Forgotten Dreams (19 page)
‘They’d better not,’ the boy said, but he said it laughingly and Lottie laughed too.
‘What’s gypsies?’ she asked, and was surprised to hear her own voice, very young and high and not at all as she normally spoke. ‘We are wanderin’ folk though, aren’t we, Gran?’
‘Some say so,’ the old woman said. She struggled to her feet, for the deckchair was low and the sand soft and deep, and held out her hand. ‘Time to go, Sassy, my heart. Time to think of our bellies, and our beds. Can you walk or do you want the lad to give you a ride on his back?’
‘I’ll walk so I will,’ Lottie said sturdily, and was once again surprised, this time not by her voice but by the words she had chosen to use. And then, as dreams will, this one became misty and cloudy, no longer real as it had been on the beach. As though she were watching what was happening from high above, she saw the oddly assorted trio climb on to a bus, saw the vehicle go off along the wide road, saw it disappear into the distance . . . and woke to her attic room in Mrs Shilling’s lodging house, with Merle snoring in the next bed and the sound of feet ascending the stairs, crossing the landing, opening a door and then closing it quietly.
That would be the Melias, making their way to bed after an evening out, Lottie told herself drowsily, turning over so that her hot cheek met the cool pillow. When everyone had enjoyed a bite of supper the grown-ups had taken themselves off for what they had described as ‘a bit of a walk along the prom’, which Merle had immediately identified as a polite way of saying that they had gone to the nearest pub for a few drinks, and no doubt they had all come back together.
The return of the Melias had taken Lottie’s mind off her dream, but presently it came back to her and she decided it was certain to continue if only she could fall asleep quickly enough. Accordingly, she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep, and very soon she dropped off, for it had been a long and exciting day. But she did not again dream of the old woman she had called Gran, or the boy with the golden eyes.
Next morning she had only the vaguest recollection of her latest sleep-adventure when she was woken by Merle, anxious – for once – not to be late. ‘Get up, you dozy kid,’ Merle said without animosity. ‘Today we have our first show in front of an audience; have you forgotten? Remember what Jack said about Mrs Shilling’s breakfasts? It’ll be porridge, then bacon and egg, then toast! Oh, do get a move on, or them others will have ate the lot. And before the evening performance, we’ve got to buy fishing line. Remember what Archie told us?’
Lottie giggled. Whilst they had been rehearsing, a touring repertory company had produced a number of amusing plays for twice weekly matinées and evening performances. Archie, the leading man, was married to Gwen, the leading lady, so they had the largest dressing room. Not that that was saying much, for all the dressing rooms were tiny. The advantage common to all the dressing rooms, however, was a window overlooking the sea, and Archie had told the girls that several members of the cast threw out fishing lines before they went on stage and pulled them in again when the show was over. Sometimes they caught nothing, but often there would be a couple of nice pollock and once or twice, Archie told them, he and his wife had harvested a codling. Thrilled by the thought of obtaining fish without the boredom of holding a fishing rod for hours on end, the girls had determined to try their luck as soon as they were officially given their own dressing room. Archie had also told them that for some reason the fish seemed to bite better at night so there was no point in the girls throwing out lines whilst they were rehearsing. ‘And it don’t look good for members of the public walkin’ along the pier to see actors fishing for their supper,’ he had added with a grin.
Right now, however, Merle and Lottie were more concerned with getting their breakfast than with fishing. Whilst they had been in rehearsal, breakfast had just been porridge, but now that they were actually earning Jack Russell had assured them that it would be bacon and egg and toast as well, treats that seldom came their way under normal circumstances.
The girls washed, dressed and hurried down the stairs, and with no one to remind her the dream simply went right out of Lottie’s head. When, later, she tried to recapture it, she had only the vaguest memory of what had befallen her. There had been a boy . . . an old woman . . . the seaside . . . But then she was hurrying along the road which led to Marine Parade, so anxious to get to the Wellington Pier theatre that dreams seemed of little importance. She did mention casually to Louella and Max, as they approached the theatre, that the beach had seemed familiar to her when she and Merle had played on it the previous day, but they both laughed indulgently and Louella said that one beach is very like another and she could promise Lottie that neither of them had ever visited Great Yarmouth before.
