Dreaming Out Loud (2 page)

‘I don’t mind answering you. I remember quite a lot about him. He was tall and handsome, and such good fun. The house was always a happier place with him around. My mother and Julie and I all adored him.’

‘How sad for you that that happy time was all too short.’

‘I don’t think my mother has ever recovered.’ Suddenly Kay felt awkward. Her mother was a very private person and Kay knew she had revealed too much. She smiled at Miss Bennet, ‘But now, sadly, I really do have to go.’

‘And you’ll be coming for my order as usual next week?

‘Of course I will – why shouldn’t I?’

‘There are two possible reasons. Firstly because I have annoyed you with my gossiping.’

‘Of course you haven’t.’

‘And secondly, you may decide to leave your job at Sampson’s and begin to enjoy your inheritance.’

Kay stuffed her shoulder bag into the basket on the handlebars and turned up her coat collar before setting off. She couldn’t make up her mind whether it was raining or whether the spots of moisture landing on her face were part of the hazy mist that was rolling in from the sea. As she cycled along the seafront the tyres made swishing noises on the damp surface of the road. She turned and made her way to the town centre, up through avenues of respectable semi-detached houses, passing the house where she lived with her mother and sister on the way.

She saw the glimmer of a fire in the front parlour and imagined her mother sitting by the hearth with her lunch tray and the local paper. Kay wondered if Thelma had read the feature about the Pavilion Theatre. If she had, would it have brought back happy memories? Whether it had or not, Kay would never know, because her mother never talked about the past.

The sea fret turned into light rain, and by the time Kay got back to Sampson’s, her shoulder-length dark hair had twisted into damp ringlets and her face was gleaming wetly. She put her bicycle in the shed in the yard behind the shop, took her bag and hurried in through the back door. She hung her coat up on a peg in the dimly lit corridor and went into the shabby but comfortably furnished room where the staff took their tea breaks and ate whatever they had brought from home when the shop closed at lunchtime.

Thomas Sampson and his wife Rhoda retired to their roomy flat above the double-fronted shop to take their lunch, but Kay and Beryl boiled a kettle in this little back room and ate their lunch whilst savouring the aromas of cheese, cooked meats and coffee which had seeped into the very fabric of the building.

Kay and Beryl Walker had been in the same class at school. They had never been best friends but had always got on well together. Kay had always been at the centre of a lively group and Beryl had been content to watch them admiringly. Often Kay would find some way of drawing her into the group, not wanting her to feel left out. Beryl had been a plumply pretty child and now she was an overweight but still nice-looking young woman.

She looked up when Kay entered. ‘You look like something the cat dragged in,’ she said.

‘Thank you very much!’ Kay pretended to be offended and they both laughed.

‘You’d better sit by the fire and dry off a bit.’ Beryl began to heave herself up from the only comfortable chair.

‘No, it’s all right. You stay there. I’d rather sit at the table.’

‘Thanks, you’re a pal.’

Beryl looked relieved as she sank back gratefully. She propped her legs up on the ancient padded fender seat, far too near to the fire, but she didn’t seem to mind the heat marks on her legs, as long as she could raise her feet from the draughty floor.

‘What’ve you got, then?’ Beryl asked, glancing curiously over to the table as Kay sat down and took a greaseproof packet from her shoulder bag.

‘Sandwiches.’

‘I can see that! What’s in them?’

‘Carrot and mayonnaise.’

‘Ugh!’

‘No, honestly, they’re not bad. And better for you than the chips you eat day after day.’

‘Chips are lovely and anyway, I read that fish and chips are good for you.’

‘Perhaps they are, but you don’t have the fish, and you’re not supposed to eat chips every day.’

‘Slipping round the corner to the chip shop is better than getting up early to make sandwiches. Want a chip?’ Beryl grinned as she held her newspaper-wrapped bundle out towards Kay. ‘Isn’t that hot vinegary smell lovely? There’s some batter in there. You can have some as long as you don’t take too much.’

Kay took a couple of chips and a little bit of batter. ‘Thanks, Beryl. Would you like one of my sandwiches?’

‘Not on your life. Be a pal and make the tea, will you?’

Kay obliged, and soon they were sitting quietly in the dimly lit room enjoying their respective meals while rain slid down the soot-stained window and the clock ticked on the mantel shelf.

When Beryl had finished her chips she rolled the newspaper into a tight ball and stuffed it into the already bulging wastepaper basket. It sat there for a moment and then toppled over onto the floor. Beryl ignored the mess and sighed as she rose and reached for the cinder guard.

‘Back to work, then,’ she said wearily. ‘Give me the order book and I’ll start on the boxes, shall I? You know, sometimes I think I’ll be here at Sampson’s until they put me in my own box and deliver me to the graveyard.’

