Mothers and Daughters

by Fleming, Leah

  Looking smart and sassy in her washing-up gear at the diner wasn’t easy, but it was the bust, the hair and the eyes that counted. She pretended she couldn’t care less when the boys were on shift hoping Paul would be narked; he was used to girls falling at his feet. He was the love ’em and leave ’em type once he got to home base, but two could play at that game. Rosa was showing just enough interest to get noticed and then ignoring him and pretending he didn’t exist. It was Miles who kept taking the bait.

  To be a theatrical star she needed to practice ‘allure’ so she spent hours pinning up her heavy hair into a wild Bardot style, piled carelessly on top of her head with strands falling down the sides. She wore the tightest of boy’s jeans and skimpy tops cut low, lots of cleavage by padding her bra so it made the best of her meagre assets. Too much dancing reduced your bust to nothing, but there were ways and means to create an illusion and she knew them all.

  All this had to be done without Mamma noticing so she came to the Waverley in a sloppy joe sweater and promptly removed it upstairs saying it was too hot to keep it on.

  Eye make-up was the next key to allure. She and Joy practised using lots of mascara and smudgy eyeliner, smoky shadow and pale lipstick, and most of all that knowing look, which Rosa knew you didn’t get by keeping your legs crossed.

  Susan kept staring at them. ‘I hope you’re not going out like that!’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re just getting in role,’ Rosa replied, and that usually stopped any further criticism.

  Connie looked on with a shrug. She’d be happy to go out in a sack. Poor lamb didn’t smile much either. Every time Mamma and Rosa had a blazing row, not speaking just barking orders at each other, mumbling under their breath and generally keeping out of each other’s way, Rosa would recall what happened to Connie and rush home and give her Mamma a big hug, and all was forgiven.

  She practised a whole repertoire of characters to act: demure schoolgirls, innocent ingénues, Audrey Hepburn-style; waspish Left Bank students à la Juliette Greco, all in black, and vamps. Rosa could do them all, but extra lessons courtesy of Paul Jerviss might put the seal of truth on her seductive powers.

  ‘One must suffer for one’s art.’ She sat back on the last day of school with her Panama hat crushed into a ball and her school blazer screwed under her seat.

  Connie was slumped on the café seat, weighed down by a satchel full of exercise books.

  ‘You’re such a swot! School’s out! No more brown knickers for me, no more Sister Gilberte breathing down my neck. Today Grimbleton, tomorrow the world!’

  Rosa leaned back on her chair to admire all the trendy alterations to Santini’s. It was now the ‘Casablanca’, covered with posters of Humphrey Bogart’s film. It was dark with netting on the walls and posters of gendarmes, and wine bottles with candles in them for lights. They served cappuccinos with brown sugar. You could smoke and no one would see you. Best of all was the bulbous new juke box, with its glass front and handwritten song titles to choose from.

  ‘Did you get the part?’ Connie asked, looking up.

  ‘Do ducks swim?’ Rosa replied. ‘I knocked the opposition out of the water and I heard the producer say, “And who is that?” Rehearsals start on Monday. Don’t look so interested,’ she snapped. ‘You’re on the list too. I put your name down as a helper.’

  ‘Thanks a bundle,’ came Connie’s flat reply

  ‘Come on, what’s up with you? Another bad night again?’ Rosa was trying to be sympathetic but Connie was not easy to reach.

  ‘I’m fine. Joy’s late again. I expect she’s snogging John Seddon down the ginnel. Honestly, have you seen him? I could do better than that with my eyes shut.’

  ‘I thought you two were friends, not rivals. What’s up?’ Rosa was fishing. Since Ana’s death, Connie was funny about Joy; critical, snappy. It wasn’t like her.

  ‘Nothing. Oh, here she comes, the late Joy Winstanley, as usual. Just look at her. You’d think it was a fashion parade,’ Connie sneered.

  Rosa had to admit since Joy’s illness she looked so different, neat and petite, with immaculate skirt and nylons showing such tiny feet. Her hair hung down in a huge ponytail, thick and glossy like a mane. Someone wolf-whistled as she went past and she pretended not to notice.

  ‘Sorry I’m late. I popped into the travel agency to see Auntie Lee. I start work on Monday.’ She looked so excited that it was hard to be cross.

