by Imogen Clark
‘What?’ asked Anna, her nose wrinkling in confusion. ‘Mum, can you tell Dad to stop using such long words and talk proper English.’
‘Whatever has become of education in this country?’ joked her father. ‘I mean, my smallest child, that acting will not keep the proverbial wolf from the door.’
Anna still looked confused.
‘He means you don’t get paid much,’ explained Clare.
‘Oh. Well, why didn’t he just say that?’ asked Anna.
‘Because he’s Dad and why use one word when ten will do,’ replied Clare.
‘Anyway . . .’ Miriam almost had to shout over them to regain their attention. ‘I have been looking into it very carefully.’ She threw a glance at her father to make sure that he had heard. He was always encouraging them to research things that interested them.
‘The best drama school in the country is RADA and so I have applied there. I’ll have to attend an audition, of course, but once I’ve been offered a place I shall move down to London as soon as I’ve finished my A levels. RADA isn’t fussy about grades. They are only bothered about talent so it doesn’t really matter what grades I get.’
Miriam could sense a change in the atmosphere around the table. Her mother, who had been about to drift off, was looking directly at her with something that might have been concern written across her face, but the greatest shift was in her father. He didn’t speak for a moment but when he did all trace of his Shakespearean actor’s voice was gone.
‘Hmmm,’ he said slowly, as if he were choosing his words with great care. ‘This is new. I had no idea that you were harbouring thespian aspirations.’
Anna was about to say ‘What?!’ again but Clare put a hand on her arm.
‘Shhh,’ Clare mouthed.
‘Well, I am. I mean, I have done for a while. Well, for ages, really.’ Miriam could hear herself stumble under her father’s gaze. ‘I didn’t say anything, well, because I wanted to learn all the facts first, Dad, like you always tell us to.’ She paused to collect her praise but when none was forthcoming she pressed on. ‘And now that I’ve found it all out, I’m ready to work as hard as I possibly can to make my dream come true. You always say that if we want anything badly enough then we have to work hard to achieve it, don’t you?’
‘Indeed I do,’ said her father thoughtfully. ‘Indeed I do. What concerns me slightly with this plan of yours, and I do appreciate that you have thought it all through to the best of your abilities and done all your research, but what concerns me . . .’ He paused and rubbed his chin. ‘What concerns me,’ he continued, ‘is that acting isn’t really a job. It’s fine as a hobby. I’ve got no issues with you spending your spare time treading the boards. But to go to drama school? Well, that’s a horse of a different colour. A different colour altogether.’
‘I don’t really see why,’ said Miriam. This was not going the way she had anticipated, had practised in her head. ‘You want me to finish school and go to college, so that’s what I’m going to do.’
At last her mother spoke. ‘I think what your father means is that we were expecting you’d be away to do teaching training or to learn to be a secretary. Qualifications that will lead to a good job at the end of them. But acting? It’s not really—’
Her father interrupted. ‘It’s not at all what we had in mind and you can take it from me that it’s not going to happen.’ His tone had changed entirely now. ‘You will stay on at school next year, study hard and do well with your A levels, and then we can talk about college. But drama school? I think you need to get that idea out of your pretty little head.’
Miriam could feel her breath deepen as her heart beat faster in her chest. She caught sight of Clare, who was smirking. This brought the anger that had been growing deep inside her much closer to the surface. Using almost all her willpower, she ignored Clare and spoke as calmly as she could.
‘Well, it’s too late,’ she said. ‘I have already posted my application to RADA and there’s nothing you can do about it. And when they write to offer me an audition, and they will, I shall go down to London by myself either with or without your blessing.’
Her father’s cheeks blazed red, his fancy words all gone. ‘You will do no such thing, young lady. I expressly forbid you to have anything further to do with RADA – or any other drama schools, for that matter. You can put the whole ludicrous idea out of your mind once and for all. There is no way any child of mine, especially one with your brains and potential, is going to flush it all down the toilet—’
‘Frank!’ her mother said. ‘Language, please! Not at the table.’
