Martha's Girls (10 page)

Peggy interrupted, ‘But Kavanagh saw him clearly? Could describe him?’

‘Wait, there is more.’ Goldstein paused as though trying to remember the sequence of events as described to him by the police. ‘Kavanagh is on the phone to the police when he hears the shop bell ring as someone comes in; he shouts that he will be there in a moment. There is sound of a scuffle, followed by noise of something falling. Mr Kavanagh runs into the shop and sees an elderly gentleman on the floor with a hat stand on top of him. The shop door is wide open and so is the till. The thief has gone, so too has the day’s takings.’

Peggy closed her eyes; it all made sense. The envelope full of money …

‘Is something the matter?’ asked Goldstein, ‘You are happy the wireless is returned, yes?’

Peggy forced herself to smile. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, ‘I’m very happy.’

Goldstein gave one of his rare laughs. ‘But not as happy as you are going to be. I have two other pieces of news, we must discuss, but not yet. First we will have a cup of tea. I will have mine in the Crown Derby as usual.’

Peggy was scarcely aware of what she was doing as she prepared the tea. She’d hardly slept, going over and over in her mind what she’d said, how he’d responded, the hurt look on his face, his anger. By the time she’d got up for work she was convinced he was innocent. When Goldstein said the wireless had been recovered she was sure of it. But then there was the money. Oh yes, the money changed everything.

Goldstein sipped his tea, put his cup back in the saucer and turned to Peggy.

‘I had a letter this morning from my sister.’

‘In Poland?’

‘Indeed,’ he sighed. ‘Things do not go well for her and her family. Their shop has been closed. They are forced to stay indoors most of the time and there are rumours.’ He paused as if imagining the fears of his sister.

‘What kind of rumours?’

‘The worst kind; Jewish families arrested in the middle of the night and taken out of the city. To where, they do not know.’ He shook his head and Peggy thought he shuddered. Then he seemed to brighten.

‘But that is not my news. My news is good.’ He went on, ‘You remember I told you about my niece. She is close to your age. Her name is Esther.’

Peggy nodded.

‘Well, Esther has left the city.’

Peggy put her hand to her mouth, but Goldstein realising she had misunderstood went on quickly. ‘No, no she was not taken away. She managed to get on a train going west to Holland. A family, not Jewish, friends of my sister, agreed to take Esther with them. They got her a ticket by saying she was employed by them as a … what is the word? Ah! governess. Once in Holland, Esther will try to get a boat to England. When she arrives there I will send her the money to come here to me in Belfast.’

‘That’s wonderful; I’m so pleased for you.’

‘You can also be pleased for yourself, Peggy, because Esther has worked in the family music business in Warsaw since she was fourteen and when she comes here she will be able to help you in the shop.’

Peggy could see the possibilities and it was as if Goldstein read her mind.

‘Then we will see trade increase and you will have an assistant in the shop, while I concentrate on launching the Barnstormers!’

‘Barnstormers?’

‘Yes, our troupe of entertainers. That’s what they will be called. I was telling my very good friend, who is a lecturer at Queen’s, about you all and how I was trying to think of a name and he said, ‘A group of strolling players, wandering the country entertaining people to keep spirits up? Such people used to be called barnstormers!’

‘That’s brilliant.’

‘And the best bit of news is that the Barnstormers’ first public performance will take place in just over two weeks’ time in the Central Hall.’

‘So soon! Is it all set up? Is there—’

Goldstein put up his hand. ‘One thing at a time, Peggy. I have already got things moving. I contacted the
Belfast Telegraph
office this morning. They were very interested, it is a change to have some positive news, and will send a reporter round this morning to interview me about our group and the concert. ’

‘We’re going to be in the paper?’

‘Of course, that’s the quickest way to let everyone know about the event. We also need to get some posters printed and I want you to organise that. Here are all the details, so go quickly to McCann printers in North Street, they’re expecting you, and tell them we need one hundred eye-catching posters by Wednesday.’

