The Songbird

by Val Wood

  Her father shifted uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t say for sure that she can,’ he said. ‘She suggested it as she’ll have to be here early, and it sounded like a good idea. But I didn’t agree for sure,’ he repeated. ‘I said I’d give it some thought.’

  ‘My room!’ Tommy said in astonishment. ‘That means I’ll have to store my things somewhere! I don’t want her poking about amongst them.’

  ‘I don’t know what you two have got against Lena,’ their father said sharply. ‘She works hard, she’s willing to do all of ’baking and yet still you don’t like her!’

  ‘What about Albert?’ Tommy glanced anxiously at Poppy and then his father. ‘It won’t do to have him here, not with – not with Poppy!’

  ‘I don’t need you to remind me of what’s right and what isn’t!’ Joshua said irritably. ‘Of course he won’t stay. We haven’t room for him for one thing. But I just said, nothing’s been decided yet. We’ll see how things work out.’

  But Pa doesn’t realize that Lena has already decided what she’s going to do, Poppy thought as she rose to go up to bed. She’s worked it out already.

  ‘Poppy!’ Tommy whispered at her bedroom door later. ‘Charlie said he’ll be on Monument Bridge tomorrow night at about eight o’clock, if you want to say cheerio. I told him you could probably get away about that time.’

  ‘I might,’ she said casually, opening the door a crack. ‘I want to go and see Nan about something anyway, so I’ll come back along there.’

  That decided her. She would go and talk to Mattie before she went off to work. Nan was just an excuse.

  ‘Ah!’ Tommy said, before she closed the door. ‘If you see Mattie, will you tell her I’m leaving? I, er . . . or I can tell Nan in ’morning, I suppose, when she comes in.’

  ‘You could tell Mattie yourself, of course,’ Poppy gibed. ‘I expect you didn’t think of that!’ She closed her door.

  The following evening she told her father she was going to see Nan. He no longer told her that she mustn’t go into the High Street on her own. He simply warned her to be careful and be back before dark. She hoped she had timed it right to see Mattie and then be in time to meet Charlie. She was wearing one of her mother’s cream skirts; it had a kick pleat on the hem, which tossed around her ankles as she walked, and she had teamed it with an emerald-green shirt tucked into the waistband.

  ‘You look lovely, Poppy,’ Mattie said admiringly. ‘You going to meet somebody?’

  ‘I’ve come to see you, Mattie,’ she hedged. ‘I want to discuss something.’

  ‘Shan’t have to be long,’ Mattie said. ‘I’m due at work in half an hour and I’ve got to get cleaned up. Still, if you don’t mind me getting washed while you talk?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Poppy sat down, realizing that Mattie had only just come in from the flour mill. She worked long hours and she had flour on her face and hair as she had when Poppy had come the last time. ‘I want your advice.’

  ‘From me?’ Mattie laughed, and started to strip off her shirt and skirt. She stood in her thin cotton shift, and Poppy thought that it was a pity they were not nearer in size, for she would have passed on some of her clothes. But Mattie, although no taller than her, had well-rounded breasts and hips, whereas Poppy was still slender.

  ‘Do you know that Tommy is going to sea?’ she asked, as Mattie splashed cold water from a bucket over her face. ‘Pa said he could go if he wanted to. He’s been taken on a ship that’s leaving on Monday.’

  Mattie turned to her, water running down her face and streaking the flour into runnels of white paste. ‘Tommy! No! I didn’t know.’ Her expression, usually so cheerful, was downcast. ‘On Monday?’ She stood for a moment, her lips parted, and then she turned back to her ablutions, cupping water into her hands and splashing it over her face. When she looked up again, she had assumed her usual bright demeanour. ‘That’s nice for him. It’s what he wants to do, is it? Doesn’t want to stay here in Hull?’ She picked up a piece of cotton towelling and scrubbed her face dry. ‘It’s not because Charlie’s leaving, is it?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Poppy said miserably. ‘He’s always wanted to go to sea and Charlie has always wanted to go to London. The thing is, Mattie . . .’ She hesitated, wondering if she should say anything about herself after all. ‘I shall miss him.’

  ‘I expect you will,’ Mattie said kindly. ‘So will I, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Will you? Do you like him? Tommy, I mean?’

