by Peter Turner
I was sitting on the long seat at the back, looking out at the people queuing in the chip shops and going to the pubs. It was a Friday night and there was money to spend.
The bus pulled up at every stop along Aigburth Road, although nobody got on until we reached the Dingle, where a group of women were waiting outside the Bingo.
‘Any luck tonight, girls?’
‘Well if there was, love, we wouldn’t be on your bus. We’d have been home long ago in a taxi.’
They all started to laugh as they paid their fares.
I got off the bus at Blackler’s and walked through the precinct to Williamson Square.
The theatre was deserted. Not even the old girl who sold the programmes and the chocolates had set up her kiosk in the foyer. There was no sign of Old Jack – he was probably in the pub – and there was no one in the Green Room. I bought myself a cup of coffee from the machine and took it up to the third floor. The corridor was in darkness. I thought it strange that no one had been round to turn on the lights, but when I reached my dressing room the door was open, and Gil was sitting inside.
‘I was just writing you a note,’ she said.
‘Where is everybody? The place is empty.’
‘You’re in a daze. We don’t start till eight tonight. Anyway, sit down. I want to find out what’s the matter with you.’
The Friday night audience was particularly appreciative and the evening passed by very quickly. Gil was waiting for me at the stage door and insisted on driving me home.
I was tired, but at least it was comforting to know that Barbara was now in the house looking after Gloria. I felt certain that her presence and professional status would bring a degree of order and stability.
I was wrong.
‘Peter. We can’t get that nurse out of the house.’ My mother and father met me at the door. ‘She won’t go home and she’s drunk.’
‘What do you mean, she’s drunk?’
‘Why did you give her that bottle of gin? She’s nearly finished the lot!’ My mother was almost hysterical. ‘I thought she was giving Gloria a bed bath but when I went up to the room I found poor Gloria lying on one bed and that woman on the other with the bottle.’
Just then Barbara staggered into the hall.
‘What’s been going on?’ I asked her. ‘What’s happened to Gloria?’
‘She’s a very difficult woman, Peter. She won’t let me do a thing for her. She’s definitely gone funny in the head. They all do that near the end. What she needs is Miss Euphoria.’
‘What’s Miss Euphoria?’
‘It’s a cocktail of morphine and gin. She wouldn’t know what was happening to her. It’s very nice.’
‘Call Barbara a taxi,’ I said to my mother and ran up the stairs to Gloria’s room.
‘I don’t want that woman in here. Get rid of her, Peter.’ Gloria was sitting up, leaning against the bed support, looking frightened and furious.
Suddenly Barbara burst into the room.
‘See what I told you? What she needs is Miss Euphoria.’
I grabbed Barbara’s arm and led her out of the house.
‘She was being wonderful until she opened that bottle,’ my mother said at the door. ‘I suppose that’s what comes from having a nurse who works at a vasectomy clinic.’
‘I don’t know about Gloria being the one who can’t say “No”,’ my father added. ‘It’s that nurse who can’t say “No”. Especially when it comes to the gin.’
SIX
When I woke up in the room, she was sleeping. She was breathing; that’s how I knew she was sleeping.
She couldn’t speak much, but there was no need for talk. Sometimes she wanted the window to be shut, later she wanted it to be opened again. It didn’t take long for us to fall into a routine; we knew each other well.
It had been a cold night outside, and with the wind and the rain coming in through the window, just as cold inside. The cold air was helping her to breathe, and as long as she was able to breathe, she was alive.
It was dark. It was early. It was a dark, early morning. I knew it was morning when a light was switched on in a house somewhere opposite; the man there delivered the news.
‘She’s getting worse.’
‘I know.’ My mother nodded her head and reached for a cup and a mug.
It was unusual to see her wearing her nightgown, but it was only just daylight; too early to be dressed and up out of bed. No one had slept well.
‘This whole situation is getting worse. I don’t think I can take any more.’ She sat down to pour the tea. ‘I’ve never known anything like it. I’ll be glad when that son and the daughter arrive.’
‘Gloria still doesn’t know anything about them coming.’
‘Well, let’s just pray that she has time to find out. Only I hope they’re not drug addicts or loonies. I couldn’t go through another session like the one I had with that nurse.’
‘When did you find Barbara was drinking?’
‘I didn’t even know that she’d started. She was very busy and being marvellous up until about half past nine. Then she came down here to the kitchen holding a thermometer, but waving it about like a wand. “Do you know what?” she said. “The beautiful actress has just told me that I’m something very rude.” Then she disappeared back up to the room in a huff. Well, I thought, if she’s a nurse she must be used to insults, and if she’s worked in Australia she’s bound to know what life’s about. Then half an hour later I started to wonder. That’s when I went up to the bedroom and found her with the gin. It seems that the one minute she was sober and the next minute she was drunk.’
For the rest of the morning the house was alive with activity; it pulsated with a feeling of urgency, while Gloria was getting weaker, worsening by the hour.
My mother was in a frenzy throughout but battled on with the housework, cleaning the hall, the front steps, the floor in the kitchen; the curtains in the living room were only halfway pulled back. It was as if she was getting prepared.
