Forgotten Dreams (28 page)
He had gone on to describe in great detail what he did, and Lottie had let her mind wander, though she kept her eyes fixed on Kenny’s face, conjuring up such a convincing expression of admiring interest that her friend was completely fooled and continued to expound on the packing of a warehouse until Lottie had grown afraid that sleep would overcome her, and had made a hasty excuse that she had to help her mother prepare a meal.
‘Hey! Watch what you’re doing with that umbrella, young lady. You nearly took me eye out!’
Lottie turned quickly to apologise, almost removing someone else’s eye as she did so, and sighed with relief when she recognised Jack. He grinned at her and ducked his head to join her under the umbrella. ‘I thought it were you, my little mushroom,’ he said cheerfully. He was wearing a flat cap, pulled well down over his eyes, and the yellow waterproof which he had bought in Yarmouth, as well as enormous wellington boots, and now he wagged an admonitory finger under Lottie’s nose. ‘And this, Miss Lacey, is my umbrella. I didn’t fancy walking the streets under that frilly pink one your mam favours, so I resigned myself to a good soaking. And then what should I see, bobbing along the pavement ahead of me, but my brand new umbrella, with the little thief trotting along underneath it, collecting eyeballs as she went.’
‘Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry; I thought it were Max’s,’ Lottie exclaimed, conscience-stricken. ‘But I never saw a pink umbrella! Merle took mine – it’s brown – so I’m afraid I just grabbed this one. But what was yours doing in our umbrella stand?’
‘I lent it to Louella the day before yesterday, only she kept forgetting to bring it back, so since I was in the neighbourhood I dropped round to pick it up. But all I saw was that pink thing of your mam’s, and I didn’t fancy walking the streets of Liverpool looking like a perishin’ rosebud. Mind that puddle . . . too late. Now you’re going to have to spend the afternoon with wet feet, and serve you right for thievin’ my umbrella.’
Lottie was beginning to apologise all over again when a thought struck her. ‘Oh, Jack, you’re crazy you are! That pink umbrella is Louella’s parasol; it’s for keeping the sun off, not the rain. And that’s why she doesn’t keep it in the umbrella stand but hangs it on the coat hooks.’
Jack grinned. ‘Well, I never did,’ he commented, steering her down the side street and across the small cobbled yard at the back of the theatre. He opened the stage door and ushered Lottie inside, calling out to the doorman, who was brewing up on his small paraffin stove, that it was ‘Only Jack and Lottie Lacey, come to the casting’.
He had closed the umbrella and shaken off most of the excess moisture in the yard and now he took off his waterproof and shook that too, sending droplets of water along the narrow corridor which led to the dressing rooms. He then removed his cap and kicked off his enormous wellingtons and, turning to Lottie, advised her to follow suit. ‘You don’t want them wet things in your dressing room,’ he said. ‘Give ’em to me and I’ll hang them on the pegs in the boiler room. They’ll dry off there in no time. Then best make your way straight to the stage because I reckon everyone else is there already.’
Lottie followed his advice, though she was nowhere near as wet as he, having had the benefit of the umbrella all the way from home. Then she headed for the stage, guessing from the sound of voices that Jack was right and most of the cast were already assembled. The Christmas pantomime last year had been
Jack and the Beanstalk
. Louella was always principal boy, Jack took the role of the dame, and other members of the cast were fitted in around them, so to speak. Max, who insisted that he could not act, had been the back end of the cow in the previous year’s production, and Lottie herself always waded in manfully to any part she was given. For the pantomime was fun, with every seat taken and the audience as eager to be pleased as the cast were to please them. It was fun to have a great many children there too, and Jack played up to them like anything, until the little ones were shouting all the right things at the right moments, and threatening to invade the stage if Louella was in danger.
Jack and the Beanstalk
. Louella was always principal boy, Jack took the role of the dame, and other members of the cast were fitted in around them, so to speak. Max, who insisted that he could not act, had been the back end of the cow in the previous year’s production, and Lottie herself always waded in manfully to any part she was given. For the pantomime was fun, with every seat taken and the audience as eager to be pleased as the cast were to please them. It was fun to have a great many children there too, and Jack played up to them like anything, until the little ones were shouting all the right things at the right moments, and threatening to invade the stage if Louella was in danger.
So Lottie hastened towards the stage with some eagerness. She had heard rumours that the cast were to do
Cinderella
this year, and thought perhaps management would break with tradition and make her and Merle the Ugly Sisters . . . what a laugh that would be! She could imagine Merle’s fury and chuckled to herself as she stepped on to the stage. For a moment no one noticed her for Louella was in full voice and obviously very angry about something. ‘. . . not tall enough . . . an awful lot of lines to learn . . .’ she shouted, ‘break with tradition . . .’
