Forgotten Dreams (4 page)
Lottie giggled, feeling waves of warmth and reassurance wash over her. How could she ever have worried that this gentle loving woman could turn her out? But you had to laugh; Louella had said she knew Lottie would have done all the shopping and in the same breath had asked if her daughter had remembered to buy Max’s cigarettes. Since they were on the list and Lottie had worked her way conscientiously through it, it was scarcely likely that she would have forgotten. So she returned her mother’s hug, pointed out the cigarettes on the Welsh dresser, and then ran upstairs for the sewing box.
When she returned to the kitchen, Louella was sitting in one of the fireside chairs with a cup of tea in one hand and a piece of slab cake in the other. She was dipping the cake absently into her tea but stopped when she saw her daughter and got to her feet, carrying tea and cake over to the table. ‘Max would have my guts for garters if he saw me doing this,’ she said cheerfully, standing the tea down on the table. ‘He says only old ladies need to dunk.’ She turned to Lottie. ‘Now let’s have a look at the gap in your teeth.’ Lottie obediently opened her mouth, and after a moment’s scrutiny her mother said that provided Lottie remembered to keep her lips together when she smiled she was sure no one would even notice. ‘I had a bit of a talk with Jack Russell,’ she said, gesturing to Lottie to take her place at the table. ‘He said as how kids without front teeth went down pretty big on the silver screen because audiences think it’s cute – American audiences that is – and he thought Liverpool folk would feel the same. In fact, he suggested that when we take our final bow you should give a great big smile at the audience to show the gap in your teeth. I wasn’t too sure, but, thinking it over, he may well be right. We’ll try it tonight, at any rate, and see how it goes.’
‘But what about when the new teeth come through?’ Lottie asked rather apprehensively. ‘Baz said some people’s teeth come through huge, which isn’t pretty. And you let Merle go because she stopped being sweet.’
‘They won’t be huge, because you’re very like me and I’ve always had small, even teeth,’ Louella said. ‘But I didn’t let Merle go because of her teeth, queen. It was because she didn’t sing too well. Truth to tell, sweetheart, I only employed her because she was related to Max. And it’s always a mistake to employ someone you don’t know yourself.’
‘Related to Max?’ Lottie squeaked. ‘I never knew that, Mammy. What sort of relation?’
‘She’s his niece,’ Louella said briefly, helping herself to another slice of cake.
‘Well, I’m blowed,’ Lottie said. ‘Baz never told me that! So that makes Merle his cousin, don’t it, Mammy? No wonder they were such big friends, her and Baz. It did seem odd because she were only with you for a couple of months, weren’t she? While I were in hospital, I mean. But I reckon her and Baz had probably known each other for ages. An’ if she’s his cousin, where is she now?’
‘With her parents, of course,’ Louella said. ‘Her pa is Max’s brother and he’s a conjurer like Max, only he’s with the circus. Well, Max started off with the circus too, but he soon realised he could do a deal better for himself on the stage. So you see I took Merle on as a favour to Max, really.’
‘But she was only a kid, so why did they let her come to you?’ Lottie asked. ‘Mammies don’t usually leave their kids, norreven with an uncle, do they?’
‘Sometimes they do,’ Louella said. For some reason a faint pink blush stole up her neck and invaded her cheeks. ‘But Max’s brother knew poor Merle couldn’t read or write because they never stayed in the same place long enough for her to get any schooling. They thought if she lived with us for, say, a year, she might catch up. Only it’s no good denying she couldn’t sing, and when I knew you were coming out of hospital we sent her back to the circus. And since she sagged off school whenever she could and was dreadfully cocky to the teachers, they weren’t sorry to see her go, I can tell you.’
‘I see,’ Lottie said slowly. She felt greatly relieved. All her worries over losing her teeth had been completely groundless. I should have guessed that Baz was only trying to frighten me, she thought, helping herself to cold mutton. But I wonder why he never told me Merle was his cousin? I’ll ask him sometime, if I can catch him when he’s in a good mood, that is. And how odd that I never knew Max had a brother, either. I wish
we
were in a circus! If we were, I shouldn’t have to go to school and I could learn to be a tightrope walker and swing on a trapeze in spangled tights and a frilly top. Just wait till I tell Kenny that I’m as good as related to a circus conjurer!
