The Street of Broken Dreams

by Tania Crosse

  Sean put his arm around Cissie’s waist as he directed her towards the door. But Cissie could feel Deirdre’s eyes boring into her back. A shiver of unease slithered down her spine.

  *

  Two tall young men, accompanied by an older, slightly shorter fellow, turned the corner from Stanmer Street into Banbury Street. The older chap wore an old flat cap, while the two youths were bare-headed, but all three were dressed in workman’s clothes. It was lunchtime one warm Saturday in June, and two of the three had removed their jackets and carried them slung over one shoulder.

  ‘See you Monday if not before, laddie,’ Stan called as Zac turned into Number Twelve, and he and Jake went on to Number Eight.

  Jake followed his father inside. He would definitely see Zac before Monday! Once he’d swallowed whatever Eva had rustled up for dinner, he was going to call on Cissie and ask if she’d like to go for a walk in the park. Mildred was on shift, so it would just be the two of them, and he couldn’t wait. They’d become good friends in the six or seven weeks since her family had moved in. He wouldn’t push her, but he was hoping that, in time, they could become more than that. And his heart beat harder at the thought.

  ‘Hello, love. Hello, Jake,’ Eva greeted them as they walked straight into the back room. ‘Have a good morning?’

  ‘Yeah, fine, thanks, love. Mmm, something smells good.’

  Indeed, Jake’s nostrils, too, flared as the aroma of some sort of stew wafted in from the stove in the scullery. Rationing hadn’t improved and obtaining ingredients was still difficult, but his mum seemed to have learnt some tips from her new friend, Bridie, and her cooking had improved. Her old friend, Nell, had apparently been a good cook, too, but none of it had rubbed off on Eva at the time. In those days, she’d been too busy with their young family and caring for Old Sal, Stan had confided in his son. But now she had more time on her hands and they were all benefitting.

  ‘Oh, Jake, there’s a letter for you, love,’ Eva announced as she carried in the large saucepan of stew. ‘Up on the mantelpiece. Looks like it could be from the fire brigade.’

  Jake gulped down his heart that had jumped up into his throat and then banged against his ribs when it slotted back into its rightful place. It had been weeks since he’d written in, asking if he could train to be a full-time fireman when he reached the minimum age of eighteen in July and reminding them of how he’d been a runner for the brigade while the war was still on and had helped tackle blazes caused by the flying bombs. Now, the envelope fluttered in his shaking hands and he had to force himself to tear it open.

  The typed words leapt about on the page as he strove to focus on them, sweat oozing uncomfortably from every pore. This was it. His future. His eyes scanned the lines, his brain not taking them in, and then he went back to re-read them properly.

  ‘Well?’ His mum’s face was beaming expectantly at his shoulder. ‘You gonna keep us in suspenders all day?’

  Jake couldn’t answer. A lead weight had landed heavily in his belly, and he silently handed the letter to Eva. Her face was still bright as she read the letter, but the smile slowly faded from her lips.

  ‘Oh, Jake,’ she breathed, aching for her son. ‘I’m so sorry, love. I know what it meant to you.’

  A deep frown folded Stan’s forehead. ‘Why, what’s it say?’

  ‘They say they’re sorry but they ain’t taking on no one new,’ Eva summarised, her voice portraying all the disappointment she knew her son was feeling. ‘It says the fire brigade’ll be contracting now there ain’t no more bombs. And even though it was a reserved occupation, some full-timers went to fight anyway, and when they’re demobbed they’ll have to try and find jobs for them first. Oh, but look here, Jake.’ Eva tried to sound enthusiastic. ‘They’ve said they’ve put your name on a list and’ll let you know if anything comes up in the future. So all ain’t lost yet, love.’

  Jake gave his mother a wan smile. He knew she was trying to restore his hopes, bless her, but it wouldn’t work. All his aspirations for the future had been torn to ribbons. He wanted to make something of his life. Like his elder brother, Kit, had done. And now it had been taken away.

  ‘Oh, well.’ He gave what he hoped appeared as a casual shrug. Deliberately tamping down his frustrations, he stepped into the scullery and out of the back door into the yard to shut himself in the lav. He needed a few moments to compose himself. He knew his mum and dad would share his disappointment, but for him it was more than that. Assisting the fire brigade had ignited a passion within him. Now his dreams lay shattered at his feet.

