The Songbird (15 page)

‘You know that's not true, Poppy,' he said seriously. ‘I only want what's best for you and for you to be happy.'

They were busy in the coffee house and Poppy put on her apron and served the customers. ‘Give us a song, Poppy,' one of the regulars said. ‘Just so's we can boast that we heard you first before you were famous.'

She laughed. ‘Only if you join in, Mr Thomas. What shall I sing?'

‘One of them popular numbers,' he said. ‘Nothing soppy.'

‘No,' said his wife. ‘Sing that one you sang tonight, about 'lass whose lover left her. Fair broke my heart that did. It was as if it had happened to you and I know it can't have, cos you're far too young and lovely for anyone to have loved you and left you.'

‘I can't sing that, Mrs Thomas,' Poppy replied lightly. ‘Not now. Everybody would be weeping and going home and then what would my pa say?'

‘Sing one of Marie Lloyd's songs,' someone else called. ‘Something lively.'

‘All right.' Poppy laughed. She knew all of the popular music hall star's songs, or most of them, but she knew she hadn't got Marie Lloyd's cheeky manner or turn of phrase. She sang, putting on cockney airs and intonations and giving her listeners a wink and saucy smile, and as she was strutting around the room Ben Thompson came in. He took off his top hat and sat down at a vacant table.

‘I'd like to sign her up,' he whispered to Joshua when he came to bring him coffee. ‘She can start next Monday at my free-and-easy in Bradford. Twice a night for the whole season. A pound a week and no agent to pay.' He took a sheet of paper from his pocket. ‘If you just sign here,' he said, through clenched teeth as he chomped on his cigar. ‘You are her guardian, I take it? Then she's on her way to stardom. I'll make her into the next Marie Lloyd!'

‘I don't think so.' Joshua took the paper from him. ‘I'll need to read it first. Leave it with me and I'll let you know.'

The cigar dropped from Ben Thompson's open mouth. ‘Can't do that,' he blustered. ‘I'm only here for tonight. I've got a big show on tomorrow. It's now or never!'

‘Then it's never.' Joshua gave him back his contract. ‘I'm not willing to sign away my daughter's rights without reading the terms first. I don't even know who you are!'

‘Don't you? I'm astonished! Everybody knows Ben Thompson. Here.' He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket. ‘There's my card.' He quickly drank down his coffee. ‘Let me know if you change your mind.' And with that he was gone, out of the door, leaving Joshua staring after him.

‘Would you believe that?' he said to Poppy as she finished her song. ‘He didn't even pay for his coffee!'

Joshua carefully read the contract that Dan Damone had brought with him. It didn't make promises, apart from those which said he would endeavour to find suitable engagements with reputable managers and proprietors of theatres and music hall, and would take 10 per cent of any fee.

‘Seems fair enough,' he said.

‘Read it through, Mr Mazzini, and let me know tomorrow.' Dan Damone looked at Poppy, reading over her father's shoulder. ‘I'm not promising that it will be easy,' he said. ‘There'll be days when you'll wish you'd never come into this business. Nights when the halls are empty of patrons, and you can't sleep because the beds are lumpy and the landlady is a harridan. I'll try to put you with people who can show you the ropes, and keep an eye out for you. But this is a hard life. Everybody is seeking stardom, and you won't always get applause like you've had this week.'

‘Isn't that what I said, Poppy?' her father commented. ‘My very words.'

Poppy nodded. She felt frightened and apprehensive, but also exhilarated, so filled with pent-up joy and excitement that she felt she could fly.

‘If you do decide to sign,' Dan Damone went on, ‘I might have an engagement for you the week after next. There's a hall in Brighton with a vacancy for a singer. I've other auditions next week, but if they're not suitable, well . . .' He left the suggestion floating in the air.

Brighton! Poppy gulped. That was miles away. She glanced at her father, who was pursing his lips. ‘Well, we'll see,' he said. ‘We'll let you know tomorrow.'

He walked to the door with Dan Damone. All the other customers had left, as had Albert, and Lena had said she was going up to bed. ‘I, erm, there's something I need to ask you, Mr Damone,' he said, opening the door as the agent called good night to Poppy.