Cinderella
this year, and thought perhaps management would break with tradition and make her and Merle the Ugly Sisters . . . what a laugh that would be! She could imagine Merle’s fury and chuckled to herself as she stepped on to the stage. For a moment no one noticed her for Louella was in full voice and obviously very angry about something. ‘. . . not tall enough . . . an awful lot of lines to learn . . .’ she shouted, ‘break with tradition . . .’
Lottie glanced curiously from face to face. Her mother and Merle were both pink-cheeked and bright-eyed whilst management, in the shape of Mr Quentain, was looking extremely embarrassed. ‘I only thought – I only thought it would ease the burden, be ffairer all round,’ he stammered. ‘It – it just seemed . . .’
‘It don’t matter, Louella, honest it don’t,’ Merle said. She was smiling. ‘I don’t care what part I take, so long as there ain’t too many lines to learn. But I fancy my legs is as good as yours any day of the week, even if they are a bit shorter.’
Louella laughed hysterically. ‘A bit shorter? A bit shorter?’ she said derisively. ‘They’re not only shorter, they’re fa—’
Max cut across the impending insult, though he must have realised, as Lottie did, that Merle had guessed what was coming and was about to refute it angrily. ‘Louella, my love, we aren’t arguing about the length of your legs, or your ability to play the part; your legs are beautiful and you could play Prince Charming standing on your head. It’s just that Mr Quentain thought you might like a change.’
Louella whirled on him; Lottie could almost see sparks coming from her mother’s fine eyes. ‘A change? Why in God’s name should I want a change? We’ve only ever done
Cinderella
once before.’ She turned on Mr Quentain. ‘And as for my being Cinderella, can you see me brushing up the stage with a twig broom, hair in rats’ tails, ragged dress touching the floor? If, that is, you were envisaging me as Cinderella . . . or perhaps you had one of the Ugly Sisters in mind?’
Cinderella
once before.’ She turned on Mr Quentain. ‘And as for my being Cinderella, can you see me brushing up the stage with a twig broom, hair in rats’ tails, ragged dress touching the floor? If, that is, you were envisaging me as Cinderella . . . or perhaps you had one of the Ugly Sisters in mind?’
‘No, no,’ Mr Quentain said hastily. ‘But I’m sure you’re right; I’m sure you’ll make a perfect Prince Charming.’ He glanced hopefully at Merle, whose face was still flushed. ‘So that’s settled then, to everyone’s satisfaction. Louella will be Prince Charming, and Merle will take the part of Cinderella.’ He looked around him, his expression so hunted that Lottie had hard work not to laugh. ‘The rest of the casting . . . it’s all suggestions, mind . . . is written out on this piece of paper. Perhaps you’d best pass it around amongst yourselves whilst I fetch the other copies of the book from the office. I’ve only brought the one with me.’
He put the sheet of paper down and turned to leave the stage, clearly so eager to be out of range of artistic temperaments that he was almost running. Merle was beginning to say that she did not wish to be Cinderella if it meant learning a great many lines and Louella, sensing victory, was adding to the general hubbub by exclaiming that she would need new doublet and hose this time round, because she had worn the same garments in every pantomime they had performed since the year dot. She hurried after Mr Quentain, jerking his arm and reminding him that had he really cast Merle as the prince, he would have been forced to hire – or even to buy – entirely new clothing for both Merle and herself. Mr Quentain made soothing noises but continued his retreat and Louella returned to the stage to try to get possession of the casting list, but Max, being the tallest and strongest, held it up out of everyone’s reach and slowly read it aloud. ‘Prince Charming and Cinderella have been sorted out,’ he said tactfully. ‘Don’t worry, Merle: I’m sure you’ll see when the book arrives that you don’t have many lines, and they’re all easy ones to remember.’ He turned to Lottie. You’re doing Buttons this year, my love; all right?’
Lottie nodded. ‘So long as I don’t have masses to learn,’ she agreed. ‘What are you, Max?’
Max grinned. ‘I’m the tall, silent Ugly Sister, Lady Arabella Huffle-Duffle, and Jack is Lady Amelioration,’ he said. ‘That suits me and I know it’ll suit Jack.’ He frowned at the paper in his hand. ‘The chorus are the people at the ball, and Mr Carstairs is the wicked baron, as usual, whilst his wife is the fairy godmother.’ Max turned to Merle. ‘You wouldn’t know, love, but Mr Carstairs is an old actor who lives in a tiny flat above a fish shop. He’s a real ham but you couldn’t find a better wicked baron if you searched for a year. His wife’s a pro too, and does an excellent fairy godmother.’