‘Don’t talk like that, Beryl.’

The other girl straightened up and turned to smile sadly. ‘No, seriously, I’m resigned to the fact that I’ll be here all my working life. Haven’t you noticed there’s a shortage of good men in this town? We can’t all be as lucky as you are.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Come off it, Kay. Tony Chalmers, that’s who I mean. As soon as he pops the question you’ll be out of here, and the next thing we know you’ll be phoning in your order – “just the usual, plus a few little exotic extras, Beryl” – and Mr Sampson will be delivering it to a posh house overlooking the golf course.’

‘Is that what you think?’

‘Of course it is. Doesn’t everyone? And when you’re Mrs Tony Chalmers that’ll be one up on that stuck-up sister of yours.’

‘Beryl, please don’t talk about Julie like that.’

‘I’m sorry, but she does put on airs and graces, doesn’t she? Oh, all right, I know you won’t have a word said against her, but just wait until you walk down the aisle with the best catch in town; she won’t be able to act so superior then.’

‘And what if I don’t?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What if I don’t marry Tony?’

‘I’d say you were crazy. But you’re kidding me, aren’t you? You wouldn’t be so stupid as to let an opportunity like that slip by.’ Beryl didn’t expect an answer. She made sure the cinder guard was in place and headed for the door. ‘I can hear Mr Sampson coming down the stairs. Come on; it’s time to get back to work.’

The girls grabbed their overalls from the row of hooks by the door and put them on, then Kay followed Beryl along the passage to the shop.

Beryl was the second person that day to tell her not to let an opportunity slip by. Kay wondered what the older girl would say if she knew that marrying Tony Chalmers might not be the only opportunity she had to change her life.

Chapter Two

Thelma Lockwood’s tea had grown cold and her sandwiches remained untouched. She stared moodily into the fire. It had been bad enough when the letter from a solicitor in London had arrived. After the first shock and surge of resentment, Thelma had managed to come up with a plan that she thought would be fair to everyone; to Kay, to Julie and to Thelma herself. She was pretty sure that Kay would agree once she’d had time to consider it.

This had enabled her to suppress her outrage until today, when a photograph in the newspaper had succeeded in reviving it. She stared at the line of chorus girls, their smiling faces, their shapely limbs, their arms linked securely as they performed a high-kicking synchronised dance routine. She remembered how they always smiled no matter how long they had been rehearsing, no matter how hard Jack had driven them, no matter how exhausted and nearer to tears than laughter they had been. Once the curtain went up and the music started, they pinned on their smiles then tapped and kicked their way across the stage and back to the appreciative applause of the summer visitors, whose night out at the Pavilion Theatre was the highlight of their holiday.

And nobody worked as hard or smiled as brightly as Lana did. Thelma studied the picture closely. Lana, with her lovely long legs, was slightly taller than the other girls and Thelma was fairly certain that she could identify her in the centre of the line-up. Lana Fontaine . . .

Thelma clutched the newspaper tightly then, giving way to rage, tore the page from the paper, crushed it into a ball and hurled it on the fire. She gripped the arms of her chair and watched as the paper turned brown, then caught fire, blazing briefly before collapsing into ash. One or two burnt flakes escaped and drifted out to land on the hearth. Habit made Thelma rise from her seat, take hold of the fire irons, and kneel down to sweep the hearth clean.

When she had done it she sat back on her heels and stared at the glowing coals. This was how Jack had found her that fateful day all those years ago. The day it began. Not in this room, of course, but in the room directly above. The room he was renting for the summer season. It had been a cold, rainy summer and Thelma’s mother had agreed to light the fires in her lodgers’ bedrooms so long as they were prepared to pay extra for the coal. It had been Thelma’s job to keep the fires burning.

‘So it’s you who makes sure that my room is as warm as toast,’ Jack had said when he came home after the show one evening.

Thelma stood up and wiped her hands down her pinafore. ‘Who did you think it would be?’ she asked. ‘There’s only me and my mother here, and surely you don’t imagine she would see to the fires?’ She smiled at Jack. She knew that the paying guests, even Jack, were a little in awe of her mother and her overbearing manner.

‘Of course not,’ Jack said. ‘Nor does she wait on table or, I imagine, wash the dishes, or clean the house.’

Wanting to be fair, Thelma said, ‘She does all the cooking.’

‘Nevertheless, I’ve seen how hard you work, Thelma.’

‘Have you?’

‘Why do you look so surprised?’

Thelma felt herself blushing. ‘Well . . . I mean, why should you notice me?’

‘Are you fishing for compliments?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Now I’ve annoyed you when I only meant to be kind.’

‘Do you know how patronising that sounds?’

