Mothers and Daughters

by Fleming, Leah

  ‘No, leave it. I’m just shocked. I thought she was going to kill me.’

  ‘She’s crazy, nuts … Must be her time of life … you know menny wotsit.’

  ‘I expect she’ll calm down. It’s all this about your dad too. But Gran … She’s made a right fool of herself. Too much ginger wine. She’ll come round. It’s not her life to live, is it? They can’t make us do what we don’t want to do. I was banking on living here a bit longer but it’s better if I leave Grimbleton and see this through on my own.’

  Connie was scared just saying those words out loud. How on earth would she survive now?

  ‘I’ll be behind you. I’ll see you right, you’ve only got to ask,’ Neville said.

  ‘I know, but I think there’s somewhere I can go where no one will bother me,’ Connie sighed, feeling drained of all emotion.

  ‘Where?’ Neville was curious.

  ‘I’ll tell you later. Just drop me off with Auntie Lee, but not a word to anyone else – except your dad, of course. We have to keep it in the family.’

  ‘And Joy?’

  ‘Not yet. She’s got her hands full. I’ll tell her when I tell Rosa but not yet. Oh, Neville, we made a mess of it, didn’t we?’ Connie cried.

  ‘But it had to be done. There was never going to be a good time to thwart their dream and burst the bubble. I just wish Gran hadn’t been so angry, though. Still, it’s done now.’

  Connie nodded, feeling sick and weary. Now she must throw herself on the mercy of another Winstanley and trust to luck that there was a solution: What a mess, what a terrible mess, and on Christmas Day too.

  Rosa was puzzled her letter to Connie was returned with ‘NOT KNOWN AT THIS ADDRESS’ on the envelope. What was going on? She’d heard from her mother that Ivy Winstanley was a patient in Moor Bank, that Neville’s name was in the paper on a gross indecency charge and Connie had left town suddenly.

  How come? She’d not even got her resit results yet. Why was she being so secretive?

  Rosa had duly visited Joy and the baby with her present, but Joy was confined to barracks, little Kim looking beautiful as tiny babies do, so even Joy didn’t know where Connie had gone and she was too spaced out to care. Susan was fussing round her and trying to get her to eat properly. It was all very odd, Rosa thought, looking back over the holiday while standing in the wings waiting for Shady Sadie to make her big entrance.

  The diva was singing one of Connie’s ballads belting it out old style. This was a solo number and the backing group had to fade into the wings while Madam made her grand finale. Rosa didn’t know if Connie had got round to getting a contract and having her lyrics registered. She was such a dozy brush these days. Papadaki, they decided, was a good name for her as a lyrics writer. Everyone liked Greek films and Melina Mercuri. Sadie wanted to do a recording of the song and Rosa thought Connie ought to know.

  Life with the Monster was not getting any easier now that even Gabby was slim and needing padding up. How else on the wages they received could they not starve in order to afford nylons and make-up?

  Mean? Rosa laughed, thinking about Maria’s joke. ‘She’s so mean she’d have the fleas off your back and sell them on!’

  Sylvio’s hairdressing salon was going well. They’d bought out Mr Lavaroni when he retired. Sylvio was training up staff to do the new sharp cuts made famous by Vidal Sassoon, cutting hair into sharp geometric shapes to go with Mary Quant dresses. They all wanted straight curtains of hair and a fringe. Mel Diamond had long black straight hair and looked fantastic off stage, but Sadie made them wear horrible wigs.

  It was Mel who had found the sheet music score of ‘Colours of My Love’. It had a picture of Sadie when she was about twenty-five on the cover, all bust and teeth. Rosa searched the credits. Only the music of Morris Lavatzza was mentioned.

  ‘But it’s Connie’s song,’ Rosa said. ‘They can’t do this!’

  ‘She already has – stolen the lyrics. They do that if they’re not tied down,’ Mel sighed.

  Rosa was furious. How dare she? It was the last straw. How on earth could she tell Connie when she didn’t even know where she was? Connie might hear it and think she’d sold her short. ‘What a monster. I’ve had it up to here with her,’ sighed Rosa.

  ‘Haven’t we all?’ Gabby said. ‘I want to go home soon. I’m sick of travelling. She treats us like muck.’

