Bourbon Creams and Tattered Dreams Read online

  Matty felt a flush rising to her cheeks. ‘Now that’s a bloody lie!’ she shouted out and was silenced by the judge. She didn’t give a jot about losing her inheritance, but being branded a manipulative money-grubber was an accusation she’d fight. She turned to their own barrister. ‘Did you know about this?’

  He pushed his wig back and scratched his head, which she took to be a no.

  Matty saw Will hand his barrister a couple of documents, which he presented to the judge. She had no idea what they were, but it became clear they were proof of Frank’s demands. She felt a rising panic, though she had done nothing wrong. But how had Will got hold of them? The only one who knew was Esme. Matty could see no reason why she would give evidence to Will. But she must have. Matty’s heart lurched as she felt another of her anchors slipping away. It seemed there was no one she could trust to be what she believed them to be and she reached instinctively for Sam’s hand. At least she could be sure of him.

  Their own barrister asked to see the documents and, after scanning them, threw them on the desk in front of him and picked up one of his own folders, dipping his head deep into it, lifting his glasses, peering closer, mumbling. She felt Sam fidgeting nervously, and at one point she heard him say under his breath, ‘Why don’t he get a move on? Answer him, man!’ And if he’d had his carter’s whip with him she thought he might have given a little snap to the back of the laborious lawyer’s head.

  She was surprised to see their barrister darting forward with a little jump, like a bird for a worm, up to the front bench, where he whispered to the judge, head cocked listening to the reply. Then, nodding his head, he came back to where they sat. Matty was bursting with frustration. They were talking about her, talking about her difficult, complicated relationship with Eliza, boiling her motives down to greed. She wanted to shout into their insouciant, bewigged faces, ‘It wasn’t like that!’ But without warning the judge banged his gavel, mumbled something about an adjournment to consider the new evidence, and in minutes they were back in the entrance hall.

  ‘You should have told me about the debts...’ Their barrister looked down at the floor. ‘Bit of a surprise, not keen on surprises.’ He hummed a little tune. ‘The demands for money are unlike the work of a lawyer... more “demanding money with threats” – was it?’

  And Matty nodded miserably. The barrister laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. In a surprisingly sympathetic voice, he said, ‘I’m sorry. They have no proof of debt and no proof of undue influence, but the wheels of justice turn slowly and the judge must consider the evidence.’

  *

  The result was that they were given a new court date for a week’s time, which was a problem in itself as Matty would need to take another day off work. As they walked towards Waterloo Bridge, Sam kept his arm firmly round her and they were almost there when he stopped. ‘I think you need a drink, love, and so do I.’

  They were outside an old inn called The Punch and Judy. The public bar was a smoke-filled fug of journalists and lawyers and office workers, but Sam found a table in the quieter snug. When he came back with a gin for her and a pint of bitter for himself, she was screening her face with her hand, swallowing her tears.

  ‘What you getting yourself so upset about, Matty? It’s not your doing, love. Here, drink this.’

  Her gin and tonic tasted of salt tears, but she swallowed them along with the alcohol and managed to answer. ‘I loved him, Sam, from a baby. It just hurts that he’s turned on me, for no reason. He looked at me as if he hated me in that courtroom.’

  Her brother squeezed her hand. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong. That boy’s always had a chip on his shoulder, never felt good enough for his father’s family and too good for ours. Eliza did her best but...’ He shook his head. ‘I know I’ve said it before, but...’ He lifted her chin. ‘Believe me, Matty, you’re entitled. If only...’ But he paused, as if thinking better of it.

  ‘If only what?’

  ‘Nothing. Drink up, Matty love. Let’s get home and tell poor Nellie she’ll have a few more sleepless nights to look forward to. She hasn’t been able to sleep a wink over all this.’

  ‘Sam, would you mind if I didn’t come home with you?’

  ‘No, ’course not, not if you don’t want to.’ But Sam looked surprised and Matty felt the need to explain.

  ‘I thought I’d go and see my agent, while I’m over this side.’

  ‘Right oh, love. Fingers crossed you’ll be able to get out of Peek’s and back on the stage, eh?’

