by Rosie Archer
‘And her daughter?’ Herbert’s voice seemed loud.
Blackie didn’t need to take the photograph from his inside pocket to show the woman. This was the right address: this was where Alfie Bird’s family lived.
‘Oh, you mean Rainey. She’s singing there, as well. Lovely voice, sings like an angel.’
Blackie stared at Herbert. They’d found who they were looking for.
*
‘No wonder they’re called rock cakes,’ said Ivy. ‘I’m lucky I’ve got any teeth left. If it hadn’t been for your mum bringing sandwiches I’d be dying of hunger by now.’ She pushed open the door to the Ladies and stopped dead in her tracks, causing Bea to bump into her back.
‘What’s the hold-up?’ Rainey sounded cross.
‘Come in, there’s room for all of us,’ said the small curly-haired blonde applying more lipstick to her overpainted mouth. ‘You three must be Alice Wilkes’s girls. You’re on after me in the second half.’
The sound of a chain being pulled and a lavatory flushing in a nearby cubicle cut into the silence.
Rainey was the first to come to her senses. For this Ivy was glad because she didn’t know what to say to the apparition in front of the speckled mirror now patting her bleached sausage curls. ‘Yes, that’s us,’ Rainey provided. ‘And you are?’
Ivy saw a tight little smile curve on the blonde’s heavily Pan-Stik-smothered face. False eyelashes like tiny black fans blinked in front of blue eyes. The smile hadn’t reached them.
‘My dears! Don’t you ever look at programmes? I’m Little Annette.’
When no one said anything, a look of annoyance passed over the woman’s face. ‘I’m number-one girl on the circuit. You’ll have to do well to gain a place when I’m performing.’ She smoothed down the pink ballet dress that emphasized her stick-thin body.
Ivy heard Bea snap, ‘Girl? You must be thirty if you’re a day!’
The atmosphere in the Ladies dropped to freezing point.
Annette, with a look of pure hatred, glared at Bea’s reflection in the mirror, then swept her mascara and hairbrush from the wooden shelf and into her little pink handbag. She sashayed out, allowing the door to bang behind her.
A young woman, dressed in black relieved by a red scarf at her throat, stepped out of the cubicle. ‘Whoops! I think you’ve made an enemy there,’ she said.
‘Who the hell was she?’ Bea asked.
‘Little Annette, former darling of the music halls. Her agent keeps her in the public eye any way he can. Especially now she’s not earning. Because of the war, many of the theatres are either closing down or using acts to cheer the troops.’
‘But she’s old!’ Ivy knew Bea couldn’t help herself.
‘Little Annette she started out and Little Annette she’ll be until the day she hangs up her ballet and tap shoes. I’m Gloria Gold,’ she said, smiling at them. ‘I know who you three are because I’m acquainted with Alice Wilkes. She’s a good teacher and a good woman. She must think you three have something special to offer if you’re singing without the rest of your choir.’ She ran a hand over her straight dark hair. ‘I was in the hall when you all sang. It sounded top-hole.’
‘Thanks. That’s a jolly nice thing for you to say,’ Ivy told her, as Bea pushed her aside and went into the cubicle.
Gloria looked at her wristlet watch. ‘I must go,’ she said. ‘See you later.’
The door slammed behind her but opened again immediately and a young girl came in, blonde plaits curled around her head, like the skater and film star Sonja Henie. Ivy looked at Rainey, who shook her head: the conversation was now at an end.
After the break, the hall was filling nicely again, and when the girls and the rest of the choir were seated, Ivy leaned across to talk quietly to Mrs Wilkes. Toto stretched his head to lick her fingers. ‘Hello, precious,’ she murmured, then to Mrs Wilkes: ‘We met Little Annette in the lavatory—’ She got no further.
‘I hope you didn’t make fools of yourselves. She’s an established singer, or was. Not in the public eye now. Ingénue she is not, but she can make things difficult for you, if you cross swords with her. I hear she’s hoping for a wireless career.’
