alley strewn with litter. She found the stage door, which was also locked, but noticed a little ginger ferret of a man, snoozing at a window which opened on a stairwell.
‘I can’t do nothin’ for you, ma’am,’ he said, when she eventually roused him. ‘They done their last show ’ere on Friday, an’ that was the end of their engagements ’ere in Brum. No, I dunno where they’ve gone. But I tell can you now, my love, you ain’t missed anything.’
‘You must know where they stayed?’ insisted Phoebe. ‘They’ll ’ave given their landladies their forwardin’ addresses, for their post an’ stuff.’ She squared her shoulders. She hadn’t come so far and taken so much trouble to give up now. ‘Where are the theatrical digs round ’ere? You got a list?’
The doorman scratched his head. He didn’t know what to do. The only folk who asked him for that sort of list were debt collectors, tradesmen chasing actors who had run up bills, then done a bunk.
But this pretty woman in her expensive coat, and what he would have sworn were real silk stockings, couldn’t be a debt collector. She was too well-dressed. She wore a proper whizz-bang of a hat, all feathers, lace and velvet, the sort of hat you never saw in Brum, or not in this part of the city, anyway.
Now she was rummaging in her crocodile-skin handbag and getting out her purse, and in her purse he could see rolls of banknotes. ‘I think we got a list somewhere,’ he said.
‘Well then, my good man, I’d be very obliged if I could see it,’ Phoebe told him, smiling. She offered him a couple of crackling green pound notes.
Euston was dark and gloomy, suiting Daisy’s gloomy mood. She didn’t know why she felt so low – wasn’t she setting off on an adventure, wasn’t she going to be in a revue?
Maybe, but maybe not. There must be a thousand other girls as pretty and as talented, who could sing and dance as well as she could, even better, probably.
She’d walked into the job with Mr and Mrs Curtis, but it had been a fluke, she saw that now. She’d had some small success in little places in the provinces, and this had turned her head, and made her think she could do anything.
Now she was fast realising that London would not, could not be the same as Walsall, Doncaster or Wolverhampton. Jesse’s faith and optimism had blinded her with dreams of spurious glory, and she’d got carried away.
While they were on the train, Jesse had talked her into a splitting headache, regaling her with stories of all his past successes, and bragging about the star he meant to be, either on the stage or in the talkies.
‘Yes,’ he’d continued, dropping cigarette ash on her knees, ‘talkies are definitely the coming thing. I think I’d be brilliant in talkies. I’ll have to see if I can get a screen test. My profile’s perfect, and my teeth are excellent, so close-ups wouldn’t be a problem. I could do modern or historical drama, comedy or serious stuff, no question. I could get good parts.’
He’d leaned towards her, dark eyes shining. ‘Daisy, I have plans.’
He didn’t have any money, though. He’d spent his last two shillings in the buffet car on beer.
Since Daisy didn’t smoke and didn’t drink, she was quite well off, and even though she hadn’t received her last week’s wages or her bonus, she had saved five pounds.
But she knew London was expensive, and she wasn’t banking on five pounds getting them far. Ewan had refused to take her cash, and on reflection it was just as well.
They climbed down from the train.
‘I wonder where the Curtises are now?’ said Jesse, as he hailed a porter.
‘Somewhere very uncomfortable, I hope.
’ Daisy told the porter they would carry their own cases, thank you very much. She didn’t have sixpences to waste on porters.
‘How could they?’ she demanded, as they made their way across the concourse. ‘I thought they were our friends. We worked so hard for them.’
‘Oh, these touring managers, they’re all the same,’ said Jesse. ‘The Curtises won’t be the first or last to run off with the cash.’
‘You mean it happens often?’
‘Yes, of course, and in these dismal days it’s going to happen more and more.’ Jesse put his arm round Daisy’s shoulders. ‘Come on, blossom, let’s look on the bright side. You’re in the capital of the British Empire with a handsome man.’
‘I have no job,’ said Daisy, ‘and I don’t have anywhere to stay.’
‘We’ll soon sort something out, don’t worry.’ Jesse grinned. ‘Let’s go and treat ourselves to pie and chips, and then we’ll find a mission.’
‘A mission?’ Daisy frowned at him. ‘We had those in India. They were where beggars went to get deloused, to beg some rice or leave their grandmothers to die.’
‘Well, we’re beggars, aren’t we? Actors are traditionally beggars, rogues and vagabonds. Anyway, coming back to missions, there’s a place in Edgware Road, and it’s run by Church of England nuns. It’s just for women, so it shouldn’t be too squalid.’
‘I’m not going there.’
‘Just for tonight, my darling,’ wheedled Jesse, ‘and tomorrow we’ll get things sorted out. But don’t tell them at the mission you’re an actress, or they’ll think you mean you’re on the game, and throw you out.’
‘What should I tell them, then?’
‘You’d need to say you’ve just come down from Dorset, that you’re looking for domestic work, that you don’t have anywhere to stay, and a kind policeman told you to ring their bell.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Oh, don’t you worry about me!’ Jesse grinned and winked. ‘I’ll find a corner somewhere. Listen, they’ll chuck you out at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, tell you to go to church or look for work, even though it’s Sunday. Whatever you do, don’t let them keep your luggage, even if they offer. You’ll never get it back.’
The Golden Chain Page 15