Hettie of Hope Street (12 page)

‘Yes. I had planned to see her this weekend. I can then travel by train down to London and from there to Oxfordshire.'

Was there any chance he might see Hettie whilst he was in Liverpool? John wondered. And if he did see her, how was he going to feel? Would he still be torn between angry resentment of her singing, and the choice she had made – a choice which had excluded him from her life – and anxiety for her because he feared for her and wanted to protect her from all the dangers he suspected her new life could hold? Or would he find, perhaps, that he too had changed and she no longer meant to him what she once had?

‘They
would
choose the Bank Holiday weekend to audition,' the girl next to Hettie in the queue sniffed crossly.

‘I was supposed to be going to Blackpool with me fella and now I've had to come here instead.'

‘Well, no one forced you to audition, Mary,' another girl chipped in.

It was hot and stuffy in the cramped area off the wings of the small theatre where the auditions were being held, and Hettie, who should have been at the Adelphi practising, prayed silently that she would get taken on. She didn't think she could bear much more of Mr Buchanan or the slyly triumphant looks he kept giving her.

‘So what's it going to be, this musical then?' someone else asked.

‘'Oo knows,' the girl standing next to Hettie answered.

‘It's some fancy pants composer from London wot 'as written the music.'

‘I've heard they want three hundred for the chorus and that whoever gets the lead is bound to end up in films, it's that good a part…'

‘Well, I wouldn't mind being another Gertie Lawrence,' someone else said enviously.

‘Ooh, Hettie, I'm that nervous,' Babs whispered.

‘Me too,' Hettie agreed.

They had all been told they would have two minutes to show off their skills, and, knowing she wasn't tall enough for the chorus, on Babs's advice Hettie had decided to do a bit of tap, and then sing.

‘Cos if you was to get a part, Hettie, they'd want to know you can dance as well as sing.'

There was only Babs in front of her now and Hettie held her breath when a disembodied male voice called out, ‘Next.' Babs hurried on to the stage. Hettie couldn't see her but she could imagine how her friend would look as the pianist struck up and Babs began to dance, and then stopped dancing to sing.

‘Next.'

‘Go on, it's your turn,' the girl behind Hettie told her impatiently. ‘Unless you've changed your mind?'

It was impossible to see anyone in the seats from the stage because of the lights, but Hettie remembered what Babs had told her and focused on the darkness as though she could see someone she cared for there. She handed the pianist her music and waited for her to begin playing.

She had finished her tap and just sung the opening bars of her song when to her chagrin she heard an impatient voice call out, ‘Thank you, that's sufficient. Next…'

‘Oh Hettie, never mind,' Babs tried to console her as they left the theatre.

‘He wouldn't even let me finish my song,' Hettie protested whilst Babs gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze.

Unlike Hettie, Babs had been told to go back for a second audition, and Hettie did her best to hide her own disappointment and to congratulate her friend instead.

‘You going to your aunt's this Sunday?' Babs asked her.

Hettie nodded. She was badly in need of the caring, familiar face of Connie. It had been over two weeks now since she had last had a letter from Ellie. At first Hettie had been relieved that her parents were obviously too busy in the Lakes to write, because that meant Hettie would not have to lie to her about the Buchanans. But now, since Mrs Buchanan had forced her to recognise what she really was, Hettie had begun to wonder deep inside herself if Gideon and Ellie had thought of her more as a responsibility than a true part of their family, and were secretly glad she had gone.

Several of the girls from the boarding house had been told to attend second auditions for the new
musical, and they were all talking excitedly about it.

‘And I've heard this American is investing in it and is thinking of taking it to Broadway if it does well in London,' Hettie had heard one girl say.

‘Oh Broadway,' another of them had sniffed. ‘Paris. That's where I want to go. I've got a cousin who's got a friend in the Folies and she says nearly all the girls in the chorus there end up with rich fellas.'

It seemed that everyone but her had exciting plans, Hettie thought unhappily on Sunday morning as she walked past the Bluecoat School on her way to Connie's.

What would happen to her if the Buchanans dismissed her and Ellie and Gideon didn't want her back?

