A Winter Love Song Page 12

  Gwendoline’s mother continued to rattle on until Gwendoline was called to perform. The child was the first act, followed by one of the comics and then the magician. The tap dancer was next, and just before he left the room he gave a leery grin at Bonnie. ‘Bonnie may, or Bonnie may not,’ he said suggestively. ‘Which is it then?’

  ‘Shut your mouth, Frank.’ The remaining comic leapt to her defence, and with a ‘Huh!’ of a laugh, Frank sauntered out of the room.

  Bonnie had been sitting quietly pretending to read the magazines all evening, but the words had danced before her eyes and her stomach had been churning the whole time. The minutes had crept by with agonizing slowness as she had eavesdropped on the conversation of her fellow performers.

  They had talked about different clubs, mostly in east and north London and on the Essex fringe; about concert parties, pantomimes and revues; and about various entertainment secretaries – some honest and fair and others who apparently were willing to take a backhander, and had ruthlessly chewed over other artistes. It appeared that if an artiste had concerts at the weekends along with a cabaret somewhere, and was prepared to work at two places in the same night and also on weekdays when the opportunities arose, the financial rewards could be very tasty.

  Public performances were what counted, and any artiste known to appear regularly in front of an audience was on the up and up, according to her companions. Most of what they discussed was like a foreign language to Bonnie; she hadn’t heard of some of the people or places for a start, but she listened and tried to learn. Nor had she realized that children under fourteen were subject to strict controls and licensing regulations, and she was amazed that they apparently needed a licence to appear on public stages after a certain time at night. Certainly the fair folk hadn’t availed themselves of such niceties.

  This was a new world and a terribly confusing one, she told herself, trying to quell the blind panic as the comic left the room. And a world where everyone seemed to know everyone else – apart from her. She had never felt so completely out of her depth before, not even during the time when her father had disappeared or on the journey to London after Franco’s attack. How could she succeed when she didn’t have a clue who or what people were talking about? She’d been mad to think she had a chance. She should never have said anything to Enoch.

  Her frantic thoughts were interrupted by the man in question popping his head round the door. He saw her white face and panic-stricken eyes and came fully into the room. ‘Don’t worry about Jenny Cook – they’ll love you,’ he said, putting her nerves down to the fact that she was replacing a club favourite. ‘Now, we decided on “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes”, “Stormy Weather”, and an old favourite, “It Had to Be You”. Right? Neville wondered what else you knew if they want an encore. He suggested “Just One More Chance”. Happy with that?’ Neville was the club’s elderly pianist and an experienced old hand of the ‘you-hum-it-and-I’ll-play-it’ school.

  Bonnie nodded. Neville had been set to do Jenny’s favourite numbers like “Till We Meet Again” and “Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kitbag” but Bonnie had felt she couldn’t compete with such an accomplished veteran by singing songs Jenny was known and loved for, and furthermore that it wouldn’t be quite right, given the circumstances with Jenny ill in hospital. Enoch had agreed with her.

  ‘Good. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes and then you’re on – and don’t forget, I wouldn’t have put you up there unless I knew you could handle it. You’ll be marvellous and they’ll love you. Everyone has to start somewhere, Bonnie – this is your moment. Believe that and you’ll be all right.’

  She thought of this a few minutes later as she stood on the stage while Enoch announced her after explaining that Jenny Cook had been taken ill and wouldn’t be appearing tonight. Normally the master of ceremonies would have done this, and she wondered if Enoch didn’t trust Dennis to try and pave her way.

  Enoch certainly did his best, but along with the murmurs of disappointment and muttering from the assembled throng, one voice – louder than the rest – called out, ‘’Ere, Enoch, isn’t that one of your barmaids? What’re you trying to pull, palming us off with her? We paid good money for tonight and you know it.’

