Give Me Tomorrow

by Jeanne Whitmee

  ‘Very wise. I don’t normally use the bus but my car is in for servicing today so I don’t suppose you’ve ever set eyes on me before.’ He smiled down at her.’ I’ve noticed you on several occasions though,’ he confessed as they walked along the pavement. ‘I’ve seen you with a little boy in a pushchair, at the corner shop and occasionally in the park.’

  ‘That’s Peter, my little grandson,’ she told him. ‘I take care of him while my daughter is at work. She’s a teacher.’ Suddenly she remembered that her services had just been discontinued and added, ‘Well, that is to say I used to take care of him.’

  ‘Used to?’ He looked down at her. ‘But surely he’s too young for school?’

  ‘My daughter and son-in-law are getting an au pair; a Dutch girl. Karen, my daughter, thinks I’m past it.’

  He laughed out loud. ‘Good heavens, these young people! Past it, indeed. The very idea!’

  They reached the corner of the street and the entrance to Snowden House.

  ‘This is me,’ Susan said. ‘Thank you so much for seeing me home. There aren’t many gentlemen around nowadays, more’s the pity.’

  He looked up at the small block of flats. ‘It looks very nice but I’m afraid I couldn’t bear to live in a flat,’ he said. ‘I love my garden too much.’

  ‘I’ve only been here a year,’ she told him. ‘And I miss my garden too. One of these days I’m going to buy myself a nice little bungalow with a garden.’ Remembering Karen’s bombshell she added, ‘Now that I won’t be taking Peter out, I won’t get enough exercise. I don’t like going for walks by myself and I hate those jolly hockey sticks keep-fit classes.’

  ‘I run a gardening club at the local college,’ he told her. ‘I know you don’t have a garden yet but you’d be very welcome to join – ready for when you get one.’ Reaching into an inside pocket, he took out a card and handed it to her. ‘The details are on there along with my telephone number. Think about it and give me a ring.’

  Susan stared down at the card, unable to make out any details in the rapidly fading light. ‘Thank you. It sounds really interesting. But surely you’ll be closing for the Christmas break soon?’

  ‘We still have a couple of sessions to go. If you’re interested you could treat it as a taster. No charge of course. Well, I mustn’t keep you standing here in the cold any longer,’ he said. ‘Give it some thought.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Edward Mumford by the way – Ted.’

  Susan took the proffered hand and found it large and strong. A typical gardener’s hand, she mused. ‘Lovely to meet you. I’m Susan,’ she told him. ‘Susan Davies.’

  Chapter Six

  The venue for the read-through was in a run-down church hall in Stoke Newington and I had a hell of a job to find it. When I finally tracked it down, in a scruffy back street, I was fifteen minutes late, hot and out of breath. The door creaked like something out of a budget horror film as I let myself in, and the atmosphere of damp mustiness nearly took my breath away. I needn’t have worried about being late. Paul clearly hadn’t arrived yet. In one corner of the large empty space, an assorted bunch of out-of-work actors sat on a semicircle of chairs next to an ancient upright piano; all of them half-hidden behind newspapers. They barely looked up as I entered and I didn’t recognize any of them.

  As I crossed the hall in my high-heeled shoes, my footsteps echoed embarrassingly on the bare floor and one of the assembled group looked up from her paper.

  ‘Hi there! Are you here for the read-through?’ I forced a smile at the middle-aged woman, taking in the tatty fake-fur coat and jeans. Her hair, an unlikely flame colour, was tied back with a purple scrunchie. She didn’t look much like Jane Austen material.

  ‘Yes. I’m playing the leading part actually,’ I told her. What part could she possibly be playing? I asked myself. Although it was only a read-through, I’d made a special effort with my appearance this morning but she looked as though she’d thrown on the first thing she’d picked up off the floor.

  ‘Really? Good for you. Come and sit down. I’m Carla Dean and I’m playing Mrs Bennet.’ She looked me up and down critically and chuckled. ‘Odd, that, isn’t it? Seeing that we’re obviously about the same age.’

  I chose to ignore the barbed remark. ‘Is there any coffee?’ I asked through clenched teeth.

  She laughed. ‘Coffee? You must be joking, darling. Don’t know if you’ve noticed but this is hardly the Ritz. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait till after. I think there’s a café round the corner.’ Her voice was deep and throaty and she exuded a powerful odour of tobacco.