  And Matty nodded, but she was going in search not of a job but an answer. Why had Esme Golding betrayed her?

  *

  Esme was seeing a young hopeful. So Matty sat in the waiting room, an airless square of quiet desperation, filled by other clients of Esme’s looking for work. The man sitting next to her suddenly extended his hand.

  ‘It’s the Cockney Canary, ain’t it?’ he asked, smiling.

  He was a red-faced, middle-aged man who looked vaguely familiar.

  ‘Tommy Turner. Terpsichorean? Sand dancing? I used to be a double act, with my brother Timmy?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ Matty remembered Tommy, but he looked different without the black tights, short checked jacket and elongated patent dance shoes he’d worn on the stage, and he had aged badly.

  ‘Remember now? The “Lardy” and the good old “Saahf”? Happy days, eh, Matty?’

  ‘Yes, Tommy, they were. So you’re on your own now, what’s Timmy doing?’

  ‘Poor old Tim. When the act went downhill, so did he. Topped ’imself.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ She hadn’t known the Turners well, but they’d always been the sort who would give a word of encouragement if your act went down badly. Now she didn’t know what to say.

  ‘No, he didn’t know nothing else but the halls and when we had to go on the relief, that did it for Timmy.’

  ‘But you’re still working?’

  ‘I come every day, gives me something to do, but she can’t find nothing for me. What about you?’ His eyes filled and Matty was worried he might cry; she was almost glad she had no success story to rub his nose in.

  ‘Not much about for me either, Tommy. Bernie at the Star’s been very good to me and I’ve had a few spots at the cine-variety shows.’

  ‘They don’t want sand dancers these days, though.’

  Matty nodded sympathetically; it was limiting to have only one talent. At least she had learned to tap dance and play the piano, and she could tell a joke reasonably well. She was about to suggest he branch out into tap when Esme’s door opened and the row of waiting clients looked up hopefully.

  A young woman of about sixteen, with platinum-blonde hair and bright red lipstick, was kissing Esme on the cheek. She walked out of the office with a bouncy stride, beaming. Matty resisted an impulse to run after her and warn her that her big break might very well lead to breaks of a different kind – broken hearts not the least among them. As Esme called her in, she noticed that Tommy’s face had fallen.

  ‘I’ll have a word with Bernie at the Star,’ she whispered and he grasped her hand, muttering his thanks.

  ‘Matty, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, darling. But what are you doing here? I thought you were in court today?’

  She offered Matty one of her black cigarettes, but Matty took out one of her own, lighting up without answering.

  ‘Well? How did it go?’ Esme asked.

  ‘I’d have thought you’d know that already. Didn’t your friend Will James telephone you with the news?’

  ‘News? Oh no, you lost? I can’t believe it. But what do you mean, my friend Will? That young rascal who’s put you through all this is no friend of mine. What would make you think that?’

  Matty leaned across to flick her cigarette in the ashtray on Esme’s desk.

  ‘We’re adjourned. I haven’t lost yet, but that’s no thanks to you! I trusted you with all that Frank business. How could you have betrayed me to Will?’

  Esme’s face
drained of colour and she pushed her hands through her tightly curled hair. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said in a stony voice. She got up and poured two whiskies. Placing one on the desk for Matty, she went on, ‘But if someone’s betrayed you, Matty, it wasn’t me. Now tell me what’s happened.’

  Esme sat at her desk, gulped down her whisky and listened intently as Matty related the accusations about her debts and how they’d been used by Will’s barrister to suggest she was nothing more than a gold-digger.

  ‘But why would I give Will any documents?’ she asked finally.

  Matty stared out of the small, grimy sash window, from which she could just see the top of the Empire Leicester Square, until pigeons fluttered down on to the sill, obscuring her view. ‘That’s what I’ve come to ask you,’ she said dully, bringing her attention back into the room. She realized that a numbness had taken hold of her and that her own glass was empty.

  ‘Matty, listen carefully, you’re not seeing properly. I want you to get out of Frank’s clutches more than anything, so why would I scupper your chance of inheriting a bit of cash?’ She waited for Matty’s answer.