  Enoch narrowed his eyes at the man in question. ‘Bonnie was one of the barmaids here, but she auditioned for this spot and beat off the competition because she’s damn good, all right? Pipe down, Jack Travis, and give the girl a chance before you ask for your money back, because I dare bet that’s what you’re leading up to.’ And in an aside to the room, he added, ‘Tight as a cockerel’s backside and just as pretty,’ causing a few titters here and there as he had intended.

  The last remnant of Bonnie’s precarious self-confidence drained out of her. The crowd weren’t daft. They knew this talk of her beating the competition was so much wind. And Jack Travis was right, everyone was being palmed off. What had she been thinking of? She was going to make a prize fool of herself.

  And then, as though this last thought had brought his face into focus, she saw Dennis sitting at the front of the room with Ralph and their respective wives. A smirk was twisting his mouth and smugness radiated from every line of his body. He was loving this. He wanted her to freeze with nerves and get booed off the stage so he could be proved right. Horrible man.

  Her chin lifted. She was her father’s daughter and she wasn’t going to let a worm like Dennis have the satisfaction of watching her fail, not while she had breath in her body.

  Enoch was whispering something about how she would be fine and not to take any notice when she turned to him with a brilliant smile that clearly took him back, before glancing at Neville and nodding. As Neville struck up the first notes of “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes”, Enoch hurried off the stage and Bonnie turned to fully face the audience. She saw Betty at the back of the room, clutching a tea-towel and a glass and looking anxious, and just for a moment she thought, ‘Oh, we’re getting short of clean glasses again,’ but then she put everything else but the song out of her mind. And she was singing this for her da. She didn’t care about the rest of them, what they thought. Her da had believed dreams could come true and if it was only for tonight, this one night, hers had . . .

  Three-quarters of an hour later the audience still wouldn’t let her leave the stage. She had sung three encores and a couple of special requests and the atmosphere was such that Enoch was grinning from ear to ear and Ralph was looking as though Christmas had already arrived. Dennis and his wife had left after her second song and no one had so much as glanced at them. Every eye was trained on Bonnie.

  After the first song there had been a moment of utter quiet as the last note died away, and then such tumultuous applause that Bonnie had actually jumped as she had come back to herself. The clapping and cheering had gone on and on, and when it had finally died down so she could sing again, Jack Travis had shouted, ‘Money back? I’d’ve paid twice as much, gal,’ and everyone had laughed; the feeling sweeping through the gathering was something special.

  They liked her. Bonnie felt as though she was on the crest of a wave. They liked her, these forthright, tough, no-nonsense folk. Since she had been working at the club she had seen more than one performer receive short shrift from the customers who were as honest as they were merciless.

  She was going to become a singer. The realization settled something fundamental. No, she was a singer. She had set her course tonight and whatever the future held, she wouldn’t go back to pulling pints and selling sandwiches, not now she had tasted her destiny. No matter what the cost.

  Chapter Nine

  Bonnie was still on cloud nine when Christmas Eve dawned, and she spent a lovely – if noisy – time with Betty and her family. Her friend related all that had gone on at the club and Bonnie had to sing a medley of songs, starting with ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes’ after lunch, which made Betty’s mother, who had imbibed liberally of liquid Christmas cheer, cry noisily. They all ate too much and Bonnie got home later that eveni
ng convinced she would never be able to eat the huge Christmas Day dinner she knew Hilda had in store for her and Selina.

  She did, of course. And Christmas Day couldn’t have been more different from the day before. The three women ate Hilda’s superb lunch before opening the small gifts they’d bought each other, and then dozed the afternoon away in front of the fire. And later on, Bonnie and Selina went for a brisk walk in the thick London twilight to work up an appetite for the turkey-and-stuffing sandwiches and trifle Hilda had prepared. It was cosy and restful, but, unlike the day before, it failed to keep thoughts of the fair family at bay. She tried to concentrate on her success at the club and the encouraging things Enoch had said, but every now and again Pedro and Mrs Carlini and little Mimi and her childhood friends came to mind. She missed them. Not her grandma and Franco – she shuddered – never them, but the rest of the folk she had grown up with, who for so long had been the only community she’d known.

