All That Glitters (40 page)

‘As you’re busy, I’ll walk on up, Haydn.’

‘I would if I were you.’ Babs advised icily. ‘He’s pissed as a newt, and no good to any woman in his present state. I’ll leave our discussion until tomorrow, Haydn.’ Gathering her gloves and handbag from the chair, she stalked out.

Jane waited until she heard the outside door closing. ‘Aren’t you going to change out of costume?’

‘Want some? Ignoring her question, he filled the metal beaker and pushed it along the shelf towards her. He lifted the bottle and drank heavily. Wiping the dregs on the sleeve of his jacket he smeared it with red and flesh-coloured greasepaint. ‘You don’t want it?’ He picked up the beaker and drained that as well. ‘Of course, I should have remembered. You don’t drink. You don’t do anything naughty, do you, Jane? You play Miss Goody Two Shoes without a script. Don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t play around with men. A complete little innocent who knows nothing of the alley-cat morals of the average chorus girl.’ He left his chair and slammed the door, sealing them in together.

‘What’s the matter? I’ve never seen you like this …’ Her voice faltered as he swayed threateningly towards her, the bottle still in his hand.

‘You’ve never seen me like this, because I’ve never been like this before.’

‘Haydn, after yesterday -’

‘Yesterday? Are you referring to the sweet adoring look you gave me when you said you loved me? You’ve got talent, Jane. Not looks,’ he qualified gravely, shaking his head as he fell back on to his chair, ‘but talent. It was a fine performance. Had me fooled. And I’m a pro who’s played with the best.’

‘I meant every word.’

‘I’m sure you did – at the time. But then you seem to have had difficulty in differentiating between the truth and lies before. Lived on a farm in Church Village, did you? A poor little orphan girl who was taken in by kind people who knew your mother?’

She covered her mouth with her hand.

‘You can forget the stories,’ he went on mercilessly. ‘Eddie told me the truth.’

‘But he …’

‘He promised? Don’t blame him, it just slipped out. We Powells aren’t good at keeping secrets. Not used to lying. Too bloody honest for our own good, that’s us.’ He loosened his bow tie as he refilled the beaker.

‘Haven’t you had enough?’

‘Probably.’

Silence fell between them, the absolute silence she associated with the empty theatre: an echoing mustiness redolent with the odours of stale sweat and greasepaint.

‘I am an orphan.’ Her words fell softly into the stillness. ‘I was born in the workhouse. They told me my mother’s name was May. She found a job on the outside when I was six weeks old and she ran away. I don’t blame her.’

‘Because you did the same?’

‘Yes. That’s why I asked Eddie not to tell anyone about the workhouse uniform I was wearing the first time he saw me. I did live in Church Village, in the orphanage, but I had to leave there when I was sixteen. The only place that would take me was the workhouse. I was there for two years before I was offered a job as a live-in skivvy in a dosshouse. It was even worse than the workhouse, so I went.’

‘To Phyllis?’

‘Before this – before the theatre – she was the only friend I had.’

‘You think you’ve made friends in this place?’ he sneered.

‘Some,’ she answered defiantly, ‘but none as good as Phyllis. We used to talk to one another when the staff weren’t around. She told me what it was like on the outside. She was kind, that’s why I went to her for help when I had no one else to turn to.’

‘And she didn’t disappoint you?’

‘Neither did your father. They didn’t have to take me in, but they did, after I told them the truth. I knew it was a risk for them, that’s why I told them everything.’

‘Everything?’ He pulled the photographs from his jacket and flung them at her. They fell in an untidy heap at her feet.

She fell to her knees and snatched them up.

‘It’s a bit late for that. I’ve seen all there is to be seen.’

‘He said they wouldn’t be on sale in Pontypridd, only Cardiff. That no one would see them …’

‘Merv?’

She nodded, too mortified to look him in the eye.

‘And you believed him? What else did he tell you? And what else did you do for him besides pose for these?’

‘Nothing. I swear it, Haydn. Nothing.’

‘As I said before, you’re good.’

‘You don’t understand,’ she insisted fiercely.

‘I understand, only too well.’

‘Do you? Do you know what it’s like to live in the workhouse? To have to rely on parish charity for everything? To own nothing of your own. Not a penny piece, not even the clothes on your back?’

