Forgotten Dreams (2 page)
‘Hey, what on earth are you doin’ starin’ into space like a great mooncalf? Your ma’s in a reg’lar takin’ ’cos you ain’t been down to the theatre so’s you can get her messages. I offered to get ’em but she said she wouldn’t trust me to pick out the freshest fruit, nor to know what sort of tea an’ that to buy, so you’d best get yourself over there afore she decides you’ve got yourself kilt stone dead runnin’ under another perishin’ bus.’
Lottie’s eyes, which had been half closed, shot open. ‘Great mooncalf yourself, and it weren’t a bus, it were a lorry,’ she said quickly. ‘Will you come with me, Kenny? Mammy usually gives me a penny for doin’ the messages so we’ll go halves. What d’you say?’
‘Oh, awright,’ the boy said amiably. He was a ragged urchin, a year older than Lottie, and her best friend in Victoria Court. Indeed, Mrs Brocklehurst ‘gave an eye’ to Lottie when her mother was busy, as well as cleaning No. 2, and taking the Lacey washing on Monday mornings and bringing it back clean and freshly ironed on the Wednesday evening. She was a fat, motherly woman with five children of her own but thought nothing of taking on an extra one, and only charged Louella a nominal sum for childminding, though she enjoyed the privilege of being able to have a free seat at the theatre whenever she had time to see a show.
Everyone living in the court assumed that Louella and Baz’s father were married since they lived in the same house, but Lottie knew it was not true. ‘Only don’t say anything to anyone because folk don’t approve of theatre people,’ Louella had said, thoroughly confusing her daughter. ‘Let them believe what they want to believe, that’s what I say.’
Of course Baz must have known that Louella and Max O’Mara were not married, but he never remarked on it, so it was easy for Lottie to keep her own counsel. The neighbours referred to Max and Louella as Mr and Mrs Magic, and were friendly enough in an offhand way, though they seldom mixed much, of course. When the other residents of the court were coming wearily home after a day’s work on the docks, or in the factories and shops, Mr and Mrs Magic were setting out for the evening performance at the Gaiety. Thursdays and Saturdays they did matinée performances, and on Sunday they stayed in bed until noon and then went to the theatre, if they wished to do so, to rehearse whatever act they were going to perform the following week, for the management liked to vary its programme since this encouraged the audience to return. But quite often neither Max nor Louella felt the need to rehearse so Sunday was usually a holiday.
At Christmas, the entire cast abandoned their own acts and put on a pantomime. Baz, who despised the theatre, or said he did, always moaned and grumbled that he would not be dragged on to the stage, but usually ended up as the rear end of the cow in
Jack and the Beanstalk
, or a servant to the Marquis of Carabas when they did
Puss in Boots
. They all loved the pantomime season when every seat in the theatre was filled and the money rolled in steadily for six glorious weeks, and when it was over the theatre was closed for a whole fortnight so that everyone could go off for a well-earned rest.
Jack and the Beanstalk
, or a servant to the Marquis of Carabas when they did
Puss in Boots
. They all loved the pantomime season when every seat in the theatre was filled and the money rolled in steadily for six glorious weeks, and when it was over the theatre was closed for a whole fortnight so that everyone could go off for a well-earned rest.
‘Well? Are we goin’ or ain’t we? Honest to God, Lottie, I don’t believe you listen to a word I say. You sit there with your gob open, dreamin’ away, when I
telled
you your mam were in a takin’.’ Kenny seized Lottie’s hands and heaved her to her feet. ‘What’s gorrin to you today? You’re always dreamy but you ain’t usually this bad.’
telled
you your mam were in a takin’.’ Kenny seized Lottie’s hands and heaved her to her feet. ‘What’s gorrin to you today? You’re always dreamy but you ain’t usually this bad.’
‘Sorry. I’m a bit worried like, Kenny,’ Lottie said apologetically. ‘The fact is . . . If I tell you, will you promise you won’t tell no one else?’
‘Cross me heart and hope to die, slit me throat if I tell a lie,’ Kenny said rapidly, drawing a finger across his throat and making a peculiarly horrible choking noise as he did so. ‘What’s up then? Don’t say you’ve remembered you killed someone afore your accident?’
‘I’ll kill you if you don’t shurrup,’ Lottie said automatically. ‘No, but do you remember me tellin’ you how my mam had to get rid of Merle ’cos she weren’t sweet no more? Well, one of my teeth is wobbling, and that means the rest will start to wobble too quite soon. Baz says Mammy will kick me out, like she did Merle . . .’
