‘Why? Don’t say you’re goin’ back to Liverpool?’ Lottie said, devoutly hoping that this was true. ‘Only if you are, why come to Great Yarmouth at all? I’m sure Mr Quentain would have been happy to have you do a solo act with your “Dance Through the Ages” routine. But I thought you said you was keen to have another season in Great Yarmouth.’
Merle tossed her head scornfully. Her hair was braided today into two long plaits, and one of them slapped quite painfully across Lottie’s cheek. Lottie jerked her head back, opening her mouth to protest, but Merle was speaking again. ‘I always knew you were a little silly what don’t understand nothin’. As if I’d change my arrangements just to suit a feller, no matter how much I liked him! D’you remember telling me as how Baz wouldn’t mind workin’ on a country station? Well, he applied for a job as porter at a station quite near Great Yarmouth. What do you think of that, eh? No feller would move his job unless he were serious. He reckons he’ll move to Norfolk in a week or two. So you see, we
are
going steady and one of these days I’m goin’ to persuade him to leave the railways and give Uncle Max a hand so’s he can learn the game, like.’
‘He did say he wouldn’t mind a country station, but to move so far from the rest of us . . . his dad, I mean . . . and what’ll he do when the season’s over? As for joining Max on the stage, he’ll never do it . . .’ Lottie was saying as the tram drew to a halt outside Lime Street station. Both girls got to their feet, seized their belongings and descended from the tram, though as they made their way into the station Lottie repeated breathlessly: ‘Baz won’t go on stage, Merle, not for you or anyone else. He gets terrible stage fright. The only time he ever stood in for Louella he had to go off the stage twice to be sick. Some folk are like that, didn’t you know?’
‘It’ll be different when he’s working wi’ me,’ Merle said firmly. She stopped short and waved violently. ‘There he is!’ She raised her voice to a yell. ‘Over here, Baz!’ She turned on Lottie. ‘And don’t you dare say a word about seeing him next week or I’ll bloody throttle you in your bed,’ she hissed. ‘I swore I’d not tell a soul in case Uncle Max tried to persuade him to stay in Liverpool.’
‘I won’t say anything,’ Lottie said rather despondently. The good relationship which had existed between herself and Baz had almost disappeared since Merle’s arrival. The older girl and Baz had spent every spare moment together and no matter what entertainment they had planned, they had utterly refused to let Lottie accompany them. Once, of course, she would not have minded but would have gone off happily enough with Kenny, only Kenny, too, had changed. He belonged to a gang of lads of his own age and had no time for a mere girl, especially one who, as he put it, ‘made a right spectacle of herself in front of an audience of silly old women at the Gaiety theatre every night’.
So the past weeks had not been happy ones for Lottie. She had felt lonely and more than a little neglected, because Louella had assumed she was going around with Baz and Merle, or with Kenny, and so had made no attempt to take her daughter along when she and Max had a day out. Lottie had begun to look forward eagerly to the move to Great Yarmouth, believing that Merle would be glad of her company once Baz was no longer within reach. Now it seemed that this was not to be, for if Baz was prepared to change his job just to be near his cousin, things were serious indeed.
Now, however, Baz came over to them and gave Merle a hug, then, after a quick glance round, kissed her cheek and whispered something Lottie could not catch. He took absolutely no notice of Lottie, but addressed himself to Merle. ‘Wharra grand girl you are, Merle O’Mara, arrivin’ in good time an’ lookin’ as fresh as a daisy, though you must have been up for hours. The train ain’t in yet, so do you want to go to the buffet and get yourself a nice cuppa and a bun? I’m on duty so I can’t go wi’ you, but I can carry your bag and take you to the train and wave you off.’
‘A cup of tea would be lovely, but I’d rather be with you, Baz,’ Merle said soulfully, fluttering her lashes and turning down the corners of her small mouth. Lottie thought nastily that the older girl would have stuck on stage eyelashes if she had known how inadequate her own looked when fluttered. ‘Can’t we find some quiet spot where we can be alone for ten or fifteen minutes?’
Baz frowned doubtfully, then his brow cleared. ‘Show me your ticket,’ he muttered urgently. ‘Then I’ll pretend there’s something wrong with it and we’ll go over towards the ticket office. There’s a little bit of unused platform where some of the chaps go for a quiet smoke; we’ll go there.’
