When the Clouds Go Rolling By Read online

  She had not expected to be asked such a question but answered easily and from the heart. ‘Oh no! I do enjoy a good film but it’s not alive the same, is it? It’s so different hearing actors and actresses speak the words, as well as sing and perform on the stage.’

  ‘Now, isn’t that the kind of answer we like to hear,’ said Shaun Glenville, turning to his wife.

  Clara blushed and murmured, ‘Thank you. My-my aunt used to be on the stage.’

  ‘What was her name?’ he asked with interest.

  ‘Gabrielle O’Toole, the Liverpool Songbird.’

  His face lit up with recognition. ‘Now there’s a name to remember,’ he said. ‘I saw her perform in Dublin when I was just a small boyo.’

  Clara was thrilled to have confirmation that Gertie had trodden the boards in a city other than Liverpool and thanked him.

  He nodded and passed on.

  The moment was over and it seemed no time at all before Clara was locked in the kiosk and was preparing to face her first excited customers. Fortunately for Clara, most tendered the right amount of money for their tickets, so she was able to deal with the queue quickly and efficiently. Soon a notice was placed outside saying, Full House. The doors were closed and Alan Cormick mounted guard in the almost deserted foyer.

  As Clara began to count the money, she was hoping to be able to slip into the auditorium. Once she had totalled the cash, she wrote the amount in the ledger and then placed the money in the cash bags. They were terribly heavy because most of the takings were in coin, but she managed to lift them and lock them in the cupboard beneath the ledge - no use taking them to the manager’s office where the safe was because he would not be there but with their special guests. She worked out how many tickets had been sold and at what cost and balanced the totals. Pleased that they had balanced, she let herself out of the cash box, locked it and made her way to the auditorium.

  To her delight, she was in time to catch the end of the two-reeler before the interval. Then Dorothy Ward and Shaun Glenville got up onto the stage and sang a number from their forthcoming pantomime for the audience. Clara wished she could see Jack and the Beanstalk but knew it would not be possible as she was working, so she gave up the idea and concentrated her attention on the stage. There was another song by the husband and wife and then it was time for refreshments.

  A room had been set aside for special guests and it was decked out with garlands and balloons. Clara managed to sneak a few sandwiches, a sausage roll and a cake into a paper bag for Bernie and concealed it in her shopping bag. She was hoping to listen to the stars sing again but Mr Walsh called her away and she had no choice but to go with him.

  ‘Well, Clara, how do you think this evening has gone?’ he asked as they went downstairs.

  ‘It’s been wonderful,’ she said, her eyes shining. ‘If we have a full house like this every evening, Mr Walsh, you and your backers will soon be laughing all the way to the bank.’

  His plump face split into a smile. ‘I’m a great believer in laughter being good for the soul, Clara. You have your keys?’

  She nodded and produced them.

  The cash bags were collected and she went along with him to his office. There he checked the ledger and counted the money again.

  ‘Just to make certain,’ he said.

  When the sum balanced with her original amount, he beamed at her. ‘Oh, what it is to have young eyes and nimble fingers.’ He lifted the cash bags one at a time and placed them in the safe. After locking it, he told her to run along and watch the end of the show.

  Clara did so but managed to leave before there was a mad rush from the audience when it came to an end. She went outside into the foyer and wandered over to where Mr Cormick was standing, ready to open the doors to let the public out.

  ‘So did you enjoy your first night, Clara?’ he asked.

  Yawning, she nodded. ‘I’m tired, though.’

  He smiled. ‘Yer’ll sleep all the sweeter, queen.’

  Clara did not dispute it. She caught the sound of hurrying footsteps and the doors to the auditorium were flung open. She could have been knocked down as swarms of people came flooding out if she had not left swiftly. She wasted no time hurrying home as it was freezing cold outside.

  She entered the house to find her grandmother dozing in front of the kitchen fire. ‘Do you want a cup of cocoa, Gran?’ she asked loudly.

  Bernie knuckled her eyes. ‘I don’t mind if I do.’ She yawned. ‘Did yer bring me anything, girl?’

