The Street of Broken Dreams

by Tania Crosse

  ‘Yes, but they’re only very young, Eva,’ Rob commented wisely. ‘A more pressing point is what you’re going to do with Primrose. She can’t just swan around for the rest of her life.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But I’ve had an idea. She’s always liked clothes and things. Now you remember the Braithwaites what used to live opposite, don’t you, Rob?’

  ‘Well, of course,’ Rob answered. ‘Gert’s always kept in touch with Jessica over the years.’

  ‘Well, I saw her mum, Hester, recently,’ Eva informed them all. ‘They’re planning on going out to Nigeria while Jess and Patrick and the family are still there. So before they go, I thought I’d ask if Charles might be able to find Primrose a job in the fashion department of Arding and Hobbs.’

  ‘Cor, Mum, you’re a genius!’

  ‘Well, when clothes start coming off points, whenever that’ll be, there’s gonna be good business in fashion, I reckon. Everyone’s gonna want new clothes after this make-do-and-mend lark we’ve had for so many years. And then with Mildred loving her job on the buses, everyone’s gonna be really happy.’

  ‘And when Gary comes home,’ Gert added, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘The Japs can’t go on fighting forever. They say they’re all but beaten.’

  ‘Well, I hope so, Gert, love. I hope so.’

  Somehow it felt to Eva that a heavy, grey blanket had descended over her happiness at having her Primrose come home. It was only two days since the shock election results, the same day Japan had been given some sort of ultimatum in something they were calling the Potsdam Declaration. Nobody knew exactly what this threat was, but Eva felt in her bones that it must be pretty serious.

  She just hoped Mildred’s Gary came home from it all in one piece. She didn’t know what it would do to Mildred if he didn’t. Although had she detected some cooling in Mildred’s feelings towards Gary, or had she just imagined it? Oh, dear. You never stopped worrying about your children even when they were grown-up, did you?

  Eva fixed her usual, generous smile on her face. ‘How long’s that blooming kettle gonna take to boil?’ she demanded.

  Twenty

  ‘So, you’re off this afternoon, then?’

  ‘Yes. All packed and ready to move into the digs tonight. We’ve got the theatre to rehearse in tomorrow, and then we open on Wednesday night.’

  ‘It’s gonna feel real strange without you, even if you’ve only been here a bit.’

  Mildred and Cissie were sitting at a table by the pavilion in Battersea Park, enjoying a mid-morning cup of tea. With it being the start of the school summer holidays, the grass areas – those that hadn’t been dug up as vegetable allotments – were noisy with children letting off steam. The boating lakes were back in full swing, and a general feeling of well-being permeated the warm air. The war was over, in Europe at least, and life was slowly creeping back towards normality.

  ‘I’m going to miss you, too.’ Cissie could feel tears forming in her eyes and had to gulp down the lump swelling in her throat. ‘I’ve always been so wrapped up in my dancing that I’ve never had a friend quite like you. It’s wonderful.’ She couldn’t resist reaching across to squeeze Mildred’s hand before she went on, ‘But it is only for three months, and I’ll be coming back every Sunday and staying overnight, so I can see you then.’

  ‘Yeah, but only if me shifts let me,’ Mildred complained. But then her face brightened a little. ‘I know someone else who’s gonna be pleased he can still see you on Sundays, mind. And that’s our Jake. Proper taken with you, he is. So, tell me, truthfully, what d’you think of him?’

  Cissie felt a jolt in her chest at the bluntness of Mildred’s question, and her heart suddenly raced on. Mildred was staring fixedly at her, head tipped enquiringly to one side. Oh, Lord. Mildred was such a genuine, open person that Cissie wanted so much to tell her everything. But the tangled knot inside wouldn’t let her. Filled her with the fear that it might drive Mildred away, and she didn’t want that. But Mildred deserved the truth to an extent. And so did Jake.