  ‘Connie’s being a misery guts – she must have the curse,’ Rosa laughed.

  ‘No, I’ve not. It’s all right for you two. I’m stuck with a huge pile of prep for next term,’ she snapped.

  ‘You’re such a swot! We’re not good enough for her now, are we?’ Rosa laughed. Nothing was going to spoil her excitement. The summer was going to be so thrilling for her. Who knew where she might be by September? A bit part in Coronation Street, assistant stage manager at a Manchester theatre or even the West End? A film extra would do until she got on a decent drama course.

  ‘How much has Auntie Su told you about Cedric Winstanley?’ Connie suddenly whispered to Joy.

  ‘You mean my daddy? He was a soldier in the war and he died a hero. They met in Burma after the occupation in a concert party in Rangoon, I think,’ said Joy.

  ‘When did he marry her?’ Connie continued.

  ‘I’m not sure, not right away. Why do you want to know?’ Joy replied. Trust Connie to be so serious on the last day of term.

  ‘Have you seen your birth certificate?’

  ‘No. Why should I? Mummy has it somewhere safe.’ Joy looked puzzled.

  ‘Well, ask to see it, that’s all I’m saying,’ Connie snapped. ‘The Winstanleys have a lot of explaining to do.’

  ‘Don’t talk about them like that!’ Joy spat.

  ‘I speak as I find.’ Connie glared at her.

  Why was she spoiling the fun and being unkind? Rosa leaned forward, almost knocking the candle onto the floor and smashing the bottle.

  ‘Come on, Con, we understand how you’re feeling at the moment, but—’

  ‘You don’t understand anything at all, either of you. Ask your precious mummy, Joy. Ask Gran about Freddie Winstanley, that’s all I’m saying.’ Connie rose to gather her stray bits of uniform, making for the door in tears.

  ‘Don’t go, Connie, please stay,’ whispered Rosa. ‘I’ve got something to confess, something exciting to tell you. I want you to be the first to know.’

  Connie paused and sat down, trying not to look interested,

  ‘I’ve “gone all the way”,’ Rosa blurted.

  ‘When?’ Con whispered, her blue eyes wide and curious.

  ‘Who?’ Joy added. They were in a huddle now, all animosity forgotten.

  ‘Last Saturday afternoon in Queen’s Park … with Paul Jerviss’s—’ she said. Their faces were a picture of fascinated horror.

  ‘Not the Paul Jerviss, the spin-the-bottle champion, the love-bite king? Rosaria Santini, you devil.’ They were all ears and smiling, wanting to know every embellished detail.

  ‘Well, his mate, actually. More’s the pity,’ she sighed to herself. Try as she might, Paul didn’t show any interest in her at all.

  ‘Paul and Miles’re working for my uncle now. We went to an all-nighter up Albert Drive, with loads of bedrooms for snogging. Miles and I got to number seven and then I left him wanting more, but we went for a walk before work. I thought, let’s do it, let’s find out what all the fuss is about, so we did,’ she revealed.

  ‘So … what’s it like?’ whispered Joy, looking shocked.

  ‘Having an ice cream cone that melts inside you after a lot of jumping about,’ Rosa sniggered. It wasn’t like that at all, just a lot of fumbling and messing about, but she wasn’t going to spoil the moment.

  ‘Is that all? What if you get yourself pregnant?’ Connie said, ever the practical one.

  ‘We did it standing up so it doesn’t count,’ Rosa countered.

  ‘Are you going to marry him now?’ Joy
asked. She was romantic, and keen on sex and marriage going hand in hand.

  ‘Not likely. I just wanted to know how it feels. I’m getting in the part for Juliet’s love scenes,’ she replied.

  ‘Did it hurt?’ Joy grimaced. ‘They say you bleed and tear.’

  ‘Not a drop. Doing all those splits sort of stretches you out, and Tampax, of course,’ she lied. They hadn’t got that far at all but Miles had blurted it out in excitement.

  ‘I think it’s wrong to do it just out of curiosity. Look where it got Mama and Auntie Su, dumped with babies. You’re daft not to take precautions,’ Connie sniffed – being a po-faced pain-in-the-bum again, Rosa thought sulkily.

  ‘Why are you being so mean? They were married ladies,’ snapped Joy.