Ivy thought of the woman’s stick-like arms and legs, the dreadful child’s dress. ‘But—’
‘But nothing,’ Mrs Wilkes snapped. ‘She’s on before you. Watch how her every action is timed to the split second. Watch the knack she has of holding the audience in the palms of her hands. She may not be a young girl but she’ll have you believing she is.’
Ivy sat back in her seat. Perhaps Mrs Wilkes was right: they might learn a lot from Annette’s performance.
Twenty minutes later, standing behind the curtain, Ivy smiled at her two companions. Mrs Wilkes hadn’t lied. Annette’s piece had gone without a hitch. She was mesmerizing. She’d walked onto the stage as though she owned it. Her voice had been as clear as a bell and her dance steps lighter than Fred Astaire’s. She’d had the audience believing she was a young girl singing and dancing. Ivy was enthralled. The applause practically shook the building.
‘And now for something completely different . . .’
The curtains went back, a hush enveloped the auditorium and, after a nod from Alice Wilkes at the piano, Bea’s sweet voice began the folk song.
The tune, the words, their meaning and the three voices in perfect harmony filled the hall.
Ivy dared to take a look at the judges. They were watching, not scribbling on their writing pads. The sadness of the song overwhelmed her. She looked to the back of the hall and, as her voice rose for the final verse, she saw her mother, who’d told her she couldn’t spare the time to come to Fareham.
Della was sitting in the back row smiling at her, willing her to sing, to do her very best, love spilling from her eyes. Even the glass beads in the head of the fox fur slung around her neck glinted brightly.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Mrs Wilkes stood on the step of the charabanc and announced, ‘I’m extremely proud of you all. Second place in the two classes is amazing.’ She smiled at Ivy, bent down and whispered, ‘Did you see what I meant about Little Annette’s performance? Faultless. She deserved a first.’
‘She’s a nasty piece of work.’ Ivy glared at her. ‘She’s one of those people who climb over everyone else to get to the top.’
Mrs Wilkes looked agitated. ‘Pish! No, my dear, the woman is on her way down and she knows it – everyone does. But in this business we look after our own. Jealousy caused her nastiness to you. I maintain you should be nice to the people you meet on the way up because you’re sure to meet them again on the way down. Now –’ she looked around the charabanc ‘– let’s have a rousing cheer for everyone’s hard work.’
When the choir had quietened she said, ‘The photographer told me that the report with photographs will be in the Evening News tomorrow night. No doubt we’ll be bombarded with queries about performing at all sorts of places before Christmas. Don’t forget your costumes on Wednesday for Snow White .’
She made her way along the bus to where Jo and Maud sat together. The last of Maud’s fish-paste sandwiches lay on her lap. Toto jumped up, putting his paws expectantly on Maud’s knee. Maud broke off a piece of sandwich and he wolfed it. ‘Maud, I need to ask you a favour. If I give you the list of travellers, they’re all present and correct, could you see them safely off the charabanc? The driver has promised to drop everyone at the ends of their roads. I’ll see you all at the David Bogue Hall for our big performance. Remind everyone there’s no more rehearsals at St John’s. I have a little unfinished business in Fareham.’
Maud took the sheet of paper and the pen offered to her and Mrs Wilkes smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and made her way off the vehicle. The driver started the engine. ‘Wave to Mrs Wilkes,’ shouted Maud, and as they moved off, the small woman was left clutching her dog outside the hall.
*
Alice stepped back inside. She had no idea how she was going to do this. Should she wait? S
hould she try to find him? Suppose he had already left by a back exit? What if his family was with him? She was taking a big chance in following her heart after all these years.
‘Excuse me,’ she ventured, to an elderly man in blue overalls sweeping the parquet flooring near the stage. ‘Can you tell me if all the judges have left?’
He stopped what he was doing and wiped his hand across his nose. ‘Didn’t I see you with two acts earlier?’
Alice nodded, but before she could speak, he said, ‘It’s no good you moaning if you don’t think the judging’s fair. Won’t get you anywhere.’
‘No, it’s not that. It’s personal.’
‘Oh,’ he said. He used the broom to point to a door at the side of the hall. ‘They usually have a cuppa in there before they leave and most have already gone. The mayor was collected.’