‘. . . is going to flush it down the toilet,’ her father continued emphatically, ‘by wasting her time at some half-baked drama school for losers and wastrels.’
‘But, Dad, it’s RADA. The Roy-al Ac-ad-emy,’ she said, emphasising each syllable, her frustration making her cheekier than she’d normally be. ‘That means that the Queen approves of it. You remember the Queen, that woman that we’re all running ourselves ragged to celebrate tomorrow?’
‘Miriam!’ admonished her mother. ‘Don’t speak to your father like that.’ But Miriam didn’t care. It was all going wrong and she could see no way of saving it. In the space of ten minutes her entire life had shattered into a million pieces.
‘You’re being ridiculous,’ she added, but she knew she had gone too far. She saw her father’s hand pull back to slap her, although he had no hope of reaching her from where he was sitting.
‘Go to your room,’ he said slowly through tight lips. ‘I will not be spoken to in this manner. This is my house and whilst you are under my roof you will do as you are told. I do not want to discuss this again. The matter is closed.’
Miriam stood up, almost knocking her chair over in her haste, and ran from the room. She chased up the stairs and into her bedroom and threw herself on to the bed, where she lay and sobbed.
After a few minutes the sobbing became too exhausting and she dropped a level to merely sniffing. By the time a little knock came at the door, she was sitting in front of her mirror watching how her mouth twisted itself when she cried.
‘Can I come in?’ asked a small voice.
‘No,’ said Miriam, and then, ‘Okay.’
Anna’s head appeared slowly around the door, followed by the rest of her.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
‘No,’ said Miriam.
‘I thought you were awfully brave standing up to Daddy like that.’
Miriam didn’t speak but just looked gratefully at her sister. Anna was okay, really, when she wasn’t being bossy.
‘It was a bit of a silly idea, though, wasn’t it?’ Anna continued. ‘I mean, if that RADA place is the best in the country like you say, then why on earth would they want you?’
Anna smiled a tight little smile at her, turned on her heel and left.
Miriam stared at the spot where she’d stood, seething but not able to think of a retort fast enough. Sometimes she really hated her sisters. What did Anna know anyway? What did any of them know? Maybe they’d get used to the idea. She could leave it for a couple of days, wait until this whole street party business was out of the way, and then she’d mention it again, casually, like nothing had been settled. They would all have calmed down by then and her father might look at things differently. Yes, that’s what she’d do. She’d carry on as if nothing had happened. No point sulking like Clare. She would forget the whole row and then try again in a while. Maybe by then she would have heard from RADA with the date for her audition. They were bound change their minds when she had the actual audition coming up.
She could hear the sounds of washing-up in the kitchen, Anna and Clare fighting about who would dry and who would put away. With her out of the way, her mother must be having to wash the plates. A little shiver of guilt passed over her but then her mother had hardly defended her corner. So what if she had to do the washing-up for once? They shouldn’t have sent her to her bedroom if they wanted
her to do it.
Later, when the noises from the street were quietening, there was another tap at her door.
‘Miriam?’ came her mother’s voice. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your father’s gone to the pub for a quick pint with some of the chaps. You can come downstairs and watch some television with us if you’d like.’
‘No, thank you,’ said Miriam. Her voice sounded more petulant than she had intended.
Her mother hovered by the door, clearly unsure whether Miriam wanted to talk to her. As Miriam didn’t speak, her mother made her way to the bed and carefully lowered herself down on to it. Miriam’s attempts to give her the cold shoulder evaporated.
‘Are you okay, Mum. Have you hurt your back?’
‘I must have overdone it,’ she said, rubbing at the hollow of her spine. ‘A good night’s rest is all I need. I’ll be right as rain by morning. I think I’ll go to bed, though. It’s been a long day, what with one thing and another.’ Slowly, she raised herself back up and headed for the door. ‘Your father only wants what’s best for you, Miriam,’ she said, turning back. ‘You know that, don’t you? And you did rather throw him off guard, so you did. We can talk to him again when he’s calmed down but if I were you I’d put all ideas of drama school out of your mind. Perhaps you could teach English instead – and Drama too, maybe. And we can look into seeing who does plays round here that you could join in with. How would that be?’