‘But I hope we shall do so again, because it’s easily the nicest seaside place I’ve been to,’ she said. ‘There’s so much to see and do – the gardens are beautiful, and that great greenhouse place . . .’
‘The Winter Gardens, you mean,’ Lottie said smugly; she had learned a good deal about the town since their arrival. ‘You can have tea there, in ever such pretty cups, and buns and probably little iced cakes as well. Me and Merle mean to go there when we have some money to spare.’
It was only later that she realised Louella had, once again, managed to divert her mind from the subject she had raised. But it did not really matter, she consoled herself. There was bound to be another opportunity . . . only what was the point? Louella had said positively that the Laceys had never visited Great Yarmouth before, and she had no reason to lie. The dreams were just dreams and nothing more; she must stop believing that they had some deeper significance.
They reached the pier and were waved through by the man in the ticket office without having to show their passes since he had grown to know them over the past couple of weeks. They arrived at the theatre and met the others on stage, where the stage manager was allocating dressing rooms. There was some confusion at this point since he had assumed Max and Louella would share, but this was soon remedied. Louella would go with Merle and Lottie, and Max and Jack would share, as they had done at the Gaiety.
Once this had been decided, the stage manager talked earnestly about technical matters, then told them that they had the rest of the day to set up their dressing rooms as they liked them. They had not rehearsed in costume, since the back of stage facilities were cramped and had, in any case, been the prerogative of the repertory company.
The two girls hurried off the stage and found their dressing room. It was very small and only thin wooden partitions separated them from the rooms on either side. The window did not fit very well – in fact there was quite a strong draught coming from round it – but Lottie thought it would do. There would be just about sufficient room for themselves and their costumes, and the mirror, with its surrounding lights, was both large and clear.
She was saying as much to Merle when the door opened and Louella came in. She glanced around her then sniffed disparagingly. ‘You can see why theatre folk call these dressing rooms the cowsheds,’ she remarked. ‘Still, the auditorium’s grand, the seats are comfortable and the stage is well lit and will do nicely, both for our act and for Max’s. We’d best cut along to the green room now, though, and fetch our traps, because the SM wants anyone who has a change of costume to do a dress rehearsal this afternoon. It’s a pretty compact theatre and I believe the wardrobe mistress is helpful and efficient, but I rather agree with Ronnie Radcliffe that we should practise our quick changes before the first performance.’
Both girls groaned but Merle agreed reluctantly that Mr Radcliffe, the stage manager, was right. ‘I remember black-bottoming off stage left whilst wrigglin’ out of me dress, only to find Mrs Lucy, white as a ghost, holdin’ me costume out appealingly from the opposite wings. I had to struggle back into me dress – couldn’t do it up at the back, of course – and chassis across the stage wit’ a bright red face while the orchestra were one jump ahead, so to speak, and the folk in the front row were all gigglin’ and whisperin’. I wouldn’t want to go through
that
again.’
that
again.’
Lottie went pale with horror at the thought of such a thing happening to her and decided that a dress rehearsal was a good idea. She accompanied her mother and Merle to the green room, where they spent the best part of an hour sorting out their costumes and taking them back to their dressing room. Each of them had a rail upon which to hang their stage clothing and Louella, who was tidy-minded in the theatre if not at home, got a stick of greasepaint and labelled three drawers with their names. ‘These are for gloves, headdresses, tights, stage jewellery and so on,’ she informed them. ‘I know your ostrich plumes won’t fit into a drawer, Merle, but you can perch them on the windowsill.’
‘No she can’t,’ Lottie said quickly. ‘There’s an awful draught where the edges of the sash don’t meet and – and we might want the window open; these dressing rooms must get awfully stuffy when the noonday sun’s on them.’
Louella frowned, then her brow cleared and she laughed. ‘Archie told me about the fishing; I bet you’ve planned to make yourself a mint of money selling whales to holidaymakers,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You’re right, though, there’s enough draught coming around the edges of that window to sail a yacht. I’ll see the wardrobe mistress – maybe she can suggest something.’