Jack looked at her in surprise. Then he laughed. ‘Guilty as charged. The suave, debonair Jack Lockwood putting on his usual act to charm the impressionable little help, and instead finding an intelligent young woman who is not at all impressed and is prepared to put him in his place.’

Thelma was appalled. She had not meant to talk back to him the way she had, and she could just imagine what her mother would say if Mr Lockwood complained to her. ‘Have I been rude?’ she asked him. ‘I have, haven’t I? I’m sorry.’

‘Please don’t back down, Thelma. I haven’t found you rude. In fact I find you utterly charming.’

‘Oh.’

‘No, I mean it. You must know how pretty you are. I noticed that the minute I walked into this house. Your blonde curls, your blue eyes and your pink and white complexion. A delightful English rose, I thought to myself. I have an eye for pretty girls, you know, and I know how to charm them. Well, most of them. But not you, apparently, and the fact that you can see right through me makes you all the more attractive.’ Then while she was desperately trying to work out how she should respond to such extravagant and probably insincere praise, he hurried on. ‘I tell you what, why don’t you make me a cup of cocoa?’

Now thoroughly confused, Thelma could only stare at him. He laughed.

‘In fact, why don’t you make two cups of cocoa? One for me and one for you. And if you can find a toasting fork and cut us some slices of bread, we’ll sit here by the fire and have a sort of midnight feast. Would you like that?’

There was nothing Thelma would have liked more. Jack Lockwood was very handsome: only a little taller than average, but somehow commanding. He had dark, wavy hair and film-star good looks. She thought he looked a little like Ronald Coleman. She didn’t know whether he was telling the truth about having noticed her and thinking her pretty the moment he came to stay here, but she had certainly noticed him.

‘Thelma, don’t keep me in suspense like this.’ He placed one hand, fingers spread, on his chest and raised the other arm in a theatrical gesture of supplication. ‘No, don’t laugh. Am I to enjoy a midnight feast with you or not?’ Despite his playful teasing, there was something in his eyes that made her believe he really wanted her to stay.

‘Yes . . . I mean, no. I mean, my mother . . .’

‘Where is she?’

‘In bed.’

‘And no doubt fast asleep?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘There you are, then.’

‘Why do you want me to stay and talk to you?’

‘Because you’re different. It would be good to forget about the theatre for a while and talk to a normal person.’

‘Normal person?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

‘You don’t suppose all those poor souls singing and dancing their hearts out in a little seaside entertainment are anywhere near normal, do you? I mean, they would probably kill to be top of the bill.’

‘
You
are top of the bill. And in the programmes and on the posters your name is bigger than any other name.’

He laughed. ‘Which is all the more reason why I would like to leave that Jack Lockwood behind for a while. Wipe off all pretensions with my make-up and shed all affectations along with my stage costumes. Can you understand that, Thelma?’

‘I can, but I think you would find it very difficult.’

Jack’s smile vanished and he looked at her quite coolly. Immediately she regretted what she had said. She wanted him to smile at her again. Her distress was so great that she actually felt a lump of misery rising in her throat.

After a long pause when she could hear the clock ticking on the mantel shelf and the crackle of the coals in the grate, he smiled again and she almost fainted with relief.

‘My goodness,’ he said. ‘A prickly little rose.’

‘Are you angry with me?’

‘Would that upset you?’

‘Very much.’

‘I’m not angry and I would like us to be friends. We can find out about each other over a cup of cocoa and a couple of slices of toast – with butter, not margarine.’

‘Butter? I’m not so sure about that.’

‘Does your mother keep it under lock and key?’

She smiled. ‘I think I can find some.’

Thelma made the cocoa and found the butter. They sat on the hearth rug and made toast. Jack insisted on wielding the toasting fork. When they had eaten, he leaned towards her and, in a curiously intimate gesture, he brushed the crumbs from her lips with a clean white handkerchief. For a moment Thelma found it difficult to breathe.

When the rain began to beat on the window panes, Jack rose and switched off the light. Taking her hand, he pulled her up then drew her towards the bed. She resisted as she knew she should, but not for long. That night became the first of many that she spent in his arms, only leaving him when the grey light of dawn had crept around the edges of the floral curtains.

Had he loved her? All these years later, this was a question that Thelma could not answer with any certainty. Would he have married her if her mother had not found them in bed together? Probably not. But he had done the honourable thing, and he had never been unkind to her. And at first she had been happy, deliriously so. Even now she could recall the delight she had taken in being Jack Lockwood’s wife.

Thelma rose to her feet, picked up the tray containing her sandwiches and her cold cup of tea, and went through to the kitchen. Her daughters would be home for their meal soon, and so would Miss Pearson and Miss Elkin. Neither of her paying guests caused much trouble. They went to work at the Ministry of Pensions early in the morning, and after their evening meal they sat with their knitting as they listened to the wireless.

