Starlight (13 page)

‘Called up, anyway,' he groaned. ‘Even the waitresses. So there's you and me and poor Joan Baxter having to train all these older folk, and as she was saying, why'd your sister have to go? She's married, eh? And they're not taking married women.'

‘Marguerite wanted to go, seeing as Ben had to join up.'

‘And very fetching she looks in that WAAF's uniform, eh?' The manager sighed and ran his hand over his damp brow. ‘Thank God you got married too, Jess, and didn't fancy leaving us. You do so much for me these days, I don't know what I'd do without you, to be honest. I mean, I've still got Edie and Fred – they're too old to be called up – but you're the one with the energy, the one who knows what's what.'

‘I love everything I do,' she told him honestly. ‘It's no trouble to me.'

Training new usherettes and the woman who was now her assistant in the box office . . . helping Mr Hawthorne to master the new regulations that kept pouring in by every post . . . keeping track of ice cream and all the other supplies that looked like being threatened as shortages began to bite . . . even giving moral support and sometimes advice to the two retired fellows who'd taken over as projectionists . . .

Yes, Jess supposed she did do a lot, but it was true that she was happy doing it, and it helped to take her mind off her constant anxieties for Rusty. Though he was still only training, as he'd told her in his letters from RAF Kenlin, she couldn't of course help thinking of what was to come. It was the same sort of anxiety Marguerite would be feeling for Ben, but she was herself away on basic training, worrying their mother, who had her own problems. It seemed doubtful now that the ladies' club would be able to keep going in wartime.

‘Worry, worry, worry,' Addie groaned, when she came to visit Jess in the small flat in Newington that she and Rusty had taken on their return from honeymoon. ‘Seems that's all there is to our lives these days.'

Not quite all, Jess thought, hugging the memory of that rushed little honeymoon near Berwick, as though it were some sort of talisman. What a revelation those few days with Rusty had been! She'd had no idea sex could be so magical, yet, thinking back, that first exciting kiss he'd given her outside her mother's flat should have provided some hint.

There'd been signs even then, that there could be an affinity between them – she'd even been cross that he could stir her as he did – but then all that had been forgotten, as she'd insisted they just be friends. Until they'd leaped into shared delight in a creaking old bed in a guesthouse overlooking the Tweed, and scarcely surfaced until it was time to leave. Time to return to the world of work and war and the tearing wrench of separation.

No doubt it had been the same for Marguerite and Ben, who'd been married only a week before Jess and Rusty, and had spent an equally short honeymoon down in London. They'd had to part, just as Jess and Rusty had had to part, but it didn't make it any easier to think of their anguish. Like most things that were hard in life, you went through them alone.

Still, Jess had her job and was able to throw herself into it and be glad she was helping to keep the Princes afloat. It was very important at a time like this, as everyone agreed, that the people should have something to make them forget their troubles, and cinemas in this regard were absolutely crucial.

‘Yes, Jess, you'll see, we'll be busier than ever,' Mr Hawthorne told her. ‘Which is why it's good that we're all pulling together, keeping things going. We're needed, that's the thing.'

‘As long as you don't do too much yourself,' Jess told him seriously. ‘Last thing Sally said to me before she went away, was to make sure you didn't overdo things.'

‘Fusspot!' he cried. ‘Just like my wife.'

‘No, Mr Hawthorne, you really must take care. You say you couldn't do without me, but the Princes needs you, you know.'

‘All right, all right, Jess. I'll wrap myself in cotton wool. Now, to business – you haven't forgotten we've got
Gone With the Wind
coming week after next? We'll need to sort out the publicity material for the foyer. Big cut-outs of Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh, and posters of Tara and Atlanta burning et cetera.'

‘No, I haven't forgotten, Mr Hawthorne.'

‘You must call me George, Jess. Like I say, we're all pulling together now.' He rubbed his hands and smiled. ‘My word, the tills would be rattling soon, if we had any, eh? As they say, it's a dark cloud that has no silver lining.'