  ‘I thought that’s who we were talking about.’ Mattie frowned. ‘It is, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course I meant Tommy! Though I’ll miss Charlie too,’ she confessed. ‘He’s going away on Saturday – tomorrow – and the thing is,’ she repeated, ‘I’ll be left on my own.’

  ‘You’ve got your pa!’ Mattie said. ‘I know it’s difficult for you without your ma, but your pa – well, he idolizes you, doesn’t he? And you’ll be busy, you’ll be leaving school soon, and you’ve got your singing and dancing and you’ll help in ’shop.’

  Poppy nodded. The way Mattie put it, it sounded like an ideal life, and for Mattie it probably would be. But not for me, she thought. I have other ambitions, but I realize now that I can’t tell Mattie. She’d only try to talk me out of them anyway.

  ‘I’d better go,’ she said. ‘Thank you for listening to me, Mattie. I won’t hold you up any longer.’

  ‘Is that it, then?’ Mattie seemed surprised. ‘I don’t seem to have done much.’

  ‘I just needed to talk, that’s all.’ Poppy forced herself to smile.

  ‘Any time.’ Mattie slipped on another skirt and shirt, and reached for a hairbrush. ‘You can come and talk any time you want.’

  Poppy walked back along the High Street and cut down Scale Lane. Charlie’s father was seated in the window as usual, his back bent over his bench. She crossed Lowgate, avoiding the surge of carts and waggons, and as she passed down Silver Street she glanced at the display of gold and silver in the shop windows. In the fashion shops of Whitefriargate she looked at her reflection rather than the objects displayed. People were still shopping or strolling and the evening was pleasant and still light. Ahead of her was the Monument Bridge, crowded with people looking over into the water, but she couldn’t yet see Charlie and she hoped that he hadn’t forgotten that he’d said he would meet her.

  Charlie stood beneath the Wilberforce monument, positioning himself so that he could look across towards Savile Street, in the direction from which he thought Poppy would come. He took a turn round the base of the monument, gazing at the rippling water and the barges and ships which were moored in the dock. Then he cast his eyes down Whitefriargate, the way he had just come, and saw her.

  He had tried to analyse his feelings towards Poppy as he’d walked here, arriving early so that he could watch her coming towards him and judge how he felt about her. She had always been just his friend’s little sister, but the last few times he had seen her he had felt differently towards her. He had noticed how attractive she had become, and although he had laughed when Tommy warned him off, he had thought of her often. She had become more womanly, more desirable to his senses. She had disturbed him since that first kiss, which he would quite like to repeat. But he was going away. There will be other women, he told himself. Women, not schoolgirls, which is what Poppy still is. Tommy said she has a crush on me, and it’s always flattering to a man’s vanity when a woman, or a girl, admires him.

  He watched her now as she came towards the bridge, unaware yet of his presence. Most of the other women around were dressed in dark clothing, their dull skirts trailing on the ground, but Poppy was like a bright flower in a garden. So apt, her name, he thought. She’s lovely. Her cream skirt flounced around her ankles as she walked, tall and straight-backed, her chin slightly tilted, and her hair gleaming like burnished copper above her emerald shirt.

  Some youths leaning on the bridge caught a glimpse of her over their shoulders and turned round completely, their backs and
elbows resting on the iron rail, so that they could watch her. Charlie saw their lips lift in smiles of admiration and so that they wouldn’t call out to her, he walked towards her.

  ‘Poppy,’ he said. ‘Here you are!’

  ‘Yes,’ she said a little breathlessly. ‘Am I late?’

  ‘’No.’ He took her arm. ‘But it wouldn’t matter if you were.’ He smiled down at her. ‘You look lovely,’ he said softly. ‘Really, really lovely.’

  ‘Do I?’ she whispered, gazing at him. And he knew then, with a certainty that sent his senses reeling and his heart racing, that she loved him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘Shall we take a walk?’ Charlie asked.

  Poppy hesitated for only a second. She hadn’t been long at Mattie’s and she had hurried there and back. Her father wouldn’t expect her just yet. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘As long as I’m home before dark.’