  ‘Is Paul here?’ I asked as I took a seat.

  ‘Not yet.’ Carla opened her bag and took out a packet of cigarettes. ‘I’m going to slip outside for a drag.’ She offered me the packet. ‘Join me?’

  ‘No, thanks. I don’t smoke,’ I told her stiffly. ‘I try to look after my voice.’

  ‘OK, suit yourself,’ Carla said good-naturedly as she stood up. ‘Looks as though His Lordship’s going to be late.’ She crossed the hall, her scuffed trainers making no sound on the bare boards. As she reached the door, it opened to admit a man. Everyone perked up with a rustle of newspapers, but when they saw that it wasn’t Paul they relaxed again. As he came closer my heart gave a leap of recognition.

  ‘Mark!’ I said. ‘Mark Naylor!’

  His face broke into a smile. ‘If it isn’t little Lou Davies. What a lovely surprise. Bloody hell! I haven’t set eyes on you since drama school. How long is it – twenty years?’’

  ‘Nowhere near! Don’t exaggerate.’ I glanced around, hoping no one else had heard his crashingly tactless remark. ‘And actually, it’s Louise Delmar nowadays,’ I added, lowering my voice.

  He pulled a comically apologetic face. ‘Whoops – sorry – on both counts.’ He fetched a chair from the stack in the corner and sat down beside me. ‘Well, this is a surprise,’ he said. ‘How did you get involved in this little epic?’

  ‘In the usual way – through my agent,’ I told him. ‘I’m playing Elizabeth.’

  His eyebrows rose. ‘The lead, no less. Wow! Good for you.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Wickham,’ he said. ‘Not much of a singing part but then I’m not much of a singer.’ He nudged my shoulder. ‘So – what have you been up to all these years? I must say you look as if you’ve done all right. Come on, tell me all about yourself.’

  ‘I haven’t done too badly,’ I told him non-committally.

  He glanced down at my hands. ‘Married?’

  ‘Good heavens, no! You?’

  ‘Need you ask? You blighted my love life forever. After you turned me down, I never looked at anyone else.’

  I laughed. ‘I don’t believe a word of it.’ Mark had been besotted with me when we were at drama school – used to follow me around like a lost puppy. I’d been fond of him too. He was always such fun, but he didn’t have a lot going for him. He wasn’t blessed with looks and he had neither cash nor influence, all of which were important to me back then. Well, still are. When he asked me to marry him and I turned him down, he insisted in his over-the-top, flamboyant way that I’d broken his heart. To be honest, I was never all that certain that he was serious. Most people thought he was gay, although I knew from experience that he most definitely wasn’t. Once we left our paths hadn’t crossed again – till now.

  I opened my mouth to answer him but before I could reply, the door creaked opened to admit Carla, accompanied by Paul Fortune. Feet shuffled and newspapers were hastily folded away as the rest of the cast came to life. Paul apologized for his lateness.

  ‘Sorry, folks,’ he said. ‘Had a string of phone calls just as I was about to leave. Are we all here?’ He looked round and his eyes alighted on me. ‘Ah, Louise. Glad you could make it.’

  Mark nudged me. ‘Ooh! Looks like you’re well in there, sweetie.’

  ‘He saw me in a show I was in a couple of months ago and offered me the part on the spot,’ I told him, massaging the
truth slightly. ‘We’ve had lunch together a couple of times – along with Harry, my agent, of course.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ He treated me to his quizzical, lopsided grin. ‘You’ll be telling me next that you haven’t been to his flat on your own.’

  I gave him my enigmatic smile. ‘Just the once.’

  ‘Snap!’ he said with a flash of his sharp blue eyes.

  I felt my eyebrows shoot up. ‘You’ve been too?’ I wanted to ask more but Paul was handing round the scripts.

  ‘With your permission, I’ll run through the songs for you before we start reading. Just so that you can get an idea of the melodies,’ he said. He pulled a face as he lifted the lid of the piano to expose the discoloured keyboard. He placed his music on the dusty stand. ‘I’d better apologize in advance,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a feeling this old girl isn’t exactly a Steinway.’