‘Course she won’t. Merle weren’t no relation so that were different,’ Kenny said bracingly. ‘You’re daft, you are! Oh, I grant you teeth’s important if you’re on the stage, but you’ll grow some more, same as everyone else does.’ He grinned like a crocodile and tapped his own front teeth with a grimy forefinger. ‘See them? Them’s me second teeth, even better than the first lot if you asks me. Most kids lose ’em when they’s five or six – I did – so you’re lucky to have hung on to ’em for so long. I guess it’s because you’re small for your age,’ he concluded wisely.
Lottie stared doubtfully up at him. She supposed he was right because Mammy and she loved one another but she still wished she could do something which would stop the wobbler from wobbling. Hesitantly, she suggested gluing it with a wodge of chewing gum but this only made Kenny laugh. ‘You’re always tellin’ me how wonderful your mam is and I know she’s a kind woman,’ he said. ‘She’ll tell you not to open your mouth when you smile until the new teeth have growed in, but then you’ll go on as before.’ He heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘I never met a girl what worried more over less.’
By now, the two of them were making their way along the crowded pavement and Lottie stopped short, grabbing Kenny’s arm so that he stopped too. ‘You’d worry if you couldn’t remember a great big dollop of your life,’ she said accusingly. ‘Anyone would.’
‘No, no, only a stupid girl,’ Kenny said tauntingly. ‘Just wait till I tell me mam that you think Mrs Magic would kick you out ’cos you’d lost your front teeth!’
‘If you tell anyone, you’re a horrible liar,’ Lottie said. ‘You swore you wouldn’t.’
Kenny began to say that such an oath only applied to other kids, but Lottie was having none of it. She hurled herself at him and in a moment the two of them were rolling on the ground, Lottie making a spirited attempt to punch her companion on the nose whilst Kenny, giggling helplessly, fended her off.
It was a friendly fight, for Kenny never used his full strength, but when they drew apart and lurched into a shop doorway – for passers-by had not been pleased when the fighters had barged into them – Lottie realised there was a salty taste in her mouth. When she checked the wobbler, she discovered why. Her tooth had come right out. She gave a wail of despair and spat it into the palm of her hand. It looked very tiny, but when she probed at the hole it had left, still wondering if she could stick it back, she felt the sharp edge of the new tooth and realised it was hopeless. She had lost her first tooth and could not possibly hide the fact from anyone, and of course Louella would have to be told.
‘What’s up?’ Kenny said, staring. ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I? There’s blood on your chin.’
‘Me tooth’s come right out,’ Lottie quavered, holding out her hand to show the evidence. ‘I must have jammed me teeth together or something. Oh well, once it started to wobble there weren’t much I could do. I’ll just have to tell me mam an’ see what she says.’
‘I’m tellin’ you she won’t mind. All mams know their kids lose teeth,’ Kenny said reassuringly. ‘And if you put that tooth under your piller, chances are your mam’ll take it out and put a penny there instead.’
Lottie grinned at him. For some reason, now that it had actually happened, she realised she had been worrying for nothing. Mammy would never turn her out, no matter what horrible Baz might say, and besides, there had been times when she had wished that she was an ordinary child and not a theatrical one. If losing a tooth meant she did not have to perform for several weeks, what was wrong with that? When she had first started work again, after coming out of hospital, she had been so tired the day following a performance that she had repeatedly fallen asleep in class and this had not pleased her teachers. Because of her memory loss she had had a lot of ground to make up and the head teacher of the school in Bond Street had told Louella that her daughter should miss matinées rather than school. It was the summer holidays now, but of course theatres did not close down, like schools, so she was only able to play out when she was neither rehearsing nor performing and often she was too tired to join in the more energetic games played by the children in Victoria Court. Yes, a break from working in the theatre would not be so bad after all.
She said as much to Kenny but he looked at her with incredulity. ‘Wharrabout the money, queen?’ he asked. ‘Your mam’s got Number Two real nice but she’s bound to miss your money.’
They had almost reached the theatre by this time and were about to go down the jigger which led to the stage door, but once again Lottie pulled her companion to a halt. ‘Money? But no one pays me money,’ she said. ‘They pay Mammy . . . I must remember to call her Louella because she doesn’t like me sayin’ Mammy in the theatre, I don’t know why. What makes you think anyone would pay me, Kenny?’
