Ellie (50 page)

The girls walked in silence to the theatre, both irritated with one another. Bonny knew Ellie meant well, but last night alone in the room she’d almost been climbing the walls with boredom. She was sure the only way to feel her old self again was by getting back to work.

‘How are you feeling?’ Frances greeted Bonny as they went in the stage door. She was already in her practice clothes, her curly dark hair tied up in two bunches.

‘Weak, but game,’ Bonny smirked. ‘I feel like someone let out of a cage; my legs are as stiff as planks. Where’s Ambrose? I suppose I’d better speak to him first.’

‘He’s in a foul mood.’ Frances looked over her shoulder apprehensively, checking he wasn’t within earshot. ‘God only knows what’s happened. I’ve never seen him quite as bad as this.’

‘He won’t send you off to your mum’s for recuperation then,’ Ellie said drily, looking pointedly at Bonny. ‘He’ll probably work you till you drop.’

Bonny flounced off up the few stairs towards the stage without replying.

‘She looks a bit thin and pasty,’ Frances remarked as she and Ellie went up to the changing-room. ‘Perhaps that’s what I need to lose a bit of weight. Ambrose had a go at me this morning and said I had an arse like a tank.’

Ellie looked at Frances’s bottom as she went up the stairs behind her. She wasn’t quite as slender as the rest of the girls, but she certainly wasn’t fat. Clearly Ambrose was going to pull out all the stops today to make everyone miserable.

Her expectations were fulfilled. Even as the girls began limbering up, Ambrose started to shout, and before long it was clear this exercise session was going to be a nightmare. Usually he sat out front, merely directing the movements, but today he was purposely selecting the most rigorous routines, making them repeat them again and again and hurling abuse at anyone faltering for even a second.

Although Ellie was having difficulty herself in keeping up, her fears were all for Bonny. Ambrose was picking on her relentlessly, clearly punishing her for daring to have time off.

Bonny was struggling; she was bathed in sweat, her movements laboured and stiff. Time and again she paused to wipe her brow, several times she stumbled and already she looked exhausted.

‘Again,’ Ambrose yelled at her. ‘You’re like a blasted cart-horse. When I say plié I don’t mean just a slight bending of the knees, I expect you to go
all
the way down. Now do it again properly.’

None of the girls had ever seen Ambrose quite as nasty as he was today. It was as if he hated them all and wanted to make them really suffer. He hadn’t shaved, his shirt was crumpled, and for once his gaudy cravat wasn’t in evidence. But it was the way he moved that was frightening, pacing around in the stalls like a demented caged bear. All the girls were scared. Every muscle in his body was tense and his mouth was a thin, tight line.

‘Bend, touch the floor and stretch,’ he yelled. ‘Get those legs straight, Bonny Phillips, or you’ll be out of here. Again! And again!’

Ellie had always found these exercises hard, but then she wasn’t a trained dancer like the others. Now, as she saw Bonny wavering, her face scarlet with exertion, she realised how truly punishing they could be. If she didn’t step in, any moment now Bonny really would haemorrhage and then everyone would know she hadn’t had food poisoning.

‘Stop, Bonny.’ Ellie moved over to her friend, who was bent in half. ‘That’s enough.’

‘I’m okay,’ Bonny said feebly, but Ellie noticed there was a tell-tale red stain on her tights.

‘You aren’t. Go,’ she said, pointing off-stage.

‘Are you suddenly the director?’ Ambrose stalked up to the stage, his head just above the footlights. ‘No one stops practice until I tell them.’

‘Bonny’s ill,’ Ellie said defiantly. ‘Another minute or two and she’ll keel over. She shouldn’t have come back today. She isn’t strong enough.’

A deadly hush fell behind her as all the girls halted their exercises, not even a whisper between them. Bonny wavered indecisively at Ellie’s side.

‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ Ambrose roared, his pale eyes glinting dangerously. ‘Who made you Bonny’s mouthpiece?’

‘She’s not well enough to speak for herself,’ Ellie retorted. ‘Just look at her, will you? She should be in bed.’

Ellie pushed Bonny towards the wings. ‘You must go,’ she whispered. ‘You’re bleeding and he’ll see it.’

‘What did you say?’ Ambrose yelled, leaping up on to the stage with unusual ease.

Ellie quaked. Ambrose’s face was puce, angry dark veins standing out on his forehead. ‘I said it’s madness to stay.’