  Later that night, curled up in bed, Bonnie gave herself a talking-to. She couldn’t afford to let this feeling of melancholy take hold. There was no way she could go back to the fair – she had burned her bridges good and proper – but even if she could turn back time she wouldn’t want to. When her father had disappeared everything had changed. Her life had been wretched, miserable, that’s what she had to remember. Rose-coloured glasses were all very well but when she looked back at the last few years she had to see things clearly.

  It was this festive season that was the trouble, she told herself after a while. It was sentimental, emphasizing, as it did, families getting together and everyone being lovey-dovey. But life with her grandma had never been that. She was free now, free to make the life she wanted, and if she made mistakes along the way then so be it.

  She thought back to the applause at the club, the way the crowd wouldn’t let her leave the stage and the lovely comments everyone had made. Enoch had been over the moon. She smiled in the darkness. He had told her he was going to see to it that her name became well known, and that he would use the contacts he had to push her up the ladder. He was a nice man, and his wife seemed a sweet, gentle soul. She felt sure she could trust them both to guide her as she ventured into a scary business she knew nothing about.

  Along with the nasty people in the world – her legs instinctively pressed together even though she didn’t allow Franco admittance into her mind – there were nice ones too. She mustn’t let her past taint her future. She was going to be strong, that’s what her da would have expected. He had been strong in so many ways . . .

  She let memories fill her thoughts, memories of her da and the happy times they’d shared, of his booming laugh, his beautiful singing voice, his sense of fun and the way he used to carry her round the fair on his shoulders so she had felt like a princess. She missed him, oh, how she missed him, but he was with her mother now, that’s what she had to believe.

  She must have drifted off to sleep eventually, because when she next opened her eyes it was to the weak light of a cold winter morning through the thin curtains and the smell of smoked bacon pervading the house.

  She lay snuggled under the covers for a few moments, thinking about the day ahead as the uneasy feelings she’d felt about Selina’s parents came to the fore. Deciding that nothing would be accomplished by lying there brooding, she slid out of bed and got dressed with a swiftness fuelled by the icy room.

  The December sky was low and heavy when Bonnie and Selina left Fairview later that morning. There had been a light sprinkling of snow during the night and the streets looked Christmassy as they walked arm in arm towards Kensington.

  Selina had been quiet at breakfast and she wasn’t particularly talkative now but Bonnie was content to stroll in silence. She emptied her mind of everything but the crisp air caressing her face with icy fingers, the cold wind ruffling her hair and the crunch of snow under her feet. She didn’t want to think, but simply to be and enjoy the moment.

  It took a while to reach the neat, tree-lined street of distinguished-looking three-storey terraced houses where Selina’s parents lived. The street, along with the ones surrounding it, reeked of affluence; there were no snotty-nosed bairns throwing snowballs at each other or making slides in the snow here, Bonnie thought. Every front door was immaculately painted, every set of railings that separated the two yards of garden from the pavement gleamed ebony black, and Bonnie doubted that even the local birds would have the effrontery to mar the spotless surroundings.

  Selina stopped outside a house halfway along the street. ‘We’re here,’ she said flatly. ‘This is my parents’ house.’

  ‘It’s very nice,’ Bonnie responded, not knowing quite what to say. It was nice, but soulless. She couldn’t imagine people having real lives here somehow. There’d be no animated gossiping over the garden walls; no popping next door to borrow a bowl of sugar; no bairns swinging on the lamp posts or happily playing marbles in the gutter. Selina had told her that her father was a bank manager and Bonnie could see that a bank manager would live here.

  ‘My mother’s parents left the house to her when they died,’ Selina continued in the same flat voice. ‘There’s a thatched cottage by the sea in Brighton too where we used to holiday each year. We’d often spend Christmas there.’

  ‘That must have been wonderful.’

  Selina made no reply to this. She stood for another moment staring at the house and then climbed the three steps leading to the front door and rang the bell. There was no knocker to spoil the pristine surface of the door.