Lottie realised, of course, that she was not meant to be included but felt she could not hang around on the platform alone so followed them and wished she had not when they reached the secluded spot. Baz put both arms round Merle, then appeared to notice Lottie for the first time and scowled at her. ‘Buzz off, kid,’ he said roughly. ‘Find Platform Three: there’s a framed timetable there which you can pretend to be studying. We’ll join you in ten minutes.’
Lottie glared at him. He would never have treated her like this before his cousin had joined the company. She remembered, wistfully, the long discussions they had had about her dreams and how interested Baz had been in every aspect of them. Since the advent of Merle, he had never even enquired as to whether she had had one, though since she had not she supposed it would be unfair to accuse him of losing interest. Now she came to think of it, it was strange that she had never once dreamed herself back into that other place since Merle’s arrival. Perhaps she had been too lonely and unhappy, too confused, to get into the dreams, for there was no doubt that she had been confused, both by Baz’s sudden lack of interest in her and by Merle’s antagonism. Even Louella had not been as loving towards her as Lottie would have liked. Louella disliked Merle and criticised her, but when Lottie had pointed out, rather timidly, that Merle had still not taught her even the simplest of the modern dances, Louella had heaved a great dramatic sigh and said that no doubt the older girl would do so in her own good time. ‘And why do you want to learn modern dance anyway?’ she had asked peevishly. ‘Once the season’s over, I’m sure Merle will take her “Dance Through the Ages” elsewhere and you and I will go back to our own act.’
‘Yes, but you said Merle was to teach me so that we could incorporate some modern dance into our routines,’ Lottie had pointed out. She had both hoped and expected that her mother would insist upon Merle’s teaching her, but Louella had merely told her crossly to run away and get Doris Lavery, their pianist, to teach her ‘Ain’t She Sweet’, a popular song which was sweeping the country.
Remembering the incident, Lottie began to hum the tune beneath her breath, and began to feel more cheerful. So Baz was no longer interested in her; so what? Merle was not the only one who hoped to find new friends in Great Yarmouth. There would be holidaymakers as well as all the theatricals in the show they were to join. Louella had promised her generous pocket money so that she might enjoy all the entertainments on offer, and Jack Russell had said he would teach her how to swim because he thought that a girl who meant to spend a whole summer by the sea ought to be able to bathe with safety, and not merely content herself with paddling and sandcastles.
She found the framed timetable and stood before it, then turned her back on it to survey the hurrying crowds just as a train chugged into the station. Whistles blew shrilly, men in uniform waved flags, others darted off to pile luggage on to trolleys, and Lottie was filled with wild, unreasoning happiness. She was off on a great adventure; she would actually be living at the seaside for weeks and weeks and suddenly she was sure that the dreams would begin again and this time, because she was older, she would look around her more intently, discover why she dreamed such things and what they meant. And Baz can ask me a thousand questions and I shan’t answer one of them because he’s so besotted with horrible Merle that I wouldn’t trust him not to spill the beans, she told herself, just as Baz and Merle came hurrying towards her. And something tells me I’ll make a real friend in Great Yarmouth, someone of my own age who will understand how I feel about the theatre and horrible Merle.
But even as she climbed into the carriage behind the older girl and settled herself in a corner seat, she knew she would never tell any new friend about the dreams. They were too personal and too mysterious. Now that Baz was no longer interested, she would keep them to herself.
Rather to Lottie’s surprise, the journey went smoothly. They were lucky with all their connections and arrived at Great Yarmouth on time to find Jack waiting for them. He hustled them on to a bus and presently hustled them off again, conducting them down a street lined with pretty terraced houses, most of which had cards in their windows advertising the fact that they took paying guests. ‘We are at Number Fifty-five with Mrs Shilling,’ Jack told them. ‘She only takes theatricals and we were lucky to get fixed up with her ’cos she’s reckoned to be the best landlady in all Great Yarmouth.’ He eyed the two girls speculatively. ‘Know why she took us in?’ Both girls admitted that they had no idea and Jack nodded with satisfaction. ‘It’s because we’re showing at the Wellington Pier theatre which starts rehearsals a fortnight earlier than the Britannia. And that means Mrs Shilling will get an extra two weeks’ money.’
‘But what about our money, Jack?’ Merle said rather plaintively. ‘I know the Wellington management pays well – Uncle Max told me – but no one ever pays the same for rehearsals as for the real thing.’
‘That’s true,’ Jack said, nodding his bristly head. ‘We get paid half, which is fair enough when you think about it. Some places wouldn’t even pay that much. Anyway, for the first two weeks Mrs Shilling charges cut rates and gives us a main meal once a day, but no puddings.’ He chuckled. ‘Good for your figures, young ladies.’
