Dolly read it quickly, her eyes widening.
‘It’s your bloke,’ she exclaimed. ‘Your saxophone player!’
Gracie couldn’t be bothered to repeat that he wasn’t her saxophone player. She was still too bemused and excited and stunned and overwhelmed that Charlie had tracked her down at all. And that he wanted to see her again. He wanted her to go to his show and go backstage afterwards. She swallowed, feeling the familiar tingling in her veins and the quickening of her heartbeat.
And just as quickly came the downbeat of it all.
‘The trouble is,’ she said flatly, ‘it’s been more than two weeks since he left the letter with Mr Foster, and now he’ll think I’m not interested in going to see his show, and even more, that I’m not interested in seeing him, won’t he? And besides, there was that picture of him with that singer in the paper, wasn’t there?’?
‘Oh, that was just newspaper stuff, and you’re never going to find out if you sit and twiddle your thumbs. Write and tell him why you haven’t done as he asked. Send a letter to Charlie Morrison, care of the Roxy, and explain that you’ve been otherwise engaged all this time,’ she added, trying to coax a smile out of Gracie. ‘He could hardly have expected you to hop to the theatre, could he?’
‘I don’t know what to do. Even if the picture didn’t mean anything, he’ll probably have lost interest in me by now.’
It was so important, such a milestone in her life, that she couldn’t simply bear it if Charlie had gone all arty-farty and thumbed his nose at a girl who couldn’t even be bothered to take up his invitation. It was irrational and she knew it, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. It was almost better not to know.
She saw Dolly purse her lips.
‘Well, I never thought you’d be so spineless, Gracie Brown.’
‘I’m not spineless, just realistic.’ She touched the side of her face. ‘This isn’t going to help either. I’m not the girl he remembers. I never thought I was vain, but every time they change the dressing and I catch sight of myself in the mirror I …’
Without warning, angry, self-pitying tears filled her eyes, and it was shameful, because she knew there were people far worse off than she was. She saw them every day, here in this hospital. She heard their anguished cries, and knew the helpless pain of their relatives.
She knew what it meant when the curtains were pulled around a bed amid a flurry of activity, before all the bedding was whisked away and disinfected for the next patient. Oh yes, there were people far worse off than she was.
‘If he thinks anything of you, he won’t worry about a little scar,’ Dolly went on roughly. ‘And he obviously does think something of you. He took the trouble to find you, didn’t he? No bloke ever bothered that much over me! You should think yourself lucky, gel, instead of sitting there looking like you’ve found a farthing and lost a tanner.’
‘I know all that, so stop fussing! I’ll write back to him when I can decide what to say.’
‘Well, make sure you do it soon. He’ll wonder what’s been keeping you all this time, especially when you were making such cow-eyes at him that first night.’
‘I was not!’
Dolly grinned, cheered by the sparkle returning to Gracie’s eyes.
‘Not much! You were practically ready to drop—well, I’d better not say any more, for fear of scandalizing the old ducks in the ward,’ she said, chuckling. ‘When are they letting you out of here, anyway?’ she added, turning the conversation neatly before Gracie could blast her for making such insinuations.
‘In another week, I hope. I have to practise walking again, since my leg’s been weakened by having it bandaged all this time.’
‘Get that letter in the post to Charlie boy, then. You don’t want him to go off you and find some other girl to cuddle up with on a dark night, do you?’ Dolly advised. ‘Promise me now.’
‘All right, slave-driver, I promise!’
And despite her jitters she knew she felt considerably better at having Dolly chivvying her to do what she knew she should. The only problem was in finding exactly the right words to say to Charlie.
* * *
It took a lot of thought that evening, while she chewed a pencil and surveyed the half-dozen discarded pieces of paper surrounding her. She might have sounded resolute before, but her nerves were getting the better of her again. What could she say to him? She didn’t really know him. She thought she had had glimpses of him now and again since that first magical night that had ended so terribly … in the park, on a street, on a tram … but she was willing to admit that it was only because she had wanted to see him so much that she had turned the image of every dark-haired, good-looking man into Charlie …
In the end, she kept it simple. He had a right to know why she had ignored his invitation to the theatre and the complimentary ticket he had sent her. He had a right not to feel snubbed. So she wrote as simply as she knew how.
