Martha's Girls (5 page)

*

‘And your woman over thonder, pacin’ up an’ down talking to herself, looks like a school teacher? That’s because she is one. But on the programme she’s down as an elocutionist, so she is. Do ye know what one a them is?’

Irene nodded. ‘Poems and things?’

‘Aye, she usually starts with ‘Up the airy mountain’. Do ye know that one?’ The Templemore Tapper, whose name was Myrtle, seemed to have the measure of most of the other performers.

‘What about the wee girl,’ asked Irene. ‘What’s she doing here?’

Myrtle rolled her eyes ‘Pain in the arse that one. Mind out fer the ma but, she’s even worse.’

The child knew she was being talked about and skipped towards them. Her strawberry blond hair was caught up in bunches tied with red satin bows and someone had painted large freckles all over her nose. Her gingham dress was far too short and on her feet were ankle socks and the inevitable white tap shoes. She removed a brightly coloured lolly from her mouth.

‘What are you called?’ she said.

‘Irene.’

‘Irene what?’

‘Irene Goulding.’

She pulled a face. ‘That’s not a very good name for the stage.’ She held out the edges of her skirt and twirled. ‘My name’s Twirly Semple and I sing like Shirley Temple, so I do. D’ye wanna hear some?’

‘Not really, no.’

Too late, Twirly was off tapping and skipping across the room.
‘On the good ship Lollipop,
’ she sang.

‘Fifteen minutes to curtain up. Make sure you check the running order, behind the door. Oh yes, and another Goulding Sister has arrived.’ Derek had acquired a clip board and a sense of urgency.

‘Thank goodness, Sheila’s made it on time,’ said Pat. ‘She’ll be able to catch her breath too; we’re not on until the second half.’

Twirly Semple had reached her finale by turning cartwheels across the room towards Martha. Suddenly, the child panicked, struggled to right herself and, as she did so, vomited all down her gingham dress. At the same time an ordinary looking woman stood up and began to yodel. Martha looked from one to the other and let out a cry. At that moment, the door opened and Peggy stood there smiling broadly.

‘Aah, have you come to wish us good luck?’ Irene assumed the best of Peggy.

Pat said sharply, ‘What are you doing here?’

Martha didn’t need to say anything, she knew exactly why her self-centred daughter had appeared and, in a rare moment of selfishness, she was so glad to see her.

‘Where’s the programme? What time are we on?’ Peggy was taking off her coat. ‘Mammy, let me have your blouse. God, I hate mauve, so I do!’

‘Don’t move, Mammy,’ Pat commanded. ‘Now you listen here, Peggy Goulding. You’re not a part of this. You can’t just walk in here and go on the stage with us. We’ve rehearsed all this and you haven’t. So you are not playing in this concert.’

Peggy ignored her and turned to Irene. ‘You know Mr Goldstein, from the shop? Well, he’s here, on the front row, he gave me a lift.’ Peggy paused for them to be impressed then added, ‘in his car.’

‘So that’s it, is it? Out to impress your boss. Well, I don’t care about Mr Goldstein, you’re still not performing,’ Pat shouted. At the sound of raised voices the dressing room fell silent as they watched the sisters face each other, hands on hips.

Irene stepped between them. ‘We can all perform. Sure it’ll be great fun, the whole family up there together.’

Just then Derek stuck his head round the door and said, ‘Awfully sorry ladies, change in the running order, we’re having to sponge down Shirley Temple and she won’t be dry ‘til the second half. So, Goulding Sisters we’ve switched you and her. You’re on in twenty minutes.’

‘But Sheila isn’t here yet,’ wailed Irene. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘It’s quite simple.’ For the first time since she entered the Grosvenor Hall, Martha felt in control of herself and, more importantly, her daughters. ‘You three are the Goulding Sisters. It was you they invited to sing here. That’s how it’s meant to be. So, stop arguing, just go out there and perform.’

Pat was furious. There was no questioning her mother’s logic, but that didn’t mean she forgave Peggy for her behaviour. Once again, she had been awkward and stubborn, but still got exactly what she wanted.

