Follow Your Dream

by Patricia Burns

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Lillian said. What had that to do with selling shoes?

  ‘And can you handle money? Eighteen and elevenpence ha’penny, what’s the change from a five pound note?’

  ‘Four pounds, one and a ha’penny,’ Lillian said promptly. That was easy. She had been doing shopping since she was five years old.

  The manager nodded. He went and took a red stiletto from one of the displays and handed it to her.

  ‘Go into the store room and find the other half of this pair,’ he said.

  Lillian went through the door at the back of the shop. It was dark and cold out here and the floor was bare, unlike the cosy carpeted brightness of the shop. She found the light switch and gazed at the shelves and shelves of shoeboxes, stacked right up to the ceiling. Where to start? She scanned the rows, looking at the pictures on the ends of the boxes. The nearest ones were all men’s shoes. She found the ladies’ section, dismissed the flat styles, scanned the stilettos. There—at the top! She grabbed a stepladder that was standing nearby, climbed up, checked the size, pulled out a box. Inside was just one shoe, the partner of the one she was holding. She scampered into the shop.

  ‘There!’ she said, triumphant.

  The manager looked vaguely surprised. ‘That was very quick.’ He offered her a trial of a month.

  It wasn’t a very exciting job, as it turned out. On her first morning, the manager set her to dusting the shelves.

  ‘Have you finished that?’ He ran a finger over the surfaces. ‘Yes, well, that’s all right. You can go and put the kettle on now and start making tea for the mid-morning break.’

  After that, she was set to sorting out the stand containing the shoelaces. By the end of the day, she had hardly touched a shoe. She certainly hadn’t spoken to a customer. That set the pattern. As the junior, she was mostly cleaning and tidying, fetching things for the other staff and running errands for the manager. But it was her job and she made the best of it. It was nice to put on her own clothes in the morning instead of hand-me-down school uniform, and to be called ‘Miss Parker’ in front of the customers. It was lovely to get her little brown paper envelope of money at the end of the week, even if most of it did have to go to her mother for her keep. She was a grown-up now, taking her own place in the world.

  A small corner of her heart hoped that this might help her when it came to seeing James again. Mostly she felt totally humiliated when she thought of their last meeting. However much she told herself that it had all been Wendy’s fault, she knew she had behaved badly. Of course he was going to treat her like a child if she shouted at him then blubbed all over him like that. What had made her do that? She couldn’t understand what had happened to her. Being with him seemed to bring on a sort of madness, making her lose all self-control. Every time she thought of it, she wanted to curl up and die. But then there had been that wonderful, wonderful moment when he’d taken her in his arms. She relived that a thousand times, making it end differently in her imagination. Maybe, just maybe, when they next met he would see this young woman who worked for her own living and not just a scruffy kid. The thought kept her going until the next blow fell.

  ‘James had some worrying news in his last letter,’ Susan announced one evening. Now that she and Bob were engaged and saving up for a house, they spent a lot of evenings at each other’s homes rather than going out to the pictures or dancing. This particular evening, Lillian was sitting at the table in the kitchen reading a library book while Bob studied for his banking exams and Susan knitted him a jumper. Bob merely grunted at her statement, but Lillian was instantly alert.

  ‘Did he? What was it?’

  ‘Well, he’s been made a corporal, which is good, of course, but he’s got a posting abroad.’

  A terrible chill struck Lillian, like an icy hand clutching at her entrails.

  ‘Posting?’ she managed to say.

  ‘Yes, he’s being sent to Cyprus. Poor Mum’s beside herself. It’s so dangerous out there with all those dreadful EOKA people letting off bombs and things. James is playing it down, of course, so as not to worry Mum. He says in Cyprus there are oranges and lemons growing on trees, which must look so pretty.’

  ‘When they say you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go,’ Bob commented, without taking his eyes off the page he was looking at.

  ‘Well, yes, I know,’ Susan agreed, ever the good fiancée. ‘But poor Mum! It’s brought it all back to her, you see, having James go off to a war zone. She can’t help thinking about Dad.’