‘And Peggy,’ Goldstein shouted, as she went out the door, ‘on the way back buy some plain postcards and twelve stamps. I will need to write to the performers about rehearsals.’

When Peggy returned, Goldstein was deep in conversation with a man in a tweed overcoat, trilby (which he hadn’t removed), and a camera around his neck. ‘Ah, here she is,’ Goldstein exclaimed, ‘one of the talented Barnstormer performers.’

The reporter eyed her up and down. ‘I think I’ve got all the detail I need. Now, how about a picture?’

*

On his afternoon off Ted Grimes spruced himself up and left his house, closing the door quietly behind him. His wife Vera had earlier complained of palpitations, which he suspected were caused by his suggestion that the cupboards could do with a good redding out, and she had taken to her bed leaving Ted to take himself up the Oldpark, yesterday’s
Belfast Telegraph
under his arm, to visit Martha. He was a man with decent manners, so he rattled the side gate before coming round the back of the house past the kitchen window and in the back door.

‘Hallo, anybody home?’ The kitchen was neat and tidy, cosy with the little stove lit. The table was set for the evening meal and there was a meaty smell coming from the oven. ‘Hallo, Martha! Are you in?’ He heard quickening footsteps above him followed by the sound of someone coming down the stairs. Martha’s face appeared round the door.

‘Well, well, would you look who’s here,’ she said. ‘Not at work the day, Ted?’

‘Ach no, sure it’s my afternoon off.’

‘Oh, that’s grand. We’ll sit in the front room. Will you take a wee cup of tea?’

‘Don’t mind if I do, Martha.’ He eased himself into the armchair to the left of the fireplace.

‘I was very grateful the other night when you came to collect us from the McCrackens,’ shouted Martha from the kitchen.

‘Not at all, not at all.’ Ted looked around the neat room, noted the bust of Beethoven on the piano and was that Tchaikovsky on the china cabinet? Martha was a woman with unexpected depths.

‘Nice and strong, just how you like it,’ said Martha handing him the tea, ‘and you’ll take a bit of fruited soda as well, won’t you? It’s still warm from the oven.’ Back in the kitchen, Martha removed her overall and returned with a thick slice of buttered soda and her own tea and sat opposite Ted. ‘Did they get the one who shot the policeman?’

‘Well, they’ve taken a few Catholic fellas from the Falls Road into custody. That caused a lot of bother itself; people out on the streets protesting and throwing stuff.’ He shook his head. ‘Internment’s the only answer in my view.’

‘That’s all very well, but what about the families? It’s them I feel sorry for without the man’s wage. I know how hard that is.’

‘Ach Martha, never you worry yourself about them.’

‘God knows, Ted, it’s hard to put food on the table.’ Martha looked away as though she’d said too much already. The last thing she wanted was Ted Grimes to think she was crying poverty. They sat in silence for a while. From the street came the strangled cry of the herring man. ‘Ardglass!’

‘Have you thought any more about evacuating Sheila?’ Ted changed the subject.

‘Ah no, she’s safe enough here for now.’

‘A lot of the primary school childer have gone. The offer’s still there you know. My cousin Edna would welcome help on the farm in exchange for board and lodging.’

‘Aye I know that, but she needs to finish her schooling. She could get a decent job, you know. She’s talked about working in an office. She’s bright as a button.’

‘Is that going to matter do you think?’

‘What do you mean?’

Ted leaned forward to press home his point. ‘You know she’s a lovely girl. I’m guessing when she’s old enough she’ll find herself a young man and stop work altogether, if you get my drift.’

‘Your drift seems to be to get me out of the way to provide cheap labour for your family in the country.’ Sheila stood in the doorway, hands on hips. She turned to her mother. ‘Mammy, why are you listening to him? What’s he doing here anyway?’

‘Now, Sheila, don’t you be rude to Mr Grimes.’