  ‘There’s no reason.’

  Esme leaned over the desk. ‘No reason. And who’s always looked after you and put your interests first, since you were the same age as that little blonde I just had in here?’

  ‘You have.’

  ‘I have,’ the woman repeated, grinding the black stub of her cigarette into the ashtray. ‘Just because two people you loved have let you down, doesn’t mean you need to distrust us all!’

  Matty began to feel foolish. ‘I’m sorry, Esme. You don’t deserve it. But where did Will get the information?’

  Esme took a deep breath, tapping well-manicured fingernails against her glass.

  ‘I didn’t keep the demands from Frank’s lawyer, mostly because they weren’t worth the paper they were written on. I’m sure I gave them back to you. Did you keep them?’

  Matty looked at Esme guiltily and nodded. ‘I did... can’t think why.’

  ‘To remind yourself what a bastard he is, should you ever forget?’ Esme raised an eyebrow before asking abruptly, ‘But listen, Matty, does Will still have a key to your house?’

  *

  When she got back to Reverdy Road Matty went straight to her bedroom. She had left America in such a hurry, stuffing any papers she thought she might need into a small leather document case. But filing had never been her strong point and the papers had stayed in their disorderly home, along with some photographs and reviews she’d wanted to save from her happier early days in New York. She remembered shoving Frank’s demands into the case. Perhaps Esme was right about her reasons for keeping them, but Matty doubted it. She had enough physical and emotional scars as reminders. She pulled the case down from its home at the top of her wardrobe and tipped the contents on to her bed. Quickly sorting out the photos and cuttings, she sifted hurriedly through the other papers. Heart thumping, she spread out bills, old letters from Sam and Eliza, her passport and travel documents. The demand letters were gone.

  That devious little tea leaf! Now she was certain he had been through her things. She would have given him anything and yet he’d crept in and stolen from her. White-hot fury coursed through her as she swept the papers back into the case and slammed it back on top of the wardrobe. She went to Will’s room. When he’d stormed out last year he’d taken very little with him. Now she tugged open his wardrobe and chest of drawers – they were empty. Then something occurred to her and she rushed across the landing to Eliza’s room. The clothes that she’d folded away so carefully in the tallboy after Eliza’s death were now a jumbled mess. She felt around the bottom drawer, but the old Peek Frean’s tin full of Eliza’s memorabilia was no longer there.

  Will could have rifled the house at any time over the past few weeks. She had no idea when he’d been back. Her ten-hour days at Peek’s, along with whatever pub bookings she could get in the evenings, meant she’d seen little of the house in Reverdy Road. But the idea of Will sneaking around her home made Matty feel sick with disappointment and betrayal. The tumbled remnants of Eliza’s things felt like a desecration. She kneeled on the floor and began slowly to refold Eliza’s clothes. She picked up an old-fashioned shawl her sister had kept. It had belonged to their mother, who’d used it to wrap all the Gilbie babies in. She’d given it to Eliza for Will. Now Matty remembered herself as a very small child, being gathered in her mother’s arms, enfolded in this same shawl and she realized with a painful jolt that it would have come to her, if she’d had a child. Eliza must have been keeping it for that day. Suddenly her losses seemed too bitter to bear and she buried her face in the shawl, but instead of its soft wool, she felt only the bloody sheet that was all she’d had to swaddle her tiny baby. She sobbed into the shawl and breathed in the scent of Eliza, and her mother and the child she had lost.

  *

  During the following week she barely thought about the coming court appearance. She had found since losing her child that grief was like a tide: it rolled in and it rolled out, and sometimes the waves crashed hard enough against her chest that the breath was knocked from her. That shawl had been one of those waves and no inheritance in the world could take away the hurt; she would just have to wait for the tide to roll out again. She numbed herself with the monotony of Peek’s and let her thoughts be drowned by the raucous singing during nights at the Concorde.

  So the verdict, when it came, took her by surprise with its swiftness. They were in the courtroom for no longer than five minutes before the judge pronounced, ‘This evidence is inadmissible. I find no undue influence and declare that the will of Miss Eliza Gilbie is valid. Mr James to pay costs.’