She interrupted, ‘The man with the dog? Has he left yet?’
‘No. He lives in Fareham. Bess makes sure he doesn’t come to any harm.’
Alice’s heart dropped, like a stone. She’d been so overwhelmed to think she might be in the presence of the man she had cared for so long ago that it had never entered her head his wife would be waiting.
‘Bess?’ The name escaped her.
‘Graham Letterman’s dog.’
And now her heart was beating wildly. The dog! His guide dog! Of course! And she knew only too well how a faithful canine friend could love their owner more than life itself. Beneath her arm Toto wriggled.
‘I don’t want to be a nuisance.’ Even as she spoke Alice knew that nothing in the world would stop her entering that room. Letterman? Graham Letterman. She’d recognized the name from the programme. Of course, she had never known his surname. In the music business Graham Letterman was deeply respected.
‘If you wants a word with him I should knock now.’
‘Uh! Thank you.’ Alice shifted Toto to a more comfortable position and knocked sharply on the door.
‘Come in.’
Alice’s heart swept skywards. She would know that familiar voice anywhere. How she’d sat among the audience in the hall, her ears straining to pick up every word he had said, and hadn’t rushed up to make herself known to him, she had no idea. Except, of course, she had to be sure.
Her free hand turned the brass handle, the door opened and Alice went inside.
The man was in the process of replacing his dark glasses. The same long fingers with oval nails. Blue-veined now, and something else, scars on his hands as well as on his face.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked. He was now pulling his coat on.
The dog watched her, eyes shining expectantly. Toto wriggled in the crook of her arm.
‘Let him down,’ the man said. ‘Bess won’t hurt him.’
Alice couldn’t help it: ‘Oh.’ The word slipped from her lips.
‘I have no sight but my other senses are heightened,’ he said. Alice set Toto on the wooden floor and he immediately bounded towards the Labrador, which, her harness around her, sat quite still while Toto made a complete fool of himself nuzzling and licking her. After a few moments the Labrador gave Toto a brisk nudge, as if to say, ‘That’s enough,’ whereupon he settled by the side of his new friend, his tongue lolling from his mouth.
‘Now . . .’ began the man, then paused. ‘Do my scars upset you?’
Alice was amazed he could tell she was staring at him. But it wasn’t because of the gouges in the hollows of his cheeks or the puckered flesh that she was staring: it was the pure wonder that this was the man she’d fallen in love with so long ago and who had disappeared from her life.
It was his voice. She knew and loved every inflection in his speech. At first she hadn’t dared believe it was really him. Faces change but voices stay the same.
‘Graham,’ she said.
Just the one word, his name, and he felt for the chair at the desk and sat down heavily. ‘Alice?’
She put out a hand across the table and traced the back of his fingers.
‘Oh, my God,’ he said. ‘It’s you?’ It was a question as well as a statement.
Alice allowed her hand to cover his. ‘It’s been a long time. I thought . . .’ What did she think? That he was dead? That he no longer wanted her in his life? Her mind flew back through the years to the bandstand at Stokes Bay, the music, his smiles, the touch of his hand.
‘How wonderful to hear you again. Have the years been good to you?’
A knock at the door interrupted him and the elderly cleaner said, ‘Will you be much longer, sir? I need to lock up.’
Graham clutched at Alice’s fingers as he rose from the chair. ‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘There’s a little café along the road. I’ll buy you a cup of tea. That’s if you want to, of course.’
Alice allowed herself to move with him, then bent down and Toto jumped into her arms.
‘I’m just off,’ Graham shouted, towards the door. ‘As ever, thanks for everything.’
*
He and Bess were obviously known in the café and the two dogs sat contentedly beneath the table.
‘So you’re the Alice Wilkes with the choir and the three girlies who each gained a second place?’
Before she had time to answer a tray was set upon the table with tea and crockery for two people. Alice smiled at the young woman, who asked, ‘Want some water for the dogs?’