My father and Candy, who had been continually shunted from one room to another, accused of getting in the way, ended up down in the stores.
Jessie arrived early, but alone; Joe had another problem with his car.
‘The battery was going flat, so he’s gone to the garage to have it recharged. Otherwise it would have been dead by the end of the day.’
‘Well it’s a good thing he’s not here,’ my mother stated. ‘He’d go mad if he heard what happened with that Barbara.’
Jessie took over the nursing.
There was a never ending stream of telephone calls and many to be made. Friends of mine, friends of Gloria’s, her agent, were now all concerned. The director and staff from the theatre in Lancaster, who had been telephoning every day, were brought up to date with the news.
Eileen Connolly phoned to ask if she should come over, my sister Mary offered to help, and Barbara Brawnsley phoned to ask if she should come back.
‘Only if I do,’ she said, ‘don’t think of me as a nurse, but more as a friend of the family.’
My mother put her off.
The hotel into which I’d booked Tim and Paulette phoned to say that they’d have to accept another booking unless the rooms could be secured. So they were cancelled; we still didn’t know when they would arrive.
Gloria’s former husband, Tony Ray, phoned several times from New York. He was upset and very emotional. He said that he’d try and come to England, but he was told that he’d probably be too late.
My own sadness was distracted by the events of the day and the things that had to be done, but it was impossible to stop thoughts and pictures of Gloria from flooding my mind. Everyone was talking about her.
‘Peter –’ my mother was wiping over the table with the dish cloth – ‘do you remember the time me and Jessie took her down to Great Homer Street market when she wanted to buy a pair of second-hand shoes? Ahhh, poor Gloria, it must be terrible to have her problem with those awkward feet.
Of course it was early, there was no point in getting there late. But when we got there it was chocka. You had to keep tight hold of your purse. Thank God nobody cottoned on to who she was. Gloria just blended in with the crowds. She never ever tried to show herself off. She just went round all the stalls looking for her own few little bits. We had a great laugh with her that day. I wish we were doing that now.’
It was Saturday. There was a matinée. I’d put off leaving for the theatre as long as I possibly could; I was hoping to hear from Paulette and Tim. There was the possibility that their flight was late, or they’d missed it, or even, at the last minute, decided not to come. It was unbearable waiting for news, so I dialled Paulette’s number in California several times, only to hear that slow infuriating tone, which hopefully confirmed that they were on their way.
I was late again for the half-hour call before the beginning of the play.
‘You’ve been pushing it all week. This has got to stop.’ Old Jack followed me halfway up the stairs to the dressing rooms, issuing threats.
Geoffrey, with his make-up on, was standing out in the corridor in a fit of pique.
‘Actors being late. It puts everyone into a state of nervous tension. This is a theatre, not a come as you please.’
Ten minutes later I took my place alongside Gil in the wings. She gave me her usual wink before I walked onto the stage to deliver the opening line of the play.
The matinée was slow. It was dull. The small audience of elderly ladies who’d come out for their Saturday afternoon’s entertainment were not impressed. There were no flowers at the curtain call.
I spent the gap between the matinée and the evening show, usually a time for rest, a time to recover from the first performance and build up energy for the second, waiting to speak on the telephone, to be brought up to date with what was happening at home. The one pay-phone backstage was in continual use, with actors making arrangements for Saturday night. While I waited, I had to listen to Geoffrey telling a story I’d heard a hundred times before. Linda was trying hard not to look unimpressed.
‘It was during the banquet scene. Raymond was being marvellous, got slaughtered by the critics, but I thought he had a good stab. Anyway, I heard a very loud snore from the stalls, which persisted, and that’s when Julia turned her gaze directly at me. She could be a prima-donna but she loved a bit of a joke, a bit of a comedienne she was really, not cut out for tragedy, poor love. All she had to do was raise an eyebrow, that’s all she had to do to get a laugh, and that’s exactly what she did. I went, she went, we all started to laugh; it was the most unforgettable corpse.’
When at last I dialled my parents’ number, the line was continually engaged, driving me to the point of near despair; I was anxious for any news about Gloria; I wanted to know if Paulette and Tim had arrived.
The evening show went well. The audience were demanding but out to enjoy themselves; they laughed at all the right lines.
‘Great show tonight.’
‘Isn’t it going well?’
I couldn’t share their enthusiasm. I couldn’t wait for it to finish.
As soon as the play was over I asked Gil to give me a lift home.
‘Well,’ she gasped as she drew up outside the house. ‘Good luck. I hope your visitors are here. If there’s anything I can do . . .’ She gave me a sympathetic smile as she drove off.
I stood on the pavement under the light from the lamp. The house gave nothing away; gave no clue as to who might be inside. Then I saw Joe’s car, back from the garage, parked a few yards down the street. I opened the gate and walked up the path.
‘They’re here. They’ve arrived.’
As my father opened the front door wider I could see an array of baggage in the hall.
‘I’ll be glad to get away to Australia,’ he said. ‘There’s too much going on for me here.’ He walked down the passage towards Candy, who was waiting for him at the entrance to the stores.
‘Sssh.’ My mother put her finger to her lips. ‘They’re upstairs.’