  Clara nodded and, after putting the kettle on, produced the food from her shopping bag and placed it on a plate. ‘It was a good evening, Gran. A pity you couldn’t have been there.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. My legs couldn’t have coped with the walk and any standing. You tell me about it.’ Bernie bit into a sandwich.

  So Clara told her grandmother about her evening and how Shaun Glenville had said that he had seen Gertie on the stage in Dublin years ago.

  ‘She was performing as Gabrielle O’Toole and styled herself as the Liverpool Songbird.’

  Bernie was silent for a few moments and then said, ‘She must have made some money and I never saw a penny of it.’

  Clara felt like saying that if her grandmother had behaved less selfishly then she might have done so. She made the cocoa and then put a bit more coal on the fire, because she was still cold and, besides, she wanted to relive the moment when Dorothy Ward and her husband had got up on the stage and sung. At a word from Bernie, she took a hot shelf out of the oven of the blackleaded range and wrapped it in newspaper, then took it up to the old woman’s bed to warm it up. She then helped her down the yard to the lav before seeing her to bed.

  ‘I wonder what our Gertie would say if she knew that you’d spoken to a couple of the top stage stars,’ wheezed Bernie, as she heaved her bulk into the middle of the bed.

  ‘I’ll ask her what she thinks when I see her,’ said Clara, feeling so optimistic about everything that evening.

  She went downstairs to lock up and then curled up in front of the fire for a few moments. Gazing into the glowing coals, she allowed her mind to drift, thinking of Alice’s invitation to Sunday lunch. She really hoped that 1919 would turn out to be a very good year.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘It’s odd that you should mention Clara sending a Christmas card,’ said Joy, cuddling her brand new niece and stretching her legs out towards the fire. It was freezing cold outside but Hanny had a lovely fire going and it was cosy in the drawing room overlooking the River Dee.

  ‘Why is it odd?’ asked Tilly, who was sitting on the sofa next to Hanny, who was feeding her son. Kenny had gone out with Freddie for a pint.

  ‘She wrote asking me whether Alice had received her letter. I told her that she had and what I knew of the situation in your household. I suggested that she write to Seb and Alice again in the New Year.’ Joy smiled. ‘But she had the sense to send a friendly Christmas card instead.’

  ‘Which resulted in Alice inviting her to Sunday lunch next week,’ said Tilly, looking put out. ‘So tell me, what do you know about her and Freddie?’

  Joy looked surprised. ‘What about them?’

  ‘Well, they’ve met already, haven’t they?’ said Tilly, her colour high. ‘Even Hanny and Alice know they’ve met.’

  ‘Only briefly,’ said Joy. ‘Freddie ran Clara and her grandmother home that evening in Liverpool, but that’s all. No need to get worked up about it.’

  ‘Not quite all,’ said Hanny, brushing her lips against her son’s downy head. ‘Freddie mentioned her and the grandmother in one of his letters.’

  ‘Well, she mentioned him to me,’ said Joy. ‘Clara’s a caring person so wanted to know if he’d survived the war.’

  Tilly’s eyes narrowed. ‘There you are then, she’s interested in him. A girl from Liverpool.’

  ‘What’s wrong with Liverpool? Seb was brought up in Liverpool,’ said Hanny, frowning at her.

  ‘Probably not from the
same area,’ she muttered, toying with her fingernails.

  ‘No. But he did work for the Waters and wasn’t brought up to live the lifestyle he does now,’ said Hanny. ‘Seb’s no snob and I wouldn’t want you to be one either,’ she added firmly. ‘Our brother is a presentable young man. I can see him having more than one young woman chasing after him before he makes his choice, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  ‘Probably has them chasing after him, already,’ said Joy dryly. ‘But he needs to get some money behind him before he can think of marriage.’

  Tilly looked relieved. ‘I suppose you’re right. He won’t be in a rush to tie the knot with anyone yet. Although, if I get the chance, I’m going to tell him I’ve someone interested in me, too,’ she added casually.

  The sisters stared at her. ‘I can guess who that is,’ said Hanny, taking her son from the breast and putting him against her shoulder. ‘I noticed the way he was looking at you in November. I was relieved he was returning to America. You’ve some growing up to do yet.’