  Almost immediately it opened to reveal a tall, thin woman. At first Bonnie thought it was Selina’s mother but her friend said, ‘Hello, Mrs Eden. Merry Christmas.’

  ‘Merry Christmas, Miss Selina. This must be your new friend that your father told me about. How do you do, Miss . . . Cunningham, isn’t it?’

  Selina’s parents had a housekeeper? Feeling slightly over-awed, Bonnie followed Selina into the house after saying hello. Mrs Eden was imposing. Dressed all in black with her hair scraped back in a tight bun, she cut a severe figure. She looked as though she’d rarely smile and never laugh.

  The hall was wide and partly panelled in wood, and the tiled floor was highly polished so that it squeaked as they walked towards what Mrs Eden referred to as the drawing room. The housekeeper knocked and opened the door, standing aside for the two girls to enter as she said, ‘It’s Miss Selina and Miss Cunningham, Mr Parker.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Eden.’

  Bonnie hadn’t known what to expect. After all the vague misgivings she’d had about Selina’s parents, nothing would have surprised her, but she found herself taken aback at the large, bright, beautiful room that was so welcoming. A seven-foot Christmas tree stood in one corner, decorated with tinsel and ribbons and baubles, and a roaring fire oozed warmth, which matched the wide smile on the face of the good-looking, middle-aged man coming towards them.

  ‘Hello, hello, m’dears. Merry Christmas.’

  He reached Selina first, bending as though to kiss her cheek and then straightening when Selina avoided the embrace, turning swiftly to Bonnie and saying, ‘This is my friend, Bonnie Cunningham. Bonnie, my father and mother.’

  A smartly dressed woman who looked to be in her early fifties had risen from the leather sofa where she had been sitting when they had entered the room, and now she joined her husband. The deep blue suit she was wearing was plain, but in a way that was both expensive and exclusive. Her fair hair was immaculate and her blue eyes exactly matched the colour of the suit. There was something about her that immediately made Bonnie feel gauche and ungainly.

  Selina’s mother smiled thinly, extending a pale hand as she said, ‘How lovely to meet you, Bonnie. I may call you Bonnie? I can’t remember the last time Selina brought a friend home to see us, can you, Llewellyn?’ she added without looking at her husband. She gave a light, tinkling laugh. ‘One could almost think our daughter is ashamed of her home.’

  Bonnie’s polite smile faded as she was ushered t
o one of the sofas dotting the room. She had been right, there was something wrong here. Something . . . unpleasant. For some reason she found she couldn’t look at Selina beside her but she was aware that her friend’s body was stiff.

  Selina’s father poured them both a sherry without asking if they wanted one, and as he passed Bonnie hers, he said, ‘So, m’dear, are you a teacher like Selina here?’

  Bonnie looked fully into his face as she took the glass. She supposed he was rather handsome as older men went. His silver hair was lovely and thick and his clear skin relatively unlined; he was tall and broad but not in a fat way and he exuded a warm charm, unlike his wife who seemed a cold fish. ‘No, I’m a –’ she had been going to say barmaid but that was behind her now, she was determined about that – ‘a singer, Mr Parker.’

  ‘Do call me Llewellyn, m’dear, and the wife’s Felicity. We don’t stand on ceremony here. So, a singer? Well, well, well. A singer. That’s wonderful, wonderful.’

  He was clearly a little flustered but trying to be nice and Bonnie found herself warming to him in a way she hadn’t with Selina’s mother. ‘I used to be part of a family company of entertainers in the north,’ she explained, keeping to the story she’d told everyone in London, ‘but when my father died I decided to move here.’

  ‘And your mother? Isn’t she worried about you being here alone in the city? You’re very young, after all.’

  ‘My mother died when I was a baby.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, how sad.’

  ‘It was very brave of you to come to London alone.’ This was from Selina’s mother, and said in a way that suggested foolhardiness or something worse.