  Cissie lowered her eyes to her half-empty cup. ‘I do like Jake very, very much,’ she admitted. ‘He’s sweet and kind, and we’ve got our love of music in common. But I can’t lie. I’m just not ready to have a man in my life yet. It’s not that I’ve got my eye on anyone else. And whenever I do want to find someone, I’ll be looking for someone just like Jake. But I don’t know when that might be, so it’d be wrong of me to encourage him as anything other than a friend. If he’s looking for romance, he needs to look elsewhere, I’m afraid.’

  ‘At the moment, I don’t think he wants to look elsewhere. I reckon he’ll wait for you, however long it takes.’

  ‘No.’ Cissie’s voice cracked, for wasn’t she ready to break? A beacon seemed to flare inside her at the very thought of Jake, but she knew a physical relationship could never be. The very idea made her cringe. Better to make that clear now, though she felt a piece of her heart tear. ‘Tell him that as long as I’m dancing, which I’m hoping will be for a very long time, there’s no room in my life for romance.’

  She heard Mildred draw in a hissing breath through her teeth and swivelled her eyes towards her friend. She hoped Mildred wouldn’t notice the tears she could feel trembling on her lashes and was relieved when Mildred merely shrugged her eyebrows.

  ‘Pity,’ she sighed. ‘I could see you and Jake making a proper go of it.’

  ‘I know. And I’m sorry,’ Cissie all but whispered. But talking to Mildred was so easy that she couldn’t help voicing the thought that was circling in her head. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? There’s me with someone who’s keen on me when I don’t want a relationship, and you wanting your Gary back when he’s on the other side of the world.’

  She watched, overwhelmed with surprise, as Mildred leant back in her chair, steepling her fingers in front of her chin. Mildred always seemed so bright and happy-go-lucky, but Cissie was starting to see there was a much deeper side to her. A hidden thoughtfulness that only occasionally rose to the surface.

  ‘To be honest, I’m not so sure now,’ Mildred began tentatively. ‘I’ve never said it to no one else, and promise you won’t tell a soul?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Cissie shook her head in confusion.

  Mildred gave a sharp nod before she went on, ‘You see, Gary and me didn’t really know each other that well. He was fun, and I hadn’t been living back here long, so it was great to have someone to go out with. And he didn’t have no family, so… I think I felt a bit sorry for him. I mean, don’t get us wrong, I really liked him. And when he got called up and asked us to get engaged before he went, well, I thought it’d be cruel to say no when he was going off to war. And I mean, he still might not come back. But… he’s like a ghost in me head now. I worry about him like you would a friend, but it don’t feel right. That if and when he do come home, I’m supposed to be walking down the aisle with him. So, I don’t know. It all just keeps going round in me head, and I don’t know what I’m gonna do.’

  She shifted her gaze towards Cissie, blinking slowly, and her shoulders sank in a profound sigh. The tiny muscles in Cissie’s smooth forehead twitched into a frown.

  ‘So, we’re both feeling a bit unsure, then.’

  She saw Mildred nod slowly, and a sudden, fathomless compassion took hold of her heart. Compassion mingled with guilt, since Mildred had been totally honest with her, while she had only spoken half the truth. But, for now, all she could do was lean forward and wrap her arms about Mildred, a hug that Mildred returned, holding her tightly. Two friends, two aching souls. And when it came down to it, it was all because of the war. Not that Mildred knew the truth behind her own story. Could Cissie tell her one day?

  At that moment, she really couldn’t say.

  *

  Mildred pressed the bell by the bus platform twice in succession to let Oscar know that all the passengers were safely on or off and that he could drive away from the stop. Not that there were huge crowds about. It was August B
ank Holiday Monday, and the hands on Mildred’s watch showed her that the bus was dead on time. Half past nine on a dank evening following earlier heavy thunderstorms. Overall, it wasn’t feeling like a very good summer at all, but there was still time, Mildred told herself optimistically.

  Just for a very short stretch, their bus route coincided with that of a tram before they diverged again. Mildred was still ringing up tickets along the aisle when Oscar slowed the bus in order to make the turn. Just as they were moving forward again, Mildred happened to glance up and, in the evening gloom, spied some idiot launch himself from the tram Oscar had waited to pass and then spring across into the bus, hanging onto his trilby hat and with his unbuttoned raincoat flapping perilously.