When she reached the school Connie greeted her quietly and seemed distracted. Her normal big smile was missing and she didn't make any comment about Hettie's hair other than to say it was very modern.

And then in the middle of the afternoon, when Hettie was entertaining the children by showing them a new dance routine, the parlour door opened and John walked in.

‘John!' Immediately Hettie scrambled to her feet, her face flushed, a smile curving her mouth. ‘Oh, I am
so
pleased to see you.'

‘What have you done to your hair?' John demanded, unable to suppress his shock at seeing
her lovely long hair gone, and a short bob in its place.

Self-consciously, Hettie touched her head. ‘It is the new fashion. There is to be a new musical and I had it cut so that I could audition. By the way, why didn't you come to see me at the Adelphi? You said you would…' Her voice faltered as she saw the way he was looking her.

‘Can you think of nothing else other than singing?' John demanded, knowing that he could not tell her the truth. He felt so worn down by the dreadful things happening. First Jim's death and now poor Ellie losing her baby…‘Ellie is desperately poorly and yet all you can speak of is some
musical
,' he burst out passionately, only recognising when it was too late, and the words already spoken, what he had done.

‘Mam is poorly?' Hettie repeated, shocked. ‘How…When? I – I didn't know…'

‘How could you when all that concerns you is yourself.' He should be offering her comfort and not the anger he really felt for himself rather than for her, John recognised guiltily.

‘No!' Hettie protested. ‘
No
, that is not true. What is wrong with Mam?'

‘She has lost the child she was to have,' John told her bluntly. ‘And has fallen into very low spirits because of it.'

Hettie couldn't take in what he was saying. Mam had been pregnant?

‘John, love.' Connie came to an abrupt halt as
she walked into the parlour and looked from John's set face to Hettie's pale one.

‘I'm going home to see Mam,' Hettie blurted out immediately.

‘No, Hettie,' Connie told her firmly. ‘The last thing Ellie needs right now is everyone making a fuss. Besides, Iris has said that she isn't to have any visitors.'

Hettie flinched. ‘But I am not a visitor. I am…' She stopped and looked away, tears blurring her eyes. What exactly
was
she to Ellie? Nothing at all really. Not a blood relative, that was certain. ‘Why did she not tell me there was to be a baby?' she whispered.

Connie sighed. ‘Hettie, you cannot help Ellie by distressing yourself like this. She would have told you about the baby in due course, and as for you going to see her, Iris will not even allow
me
to visit her and I used to be a nurse. Now dry those tears and be sensible. I must go and tell Harry you are here, John.'

As soon as she had gone John went over to where Hettie was sitting, still trembling with shock. ‘Hettie, I'm sorry. I should not have spoken to you the way I did,' he told her gruffly.

‘I didn't know…Oh, I wish that I had never come here and that I had stayed with Mam, and then maybe…'

‘Hush, you are not to say that.' John tried to comfort her, feeling ashamed now of his outburst which had been caused by his memories of how
his own mother had died in childbed, rather than because he genuinely felt Hettie was at fault.

But Hettie refused to be reassured, instead getting up and pacing the floor in agitation. ‘Mam wanted to see Iris when we were staying here with Aunt Connie, but she came shopping with me instead,' she declared in an agonised voice, tears pouring down her face. ‘She must have been concerned about her health and wanted to ask Iris's advice, but I acted like such a child and made her feel so bad she cancelled her visit.'

‘Hettie, you must not torture yourself like this,' John protested, going to her and putting his arms around her, just as he had done so many times before when she had run to him with her troubles.

But she was not a little girl any more, and when she turned her face up to his, her lips parting slightly, John couldn't help himself. He bent his head and swiftly placed a kiss on her parted lips.

For a moment Hettie seemed to melt into him, and the scent of her intoxicated and dizzied him so much that he held her even tighter, but then suddenly she cried out and pulled back from him.

Immediately John released her, cursing himself for what he had done. How would she ever be able to trust him again?

John had kissed her! Hettie wanted to place her fingertips to her mouth to see if it was actually true, to see if she could feel the kiss, but she felt too confused to do so. She had known John for almost her entire life. She loved him, worshipped
him, but lately he had seemed so angry with her. She had wondered if he would even speak with her again but now he had kissed her!