  ‘We have to do something … show her up. I’m not going to wiggle my bum in a fat suit any more.’

  It was Mel who suggested the perfect revenge. It took a bit of rehearsing and bribing the orchestra, who never got any praise from the prima donna either. They were performing at another big press ball near Manchester, a bit like the old Mercury Press Ball all those years ago. Sadie was the star act, and they were about to do the unthinkable. The girls had worked out a way to whip off their costumes to music like a striptease during one of her big numbers. Rosa knew it might be professional suicide but thinking about Sadie’s skulduggery made it even stevens somehow.

  Sadie started with her usual slow tempo stuff, flirting with the audience while the girls stood behind her, swaying and oohing and ahhing in harmony. Then Danny on the drums did a flourish and off came the wigs, the fat skirts and tops, to reveal the girls in skimpy, glitzy outfits, fishnet tights and high heels as they stepped into the limelight to cheers and applause from the men. They were young, fit, slim and in tune. They gave the audience a wonderful finale.

  Sadie, old pro that she was, managed to fix a grimace that passed as delight, smiling and clapping them on as she announced, ‘My girls, the New Silkies. Give them a big hand!’

  Everyone stomped and shouted encore, but Sadie bundled them off the podium, incandescent with fury, her green tasselled dress shimmering and shaking. ‘How dare you? How dare you do that to me?’ she screamed. ‘I’ll see that you will never work in this country again.’

  ‘Neither will you,’ said Rosa, standing firm. ‘I can prove you stole that song and claimed it as your own. My friend wrote that song. She should get the credit, not you.’

  ‘You ungrateful girl!’

  ‘You mean old has-been, isn’t it time you retired? You’re too old for the beat scene. Try the working men’s clubs, the graveyard of yesterday’s stars!’

  ‘I’ve never been talked to like this in my life. You are finished in this business, all of you.’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘I shall tell Dilly Sherman.’

  ‘You do that and we’ll go to the papers with our pitiful story: how famous star left us starving in a bedsit.’

  ‘I did not!’

  ‘You owe us a month’s pay,’ Mel yelled.

  ‘Kiss my arse!’ came the reply, and a shoe flew into her face.

  Connie took Mel and Gabby back to Dilly, who ushered them into the office.

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard about your tantrum. I did warn you. But what’s all this about “Colours of My Love”?’

  ‘It is true, honest. Every bit of it was written by Connie Winstanley, my friend. She sent it me to look over, and all the other songs,’ Rosa said. ‘Look, I have the originals.’

  ‘Silly girl must register them. Bring her work here. I know someone who can deal with it.’

  ‘But she’s disappeared. I don’t think she’s in the business any more. She ought to get royalties to her song if it’s a hit. Sadie is a thief!’

  ‘Oh, she’s not the only one to claim a song as her own, but I hear you got your own back.’ Dilly sat back to hear their version of the events.

  ‘You should’ve seen us,’ Mel finished, swinging her curtains of hair with excitement.

  ‘I don’t want to know, young lady. The best thing I can do is get all of you out of the country and quick. I hear there’s a cruise ship going to South Africa, wanting singers and dancers. I hope you’ve all kept up your classes at the barre.’

  ‘Can ducks swim?’ Rosa laughed. ‘Yes, we can still do the Tiller Girl high kicks and the splits.’

  ‘Then
get yourself down to Southampton tout de suite and put some distance between you and Sadie’s wrath. Who needs enemies with clients like you? I don’t know what I am going to do with you,’ Dilly continued, sighing. ‘Go on, all of you, you’re giving me a heart attack.’

  ‘I’m going to go back home to West Hartlepool. I’ve had enough,’ said Gabby.

  ‘Sensible girl,’ said Dilly. ‘It’s rough in the second and third division. Only the big stars get the perks, and it’s a short life as a dancer. Look at Sadie Lane and be warned. Nothing lasts in show business. Everyone wants the next big act. She was young once, and had her moment in the limelight, then puff … it is gone. Take it from me, girls, find yourselves a good man and stick to him like glue.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Sherman,’ Rosa said, but she wasn’t listening for a reply. She’d had far too much to think about. Auditioning for a cruise? Sunshine, ships, glamour and new horizons. Wait till Mamma heard this news. She could go into Grimbleton with her tail up this time, say her farewells. If only Connie was here to share the good news. Why had she disappeared?