  ‘It’ll all blow over soon enough,’ Bob said. He had never been further than Catterick on his national service.

  ‘W-when’s he leaving?’ Lillian managed to ask.

  ‘Next month. He’ll be there till he’s finished his time.’

  A whole year! James was going to be away for a whole year! And to Cyprus, where guerrilla fighters were attacking British troops. It wasn’t just a jaunt abroad, like being sent to Germany. He could be involved in real fighting. How was she going to bear it? She couldn’t even spill it all to Janette the next morning like she used to when they were at school together, but had to wait all through a miserable day till she could cycle round to Janette’s after tea.

  ‘My life is finished!’ she announced as she burst through the door to Janette’s flat. ‘There’s nothing left to live for.’

  ‘Oh, so you won’t want to see this, then,’ Janette said, waving a blurry carbon copied piece of paper in front of her.

  ‘James is going to Cyprus. He’s going to be away for—what’s that thing?’

  Despite herself, her eyes had lighted on the word Dancers on Janette’s paper.

  ‘Sure you want to see?’ Janette teased, backing away from her with the paper held above her head.

  ‘Yes—come on—what is it?’

  ‘No more flipping James?’

  ‘OK, OK.’

  Eagerly, Lillian read the notice. Do you like dancing? it asked. Are you fifteen or over? Come and audition for the Mamie Hill Dancers and help with our charity work dancing for Old Folks etc.

  Her excitement dimmed a little at the words charity work. This was not a professional troupe, then. But it was a start. It was dancing, up on a stage, in front of an audience. She made a note of the time and place of the audition and spent the rest of the evening discussing it with Janette. James wasn’t forgotten, but she did have something to look forward to once more.

  Mamie Hill turned out to be a tall lady with a cigarette in a long holder and rather too much make-up, who could have been any age from forty to sixty. She made an exotic figure in her bright dress and flowing scarves in the middle of a dusty church hall. What impressed Lillian was the fact that she had been a professional dancer—it showed in every movement she made.

  After a word or two about the troupe, she got each of the dozen or so girls who had arrived to dance on the stage, accompanied on the out-of-tune piano by a woman who chainsmoked through the whole proceedings. Lillian did her We’re a Couple of Swells routine, enjoying the thrill of it all over again. As she dropped into the final splits on the rough boarding of the stage, she felt a splinter ram into her thigh, but managed to keep the bright smile on her face. She got up and looked at Miss Hill. Had she liked it? So much was riding on this. This was more than just one contest, this was the chance to learn and perform.

  Mamie Hill opened her notebook, her gold propelling pencil poised. ‘What did you say your name was, dear?’

  ‘Lindy-Lou Parker.’

  ‘And have you been dancing for long?’

  ‘Oh—ages,’ Lillian said.

  ‘Mm—well—I won’t ask who taught you, but you’ve got a lot of rough corners to knock off. A lot. But you’ve got oodles of raw talent, and you can perform. That’s the thing, dear—performing. You have to give out to the audience, you have to give all of yourself, and you do that. Now, are you prepared to come to two practices a week and be available whenever we’re asked to perform?’

  Was she? There was only o
ne answer to that.

  ‘Oh, yes, Miss Hill! I’d love to.’

  ‘Very well, then. Be here at seven o’clock on Thursday.’

  Lillian cycled home six inches above the ground. This was it! This was her start. Her feet were on the yellow brick road.

  The only problem, and it was a huge one, was deciding what to say to the family. After the fuss about the talent contest, she feared that if she admitted to what she was doing it would be forbidden. Round and round her head went Aunty Eileen’s last words to her—Don’t let them stop you. Maybe the best way was simply not to tell them. But if she went ahead and did it, lying in the process, then there would be even bigger ructions when she was finally found out. She couldn’t bear the idea of being stopped before she had started, so she opted for secrecy and said she was going to see friends when she went to practices. Maybe something would turn up to change Gran’s mind. It was a long shot but she went for it, closing her eyes to the consequences.

  Mamie Hill was a tough teacher. She treated the girls as if they were a proper dance troupe, picking up sloppy steps and lazy arms and making them all work really hard, going over each movement until it was right.