  Mildred spun indignantly on her heel and marched down to where he’d plonked himself on one of the sideways seats. ‘Oi, what d’you think you’re doing?’ she demanded. ‘That was bloody dangerous! Don’t want no accidents on my bus. If anything’d happened, me and me driver could’ve been in trouble.’

  ‘Cor blimey, proper little ray of sunshine you are, love,’ the fellow grunted none too quietly. And then he raised his voice even louder, ‘Here, you lot, have you heard? Just announced on the wireless. Few hours ago, the Yanks dropped a bleeding great bomb on the Japs. Something or other –shima. One of their biggest cities, and this here bomb’s so powerful, it’s wiped out the whole bloody place.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ Mildred snorted. ‘Pull the other one. And keep your voice down – and mind your language when you’re on my bus.’

  ‘Sorry, miss, but don’t shoot the messenger. It’s true, I tell yer,’ he said in a more moderate tone. ‘They said it was two thousand times more powerful than those flaming V2s of Hitler’s. Imagine that. Destroyed everything for miles.’

  A murmur began to rumble through the passengers, and some of them swivelled round in their seats to question the man. Used to keeping her balance as the bus moved along – Oscar driving more smoothly than Bev used to, she had to admit – Mildred clamped her lips together as people began to emerge from the sudden news and started muttering their reactions.

  Flipping heck, was all Mildred could think for several seconds, she was so stunned. Looking down the rows of seated passengers, it was like watching a film. A separate world she wasn’t really part of, as she was swept up in the thoughts that swirled in her head.

  Utter destruction. Those had been the words in the Potsdam Declaration, hadn’t they? Is that what the threat, the ultimatum had meant? Bloody hell. Destroyed everything for miles, the chap had said. An entire city in one fell swoop. People. Women. Children. Was it really that bad? Was such a thing possible? It seemed incomprehensible.

  Mildred gazed down the dimly lit bus to the driver’s cab, which was, of course, in darkness. Her mind flipped back to her recent conversation with Oscar. He’d believed almost anything was possible, and yet at this moment, he was ignorant of this momentous news. If it was indeed as the passenger had made out. But there’d been millions of flaming bombs dropped in this blooming war. So surely it must have been something pretty special to have its own announcement on the wireless?

  Another half-hour yet before she and Oscar had a ten-minute break, and then the final run of their shift. Mildred realised that her heart was pulsing with frustration. She needed to talk to Oscar. He was the only one she knew who could make sense of all this.

  And then it hit her like a ten-ton lorry. Only now had she thought of Gary. The passenger, who seemed happy to be the centre of attention as his fellow travellers quizzed him, had said the Yanks had dropped this bomb. But her Gary was out there somewhere. Had it affected him at all? Had he played a part? Surely, not. Not in his submarine. He’d be OK. That was all right then, and she dismissed him from her mind.

  She consulted her watch again as Oscar drew the bus to a halt by the next compulsory stop, and she jolted back to reality. Nobody was waiting to get on, but every passenger was engrossed in conversation.

  ‘Here, stop gassing, everyone,’ she called out. ‘You sure none of you want to get off here before I ring the bell?’

  *

  Cissie and Sean were sitting with some of the other dancers in a café round the corner from the theatre. It was Monday evening, so they’d had their two days off, the first since opening the show at its new venue. Now they were congregating, ready for rehearsals to begin again the next afternoon before the evening performance. At the boarding house where some of them were lodging, there was no communal space other than the room where breakfast was served, and the landlady had shooed them out.

  Though she was chatting with her friends, Cissie’s mind wasn’t entirely on the conversation. Her thoughts were drifting back to her overnight stay with her family in Banbury Street from where she’d only just returned. It had been lovely to be with her mum and dad, Zac and even the baby again. They had no news to report, except that Jane, now six months old, had learnt to roll onto her back when she was put on her tummy in the playpen. It was the first time Cissie had seen the well-used cage that had arrived, strapped to the roof of the car, when Rob had brought Eva’s youngest daughter, Primrose, back to live with her parents again.