‘Course they does,’ Kenny said impatiently. ‘Why, half the folk in the stalls goes there pertickler to see you; they think you’re sweet.’ He sounded disgusted. ‘Anyroad, let’s see what your mam – I mean Louella – says when you tell ’er about your tooth.’
Both children had forgotten that Kenny had already seen Louella in the box office or they might have gone in through the front. As it was, they found the stage door uncompromisingly locked so they had to retrace their steps. There was a short queue for tickets, for the theatre put on extra matinées during the school holidays, giving a shortened performance and charging half the usual price. They joined the queue but several people looked round and Lottie was immediately recognised. Faces beamed and there were murmurs of ‘It’s little Miss Lottie come to visit her mammy’ as the folk in the queue pushed her gently to the front. Lottie had grown used to being hailed when she was with her mother or near the theatre, but she did not like it. However, she smiled brightly, keeping her lips clamped together and reflecting that at least being recognised meant she could speak to Louella at once, rather than having to wait her turn.
It was apparent, however, as soon as she reached the front of the queue that her mother was not in a very good temper. ‘Lottie, you bad child, where on earth have you been?’ she snapped. ‘I was beginning to think you must have had an accident. You know full well that you’re supposed to come down to the theatre for my messages as soon as Mrs Brocklehurst has given you your dinner. What were you doing? I must say you’re usually . . . oh, my God!’
Wordlessly, Lottie had opened her mouth, indicated the gap, and then held out her hand with her small tooth in its palm. ‘Me bleedin’ tooth come out, Louella. I’m awful sorry but I couldn’t help it,’ she said humbly. ‘I wanted to stick it back in with chewing gum only Kenny said that wouldn’t work. Will it – will it mean—’
Her mother interrupted her. ‘Losing a tooth doesn’t take over an hour, nor should it make you as dirty as though you’d been rolling around on the pavement,’ she said accusingly. ‘And how many times have I told you not to use bad language? It’s vulgar and unnecessary.’
Lottie stared at her mother with considerable respect. How on earth had she known about the fight on the pavement? She opened her mouth to enquire but Louella was producing her purse, a list and their marketing bag, so she said nothing. After all her worry it seemed that a missing tooth wasn’t even an acceptable excuse for being late. But Louella was standing up and coming round to the little side door. She emerged into the foyer, holding out the marketing bag with one hand and fluffing up her blonde curls with the other. She smiled sweetly at the queue of people, then bent to give Lottie a quick kiss and to smooth a hand over her daughter’s rumpled curls. ‘Off you go then, pet, and you may buy a couple of iced buns for you and your little friend,’ she said gaily. Then she turned her sweetest smile on her audience. ‘Aren’t children little wretches?’ she enquired laughingly. ‘When I left home to come to work earlier little Miss Lottie was clean and neat as a freshly picked flower, and look at her now!’
‘Well, missus, the kid ain’t born what can spend a couple of hours out in the street wi’out gettin’ muck up to the eyebrows,’ someone remarked, and there were murmurs of agreement from those around.
‘Very true,’ Louella said. She turned back to Lottie. ‘Don’t be long, darling. I’m dying for a cup of tea but there’s no milk – or tea for that matter – so I’m relying on you to buy me some.’
She turned away but Lottie followed her, saying in a low undertone: ‘Can I go on this evening, Mammy, without me tooth? I’ll try to smile with me lips closed but I might forget . . .’
Louella whipped into the box office, then turned and faced her daughter. ‘Of course you’ll go on tonight,’ she hissed, her voice losing its sweetness and becoming merely impatient. ‘And you’d better practise smiling with your lips closed.’ And with that, she slammed the box office door, causing Lottie to jump backwards, for had she not done so she might easily have lost another tooth.
Rather chastened, the two children left the building and headed towards St John’s market, for Louella was a great believer in fresh fruit and vegetables and always bought quantities of both.
‘Your mam were in a rare old temper,’ Kenny said presently. ‘An’ it weren’t your tooth, though I aren’t denyin’ it shook her up a bit. Don’t she like doin’ a turn in the box office?’
Lottie shrugged. ‘Dunno,’ she said vaguely. ‘I think it was me bein’ late and her worrying about the messages which made her a bit short like. Actresses is all the same. And it ain’t temper – it’s temperament what they’ve got.’
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