Then Derek was in the doorway again, looking bewildered. ‘Another Goulding Sister’s arrived. Are they coming out of the woodwork?’

Sheila stood drenched to the skin, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed. Martha hugged her. ‘Thank God you’re here. What was I thinking about, allowing you to travel away here on your own? You’re soaked. Get that wet coat off you.’

Sheila undid her sodden scarf and revealed her once bouncy curls plastered to her scalp. The elocutionist shyly offered a towel. Sheila stood shivering; her mauve blouse was now purple where the rain had beaten down through her coat.

‘Am I too late?’ she asked as Martha rubbed her hair vigorously.

‘You’re just in time, love,’ said Martha. ‘You’re on in twenty minutes.’

Sheila lifted her head and noticed Peggy. ‘What are you doing here?’ Her tone wasn’t challenging, just curious.

‘I’ve decided to perform. So, don’t worry, you don’t have to go on. Neither does Mammy.’

‘But I’m not too late, am I? I ran and ran to get here.’

‘I know,’ said Peggy, ‘but I’m here now to do it.’

‘But I’ve rehearsed every night. Sure I know all the songs and everything.’ Sheila’s voice was rising steadily. The whole dressing room had stopped to watch the final act of the drama play out. Peggy was about to explain again when Martha put her arm around Sheila’s shoulders.

‘Of course you’re going to sing. There’s going to be four Goulding Sisters on the stage tonight. Isn’t there girls?’ She looked at her other three daughters. Irene clapped her hands in delight. Pat looked at Peggy and said, ‘Of course Sheila’s got to sing.’ Peggy said nothing.

Since Sheila’s arrival, the concert had been going ahead at a cracking pace. Performers came and went while they tried to get Sheila dried and Peggy dressed. The yodeller, who introduced herself as Ethel Crawford, had the idea of putting Sheila’s blouse on the hot water tank she’d seen in the toilets. ‘We won’t put it straight on the tank, or it’ll get marked. We’ll lay it on this underskirt of mine. Sure it’s only an oul thing.’

When Myrtle came off stage, she took one look at Sheila’s hair and said, ‘I know just the thing, a French pleat.’ She swept the wet hair back from Sheila’s face, expertly folded it over and over and secured it tightly, like sealing an envelope, with hairpins. Just enough hair had been left outside the pleat to arrange in a cascade of curls on the top of her head. Martha took off her blouse and gave it to Peggy.

‘The work skirt you’ve on you will do you rightly. You know what you’re playing don’t you?’

‘Of course I do. Sure haven’t I been listening to it for the last fortnight?’

‘Look, you concentrate on the piano and let Sheila do what she’s rehearsed. Here’s the music.’ Martha handed her the brown leather music case with the brass bar fastening.

‘I don’t need the music.’

‘I know you don’t normally, but this isn’t a normal performance.’

Peggy shrugged and took the music with no intention of using it. With two minutes to spare, Sheila’s mauve blouse was rescued from the hot water tank.

‘But, Mammy, it’s all creased down the back,’ she wailed.

‘Ach it’ll do rightly. Sure a blind man would be glad to see it!

*

Harry Ferguson always played his hunches. He’d followed the pretty dark girl with the good legs from the City Hall to the music shop where she worked and chanced his arm a couple of times, enough to get her interested. He’d waited, sheltering in a doorway across the road, for her to finish work and been disappointed to see her emerge with the old man. The thought that he might be her sugar daddy crossed his mind, but he figured it was unlikely, given the space between them as they walked round the corner to his car. No, they were going somewhere together he was sure, but where? Then he remembered the poster in the window. What had he to lose? Maybe they were heading for the Grosvenor Hall. Even if they weren’t, he’d nowhere better to go for a few hours until the card school got going down Sandy Row around eleven.

*

‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, a real treat. With some wonderful singing, please welcome The Goulding Sisters!’

