Family Chorus

by Claire Rayner

  She looked down at it, steaming there on the rag rug. The scent of the sugar and the lemon drifted to her nose as the steam curled lazily from it, and she suddenly thought how long it had been since that tea and toast in Wardour Street. She shivered again, for now the warmth was creeping into her slowly and she was more aware than she had been of her ice-cold feet. He laughed and said, ‘Go on, soppy! It won’t bite you! Time you tried. A young woman your age —’ And she thought confusedly of Bessie and the way she would fuss if she knew, and of Ambrose walking away and leaving her in Dean Street, and without realizing she had done it she had reached out and picked up the cup and sipped at its contents.

  It tasted lovely, sour and sweet and above all hot, with a herby pungency underlying the taste that was new to her tongue, but not disagreeably so, for she had smelled the juniper reek of gin all her life as she had walked past the myriad street corner pubs of the East End and the shouting raucous customers who came out of them to go reeling down the gutters singing and laughing and smelling as this steaming cupful tasted. She had never particularly liked the smell, but now that she could taste it as well it was rather pleasant. She sipped again, and the warmth from it spread gently from her throat down to her chest and then to her belly and moved outwards, wafting gentle fronds of sensation as it went. She grinned at him and sipped again.

  He got to his feet and went to sit in his armchair again, watching her as she sat there on the rug, her knees curled up and her arms resting on them as she held the cup to her lips and sipped steadily.

  ‘Like it, then?’ he said after a while. She looked up at him, her thick black hair swinging round her face as she turned and smiled, and he frowned suddenly. The light was failing outside the streaming windows as the rain went relentlessly on and on, and here in the front room of the small house there was just the flickering light of the fire and in it her eyes looked even more huge and slightly slanted than they were, and even darker. Her lashes shadowed her face startlingly and when she smiled, as she did now, the planes of her cheeks shifted and gave her a sculptured look. She’d never seemed pretty to his eyes, not like Maisie Kupfer with her fluffy red-gold hair and staring baby blue eyes, but now she looked more than pretty. She looked exciting, and not at all like the child he had known for so long.

  ‘Have a drop more,’ he said after a moment, and his voice sounded a little thicker, but she paid no attention. She was feeling better than she would have thought possible: comfortable and languorous and above all warm. She wriggled her shoulders inside the silkiness of the over-large dressing gown and it slipped a little: she knew it showed the shoulder of her stained chemise and didn’t care; she didn’t care about anything at all, she decided, not even horrible Ambrose leaving her in the street, and when Lenny Ganz came and crouched beside her on the rug again to make another cup of toddy for her — this time with rather more gin than the first one had contained — she watched him dreamily and said nothing, just picking up the cup to resume her steady sipping as soon as it was ready.

  He didn’t go back to his chair now, but stayed there squatting beside her, and after a while he shifted a little so that he was not squatting but sitting beside her, also with his knees drawn up and his cup held in both hands, as they both sat and stared at the fire.

  After a while he put his cup down and held his hands out to the flames. ‘Dry now, are you?’ he said in a conversational tone. ‘Got rid of all that damp?’ and he moved one hand to drop it lightly on her leg. ‘Those stockings dry, are they?’

  ‘Mmm?’ she said. ‘Stockings? Don’t know,’ and looked down at her legs and at his hand resting on the shin of one of them. It was odd how the movement of her head made her feel. It set the room dancing a little as well as the firelight; the light danced and the room danced, and as she looked at her leg it seemed to move too and she giggled. ‘Dancing!’ she said.

  ‘Lovely legs for dancing,’ he said at once, and his voice was still thick. ‘Lovely. Always said you was one of the best we had. Anyone can dance, but you’ve got something else. Style, that’s what you got. Style and personality, and lovely legs. Anyone ever told you that?’

  ‘No,’ she said, and moved her head sharply again, lifting it to look at him, wanting to make the room dance some more.

  ‘Well, you have,’ he said, and suddenly leaned forwards and kissed her mouth. They were so close together on the hearth-rug that he hardly had to move at all to reach her.

