Follow Your Dream. Patricia Burns

growling with jealousy. It wasn’t fair! Why couldn’t she be beautiful like Wendy?

      Below her, the young men running the speedway showed off, jumping on the side bumpers of the cars driven by pretty girls and flirting with them. All these people enjoying themselves. For her, summer only meant more work to do at Sunny View. She finished her ice cream and sighed deeply. She didn’t want to go home, but staying here was only making her feel more fed up.

      She drew her eyes away from the speedway and looked at the pier pavilion with its theatre. A long banner advertised the summer show, with its singers and dancers. Dancers. An even deeper gloom settled on her. That was another thing. She was no nearer her dream of becoming a professional dancer. Then into her mind came something that James had said when they were discussing their futures.

      ‘It’s no good just waiting for fate to take its course; you have to do something yourself.’

      ‘I am,’ she had told him. ‘I practise every day.’

      ‘But that’s no use if nobody sees you but me and Janette. We’re not going to give you a job on the stage.’

      Lillian had flared up at that, and asked him what he was doing towards becoming the owner of a garage with a car of his own.

      ‘At the moment I’m learning all I can, not just how to fix cars, but how to run the business. There’s all sorts of things that could be done better where I work,’ he told her. ‘Then I’ll try to get into REME when I do my national service and get a bit more training there, and when I come out I’m going to start doing repair work for people on Sundays and evenings and build up a list of customers while I save up for equipment. Then I’ll rent a small place and work my way up.’

      Lillian had been very impressed. He really did have it all planned out. His was not just a dream, it was a real ambition. It made hers look like childish fantasy.

      As she thought of this, her eye was caught by a poster with a dancer on it fixed to the railings just along from where she was leaning. She moved over to read it better.

      Carnival Talent Contest—Children—Juniors—Adults—Big Prizes—Enter now!

      A bubble of excitement formed inside Lillian. This was it! This was her chance to show what she could do! She grabbed her bike and pedalled up the steep hill to the Carnival offices to get an entry form, then freewheeled back down again and headed for home, her head buzzing with ideas of what she might do.

      The moment she stepped in at the back door, she was in trouble. Bob was sitting at the kitchen table, studying for his banking exam.

      ‘Gran wants to see you,’ he said in a tone that made it sound like a threat.

      Her confident mood evaporated. It was as if a heavy cloak had fallen over her shoulders, weighing her down, smothering her. Lillian went along to the front room and knocked. Gran didn’t even call for her to come in, she opened the door herself.

      ‘Where on earth have you been? Why are you never here when you’re needed?’

      ‘I…I didn’t know…’ Lillian stammered.

      ‘That’s no excuse. Your mother’s ill or something—’ Gran managed to imply that the illness was minor and probably imaginary ‘—and the sheets need to go on number five. What if we want to let that and it’s not ready? Go and see to it straight away.’

      It was no use Lillian suggesting that someone else might have done it. Wendy was still at work; Frank was probably out, Bob was studying and of course Gran herself couldn’t do it. She was about to run upstairs when there was a ring at the front door. She hesitated. Usually she would have hurried to answer it, but Gran was just as near as she was and, as it was sure to be potential guests, she would want to look them over.

      ‘What are you standing there for?’ Gran demanded. ‘Go and answer it before they go away. We can’t afford to lose good money.’

      Lillian did as she was bid. Standing on the doorstep were a young couple with a cheap suitcase each. The girl looked very nervous. She was half hiding behind the man. Lillian knew immediately what their fate would be but, with Gran listening to what she was saying, she didn’t dare suggest politely that they tried elsewhere.

      ‘If you’d like to come in, I’ll just fetch the landlady,’ she told them, using the formula that Gran required.

      She put her head round Gran’s door again, informed her that there were guests to see her and set off to get the sheets out of the airing cupboard. As she went up the stairs, she heard Gran’s heavy footsteps crossing the hall floor and her icy voice.

      ‘Are you married?’

      The man answered, sounding offended. ‘Yeah, ’course we are.’

      ‘You don’t look like it. Where’s your wedding certificate?’

      ‘At home, ain’t it? We don’t carry it around with us,’ the man said.

      ‘I don’t have any funny business going on under my roof.’

      ‘Here, what are you saying? You calling me a liar?’

      The man sounded really truculent now. Lillian opened the airing cupboard door as quietly as she could, so that she didn’t miss anything.

      ‘I’m saying I have a right to say who I have using my rooms.’

      The young woman spoke now, her voice squeaky with fear. ‘Come on, Pete, let’s leave it.’

      ‘No, I’m not bleeding leaving it. This old bat thinks we’re here for a dirty weekend. Bleeding cheek!’

      ‘I will not be sworn at. Kindly leave.’

      Lillian leaned over the banisters. She could see the top of the young couple’s heads. The woman was edging towards the open door.

      ‘Please, Pete—’

      ‘Don’t worry, love. I wouldn’t stay here if you paid me. The cheek! I never heard the like. Come along, we’ll find somewhere what’s pleased to take our money.’

      ‘This is a respectable house,’ was Gran’s parting shot, before she closed the door behind them.

      Lillian changed the bedlinen in room five, making crisp hospital corners as she had been taught, then ran up to the attic and tapped on the door of her parents’ room. Her mum was often what she called ‘a bit under the weather’ but she very rarely took to her bed, especially not on a Saturday, their busiest day.

      ‘Mum?’

      She peeped round the door. Her mother was lying curled up in the high double bed. The green curtains were drawn, giving her face a ghostly tinge.

      ‘Mum, are you all right? Can I get you anything?’

      Her mother opened her eyes a little. ‘Does your gran want me?’ She sounded very tired.

      ‘No, no, it’s all right. I’ve done number five, and I can do tea if you like. What’s the matter, Mum? Has the doctor been?’

      ‘No, no, it’s just—you know—women’s troubles.’

      Lillian did know about women’s troubles now, but hers had not yet caused her to take to her bed.

      ‘D’you want a cuppa or anything?’

      ‘No, nothing. I just want to sleep.’

      She closed her eyes again. Lillian crept away. It didn’t even occur to her to wish that she had a mother she could confide in, someone whom she could share her hopes with and consult about what she might do for the talent contest. Her mother had always been too tired or too busy to give her any attention. But oh, if only Aunty Eileen were still around…

      The rest of the afternoon passed in a flurry of work. Two more lots of guests arrived, passed Gran’s stringent suitability test, were told the house rules and were shown their rooms. Lillian got on with