‘Kathy, that would be lovely,’ Graham said, pulling a handful of coins from his pocket and allowing the girl to choose the amount. ‘Take a tip for yourself,’ he added. With a small smile at Alice, the girl did as she was told.
Alice set out the cups and poured the tea. She set a cup of tea near to his fingers and guided his hand to the saucer. The young girl came back with an enamel bowl full of water, which she set down beneath the table. Almost before she’d walked away, the dogs were lapping.
How Alice had longed for just this moment, to be with him. Yet now she was, she felt powerless, unable to speak, to ask questions, to say what was on her mind. It was as if a chasm lay between them that was impossible to cross.
His hand slid over the table and found hers, which thrilled her. She also felt guilt that he should be touching her when he had a wife. But she had already known he was married when she’d decided to approach him, hadn’t she?
He said, ‘I didn’t think you’d want to see me like this.’
She said, ‘I thought you were dead.’ They’d spoken at once. There was a pause, then Alice said, ‘Tell me what happened.’ She thought she would rather listen to what he had to say than explain about her own life, the life that had taken away her girlhood and planted her in middle age. And suddenly she was relieved he couldn’t see her as she was now but would picture her as she had been.
‘I was taught gunnery and photography in the Royal Flying Corps. I was billeted at Hastings and went out as an observer with my squadron on the Western Front. Even from the beginning while flying over the front there was heavy fighting. I was in a Bristol F2B fighter, facing the tail. I’m not sure if I ever shot anything but I gripped that gun, pointing it up and around and down.’ He paused, as though remembering was an effort. ‘The enemy always came at you from behind, never the front. I had to take photographs with a semi-automatic camera fitted inside the cockpit’s floor. I was shot or, rather, the plane was hit, and I’d no idea whether we were over enemy lines or not.’ She could see beads of sweat on his forehead. ‘There was a cornfield and we landed and I hit my head. I remember the flames, the smoke, and then men running towards me, but most of all I remember the smell of burning flesh, then nothing until I woke in a French hospital.’
She didn’t speak, knowing it was better for him to get the retelling over with.
‘For a long time I had no memory of what had happened. It came to me in bits and pieces. I was transferred home to Blighty. My wife came to see me. I could tell by her voice that my burns upset her. She also gave me the terrible news that our elder son had been killed. She never returned to the hospital.
We lost touch. It was to be expected, I suppose. The other fellows in the sanatorium said it happened frequently.’
His silence spoke volumes. Alice wanted him to carry on.
‘My music saved my sanity. I needed to get past the changes in my hands, my fingers. My skin would never allow me to play as before but I could teach. So that was my aim. I could still compose. Bess is my eyes and she opened a whole new world for me.’
Then he smiled and Alice saw the young man he used to be.
‘Last year my younger son discovered my whereabouts and brought my first grandchild to see me. My wife had lied to him, telling him I’d perished. She didn’t want him to see the thing I had become.’
‘But that’s so cruel.’
‘She thought she was protecting him.’
‘Where’s your wife now?’
‘She died a few years ago. On her deathbed she told my son I hadn’t been killed in the war after all.’
Alice was appalled at the cruelty his wife had heaped upon him. He spoke again: ‘Alice, I’m not going to say I haven’t thought about you. I have. The more my memory returned the more I wanted to see you again. But look at me. I have nothing to offer any woman.’
His hand felt for the cup again and he raised it to his lips.
Then he said, ‘It feels good talking to you, Alice. How have you fared over the years?’ She told him. He listened as she’d always remembered him listening to her, full of interest, so she was able to talk freely without feeling he wanted her to hurry and finish.
Eventually she plucked up the courage to say, ‘It would be good to meet you again.’
‘I don’t need pity, Alice.’ He was frowning but he smiled suddenly and said, changing the subject, ‘Those girls of yours have a bright future.’
Now Alice was on very firm ground. She told him about her choir. Beneath the table the dogs were sitting close. It looked as if they had become friends. If only she and Graham could recapture a little of what they’d once shared, Alice thought, she would be the happiest woman alive.
Chapter Twenty-eight
‘Bert, I was so proud of Ivy.’