  Bang went the gavel and their barrister looked at his watch, smiled at Will’s barrister and mouthed, ‘Lunch?’

  ‘Is that it?’ she asked Sam, but looked instead at Will. His face told her it was over. His pallor had been replaced by a purple flush and his lips were thin, tight white lines. He snatched up the trilby he’d worn for court and was about to walk out without acknowledging her, when she stepped into his path.

  ‘Will, don’t go like that—’ But he brushed past her and out into the dim corridor.

  She hurried after him, vaguely aware that Sam was following. Will was already in the cavernous, echoing entrance hall by the time she caught up with him.

  ‘Stop! Will, you can have it – take the bloody house, take the money. I never wanted it,’ she pleaded, catching hold of his arm.

  His bruised eyes suddenly lit fire. ‘I shouldn’t have to be given what’s already mine!’ His voice was trembling. ‘It’s the injustice of it. You’ll never understand, Matty, you’ve never had a serious thought in that canary brain of yours, have you? What do you think all the marches and protests are about? That’s what the struggle’s for – people should get what they’re due! I should get what I’m due!’ he spat out finally.

  She felt Sam’s arm round her shoulders and sudden, hot tears on her cheeks, as her brother stepped up and addressed Will. ‘Your mother would be ashamed of you for treating your own family like this. At least she earned her principles, but you ain’t had a day’s struggle in your life. Come on, Matty.’

  And Will, rage overriding any sense of dignity, bellowed after them. ‘Don’t you dare talk to me about my mother! I’ve got no mother, and no father and no family either!’

  8

  Mother Love

  March–April 1931

  She was thinking of Frank. Her few hundred pounds inheritance might appease him for a while, but Matty doubted simply extorting money from her would be enough to satisfy him. She’d once seen the sort of justice Frank meted out to those who betrayed him and it wasn’t the eye-for-an-eye kind. She knew he was just biding his time and she would have to wait for his next move.

  Today, after her ten hours at Peek’s, she’d gone straight to an evening entertaining the clientele at the Land of Green Ginger and was now drinking
a cup of tea, trying to find energy to get herself upstairs to bed. She’d just eased her feet out of her tight shoes when she jumped at a loud knocking on the door. Had Frank made his next move? Cold fear gripped her; should she run into the backyard? The neighbours might hear her if she screamed loudly enough, but she decided it was better to try ringing the police. She might just have time. There was another rap on the door and with a thumping heart Matty crept to the front parlour. She made her way across the darkened room to the phone table by the window. She held her breath, picked up the receiver and at the same time peered out of the window. She let the receiver fall. It wasn’t Frank, but it was still a very unwelcome visitor.

  His eyes were barely able to focus on her and he supported himself by leaning on the door jamb.

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t use your key,’ she said, not inviting him in. She had no energy for a fight with a drunken Will tonight.

  He grinned stupidly at her and his hand slid off the door jamb so that he tipped forward into her arms.

  ‘Shorry,’ he mumbled, sliding down on to the passage floor, where he sat staring up at her as though waiting to be rescued.

  ‘You’re as pissed as a puddin’, you silly sod.’ Matty bent down and draped his arm over her shoulders, then heaved him up and led him into the kitchen. His legs began to buckle and she propped him on the nearest kitchen chair.

  ‘I wondered when you’d notice I’d paid you a visit, not very obsh, obsh, obsh...’

  ‘Oh shut yer cake ’ole, Will, I’ve had about enough of you. If you weren’t so blind drunk I’d tell you what I really thought of you sneaking round my room, going through my things, but I’m not wasting my breath.’

  ‘Deshppicable is the word you’re looking for, Matty dear, deshppicable...’

  ‘I know what word I’m looking for but I wouldn’t lower myself to use it...’

  ‘Barshdud,’ he giggled. ‘True, Matty dearest, in every sense.’ Then, looking at her with a sly smile, attempting to stroke the side of his nose but missing, he said, ‘But ishh not just me... I’m not the only one, am I?’ And he giggled again.