Follow Your Dream. Patricia Burns

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ then she thought of something else. ‘My bike! Have they damaged my bike?’

      ‘I’ll check in a minute. If they have, I’ll mend it,’ James assured her.

      Nettie looked up at him. ‘You saved my little girl,’ she said. ‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough.’

      By the time Dad and Wendy arrived home, James was the official hero of the hour.

      ‘Fought them off single-handed, he did,’ Nettie said.

      ‘If I’d have known what was going on, I would have been there with him,’ Bob explained.

      ‘Of course you would, dear,’ Susan agreed.

      Even Wendy looked mildly impressed.

      Everyone wanted to know all about James’s basic training, and he kept them all entertained with stories of the hardships he had survived until Susan reminded him that their mother was making him a special meal.

      ‘Nothing skimped now rationing’s over,’ she boasted.

      And he was gone. Lillian had been rescued by him, but had had no chance to speak to him and tell him about what she was doing towards making her dream come true. It was very poor compensation to hear Frank getting a rollicking from Gran when he finally made an appearance close to bedtime.

      Chapter Six

      THE Wednesday of the talent contest was wet and windy. Ja-nette came to call for Lillian and they cycled along the gusty seafront in their school macs carrying the party dress, ballet shoes and sheet music plus make-up that Lillian had stolen from the messy cache in Wendy’s side of the chest of drawers. They were heading for the bandstand, which was at the top of the cliff gardens on the far side of the pier from where Lillian lived. As they went, Lillian kept her nerves at bay by telling her friend all about her brush with the Teddy boys and James’s heroic rescue. Janette was awestruck.

      ‘Weren’t you terrified?’ she asked, her bike wobbling as she gazed at Lillian.

      ‘You bet I was! I thought they were going to pull me to pieces. They don’t care, you know. They don’t care about anything, Teds don’t.’

      ‘But what was in the bundle?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Lillian admitted. ‘When I went back to have a look later, it was gone. Frank must’ve sneaked in and got it some time in the evening, ’cos he didn’t come home properly till gone eleven. I think he thought everyone’d be in bed by then. Well, usually they are, but Gran and Dad stayed up. He didn’t half get a telling off from them, I can tell you.’

      ‘Serves him right.’

      ‘Do you know something? He had a go at me the next day about it! Said I should of kept quiet about it with the family! I said to him, “You owe me, Frank. I didn’t say anything to the Teds, and I didn’t tell Gran and Dad about that stuff you hid and, if James hadn’t come along, I’d of been chucked over the fence and landed on top of my bike.” But he wasn’t a bit grateful.’

      ‘The beast,’ Janette sympathised. ‘But what a bit of luck, James arriving just at that moment.’

      ‘Wasn’t it?’ Lillian agreed. The biggest bit of luck she’d had for a long time. The trouble was, she was going to have to live on that memory now, for she had seen nothing more of James that weekend. According to Susan, he had gone out with his friends on the Saturday night, stayed in for Sunday lunch with the family the next day and had set off back for Catterick by late afternoon. Now it would be another long, long six months before he got any more leave.

      They had no breath left for talking as they laboured up Pier Hill, and from there it was only a short spin along the cliff top past the Never Never Land gardens to the band stand. The building was oval shaped, with a covered stage facing away from the sea and covered seating on three sides. In the centre was a large seating area open to the weather where on nice days people sat in the sunshine to enjoy the concerts and look at the view through the glass walls.

      By the time Lillian and Janette arrived they were wet and dishevelled. Everyone else seemed to have come with their mothers, and the place was awash with loud-voiced women chivvying their children and insisting on somewhere decent to change. Lillian and Janette found the harassed-looking organisers and asked what they had to do.

      ‘Who did you say you were, dear? Lindy-Lou Parker? Oh, yes. And you’re doing what? Dancing? Have you got your music? You’re number eleven on the running order. Off you go round the back there and get changed, then someone will tell you where to sit until it’s your turn.’

      Janette was snorting with laughter as they walked away.

      ‘Lindy-Lou? Where does that come from?’

      ‘It’s what my Aunty Eileen used to call me,’ Lillian told her.

      ‘But you were only six then.’

      ‘All the same, it’s better than Lillian. More sort of stagey.’

      ‘More sort of babyish, if you ask me.’

      Still arguing, they found a damp corner of the cramped room beside the stage. Lillian stepped into the taffeta dress. As a party dress it would have been much too short for her, but it was fine for dancing as it showed off her long slim legs.

      ‘You should have tights on underneath really, but your legs are nice and brown, so perhaps it won’t notice,’ Janette said.

      ‘I did them with gravy browning, like they used to during the war. You don’t think they’ll go streaky in the rain, do you?’ Lillian asked.

      ‘Keep them covered, just in case.’

      The night before, Lillian had borrowed some of Wendy’s setting lotion, combed it through her hair, then made it into six tight little plaits. Now she unplaited them and brushed the now crinkly hair into two bunches, which she tied up with pink ribbons.

      ‘What d’you think?’ she asked.

      Janette put her head to one side, considering. ‘Well…’

      Lillian’s confidence plummeted. ‘You think it’s horrible,’ she accused.

      ‘No—’

      Lillian peered into the hand mirror she had brought with her.

      ‘You’re right, it is horrible. Oh, if only Aunty Eileen were here, she’d of done it beautifully for me.’

      ‘Well, she isn’t, so it’ll have to do,’ said her practical friend. ‘Sit down, and I’ll do your make-up.’

      Lillian submitted to Janette’s efforts with the powder and lipstick. Once more, Lillian looked in the mirror.

      ‘I look like a doll!’ she exclaimed, horrified.

      ‘It’s stage make-up. It has to be like that,’ Janette insisted.

      Lillian looked about her. Some of the pushy mothers were applying real greasepaint to their little dears’ faces. All of the performers looked like СКАЧАТЬ