Orphans of War (58 page)

If only I were nearer, Plum thought, but Steve’s clinic was doing so well and this was such a beautiful country, and they were so happy together. All she could do would be to write letters and help with the funding.

Maddy might need to get some support from the local Church. If Plum wrote to Vera and Archie, and Audrey at the Mother’s Union, or perhaps Steve wrote to the new doctor’s practice…There would be all sorts of red tape over benefit books and maternity provision official inspections, but in principle it sounded a wonderful if bizarre enterprise. It could be a place where the girls could go with their babies in safety and seclusion and not be objects of ridicule and punishment.

To do it well, Maddy might have to use the Brooklyn, not the Old Vic. It was more private. How apt that would be now as a place of refuge. Maddy and her good causes: when was she ever going to find her own heart’s desire and settle down?

There was no mention of any romance with Barney Andrews, the solicitor. He’d get a shock when she brought this scheme to his attention.

Plum wrote her reply with care.

‘A word of caution, my darling. Think it all through and be prepared for trouble. Thank you for telling me
all this: trusting me with all your troubles, using me like a rope to hang on to. I feel so honoured,’ Plum wrote.

If any meaning could be made of the miseries of her own childlessness it was that she could now be a mother to her niece, the closest thing that Maddy would ever have since Dolly Belfield died. The poor girl had had to bear so much on her own. Surely it was time she found a little happiness for herself?

If the Bamboo Club wasn’t quite the Cafe Royal, it was about as near as Scarperton would get to sophisticated nightlife. For a start the whole thing was on the top floor of a woollen mill warehouse on the wharf of the Leeds-Liverpool canal. It was in the centre of town, more back street than top end, but that didn’t stop it being well patronised by the young ones out for a night on the town, for men’s nights out, and commercial travellers on expense accounts, looking for some entertainment out of hours.

The black-tie rule soon faded, as did the Henry Fiske trio in favour of a jukebox, a visiting steel band and a jazz ensemble.

Phil Starkey, who managed it with his brother for the consortium, spared no expense with the décor but the entrance up the wooden stairs was still a bit cheap, covered as it was with visiting celebrity’s photographs and film posters.

Charlie Afton drove Gloria to the club on the first night just to check it over for Greg. They’d made a fuss of him, giving him a special seat at the front for
a cabaret singer, a girl called Marlene Mallon, who could belt out a song just like Alma Cogan.

They’d gone to town or a bit over the top on the Caribbean bar area, with high stools and a straw hut, lots of netting and shells, which were a devil to dust, but in the twilight of lamps and tables it all looked authentic–as authentic as Yorkshire could make it. Gloria kept tabs on all the details, making sure the hostesses took coats, set up drinks, found tables and generally looked decorative.

Sometimes they were open until dawn with a lock-in, and there was a taxi laid on to take the girls home. Sometimes when it was quiet they all had to help clean in the kitchen and pretend they were busy.

Greg was always asleep when Gloria let herself in, kicking off her high heels with relief and sponging off her make-up in the mirror. It was work of a sort, making sure the till receipts tallied. She was not at all convinced about the club’s future and was concerned by the rickety stairs.

Television was killing trade. It wasn’t like the old days, when pictures and dancing were the only entertainment. There were decent pubs in the town serving meals. Rock’n’ roll was all the rage, not Victor Sylvester and Vera Lynn. Phil was talking of having speciality acts, conjurers, men-only nights, anything to bring the punters in.

The bar girls were younger than Gloria, single pretty things in tight skirts and frilly blouses. They looked on her as an older married woman and brought their
troubles to Auntie Gloria as if she knew how to guide them.

‘He’s having a stripper in next Friday night,’ whispered Betty as they were primping up tables. ‘Some poor little scrubber from Bradford, poor cow–men-only night, but it’ll be us as gets the bother when she’s got them all worked up.’

Gloria felt a flush of concern at this news.

‘Is it true?’ she tackled Phil later. ‘Stripping doesn’t go with the Bamboo Club, does it?’

‘We’ve got to liven things up and get more punters in,’ he said.

‘Why’s everything shuttered up?’ she asked, noticing that all the windows were boarded up.