  Those few words emphasized that she was still young enough to be in her father’s care, and that he was nineteen. ‘Let’s walk along ‘dock side,’ he said. ‘Towards the pier.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘That’ll be lovely.’

  They walked in silence along the side of Prince’s Dock, both of them looking at the ships as if they were the most interesting vessels they had ever seen, but when they reached the junction of Humber Dock Poppy said, ‘We’d better not go any further. It’s too far to the pier. Pa will be anxious if I’m late.’

  ‘What a good girl you are, Poppy,’ he teased. ‘Worrying about your pa worrying over you!’

  He drew her towards the railings at the side of the water and they watched a tugboat easing its way towards the lock. He put his arm round her shoulders. ‘I’ll miss you, you know, Poppy. I’ll think about you while I’m away.’

  ‘Will you?’ Her mouth trembled and she pressed her lips together. She looked up at him, her eyes filming with tears. ‘I’ll miss you too, Charlie, and do you know why?’

  A little awkwardly he patted her cheek and shook his head. ‘We’ve known each other a long time, that’s why. It’s just unfortunate that I’m going away at ’same time as Tommy. You’ll feel a little lost, I expect, because of things changing, but you’ll soon get used to us not being here.’

  ‘No,’ she breathed. ‘I won’t. I’ll miss you, because I love you and I can’t bear to think that you won’t be here!’

  He took in a breath. ‘Poppy! You’re much too young to love anyone!’

  ‘I’m not,’ she whispered. ‘When I was ten, I asked my mother when would I be old enough to love someone; and she said . . .’ Her mother’s words were hazy but she thought she remembered the gist of them. ‘She said, it wasn’t a question of how old someone was, but of meeting someone and knowing that you love them. And I’ve known since then that I love you.’

  Charlie gazed at her, her grey-green eyes swimming with tears, and he wanted to put his arms round her and tell her that he loved her too; but he wouldn’t, for he didn’t know if it was true. He felt a great fondness for her, but she was innocent and vulnerable, and she was also Tommy’s sister. Had she been older and bolder, it would have been different; he wouldn’t have hesitated to show his love, whether or not it was steadfast or enduring.

  ‘Perhaps I am young.’ A tear trickled down her cheek as she spoke, and he brushed it away with his finger. ‘But I’m growing up all the time. And when I’m eighteen, you’ll be twenty-four, and there won’t be such a difference between us.’

  ‘Poppy!’ He drew her towards him. ‘We don’t know what’s going to happen in the time between now and then. You’ll probably have found someone else that you love even more than you think you love me, and besides, I have to go away,’ he said softly, but firmly. ‘I want to make my mark in ’world. I can’t do that if I’ve a wife to look after.’

  She stared up at him, her lips parted. ‘I’m not asking you to marry me, Charlie!’ she said huskily. ‘I’m only asking you to love me, even if it’s just a little.’

  His tension eased and he gave an imperceptible sigh. ‘Well, that’s easy enough, Poppy. How could anyone not love you? You’re beautiful and talented and clever – everything about you says that I should love you.’

  He bent and kissed her on her lips, and then once again, cradling her face in his hands. She blinked away glistening tears from her lashes. ‘So do you?’ she whispered.

  ‘Of course I do,’ he whispered back.

  ‘And will you wait for me?’ she asked. ‘Until I’m old enough to know about love?’

  When Charlie left on the Saturday and Tommy on the Monday, Poppy felt isolated and alone. ‘Come on, Poppy,’ her father said on the following Friday, ‘let’s take a couple of hours off and go to a concert. There’s one on at ’Assembly Rooms. It’ll cheer us both up. Lena and Albert can manage and we’ll be back ten minutes after ’show is over.’

  Reluctantly she agreed. The coffee shop would be quiet until the theatres came out, and the grocery only had a few customers who were popping in for something they had forgotten. Most groceries were sold early in the morning or at midday. She would be glad to go out, for she found the presence of Lena and Albert suffocating. Albert seemed to be always watching her and Lena had taken over the kitchen, moving the table and chairs and rearranging the store cupboard where flour, butter, sugar and dried fruit were kept for baking.

  Poppy resented her being there; it was as if she was eradicating her mother’s presence. Tommy had left everything as it was when he had taken over the baking, not seeing fit to change anything, but Lena tutted and complained, and poor Nan took the brunt of her fault-finding with a patient compliance.