‘But you own your own clothes now, don’t you, Jane?’ He reached out and fingered the cloth on her bodice.

‘I earned them, fair and square and honestly with the one and only thing that I can call my own. My body. Posing for these means that I have savings in the bank. Savings are my security. If I lose this job, if Phyllis and Evan put me out on the street, it won’t matter. I can live on my money – for months if I have to.’

‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to scrimp and save. Not you. It’s a short step from those -’ he flicked at the photographs she was holding – ‘to Station Yard.’

‘I’m not a prostitute.’

‘Not yet.’ He drank from the beaker.

‘When I left the workhouse I made myself a promise that I’d never go back there, whatever it cost me.’

‘There’s decent, honest work around if you look for it.’

‘I’ve found it.’

‘With Merv?’

‘Once with Merv. To earn enough to open a bank account.’

‘And the next time you want something?’

‘I’ll save for it.’

‘Wouldn’t it be easier to strip off again?’

Unable to bear the contempt on his face she turned her back on him. A ten-pound note fluttered before her, falling to her feet.

‘Strip!’

‘No.’

‘Sorry, I forgot, experienced people cost more.’ A five-pound note landed on the one that lay on the floor. ‘Strip!’

‘No!’

‘Why not? I’m offering more than Merv.’

‘Haydn, please …’

‘You want more? I’ve run out of ready cash, will you take a cheque? It will be honoured, you have my word.’

‘No, Haydn. Not for you. Not ever.’ Tears coursed down her cheeks, he could see them glittering in the lamplight. But he was used to tears. The thought crossed his mind that she could have put on a better display. When Babs cried her tears were accompanied by harsh, rasping sobs. He lurched out of his chair. Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed her: a whisky-laden, vicious, savage embrace, totally unlike the gentle caresses of the day before.

‘There’s nothing of you. I could crush you, right here and now.’

‘Haydn, you’re frightening me, let me go …’

‘“Let me go”,’ he mocked. ‘Why? You’re a whore, I’m a customer. You don’t shout “let me go” to customers, Jane. You’re nice to them. You give them what they want. After all, they’re your livelihood. And I’m making you an offer you’re not likely to get again in a hurry. Name your price, I’ll pay. And I can be a lot more generous than Merv …’ Losing his balance, he grabbed the front of her dress. It was the new, button-through summer black she’d bought in Leslie’s. The buttons popped beneath the strain and scattered over the dusty floor. She screamed, terrified of the stranger he’d become. The cries reverberated into the emptiness.

‘It’s a bit late for wailing, Jane.’ Haydn slumped against the wall, and for the first time she realised how drunk he was. ‘There won’t be a man in Pontypridd by the end of the week who hasn’t seen everything you’ve got to offer.’

‘I only did it once.’

‘And you did it for money. Just like the girls in the Revue.’

‘That doesn’t make them worse or less than any other woman.’ Fear turned to anger, giving her a strength she hadn’t known she possessed. ‘You worked with them, you earned your money the same way. By selling what you’ve got. If I’m a whore then so are you.’

‘You can’t buy twelve nude photographs of me in a gym for a pound.’

‘Only because no one would want them, except Max or Billy. You’ve been lucky, Haydn. You’ve had good breaks, and you’ve a family behind you who’ll always take you in, and give you food and a bed when you need it. Well my family is that ten pounds, and it was the only way I could see to get it.’ Clutching her torn dress she walked towards the door.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To get a needle and thread. Despite the names you’ve called me I’d rather not walk around the town this way. Not even in a blackout.’

‘I loved you. I was prepared to … prepared to …’

‘Prepared to what, Haydn?’

‘Look after you,’ he mumbled miserably.

‘The way you looked after Babs and Rusty and Mandy? I don’t need that kind of looking after.’

‘I thought, really thought you were everything they weren’t. That’s why I loved you.’

‘If you thought I was nothing like them, you don’t know me or them. You’ve never taken the time or trouble to get to know any woman except between the sheets.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Isn’t it? Well one thing’s for certain, whoever you thought you cared for doesn’t exist. No one could live up to what you want, Haydn. You want a saint. A sweet pure, innocent saint to be at your beck and call, and tell you how wonderful you are. Well not even a saint would have turned down an offer like the one Merv made me, if she had the threat of the workhouse hanging over her head. I’m not a bad person. Just desperate enough to do what it takes to keep myself alive and in one piece.’