  Cissie had pretended to show an interest in Jane’s development, but she didn’t really care. The metallic taste of bitterness had been sharp in her mouth, watching her family struggle to make ends meet and having to accept hand-me-downs and charity from every direction. If it hadn’t been for Jane’s arrival, there would still have been her mum’s much-needed wage coming into the house. Thank goodness dear Jake and Stan had managed to find a job for Zac at Price’s. He didn’t earn a lot, but every penny counted.

  Cissie herself could probably have earned more if she’d gone into an office job of some sort. But her parents had let her follow her dream to become a dancer. She had been determined to make them proud of her and, with utter dedication, had danced her way to the top for them. The Tristan and Isolde pas de deux had been the pinnacle, and her heart flew to the heavens now that she was performing it again each evening. The opening night on the Wednesday had been another triumph, and the auditorium had been packed ever since.

  But at certain moments, she couldn’t stop her mind from jumping back to that very first time she and Sean had danced it before a public audience back in May the previous year. She had been boiling over with excitement and nerves as she’d waited in the wings, but the instant the music had struck up, all that had vanished.

  She had been lost in a dreamlike world from the opening bars when she stepped with acted uncertainty into the spotlights, hands crossed over her heart. On reaching centre stage, she paused in croisé derrière position, extending her right arm and glancing over her shoulder to watch Sean appear from the wings and come to stretch his arms along the length of hers. Then the petits pas de bourrée courus on pointe as she led him in a circle to return to centre stage, where he supported her in attitude, helping her to turn a slow circle on her left pointe while performing petits battements sur le-cou-de-pied with the right. They moved together as one, through waltz steps and ports de bras, their bodies lilting and swaying, yet never for one second relinquishing the balletic control practised for so many years that it had become instinctive. The traditional moments of coyness followed, leading to an explosion of grands jetés en tournant as they chased each other in teasing across the stage, coming together in a dramatic lift before the final, protracted series of pirouettes and arabesques. She twirled in Sean’s hold about her waist, ready to end, to the audience’s delight, in another lift from which he dropped her into a stunning fish dive and finally lowered her gently to the floor and sank down beside her in balletic embrace.

  The applause had been deafening. She had breathed it in with joyful pride in her heart as she had dropped into one curtsey after another, waiting for the clapping to die down and catching Sean’s smiling face.

  ‘You were incredible, so you were,’ he’d beamed at her as they made their way backstage, and the singer waiting in th
e wings for the next act congratulated them both on a wonderful performance. ‘You really ought to apply to Sadler’s Wells,’ Sean went on. ‘Snap you up, so they would.’

  ‘You weren’t so bad yourself,’ she’d grinned back. ‘As for Sadler’s Wells, well, they’re sent all over the place, on the road all the time, living in awful digs and performing in leaking theatres and aircraft hangars and what have you. And I’ve heard the madam there is a bit of a tartar. Besides, I like the variety and the freedom we have here. Where else would they choreograph a piece like that for me just because I happened to mention I loved the music?’

  ‘Sure, you’re right there,’ Sean had said, disappearing towards the male dressing room. ‘Better get changed for the grand finale. Not that it’ll be a patch on us, so it won’t!’

  He’d given her his bright, twinkling Irish wink as he turned away, and she’d hurried into the chaos of the female dressing room, the music still roaring in her head. The other dancers surrounded her as she changed, wanting to know how it went. They’d heard the clapping from there, so it must have been good. And all her concerns over whether it had been a wise choice of music had been dispelled.

  ‘Wagner could not help being German,’ Monsieur Clément had replied with a shrug when she’d questioned his idea. ‘And he has been dead sixty years. And this is a variety theatre, not Covent Garden. Most of our clientele will not even recognise the music, let alone know who wrote it!’

  If the cheering and clapping that night had been anything to go by, he’d been right. Cissie’s only disappointment was that her family hadn’t been there to share her triumph, but, of course, back then, her mother had been working at the nursing home and was on duty until eight o’clock that evening.

  ‘We’ll all come tomorrow instead,’ her father had promised with an adoring smile. ‘And then the first night nerves’ll be over and you’ll give the performance of your life.’