Dream On (33 page)

Carmen, not sure she'd heard properly, but still sounding scandalised, had another stab at sorting out what Ginny actually meant. The fact that Ginny had never talked to Carmen about her family – and Carmen being a curious type at the best of times and bluntly nosy at the worst – naturally made her want to know more. And this seemed like the perfect opportunity. ‘You don't what, Gin?'

Ginny sat up and snapped, ‘I
said
I don't know yet.'

‘Don't know?' Carmen was now clearly outraged and there was going to be no stopping her from saying so. ‘But it's the twentieth of bloody December, girl. How can you not know? My mum would have me by the throat and be shaking me like a pepper-pot if I dared even think I didn't know what I'd be doing on Christmas day.'

Patty grinned. ‘Sure don't we all know what you'll be doing at Christmas, Carmen? The same as every year. You'll be there with your mum, sitting in that big old church in Brixton, with your best hat perched on top o' your head, singing away like a beautiful brown skylark.'

Carmen rolled her eyes and groaned. ‘Don't remind me, Pat. All Mum's sisters have invited themselves over to hers this year as well. Imagine it, all my aunties, all there snooping on me.'

She tossed the newspaper to the floor, stood up, stuck her fists into her waist and launched into an imitation of her Caribbean relatives. ‘Why you not married yet, Carmen girl? I had ten kids by the time I was your age. There no nice boys where you work? No doctors?'

That last bit caught Yvette's attention. ‘What you on about? Doctors?'

‘Well, you don't think they know what I do for a living do you, Yve?' Carmen laughed self-mockingly. ‘They all think I'm working at St Thomas's. A nurse on the night shift. You should hear the lies I tell.' She puffed out her cheeks and shrugged resignedly. ‘But if I want to keep breathing, I've got no choice but to lie.'

‘Least you haven't got to go all the way to bloody County Clare to see your family.' Patty sighed dramatically, handed Carmen the cigarette she had just finished rolling and flopped down on to one of the chairs. ‘It'll be murder. And I bet I've told them more lies than you've told your lot. I'm working in an office, if you don't mind. Me!' She accepted the cigarette from Carmen and took a long drag, before handing it back to her. ‘Still, I miss my little brothers and sisters. It'll be good to see them again. And it'll be cheaper than staying at home.'

‘Broke again?' Carmen asked.

‘What do you think?'

‘But you've got no plans yet,' Yvette said, turning to Ginny.

‘I'll probably be spending the day worrying if I can afford to put another shilling in the gas meter,' Ginny replied quietly.

‘You're never still sending all your dough to that old cow of a mother-in-law of yours, are you?' Yvette exploded at full, shocked volume.

Ginny didn't answer, but it was obvious to Yvette, just from her expression, that Ginny was indeed still keeping Nellie.

‘Now I understand why you've been so broke,' she went on. ‘I wondered why you'd been holding on to your rent so often. I mean, it's not as though you've got kids to worry about. Not like some of us.'

Ginny had become close to Yvette in the eighteen months that she'd been working at the club, and enjoyed her company and her friendship, but she sometimes wished that her friend was a bit more subtle.
And
that she'd never mentioned Nellie to her. Yvette meant well, but it made Ginny feel vulnerable, having someone knowing things about her that, on reflection, she would really rather have kept private. She was only glad that she'd never blabbed about Susan.

Susan. The thought of what she might be doing on Christmas morning had Ginny swallowing hard, gulping back the threat of tears. She knew from last year what hell it was, being all alone with too much time to think. Not having any money suddenly didn't seem so important . . .

‘Here's someone who's not going to have to worry about having a spend-up over Christmas,' said Carmen, picking up the paper again and flipping it in half. ‘Listen to this.'

She began reading out one of the news stories in a slow, halting monotone. ‘Yesterday, in London's West End, three postmen were forced into an alley off Shaftesbury Avenue and attacked by armed thieves. The robbers got away with the van carrying registered mail worth over £200,000.'

‘Two hundred grand!' Yvette gasped.