‘Then I wish I’d met you before you became that desperate.’

‘There was no before. This is me. The way I am.’

‘Why didn’t you come to me if you needed money?’ he begged. ‘I would have given you whatever you needed.’

‘No you wouldn’t have. Because when I posed for those pictures you didn’t even know I existed.’

‘I did. Damn it all I did …’

‘All right, supposing I had asked you, Haydn? What then? You would have just handed over the money and expected nothing in return? I want to stay honest. Pay my own way. Be beholden to no one.’ She wrenched open the door.

‘Jane …’

‘You don’t have to worry I’ll be out of the house first thing in the morning. I have enough money to take lodgings elsewhere now.’

‘You don’t have to go.’

‘Yes I do. Eddie’s seen those photographs.’

‘How do you know?’

‘You said they were on sale in the gym. It can only be a matter of time before they’re in the pubs and someone else sees them. William, or your father.’

She left. Haydn heard her go into the girls’ dressing room next door, presumably to repair the damage he’d done to her dress. He fell to his knees. Gripping the stool with both hands he willed the room to stop revolving around him. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror he was horrified. His suit was creased, heavily stained with dust and greasepaint. It would need cleaning and pressing before the show tomorrow. He leaned on the shelf and peered in the mirror. Through bloodshot, bleary eyes he studied his paint-smeared face. The red from his lips had streaked his chin. The blue from his eyes had run half-way down his cheeks and nose. He picked up a jar of cleanser and a wad of cotton wool. Ten minutes later, with his face clean, and dressed in his own clothes, he felt only marginally more human. At that moment he would have offered almost anything to anyone who could have magicked away the effects of the whisky. He’d been a bloody fool. He’d seen enough people on stage drink themselves out of sanity and a career to know what an overdose of booze could do. Hearing movement, he opened his door.

‘Jane.’ He reached out to her, but she shrugged off his touch. ‘Some of those things I said. It was just the shock of seeing you in those photographs. And because I care …’

‘If you’d really cared you wouldn’t have said them.’

He stood in front of her, blocking the narrow corridor, forcing her to face him.

‘Jane, we have to talk.’

‘If you’re sober enough you’d better lock up.’

‘You’ll wait? Walk up the hill with me?’ When she didn’t answer he lost control again. ‘In God’s name talk to me.’ He caught her by the shoulders and shook her. ‘Jane …’ In that precise instant he knew why he was so angry; why he’d got so drunk. Photographs or no photographs, he still loved and wanted her. He knew then that he could never have left her behind when he moved on at the end of the season. He needed to be with her, now and always. Bending his head, he kissed her. Moments later he was reeling against the wall, in agony from a sound slap across his face and the force of her knee hitting his groin.

‘Oh no you don’t, Haydn Powell. I think too highly of myself to become just another name on your list of conquests.’

‘I love you.’

‘No you don’t.’

‘I do. I’ve just realised how much.’

‘Love to you is a roll on a dressing-room floor, and because you’ve seen those photographs you think I’d be only too happy to take your fifteen quid and roll. Well, I may be a worthless tramp, but I can live in hope that one day a man worth having will tell me that he loves me, and mean it. Enough to put a ring on my finger. And if that happens, he’ll be entitled to get himself a virgin, not one of your cast-offs. Let me pass.’

‘Not like this, Jane …’

She kicked him again, but he stood his ground. ‘If it’s marriage you want, I’ll marry you.’

‘You’ll change your mind in the morning.’

‘I won’t. I swear it.’

‘I’ve had enough of your swearing for one night, Haydn. If you care for me at all, just let me go. Please, just let me go.’

He sat in the dressing room for a long time after she went, listening to the rain spatter against the window pane as he tried to sort out the mess of his life. Eventually he rose to his feet and lifted down his coat from the back of the door. It was then he found another set of photographs in the pocket: a full set this time, twelve as opposed to the four Eddie had given him. He barely glanced at them before dropping them into the bin along with the others. He lit the edge of one with his lighter, standing back and watching as the blue and yellow flames licked around the edges, curling the paper and consuming every trace of that other Jane.