With that Bonny disappeared, clearly deciding discretion was the better part of valour.

‘Get her back this minute.’ Ambrose strode towards Ellie and struck her hard across the cheek.

‘How dare you?’ Ellie’s hand flew up to her stinging face, anger giving her new courage. ‘You animal!’

They stood face to face, glowering at one another.

‘You have no right to tell one of my dancers to leave,’ he snarled.

‘If you were a real human being you’d see she wasn’t well enough to dance,’ Ellie snarled back. ‘Apologise this instant or I go too!’

Ellie sensed every one of the dancers stiffening as they waited to see the outcome of this piece of bravado.

‘Apologise!’ Ambrose sneered. ‘Get back in your place immediately or you’ll find yourself out of a job.’

Ellie took a step back from Ambrose and turned to the other girls. ‘He has no right to treat any of us like this,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘Will you back me up?’

There was understanding in every pair of eyes, but fear too. To her dismay she read their body language, the nervous shuffling from foot to foot, eyes dropping from hers.

‘I have to walk out,’ Ellie pleaded, her eyes travelling down the two rows of girls. ‘Come with me? It could be one of you he turns on next!’

‘You don’t think they’d support you?’ Ambrose jeered. ‘They know when they’re fortunate.’

Ellie took a deep breath and began to walk off, silently praying for the others to follow. Her footsteps rang out in the silent, empty theatre. She didn’t think she’d ever heard such a lonely, desolate sound.

‘You see, you can’t bank on their loyalty!’ Ambrose crowed with delight from behind her. ‘Come on back and don’t be so damned silly.’

Ellie didn’t dare hesitate. She was shaking with anger, hurt by the others’ lack of support, and she was too proud to back down.

‘I can find dozens of girls to take your place,’ she heard Ambrose roar. ‘Walk out now and you’ll never work in a theatre again.’

A heavy shower cut Ellie’s walk short and she turned back towards Stacey Passage.

Bonny had lost a great deal of blood earlier, but she’d finally fallen asleep around four in the afternoon. Ellie had come out to get some fresh air and some time alone to think. She felt as if she was being manipulated by unseen hands and she was desperately afraid.

Since becoming friends with Bonny, everything seemed to have gone wrong. She’d lost Charley, her tiny room had been taken over, and now, unless she went back and grovelled to Ambrose, she’d lost her career too. She understood why the girls hadn’t supported her – after all, they’d worked long and hard to get to the West End – but she felt bitter that not one of them had popped around after practice to apologise.

‘Damn you, Bonny,’ she muttered as she made her way through the narrow alley towards home. ‘Why couldn’t you have listened to me and stayed in bed today?’

Now they were both snookered. It was inconceivable that Ambrose would take Bonny back. She had no money, and Ellie herself had less than two pounds to her name, and the rent was due on Saturday.

As she walked up Stacey Passage, utterly demoralised, she saw Edward. He was leaning on her door, writing a note.

Until that moment she hadn’t given him a thought; she’d been much too preoccupied with her own problems. But now, seeing him, she was reminded that unless Ambrose found a replacement for her quickly, he’d be out of a job too.

Her heart sank even further. He was bound to be angry that she’d walked out over Bonny. His warning about their friendship had been almost prophetic.

‘If that’s a note to order me back, you’re wasting your time,’ she called out angrily.

Edward wheeled round. ‘Why aren’t you at the theatre?’ he asked.

This surprising question, and his appearance, threw Ellie. He hadn’t shaved, his wet hair was plastered to his head and his eyes seemed strangely dead.

‘Because I walked out, of course,’ she said. ‘Didn’t Ambrose send you?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I was just leaving you a note to say I’m going home to my grandmother’s.’

‘I’m sorry I messed things up for you,’ she said.

Edward frowned, looking down at his note, then back at her. ‘I said much the same in my note.’ He passed it to her. ‘We seem to be at cross purposes.’

Ellie read it, puzzled.

Dear Ellie,

I’m sorry I’ve left you in the lurch. I hope you won’t hate me for it. Maybe one day I can explain, but not now. Think of me sometimes.

Your friend Edward.

Ellie put her hand on his arm, aware that something had happened today aside from her problems. But as she touched his jacket she found it was wet through.

‘You’re soaked,’ she said. ‘Look, we must talk. I’d like to ask you up to my room, but Bonny’s there. Can we go to a pub?’