‘And just around the corner!' Patty grabbed the paper from Carmen. ‘Was anyone hurt? Fancy a terrible thing like that happening so close.'

A terrible thing. It was that all right. Patty's words made Ginny think about Ted and how he'd been so angry when they'd had to call off the armed robbery he'd been planning. From the way he'd reacted to being grassed it was more like he'd been stopped from doing an honest day's work, rather than prevented from committing a violent crime.

Ginny tugged at a loose platinum curl. How had he started thinking that way – that hurting people, stealing from them, was a reasonable thing to do? Surely he hadn't always been so callous. He couldn't have been. But was it possible for someone to change so much? Maybe he was desperate; but that was just finding an excuse. No matter how desperate or broke she was, Ginny knew she could never do anything to hurt anyone else.

Doing things that hurt herself, however . . . That was a different matter.

Ginny's increasingly disturbing thoughts were interrupted by one of the girls – a pale-skinned brunette, who had been sitting on the floor studiously painting her toenails. ‘It's true what they're saying in the papers, you know,' she said, her words coming out in short grunting breaths as she bent forward to reach her smallest toe.

‘What's that then, Betty?' asked Carmen.

‘They've got to do something. 'Cos Britain's . . .' She paused. ‘Hang on, how did they put it?
In the grip of a crime wave
. That's it. And it's really frightening.'

‘Crime wave!' Carmen exploded. ‘Are you having a joke, Bet? Most of our bloody customers are criminals. How else d'you think they can afford these bloody prices?'

‘But I bet our customers don't all carry guns,' Betty replied sulkily, feeling that she'd made a fool of herself.

‘Guns? Whatever are you talking about?' Leila stepped into the room looking a picture of shocked innocence, but from her tone it was clear that guns were now a closed subject.

Carmen hurriedly stubbed out her cigarette and slipped the butt into her handbag – Leila had already taken her to one side and explained very clearly the governor's views on girls using dope or alcohol while they were working and Carmen wasn't about to be caught out again.

If Leila noticed Carmen's sleight of hand she didn't make it obvious, instead she smiled coolly and clapped her hands like a headmistress calling her pupils to order. ‘Don't look so miserable, sweeties. Show those teeth. Come on now, off you go. Mustn't keep them waiting.'

The girls jumped to their feet and began flapping around, hurriedly putting final touches to make-up and hair, straightening seams and slipping into elbow-length gloves. Leila turning up so early was a bit of a shock, as she didn't usually show till closing time and they were already nearly fifteen minutes behind their official schedule. Gloria must have been grassing on them again – getting on the telephone to Leila and telling tales on them like some runty little school sneak.

‘By the way,' Leila purred, as the first of the girls reached the door, ‘after you've all done your family duty on Christmas day, there's a party at my place.'

Patty groaned dismally.

‘There's no need for that, Patty. There won't be any punters. It's strictly pleasure this time. A little treat to thank you for your hard work during the past year.' Leila didn't add that putting on a party for the hostesses was her rather sad alternative to an otherwise lonely Christmas night. ‘So how about a thank you instead?'

‘I wasn't complaining, Leila. It's just that I've promised my mum I'll go home to Ireland for a few days.'

Leila pinched Patty's cheek almost affectionately. ‘Never mind. Another time, eh?'

Soon the girls had all drifted out into the club, and Leila and Ginny were left alone in the dressing-room.

If Ginny hadn't had been waiting to go on stage for her first number, she'd have joined them like a shot. Leila's unexpectedly early visit was making her feel nervous. ‘Is anything wrong, Leila?'

Leila's smile barely stretched her lips. ‘Of course not,' she reassured her.

‘You don't wanna change the act again, or nothing?'

Leila shook her head. ‘Don't be silly. It's a real success. Why would we want to change it?'

Ginny wasn't satisfied. ‘So what's wrong? You don't usually come round before closing. Not unless something's up.'

‘I just came in to see how you're getting on, that's all. And to tell you how pleased we are with the way the show's been going.'

Ginny frowned. Why would
we
want to change it? How pleased
we
are. What was this all about?