  He would have to put on a brave face. Despite his feelings of defeat, he would have to pull himself together. He was almost eighteen. A man. Time to act like one.

  So, what now? He certainly didn’t want to work at Price’s for the rest of his life. And it seemed to them all that Price’s long-term future was uncertain anyway.

  When Jake went back indoors, Eva was serving out the stew and ladled an extra large portion onto Jake’s plate. He hid a wry smile. His mum’s way of expressing her sympathy.

  ‘I don’t really want that much, Mum,’ he said gently, scraping some back into the pan.

  ‘You’ve got to eat, love.’

  ‘I know, Mum. But a normal portion. I’m not that hungry.’

  ‘So, you’re gonna have to rethink things, son.’ Stan’s words were calm. Rock solid. ‘Any ideas? Police, perhaps?’

  Jake sucked in his lips. He knew his dad wanted to help, but first he needed to get over the emptiness that weighed inside him.

  ‘Probably be the same story there,’ he sighed. ‘Anyway, it’s not the same. And I wouldn’t want to be dealing with criminals all the time. I’ll have to reconsider my future now, I guess.’

  ‘Well, you’re young enough, so you’ve plenty of time.’ Eva wagged her head. ‘So eat up. Jam roly-poly for pudding.’

  ‘With lumpy custard, just the way I like it?’ Jake teased, fighting his way out of his dark mood.

  ‘That’s my boy,’ Stan chuckled as Eva shook her head, not the least affronted. ‘So, got any plans for this afternoon?’

  Jake at once felt his optimism return, washing away the misery inside him. ‘Yes. I thought I’d ask Cissie if she’d like to go for a walk in the park,’ he answered, a blush scorching across his cheeks. ‘It’s such a lovely day,’ he added, hoping he sounded nonchalant.

  He caught Eva and Stan exchanging glances, but all anyone said was, ‘Yeah, we must make the most of the good weather,’ as they went on eating.

  Jake couldn’t wait for the meal to be over. If anything could soothe him, it would be seeing Cissie. Hopefully, he could get her out on her own, without Zac. Or without her parents, since now that he and Stan had repaired Old Sal’s wheelchair, Ron was able to be taken on outings, too. And then there was the baby, of course.

  Oh, Jake had everything crossed that his heart could be lifted by spending a couple of hours alone with the girl who both intrigued and enthralled him. Despite her initial coolness that he’d put down to caution now he knew her better, he’d found himself caught up in some glorious, mysterious web whenever he was with her.

  ‘Is Cissie in?’ he asked half an hour later as he stood on the doorstep of Number Twelve, excitement unleashed inside him. ‘I wondered if she’d like to go for a walk in the park.’

  ‘Oh, didn’t Zac mention it?’ Bridie looked mildly surprised. ‘She’s been back at the studio all week. Twelve till six, and tonight she’s watching the performance. She’ll be back on stage herself in a couple of weeks, so she will, five days a week. So she’ll only be around on Sundays and Mondays, I’m afraid.’

  Jake felt a sudden emptiness take hold of his heart. Not today, then. But he should be happy for Cissie, going back to what she loved.

  ‘Well, I hope she’s enjoying herself,’ he managed to say without sounding too down in the mouth. ‘Perhaps she’d like to come out tomorrow if the weather holds.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she would,’ Bridi
e smiled back. ‘Her old dance partner’s coming to lunch, but you can all go out together afterwards. Haven’t seen him for ages, and he comes from the same part of Ireland as me, so don’t we always have a lot to talk about.’

  Jake’s hopes crashed down about him. First the letter from the fire brigade, then learning that he’d only be able to see Cissie on Sundays and possibly on a Monday evening, and now the worst of all. He had a rival, and someone from a world that was her life and that he could never hope to aspire to.

  ‘Oh, well, I’ll look forward to tomorrow, then,’ he lied between clenched teeth. ‘Thank you, Mrs Cresswell.’

  He turned away, his heart dragging. Of course, he still wanted to see Cissie, but he’d just have to admire her from afar and keep his feelings to himself. But to see her with this other chap would be torture. Perhaps he’d find something else to do instead. Call on his mates, maybe. Go and kick a football around in the park. More fun than having his heart ripped out.