‘Keeps it all dark in the summer. I’m in charge here, you know,’ he sniffed, sensing her disapproval.

‘Have we had the safety brigade round lately?’ she replied. She wanted to make it clear that she was not some slapper to be bossed about

‘Soon…Don’t worry, Mr Byrne’s investment’s safe. If we go bust, he can allus sell the mill on. We just need to move with the times, rock ’n’s roll nights and bring the young ones in. It’ll be a full house on Friday.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be there, but it isn’t quite what we imagined,’ Gloria said, knowing if Greg knew there was a striptease she be in trouble. She didn’t much like the smoky atmosphere or the heat, but she’d see it through a while longer until Greg was back on his feet again and running things. Then she’d jack it in.

Phil was cutting corners to make a profit. He was
only doing what others did when pushed. She’d have to stick it out and see how it went.

Greg was going out with Charlie, his first outing for weeks, so Bebe was sleeping at the Aftons’. It was good to see Greg smartened up, even if he was on crutches. Gloria pecked him on the cheek and headed off to the bright lights of Scarperton, dressed up as usual in her little black dress with the V-neck, and fishnet stockings and black courts. It was a warm dry night; they’d not had rain for weeks. There was a stiff breeze blowing as she drove across the hill into the town. It was not a night to be stuck indoors, but a job was a job.

Everything was normal–setting up the glasses, checking supplies, clearing away tab ends, menus at tables. They made snacks and easy-to-cook meals served with chips and beer and Coca-Cola, espresso coffees and spirits.

With the lights full on, Gloria noticed how shabby it all looked. How had she ever thought this was sophisticated? It was little more than an out-of-hours drinking den.

Then she saw the girl, a pinched little thing, heavily made up, dyed black hair wrapped in a scarf like a gypsy, not a bad figure. She looked continental: all bust and no bottom, with skinny legs, but so young. Not much more than sixteen or seventeen.

She trotted into the powder room with her gold-spangled costume over her arm but she was shivering.

‘You OK?’ Gloria asked, seeing her nervousness. ‘You’re the act tonight? You have done this before, haven’t you?’

The girl nodded weakly. ‘For my fella. It’ll be all right.’

Trust Phil to get someone on the cheap, Gloria sighed to herself. ‘But there’s going to be a room full of rugger buggers baying for your blood if you don’t do it right,’ she added.

‘I have to do it. It’ll be right,’ said the girl, popping a pill into her mouth. ‘Got a bit of bellyache,’ she smiled wanly.

That’s all we need, a novice being led to the slaughter. Gloria didn’t know why but she felt very protective of the kid. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Joan, but I’m called Jules tonight. All spangles and jewels…get it? Can I change in here?’

The crowded bar was full of beefy rugger players, shouting and calling. It was not the usual crowd on a Friday night. They were all tanked up with beer before they arrived. There’d be brawling and scuffling.

Gloria followed the girl into the toilet, concerned. ‘You’ve not come alone, have you?’ she asked.

‘Nah! Me fella brought me. He got me this gig, trained me up, and he’ll be watching outside. If I do it right, there’ll be more work and I need to work. I have a babby, one year old, she’s with me mam. They don’t know I’m doing this. They think I’m working down the pub. If they find out, Mam’ll go spare.’

‘You sure you want to do this?’ Gloria persisted, sensing trouble. She’d be like a lamb to the slaughter if the kid got nervous and performed her act too quick.

‘What’s it got to do wi’s you? There’s nowt wrong with my body. I don’t mind gawping punters. My fella
will step in if they get cheeky.’ Julie stared back at her with suspicion. ‘Have you got a problem with it? It’s none of your business so let me get sorted in my own time. Piss off!’

Gloria shrugged, leaving her to her fancy dress, opening the door with her shoulder into a sea of faces. It was just too smoky and fumy tonight, too noisy and too boisterous for her liking. When Julie made her entrance they’d go wild or boo her to death. Suddenly Gloria felt uneasy. There was a look on that kid’s face. What had her fellow done to make her strip off against her will? This was no Gypsy Rose Lee in the making, no sophisticated burlesque act, but a sleazy, desperate attempt to please her man. What did that remind her of?

