Forgotten Dreams (33 page)
‘But that doesn’t stop you from being in love with her . . .’ Derek began, then caught a glare from Mrs Parrot which made him break off. ‘Sorry, Jack. I guess you aren’t in love with either of them,’ he muttered. ‘Besides, it were old Gluepot who started talking about love, not meself.’
There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence and then Mrs Parrot spoke. ‘If you’ve all finished here, you can be off to your beds while I clear away and wash up,’ she said briskly. ‘Mr Jack, you were last in, so you can give me a hand.’ She turned to her other two lodgers. ‘Be off with you,’ she said, though not unkindly. ‘Tomorrow’s Sunday so I’ll be serving breakfast at half past nine instead of half seven; don’t be late for it.’
As soon as the other two had left, Jack began to clear the table whilst his landlady poured hot water from the kettle into the tin washing-up bowl. ‘Thanks, Mrs Parrot,’ Jack said sincerely, taking the gingham tablecloth over to the back door and shaking the crumbs into the cobbled yard. He turned back into the room. ‘I – I do admire Miss Lacey but she’s as good as married to Mr Magic, so I don’t have any sort of chance there. As for Miss Lottie, I’m not in me dotage yet. She’s a nice little kid, but even at fifteen she’s young for her age, and I believe she badly needs a friend. She didn’t take to young Merle when the older girl first joined the company, but over the summer they grew real close. Only now of course Merle’s got a regular boyfriend, and poor little Lottie is on the outside looking in. I used to know her father years ago, and she’s desperate to learn a bit more about him herself. So she’s comin’ round here tomorrow mornin’ and I promised her I’d tell her what I can over a spot o’ lunch.’ He looked anxiously into his landlady’s small face. ‘Did I do wrong to suggest it? Will folk talk?’
Mrs Parrot clattered the last of the plates on to the draining board, dried her hands on the roller towel which hung from the back door, and shook her head. ‘No one won’t say a word. They’ll think you’re an uncle taking his niece out on the spree,’ she said at once. ‘Mr Derek was trying to get a rise out of you and old Mr Gluhowski didn’t think before he spoke. Why, I don’t believe he’s ever been in the theatre – except as a member of the audience – in his life, so where did he get the idea that you were in love with Miss Louella? I think he was just trying to put a spoke in Mr Derek’s wheel, make him look a fool like.’
Jack grinned ruefully. ‘Fact is, the old feller hit the nail on the head,’ he admitted. ‘Oh, I’m not in love with Louella in the way it sounds, but I do admire her. I’ve tried very hard never to let it show and I’m sure no one in the theatre has the foggiest idea, but it seems I’ve not been that successful. I wonder if anyone else suspects?’
Once more Mrs Parrot shook her head. ‘Mr Jack, you’re far too sensitive and it don’t do,’ she said. ‘I’ve known you longer – a good deal longer – than either of me other lodgers, and I didn’t have the faintest idea that you liked Miss Louella any more than you liked, say, Doris Lavery, what plays the piano, or that little chorus girl – Annie, wasn’t it – the one you took to the fillums a couple of times.’
‘Well, if you didn’t guess, I reckon I’m safe enough,’ Jack said, greatly relieved. ‘I’d hate anyone at the Gaiety to know I had a soft spot for Louella, because I’ve always felt sorry for chaps sufferin’ from . . . dammit, whatever is it called . . . oh aye, unrequited love. And anyway, I’m not, because I reckon I’ve got a crush on Louella, nothing more.’
‘Well, there you are then,’ Mrs Parrot said placidly, refilling the kettle. ‘Glad we sorted that out ’cos I like me lodgers to feel comfortable with one another. Now, Mr Jack, do you fancy a hot water bottle? It’s mortal cold out and I reckon the sheets will feel like ice when you first gerrin bed. I’m takin’ one up myself.’
‘If I were a real tough guy I’d refuse your kind offer and shiver half the night, but I ain’t a tough guy, so thanks very much, Mrs P,’ Jack said gratefully, and presently climbed the stairs to his room. Five minutes later he was in bed where he cuddled his hot water bottle and refused to let himself imagine that he was cuddling Louella Lacey.
Lottie turned up bright and early on Jack’s doorstep next morning. The day was both cold and overcast, but within ten minutes of setting out Jack’s jokes and good humour made it seem sunny and special. Since they could scarcely have lunch at ten in the morning, Jack suggested a ride on the overhead railway, followed by a brisk walk along Seaforth Sands to give them an appetite for their meal.