  But try as he might to extricate himself from his tangled emotions, he felt drawn to Cissie Cresswell by some unbreaking, invisible thread.

  Sixteen

  Mildred wheeled her bicycle out onto the pavement and clicked the front door shut as quietly as she could so as not to wake the others, pausing for a moment to breathe in the new day. Although it was fully light, the hour was yet too young for the sun to have shown its face, but the still air promised a fair if cool July morning.

  Mildred loved being up so early at that time of year, not minding one bit being on the first shift. The streets were quiet and unhurried, a peaceful prelude to the hustle and bustle that the rush hour would bring a little later. Only a few people were already preparing for the day ahead, for the first bus Mildred would be conducting was one of those transporting the earliest workers of the day to their place of labour.

  Today, though, could be somewhat different. Whether or not it was Mildred’s imagination, she thought she could sense excitement buzzing in the air. It was election day, and there would be many who wanted to cast their vote first thing in the morning on their way to work.

  As Mildred pedalled to the corner of the street, she caught the familiar clippety-clop of horses’ hooves on the tarmac and the tinkle of glass bottles. The milk cart turned into Banbury Street, the bay mare walking alone and coming to a halt on its own outside the first house, while the milkman took a bottle from the back, whistling between the gaps in his teeth.

  ‘Morning, Norman,’ Mildred called softly from the opposite side of the street.

  Norman looked around, ceasing his unrecognisable tune, and his old face wrinkled into a gummy smile. ‘Morning, Milly, love. You on earlies? I wanted ter get me round done extra early so I can go ter vote. I guess yer too young.’

  Mildred nodded with a rueful smile and left him to put the full bottle on the doorstep and collect the empty one. At least she’d be able to vote when she came of age, unlike up until the end of the first war when no women at all had the right to vote. But it was still crazy, she considered as she made her way towards the bus station. People under twenty-one weren’t allowed to vote, and yet they were old enough to be conscripted to go and fight for their country, and possibly give their lives in the process. People like her Gary.

  She hadn’t seen him since he’d left Britain two years ago, and hadn’t even heard from him for some while. It wasn’t entirely unusual not to receive anything for ages and then for several letters to arrive at once. She wrote to him every week, but she knew that many of her scribbles never reached him since he often complained that she hadn’t written. She supposed they were flaming lucky if anything got through at all, given the circumstances. But the niggling doubt that something had happened to him gnawed away at the back of her mind all the time, even though she tried desperately to put it to one side.

  The island of Okinawa had finally fallen three days ago, giving the Allies a base from which to start attacking the main islands of Japan, pounding Tokyo and other important cities into submission. It was all over the news. Had Gary played a part in it, gliding about beneath the waves and torpedoing Japanese warships? Mildred supposed he must have done. But submarines could be blown up, too. And there was something called depth-charging, wasn’t there? But surely if anything like that had happened, she would have been told pretty quickly? And that was what she clung to.

  It was so long since she’d seen him, mind, that every time she put pen to paper, it was almost like writing to a flipping stranger. Would what he’d been through have changed him? And how well had she known him in the first place? Certainly, their relationship wasn’t like that between her mum and dad, who seemed to share one soul. Perhaps they could see that, and it was why they hadn’t been keen on her getting engaged. She’d defied them, sincerely believing at the time that she was in love, but had she secretly been unsure, deep down inside?

  She’d felt back then that she really needed more time. But time was something they hadn’t had. And Gary had been so imploring, and she hadn’t wanted him going off to war knowing she’d turned him down. It would have been cruel. But might it have been a case of being cruel to be kind? For now that she’d had two years to think about it, she wasn’t entirely sure she still loved him and she felt trapped, whether she liked it or not. She just prayed that she’d fall in love with Gary all over again when he came home. If he came home. Of course, she wanted him to. She wanted every soldier, sailor or airman to return. But could she bring herself to hurt Gary if she found he wasn’t the one for her, after all?