Chapter Twowe
were in a circus! If we were, I shouldn’t have to go to school and I could learn to be a tightrope walker and swing on a trapeze in spangled tights and a frilly top. Just wait till I tell Kenny that I’m as good as related to a circus conjurer!
1922
It was July and this was the last day of term. Lottie, cleaning her teeth vigorously and spitting into the slop bucket, remembered how frightened she had been a year ago that her second teeth would turn out to be large and yellowy, and prevent her from performing on stage with her mother. How things had changed in that year! Her teeth had come through as Louella had predicted, small and even. And she had grown a little as well, only a couple of inches, but enough to make her mother eye her thoughtfully. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if Max is right and you should go to proper ballet lessons,’ she had said, only a few days earlier. ‘In a couple of years we shan’t be able to call you little Miss Lottie any more and the management may want you to do an act of your own. What would you think of that, eh?’
Lottie had stared at her mother, round-eyed. ‘I’d hate it,’ she said truthfully. ‘I always tell myself that the audience is looking at you, not me, else I’d die of fright. Honestly, Louella, I couldn’t do a solo act, not to save me life.’
Louella had laughed and looked pleased – though she had said, soothingly, that Lottie would soon grow accustomed – and the subject had been dropped. But Lottie was sure her mother was wrong. She would never get used to being stared at and the thought of being alone on the stage terrified her. She was grateful for her school uniform and the fact that, offstage, she was allowed to plait her hair into a thick rope so that most folk did not realise she was little Miss Lottie, and was even more grateful to Kenny, for he had discovered how she felt and had bought her, off a jumble stall in Paddy’s market, a pair of steel-framed spectacles. He had knocked the glass out of them and she wore them whenever she thought there was the least danger of being recognised. She had never let her mother see the spectacles, but valued them as a sure disguise and was thankful to Kenny for the gift of anonymity which the spectacles bestowed.
Now, Lottie finished cleaning her teeth, rinsed her toothbrush and poured her washing water into the slop bucket. Today was a very special day and she was full of excitement at the thought of it. It was also the first time she had ever deceived her mother, but she did not feel guilty over so doing. Why should she? Today was the day of the school trip. Her mother knew that, and approved, but what she did not know was where the coaches were bound. ‘This year we shall set off at eight o’clock sharp and stop halfway to the coast at a café which caters for coach parties,’ Miss Bradshaw had said. ‘We shall arrive in Rhyl at noon. Bring a packed lunch to eat on the beach. You will have the whole afternoon to play in the sand, to paddle, and to visit the amusement arcades. Then we will all gather under the clock on the promenade and go to the Seagull restaurant for a high tea, which will be paid for by the school governors. When the meal is finished, we shall return to the coaches and get home again between eight and nine in the evening.’
The only part of this information which Lottie had failed to pass on to her mother was their destination, and even then she had not exactly lied. She had, however, talked of the Great Orme and the excitement of taking a tram to the very top, without actually saying that the trip would be to Llandudno. Had she admitted that they were going to Rhyl she was honestly afraid that her mother would have refused to let her go. However, she did not intend to let her conscience trouble her over such a small matter. Though the memory of her early years had still not returned, she was pretty sure that her mother had not bleached her hair then, so it seemed highly unlikely that anyone would recognise her as Louella’s daughter. Why should they? She meant to take her glassless spectacles, just in case, but was pretty sure that there would be no need to put them on. And if someone did know her, what would it matter? Two whole years had passed since Louella had fled from the violent conjurer – Lottie could not remember his name – so surely his rage would have cooled, probably had disappeared altogether, by now.
Having washed herself thoroughly and brushed her hair until it bushed out round her face, giving her a marked resemblance to a dandelion clock, Lottie made her way downstairs. The school trip was a combined one which meant that Lottie had been forced to beg Baz not to tell Max, or Louella, where they were bound. Baz was tall and broad for his age and was beginning to look very like his father, who had thick black hair, very dark eyes and a commanding high-bridged nose, for though Max had lived in England for most of his adult life he had been born in Spain of an English father and a Spanish mother and looked very foreign, Lottie thought.