They carried out this plan and Lottie discovered all over again, as she had in Yarmouth, what a truly nice person Jack was. He went out of his way to put her at her ease, kept up a constant flow of small talk so that there were no awkward pauses, and made her talk about herself, her hopes and ambitions. She was shy of telling him much at first, but presently found herself chatting quite freely, and when they got on to the subject of her life before the accident she began to tell him about the dreams. Then, horrified, she pulled herself up short, saying lamely that she did not know what had come over her. ‘They were only dreams after all,’ she said feebly. ‘They didn’t mean anything. Besides, I’ve only had one since Yarmouth.’
‘Odd though,’ Jack said thoughtfully. ‘But then so far you’ve only told me about the first dream you had. I take it there were more?’
‘Ye-es, a couple more, but they were all nonsense,’ Lottie said uneasily. What an idiot she had been! She and Baz had agreed that no one, save themselves, should be told about the dreams and here she was blabbing to Jack as though he could possibly be interested.
It seemed, however, that he was. ‘Nine out of ten dreams are nonsense,’ he agreed now. They were walking along the sands and had to keep their heads close for otherwise the strong wind blew their voices away. ‘But I read a book once . . .’
Lottie jumped in immediately, seeing her chance to change the subject without hurting anyone’s feelings. ‘No, did you?’ she said admiringly. ‘You actually read a book . . . quite a scholar, aren’t you?’
Jack laughed. ‘You stole that joke from me,’ he said accusingly. ‘What I meant to say before you interrupted was that I read a book about ancient Egypt, and in them days people used to have what they called “true dreams”. They were usually dreams about what would happen in the future, mainly concerning pharaohs, battles and such, but the folk who had ’em were revered by others as soothsayers and one of ’em, a woman it were, insisted that in her “true dreams” she could smell and feel and taste, which you can’t do ordinarily, when you are asleep. And when you were describing your dream you said you felt the wind on your cheek and felt the rubber teat of the bottle against your lips, and tasted the sweetness of the milk. I reckon what you had were a “true dream”.’
Lottie struggled with herself for a moment. She both liked and trusted Jack, was sure he would never break a confidence, yet could not bring herself to talk any more about the dreams. She had asked him, weeks back, if he had ever met anyone named Troy, but he had thought long and hard and had finally shaken his head. He had not even asked why she wanted to know and she thought it would be best if she changed the subject now.
‘I can’t talk against this wind. Besides, isn’t it time we turned back?’ she shouted. ‘Anyway, if you remember, it’s you who’s supposed to be telling me things, not vice versa.’
She half expected him to argue, but he simply nodded and turned round, pulling her with him. Back on the overhead railway they discussed the pantomime and next year’s summer show in Yarmouth, but when they were ensconced in the canny house of his choice and had been served with a helping each of steak and kidney pie, mashed potatoes and cabbage, he took a deep breath and began.
‘Your dad and meself met when we were both no more than seventeen or eighteen, and trying to make our way on the stage,’ he said. ‘He grew up on the Wirral but we were both determined to be in the theatre and we chose the Gaiety because it’s smaller than the Royal Court or the Rotunda, and in them days management made their own stars, you could say. Well, what I mean is, the big names – Marie Lloyd, Harry Tate and Little Tich – went to the big places which could pay them big money, so Alf and meself thought we had a better chance at the Gaiety. To start with, Alf were props and I were lighting.’ He smiled reminiscently, his gaze fixed dreamily on the middle distance. ‘Only then a touring repertory company came to the Gaiety to do a couple of weeks whilst the permanent people had some time off. They needed what you might call dogsbodies, lads who would shift scenery, sit in the prompt box, sell tickets and do walk-on parts. The money weren’t much to write home about, but me and Alf jumped at it. The rep company were pleased with us and took us with them when they left – for experience, you know. We had a grand time, too. Alf was always good fun and of course we saw a great deal of the country. By then Alf and I had considerable stage experience and could do all sorts. Then the Gaiety theatre needed a comedian and a magician, or a conjurer; the stage manager wasn’t fussy so long as he had a full show.’ He chuckled. ‘Believe it or not, Alf and I tossed a coin to see which of us would start in trying his hand at magic; we both reckoned we knew enough jokes to get us through, but magic needed something more. As you know, Alf won the toss, but even if he hadn’t I reckon he’d have ended up doing the magic bit because he had the steadiest hands of any man I knew, and he took to the magic business like a duck to water, same as I took to comedy in me own small way. Only at first he used one of the chorus as his assistant and she were useless. She were on the short side and clumsy! Many a time I’ve heard your dad threaten that if she made one more mistake he really would saw her in half, no kiddin’. And then one evening, after the show, this gorgeous young girl turned up. She were that lovely, I reckon every feller – or all them that weren’t keen on other fellers – fell in love with her. Alf and meself were as bad as anyone, but Alf had one big advantage over the rest of us. He were dead good-looking, tall and slim but wi’ broad shoulders, and he needed an assistant, for the last time he had bawled his girl out she’d left in floods of tears, vowin’ never to return. So of course, he offered the job to your mam and she were ideal. Perfect, in fact. She had marvellous looks, oodles of charm, and – oh, I dunno, a sort of freshness which were very appealing. So appealing that within six weeks Alf had asked her to marry him, and the rest is history.’