‘Call me Dan,' he replied. ‘Everybody does.'

‘Well, it's like this. Poppy's only thirteen. I, erm, she's got no mother to advise her.' Joshua looked anxious. ‘I wouldn't want her to get into any kind of trouble – you know – with young men, I mean. I know how they hang around stage doors, waiting.'

Dan grinned. ‘Not often, they don't. Only for the stars, or young women with a reputation, and most performers only want to go to their own beds after they've finished a stint on the stage. It's darned hard work, you know!'

‘Yes, but, well, we don't know you, Mr Damone. We live a quiet life here, and I don't know what kind of reputation you have. Meaning no offence,' he added. ‘But I'm giving Poppy into your care.'

Dan nodded thoughtfully, and folded his arms across his chest as they stood on the doorstep. ‘Yes, it's a big responsibility,' he answered. ‘And not one I take lightly. But when I obtain an engagement for my clients, I don't go with them. They make their own way there and have to take the consequences.' He gazed across the street as if considering. ‘But I'll tell you this, Mr Mazzini. I can't do anything about Poppy falling for some young buck, but there is no cause for worry as far as I'm concerned.' He turned his head so that he was looking at Joshua from wistful blue eyes. ‘I am a celibate man. Your daughter need have no fear of me.'

He seems an honest sort of fellow, Joshua pondered as he closed the door behind him. But do I believe him?

Poppy was sitting at one of the tables with her chin in her hands and her expression animated. ‘I really like Mr Damone,' she said eagerly. ‘I feel as if I can trust him. Can I go, Pa? I'd really like to.'

Her father gazed at her. What a huge responsibility to look after a daughter. How to protect her? Who to ask for advice? I suppose, he mused, there comes a time when she has to look out for herself, and that time is now.

He sat down opposite her. ‘Are you absolutely sure, Poppy? You know that you'll meet people who are . . . well, not like us. They'll have different values, different ways of looking at life, not just 'ordinary run of 'mill like we're used to.'

‘That's what makes it so exciting, Pa.' Poppy hunched up her shoulders. ‘But I promise you that if I'm unhappy or don't get work, then I'll write to you for advice.' She didn't say she would come home, but that is what he hoped she meant.

Joshua got up and went behind the grocery counter, bringing back a bottle of ink and a pen. He sat down again and drew the contract towards him. He read through it. ‘Quite sure?' he asked quietly, and when she nodded, he signed his name.

They both turned as the door to the house creaked. Lena was standing there in her flowing pink nightrobe with her hair hanging down her back. ‘I've just made you some cocoa, Josh.' She simpered. ‘I know you like a cup afore bed.'

Poppy stared. How dare she appear like that in front of her father? Though Lena's robe covered her nightgown, the buttons at the top were undone, showing the tops of her ample breasts. Lena gave her a little self-satisfied smile. ‘I expect you'll want to be off to bed, won't you, dear?' she said. ‘You've had a busy evening!'

She's been listening! Poppy was angry. And she'll be glad that I'm going because she'll be alone here with Pa! But that won't do! Everybody will think— What will they think? That she and Pa— It doesn't bear thinking about. Suppose she puts Pa in a compromising position? Is she too old to say she's been caught with a child?

As she stared at Lena she felt herself flushing at such thoughts. But Pa wouldn't . . . surely he wouldn't? Why, she looks like a witch with her scraggy hair hanging down her back and her long nose all shiny! Nothing like Mama, who was so sweet and pretty and who Pa loved. She wanted to cry now, and only a minute ago she had been so happy.

‘I don't want to go to bed!' she stated. ‘I'm not in the least tired and my father and I are having a discussion.' She rose from the chair and went towards her. ‘I'll bring Pa's cocoa in here, seeing as you've made it, and then you can go to bed. You look tired,' she said nastily. ‘You need your beauty sleep.'

‘Poppy!' her father said severely when she came back with the pot of cocoa and Lena had stomped upstairs. ‘Don't go upsetting her. I need her here. If she leaves I'm left without a baker.'

‘She won't leave, Pa.' Poppy pouted and folded her arms. ‘But she'll be glad when I do. She'll have you all to herself now that Tommy's gone and I'm going. People will talk, you know,' she added, turning her face away from him.