Baz had recently stopped teasing Lottie, apparently thinking it beneath his dignity to make fun of a child so much younger than himself, so she had put her request to him with more hope than she would have done a year earlier. Baz had stared at her hard, his black eyes curious. ‘Why?’ he had demanded brusquely. ‘Rhyl’s a grand place. The sand is all covered with little shells, and there’s pools for the young kids to paddle in, and the lovely shallow sea for us big ’uns. And the amusements is great. There’s a shootin’ gallery, penny falls, grab a gift and peep shows: what the butler saw and that. I’ve been saving up me paper round money for weeks.’ He stared even harder at his small companion. ‘Your mammy won’t stop you going, you little idiot: is that what you’re feared of?’
Lottie had hesitated. You could never tell with Baz. Sometimes he was really nice but he could be such a beast. However, there was no sense in lying; truth will always out, and generally when it could cause you the most embarrassment, she reminded herself.
‘Well? Is you goin’ to tell me or ain’t you?’
‘I am,’ Lottie had said resignedly. ‘Before we came to Liverpool, we were in Rhyl. Mam was working for another magician but she’d heard your dad wanted an assistant and the Rhyl magician was mean to her. So we ran away from Rhyl and came to Liverpool, and Mam – Louella, I mean – won’t ever go back there in case the magician kills ’er.’
Baz had guffawed noisily. ‘Stupid little halfwit. Of course he won’t kill her. And anyway, he was with the circus, wasn’t he? Circuses move on. They don’t stick around in one spot.’
‘I thought we were at the Pavilion, Louella and me,’ Lottie had said. ‘Well if you’re right and he’s moved on then I dare say Louella would let me go to Rhyl. But I’d still feel happier if you’d not tell her, Baz. Remember last year?’
The school trip the previous year had been to New Brighton, but at the last minute Louella had decided that her daughter should not go. She had said that the fair at New Brighton was a rough place, and the teachers would have their hands full and might not be able to supervise the children properly. Lottie had been bitterly disappointed but there had been nothing she could do about it. This time, she had told her mother bluntly that she did not mean to miss out because the other kids had had such a good time the previous year. Louella had stared at her, round-eyed. ‘I wouldn’t stop you going, pet; Llandudno is a most respectable resort,’ she had said. ‘I’ll give you half a crown to spend on the pier and when you get home you can tell me all about it.’
That had sounded perfectly reasonable but Lottie was taking no chances. ‘Please, Baz, don’t forget last year,’ she had said again. ‘She wouldn’t let me go to New Brighton, remember . . .’
‘Oh, awright, no need to run on,’ Baz had said impatiently. ‘I won’t tell on you and that’s a promise.’
And so far, Lottie knew, he had kept his word. So now she started down the stairs, no longer worrying that the treat might be snatched from her. It was early still and the kitchen was deserted, but there was nothing strange in that. Lottie always cooked the breakfast porridge for herself and Baz because Louella and Max seldom got up before mid-morning, and the youngsters had to be in school by nine. Baz usually made the toast, squatting on his haunches and holding out the slices of bread, impaled on a toasting fork, towards the fire. He complained in summer that it was a horrible job and that he’d far rather make the porridge, but on the only occasion upon which he had insisted upon changing he had somehow managed to produce a panful half burnt, half raw and full of lumps. So now each did their own task without more than a token grumble.
The porridge was actually in the bowls and the tea steaming in the mugs when Baz bounced into the kitchen. He grinned at Lottie and sat down at the table, beginning to eat at once. ‘I don’t reckon I’ll make toast today,’ he said, taking a noisy drink of his tea. ‘We don’t want to be late and our teacher said the coach would stop halfway to the coast, so I dare say that’ll be for elevenses. Have you made our sarnies yet? We’re supposed to take a packed lunch, remember?’
‘Louella said she’d make them and leave them in the meat safe,’ Lottie said. She got to her feet and went over to the small pantry, returning with two bulky packages wrapped in greaseproof paper.
She pushed her own packet – the smaller one – into her satchel, but Baz immediately unwrapped his and examined the contents. ‘Well I never! Your mam’s done us proud for once,’ he said. ‘Mine’s corned beef and brown sauce – lovely grub.’
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