Dear Charlie, she wrote, after agonizing whether or not she should be more formal, and deciding that was plain ridiculous …
Thank you for your letter and the ticket to the Roxy show. I was very happy to hear from you again; and I certainly am the Gracie Brown you remember—though perhaps not quite as you remember her.
She paused for another chew at the pencil. Was that too stupid for words? Was it too pompous, putting herself in the third person?
Furious at herself for her constant indecision, she plunged on, refusing to screw up any more pieces of writing paper, and to say whatever came to mind.
I’ve been in an accident recently. You may have seen the account in the newspaper about the excursion train that was derailed on the way to Margate a few weeks ago, though I suppose it’s old news by now. Well, me and my Friend Dolly were on that train, and landed up in hospital. Dolly’s back in London now, and I hope to be going home in about a week. I had a badly crushed leg, and at one time the doctors thought I might have to have it taken off.
He’d know how to spell the word amputated, but she didn’t, and she hated the sound of it anyway, so she left it at that. He might as well know her for what she was, just a seamstress with no great education, and if she carried on like this, then any minute now she’d be feeling so sorry for herself she wouldn’t be sending the bleedin’ letter at all, she thought, with a burst of Dolly’s bravado.
But now they assure me I’ll be as good as new apart from a few scars, and once I’ve mastered walking properly again, I’ll be able to dance again too.
Was that being too forward? Was it asking him to remember, the way she did, how they had once danced so close together that they could have been wearing the same skin …? Her eyes misted, and she dashed the tears away.
But she had to say the rest. Before he saw her and his eyes widened in shock and then turned away, she had to say it.
I had a facial injury too. Flying glass, they said. But they promised that the scar on the side of my cheek will fade eventually, and as long as I let my hair grow a bit, I’m sure I’ll be able to hide it.
No, no, no! Angrily, she scratched out the last sentence. It sounded as if she was pleading for sympathy, and she was too proud to settle for sympathy when what she yearned for was love.
So as soon as I’m able, I’ll turn up at the Roxy one of these fine nights, and look forward to seeing you backstage as you suggest.
She signed it quickly: Gracie Brown, and without even stopping to read it through, she stuffed it in the envelope Sister had given her and addressed it to Charlie Morrison, c/o the Roxy Theatre. Then, taking the bull by the horns, she limped along to Sister’s office and asked her to post it for her.
‘I don’t normally act as unofficial postman, miss,’ Sister said pointedly, ‘but I’m glad to see you making use of those legs, so I’ll do it for you tomorrow, even though you’ll probably be back home before the letter arrives.’
‘That’s all right,’ Gracie said hastily. ‘Just as long as it gets there.’
The sister smiled more tolerantly. ‘Your young man,
is it?’
‘Sort of,’ Gracie mumbled, and hobbled back to the ward as fast as she could, wishing with all her heart that it was true.
18
It felt strange to be back in the flat, as though she had been away for months instead of a few weeks. At first she was completely disorientated. It was as if she was in an alien environment, with a need to wander through the rooms and touch all her things to make them seem familiar again.
The Fosters made a great fuss of her, insisting on sending a dish of stew upstairs for her evening meal, so that she wouldn’t have to bother herself, and also a bunch of flowers to brighten up the flat, which touched her deeply.
Eventually she looked at the small pile of letters waiting for her. They were mostly answers to her advert in the newspaper and asking if she could get in touch with a view to some work, which was cheering. The minute she recognized Charlie’s handwriting on one of the envelopes, her heart leapt, and she tore it open eagerly. The letter had obviously crossed with hers, since it was obvious that when he wrote it he hadn’t yet heard about her accident.