  Joy sat looking out of the window. Kim was crying again. She was never satisfied, gulping down the bottled milk, then doubling up with wind and sick, screaming. Breast-feeding had just not worked out. Joy’s nipples were so sore, her head thumping with all the advice Mummy kept throwing her way: do this, do that, let her scream, put her down in the garden, keep her by your side … And then Denny’s mother hovering over her: ‘Take no notice of Susan, she’s out of date.’

  Denny was slow to fall in flove with his daughter. She wasn’t the boy he was wanting, but she was fair-skinned with eyes already like chocolate buttons and a mop of curly brown hair. Joy had never seen anything so beautiful, such a tiny body. But she was afraid to wake her, change her, touch her. It was Mummy who swaddled her tight and organised her layette. Mummy was doing everything, all because Joy had no energy to move or think or eat. Her limbs were like lead weights. This was not how she was expecting to feel. How could she be so afraid of such a tiny thing?

  Sometimes she would lie on the sofa all day and not move if no one was coming. Everyone was still feeding them and fussing over the baby, but all she wanted to do was sleep, sleep, sleep.

  Rosa called in, bringing gossip and tales, but Joy wasn’t interested. Connie had been gone since Boxing Day and no one would say where or why. She’d left a little teddy bear and a card, just like some polite acquaintance. Joy had been upstairs when Connie called round and Denny had thanked her and let her go, not telling Joy for days afterwards that Connie had come

  Denny didn’t like her friends, her mother or Mummy’s boyfriend, Dr Friedmann, calling him a Yid. It was Dr Friedmann who asked how she was, looked concerned and suggested she talked to her doctor, but she didn’t have the energy to get dressed some days, let alone catch a bus. If only she could drive, and why was she so tired all the time? Why did nothing feel right inside her head? Everything was jumbled up, night was day and day was night, and still Kimberley cried and cried and Joy felt such a miserable failure at being a mother. This time last year she was a bride, belle of the ball. Then there was Paris and Wembley and then sickness and now nothing. What was wrong with her? If only Rosa and Connie were here to cheer her up. But they had deserted her too. Rosa was on the high seas, dancing on some cruise ship with her friend Mel. So be it … she wasn’t bothered. And as for Connie? What had she done wrong to be so abandoned and deserted and left to soothe this crying, feeding machine in front of her?

  Joy curled up in a ball and cried. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be Kim’s mummy. I don’t know how … I want to die.

  Lee Walsh banged on Esme’s door as she was dosing. ‘Mother! I know you are in,’ she shouted through the letter box. ‘I want a word with you. What do you mean sending Connie’s letter back. Maria told me. Let me in or shall we have this conversation so the whole of Sutter’s Fold can hear?’

  Esme shuffled to the door and opened it reluctantly. She’d had a cruel visit from Levi on Boxing Day. She expected this would be much the same. ‘What’s all the fuss? She doesn’t live here and I don’t care to know where she is now. I gather I’ve you to thank for changing her mind.’

  ‘I didn’t need to persuade her. It was the most ridiculous idea in the first place. I just can’t believe my own mother could behave in such a harsh fashion with her own kith and kin. What’s got into you?’

  ‘Don’t you go telling me what to do. I’ve had an earful from Levi on the subject but I won’t be budged. It’s bad enough Neville being in the papers and poor Ivy having treatment in hospital for her nerves.’

  ‘Don’t poor Ivy, me. You know what she did to Marco Santini all those years ago, and she would sacrifice her own son for her own ends. Don’t go making an example of her, Mother. You are so very wrong about this. Poor Connie needs our help, not our condemnation. She’s not the first or last who makes a wrong decision and has to pay for it. I am ashamed of you! You’re not the woman I once knew … who took in strangers and their babies out of the good of her heart.’

  ‘I’m too old. Wait until you’re my age. It’ll be a different story then when Arthur starts playing you up. I have given my life to bringing up this family. It’s time I had a rest from nappies and noise. It’s my due.’ Why were her children taking sides against her in this matter?