  ‘Were they now? I’d check on that, if I were you,’ Connie said.

  ‘There you go again! If a bambina comes along, Mamma will look after it for me. No big deal.’ Rosa was lying again. It would be a disgrace in the family if she shamed them. She would have to be sent away and there would be no West End, only penitence and lots of Church. ‘I’ll say one thing, it’s better to journey than to arrive,’ she winked.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Joy said.

  ‘You’ll find out for yourself one day.’ She sipped her coffee, leaving a frothy moustache on her lips. ‘So, no more school. What shall we do to celebrate?’ she asked, changing tack.

  ‘Are you going to do it again?’ asked Joy, still eager for information.

  ‘I suppose so, when I’ve got a spare minute, what with teaching baby class for Lemody Liptrot and I’ve got rehearsals. You must come and see us. Romeo is a professional from Manchester, a friend of Simon Marks, the producer. Isn’t it exciting? You can have my autograph now, if you like,’ she sniggered. ‘And the coffees are on me, I’m feeling flushed with success.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ Connie sighed.

  Her confession had fallen flat as a pancake, a bit like Miles Black’s efforts, but one must suffer for one’s art, she sighed.

  Soon the rehearsals were well underway and the leading man, Alex Macauley, made it quite clear he was doing a friend a favour while he was ‘resting’. Rosa thought he was a bit old for Romeo but she was sure her fresh interpretation of Juliet would meet with his approval. She was going to show him she was no mere amateur.

  Neville was playing one of the Capulet gang, full of energy and presence on the stage, much better than his skiffling efforts. He looked good in Teddy Boy drapes, Rosa thought. Alex seemed to take to him and his friend Basil. No hope then of him sweeping her off her feet and off to London as his protégée, she sighed, sensing his interest lay elsewhere.

  Romeo was professional enough in his delivery but there was something missing, some zest, some conviction. His performance lacked Rosa’s passion. He drank too much before rehearsals and his breath smelled of yesterday’s Guinness. It was hard trying to show your grand passion when his armpits smelled of old socks.

  Troupers must soldier on, she sighed. This is my big chance to be noticed.

  They used the classical stone frontispiece of the town hall, with its gradations of steps as the stage, and floodlit the ornate carving. For a few days it would become Verona, not sooty Grimbleton. The seating was raised up in tiers to create a pit in which the company were acting to three sides The balcony scene would use the stone balustrade round the window where the mayor and corporation came out to read the election results on polling night.

  Imagine stepping out before a huge audience and being queen of all she surveyed. It made her heart flutter, but Rosa was full of confidence.

  The others tried to appear unimpressed by her sudden fame. They were all so different now. Connie was going into the sixth form and on to university. Joy was working nine until five and going steady with one of her friends from church. All she could talk about was saving up for her ‘Big Day’.

  Rosa was already bored with Miles Black and his rugby team antics so she bragged about her leading man and his brilliant career. She wanted to tell him he was dumped but there was Joy standing next to him, talking about Longsight Travel. All Rosa could think of was about getting away from Grimbleton, with its narrow minds and narrow streets, to head for brighter lights, but it wasn’t easy. She felt sorry for Miles, hanging around the rehearsals waiting for this Madame Bernhardt to grant him an audience.

  Watching the scaffolding going up in the Town Hall Square brought the performance dates into reality. Connie was happy in the end to stay in the background and do props with a friend from school. The whole place was transformed. There was an interview with the reporter from the rival papers, the Gazette and the Mercury, but Alex Macauley got most of the reportage with his name-dropping stunts. But nothing could stop Rosa from acting like a star.

  The Santinis had booked front seats but not on the same night as the Bertorellis; some things never changed. Rosa was caught as usual in the middle of their feud. They were just like the Montagues and Capulets themselves.

  She was lucky to be free at last; no more Sisters of the Sorrows breathing down her neck about the evils of the stage or sex. She pitied their poor frozen little lives, wrapped in petty sins and wickednesses. She was now free to explore the whole gamut of emotions, to be open to life and lust.

  By the week of the performance Rosa’s feet were six inches off the floor, expecting the whole town would stop to watch the production. She felt stunning in the silver and apricot brocade dress, with puffed-out skirt, and so tight across the chest she could hardly breathe. Her ponytail was dressed in a coronet of fresh flowers and leaves. For the balcony scene she wore a chiffony négligée dyed with cold tea, and when the light was in a certain direction, it left little to the imagination.