Dear Gracie, she read,
I hope I haven’t offended you by sending you the ticket for our show. I hope you’ll be able to use it one evening, and that you’ll take special note of a certain song in the show, written by yours truly. Yes, I’m actually a songwriter now, as well as a saxophone player, and I’d like to know what you think of my efforts. We danced so well together, and I sensed that you had a feel for the music, the way I did. I hope you’re doing well with your new career, and that Gracie’s Glad Rags will be a huge success.
Sincerely yours,
Charlie.
Gracie read the letter several times before deciding what to make of it. On the one hand she was overjoyed that he was following up his first letter with a second one, and that he hoped she would go to the show at the Roxy. On the other hand, she couldn’t decide if it was merely a polite letter to an acquaintance. And the way he had ended the letter with ‘Sincerely yours’ was another thing. Did he mean he was actually hers, or was this just a formal way of closing a letter?
‘I’m such a idiot,’ she finally burst out, exasperated at herself. ‘The obvious thing is to go to the theatre and find out.’
She read the letter again, wondering about the song he had written, and consumed with a fervent wish to hear it. It would be wonderful, of course. Music was in his heart and soul. She remembered the way he had almost caressed the saxophone as he played it, his sensitive fingers finding the notes, loving them, producing magic with his touch, and giving the music all the attention a man would give a woman.
She shivered, wondering if there was more of Dolly’s wanton lust in her than she realized. But what if there was? She was young and alive, thank God, and it was the most natural thing in the world for two people in love to desire one another too. If he loved her, and if he desired her.
She made some tea with shaking hands, knowing she had a compulsion to go to the theatre as soon as she felt able, if only to be polite, though that was far from her real reason. She needed to see his reaction when he saw her. She needed to be sure he wouldn’t be repulsed when he saw how the scar on her cheeks hadn’t faded very much yet, and how she still had a little problem keeping her balance when the wayward, weakened leg threatened to let her down if she wasn’t careful. She wasn’t ready for dancing yet …
* * *
Dolly turned up a few evenings later, looking perkier than ever, which could only mean one thing.
‘You’ll never guess what!’
‘Yes I will,’ Gracie said. ‘You’ve got a new chap.’
Dolly laughed. ‘Not exactly. But there’s a new bloke in the packing department at Lawson’s who keeps giving me the eye. He’s ever so good-looking, Gracie, and I’m sure he fancies me—oh and in case I forget to tell you, your face is looking much better now, and you look nearly as good as new.’ She finished without pausing for breath.
‘Thank you, I’m sure. So who is this paragon? Are you sure he’s not spoken for already if he’s Mister Wonderful?’
‘Quite sure,’ Dolly declared. ‘His name’s Len and with any luck we’re going to the flicks one Saturday night.’
‘What do you mean—with any luck?’
‘Well, he hasn’t actually asked me yet, but I’m working on it,’ she said with a wink. ‘So how are you settling back in the old routine? Have you finished those bridesmaid dresses yet?’
‘As a matter of fact, I have. I suddenly realized how time was moving on, and it also made me feel much better to be doing something with my hands again. They’re ready now, and I’m going to deliver them to Mrs Barnes-Gilbert as soon as I’ve done a bit more walking.’
‘If you want to take them on Sunday afternoon, I’ll come with you for moral support,’ Dolly offered. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing how the other half lives.’
‘I’d like that, Dolly, just in case I start wobbling all over the place.’
‘You won’t do that, you ninny. But what else has been happening that I don’t know about? Has Charlie been to see you?’
‘Of course not. Why would he?’
She hesitated. She was pathetically grateful that Dolly would be going on the tram with her to Mrs Barnes-Gilbert’s place, because she didn’t feel confident enough to go out very far on her own just yet—but it was another thing to risk suggesting that she came with her to the Roxy too. Once she got up the courage, this was one place where Gracie wanted to go alone. It wouldn’t matter that there were hundreds of other folk in the theatre. As far as she was concerned there would be only her and Charlie.
Dolly soon twigged. ‘I bet you’ve heard from him again, haven’t you? I can tell there’s something going on, Gracie. What’s he said this time?’