Along with Joe and Jessie she was at the kitchen table. There was an uneasy atmosphere about; strangers were in the house.
‘What time did they get here?’
‘Well,’ Joe said in a whisper. ‘The train was late for a start, but I had no trouble spotting them walking down the platform. It was the girl I saw first.’
‘She’s the spitting image of Gloria,’ my mother announced, as if she was the first person to spot the resemblance. ‘You can hardly tell them apart.’
‘Yes, she does look like her in that film about the circus,’ Jessie added. ‘The one with Charlton Heston. It was on the telly just the other week.’
‘Anyway,’ Joe continued, ‘I got them back here at about ten o’clock. We had a little talk, I filled them in with the details, told them what’s been happening. Ever since, they’ve been upstairs with Gloria.’
‘I’ve hardly seen them,’ my mother declared. ‘They wouldn’t have anything to eat, not even a cup of tea. They brought their own food with them. It looks like seaweed but it’s supposed to be a health drink.’
‘Paulette looks upset. She’s very pale.’
‘Well, Jessie, naturally she would be. That only makes sense. But all the same, she could do with some decent food. Those Americans make themselves sick with all those vitamins.’
‘I’ll make a cup of tea.’
‘That’s a good idea, Jessie. That’s my health drink.’
‘What’s Tim like?’
‘Well he hasn’t said a lot up to now, except that he wants to take a look at the situation. He wants to have a word with the doctor, think about things and then make quick decisions. He seems sensible enough but I don’t know, Pete. I don’t know anything about the lad.’
‘I don’t know much either, Joe. I’ve never met him before.’
Tim was Gloria’s oldest child by her second husband, Nick Ray. Theirs was a complex relationship as Gloria’s fourth husband, Tony, was also Tim’s older half-brother; they both shared the same father. Gloria’s fourth marriage therefore turned Tim’s brother, Tony, into his step-father, and his mother into his sister-in-law.
Gloria told me that at one point Tim had worked in the film business. He’d recently travelled around India, but was now studying acupuncture.
I knew Paulette reasonably well, having spent some time with her on my visit to California. She used to come to the trailer quite a lot and we all went out to dinner a few times. She was a shy person and a bit nervous. She loved living near the ocean and wanted to work with animals. I liked her.
Just then she opened the kitchen door and hovered at the top of the stairs with a bowl in her hand. Wearing a thermal jacket over a heavy knit woollen sweater that reached her chin, she looked as if she was dressed for the Winter Olympics but somehow ended up in the wrong event.
‘Excuse me, could I get some ice? I’d like to bathe Mom’s face. And do you have an ice-crush?’
‘Paulette.’
‘Oh hi, Peter,’ she said when she turned and saw me. ‘How are you?’
‘Okay. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to meet you off the train.’
‘Oh that’s all right, Peter. When we called up from London, your mother said that you were at the theatre. That’s fine.’
By this time my mother was fighting with the ice-cube tray, bashing it against the sink.
‘Here you are, love. Come down and get it. It’s in little bits and it’ll look more crushed once it’s started to melt. Oh,’ she said, ‘I hate these trays that stick to your fingers.’
I’m sure that the bashed-about ice-cubes were not quite what Paulette had in mind, but she smiled, expressed her gratitude and then went back up to her mother.
‘I’d better go and say hello to Tim,’ I said.
‘Now hold on a minute.’ My mother pulled a chair back for me at the table. ‘Don’t be in so much of a hurry.’
‘Hi, I’m Tim.’
‘I’m Peter. Hello.’
‘I’ll be coming to speak to you later, Peter, but right now I’m trying to talk to Mom. Communication is a problem but it’s important to try and find out how she feels about things before I assess the situation and decide what’s best to do.’
‘That’s fine, Tim,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to tell you that I had a problem finding a hotel, so it’s a question of making do here tonight. My mother will talk to you about the sleeping arrangements before she goes to bed. At some point I want to come in and see Gloria, and I’d definitely like to have that talk.’
‘Oh for sure, Peter. Of course. Let’s talk later,’ he said as he closed the door.
I went to the upstairs sitting room. I felt I needed to be alone.
‘Christ, I’m exhausted,’ Tim said as he flopped into the comfortable armchair.
‘You must be,’ I said. ‘It’s a long journey.’
‘Especially after reaching London,’ Tim replied. ‘And it’s so cold here. Is it always this cold? I can see why The Beatles left town.’
‘Liverpool is like New York, Tim. It gets a lot of wind from the river.’
‘It’s freezing in Mom’s room.’
‘That’s because she needs the window open most of the time. It’s helping her to breathe.’
‘But Peter, don’t you think that it’s freezing in here, too?’
‘I’m sorry that you’ve had to come,’ I said, changing the subject to the main purpose of the visit.
‘Yeah, Peter. It’s tough.’
‘How is Gloria tonight?’
‘Well, Peter, she’s weak. She’s not saying much so I’m trying to establish a positive method of communication. The weight loss is drastic. It’s too bad that she hasn’t had solid food.’
‘Well, as you can see for yourself, Gloria is not able to take solid foods and she can hardly drink. We have tried to feed her but she is just too ill to take it.’