he’d dismiss her on the spot.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Goldstein. The last customer mustn’t have closed the door properly and it’s blown open in the wind.’ That’ll do for a start she thought, and the piano playing? ‘… and I needed to rehearse,’ she said calmly.
‘Rehearse?’ That really was a question.
‘Yes, rehearse. I’m playing in a concert.’ She felt like her voice had a will of its own, picking words out of the air. ‘You know … the benefit concert …’ He raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘… at the Grosvenor Hall.’ She relaxed. That was it; say it again. ‘I’m going to be performing with my sisters. We’re the Goulding Sisters.’ Goldstein looked puzzled. ‘We sing,’ she added.
‘Peggy.’ Dropping the ‘Miss Goulding’ was a good sign. ‘Why did you not tell me this before?’ He was clearly delighted. ‘Let us lock up quickly and I will give you a lift to the Grosvenor Hall, yes?’
‘No it’s all right. I couldn’t take you out of your way. It’s not far to walk.’
‘It’s not out of my way at all.’ He smiled broadly. ‘I too am going to the concert. The organisers have sent me a special invitation to thank me for my donation. You will be on the stage and I,’ he paused for effect, ‘will be on the front row!’
*
About the same time as Peggy was settling herself into the leather seat of Goldstein’s Sunbeam Talbot, Sheila was climbing on board a tram at the end of Manor Street. She, too, had had a busy day. They’d brought Aunt Hannah downstairs after her breakfast to sit in the kitchen in front of the fire. It proved to be a mistake. She was constantly calling through the curtain for Aggie. Could she get her a drink of tea; another cushion; the fire needed poked; needed more coal; she was too hot; too cold; thirsty; hungry. As if that wasn’t distracting enough, every now and again she’d recognise a customer’s voice and call out, ‘Is that you, Mrs Jackson?’ or whoever, followed by, ‘Come on through and let’s have a bit a craic.’ Then it would be, ‘Aggie, will you not give the woman a cup of tea in her hand?’ Again and again, until Sheila was left alone in the shop serving customers, while poor Aggie served Aunt Hannah and half the street in the back kitchen.
They’d locked the shop door at six o’clock, just enough time for Sheila to have a good wash and change into her black skirt and mauve blouse. She tied the bow several times in front of the mirror in Aggie’s bedroom, but she just couldn’t get it to sit right. Never mind, Mammy would sort it when she got there, if there was enough time. She managed her hair much better. When she had taken out the rags that morning, her hair was in tight ringlets and she managed to resist the urge to put a comb through them so that they would fall into soft curls. She was to comb them out just before she left the McCracken’s, when there would be just enough bounce left in them to look natural by the time she got to the hall.
It was raining when she left the shop so she tied her scarf around her head and hoped it wouldn’t flatten her hair too much. The tram was full and she had to stand up. When the conductor came for her fare she asked him to put her off close to the Opera House. As the tram lurched its way forward in fits and starts through the heavy rain, she began to feel a little sick trying to keep her balance. The smell of damp clothing and sweat wafted around her. Next to her a man sniffed constantly and she had to turn away each time he was wracked with coughing.
An elderly woman sitting further along the tram stood up and rang the bell for it to stop. Sheila moved to one side to let her pass and the woman looked up at her and frowned. ‘Didn’t you want the Opera House, dear?’ Sheila nodded. ‘Well, you’ve missed it I’m afraid, it was the last stop.’ Seeing the look of panic on Sheila’s face she added, ‘See these conductors, you couldn’t trust them. Why don’t you get off here
‘I’m sorry, Mr Goldstein. The last customer mustn’t have closed the door properly and it’s blown open in the wind.’ That’ll do for a start she thought, and the piano playing? ‘… and I needed to rehearse,’ she said calmly.
‘Rehearse?’ That really was a question.
‘Yes, rehearse. I’m playing in a concert.’ She felt like her voice had a will of its own, picking words out of the air. ‘You know … the benefit concert …’ He raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘… at the Grosvenor Hall.’ She relaxed. That was it; say it again. ‘I’m going to be performing with my sisters. We’re the Goulding Sisters.’ Goldstein looked puzzled. ‘We sing,’ she added.
‘Peggy.’ Dropping the ‘Miss Goulding’ was a good sign. ‘Why did you not tell me this before?’ He was clearly delighted. ‘Let us lock up quickly and I will give you a lift to the Grosvenor Hall, yes?’
‘No it’s all right. I couldn’t take you out of your way. It’s not far to walk.’
‘It’s not out of my way at all.’ He smiled broadly. ‘I too am going to the concert. The organisers have sent me a special invitation to thank me for my donation. You will be on the stage and I,’ he paused for effect, ‘will be on the front row!’
*
About the same time as Peggy was settling herself into the leather seat of Goldstein’s Sunbeam Talbot, Sheila was climbing on board a tram at the end of Manor Street. She, too, had had a busy day. They’d brought Aunt Hannah downstairs after her breakfast to sit in the kitchen in front of the fire. It proved to be a mistake. She was constantly calling through the curtain for Aggie. Could she get her a drink of tea; another cushion; the fire needed poked; needed more coal; she was too hot; too cold; thirsty; hungry. As if that wasn’t distracting enough, every now and again she’d recognise a customer’s voice and call out, ‘Is that you, Mrs Jackson?’ or whoever, followed by, ‘Come on through and let’s have a bit a craic.’ Then it would be, ‘Aggie, will you not give the woman a cup of tea in her hand?’ Again and again, until Sheila was left alone in the shop serving customers, while poor Aggie served Aunt Hannah and half the street in the back kitchen.
They’d locked the shop door at six o’clock, just enough time for Sheila to have a good wash and change into her black skirt and mauve blouse. She tied the bow several times in front of the mirror in Aggie’s bedroom, but she just couldn’t get it to sit right. Never mind, Mammy would sort it when she got there, if there was enough time. She managed her hair much better. When she had taken out the rags that morning, her hair was in tight ringlets and she managed to resist the urge to put a comb through them so that they would fall into soft curls. She was to comb them out just before she left the McCracken’s, when there would be just enough bounce left in them to look natural by the time she got to the hall.
It was raining when she left the shop so she tied her scarf around her head and hoped it wouldn’t flatten her hair too much. The tram was full and she had to stand up. When the conductor came for her fare she asked him to put her off close to the Opera House. As the tram lurched its way forward in fits and starts through the heavy rain, she began to feel a little sick trying to keep her balance. The smell of damp clothing and sweat wafted around her. Next to her a man sniffed constantly and she had to turn away each time he was wracked with coughing.
An elderly woman sitting further along the tram stood up and rang the bell for it to stop. Sheila moved to one side to let her pass and the woman looked up at her and frowned. ‘Didn’t you want the Opera House, dear?’ Sheila nodded. ‘Well, you’ve missed it I’m afraid, it was the last stop.’ Seeing the look of panic on Sheila’s face she added, ‘See these conductors, you couldn’t trust them. Why don’t you get off here
Similar Books