How can he be so cheerful? Jess wondered, as she turned away to check on the promotion material for the foyer. And though
Gone With the Wind
might make them a lot of money, wasn't that the story of a war that destroyed a whole way of life? Oh, no, she'd better not think along those lines. The Allies were going to win this war to keep their way of life, or maybe even achieve something better. That was the way to look at things. Look on the bright side, as they were always being told.

‘Jess, shall I open up now?' little Flo Culloch called, coming out of the box office. She was the married woman of fifty who was now Jess's assistant, very conscientious, very nervous, very pleased to have a job.

Jess glanced at her watch. ‘Oh, yes, matinee time. Open up, Flo. I'm just going to find a nice big cut out of Clark Gable for the foyer.'

‘Clark Gable?' Flo breathed. ‘My hero! Apart from my man, of course. You know what I mean?'

‘Oh, yes, I know what you mean,' said Jess, turning aside, as Fred arrived, whistling, to let the patrons in.

Part Two

Twenty-Three

Sometimes, just to gain a breather from her constant stream of duties in that first year of war, Jess would slip into the auditorium when a film was showing and take a staff seat at the back, or even stand. Exchange smiles with the plump, middle-aged usherettes by the light of the screen. Run her eye over the patrons, whose own eyes would be riveted on the huge faces above them, as they smoked their way through packets of cigarettes, and munched whatever they'd been able to find to eat.

So good to see so many, Jess would think, for no matter what was showing, afternoon or evening, the cinema would be full, and just as George Hawthorne had prophesied, if they'd had any actual tills, they would have been ringing with the sound of money. And very welcome the money was, anyway, for the increased revenue had sweetened the cinema owners into funding the new post of assistant manager, once talked about by Sally. Which, of course, ‘surprise, surprise', George had said, must go to Jess. So – no more box office for her!

Except that, the way things were, she still filled in when required, for Flo's assistant, Netta Wylie, was only part-time, just as she sometimes had to take a torch and do an usherette's job, or splice the snapped film for old Ron Clerk or Hughie Atkinson in the projection box, their fingers not being as deft as they'd once been.

Oh, but she didn't mind! It was what they'd always done at the Princes, and along with her new responsibilities for George, it gave her an extra feeling of pride in her work. True, she wasn't in the services and felt guilty about that, but she was at least helping to provide something that was necessary in wartime, and that was a boost to morale. Here, in the cinema, service people and civilians alike could forget the anxieties of their real world, and feel – even if for a little while – at peace. Why, she even felt that way herself; which was why she liked to make her brief visits to the auditorium and leave her own cares at the door.

One April afternoon in 1940, she'd slid in to see again the spell-binding opening of Alfred Hitchcock's
Rebecca
.

Ah, there it was! The long overgrown drive, ‘twisting and turning as it had always done', towards the beautiful house, and the quiet little heroine's voice, echoing over the fascinated audience – ‘Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again . . .' Oh, how it drew you! Oh, was there ever such an opening to a picture!

Jess, sighing from her standpoint at the back of the stalls, had forgotten, just for the moment, all the work piled up in her share of Edie's office, but not of course dear Rusty, away with RAF Kenlin, beyond Inverness, training to be an air navigator. He might not always be at the front of her mind, but he was always in her mind somewhere, though he'd told her often enough not to worry. It would be some time before he was qualified to go on what he called ‘ops'. And maybe they'd never happen for him, if this ‘phoney' war there'd been so far would continue.

After all, there'd been no invasion, no German air raids. Maybe there'd be no Allied raids, either, and Rusty would be safe? They both knew they were clutching at straws. Hitler was just biding his time, the Luftwaffe, the German air force, just waiting for the word to attack.

For a few more minutes, Jess watched the film, then made her way into the foyer, blinking in the light, as Sadie Munn, one of the temporary usherettes, joined her.

‘Is it no' a lovely picture, then?' she whispered. ‘That poor lassie – you canna help feeling sorry for her, eh? So scared of everything!'

‘At least she got to live in Manderley,' Jess answered with a smile.

‘Aye, but it burned down!'

‘All got our problems, Sadie.'

‘You can say that again. But here comes Flo – Jess, is she looking for you?'

‘Jess!' Flo was calling, hurrying from the box office. ‘Jess, your sister's here!'