  ‘Good,’ she said, and then frowned a little. It was very odd how she felt. Her head was dancing all the time now and she wasn’t as sure as she had been that it was a dancing she really liked. And Mr Ganz was being —

  He leaned closer still and put an arm round her, and at first she pulled away, but that made the movement in her head increase. She stopped and that meant she leaned against him, because they were so close, and he felt the yielding in her and caught his breath sharply. He moved awkwardly on the hearth-rug, widening his legs to accommodate his sudden excitement and discomfort, and for a moment pulled away from her himself.

  ‘Here,’ he said and his voice now was very thick indeed. ‘Here, what the hell am I — here, this won’t do. I got to be mad or really pissed — am I pissed, lovey?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ she said, and giggled softly ‘I’ll tell the old B you swore at me, you go on talking like that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t swear at you,’ he said. ‘Nice little girl like you. You wouldn’t never tell the old B nothing about me, would you? She’s an old B to me as well as to you lot, you know. Tight with her money, tight with her — tight with everything. Not like you, eh?’ His arm closed more firmly round her as his moment of caution vanished, and he rested his cheek on top of her head. ‘Nice little girl like you. You got to have someone to look after you, you have. Talented little girl, got a big future, you have — lovely little girl; got lovely legs — dancing legs —’ And his hand again reached down to touch her shin. ‘Got to dry those lovely legs, haven’t we?’

  She looked up at him, pulling away so that she could see into his face, difficult though it was, for the room was darker now and the flickering firelight made everything she looked at seem to jump and dazzle. All she could see was a faint whiteness and the slash of his mouth and she said earnestly, ‘Am I a good dancer, Mr Ganz? Am I? Really?’

  ‘You’re the best, lovey, the best there is. Got a lot of talent — and I should know. Watched ’em come and go, come and go, and more gone than stayed — got a lot of talent.’ Suddenly his face loomed larger in her eyes as he bent forwards and kissed her again, his parted lips, hot and rather moist, pressing hard on hers and trying to force her lips apart too. She shook her head against that almost irritably, wanting to make him talk more.

  ‘Am I really good? Can I be a really top dancer? A real star, in a show like Hello Ragtime?’

  ‘Eh?’ He blinked in the dimness, peering at her, disconcerted. ‘Hello Ragtime? What about Hello Ragtime?’

  ‘Could I be a star in that?’ she said again, louder this time, for her voice was beginning to sound a long way away in her own ears and she was afraid he couldn’t hear her. ‘Could I get into a show like that?’

  ‘Of course you could, lovey, if you wanted to. Course you could —’ Again he bent forwards, his arm tightening even more around her while his other hand gripped her leg more firmly, moving upwards towards her knee.

  ‘How?’ she said, and tried to push him away, for the funny feeling in her head was changing now. She felt less dancing than she had, more muzzy, and she wanted to shake her head to get rid of the muzziness, but she couldn’t because he was holding her so tightly.

  But he couldn’t be pushed away and she began to feel breathless as his weight leaned on her more and more, and she was being pushed so that she was lying on the rug on her back and he was on top of her and the hand that had been on her leg had slipped up to her thigh and was pulling on it, the fingers digging in deeply so that they hurt, and she tried to call out to tell him to stop it, he was h
urting her, but somehow the more she moved the more excited he became.

  Her legs had to give way now because his fingers hurt so much, and she tried to move, tried to bend her knees upwards, but she couldn’t because he was too heavy for her, and she opened her mouth to yell at him but she couldn’t do that either, for his weight was completely on top of her now and her face was buried in his dressing gown.

  The muzziness had gone from her head now, and the dancing feeling. She felt sick as the heaviness on her pressed down harder and harder and he was pulling at her chemise and her drawers and now for the first time she was very frightened. To have her drawers torn — Bessie would go mad, Bessie would shout and cry. This was what Bessie had tried to talk about sometimes, getting all hot and red and never managing to explain properly. This was boys taking liberties, only it was a man. Liberties was what Bessie had called it and Lexie had never known what liberties meant before, but now she did as his fingers went scrabbling deeper between her legs, painfully, and she opened her mouth and tried to bite him, but got only a mouthful of dressing gown.