That would be diabolical, thought Miriam, but she didn’t say so.
‘Goodnight, Mum,’ she said instead.
IV
The first thing Miriam heard when she woke the following morning was the sound of the vacuum cleaner. Groaning, she turned to look at her alarm clock. It was just after six. Why was her mother hoovering? At this time? The party was going to be outside in the street, not in their house. She rolled on to her back and stared up at the ceiling. Judging by the strength of the light filtering through her curtains, it was not going to be a bad day. At least it wouldn’t rain.
It might come today, the letter from RADA, although if it did she’d keep it under her hat, at least until after the street party. She was surprised to find that she was looking forward to the party. Clare was refusing to go but then that was Clare all over. She preferred to spend the day under the radar with her friends. By contrast, Anna was quite keen on the idea, no doubt so that she could smile prettily at the neighbours and get them all to say how lovely she was, which they would.
The vacuum cleaner stopped humming downstairs. Any minute now her mother would come and knock on her bedroom door. There was no such thing as a lie-in in the Bliss household. Her mother didn’t believe in lazing around wasting time in bed. Miriam heard her mother’s slow, heavy tread up the stairs, heard her rapping on first Clare’s and then Anna’s door, heard the complaining groan from Clare.
‘Miriam? Are you up?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ Miriam lied.
‘It’ll be all hands to the pumps today and that’s the truth of it,’ her mother was saying as Miriam walked into the kitchen. ‘Clare, I’ll be needing you to finish those trifles. Miriam and Anna can be getting on with the sandwiches. We’re doing cheese, Spam and jam. Don’t bother cutting off the crusts. We need the food to stretch as far as it can. They’ll all come crawling out of the woodwork when the stuff’s on the table, you see if they don’t. There’s plenty of white sliced in the pantry but go easy on the cheese. Then when those are done you can go see if you can help Mrs Connors with setting up the tables. We can’t be doing that too early, though, or the plates and cups might blow away. She says she’s found some fancy ones with Union Jacks on them but I’m not sure there will be enough to go round, so we might have to fill in with those plain red ones that I got in Kwik Save.’
There was no point interrupting. Her mother came at the arrangements like a tornado, picking up and carrying anyone who got in her way. There was something about her enthusiasm that seemed a little forced, though, Miriam thought, and she had uncharacteristically dark circles under her eyes. No one else seemed to have noticed, though. Miriam knew that she was the only one tuned in at this higher level of perception.
‘Of course, the most important task of the day falls to me,’ said her father with mock self-importance. ‘The hanging of the red, white and blue bunting without which no self-respecting Royalist function can proceed.’
‘Well, mind you don’t fall off that ladder,’ said her mother. ‘I’ve enough on without a trip to the hospital.’
‘Do not trouble your pretty little head, oh light of my life. I will be the image of prudence as I affix the garlands to the lamp posts. I do need to go now, though’ – he wiped the corner of his mouth with his ring finger in an effete gesture which seemed out of place – ‘or they will appoint someone else Gaffer. I will see you ’orrible lot later.’ He winked at Anna as he left. ‘Extra jam in my butties, please!’ – and then he was gone.
The girls, working as an unlikely team, got on with clearing the breakfast dishes and then Miriam and Anna set up a sandwich production line whilst Clare whipped cream and decanted custard from pan to quivering jelly and lady’s fingers.
‘How long do you reckon we have to stay?’ asked Clare as she licked custard from the wooden spoon. ‘I mean, once it gets going no one’s going to notice whether we’re there or not.’
‘Well, where else are you going to be?’ asked Miriam. ‘The whole street will be there. The whole country will be having parties. I think it’ll be fun. It’s like being a part of history.’