  ‘Practice, practice, practice!’ she insisted, gesticulating with her cigarette holder.

  Some of the girls groaned and complained as they did a sequence for the tenth time. Two got so fed up that they left. But Lillian loved it. This was what she wanted. She could feel her body responding to the discipline. She welcomed the criticism and did everything that Miss Hill suggested. She got up early each day to do ballet exercises, using the chest of drawers as a barre and ignoring Wendy’s complaints at being disturbed. She went over the dance routines in her head as she cycled to work and practised steps in the store room of the shop as she searched for shoes.

  The troupe got their first booking, a request to entertain the Darby and Joan Club at their birthday party. Lillian was thrilled. Then Miss Hill started to talk about costumes. Lillian listened, appalled, as ideas for three different outfits were described. How on earth was she going to make these? Like all girls, she had learnt some basic needlework at school, but a sailor suit? A frilly satin dress? How was she going to make those? And the cost! It was going to take all the money she had left from her earnings after giving her keep to her mother.

  ‘Now, I’m sure your mothers will be able to help you with this,’ Miss Hill was saying. ‘All mums are clever with their needles, and they love a pretty project to do. It makes a nice change from turning sheets sides to middle and mending trousers.’

  Quite apart from the fact that she had not yet told the family about the Mamie Hill Dancers, Lillian could just imagine her mother’s reaction if she asked for help. That weary, washed-out look would come over her face.

  Oh—I don’t know—really I don’t—your grandmother wants me to—

  There was always something that Gran wanted doing. And the summer season was looming.

  It was no use asking Wendy. She hated sewing and, anyway, she never helped anyone if she could get out of it. If only her aunty Eileen were still here, she would be delighted to try. Turning it over in her mind, Lillian realised that they did have someone in the family who could sew. Susan. Asking her would mean having to admit to what she was doing, and then of course Susan would tell Bob and then the whole family would know. But Susan, on James’s request, had come in on her side when she’d gone in for the talent contest, so maybe she would support her this time.

  The next time Susan came round to their house, she waited till Bob was out of the room and broached the subject.

  ‘Oh, that sounds interesting, dear. A stage costume! I haven’t made a stage costume before. Let me see the pattern.’

  Lillian showed her the sketches and the newspaper patterns that had been copied from the expensive tissue ones. Susan nodded and commented on the technicalities involved. Just as Mamie Hill had predicted, the project interested her. It was something a bit different from ordinary dressmaking. By the time Bob came back into the room, she was getting enthusiastic.

  ‘Oh, Bob, dear, just guess what Lillian’s been doing,’ she cried.

  Lillian held her breath. This was the crunch moment. If Bob disapproved, all was lost.

  ‘She’s been giving up her own spare time to practise for an entertainment for the Darby and Joan Club. Isn’t that sweet of her? I’m going to help her make some lovely costumes. Won’t that be fun?’

  Lillian could have kissed her. She couldn’t have broken the news better. Even so, Bob was not altogether happy about taking her side.

  ‘I don’t know what Gran’s going to say. You know what she thought last time.’

  ‘Oh, but that was different, darling. Lillian’s doing this for charity. And I’m sure this Mamie Hill is a very respectable lady.’

  ‘Oh, yes, she is,’ Lillian said, wondering just what the family would make of Miss Hill and her theatrical air.

  There was a row, of course. At first Gran seemed immovable. But then two things came to Lillian’s aid. She found out that her sister was going out with one of the regular PGs, a commercial traveller. This was absolutely forbidden because of Eileen’s having run off with a traveller.

  ‘Gran’s not going to like it,’ Lillian said.

  ‘Gran’s not going to find out because if she does I’ll know who told, and your life won’t be worth living,’ Wendy threatened. She had just come in from a date with the man. She smelt of cheap scent and cigarette smoke. ‘God, my feet are killing me,’ she said, plumping down on the bed and kicking off her high heeled shoes. ‘Here, undo me, will you?’

  Lillian pulled down the long zip. The skin-tight bodice of Wendy’s dancing dress parted to reveal her warm flesh. Wendy stepped out of it and hung it up carefully in the wardrobe.