Lottie drew in a deep breath. ‘And that beautiful young girl was my mother,’ she said reverently. ‘Gosh! She always says she was only seventeen when she had me, so that means you knew her when she was only a year older than I am now. Did she call me Lottie right from the start? I know I were christened Charlotte Sarah but I expect Lottie went better with Lacey; I mean, Charlotte Lacey is a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?’
‘I reckon you’re right,’ Jack said, rather doubtfully, after a short pause. ‘Only I disremember Louella usin’ your name much. She called you baby, sweetheart, little darlin’, stuff like that. It must have been when she decided to take you into the act that she thought Lottie went better with Lacey. Yes, that’ll be it.’
‘I see,’ Lottie said, nodding her head. ‘But Jack, you’ve said you were fond of her, so why didn’t you ask her to marry you after Alf was killed?’
Jack had been staring into the distance, but now he rubbed his nose thoughtfully, then ran a hand through his crisp grizzled hair. ‘After your dad died, you and your mam simply disappeared,’ he said slowly. ‘She had left the theatre of course whilst she gave birth, and I always reckoned she couldn’t abide the thought of returning to the place where she and Alf had met and fallen in love. I wasn’t the only one who tried to trace her, but none of us had any luck. I’m telling you, when she turned up at the Gaiety one sunny morning in June, six years after she had left, to say that she had her own act and wanted Mr Quentain to give her work, you could have knocked me down with a feather. She was still pretty as a picture and she recognised me at once and was pleased as Punch to hear that I was now the company comedian and comfortably settled in Liverpool.
‘She was working in Rhyl for a magician, but she said he wasn’t a bit like Alf; he was a bully and she hated him, and she was afraid for her little girl – that was you, Lottie – so she planned to escape from him by getting another theatre to take on her act. She knew the magician would be mad if he found out, and might attack you as well as herself. She had worked out a song and dance routine with you, and hoped someone at the Gaiety would remember her and give her work, which is what happened, of course.
‘And there was Max, tall and handsome and remarkably like Alf, needing an assistant. He said he would give her a trial and Mr Quentain said kids were always a big draw, so even if Max didn’t take her on, he definitely would. Of course she had to work out her time with the feller in Rhyl, so she planned to come to us in October, when the holiday season were over.’
‘Thanks Jack; I feel a lot happier now I know a bit more,’ Lottie said gratefully as Jack finished his tale. ‘But why did Louella stay in Rhyl for another four months if she hated the magician so much?’
‘Because she had signed a contract with the Pavilion,’ Jack explained. ‘She needed the money since in those days you were only a kid and she had to pay someone to look after you when she was on stage late.’ He grinned at her, then beckoned to the waitress. ‘What say we round off our meal with a helping of apple pie and custard? Or you could have a slice of Bakewell tart.’
Lottie walked thoughtfully back to Victoria Court very much later in the afternoon, thinking over what she had been told. Jack had taken her to the Walker Art Gallery, saying that it was always comfortably warm inside since great paintings had to be kept at an even temperature, but they had not discussed the past again, and when they parted at the entrance to the court Lottie had thanked him for a lovely day and had gone indoors determined to say nothing. She could not imagine why her mother had been so secretive about her own early life in the theatre, then concluded that Louella was not one to dwell on the past, particularly if it was sad. However, she deemed it wisest not to admit that Jack had been telling her how he and her father had met. If anyone asked, she would simply say someone had asked her out for a meal and then they had spent the afternoon at the gallery. She did not think her mother would be sufficiently interested to cross-question her, and Merle would only be curious if she suspected Lottie of having a young man.
Other books
The Bottom of the Harbor by Joseph Mitchell
Thomas Hardy by Andrew Norman
The Run of His Life: The People v. O. J. Simpson by Jeffrey Toobin
Star Trek: Duty, Honor, Redemption by Vonda N. McIntyre
The Hours of the Virgin by Loren D. Estleman
All About Charming Alice by J. Arlene Culiner
The New Champion by Jody Feldman
The Way to Dusty Death by Alistair MacLean
Under the Sign by Ann Lauterbach
Prelude to a Rumor, Part One by Melissa Schroeder