Merle, however, speedily solved the problem. ‘I’ll stick ’em in a string bag and hang ’em on the hooks,’ she said, gesturing to a row of pegs on the back of the door. ‘Good thing I don’t change the plumes when I change me dress, since it takes me a good five minutes to pin the bloody things on me head.’
‘Language,’ Louella murmured, but without much conviction. Everyone in the theatre swore at times, Lottie knew, and though her mother disapproved, Lottie had heard her cuss with the best when she dropped something heavy on her foot, or missed a cue. ‘Now, you two girls, this is a serious dress rehearsal, especially for Merle, so get on with it. Max is treating me to supper after the show, but before it I mean to buy myself a cup of tea and a doughnut in the Winter Gardens. If you get your dress rehearsal over in time you may come with me; my treat.’
Louella’s own act did not call for a quick change since management always made sure that Mr Magic’s act and that of the Lacey Sisters were separated by at least two other performances. So Louella simply stood in the wings, masterminding Merle and Lottie as they flew backwards and forwards, doing their routines. The only change Louella had to make was for the finale, when she and Lottie left the stage to Merle and her modern dances. It was not far back to their own dressing room, so they were able to get there and become Columbine and the Victorian lady in a few seconds, returning to the stage in plenty of time to help Merle slip into her various slinky little dresses.
There were a few hitches to be ironed out but finally both Louella and Mr Radcliffe were satisfied that the acts would go smoothly, and the two girls rushed gleefully back to their dressing room, changed into street clothes, and took themselves off to a small shop in Regent Street which boasted that it sold everything to do with fishing. When they had purchased their lines, they rushed back and met Louella, just approaching the Winter Gardens. She told them that Max would join them presently and they found a table beneath a flourishing palm tree and ordered tea and cakes for four. The waitress looked rather pointedly at the empty chair, for already the café was crowded, but Louella explained that a friend would be joining them shortly. When Max arrived, they discussed every aspect of the Wellington Pier and its theatre.
‘I love it; it’s much more fun than the Gaiety ever was,’ Lottie said, gazing around her. She turned to her mother. ‘I never asked, but do I have to go to school here? I’m fifteen, so no one will think it odd that I’m not in class.’
‘But darling, we agreed that because you’d missed so much school, what with your accident and matinée performances, you’d stay on, at least until the end of this term,’ Louella said. ‘It seems foolish, because you write perfectly clearly and you understand figures as well as I do myself . . .’
‘If not better,’ Max murmured, giving Lottie the benefit of his wickedest smile. ‘You’re the one who ought to be going to school, Lou my love, if we’re talking about mathematics. I remember when we were in Liverpool, you asking me how I knew the number of people in the auditorium one quiet afternoon and I told you that each row had thirty seats and that, because it was so quiet, Mr Quentain had moved everyone into the front eight rows. So all I had to do was multiply eight by thirty and then count the empty seats. I don’t believe you ever really understood what I was talking about!’
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, dear Max,’ Louella said sweetly. ‘Can I pour you another cup? Lottie? Merle?’
Max laughed and reached across the table to give Louella’s hand a loving squeeze. His eyes were full of affection and Lottie could not help reflecting that her mother had done it again. When asked a question she did not want to answer, she simply changed the subject, and did it so cleverly, and so nicely, that either no one noticed or they simply accepted that Louella did not wish to answer.
Lottie sat back in her chair and thought about Mr and Mrs Magic. She had intercepted the glance which Max had just given her mother and realised, not for the first time, that the couple were really fond of one another. She knew Max had been married, but his wife had left him years ago, so why on earth didn’t he ask Louella to marry him? Lottie knew her mother well enough to be certain that she would accept with joy, for Louella often complained that life would be a whole lot easier if she were married and had a husband to ward off the importunate young men who haunted the stage door. And then there were others, directors or producers, who expected beautiful but unattached women to grant them favours. Lottie had no idea what these favours were, but she had heard her mother and Max discussing them, and knew that this was the reason why Louella fostered the idea, in the theatre at any rate, that she and Max were more than merely stage partners, separate dressing rooms notwithstanding. So why, oh why, didn’t Max pop the question and make them all happy?
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