  ‘Is he nice? Does he take you to posh places?’ Lillian asked.

  ‘Oh—lovely! We’ve been to this dinner dance. Wonderful band, and all this posh food. And wine—we drank real French wine. And there was all different knives and forks for every course! Imagine the washing-up!’ Wendy started slapping cold cream over her face. She looked at herself in the mirror and flicked back the blonde hair that she was now growing long so that it curled over her shoulders. ‘He says I look like Diana Dors. That’s who I want to be like.’

  ‘What, and be a film star?’ Lillian asked.

  ‘No, stupid. How am I going to get to be a film star? I want to marry someone really rich and wear fur coats and ride around in a Rolls-Royce.’

  That was when Lillian realised that she did after all have something in common with her big sister. They both had ambitions.

  ‘I want to be a dancer, but Gran won’t let me. If you stick up for me, I’ll keep quiet about your PG,’ she bargained.

  It took a while longer but in the end Wendy had to agree, for she had the most to lose. They both knew that if Gran did find out about the commercial traveller, Wendy would be gated for at least a month.

  Having Wendy speak up for her didn’t make a huge difference but it did begin to tip the balance. And then Blackboard Jungle hit town. This was a film about a tough New York school, but what really got the audiences going was the music that played over the titles, a song called Rock Around the Clock by an American band called Bill Haley and the Comets. All over the country, teenagers were going crazy at the very sound of it. It was new, it was wild, it had a hypnotic beat. All the fuddy-duddies hated it, and that was the real attraction—it was music just for teenagers. They called it rock’n’roll and they loved it. Frank and his gang of Teddy boys went along to see the film and got up and danced and yelled the moment the music started. Other cinema goers tried to shut them up, Frank’s gang got aggressive and a fight broke out. Frank was one of those unlucky enough to be hauled off to the cells when the police arrived.

  Gran was outraged, Dad was sourly angry and Mum wept.

  ‘A member of our family arrested! I don’t know what the world’s coming to. The shame of it! We’ll never live it
down,’ Gran raged.

  Beside Frank’s crime, Lillian’s wanting to get up on a stage and do some singing and dancing was small beer. Permission wasn’t exactly given, but neither was it withheld. Lillian quietly got on with rehearsals and Susan fitted her costumes.

  ‘That looks very nice,’ she commented, as Lillian turned round in front of her in the calf-length yellow satin dress with its rows of black-edged ruffles. ‘Very pretty. You’re getting quite a nice little figure there, Lillian.’

  Lillian blushed with pleasure. ‘Am I?’ She looked this way and that in the mirror. She certainly didn’t look like a schoolgirl any more.

  ‘It’s the dress that does it. You’re so clever, Susan,’ she said, genuinely grateful but wanting to please. She had a further favour to ask. ‘Do you—I mean, have you told James about making the costumes, when you write to him? Does he know I’m going to be performing?’

  ‘I did mention it, yes,’ Susan said.

  ‘And what does—did he say anything back?’

  Susan made a last little adjustment to the shoulder.

  ‘Why don’t you write to him yourself and tell him all about it?’ she suggested, through a mouthful of pins.

  A new and wonderful prospect opened up before Lillian.

  ‘Could I?’

  ‘Of course.’ Susan was quite matter-of-fact. ‘I’ll give you his address in Cyprus.’

  ‘And would he—I mean, do you think he’d like it if I sent him a letter?’

  ‘Why not? All soldiers like to get letters from home. It makes them feel like they’re not forgotten.’

  Forgotten! As if she could ever forget James. She thought about him every minute of the day. She listened to every bit of news about Cyprus on the wireless and devoured Gran’s newspaper when she had finished with it. But for now Lillian was in heaven. She didn’t care now how horrible Wendy and the others were to her, or how boring her job was, or how many chores she had to do for her mother. She sang Rock Around the Clock at the top of her voice as she cycled to work or changed sheets. She had Mamie Hill and the dancers, and she had letters from James to look forward to. She was on top of the world.