All That Glitters, page 39
‘I’d better be going.’
‘Give my regards to Jenny.’
‘You haven’t seen her?’
‘Not since we waved you off to the New Inn. I wish you happiness, Eddie. I really do.’
‘I know you do.’
‘There never was anything between Jenny and me except puppy love. And there never will be, not now. You do know that don’t you?’
‘I do now.’
Haydn closed the door behind his brother. Straightening his bow tie, he slipped on his jacket and checked his image one last time in the mirror.
‘Two-minute call for Mr Powell.’
He picked up the photographs and held them in his hands ready to tear them in two, then, thinking better of the idea, he slipped them into the inside of his jacket. Opening the door of his dressing room he stepped out in front of Helen.
‘All right. Haydn?’
‘Raring to go.’ He led the way down to the wings. Holding out his arms to Helen and Babs, the three of them walked out on to centre stage in front of the chorus line-up seconds before the curtain started to rise.
‘One … two … three.’
Haydn came in at the beginning of the third bar. The girls joined in the chorus. They danced side by side, smiles nailed to their faces. Only Haydn’s eyes stared blankly out into the black void that cloaked the audience. He was playing musical comedy for all he was worth, because if he allowed himself to stop playacting and face reality, even for a moment, they would have to bring the curtain down.
‘I hoped to catch you on your way up.’ Jenny was standing outside the shop, the ‘Closed’ sign on the door behind her. She was shivering. The rain had brought with it a drop in temperature, and it had been a long wait. She’d been too nervous to sit in the comparative comfort of the shop once darkness fell, lest she miss Eddie in the blackout. He paused in front of her. He hadn’t said anything, but then neither had he ignored her and walked on. Summoning all the courage she could muster she forced herself to continue. ‘Eddie, about this morning, I’m sorry. I was half-asleep …’
‘And half-asleep you wanted Haydn, not me?’
‘I didn’t know who was there.’
‘In your bedroom?’
‘Eddie, please. You’ve been so foul to me since we got married … I didn’t mean that,’ she cried as he went to walk on. ‘Please, it’s you I married, not Haydn, and I don’t want to argue with you here in the street.’
‘You have no choice. I seem to remember your mother saying something this morning about never allowing me over her doorstep’ again.’
‘She doesn’t have to. I rented those rooms I told you about from Mrs Edwards. I’m moving into them first thing in the morning. I was hoping you’d move in with me.’
‘At ten bob.’
‘We knocked her down to five.’
‘Who’s we?’
‘My Dad. He heard the row last night, said it was as much Mam’s fault as yours. That you couldn’t be expected to live in our house the way things are.’
‘That was good of him.’
‘Eddie.’ She stretched out her hand and brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his jacket. ‘Please, give me one more chance. We can even go there tonight if you want to. Mrs Edwards will probably be asleep by now, but she said we could move in right away, and if you don’t want to go there, I think Mam’s in bed. There’s the storeroom …’
‘The storeroom? For an old married couple like us?’
‘We will make an old married couple, won’t we?’
‘Ask me again in fifty years.’
‘Then you’ll move to Leyshon Street?’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Eddie, I’ll do anything … anything you want.’ She wondered whether or not to tell him she loved him. It wouldn’t be true, but did that matter? Lies or truth, love couldn’t be that important to him. He’d never once mentioned it, even when he’d suggested marriage. ‘Eddie, I want to sleep with you. You know I like sleeping with you. It just didn’t seem right with people around, that’s all.’
‘Mrs Edwards will be in the house.’
‘She’s deaf and besides she wouldn’t walk into our rooms, not the way Mam walked into mine this morning.’
‘And Haydn?’
‘He hasn’t said more than a few words to me since he’s been home, and even then it was to tell me what I already knew. That it’s over between us. That he doesn’t love me any more, if he ever did. Eddie, you know you were the first. I swear to you on my life, there hasn’t been anyone else.’
‘I suppose I’ve got nothing to lose by giving it one more go.’
‘Then you’ll go there tomorrow? To Leyshon Street after work?’
‘I’ll be there.’
‘I’ll have your tea on the table.’
‘I hope you can cook.’ Turning his back, he walked on.
‘Eddie?’
He looked back.
‘You do know the number of the house?’
‘I know the number.’
She watched until his shadow merged with the others on the hill. Rubbing the cold from her arms she opened the door and went into the shop.
Jane finished her work, unpinned her usherette’s cap and went into the Ladies to comb her hair. As soon as her hair had grown long enough to hold iron wavers she’d bought a set, although she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since she’d taken to wearing them in bed. But the look Haydn had given her the first time he’d seen her hair crimped was worth every minute of the nightly agony. She pinched her waves, looked sideways in the mirror, dabbed essence of violets on to her wrists and behind her ears and added a touch of pink lipstick to her mouth.
‘Dancing lesson?’ Avril asked, walking in behind her.
‘If Haydn’s not too tired.’
‘He never seems to be too tired for you, love.’
‘You think so?’
‘No doubt about it.’
‘Thanks, Avril.’ Jane finished primping and made her way to the dressing rooms. All the rooms were silent and all the doors closed except Haydn’s. Babs was with him, but outwardly oblivious to her presence he sat, slumped in front of his dressing mirror, his eyes glazed, a bottle of whisky and a metal beaker on the shelf in front of him. Wary of Babs, Jane hovered uneasily in the doorway. She hadn’t seen Haydn drink anything stronger than an occasional glass of beer before; never whisky, and never alone like this. He lifted his eyes and saw her in the open doorway. She started guiltily, as though she’d been caught spying.
‘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.