Her father grinned. ‘Not about me, they won't! Only about her. That's an advantage that men have over women. But I might bring Albert to live in to stop tongues wagging.'

Poppy opened her mouth in horror. ‘Not in my room! Not in my room! I don't want him in there with his smelly feet and his sticky fingers going over my things!'

‘No!' her father declared. ‘I'll bring 'truckle bed down, and he can sleep in 'kitchen. If he's a mind to, that is. He might not want to.' He shook his head admonishingly. ‘You can't have everything your own way, Poppy! I've a business to run. A business that one day will be yours and Tommy's. I can't let it run down just because you don't like Lena and Albert.'

Her father was right, she knew that. But she wept into her pillow that night, tears of frustration, joy and excitement, all rolled into one with the worry of how her father would manage without her.

Saturday night was the busiest night for the music hall and especially when there were so many local people appearing. There was huge support for home-grown talent and most of the performers had brought along friends, relatives, friends of relatives, and relatives of friends to give them a cheer and encouragement. As Poppy walked along George Street there were queues already forming and good-natured banter working along the line.

‘Good luck, lass,' someone shouted, and one or two others added their good wishes. When she arrived at the door she saw that a new poster had been put up, displaying a list of the performers with her name at the very top.

She tried to hide her smile, but failed. She was so thrilled and excited. I just hope that Pa will come. He said he'd come later if he could, and oh, how I wish that my mother could have seen me and shared this moment.

Her act was to be at the end of the show, so she stood at the back of the stalls during the first half to watch everyone else, the dancers, the jugglers, the comics; all the people she had been with throughout the week, who had shared their successes and failures and supported each other. She understood the comic's jokes now, and had seen how the magician did his tricks. The acrobat still amazed her for her body was like India rubber, and in a quiet moment one night after a show she had shown Poppy how to turn a somersault.

‘Come on, Poppy.' Dan Damone's voice came from behind her. ‘Come backstage and get changed. It doesn't do to let the public see you before your act.' He smiled at her. ‘We have to try to maintain the magic, build up the excitement of the audience at the thought of seeing Poppy Mazzini.'

She gazed at him. ‘But they know me.' She laughed. ‘They've known me since I was born!'

‘You're no longer the daughter of a grocer,' he said. ‘You are now Poppy Mazzini, a star of the music hall. At least,' he said solemnly, ‘you will be, unless you've changed your mind?'

‘I haven't.' She handed him the contract. ‘I won't. Do you really think I'll be a star?' she asked, her eyes shining.

‘There's every possibility.' He lifted her chin with his finger and turned her head this way and that. ‘You have the looks. You have the talent. You have youth on your side. Do you have the determination?' He shook his head. ‘I can't tell you that, Poppy. Only you can know. Come on!' He took her hand and led her towards the side entrance and the rear of the stage. ‘Get changed,' he said, as they reached the dressing room door. ‘And when you come out I want you to have forgotten everything about your childhood, your school and your father's coffee house. You are Poppy Mazzini, a music hall performer, singing and dancing to a new audience, not to friends you have known all your life. Can you do that?'

She took a deep breath. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘I can.'

The theatre was packed and the Saturday night audience was in a jolly mood, joining in with the singing or heckling the comic whenever he made a joke. Poppy could hear the racket from the dressing room and it only increased her nervousness. The young acrobat, Stella, was the only one left in the dressing room with her for she was to be the penultimate act, followed by Poppy. She was small and petite and wore a huge woolly jumper over her costume and thick socks on her feet.

‘Are you nervous?' Stella asked. ‘I am. Although I know I'll be all right once I'm on stage. Is it true what they're saying, that you've signed a contract with Mr Damone?'

‘Yes, but how did you know?' Poppy was astonished that anyone should have found out. ‘I haven't told anyone.'

‘Somebody saw you hand him what looked like a contract. Doesn't matter, does it?'

‘No, not really, it's just that I haven't got used to the idea myself yet.' She brushed a little colour onto her cheeks and then admitted, ‘I'm anxious about it, I suppose.'