‘I think that sounds very fair,’ Lottie said, eyeing the terraced houses they passed with deep interest. Each one had a tiny front garden, crammed with blooms, windows that gleamed with cleanliness and the almost obligatory sign in the front window. In fact she recognised Mrs Shilling’s dwelling because the card in her window read ‘No Vacancies’, a sure sign that Mrs Shilling was indeed the best.
Jack ushered them down a short brick path and into a square hallway. Then he raised his voice in a cheerful bellow which had Mrs Shilling erupting from the rear premises, shaking her head disapprovingly. ‘Mr Jack, will you never learn? I were just gettin’ a tray of bread out of the oven and when you sharmed out like that I jumped, burned the top of my hand and near dropped the whole perishin’ lot on the kitchen floor,’ she said. She then turned towards the two girls and beamed at them. ‘What an introduction to Number Fifty-five! Now you’ll be Miss Merle Lacey, and this must be Miss Lottie. Your mam and Mr Max arrived a couple of hours ago but they’ve gone down to the theatre. I kept your meal back, so if you’ll go up to your room and tidy yourselves, it’ll be on the table in twenty minutes.’ She flung open a nearby door to reveal a large dining table already set out with a gingham tablecloth, cutlery, and a fine array of sauces and pickles. ‘It’s cold ham, salad and as much bread and butter as you can eat, ’cos I didn’t know for sure what time you’d be a-coming.’ She turned to Jack. ‘Take the young ladies and show them their room, there’s a good lad. My legs have already been up and down them stairs a dozen times today.’ She turned back to the girls. ‘And don’t you be late, my women, the cup of tea I’ll have ready in twenty minutes will go cold, and if there’s one thing I can’t abide it’s cold tea. And while you’re eatin’, we’ll talk about our house rules and so on. See you presently, when you’ve got rid o’ the train dirt which I don’t doubt is all over you, try though you might to keep yourselves clean.’
Stunned by this flood of eloquence, the girls murmured that they would be down in good time and followed Jack. At the top of the first flight of stairs he turned to grin at them. ‘She can talk the hind leg off a donkey, that one,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Never stops, in fact. Her hubby’s a quiet little feller, scarce opens his gob at mealtimes except to shove in his grub, but Mrs Shillin’ likes to chat. I wouldn’t say she were a gossip because I don’t recall ever hearing her say a bad word about anyone, but by God, she says plenty of good words. I’ve lodged here whenever I’ve been playing in Great Yarmouth and I reckon decent beds, a clean house and plenty of grub are worth paying for, and I don’t mean wi’ money, either. Your ear’oles takes a bashin’ from Mrs Shillin’, but it’s well worth it.’ He started to climb another flight of stairs, then stopped, clapping a hand to his brow. ‘Heavens above, I’ll forget me own name next! You’re up in the gods, as they say, but I’d best show you the bathroom first ’cos it’s on this floor.’
Lottie and Merle exchanged a quick, delighted glance. A bathroom! And when Jack threw the door open, they were thrilled with what they saw. A large white bathtub with brass claws for feet was surmounted by a huge white object which, Jack informed them, was the geyser which heated the water. ‘You have to light it with a match, or a taper, and if you don’t get the flame in quick enough the gas builds up and you’ll get an explosion which will make you jump six inches. Best let meself, Max or Louella show you how to light it the first couple of times. And of course you can always have a wash in the handbasin, ’cos that’s runnin’ hot water from the boiler at the back o’ the kitchen fire,’ he added. And Lottie thought he sounded as proud as though the bathroom, and its contents, were his own invention.
‘Where’s the lavvy?’ Merle asked suddenly. ‘Outside in the bleedin’ yard, I suppose?’
Jack tutted, wagging his finger at her. ‘Don’t you let Mrs Shillin’ catch you swearing; she don’t approve of bad language,’ he said. ‘The lavvy’s the next door along. It’s only partitioned off from the bathroom, but it’s right convenient to have it separate when everyone’s tryin’ to get ready at once. There’s a downstairs lavvy an’ all,’ he continued, flinging open the door to reveal a massive blue and white porcelain lavatory with a mahogany seat. ‘It ain’t as grand as this one, but it’s just outside the back door an’ to my way of thinkin’ it’s real posh. It even has its own washbasin so’s you can wash your hands after you’ve done your deed, and a roller towel on the back of the door so you can dry ’em as well.’