‘So,' Leila continued, ‘you're happy and we're happy. Good.'

Ginny relaxed a bit, but then, after a moment's thought, she continued. ‘If you don't mind me saying, there is one thing
I'd
like to change.'

‘Yes?'

‘The money.' She took a deep breath. ‘I could do with a bit more.'

‘Could you?' Leila asked coolly. She wasn't sure if she liked the direction the conversation was taking, nor where it might lead.

‘I want you to understand, I'm not being greedy. I've just gotta try and get myself out of all this debt. And most of the other girls are in the same boat.'

‘Really?' Leila's lips compressed into thin, tight lines.

Ginny nibbled at the inside of her cheek. Had she said the wrong thing? It was so hard to know what was going through Leila's mind. Well, it was too late now.

‘I know the fan dance has fetched in a lot of new punters.' Ginny tried a little laugh. ‘I mean, this place must be a real gold-mine now.'

Leila blinked slowly. ‘And is that your business?'

‘Don't get me wrong, Leila, I wouldn't be saying anything, but like I say, it's not only me. I'm having a bad enough time, but some of the girls are in real trouble. They've been dumped by their blokes, left to bring up their kids all by themselves.' She had to make Leila see. ‘How can they work if they're worried all the time? I reckon if they were treated right – paid more, I mean – it would be good for everyone.'

‘You do, do you?'

Ginny nodded half-heartedly. Why had she started this? ‘Well, I reckon if I had a club—'

‘You? A club?' Leila snorted. ‘You can't even open a second-rate spieler without the right sort of support. Money has to be paid. A lot of money. Money that would make your little debts seem quite ridiculous.'

‘Look, Leila, I think you've got me wrong, I wasn't exactly serious—'

‘It's probably just as well, seeing as you obviously don't know the first thing about it. Try and start up something without permission from the local firm, then you'd soon learn.'

Shirley appeared in the dressing-room doorway, smirking like a cat who'd just cornered a tasty-looking mouse. ‘And you'd know, wouldn't you, Leila?'

‘Shirley!' Leila fumbled around with her cigarette case and lighter, wondering how long Shirley had been standing there listening. ‘I was just about to explain to Ginny that she should think herself lucky that she's working for a boss who actually understands the business side of things.'

‘I hope you mean me,' said an amused male voice, from somewhere behind Shirley.

Shirley spun round. It was the governor. What was he doing here?

Ginny hastily snatched up her wrapper and pulled it round her – suddenly embarrassed about showing off her near-naked body – while Leila sprang to her feet, looking as though she'd been caught with her hand in the till.

The governor eased Shirley out of the way, stepped inside the dressing-room and lowered himself into one of the flimsy chairs more suited to a chorus girl's physique than to a man of his size.

‘I was listening to what you was saying,' he said, lighting a cigar.

‘I was only—' Leila began.

‘Not you. Her.' He lifted his chin towards Ginny. ‘Come out to the bar and have a drink with me.'

‘But I've got to go on and do my fan dance,' Ginny stammered.

‘I meant
afterwards.
Christ, I don't wanna stop you showing off that body of your'n and causing no riots, now do I, blondie?'

It was the first time Ginny had ever met the governor and she wanted to make a good impression on him; after all, he had the power to make or break her as far as the club was concerned – even more so than Leila. So, after finishing her set, Ginny rushed off the stage and began rummaging frantically through the clothes rail for an outfit likely to impress him.

She eventually decided on an almost modest, black moiré, ballerina-length cocktail dress with a broad patent belt to circle her narrow waist, and a plunging, sweetheart neckline – the feature that had earned it its place in the dressing-room wardrobe – that showed her breasts off to perfection.

By the time she eventually joined the governor at the bar, Ginny was panting like a highly strung thoroughbred straining at the starting line.

‘Billy Saunders,' he introduced himself, rising to his feet and holding out a hand in friendly greeting.

Warily, Ginny smiled up at him and shook his hand – had she known of the connection between her husband and this big, attractive man, she would have been a lot more than wary, she would have been terrified.

‘What can I get you?' asked Saunders.