  Neville told her that she’d better wear a leotard and ballet tights underneath if she was not to give Granny Esme a heart attack.

  Everyone was so wrapped up in preparations that no one noticed the storm clouds gathering from the west. The torrential deluge, when it came, threw buckets of water over the set and the seats, and fused the lights.

  The first night was cancelled and the second was a half-cock performance in the Little Theatre. By the third night there was talk of taking all the scenery down and people wanted their money back. It wasn’t fair!

  All that expense and drama, ruined by typical Grimbleton summer downpours. Why did she have to live in the wettest climate? It wasn’t the same atmosphere inside the theatre, and the sets were rushed together and kept falling over.

  Mr Stale Armpits had a tantrum and said he was not going to perform with a bunch of amateurs again. On the last night, as if to make amends for the week’s rain, the sun blazed out and they decided it was a shit or bust performance in the Town Hall Square as a gesture of defiance to a packed audience, who sat where they could to watch them perform.

  Only then did the play come alive. The gangs raced up and down the steps fighting and shouting, the crowd danced in the pit by the setting sun and it was all magical. The cast gave it everything, and for once Romeo came to life, swashing and buckling his way into the audience’s hearts.

  Mamma was out there weeping with pride at her bambina. Dr Friedmann and Auntie Su were sitting together, and Granny Esme was with all the other Winstanleys cheering Neville on to glory. Even the dreaded Ivy seemed to be enjoying her son’s debut.

  For those magical hours Rosa gave her best performance, centre stage, alive, exalted, feeling the admiration of the town at her plucky attempt to portray one of the world’s tragic heroines. Her death scene had the audience gasping with sadness. Why did such passion have to end in the tomb?

  When they took their bows there was a roar of applause. She knew she was born to perform. This is my life now, she smiled.

  Even Alex relaxed and took her in his arms, kissing her. ‘Well done! You were wonderful … We were brilliant, darling!’

  She hoped Paul Jerviss was out there somewhere to see what he was missing. Now Alex would take her in hand and make her
dreams come true.

  Connie watched the performance with a keen eye. She didn’t think much of Alex’s turn. It was wooden and lacklustre. He showed no passion towards his Juliet, who upstaged him at every turn. She was fed up with Shakespeare’s tragedies, anyway. All the girls ever got were poison, death and oblivion.

  She was clearing up after the show when she saw Auntie Su hovering by the platform, beckoning.

  ‘I’m glad I’ve caught you,’ she whispered. ‘Joy’s been asking such awkward questions. You mustn’t say anything to Joy yet.’

  ‘Why not?’ Connie blushed.

  ‘It will only upset her. We don’t want her to get upset, not when she is doing so well at work,’ Auntie Su replied.

  ‘We are half-sisters. What’s wrong about her knowing that?’

  ‘She thinks I was married to Cedric. It will upset her to know the truth. It is better you say nothing. I will deal with it in my time, Connie.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Connie said, walking away from her. Why had she got to remind her of all that? Why was everyone trying to interfere? Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? Her grief was stuck like a shadow hovering over her from which there was no escape.

  Rosa had her career mapped out, Joy had her work. All she had was a pile of books and sad memories. Why should she have to carry the family secret as well? It was time Joy knew the truth too. What harm could it do now?

  ‘Come on, Con, time to party!’ yelled Rosa, racing out of the dressing room.

  ‘Count me out,’ Connie replied.

  ‘No way! Your mama wouldn’t want you to live like a nun. Everyone’s going, it’ll be fun. Don’t shut yourself away … please?’ Rosa wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  Connie shrugged her shoulders and sighed. It was going to be a long night

  The after-show party was held in the producer’s house, high on a hill overlooking the town. It was an old stone farmhouse, with low ceilings and lots of atmosphere, reeking of soot from the inglenook fireplace, and wet dogs. Everyone was chatting about their perfomances and Connie felt like a spare part. There were lots of hangers-on, and she saw Miles Black trying to entice Rosa into a dark corner. She was busy playing Queen for the night and had no intentions of being seduced from the limelight.