  Joy’s gaze went from one to the other. ‘So who’s this we’re talking about?’

  ‘Donald Pierce, the bloke who found Seb,’ said Hanny, patting the baby’s back. ‘So you haven’t mentioned him yet to Freddie?’ she murmured.

  ‘Not yet. I’ve hardly seen Freddie,’ protested Tilly. ‘He seems to be out here, there and everywhere since he’s been home. Once I hear from Donald, I’ll tell him,’ said Tilly, her cheeks even redder now. Swiftly, she changed the subject. ‘Christmas wasn’t the least bit like I thought it would be in our house.’

  ‘How did you think it would be?’ asked Hanny, feeling a niggle of concern.

  ‘I thought it would be a lot happier than last year. Instead, Alice and Seb were pretending to be happy for the sake of the children.’ Tilly toyed with her fingernails. ‘I’d swear on Christmas Eve I heard him and Alice arguing. And not so long ago, he got up out of bed in the middle of the night and went downstairs. He didn’t come back to bed until dawn. I know because I was awake, thinking up a story I’d like to write. I really am worried about the pair of them.’

  ‘Alice has mentioned a few things to me,’ said Hanny. ‘I’m sure given time and patience everything will work out.’

  ‘I just hope if Clara does come she won’t make things worse,’ said Tilly.

  ‘Enough said,’ murmured Hanny. ‘Put the kettle on and make some cocoa, there’s a good girl.’

  Tilly did as she asked but still could not help worrying about the possibility of Clara becoming a regular visitor to Victoria Crescent.

  * * *

  Seb frowned down at the postmark on the envelope and then took out the letter. He began to read:

  Dear Alice and Sebastian,

  Thank you for your kind invitation to lunch on Sunday, January 12th. I am pleased to accept. Hopefully there will be no delays on the trains and I’ll arrive on time. I really am looking forward to meeting you both and your children. Gran would love to meet you, too, but her health means that she can’t walk far, but she does sends her best wishes.

  Yours,

  Clara.

  He dropped the letter on the occasional table and clenched his fist. So his grandmother could not walk far due to bad health. Why should he care? Yet he could not get out of his head what Alice had said about his being the man of the family. Perhaps they were expecting him to give them a helping hand. His grandmother would probably only have her five shillings old age pension to live on and so his cousin would have to work to support herself and the old woman, too. Work very hard, most likely, if she was to do so.

  It was possible that they thought his living in Chester meant he was comfortably off and so he could afford to help them. Little did they know it was unlikely that he would ever be able to work again if he had his arm off. A chill of horror gripped him at the thought but he fought against it. Lots of soldiers had arms and legs amputated and just had to get on with it. But what could he do to earn money with a missing arm? He might get some kind of disability payment, but how far would that go? He wouldn’t be able to drive or do any repairs, and when it came to selling the motors, which he used to enjoy, he was convinced that any prospective buyers would be put off by his scarred face. Yet he had to earn a wage somehow. The money that had come to him after his paternal grandmother’s death was on deposit, but was going steadily down as there was so little coming in. Perhaps he should consider mortgaging the house. If anything went wrong with the amputation and he died, then at least Alice would have a lump sum. She could buy a smaller house and have something to live on. She was bound to get some kind of widow’s pension… He stopped, aghast, as he realised the direction his thoughts were taking. He would have himself dead and buried in a minute.

  ‘Who’s the letter from?’

  He jumped at the sound of Alice’s voice. ‘My cousin,’ he said tersely.

  ‘Clara’s answered mine already!’ His wife brushed past him and picked up the letter from the table. Georgie toddled after her.

  ‘I thought I told you not to write to her,’ he said harshly.

  Alice did not look at him. ‘You said on Christmas Eve that I could invite her here, but stressed that I was not to ask your grandmother to come, so that’s what I did.’

  ‘I must have been drunk. You should ignore what I say when I’m in that state.’ He flopped down on the sofa.

  She glanced at him. ‘It’s true you’d been drinking but you were in control of yourself.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Yes. I – I don’t know why we’re having this – this argument.’ The hand that clasped the letter shook.