  ‘Or even a Yamaha,’ Carla quipped. A half-hearted ripple of laughter went round the rest of the cast and I nudged Mark. ‘She’s playing Mrs Bennet,’ I whispered. ‘She thinks she’s Judi Dench!’

  Mark smothered his splutter of laughter behind his hand. ‘Behave!’ he whispered back.

  The read-through went off reasonably well and when it was over, Paul seemed quite pleased.

  ‘Sorry, people, but I’m going to have to rush,’ he said as he crammed his music into his briefcase. ‘I’ve got all your addresses so I’ll post you a rehearsal schedule as soon as. Do please start learning your lines. We’ll start working on the songs once we all get together with a decent piano. It won’t be till after Christmas now. Have a good holiday, all of you.’

  As we packed up our scripts I turned to Mark. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m spitting feathers. Do you fancy a coffee?’

  He nodded. ‘You bet.’

  I glanced across to where Carla Dean was deep in conversation with another member of the cast. ‘Quick,’ I said, grabbing Mark’s arm. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here before we get stuck with her.’

  We found a decent-looking pub and ended up ordering lunch from the tempting-looking menu. As we waited with our much-needed drinks, Mark took his coat off and for the first time I noticed his expensive, well-cut trousers and cashmere sweater. In our student days, he wore tattered jeans and T-shirts. As he reached out a hand for his drink, I also noticed the Rolex watch on his wrist.

  ‘You look very prosperous,’ I remarked. ‘Have you been successful, or just lucky?’

  He grinned and lifted his whisky and soda with a flourish. ‘Here’s to us, darling.’ He took a sip and looked thoughtful. ‘Successful or lucky? Mmm, I guess I’ve had a bit of both. I’ve had a few small parts in touring plays. You don’t get rich on that but it was enough to keep me ticking over. No, the best break I had was when an uncle of mine died. He’d made a lot of money in his day – out of pet food, would you believe. He’d never married or had a family and he didn’t leave a will, so as his next of kin I copped for the whole shebang.’

  ‘Well, well! Pet food, eh?’ I raised my gin and tonic. ‘Congratulations. Here’s to my very own pedigree chum!’

  He laughed. ‘Nicely put. I see you haven’t lost your razor sharp wit!’

  ‘So – I expect you live in a stately home in Surrey or somewhere.’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Part of the legacy was my uncle’s apartment in Stanmore. It was nicely furnished and equipped so I just moved in there. It’s quite handy for the Tube. I can get up to the West End in half an hour.’ He took a sip of his drink.

  I studied him over the rim of my glass. ‘So – now that you’re in the money, why on earth are you still bothering to work?’

  He gave me a whimsical smile. ‘This business gets under your skin. You know; the sound of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd! I know I’ll never have my name up in lights. I’m not very good. I’ve always known that, but the whole thing – atmosphere, excitement – it’s very seductive.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Being offered the part in this show has been a huge break-through for me.’ He smiled. ‘The West End, eh? I only hope I can hack it. I’m sure you remember my flair for fluffing lines.’

  I laughed. ‘I remember your genius for ad-libbing. More than once you were the cause of sheer chaos. By the way, what did you think of the rest of the cast?’

  He grinned. ‘Bit of a motley crew. Your Darcy’s not bad-looking, though I’d swear he’s wearing a wig. Nobody’s hair is that perfect; either that or he spends a fortune on hairdressing.’ He glanced at me. ‘Speaking of which, have you been asked to put cash into this show?’ When I nodded he asked, ‘So how did you come by the necessary readies?’

  ‘My dad died and left me the family home.’

  ‘Wow!’ His eyebrows rose. ‘That must have been a blow to the rest of the family.’

  ‘Oh, they’re all right,’ I told him airily. ‘My sister is married to a guy with a fabulous job and Dad left my stepmother enough to keep her comfortable. They were fine about it.’

  ‘Good! So you and I are in the money at last? A far cry from those hard-up drama-school days.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  As our food arrived, I took in Mark’s appearance again. He’d changed quite a bit. The old Mark with his sense of fun and his flamboyant manner was just the same, but the brown hair that had once straggled down to his shoulders was now cut in a crisp, short style and frosted at the temples in the very best romantic novel fashion. His wiry, stick-thin body had broadened into quite a presentable physique and the few lines on his face actually improved his looks. He turned and smiled at me as the waiter walked away.