  She could feel his body against her now, not just hot and heavy but painfully hard as well, pushing against her legs, and she had a sudden image of Ambrose swaggering down the street towards the man with the moustache and she fought even harder, even though that seemed to make Lenny Ganz more excited, more breathless. Then at last she managed to turn her head and get her mouth open properly and took a breath, ready to scream, when above her head, many miles above her head it seemed, she heard it, and at first she was more frightened that she might come into the room and see it all than grateful it had stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

  Because suddenly he was gone, rolling off her, leaving her breathless on the rug, her drawers twisted around her bottom and her stockings torn, hearing Madame G. in the hallway outside, stamping her wet feet on the mat and calling, ‘Lenny?’ in a loud, imperious voice.

  10

  She was sitting on the rug with her hands held out to the fire when they came into the room, and she looked over her shoulder at Madame Gansella and smiled at her, a thin anxious smile, but in the dim light it looked normal enough.

  ‘I got ever so wet,’ she said. ‘It’s spoiled all my clothes. Did you get wet, Madame?’

  ‘Why did you bring the shoes?’ Madame demanded, staring at her, frowning. ‘I sent Alfie — Ambrose.’

  ‘He said I could go with him,’ Lexie said, and wriggled her bare toes in front of the fire, staring down at them so that her bobbed hair swung forwards and hid her face. It was easier to talk naturally when she couldn’t be seen. ‘Good thing I did, really. He had to go off somewhere after we got them, so he said I could bring them back. And they got wet. Are they all right?’

  ‘Hmmph. They’ll do. More by luck than judgement,’ Madame said. She pulled her own wet coat off and came over to the fire.

  ‘Well, it was better to open the parcel right away to see if they were all right, wasn’t it?’ Lenny said and leaned against the door, carefully not looking at Lexie. ‘I’d have looked sooner, only I was getting this stupid kid sorted out. You should have seen her. Looked like a drowned rat, it did. We’d ’a’ had her sister after us like Gawdelpus if we’d let her go home in that state.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Madame said and then, abruptly, ‘What did he do, Lexie?’

  ‘Who?’ Lexie said, feeling her face going red and not knowing what to do about it. She’d moved quickly as soon as Lenny had gone out to meet Madame in the hall, had pulled her clothes straight and dragged off her torn stockings and hidden the gin bottle under the chair again as fast as she could, knowing instinctively it was the right thing to do, the only thing to do, and now here she was asking questions —

  ‘Ambrose, who else?’ Madame snapped. ‘You said he had to go somewhere. Where did he go? What did he do?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said and considered for a moment. Tell her? Make a fuss for Ambrose? Cover up, box clever for Ambrose? She saw the image again, saw him walking away with her with that swaggering walk along Dean Street to the man with the moustache —

  ‘He met someone who said he could do better than be in your shows,’ she said clearly. ‘Fella from Hello Ragtime at the Hippodrome. He gave him a ticket for the matinée but there wasn’t one for me. So I had to bring the shoes home, and I got wet.’

  ‘Christ, I’ll kill that little bastard,’ Madame Gansella said and Lexie looked up, startled at the viciousness in her tone. ‘What’s he trying to do? Get me in real shtooch? For Christ’s sake, Lenny, didn’t you talk to him last time? I told you to tell him I won’t have it! He’ll get me in real trouble, the bloody little pansy —’ She stood up and turned back to the fire, then caught sight of Lexie staring at her and tried to smile. ‘Nothing to worry about, dearie. It’s just that — you know how it is, I don’t like you children going off with strangers.’

  ‘The man said he’d seen Ambrose before,’ Lexie said, remembering. ‘He said, “Nice to see you again.” But Ambrose didn’t reckon he’d seen him before, he said.’

  ‘It’s the sort of thing they always say,’ Madame said, and began to unpin her hair, letting its heavy swathes fall down her back to dry. She looked younger and yet tired that way, and Lexie looked at her and just for a moment wished she’d said nothing about Ambrose and the man with the moustache.

