Forgotten Dreams (11 page)
‘Especially since you won’t be askin’ them to pay for the perishin’ toffees,’ the little man had said. He turned to Louella. ‘Well, since it were my idea I reckon I deserve a cut. I’ll take it in toffees: two for each performance. Howzat?’
To Lottie’s enormous relief, everyone had liked the new finale to their act, though Mr Quentain, the theatre manager, had insisted that Lottie should be Columbine and not Louella. In the end, they had compromised: Lottie was to be Columbine and would throw the toffees, and Louella would dress as a Victorian lady – the company already had such an outfit – and throw a few toffees on her own account.
Now, the two of them were in the kitchen getting Sunday lunch, or rather Louella was getting Sunday lunch whilst Lottie made a cake for their tea. Lottie was pouring the mixture into the tin which she had prepared and greased earlier, and remarking: ‘I’m not
that
tall, Louella; I mean I still look my age, don’t I? And now that I don’t do the ballet no one laughs where they shouldn’t. Has someone in the theatre said something? You know I’d be happy not to go on stage at all if you’d rather I didn’t.’
that
tall, Louella; I mean I still look my age, don’t I? And now that I don’t do the ballet no one laughs where they shouldn’t. Has someone in the theatre said something? You know I’d be happy not to go on stage at all if you’d rather I didn’t.’
Louella had been whipping up batter but now she dropped the whisk and came over to give Lottie a hug. ‘Why, darling, I can’t imagine the act without you,’ she said, dropping a kiss on the top of her daughter’s head. ‘You’re still my little girl, even if you aren’t quite as little as I’d thought. And it will be summer quite soon and Max and I have had an excellent offer from the Wellington Pier theatre in Great Yarmouth, which of course includes you.’
‘I know; I auditioned too,’ Lottie said, rather surprised. ‘But the manager said mine was only a tiny part of the act so I only did some tap-dancing and sang about three lines of “Bye, Bye, Blackbird”. D’you mean to say they’ve changed their minds and don’t want me after all?’ She tried not to sound too hopeful and must have succeeded, for Louella gave her another squeeze.
‘Darling, of
course
they want you. But the thing is, one of Max’s nieces is looking for work. She’s a dancer and – and we wondered, Max and myself, if we could include her in the act. Her speciality is modern dance – she does the Charleston, the Black Bottom and the Tango, and the Shimmy. She needs a partner, however, and we thought . . . we wondered . . .’
course
they want you. But the thing is, one of Max’s nieces is looking for work. She’s a dancer and – and we wondered, Max and myself, if we could include her in the act. Her speciality is modern dance – she does the Charleston, the Black Bottom and the Tango, and the Shimmy. She needs a partner, however, and we thought . . . we wondered . . .’
Lottie could see what was coming. ‘If you mean me, I don’t know any modern dances, and I don’t mean to learn them, either,’ she said firmly. ‘Just what have you got in mind, Mam? If you want to drop the tap-dancing and the songs . . . you know I wouldn’t mind, don’t you? The show must come first, as they say.’
Louella gave a trill of laughter and did not remind her daughter that she wanted to be called Louella all the time now. ‘Darling, how absurd you are!’ she said gaily. ‘No, I’ve something quite different in mind. I thought we would bill ourselves as “The Three Lacey Sisters” for the songs and the tap-dancing, and then you and Merle could do the modern dances. Merle would have to dress up as a boy because she’s seventeen and probably taller than you, but I dare say she won’t mind that.’
‘I dare say she will,’ Lottie said positively. ‘If she’s used to taking the girl’s part and wearing those wonderful waistless dresses with the skirts several inches above her knees, and having long necklaces and feathers in her hair, she won’t take kindly to a feller’s evening suit.’ Something struck her even as she said the words and she peered suspiciously across at her mother. ‘Merle? Did you say she was seventeen and her name was Merle? Oh, Mam – Louella, I mean – is she the girl who took my place when I was in hospital? The one you said couldn’t hold a tune?’
Cornered by her own eloquence, Louella could only nod unhappily. ‘Yes, Merle did stand in for you whilst you were in hospital,’ she acknowledged. ‘But of course she was a lot younger then and Max says her voice has improved no end. She’s left the circus and has been working in Birmingham, I think he said, doing a three sisters song and dance routine with two other girls, but they’ve moved on, so as I said she’s out of work. Darling, do be sensible! If the three of us can work up a good act, we can bring it back to Liverpool when the holiday season’s finished. I’ll still be Max’s assistant, of course, but I’ve been thinking for some time that our mother-daughter act isn’t as appealing now you’re older. Merle can be made up to look sufficiently like us Laceys to make the audience believe we really are sisters. But of course if you hate the idea I suppose I’ll have to think of something else.’ She took the cake bowl from Lottie and plunged it into the sink, then went over and grasped both her daughter’s hands, gazing earnestly into her face. ‘Darling, I’m going to let you into a secret and I want you to promise me that you’ll never say a word to a soul about what I’m going to tell you.’