  ‘I don’t know how you put up with it,’ Poppy had said to her one day, when Lena, who had fussed about finding mice droppings in the cupboard, was out of earshot. ‘I’d just walk out.’

  Nan sighed. ‘I expect you would, Poppy, but I need to work and I like working for your father. He’s fair, he pays me on time and he always says thank you when I’ve finished. Besides,’ she said quietly, ‘your ma was good to me. I’d think I was letting her down if I left.’

  ‘Oh, Nan!’ Poppy put her arms round her. ‘I’d hate it if you left. I’d run away too.’

  ‘No you wouldn’t,’ Nan said. ‘You wouldn’t go off and leave your pa with those two, would you?’

  Poppy had considered. I just might, she thought, if things get worse.

  The Assembly Rooms catered for a different kind of taste from the Theatre Royal, or the Mechanics Hall. No talking dogs, comedians or ventriloquists. The programme began with a ballad singer, followed by a violinist, and then roles from La Traviata were memorably sung by a German baritone and an Italian soprano.

  Joshua looked at the programme during the interval. ‘Anthony Marino in the second half,’ he murmured. ‘Concert pianist. Mm, we’re in for a real treat tonight. You’ll wish you’d kept up with your piano lessons, Poppy!’

  The curtain rose to show a grand piano centre stage, and a young man in a black frock coat walked on, took a bow and seated himself at the keyboard. Poppy felt her spirits rise, and she knew her father had been right to suggest they came out. Anthony Marino, whose dark hair hung to his white high collar and flopped over his forehead as he bent his head, had a slight smile hovering on his lips as he began to play.

  ‘Chopin!’ her father whispered, as he read the programme. ‘Grande valse brillante. Opus 18.’

  Poppy nodded. Her feet were beginning to move as if of their own accord and she longed to get up and waltz. When he came to the end of the composition, with barely a pause the pianist began the ‘Minute’ Waltz and she felt as if she was lifted from her seat and dancing as her body moved in time to the music.

  ‘He’s wonderful, isn’t he?’ she whispered to her father, as Anthony Marino came to the end of the piece and stood to accept their applause.

  The pianist bowed and then suddenly gave a big smile. ‘You are out of breath now, aren’t you, with all that waltzing?’ he said, his voice humorous an
d Poppy thought with the slightest trace of a Mediterranean accent. The audience murmured appreciatively and clapped, and then laughed as he added, ‘So now you can take a rest whilst I play Mozart’s Rondo alla Turca,’ which he played so swiftly and merrily that Poppy really did feel breathless and happy.

  Marino acknowledged the applause with a bow and sat down again. The mood changed as with a toss of his head, closing his eyes for a second and taking a deep breath, he began Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight’ Sonata. A hush, a stillness, fell over the auditorium as he played the serene and peaceful notes.

  When it came to a close, and before anyone roused themselves to applaud, he half turned in his seat and said quietly, as he gently ran his fingers along the keys, ‘If you will allow me, the final piece of music which I will play tonight is my own composition. I hope you will enjoy it.’

  Poppy sat back. How wonderful, she thought, to have such talent; to be able to compose your own music. She closed her eyes and let the melody wash over her. It was light and seductive, stirring and sensual, haunting and bittersweet, and she found herself crying. How can music make me cry, she thought as she reached for her handkerchief. There were no sad words, yet the music held a sensation of heartbreak and loss. She blew her nose, and as the pianist stood up to take his final bow from an appreciative audience, she saw that her father too was wiping his eyes.

  ‘Never heard of him before,’ Joshua said, and for once was not in a hurry to leave. ‘But he’s good. We’ll hear a lot more of him, shouldn’t wonder.’

  Poppy took the programme from her father to read about Anthony Marino. ‘I thought he was wonderful. I wish he’d write a song for me.’

  ‘I thought of your mother whilst he was playing.’ Her father gave a sigh. ‘I don’t know why his music brought back so many memories, but it did.’

  They walked back from the concert hall arm in arm and passed the Mechanics as the manager was pinning a poster to the board outside. ‘Good evening, Mr Mazzini, Miss Poppy,’ he said. ‘How are you both?’