‘John,' she began uncertainly.

But he shook his head, and told her stiffly, ‘That should never have happened. I forgot that you are no longer a child.' He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Hettie to wonder what had just happened between them.

‘Connie, I must leave you all now if I am to catch my train.'

Harry and John shook hands and then John kissed his sister and the children.

Hettie stood warily to one side. Why was John so angry with her every time they met? As a child she had loved him, and she had believed that he had loved her. But now he treated her with anger and contempt.

‘John, since Hettie has to walk back past Lime Street station she may as well go with you,' Connie suggested.

Hettie waited for him to reject her suggestion but instead, after a small pause, he nodded his head and said brusquely, ‘Very well then.'

They walked in silence past the Bluecoat School. But it was not the warm, companionable silence of two people at ease in one another's company. Instead it felt prickly and uncomfortable, and it was causing a hard lump to form in her throat, Hettie acknowledged miserably as she made
herself keep pace with John's much longer stride.

‘What is it like, the place you are going to, John?' she enquired, unable to endure the tension any longer. ‘Will you send us some photographs so that we may see it?'

‘I doubt I shall have time for taking photographs,' he replied curtly. ‘And as for what it is like, it is like any other airfield.'

Hettie's face started to burn at his abrupt, dismissive manner. Tears filled her eyes and began to roll down her face.

Seeing her distress John stopped walking and challenged her sharply. ‘I cannot see what cause you have for tears, Hettie. Think of someone other than yourself for once. You have given no thought at all to Ellie, or to what you owe her.'

‘That is not true,' Hettie burst out fiercely. ‘I am well aware of how much she has done for me. I have always thought of her as my mother and myself as her daughter, but I now know that it is only her kindness and charity that has allowed me to become a part of her family.'

John's frowned deepened. ‘You misunderstand me,' he told her. ‘I was referring to the fact that from what Connie has told me you seem to care more about having fun with your new friends than being with your family.'

‘Connie said that?' Hettie demanded indignantly.

John looked away from her. In fact, what Connie had said to him was that she was pleased
Hettie was making new friends, that she had a new confidence and independence about her, that she seemed a million miles away from the frightened girl who had first arrived in Liverpool.

‘It seems to me you prefer to ape the ways of theatre folk instead of modelling yourself on the example Ellie has set you. Look at your hair!'

John couldn't understand himself exactly why Hettie's new life should make him feel so angry, but rather than analyse his feelings it was easier for him to blame Hettie herself for them. He had too much to think of right now: his new job, his new life in Oxfordshire. Above all, how he was going to live with the guilt about what had happened at the airfield, nightmares about which plagued his every sleep.

‘Your rightful place is at home with Ellie, especially now, not here in Liverpool singing.'

Without waiting for her response he turned away and started to stride out so fast that Hettie practically had to run to catch up with him.

They continued their walk to Lime Street Station in silence, only broken when they stood outside the station facing one another and Hettie begged passionately, ‘John, please do not let us part bad friends.'

Something in the pleading way she was looking at him made his heart ache and then pound heavily against his chest wall. ‘Hettie…' He reached out and touched her head, the shock of its silky shortness causing his fingers to tense.
He badly wanted to take the olive branch she was offering, but some stubbornness bound with pain wouldn't let him. He couldn't allow thoughts of Hettie to join the mass of confusing emotions vying for space in his head. And he could never be just friends with her now, not after that kiss, hard as he might try to forget it. It would be better for both of them if they had little to do with each other from this point onwards.

‘I cannot see how it matters how we part,' he told her tersely. ‘You have chosen your life, Hettie, and I have chosen mine, and it is obvious to me that we are destined to go in very different directions'.

He had gone before she could say anything, lost to her in the crowd of people disappearing inside the bowels of the station.

Later that night, lying in the darkness of the attic room, listening to the sound of the other girls breathing, Hettie relived that moment when John's lips had touched hers. It had felt so very different from the revolting sensation of Mr Buchanan's wet mouth on her skin.