They came on in a line and bowed quickly to the welcoming applause. Peggy settled herself behind the piano and Pat, Irene and Sheila made a half-moon shape towards the front of the stage. Peggy played the introduction to ‘Zing! Went the Strings of My Heart’ a little livelier than Martha, Pat thought, but it felt good and she began to sway in time to the beat and Irene and Sheila did the same. Her voice was the strongest of the sisters and they followed with harmonies where she led. Sheila seemed unfazed by the audience and was doing brilliantly. Peggy added a little extra of her own between the verses. At the end of the song the applause was wonderful. They were doing it! Singing in the Grosvenor Hall!

The applause died down and they stepped forward again for the second song ‘The Mountains of Mourne’. They waited for the opening bars. Come on Peggy, thought Pat, keep up the pace. The opening notes began and she realised they were from
‘
Whispering Hope’, the third song on the programme. What was Peggy doing? Had she made a mistake? Pat took a deep breath, ‘Whispering Hope’
it is then. She prayed it hadn’t thrown Sheila. The song was melodic and so uplifting that Pat always let some of the emotion she felt when singing it creep into her voice. The slower pace and the fact that she had sung it hundreds of times meant that she could listen to her sisters. Sheila was doing well, exactly like they’d rehearsed. Irene was Irene; her voice was never strong, but it was tuneful and well-rehearsed. Peggy, too, was singing and she could hear the extra voice lift the sound to fill the huge hall.

Loud applause followed and the girls looked at each other in amazement at the sound of cheering. It would have made a great finale. Now for
‘
The Mountains of Mourne’
,
thought Pat, but Peggy had other ideas. She began to play and Pat realised it was something else entirely. She looked quickly towards Irene and Sheila and the panic in their eyes told her they had no more idea than she had. She missed the cue … what she was expected to sing? Peggy seamlessly picked up the opening bars again, giving them another chance to begin. Pat had only a few seconds to recognise it before the audience would surely realise something was wrong. Of course that was it! Pat raised her head, heard her note and swung into the opening of ‘T’aint What You Do It’s the Way That You Do It’. They’d sung it plenty of times at home; Irene and Sheila gave it everything. At the front of the stage they clicked their fingers and swayed in unison. Peggy improvised as only she could. The audience were swaying too and clapping along. On the last high note, it felt like the roof, cornices and all, was lifting off. They took their bow, all four of them holding hands at the front of the stage to thunderous applause and cheering, then ran off waving and smiling as the curtain closed for the interval.

‘What on earth were you doing out there,’ yelled Pat. ‘In front of all those people you want me to guess the tune?’ A rash of pink had spread over her chest and up her neck to cover her face in anger.

‘You didn’t want to sing that boring ‘Mountains of Mourne’ rubbish,’ Peggy said matter-of-factly. ‘We needed a big closing number.’

‘We were supposed to close with ‘Whispering Hope’. They loved that,’ shouted Pat.

‘Yes, but ‘T’aint What You Do’ was miles better. They’re out there now drinking their cups of tea, talking about us and how good we are.’

‘I don’t care! You can’t just change the programme!’

‘Leave it for now, Pat,’ said Irene. ‘Let’s go and find Mammy. She was in the wings watching us. Did you see her?’

‘I couldn’t see anything,’ said Sheila. ‘I was too scared to look anywhere but the back of the hall. Wasn’t it brilliant?’

Pat marched off backstage, but Peggy lingered as though reluctant to sever her connection with the stage and the performance.

‘You two go on. I’ll see you in a minute.’ She had revelled in the final applause and her eyes had swept the audience, taking in their excited faces as they cheered, including a tall, dark figure who rose to his feet with applause and a smile just for her.

Backstage Martha was bursting with pride. If only Robert could have been there. She had been as shocked as the others by Peggy’s switch of songs and had a difficult moment watching the girls struggling to recognise the introduction. She’d have a few words to say to Peggy when she got her on her own. Pat would be angry, of course, and would no doubt give Peggy a piece of her mind, if she hadn’t done so already.