  ‘Well, this looks pretty good to me. I’m starving.’ He picked up his napkin and tucked it under his chin.

  Yes, he’s certainly improved with age, I told myself. Not to mention the fact that he’d come into money too. Maybe it was fate, our meeting up again.

  ‘Where do you live?’ he asked.

  ‘Earl’s Court. A little flat I keep for when I’m up in town,’ I told him glibly.

  ‘Right, so will you be staying there for Christmas?’

  I shook my head. ‘Oh, no. I expect I’ll be going home. I’ve had several invitations but you know how it is; Christmas is the time for families, isn’t it? They’d be so disappointed if I cried off, especially Peter, my little nephew.’

  He looked wistful. ‘I see. You’re so lucky. Unfortunately both my folks died a few years ago – within weeks of one another. And my sister lives in Australia, so for me it’ll just be a solitary frozen dinner-for-one and The Great Escape on the telly.’

  ‘Why don’t you book into a hotel?’ I asked, wishing I hadn’t been quite so quick off the mark with the self-boosting lies.

  He shook his head. ‘I tried that once but the place was full of sad, lonely bastards like me; very depressing.’ His eyes brightened into the warm smile I remembered so well. ‘The best Christmas present I could have had is meeting you again,’ he said, squeezing my hand.

  As we parted on the pavement outside, we exchanged mobile numbers.

  ‘See you when we start rehearsals,’ Mark said. ‘Take care and have a lovely time with your folks.’

  I watched wistfully as he walked off down the street towards the Underground station. Why did I have to come out with all those bloody lies? I asked myself. If we were going to be seeing a lot of each other, the truth was bound to come out sooner or later, and I was going to have to think up a lot more fibs to cover myself. They rolled off my tongue without my even thinking. It was a defence method I’d learned as a child getting mercilessly bullied at school, and somehow it had become a habit I couldn’t shake off. I never even stopped to think about the consequences – even fleetingly believing in my own fantasies at times. It had landed me in trouble more than once in the past. As I turned towards the bus stop, I mentally kicked myself.

  ‘Why is it you never learn, you silly cow?’ I muttered.

  It really had been lovely meeting Mark again. No one except my dad had ever really loved
me as he had and I’d chucked it back in his face. I’d been rotten to him back in our student days but he obviously held no grudges. As I boarded the bus, I resolved to make it up to him in the months that followed.

  ‘I take it you’re going home for Christmas?’ Dianne asked as we prepared the evening meal together later. She hadn’t even asked me about the read-through when she got in from work and I was feeling a bit miffed; too proud to bring it up myself. The only thing that seemed to concern her was that I’d remembered to do some shopping on my way home. I thought she’d have thanked me but she just seemed to take it for granted.

  She glanced at me. ‘Are you, then – going home, I mean?’

  ‘I haven’t actually been invited,’ I replied. ‘I had a text from Karrie to say that they’ve got this Dutch au pair living with them so that’s obviously a hint that there won’t be room for me.’

  ‘Can’t you stay with your stepmother?’

  I shrugged. ‘Her sofa isn’t exactly what you’d call comfy. It’s only a two-seater and lumpy with it. Anyway, I expect she’ll be going to Karrie and Simon’s for the day.’

  ‘You could go too. And the sofa can’t be all that bad – just for a few days.’

  I looked at her. ‘I thought you and I would be spending Christmas together,’ I confessed. ‘I was quite looking forward to it and I don’t want to push in where I’m not really wanted.’

  She looked uncomfortable, her head bent over the potatoes she was peeling. ‘The thing is, Lou, my parents really want me to go home. My brother is getting engaged and they’re planning a party on Boxing Day.’

  ‘Oh, well you must go of course. I’ll be OK here on my own.’ Privately, I thought she might have suggested taking me along too.

  Dianne frowned. ‘I’m not allowed to sublet the flat, Lou,’ she said.

  I laughed. ‘Sublet? I’ll only be staying here for a few days on my own, surely that doesn’t constitute subletting?’

  She dropped the potatoes into a saucepan of water and lit the gas under it, turning to me with a determined expression. ‘To be brutally honest, Lou, I’d rather not leave you in the flat on your own.’