‘He is good, especially if you can keep him off the booze,’ Jack muttered. ‘Not that he’s ever appeared on stage more than slightly jolly; it’s Sundays, after he’s been paid, that he’s liable to bend his elbow a little too freely.’
Max, who had obviously overheard the comment, frowned reprovingly before beginning to read the rest of the casting list. ‘Well I never did! Jim Henty is the footman who brings round the glass slipper, the chimney sweep in the kitchen scene, and the driver of Cinderella’s coach.’ He grinned at Jim, who did a juggling act with his wife, Jess, as support. ‘You’re going to be very busy, and so is Jess: she’s down here as the mayor’s wife, the chatelaine of the castle and the servant who leads the ponies across the stage when the coach calls for Cinderella.’
‘Ponies?’ Merle said, pricking up her ears. ‘Not real ones, surely?’
Lottie remembered vaguely having been in a pantomime which had included live animals on the stage, but could not remember which one. Before she could speak, Jack chimed in. ‘Course they’re live ponies; dead ones wouldn’t be much use at pulling a carriage,’ he said, grinning. ‘They’re them little Shetlands, usually dapple greys. We hires ’em from a circus complete with trappings.’
Merle turned astonished eyes to Lottie. ‘Really? Or is it just Jack having me on?’
‘No, he’s serious,’ Lottie said. Now that Jack had put it into words, she remembered that when she had been no more than seven or eight – too young for any major part in the pantomime – it had been she who was responsible for leading the ponies and their glittering coach across the stage, with Cinderella perched precariously upon the small seat, and Jack following behind, as Buttons on that occasion, with a large shovel and bucket to pick up anything the ponies might deposit. ‘Why are you so interested, Merle? So far as I remember, the feller who brings the ponies takes them off as soon as they leave the stage and doesn’t bring them back until the next performance. It may be because they’re circus ponies, but they’re not very friendly. Max always used to cut an apple into pieces and put the bits in my pocket so the ponies would follow me across the stage and out the other side, and I had to give them the apple pieces pretty sharpish or they’d try to take a chunk out of me. Isn’t that so, Jack?’
Jack nodded. ‘They’re a rare nuisance, and not cheap either,’ he agreed. ‘Some companies do without ’em. They get someone in the wings with a couple of coconuts making trotting sounds, and then Cinderella comes across the stage, making admiring remarks about her glass coach, and Bob’s your uncle! But of course the ponies is a great draw for the kids and word soon gets around. Believe it or not, there’s more presents for the ponies left with the stage doorkeeper than there is for the cast. Sugar lumps, apples, carrots, even the odd handful of grass gets handed in, and after matinée performances half the audience goes roaring round the back, hoping to see the ponies, ’cos they don’t go away when there’s a second performance on the same day.’ He looked keenly at Merle. ‘Like riding, do you?’
Merle nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, I do, though not on Shetland ponies.’ She giggled. ‘I reckon my legs would touch the ground for all dear Louella thinks they’re so short.’ She glared across at Louella, but Lottie was relieved to see that her mother, Max and the Hentys were in deep discussion, their heads bent over a copy of the script. ‘When I were a kid I used to ride the liberty ponies . . . oh, not in the ring, though I did do a bit of that later, but just hackin’ round the country lanes on days when there was no performance because the circus was setting up or taking down.’
‘Gosh, I never knew you could ride. Aren’t you clever, Merle?’ Lottie said respectfully. ‘I wish I could, but to tell you the truth, the Cinderella ponies rather put me off the whole idea.’ She turned to smile teasingly at Jack. ‘And you weren’t too fond of them either, were you, Jack? Not when one of them bit you on the bum when you bent down to pick up a piece of apple I’d dropped.’
Jack laughed ruefully. ‘Ponies is like babies in one way,’ he said. ‘With babies you’ve gorra keep shovellin’ in food one end – and half the time they brings it up, along with their wind, when they’re draped across your shoulder – and the other end messes its nappies. Ponies bite you with the front end, do rude things all over the stage with the back, and kick hell out of you if you’re fool enough to get near their horrible little hooves. Oh aye, I’m no horse lover.’
‘Well, this time it won’t be me leading the ponies on and off the stage, so maybe I’ll manage to make friends with them,’ Lottie said hopefully. ‘I wanted to like them last time, honest to God I did, but I reckon they knew I was scared of them so they bullied me. This time will be different.’
Merle began to say that she would show Lottie how to deal with the ponies just as Mr Quentain came back on the stage and began handing out copies of the script to each member of the cast. Even the chorus had copies, for though none of them had what might be called a speaking part, they had to know when to exclaim and where in the programme their song and dance routines came.
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