Then she saw him standing with Phil, leaning over the bar, and their eyes locked in recognition; as plump and self-satisfied as ever, his black hair slicked back. Ken Silverstone.

‘Bloody hell! Gloria…fancy seeing you here, but then not so much of a surprise. Are you the second act? You’re still a looker…’ He assessed her up and down with relish.

‘So little Jules in the back’s your protégée, then? Why am I not surprised? Another little sucker fallen for your tricks,’ she sneered. ‘She’s only a kid, Ken, but then you always did like ’em young and tasty and green as grass.’

‘Now don’t be bitter, love. We can’t stay young for ever. You must be hard-pushed to be up at this time of night. What are you now, the barmaid?’ He sniggered, but she wasn’t having any of this

‘Phil, this gentleman is troubling me,’ she said, slapping an order on the bar. ‘Will you take care of him or will I?’

‘Shut up, you tart! I’m Jules’s manager. I’ll not take any cheek from this old scrubber. Why, I could tell you a thing or two about her that could make your pecker stand up and salute!’ Ken laughed, seeing the look on her face.

‘That’s enough, sir. Mrs Byrne is one of the owners here,’ said Phil, sensing trouble between them. Gloria’s dander was up at the insult. She was shaking with fury, her flame-haired temper beyond control.

‘We don’t want your sort in this establishment,’ she roared, grabbing the nearest tin tray and walloping Ken so hard he staggered back and knocked the table over. The kerosene lamp hit the dusty straw thatch, turning it quickly into flames.

It was all so quick. The soda siphon was useless against it, there was no time to quell the flames, and no one knew where the fire buckets were.

‘Get everyone down the stairs and quick…Fire!’ Phil tried to make his voice heard over the jazz band. ‘Gloria, go and shut the bloody band up! We need water. Gloria, just snatch the mike. Do a drum roll, anything to get their attention!’

‘Please vacate the building at once!’ he shouted but only those round the bar took any notice.

Gloria made for the mike, but the drunks thought she was part of the act and shouted, ‘Come on, lady…get them off!’

‘Shurrup! There’s a fire. Everyone out!’ she shouted
until she was hoarse. ‘It’s all under control but go down the stairs…down the stairs in an orderly fashion. Don’t rush. Has someone sent for the fire brigade?’

Phil was too busy trying to beat out the flames. The smoke was getting thicker, flames were licking up the walls and the smell was suffocating.

‘Open the windows and let in some air!’ someone cried, and Gloria felt her panic rising. The mill was an old brick building, tinder dry, and the fake paper flowers and netting were alight.

‘I can’t open the windows: they’re all boarded up!’ yelled Betty.

‘Then get something to bash them with!’

Betty dashed for help.

The kitchen hand brought a cleaver and hacked at the window. The wood splintered and cracked. There was an opening out at last onto the old warehouse hoist and tackle that was hanging out like a flagpole over the canal.

The crowd were pushing down the stairs, held back by a funnel of smoke and darkness. Some poured bottles over their heads and tried to rush the flames; fifty people pushing and shoving, yelling, pushed back by fear, and the flames arching above their heads. Then Gloria remembered the kid getting changed in the lavatory behind the heavy door. She had to get Jules out of there in one piece…

Greg and Charlie were on their way to the Bamboo Club to give Gloria a surprise when they heard the clanging of fire engines in the street and smelled the smoke.

‘What’s going on? You go ahead, Charlie,’ said Greg. ‘See where it’s at!’

They stopped a man covered in smoking clothes. ‘Where’s the fire, mate?’

‘Bamboo Club’s gone up in flames, down there!’ he pointed, and Greg began to hobble, every inch of him hurting in the race to follow the fire engines.

There was a crowd gathered on the canal bank, looking up at the building.

‘It’s owd mill, afire from top to toe, by the looks of things!’

There were policemen running round, trying to find another entrance, but it was bricked up. The iron staircase didn’t reach as far as the top storey. There was a furniture store on the first two floors and someone said, ‘If yon stuff catches on…’