‘Oh, Mammy,’ Lottie breathed, far too excited at the thought of a secret to consider forms of address. Perhaps, at last, her mother was going to divulge a bit more information about her past! Over the last two years she had told Lottie that Denham Duncan had been a stage name and that her father had really been Alf Denham, a name which Louella described with scorn as being far too commonplace for a magician. She had also admitted that the name Lacey was not her own maiden name but her mother’s, since it seemed that Lottie’s grandmother had been Jane Lacey before her marriage to Walter.
‘What was Walter’s surname?’ Lottie had asked, intrigued. She knew both her grandparents were dead, but now it seemed her mother was about to flesh their image out a little. ‘If Grandmamma had been Jane Lacey, then when she married she would have become Mrs Walter Something, wouldn’t she?’
‘Yes, that’s right. My father’s name was Henning,’ Louella had said, with a darkling look. ‘What a perfectly dreadful name! If I’d used it on stage, people would have made clucking noises and flapped their wings – elbows, I mean. They might even have thrown eggs. So I called myself Louella Lacey. And of course when you were born, Denham and I decided that Lottie Lacey sounded just perfect.’
Now, Louella squeezed Lottie’s fingers and then released them. ‘Max said that if I decided not to include Merle in our act, he would feel obliged to take her on as his assistant,’ she said, eyes widening with horror at the very suggestion. ‘I couldn’t believe he meant it because we work so well together, but Max’s family feeling has always been very strong. And of course Baz and Merle were brought up together when they were little and are still close friends. So as soon as Max said that he’d take Merle on as his assistant I just burst into tears and said I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve such cruelty. He gave me a cuddle and promised me I wouldn’t lose out and could continue to share the house and so on. But of course that isn’t all that matters. So I agreed to include Merle in the act, which will mean changing it to fit her in. He made me swear on the Bible to do as I’d said, as if I was the sort of person to go back on a promise. I was deeply hurt – and when it was all decided he gave me another cuddle and admitted he hadn’t meant a word of it, and would never replace me, but had invented the threat to make me realise how important it was to him to see his niece in a respectable job.’
‘Well I’m blessed!’ Lottie said, genuinely astonished. She was very fond of Max and often wished that he and Louella would regularise the situation and get married, though this would make Baz her stepbrother, she supposed. Not that she would particularly mind that, since the two of them had got on very much better of late. But Louella was still speaking, so she dragged her mind from her own thoughts and listened to her mother’s words.
‘Yes, I was surprised myself that Max would stoop to threatening me,’ Louella admitted. ‘But I’m sure it’s for the best, darling, because as I said, the mother-daughter act was only really a winner whilst you were small. Now, three sisters will be very much better. Merle can tap-dance, so that’s all right, though of course she’ll have to learn our routines, and both you and I have strong voices so if she does wander from the tune a little the audience won’t notice.’ She smiled winningly at her daughter, her big light blue eyes sparkling. ‘It’s all agreed then? We’ll be the Lacey Sisters and you’ll learn modern dance so you can partner Merle? If she wants you to do so, of course.’
‘But where will she sleep? We’ve only got the two big bedrooms on the first floor and the two attic rooms that Baz and I have . . .’ Lottie began, only to be swiftly interrupted.
‘Why, she’ll share with you, of course, darling. You have a really big room with plenty of space for another bed, so that will be no problem. In fact, it will be nice for you to have another young girl in the house. I envy you, honest to God I do! You’ll be able to discuss the theatre and your friends . . . you’ll be like sisters, only even better because sisters don’t always get on. Oh, yes, you’re a lucky girl . . . I always wanted an older sister when I was your age.’
Lottie began to object, to say that it would never work, but Louella cut her short. ‘Nonsense, darling. Don’t forget I’m far more experienced than you and I’m sure it will work beautifully,’ she said gaily. ‘Never meet trouble halfway, that’s my motto. It will all go like a dream, I promise you. And now I must get on with the Yorkshire pudding or the men will be back before it’s even in the oven.’