  ‘It’ll be all right, won’t it?’ she said now. ‘I mean, Ambrose, he’s all right. He’s grown-up. Seventeen —’

  ‘Not grown-up enough for that,’ Madame said.

  ‘For what?’ Lexie scrambled to her feet, carefully pulling the dressing gown round her as she did so, not looking at Lenny Ganz.

  ‘Never you mind, dearie. Just remember, people shouldn’t talk to strangers and certainly not go off with them. Even to matineés. Lenny — when he gets back, tell him. It’s a bad example for the younger ones, tell him. Tell him — oh, anything you like. Only it’s got to stop. You understand? He won’t listen to me, but maybe you’ll be able to get him to see —’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ Lenny said and opened the door. ‘See if your things are dry, shall I, Lexie? Time you were going home. Your sister’ll be home soon, wondering where you are —’

  ‘If I only had more boys, Can’t get my hands on boys, that’s the trouble. They don’t fancy dancing enough — and I’ve got to have boys for the show. Tell him, Lenny. He’ll listen to you, knows he’s got to learn to be trusted to take care of himself properly, stupid little — you hear me? As soon as he gets back, whenever that may be. Tell him.’

  Lenny said nothing but went out to the kitchen and brought back Lexie’s clothes, still damp, but she didn’t care about that. He gave them to her, still not looking at her, and she took them without a word and said to Madame Gansella, ‘Can I go upstairs to get dressed, please, Madame?’

  ‘Hmm? Oh yes. You could do it here, if you like. It’ll be warmer —’

  ‘I’d rather go upstairs,’ Lexie said, and Madame nodded tiredly and stretched her neck, rubbing at the back of it with her fists.

  ‘Well, at least you’ll be no trouble to me. Nice modest kid like you. All right, dearie. You go and get dressed, and thanks for bringing the shoes. I’ll sort out Ambrose tomorrow. And when you’re dressed, Lenny’ll see you to the bus home. Take the umbrella, Lenny. It’s still coming down cats and dogs. Tell your sister I’m sorry you got so wet — I dare say your things’ll be all right when they’re pressed —’ She sat down in the chair at the fire, rested her head on the back of it and closed her eyes.

  He said nothing all the way, walking punctiliously on the outside of the pavement, holding the umbrella carefully over her head, and not seeming to mind how splashed he was as horses clopped by and cabs thundered through the streaming gutters. Not until they got to the end of the road and the bus stop for the Mare Street bus that would take her back to Victoria Park Road did he say anything, and then it was as though the words were being squeezed out of him.

  ‘That was a funny game we g
ot to playing there, eh, Lexie?’

  ‘Game?’ she said. ‘I didn’t know it was a game.’ Don’t nag, don’t get excited, box clever, she thought suddenly, feeling icy cold, very much in control. Listen to him, don’t shout out now.

  He reddened and the hand holding the umbrella shook a little, sending a shower of drops scattering over his own head. ‘You know what I mean, lovey. I just got a bit soppy there, that’s all. Not my fault. You’re getting a big girl, you know, and you’re quite a — not my fault, you know.’

  ‘It wasn’t mine,’ she began hotly, and then stopped. Box clever, don’t nag — remember, don’t argue with people.

  ‘’Course not, lovey, ’course not. You was great, really you was. I mean, getting it all tidy and then sitting there as though —’ He shook his head in admiration, peering down at her in the darkness. ‘If you’d been twice your age you couldn’t ’a’ been cooler. Some actress you are, I tell you. Some actress.’

  ‘Yes?’ she said, pleased, and then shook her head. ‘I don’t feel well.’ Nausea was stirring inside, deep in her belly. ‘Don’t feel well.’

  ‘Got a cold coming, that’s what it is. Caught in the rain, caught a cold. Tell your sister you got a cold coming. She’ll dose you. Oh, yes and — here —’ He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small paper bag which he held out to her. ‘Have one of these.’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Cachoux. Breath sweeteners.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said and after a moment took one. It was sweet and sickly, tasting of violets, and she felt more nauseated than ever.