They reached the dressing room and entered it to find the wardrobe mistress laying out their clothes and turning reproachful eyes on them as they appeared. ‘Well, Miss Louella, I never knowed you late before,’ she remarked. ‘Here’s me wantin’ to go along to Mrs Rivers to put a stitch in the dress she wears as Marie Lloyd, but I dursen’t leave here, knowing as you’d want me to give you both a hand.’
Mrs Rivers was, in her own eyes at least, very much the star of the variety show. She was lucky in that she looked very like Marie Lloyd, the queen of the music halls, and could imitate Marie’s voice and gestures exactly. When she gave her rendering of ‘My Old Man Says Follow the Van’, she brought the house down and soon had the audience singing along with her.
‘I’m awfully sorry, Mrs Jones,’ Louella said penitently, beginning to tear off her day clothes ready to dive into her stage dress. ‘I simply didn’t notice how time was passing.’ Her head emerged through the neck of the dress and Mrs Jones began to do up the dozens of little buttons which fastened the back. ‘You run along now. You really mustn’t keep Mrs Rivers waiting, and I can help Lottie as soon as I’ve done my face.’
Mrs Jones swept out and Lottie scrambled into her own dress, dragged a brush through her hair, and slid her feet into her tap shoes, fastening the buckles and then flying across to the mirror to apply powder to her shiny nose and colour to her lips.
‘Ready? Off we go then,’ Louella said briskly. ‘Mrs Jones is a real pro; she’ll be standing in the wings with your Columbine dress and my crinoline minutes before we need them.’
The pair of them arrived in the wings in good time, for Jack had only just begun on his comical interpretation of a golfer trying to rescue a ball which had fallen deep into a sandy bunker. ‘Sounds like a good audience,’ Lottie said rather timidly as a roar of laughter greeted Jack’s latest attempt. ‘Louella, I know you feel I shouldn’t have mentioned the bleach when Merle were being so difficult and I’m sorry, ’cos I reckon you feel I’ve let you down. Only – only I’ll be fifteen in June, and you’ve been having my hair bleached for years, and . . .’
‘I didn’t mean any harm . . .’ Louella began defensively, then cast a hunted look at her daughter. ‘Oh, never mind, it doesn’t really matter. I just wish you’d told me what the hairdresser said. I can’t say I approve of wigs, but just for a little while I dare say we can manage.’
Lottie turned and gave her mother an impulsive hug. ‘It’ll only be for while we’re here because once we’re in Great Yarmouth no one will expect me to be a blonde,’ she said excitedly. ‘And you know, Louella, short hair is all the rage. Most of the kids in school have bobs or even shingles, so why shouldn’t we? You’d look really lovely . . . and it can’t be good for your hair to be bleached all the while either.’
‘I’ll think about it, but the trouble is Max likes his assistant to have long hair. It goes better with the tights and the spangled tops,’ she said. ‘I’d like to know what that little madam does with that great mass of hair when she’s doing the Charleston and the Black Bottom. That’s modern dance if you like.’ She brooded for a moment, then added darkly: ‘Well, we’ll see. After all, if she doesn’t fit in with our act even Max can’t expect me to put up with her, especially if she’s ruining our reputation.’
There was a roar of applause from the auditorium and Lottie saw Jack cast an anxious glance into the wings, then brighten as he saw them waiting. He bowed jerkily, swung his ridiculous golf club in acknowledgement of the clapping, then took the ball from his pocket and bit into it, causing yet more laughter as he came off, munching. Lottie knew that the ball which came out of his pocket was not the one with which he had played golf, but was made of marshmallow. Of course the audience did not know and responded accordingly. He gave Louella an approving pat as he came into the wings. ‘All serene?’ he muttered beneath his breath. ‘Right; then I’ll announce you.’ He strutted back on to the stage, bowed stiffly, and then announced: ‘And now, folks, put your hands together for Louella Lacey and little Miss Lotteeeeee!’
He left the stage as the orchestra struck up the first bars of ‘Tiger Rag’ and mother and daughter, arms linked, tap-danced briskly from the darkened wings into the bright lights of the stage. Lottie always kept her eyes fixed on the back row of the stalls, but today she looked down and saw Merle sitting in the third row and staring up at them. As their eyes met, Lottie flashed a quick, genuine smile and received a small grin in return. Later, when they were alone in their bedroom, she would try to explain away her mother’s sharpness, but for now the smile would have to be sufficient. Lottie danced on.