  Oh, why was everything so complicated, and why did she feel pulled this way and that? She frowned to herself as she cycled onwards, deep in thought and grateful that there was very little traffic on the road to worry about. A flash of colour on the pavement opposite caught her eye and drew her from her ponderings. It was the woman who ran the flower stall round the corner, struggling along with a massive basket of bright blooms in each hand, and another strapped to her back. She must’ve been to the market at the crack of dawn, better now in July than in the depths of winter. Mildred took one hand off the handlebars to wave, and the flower seller nodded back with a cheerful smile.

  Must be a blessed hard life for her, Mildred mused, outside in all weathers with nobody to help her, as far as she knew. And the poor woman probably didn’t make much at the end of it. To top it all, the war had made flowers harder to come by, with growing food much more of a priority. Mildred had heard that in the West Country, they’d dug up all the fields of daffodils and thrown the bulbs into the hedges to make room for cabbages and potatoes and what have you instead.

  But keeping up morale had been part of the war effort, too, of course. And that included fresh flowers, even if they were a luxury. A bit like – what was it Cissie had called it? – CEMA or something? Entertaining civilians or factory workers at home to help keep their spirits up.

  Cissie’s theatre company was concerned that now the war in Europe was over, CEMA was shutting down, although something called the Arts Council was apparently taking its place. But if the company’s subsidy from CEMA wasn’t replaced by one from this new institution, they’d have to work doubly hard to bring in the punters. Not Cissie’s words, of course, but that’s what she’d meant as they’d sauntered through Battersea Park together on Monday. Because of her shift pattern, Mildred had the three days off at the start of the week. Knowing Sunday and Monday were the equivalent of Cissie’s weekend, she’d called round to ask if she fancied going out for a breath of fresh air in the park. And Mildred had an ulterior motive for doing so, too.

  ‘You must be pleased to be back at work, though,’ she’d gently prompted Cissie as they strolled across the grass, hoping to steer the conversation in the direction she wanted.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Cissie sounded full of enthusiasm. ‘It was a bit tough at first. Even having done a lot of practice at home, I hadn’t built up my stamina enough. Doesn’t take long, though, once you’re back in the stride. I feel pretty much back to normal now. And
Monsieur Clément – that’s our dance master – he’s choreographing a new piece for Sean and me. To “Rhapsody in Blue”.’

  ‘Ah, no, don’t tell us,’ Mildred giggled. ‘Think I know that one. By your friend, Gershwin, ain’t it?’

  ‘As it happens, yes, it is!’ Cissie laughed back. ‘You’re learning.’

  ‘Yeah, not as daft as I look, me. A bit on the jazzy side, ain’t it?’

  ‘Just a touch. But that’s what I like about our company. We have the freedom to do all sorts of things.’

  ‘Yeah, I can see how much you love it.’ Mildred tipped her head to one side as she contemplated Cissie’s expression. ‘You know, you’re looking a lot happier now you’re back dancing. Is it something to do with this Sean fella? Even came to Sunday lunch at yours recently, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, Sean’s a good friend. He and Mum get on like a house on fire. They’re both from County Tipperary, you see. Oh.’ Her face suddenly stretched. ‘You didn’t think… Sean and me?’ She broke off, shaking her head with a small smile. ‘Oh, it’s nothing like that. Sean doesn’t, well… Don’t get the idea all male dancers are like that, because it simply isn’t true. But Sean’s not like me and you, let’s say. You know,’ she concluded pointedly.

  No, Mildred didn’t know. A perplexed frown puckered her brow and then her eyes widened as the penny dropped. ‘Oh, you mean…?’

  ‘Sean’s kind and sweet and gentle. But there could never be any more than friendship between us. You see, he doesn’t have an eye for the ladies, if you understand me. He, well, he prefers other men. You’re… you’re not shocked?’

  ‘Er, no. Just surprised, I guess. I mean, I’ve heard of it, but never known anyone… But it’s illegal, ain’t it?’

  ‘Only if you’re practising, shall we say. Sean just admires from afar.’

  ‘Oh.’ Mildred couldn’t think of anything else to say and, once again, was bewildered by Cissie, who seemed to take some things for granted and yet, in other ways, was so sensitive. But more than anything, Mildred was swamped with relief. She knew Jake held a torch to Cissie. He’d not said anything outwardly, but it was obvious. And he’d been proper down in the dumps since he’d clearly got the wrong end of the stick about this Sean chap. Now Mildred could put him right about it.