‘I can’t go to a pub.’ Edward’s voice faltered and Ellie looked at him in surprise. His lips were quivering. She wasn’t sure whether he was cold, or on the point of bursting into tears.

‘Well we can’t talk out here in the rain,’ she said evenly, opening the front door, assuming he meant he was too upset to talk in public. ‘Look, Edward, just wait down here in the passage. I’ll run up and see if Bonny’s okay first. Don’t go away, will you?’

He nodded, stepping into the hall, and leaned wearily against the wall.

Ellie was less than two minutes. As she got back downstairs Edward was sitting hunched on the bottom step in the gloom.

‘She’s okay, reading a book,’ she sighed, sitting down beside him. ‘You can come up if you like, she’s quite decent. Let me dry your jacket?’

‘No.’ Edward shook his head. ‘I couldn’t face Bonny. I didn’t expect to see you either. Tell me what happened?’

Ellie told the story as simply as possible.

‘I had to walk out. I had no choice, he struck me, Edward.’

Edward sighed deeply, leaning his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. ‘It was my fault he was angry today,’ he blurted out. ‘We had a row and I left. I didn’t think he’d take it out on you girls though. I’m so sorry, Ellie.’

‘What was the row about?’ she asked.

He didn’t reply, just covered his face with his hands. ‘Tell me, Edward?’ Ellie put her arm round his shoulder, trying to draw him closer to her.

‘I can’t. I’ve got to go, the train is at eight,’ he said, his voice muffled by his hands. ‘I’ll write in a day or two when I can think straight.’

‘Try and explain now,’ Ellie wheedled, guessing this was something serious. ‘Don’t leave me worried about you too. I’ve got enough on my plate with no job and Bonny ill.’

He put his hands down and sat up straight. ‘She had an abortion, didn’t she?’

Ellie couldn’t see his face clearly in the gloom, just the proud line of his nose and the curl of his lips, but once again she was struck by his keen perception. ‘Yes. Do you understand why I couldn’t tell you?’

‘You thought I’d tell Ambrose.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘I wouldn’t have, not any more than you’d tell people what you know about me.’

That last line was like a shaft of light penetrating the gloom. ‘Was your row with Ambrose something to do with that?’ she whispered.

He nodded.

Ellie knew then that it wasn’t just a row which had caused Edward’s present state, it was something far more dramatic. His manner had striking similarities to the way she’d been after VE night.

‘He did something you didn’t like?’ she whispered, putting her arm around him and drawing him towards her shoulder. ‘Was that it?’

Edward turned his face into her neck, clinging to her like a small boy, and told her just the bare bones of what had happened.

Ellie knew nothing of homosexuality, it wasn’t something she’d encountered before. Any disgust she felt was directed at Ambrose, not Edward. He had preyed on Edward’s vulnerability, in just the same way that American had plied her with drink. The two men had destroyed both Edward’s and Ellie’s trust and innocence for ever.

‘I understand just how you feel,’ she said, stroking his cheek tenderly, wishing she could find the right words to show him she too knew about degradation and shame. ‘I did something once which made me feel the way you do. But it does fade, Edward, I promise you.’

‘I hate myself,’ he whispered. ‘I can’t bear being a freak. I almost threw myself in the river early this morning, but I hadn’t even got the guts to do that.’

He wished he could pour it all out. How at first when Ambrose had caressed him he’d felt absolute joy, wild unashamed passion. All the conflicting emotions which had made him so confused before seemed to disappear; it felt pure and natural. Ambrose was so tender and loving, whispering endearments, promising him so much. But it all changed into something dark and bestial when Ambrose penetrated him. Pleasure turned to pain so intense he screamed out in agony, clawing at the sheets, struggling to get free. Ambrose slapped him hard to shut him up, all trace of tenderness gone, biting his shoulders, pressing down on his neck until Edward thought it would break under the pressure, and grunting like a rutting boar.

It seemed like hours before Ambrose released him, shoving him aside contemptuously without the least concern for his pain.

When Edward had stood by the river early this morning, it wasn’t so much death he’d wanted, as the desire to rid his mind of those terrible images. Ellie’s unjudgemental attitude comforted him a little. Few people would be so liberal.

‘Nothing and no one is worth killing yourself for,’ Ellie said, holding him tightly. ‘You aren’t a freak, Edward, and Ambrose is a cruel and twisted man to prey on you.’