  He noticed it and felt bad that she should be getting into a nervous state and tried to speak more calmly. ‘We wouldn’t be arguing if you didn’t constantly go against my wishes. I don’t know what she thinks to gain by coming here.’

  Alice looked at him directly. ‘Your mother’s address, most likely.’

  ‘Well, she won’t get it from me.’ His tone was brusque. ‘Why d’you think Ma kept her early life in Liverpool secret for years? She didn’t want to have anything to do with that family.’

  ‘I can understand her not wanting to see her mother,’ said Alice quietly, ‘but she doesn’t even know Clara exists, so how can you be so sure that she wouldn’t want to meet her? Joy said that Clara’s a good sort.’

  ‘So what Joy says is more important than what I say? You think that I don’t know my own mother?’ he said forcefully.

  ‘I – I didn’t say that. I – I just know that it helps when you’re in trouble to have family and friends who care about you. I know when my father…’ She stopped abruptly and reached down to pick up Georgie, cuddling him against her.

  There was a long silence.

  Seb felt that familiar stab of guilt and irritation whenever Alice mentioned her father. ‘Go on. What about your father?’ She remained silent.

  His face darkened. ‘You’re thinking back to when you wanted me to quit my job and leave Chester, all because you didn’t trust me to keep you safe from him. You wanted us to run away and I refused to do so.’

  ‘I was scared!’ she burst out. ‘And I had every right to be. He came looking for me and you weren’t there to save me.’

  ‘Good God, that still rankles with you, doesn’t it?’ he snapped. ‘Yet it was your fault for not trusting me. If you had done so, I would have been around to save you. Instead you said you didn’t want to see me anymore and walked away. I tried to see you several times but you refused to have anything to do with me.’

  ‘You didn’t have a father who beat your mother or had fits of madness. I was terrified of him, like I am now… of you…’ Her words trailed off and she placed a hand to her mouth, gazing at him with frightened eyes.

  Seb’s head felt like it was exploding. ‘You’re comparing me with your father? You’ve no idea what I’ve been through and what I’m still going through,’ he yelled, starting up.

  Alice backed away an
d managed to wrench open the door. It caught her on the nose but, ignoring the pain, she slammed the door behind her. She had made Seb mad and had to hide. For a moment she did not know where to go, and then, still clutching Georgie to her, she headed for the kitchen. There she stood a moment, gazing about her. Then she made for the larder and, with Georgie balanced on her hip, closed the door behind them. Tears rolled down her cheeks, thinking that she should have watched what she said to Seb and not made him angry.

  Her son’s chubby hand touched her wet face in the dim light. ‘Don’t c’y, Mama, don’t c’y! Georgie make it better.’ He pressed his lips against her nose, which throbbed. ‘Is dat better?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, sweetheart, it’s better,’ she assured her son, and marvelled that her voice could sound so normal.

  ‘Alice! Alice! Where are you? Why d’you have to rush out like that? Why can’t you bloody understand I’m going mad with worry? I wasn’t going to hurt you,’ shouted Seb.

  She put a hand lightly over Georgie’s mouth and hushed him.

  ‘Hide an’ deek?’ he whispered.

  She nodded, thinking that her being able to hear Seb’s voice so clearly meant he was close. Never would she have believed in all the years of their marriage that she would be hiding in a cupboard for fear of the man she had fallen in love with the moment she had set eyes on him. She knew that he was suffering, too, but fear was driving them apart.

  She put her eye to a crack in the door and could see Seb standing in the middle of the kitchen. Her heart ached for him as he gazed wildly about him with his one eye. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he shouted. ‘I can understand why you think I’m going mad. Perhaps I am. I was even thinking of wearing a mask when my cousin comes. An iron mask.’ Seb’s voice had an edge to it. ‘Remember Tilly telling us once about the story of the man in the iron mask?’

  Alice remembered. Something about a man having his head locked in an iron mask and hidden in a dungeon because he was the rightful king of France and his brother or cousin, who looked like him, wanted his throne. ‘Remember Tilly saying, “How can people be so cruel?” as if the book was real life instead of fiction?’ he added.