Gracie sighed. It was hardly a love-letter, and there was no need to keep the contents from Dolly.
‘Tell me what you think.’ She handed it over and Dolly read it quickly.
‘Well, he ain’t exactly forthcoming, is he? And it’s no more than what was said in that newspaper about him being a songwriter. I s’pose he thought you didn’t know about that.’
‘I s’pose he thought I didn’t know about the girl hanging on to him, either!’
‘Bleedin’ hell, Gracie, sometimes I give up on you, really I do. Do you want him or don’t you? The truth now!’
Gracie smiled, and regardless of the scar on her cheek she looked so luminously beautiful that Dolly could only stare at her, speechless for once.
‘Want him? Of course I want him. I’ve hardly been able to think of anything else but him for months if you must know!’
‘I do know,’ Dolly said drily. ‘So what are you waiting for? What you need to do now is go to the bleedin’ Roxy like he says, sit in the front row and listen to this special song he’s written. Then go backstage, and for goodness’ sake tell him you like his song, whatever you think of it. Chaps like to hear a bit of flattery. You don’t want to call yourself Gracie’s Glad Rags for nothing, neither. You get togged up in your best bib and tucker, and you won’t give that other girl a snowball’s chance in hell.’
Gracie was laughing by the time Dolly had finished with her so-worldly advice.
‘Oh Dolly, you do me a power of good.’
‘Never mind all that. Are you going to do as I say, or do I wash my hands of you?’ Dolly said determinedly.
‘Of course I am. Would I be daft enough to ignore the advice of an expert?’ Gracie laughed wildly as they hugged one another.
* * *
On Sunday Dolly was suitably in awe of Mrs Barnes-Gilbert’s mansion, as she called it. The maid took her below stairs for a cuppa while Gracie was shown into the sunny conservatory where Mrs Barnes-Gilbert was arranging some flowers. As soon as Gracie was announced she turned at once.
‘My dear girl, how good it is to see you looking so well after your terrible ordeal. I was so concerned for you. Do sit down and Hester will bring us some tea while you tell me how you’r
e feeling.’
Gracie gulped at such a warm reception, resisting the involuntary need to put her hand to her cheek to cover the scar.
‘I’m much better, thank you,’ she murmured. ‘My leg has healed and providing I don’t stand on it for too long, it feels perfectly well. It’s only—’
The lady put her hand over Gracie’s.
‘If you’re worried about the small blemish on your cheek, Gracie, you shouldn’t. It doesn’t detract a bit from your lovely face, and some discreetly applied powder will cover it. There are people who have far worse things to worry about than a little scar, my dear.’
‘Yes, I know.’
She spoke humbly, wondering if this was a mild criticism of her vanity. And then, to her sheer horror, emotion got the better of her, and before she knew it she was blubbering, and Mrs Barnes-Gilbert had put her arms around her, and Gracie’s tears were threatening to ruin her lovely silk afternoon dress.
‘Oh, my Lord, I’m so sorry, ma’am. Whatever must you think of me?’ she gasped, mortified, but the lady wouldn’t let her pull away.
‘Don’t be so silly, my dear. You’ve been through an ordeal and the shock of such events has a habit of coming back to us at the most inopportune times. We’re all human, Gracie, and trite though it seems, a good hot strong cup of tea often does wonders to raise the spirits.’
Gracie was vaguely aware of the maid bringing in the tray, and would have laughed had she seen Dolly’s comical expression a few minutes later, on being told that madam was actually cuddling the young woman, for all the world as if she was a close relative.
But Gracie knew none of that until later. All she knew was that this kind lady was comforting her, and it was probably true that there was still a bit of shock in her as a result of the train crash. It explained a lot of things, including her unpredictable moods, and her indecision about Charlie. As if Mrs Barnes-Gilbert was a mind-reader, she mentioned him.
‘I’m sure your young man has been wonderfully supportive, hasn’t he?’
Gracie couldn’t recall that she had ever mentioned a young man, but she nodded anyway. There were some things you couldn’t confide to a stranger, even such a kindly one.
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