‘We talked about this and you agreed I could stay here. I’m not going anywhere!’ She snatched the cup, saucer and plate of half eaten soda out of his hands. ‘But you are!’

‘Sheila, how dare you speak to a guest like that!’

Ted stood up, towering over the two women. ‘It’s all right,’ he said quietly to Martha. ‘It’s time I was getting back anyway. Oh, by the way, I brung you yesterday’s
Telegraph
, chance you hadn’t seen it already.’ He set it on top of the piano and turned to Sheila. ‘As for you, miss, you’ve far too much to say for yourself.’

*

Martha didn’t draw the blackout curtains. There was no need; she hadn’t switched on any lights. Upstairs, too, was in darkness. After she had sent Sheila to bed, Martha listened to her sobbing until, eventually, there was silence. Later, as darkness fell, she crept upstairs to find her lying fully clothed on her bed fast asleep. At half six, Irene, Pat and Peggy arrived home together. Irene was first through the door.

‘Mammy, what are you doing in the dark?’ Without waiting for an answer she leaned over the draining board and drew the curtains and Pat crossed the kitchen ready to turn on the light as soon as Irene finished checking there were no gaps.

‘Is the tea ready? I’m starving.’ Peggy went to hang their coats in the little back hallway.

‘Where’s Sheila?’ asked Pat.

‘What’s for tea?’ asked Irene, bending down to look inside the stove.

Martha didn’t move. ‘It’s nearly ready; Sheila’s upstairs asleep; stew, mashed potatoes and cabbage, but that can wait until we sort something out.’

Irene stood up from the stove, Peggy paused in the doorway, Pat stopped at the sink, a glass in one hand, her other reaching out to the tap, each struck by the strange tone in their mother’s voice.

‘Sit down, all of you.’ Martha waited while they sat. ‘Did I, or did I not, forbid you to join that troupe of entertainers?’

The girls looked quickly at each other. Irene was the first to answer, trying to be honest, ‘Yes, yes, you did.’

‘And now I hear you’re going to sing in a show next week.’

‘Who told you that?’ asked Irene.

‘Never mind who told me. What I want to know is … Is it true?’

‘Well it’s sort of true …’ Irene hesitated.

‘Sort of, what do you mean, sort of?’ Martha raised her voice.

Peggy intervened. ‘What Irene means is that we said we’d do one show, because Mr Goldstein’s been let down by one of the acts.’ Pat gave her a sideways look, but Peggy carried on. ‘Someone can’t perform that night … a singer it is. So, he asked us.’

‘And that’s all, is it? One show?’ asked Martha looking sternly at each daughter in turn. Irene looked embarrassed; Pat was looking at Peggy, her face flushed. Peggy nodded, smiling.

The
Belfast Telegraph
was on the high mantelpiece above the stove. Without a word, Martha retrieved it. It had been folded to show the picture of Peggy leaning on her elbows, one hand laid flat over the other supporting her chin, her face beautifully made up and smiling, looking for all the world like a Hollywood starlet.

Martha began to read, ‘Peggy Goulding (pictured) and her two sisters Irene and Pat are members of the new company.’ Martha paused and looked at them over the paper, then continued. ‘Peggy told our reporter, “We’ve always dreamt of being entertainers and as members of the Barnstormers we’ll get lots of opportunities to perform.”’ Martha pursed her lips and looked at them. ‘So, one concert is it?’

‘We were going to tell you, Mammy, honestly.’ Irene was close to tears.

‘Oh, aye, and when was that? Next Saturday as you went out the door, all dolled up like this one in the photo? Or when you arrived home at midnight and me worried sick?’

‘Ach Mammy, we’re old enough to look after ourselves,’ said Peggy. ‘And anyway there’s three of us. We wouldn’t be anywhere on our own.’

‘That’s not the point. I’m your mother and you girls defied me.’ Martha was on her feet, leaning across at them, knuckles on the table.

‘Mammy, we were going to tell you.’