  ‘All Connie needs is a place to support her child. She’ll do the rest …’

  ‘Like her mother, having to go off to work and leave me to baby-sit. I did it once but not again. I’m too old.’

  ‘Old? Old is a number in your head. You don’t want to do it, and I can understand why, but to throw her on the mercy of strangers … I hope you know what you’ve done?’

  ‘Why, what’s she up to now? Where is she?’

  ‘Safe, no thanks to you. You threw her out on Christmas Day! I never thought you mean-spirited but now I see a crabby old woman who thinks only of her comforts.’

  ‘Don’t you dare talk to your mother like that!’

  ‘I’ll speak as I find. I don’t like who you’ve become.’

  ‘Suit yourself. This is who I am now, but I won’t change my mind.’

  ‘Then there’s nothing more to be said. If Connie’s not welcome here then neither am I! Put that in your pipe and smoke it!’ Lee shouted. ‘I hope you enjoy your peace and quiet. There’ll be plenty of it from now on, Mother!’

  The door banged as Lee left in a huff and a puff.

  Esme sat down, stunned by this cruel outburst. Only a daughter knew how to wound, where to put the dagger to her heart. Why were they all ganging up on her? Arrest, divorce, pregnancy – she couldn’t hack it any more. Someone had to do the right thing, make a stand for Christian morality and respectability in this godless age. To condone Connie’s situation was wrong, wasn’t it?

  He who is without sin, cast the first stone … And yet, why did Jesus’s words toll like a bell in her ears?

  20

  Exile

  Diana Unsworth’s staff flat was spacious, with two bedrooms. It was attached to the children’s hostel, once a great Victorian house on the outskirts of Leeds. Most of the week, Diana lived alone and then her friend Hazel would come to visit from London by train.

  Hazel was a fellow nurse Guider, a part-time lover, Connie suspected. They shared a bed even before she’d taken over the second bedroom, which Diana used as an office. The two of them were kind, friendly but correct.

  ‘You can stay here as long as it is possible – until the confinement, that is. Perhaps you can give me a hand with the patients as an orderly; nothing too strenuous in your condition,’ Diana offered.

  Auntie Lee had taken her along to the Unsworths on Boxing Day, to their little party. Diana had whisked Connie into the kitchen to talk in private.

  ‘Oh dear, you are in trouble, aren’t you? But what’s broke can be fixed,’ she smiled. ‘You can stay with me for a while. No one will know you and there are places you can go when
it gets close to your time. I fear you’re going to have to make some big decisions, Connie. The biggest decisions of your life is whether to keep this child or find it a home. It’s not easy to put kids into a nursery these days. Since the war most of them have closed, and you’ll have to work. Adoption would give the baby a chance with parents in a better position than you to bring up a child.’ Diana could be so direct, looking at her with those slate-grey eyes. ‘If only your mother were alive,’ she sighed. ‘Such a pity.’

  ‘I don’t want adoption. I’ll manage on my own.’

  ‘I think you’d better wait until it’s born. The welfare officers will discuss these things better than I can, but babies cost money, Connie, a lot of money, so think carefully.’ The seeds of doubt were already being sown, gently but firmly planted. Diana was making everything real.

  Connie crossed over the Pennine Hills with a heavy heart. Gran’s anger and Ivy’s assault flashed into her mind. Better to go where nobody would judge her, but on bad mornings all she wanted to do was lie in bed. Then the little one inside had its own ideas and started to kick her into touch. ‘What do you want me to do?’ she whispered to it.

  Diana kept her busy bathing children with weak limbs and hunched backs, boys who nodded and banged their heads against the cots. The hostel was full of handicapped children and another doubt was planted in Connie’s mind. How would she cope if her baby was not healthy? What if it had been already harmed in some way?

  She fought off the doubts but the picture of Joy’s nursery, with all its equipment, worried her.

  One day, window shopping in Schofield’s baby department on The Headrow, she picked up a soft woollen blanket: blue, yellow and green plaid with a thick fringe, just right for a pram or cot, and not too expensive. On impulse she bought it and brushed it across her face. It smelled new and soft.