‘Marguerite?' Jess cried. ‘Why, I never knew she was coming on leave!'

It seemed that Marguerite, who was stationed at RAF Drem, an air station some miles south-west of North Berwick, had come over on a weekend pass. She'd be going back on Sunday evening.

‘Thought, if you were free, Jess, we could go to Ma's together. She's back from the factory at five, isn't she?'

‘You've been to your place?' Jess asked, hugging her sister and marvelling at her beauty and elegance, even in her WAAF's uniform. ‘How's Ben's dad?'

Since their marriage, Marguerite and Ben had moved in with Ben's father in Canonmills, which seemed to suit them and him very well, for he was intensely proud of his new daughter-in-law, who was always very sweet to him.

‘Yes, I've been home,' Marguerite answered now, ‘and Dad's no' too bad. Missing us, of course, but managing. That's all anybody can do these days, I suppose. How are things with you?'

‘Fine, fine, and it's so grand to see you, you know. Yes, let's go to Ma's together. I can get off in about half an hour, if you want to have a cup of tea first.'

‘In the cafe?' Marguerite shrugged. ‘I've just looked in – seems like a shadow of what it was.'

‘You're right there. They close early and only serve tea and sandwiches. And have you seen the sandwiches? Poor Joan Baxter's tearing her hair. It's getting more and more difficult to get supplies these days. Even our ice cream is no more. But I can give you a cup of tea in my office. We've got our own kettle now.'

‘My word, you're the grand one, eh?' Marguerite commented. ‘Got your own office, and it's no' the box office!'

‘Come on, you know I share it with Edie. But she's no' in today – got to get her teeth fixed.'

‘We can have a nice chat, then – except I shouldn't be keeping you from your work.'

‘Don't worry – I'll catch up later. It isn't every day I see my sister over from RAF Drem!'

In the little office she shared with Edie Harrison, Jess made tea and produced some rather old Marie biscuits.

‘All I've got,' she said apologetically. ‘Couldn't be plainer, eh?'

‘After what we get at Drem, anything's an improvement!'

‘But you're enjoying being with the RAF?'

‘Jess, I love it.' As she sipped her tea and crunched her biscuit, Marguerite's eyes sparkled and her cheeks turned pink, making her seem, Jess thought, like a film star suddenly appearing in technicolour. ‘Oh, it sounds awful, I know, but when I think of all those long, boring years I spent serving tables, I'm almost grateful for the war.'

‘Grateful?' Jess repeated, staring. ‘I bet Ben doesn't agree.'

‘Well, obviously, I'd rather be with Ben. In fact, I miss him all the time. You know we write every day?' Marguerite smiled. ‘Yes, there's me, who never put pen to paper, writing a letter every single day! But being where I am, with the girls and the chaps – oh, it's just so different, Jess. So exciting. I'll bet a lot of folk are finding that life's changed for them, now the war's come.'

‘I expect you're right.'

‘Well, look at you, Jess. You wouldn't be doing more interesting work, if it wasn't for the war, would you?'

‘I'd still rather have Rusty home, even if I was in the box office.'

‘Oh, yes, well, as I say, so would I rather be with Ben. I'd hoped we might meet this weekend, but he couldn't get the leave, so there he is, stuck down in the Borders and no' feeling too happy.' Marguerite set down her cup, her colour fading a little. ‘Seems he's had a disappointment.'

‘Oh?' Jess was gathering up the cups. ‘What's that, then?'

‘Well, you know he's on this training course? He'd thought he'd be picked for aircrew, but seemingly his night vision's no' quite good enough. He's going to have to settle for being some sort of ground technician.'

‘Marguerite, what a shame! Oh, I can imagine he minds about that. Though, I mean, the ground chaps do good work too.'

‘But aircrew are the glory boys,' Marguerite said glumly. ‘Like your Rusty, eh?'

‘He's training to be a navigator, won't be flying planes.'

‘Ben will still be envious.' Marguerite glanced at her watch. ‘Jess, shall we go?'

‘Aye, let's see if Ma's back from the factory.' Jess gave a wry grin. ‘She's making camouflage nets, you know – bores her to tears!'