That night, in bed, Lottie lay awake for a long time, wondering about the changes which were to come. She knew she was very lucky to have a room of her own; almost everyone in her class had to share with at least one sister, and, as Louella had said, her attic room was very large, with plenty of space for another bed, another occupant, in fact. It was spring, though there were few enough signs of it in Victoria Court, but from what Max had said as they ate their Sunday lunch, Merle would be joining them in another couple of weeks so that the Lacey Sisters could put their new act together and rehearse every move until all three of them were both word and action perfect.
Lottie told herself severely that Merle must be a nice girl, for she was Max’s niece, and also Baz’s friend. At eighteen, Baz was easier to get along with than he had been. Lottie supposed he felt himself too grown up to tease and torment someone of her age, but it might not be just that. Ever since she had dreamed what she always thought of as the ‘Moses dream’ he had been friendlier, sometimes walking her to school or meeting her out of it even after he himself had left, so that they could discuss her most recent sleep-adventure, as she thought of them. For the dreams had not stopped with the Moses one, though they were rare and sometimes so vague that she could not remember them clearly next morning.
True to her promise, she had never told anyone else about the dreams, though she had nearly given herself away to Kenny. It had been not long after the Moses dream and they had been walking alongside the canal, peering interestedly at the boats drawn up at the wharf, and perhaps it was the sound of lapping water or the rocking motion of the nearest boat when another chugged past, but a thought had popped into Lottie’s head and she had spoken without thinking. ‘I know the baby in the basket was Moses, but he was found by a beautiful princess. The woman who picked me up wasn’t beautiful at all, and she wasn’t young either. She was old and brown and wrinkled, not a bit like a princess.’
‘Wharrever are you talkin’ about, dumplin’ head?’ Kenny had said, staring at her. ‘Are you still on about that story your mam told us? Because if so, you’ve forgot an awful lot. Your mam telled us the princess had long golden hair which reached to the back of her knees, and big blue eyes, and she wore wonderful clothes all covered wi’ jewels. So what’s this about a wrinkled old woman a-grabbin’ hold of the baby?’ He had given a loud, rude laugh and poked Lottie in the ribs with a sharp elbow. ‘Next thing you’ll be sayin’ it were a crocodile what whipped the baby out o’ the rushes. Crocodiles is all wrinkled and brown.’
By this time Lottie had recollected her promise, and she walked on in silence. ‘Well?’ Kenny had demanded presently, when Lottie did not speak. ‘You’re gettin’ in a rare old muddle if you ask me. Babies in the bulrushes indeed! Whatever
are
you on about?’
are
you on about?’
So she had said humbly: ‘Sorry, Kenny. I suppose the canal made me think of that there Egyptian river – the Nile, weren’t it? – and I got kind of muddled. Don’t you wish you lived on a canal boat? I wish I did. Then no one would expect me to be sweet and put on a silly little frilly little pink skirt and throw kisses to old folk what I don’t know from Adam.’
‘The money’s all right though,’ Kenny had said rather wistfully. He did what he could to earn a few extra pence for his family each week, chopping up orange boxes for kindling, which he sold for a ha’penny a bundle, carrying heavy bags of shopping home for elderly ladies, queuing at the tap in the yard and delivering the full buckets to the kitchens, and even minding children if the parents had to go out for an hour or two. But none of these things brought in regular money and Kenny was looking forward to the time when he could leave school and skip aboard a freighter, as his older brother had done.
‘Regular money is nice,’ Lottie had acknowledged, glad to see that her unwise remark had been forgotten. ‘Want to come back to my house for tea? Mam’s going to make pancakes.’
She had not again been tempted to confide in Kenny, and unfortunately, as time passed, they had grown apart. Relations between them had suffered considerably during the National Strike in May 1926. Then, Lottie had followed the lead of most theatre folk who deplored the meanness of the bosses and backed the strikers to the hilt, but Kenny had seen an opportunity to get himself a job and earn some money. He had had to sag off from school and lie about his age, of course, but he had been well grown and anyway, people were desperate. So Kenny had become, for a short period, a deck hand on a small coaster and had gloated over his sudden change in fortune. Audiences at the theatre had been too small to make it worth opening up the auditorium, so for the first time in Lottie’s memory money had been truly scarce, with everyone living on their savings. Lottie had grown used to scanty meals and to being confined to the house, since Louella had said the streets were dangerous. Then, having met Kenny one day when returning from the St John’s market with a string bag full of damaged and therefore cut-price vegetables, she had taunted him. ‘You’re a bleedin’ Blackfoot,’ she had yelled at him across the street and had been mortified when he had given a shout of laughter, and not been in the least offended.
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