Clare scowled. ‘Do you think we’ll be able to get our hands on any booze?’
Miriam threw a warning glance at Clare, nodding her head in Anna’s direction. If Anna had noticed, then she gave a good impression of pretending that she hadn’t.
‘Probably,’ said Miriam quietly. If Anna hadn’t noticed before, her ears would definitely be flapping now. ‘I think Dad said there are some kegs of Double Diamond and some cider too. You’ll just have to be discreet about it but once things get going I doubt very much that anyone will notice. Well, apart from Mum, of course.’
‘I’m supposed to be meeting Stuart Kingsley but I might not bother.’ Clare was trying to sound as casual as she could but Miriam knew her well enough to recognise the excitement in her voice.
‘Isn’t he seeing Ruth Dixon?’ she asked, simply to cause trouble.
‘That’s all over. She’s a jealous cow. Stuart’s well rid of her.’ Clare smoothed the whipped cream over the custard.
‘Can I put on the sprinkles?’ asked Anna, and Clare handed her the tub of hundreds and thousands with a resigned air.
Six hours later and the party was well under way. Everyone seemed to have come out on to the street. A few people had even made an effort with costumes, although most had restricted their patriotic garb to a plastic Union Jack bowler hat. The trestle tables ran the length of the road, each decked with paper cloths and platters of sandwiches, sausage rolls and fairy cakes. Miriam was sitting not far from their own front door with Anna to her left and Malcolm from next door to her right. She was blocking his tedious conversation about the Silver Jubilee First Day Covers by turning away from him and trying to talk to Anna, but he seemed happy to continue the conversation with her back and she didn’t have the heart to ignore him completely.
Clare had disappeared shortly after the food had arrived, only to appear not long after with a pint glass which seemed to hold more froth than beer and Stuart Kingsley in tow. Miriam had not seen her father since opening time, which was not surprising, but of more concern was the absence of her mother. Her mother was always centre-stage at this kind of occasion. She would expect to see her bustling around with food, making sure that everyone had what they needed. This task seemed to have fallen to Mrs Connors, Malcolm’s mum, whose hostess skills were less well honed. Miriam could see her now, forcing a Spam sandwich on a rather nervous-looking man with a handlebar moustache.
Scrap
ing the remains of her trifle from the waxed paper bowl and popping it into her mouth, Miriam stood up and excused herself. Malcolm was still talking about stamps and Anna had slipped under the table and was now directing play from beneath the tablecloth. Miriam thought she might start her hunt at home. Her mother could have taken herself for a quiet sit-down. It wasn’t much like her but then she had done a lot of things that were out of character recently. She walked to their front door and quietly let herself in. The door closed behind her and muffled the sound of the party outside. She stood with her back against it and listened to the laughter. It all seemed to be going really well. Mum would be pleased.
Her attention was caught by a strange noise that she didn’t recognise. It was out of kilter with the sounds of the party but she couldn’t identify it. The sound stopped and then started up again. It sounded a bit like moaning. Miriam strained to listen but she couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
‘Mum?’ she shouted. ‘Are you here?’
There was no reply but then came another moan, louder this time and most definitely from inside the house.
‘Mum?!’
Miriam set off up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Just as she reached the landing the moaning changed into something that was nearer a grunt. Miriam flung open the door to her parents’ room and there on the bed was her mother. She was lying on her back, her knees drawn up and her skirt serving no function whatsoever. Her knickers were discarded on the floor. They were wet.
‘Mum? What’s the matter?’
Even as Miriam spoke, she was surveying the scene and piecing together the evidence.
‘Miriam. Thank God,’ said her mother through gritted teeth. ‘You’re going to have to help me. I need some hot water and plenty of clean towels.’
Miriam didn’t respond. Whilst she could see what was happening, she couldn’t quite believe her eyes.
‘Miriam. Please,’ said her mother through what must have been another contraction. ‘I need you to do as I say.’