Chapter Six
Lottie was in her shared bedroom, packing. Thoughtfully, she reflected on the past weeks. Merle had proved to be an excellent dancer, very much better than Louella or Lottie herself, and her demonstration dances – the modern ones – were tremendously popular. For these she tied back her hair into a heavy plait which she then coiled round and round the top of her head and covered with a colourful browband, and wore the long bead necklaces and slinky, waistless fringed dresses which were all the rage. She had several of them in bright, primary colours, and either Lottie or Louella stood with Mrs Jones in the wings to help with the quick changes necessary so that Merle charlestoned off in blue and tangoed back in orange which, of course, delighted the audience as much as her spirited rendering of the half-dozen dances she did at each performance.
As Louella had said, Merle’s voice was not strong, nor even particularly melodious, but she did have sufficient sense to keep it soft whilst mouthing vigorously and allowing Louella and Lottie to carry the tune between them. Max had actually had the temerity to suggest that Louella might let the two girls do the tap-dance routine without her, saving herself for the singing and for the end-of-act Columbine performance, but as Lottie could have told him the suggestion had been turned down emphatically. Louella might know her tap-dancing left something to be desired, but, though generous in many ways, she would never relinquish one second of her time on stage.
Lottie finished cramming her last garment into the case her mother had provided and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had grown into a neat bob just below her ears. It was dark brown with burnished auburn lights and was far less trouble than her bleached hair had been, for it did not take even a second to run a comb through her new style. Even Louella admitted grudgingly that Lottie’s natural colouring was a great improvement and she liked the modern style, though at first she had complained that no one would take them for sisters because they looked so different. Lottie and Merle, however, had banded together to scoff at this idea. ‘We aren’t pretendin’ to be perishin’ triplets,’ Merle had said, and Lottie had chimed in with a reminder about Kenny’s sisters.
‘One’s got red hair, one’s almost yellow as a daffodil and Daisy’s quite dark,’ she had pointed out. ‘Yet all three have got the same mum and dad. And the Trevors at school look quite different, and it ain’t just their hair, either; Una’s fat and Beryl’s skinny, but they’re still sisters.’
They had been in the kitchen of Victoria Court at the time. Max had been polishing his shoes but he looked up. ‘It’s two to one, Lou . . . no, three to one, because I agree with the girls,’ he had said. ‘What matters to the audience is how well you dance and sing, not whether you look alike. C’mon, let’s get breakfast on the table or we’ll be late for rehearsal.’
Now, Lottie snapped her case shut and picked it up, giving one last valedictory glance around her room as she did so. It was a good deal changed from the room into which she had ushered Merle several weeks earlier, for Merle had made changes and stamped her personality upon it. The older girl had bought a very pretty Chinese screen from one of the vendors on Paddy’s market. It was made of wood lacquered red, surrounding pictures of Chinese scenery painted on some stiff type of paper, and when Merle wanted to wash, dress or change she unfolded the screen so though she and Lottie could exchange remarks they could not actually see one another. And she had bought a full-length mirror which Baz had screwed on to the wall for her. Since this made the mirror a permanent feature, Lottie had offered to pay half but Max had said he would stand the nonsense which meant neither girl had to part with any cash.
There were other signs of the shared occupancy. Merle was a film fan and had acquired a number of enlarged photographs of her favourite stars. Rudolph Valentino, turbaned as the sheik, Douglas Fairbanks as Robin Hood and Ramon Navarro as himself looked down from the walls on Merle’s side of the room. Lottie had once wondered aloud why so many sultry male eyes gazing at her companion as she washed and dressed – or indeed undressed – did not make her feel self-conscious, but Merle had laughed this idea to scorn. ‘I wouldn’t mind if they was here in person ’cos there’s nothing wrong with my body,’ she had said boldly. ‘I bet they’d jump off the walls and chase me round the room given half the chance.’
Lottie had giggled. ‘But you’re shy of me seeing you so wharrabout Rudolph Valentino?’ she had enquired. ‘That’s a lovely picture of him you’ve got on the wall; d’you hang your face flannel over him every time you take your knickers off?’