Both always expressed extravagant gratitude for the tray of tea and home-made cake she provided just before they went to bed. They were model guests. But even so, Thelma was heartily sick of not being able to call her home her own. Surely Kay would do the right thing if she could convince her that it would mean a better life for all of them.

‘Oh dear, Kay. I wish you wouldn’t bring guests into the kitchen.’

Thelma had just taken the dish of macaroni cheese from the oven when Kay arrived home with Tony Chalmers in tow. Even though she was flustered, Thelma smiled at Tony. As ever, it was hard not to.

‘Please don’t mind me, Mrs Lockwood,’ he said. ‘I met Kay after work, and I wanted to ask you if it would be all right for me to take her to the flicks tonight.’

‘Of course it is. Will you stay and have some tea with us before you go? I’m afraid there’s nothing very exciting on the menu.’

‘I’d love to.’ Tony wrinkled his nose and sniffed the air like one of the Bisto kids. ‘Anything you have made is bound to be delicious.’

‘Flatterer!’ Thelma dished up two plates of macaroni cheese. ‘Kay, when you’ve taken your coat off, would you take this tray through to the dining room?’

Kay took her own coat and Tony’s and hung them up in the hall, then she returned for the tray bearing their paying guests’ evening meal.

‘When you’ve taken that in, come back for this sponge cake.’

‘Allow me,’ Tony said. ‘Is that teapot for the ladies? Pop it all on a tray and I’ll take it through.’

‘Oh, no, Tony!’ Thelma protested. ‘I can’t have you waiting on my guests.’

‘I don’t see why not. Kay is.’

Not giving her time to say any more, Tony placed everything on a tray and followed Kay along to the dining room, leaving Thelma thoroughly vexed.

Without shedding his charming manner, Tony had managed to imply that she was treating Kay badly. And of course she wasn’t. It was only natural to expect Kay to help in the house. Thelma had helped her own mother, hadn’t she? In fact, she had done much more than Kay had ever done, because Kay was out at work all day.

There wasn’t much macaroni cheese left. Thelma always gave her lodgers generous portions; she didn’t want to be thought of as miserly, as her mother had been. It was just as well that she had thought to make an egg and bacon tart and an apple pie while she had the oven on.

When Tony and Kay returned, she shepherded them into the breakfast room and told Kay to set the table. ‘Just two places,’ Thelma told her. ‘I’ll wait and have my meal with Julie when she gets back from college.’

After she had carried the food through for them – she didn’t ask Kay to help; in fact, she stopped her from doing so – Thelma shut the kitchen door, made herself a cup of tea and sat down. For the second time that day she let a cup of tea grow cold. She had wanted to talk to Kay about her inheritance and what she proposed to do with it – but she could hardly have refused to allow her to go to the pictures with her boyfriend. Kay was twenty-two years old. The fact that Tony had asked her was a mere formality. She supposed she could wait up and talk to Kay when she got home, but that would be ten o’clock or later, not the ideal time to start a serious discussion.

Then, to increase her vexation, Tony insisted on clearing the table while Kay went up to get ready. After they had gone, Thelma wondered if Kay had told him about Lana’s will. Probably not, she decided. Kay was not exactly secretive, but she had always been rather reticent.
Like me
, Thelma thought, and smiled for the first time that day.
I don’t see the point in letting people know all your business, or how you feel about things; whereas Julie takes after Jack – cheerfully chatty and never stopping to think whether people really need to know what’s happening in your life.

But at least Jack had been able to keep a secret when he had to. Julie would have found it totally impossible not to tell her friends that her sister had inherited a small fortune. That was why Thelma had advised Kay not to tell her. At least until she had decided what to do.

Thelma rose from the table and emptied her cup into the sink. Julie would be home any minute now, and she would be hungry. She worked hard at college and she deserved a bit of pampering. As well as the remains of the egg and bacon pie and the apple tart, there was another dish of macaroni cheese keeping warm in the oven, made just for Julie. But best of all, there was a chocolate cake in the pantry.

Tony stood in the doorway and looked up at the dark clouds. ‘I think you’d better bring an umbrella, Kay. There’ve been showers on and off all day, and now it’s begun to rain in earnest.’

‘There’s one in the scullery. I’ll get it.’

Just as Kay left him, the gate opened and Julie hurried up the path. ‘Hello, Tony.’ She stopped and smiled teasingly. ‘Waiting for me?’

‘You know I’m not. Come in before you get soaked.’

‘Thanks for caring.’

He didn’t reply but stood well back to allow her to enter. Nevertheless, she managed to brush against him. She turned and looked up at him. ‘Ah, well,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’ll come to your senses one day.’