This remark, for some reason, had infuriated Merle. The two girls had been in bed at the time and Merle had rolled to the extreme edge of her own mattress and taken a swipe at Lottie. ‘You’re stupid, you are,’ she had said scornfully. ‘If you were a woman, same as what I am, I wouldn’t need no screen. But you ain’t a woman, you’re just a silly, stuck-up little girl. Get it?’
Lottie, nursing a sore ear, for Merle’s swipe had hurt, had said sulkily that she did indeed get it and had cuddled down under the covers thinking that she would never understand Merle if she lived to be a hundred. The older girl could be so nice when she chose, but Lottie was quite bright enough to realise that she was usually at her nicest when an adult was present. It was when the two of them were alone that the unpleasant side of Merle’s nature sometimes came to the fore. Lottie wondered uneasily whether Merle’s spite was partly her way of getting back at Louella, for Mam was always criticising Merle and finding fault generally. Obviously Merle could not take her annoyance out on Louella without its being plain to everyone, so perhaps she was wreaking her revenge on Lottie. It was clearly unfair, and once or twice Lottie had actually considered bringing the whole thing into the open, but she hated rows and unpleasantness and comforted herself with the reminder that once they reached Great Yarmouth Merle would not have Baz’s support and might be glad to be friendly with Lottie.
At this point in her musing, Lottie began to descend the stairs. Her mother and Merle were waiting outside in the court, guarding their luggage, for Max had hired a motor van to take all their paraphernalia to their destination. He had also hired a driver, so he and Louella would be passengers, but the two girls would undertake the tedious journey by rail, arriving some time after the motor van. Jack Russell had left the previous day, and had promised to meet the girls at the station and accompany them back to their lodgings, because otherwise they would not know which bus to catch.
Lottie let herself out of the house, locked the door and descended the steps. Louella looked round and smiled. ‘I was just beginning to get worried, because I know Max wants to load up and leave immediately when he arrives,’ she said. ‘And you two had best get down to the tram stop. Have you got your handbag and your ticket, darling? I feel awfully mean sending the pair of you off on such a lengthy and complicated journey by yourselves, but at least you won’t have any luggage to worry about.’ She handed her daughter a bulging string bag. ‘There’s sandwiches, apples and a flask of hot tea here because I doubt you’ll have any chance of getting yourselves a meal en route – unless you miss a connection, of course. Baz will see you on to the train and remember Jack is meeting you at the other end. Oh, dear, I suppose I should be coming with you, but Max will need me when we reach the theatre to help with the unpacking.’
‘Goodness, Louella, I’m seventeen years old and I’ve been on a hundred journeys by myself and always arrived safely,’ Merle cut in impatiently. ‘And Lottie’s a bright kid. I’m telling you, the pair of us will be fine.’ She grabbed Lottie’s arm. ‘C’mon, there’s bound to be a tram along any minute. No point hanging around here.’
She and Lottie set off down the court, but Louella called after them, her voice sharp. ‘Merle, I told you to leave your luggage here. Why have you hung on to that bag?’
Merle pretended not to hear but pulled Lottie along until they reached the tram stop. A tram drew up within seconds of their arrival and when they had climbed aboard and taken their seats, Lottie said breathlessly: ‘Why didn’t you leave the bag behind, Merle? Louella was only trying to save you trouble, you know.’
‘She wasn’t; she just wanted to know what was in the bag,’ Merle said. ‘It’s my makeup, my diary, a set of silk underwear I bought with my last week’s wages, and the box of chocolates which Baz gave me as a leaving present.’ She glanced rather slyly at her companion. ‘Baz and me is going steady; did you know?’
‘No. But how can you go steady? You’re going to be separated for weeks and weeks,’ Lottie pointed out. ‘Why, I remember you telling me when you first came to Victoria Court that you were hoping to have lots of young men admirers when we reach Yarmouth.’
Merle gave a triumphant little smirk. ‘Yes, but I didn’t know how keen Baz were going to be,’ she said. ‘He won’t have told
you
, of course, ’cos you’re only a kid and don’t mean nothing to him, but in a week’s time me an’ Baz will be seein’ each other every day, goin’ out on Sundays, havin’ a great time.’