Follow Your Dream. Patricia Burns

did not respond.

      ‘I take it you can make tea?’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ Lillian said. What had that to do with selling shoes?

      ‘And can you handle money? Eighteen and elevenpence ha’penny, what’s the change from a five pound note?’

      ‘Four pounds, one and a ha’penny,’ Lillian said promptly. That was easy. She had been doing shopping since she was five years old.

      The manager nodded. He went and took a red stiletto from one of the displays and handed it to her.

      ‘Go into the store room and find the other half of this pair,’ he said.

      Lillian went through the door at the back of the shop. It was dark and cold out here and the floor was bare, unlike the cosy carpeted brightness of the shop. She found the light switch and gazed at the shelves and shelves of shoeboxes, stacked right up to the ceiling. Where to start? She scanned the rows, looking at the pictures on the ends of the boxes. The nearest ones were all men’s shoes. She found the ladies’ section, dismissed the flat styles, scanned the stilettos. There—at the top! She grabbed a stepladder that was standing nearby, climbed up, checked the size, pulled out a box. Inside was just one shoe, the partner of the one she was holding. She scampered into the shop.

      ‘There!’ she said, triumphant.

      The manager looked vaguely surprised. ‘That was very quick.’ He offered her a trial of a month.

      It wasn’t a very exciting job, as it turned out. On her first morning, the manager set her to dusting the shelves.

      ‘Have you finished that?’ He ran a finger over the surfaces. ‘Yes, well, that’s all right. You can go and put the kettle on now and start making tea for the mid-morning break.’

      After that, she was set to sorting out the stand containing the shoelaces. By the end of the day, she had hardly touched a shoe. She certainly hadn’t spoken to a customer. That set the pattern. As the junior, she was mostly cleaning and tidying, fetching things for the other staff and running errands for the manager. But it was her job and she made the best of it. It was nice to put on her own clothes in the morning instead of hand-me-down school uniform, and to be called ‘Miss Parker’ in front of the customers. It was lovely to get her little brown paper envelope of money at the end of the week, even if most of it did have to go to her mother for her keep. She was a grown-up now, taking her own place in the world.

      A small corner of her heart hoped that this might help her when it came to seeing James again. Mostly she felt totally humiliated when she thought of their last meeting. However much she told herself that it had all been Wendy’s fault, she knew she had behaved badly. Of course he was going to treat her like a child if she shouted at him then blubbed all over him like that. What had made her do that? She couldn’t understand what had happened to her. Being with him seemed to bring on a sort of madness, making her lose all self-control. Every time she thought of it, she wanted to curl up and die. But then there had been that wonderful, wonderful moment when he’d taken her in his arms. She relived that a thousand times, making it end differently in her imagination. Maybe, just maybe, when they next met he would see this young woman who worked for her own living and not just a scruffy kid. The thought kept her going until the next blow fell.

      ‘James had some worrying news in his last letter,’ Susan announced one evening. Now that she and Bob were engaged and saving up for a house, they spent a lot of evenings at each other’s homes rather than going out to the pictures or dancing. This particular evening, Lillian was sitting at the table in the kitchen reading a library book while Bob studied for his banking exams and Susan knitted him a jumper. Bob merely grunted at her statement, but Lillian was instantly alert.

      ‘Did he? What was it?’

      ‘Well, he’s been made a corporal, which is good, of course, but he’s got a posting abroad.’

      A terrible chill struck Lillian, like an icy hand clutching at her entrails.

      ‘Posting?’ she managed to say.

      ‘Yes, he’s being sent to Cyprus. Poor Mum’s beside herself. It’s so dangerous out there with all those dreadful EOKA people letting off bombs and things. James is playing it down, of course, so as not to worry Mum. He says in Cyprus there are oranges and lemons growing on trees, which must look so pretty.’

      ‘When they say you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go,’ Bob commented, without taking his eyes off the page he was looking at.

      ‘Well, yes, I know,’ Susan agreed, ever the good fiancée. ‘But poor Mum! It’s brought it all back to her, you see, having James go off to a war zone. She can’t help thinking about Dad.’

      ‘It’ll all blow over soon enough,’ Bob said. He had never been further than Catterick on his national service.

      ‘W-when’s he leaving?’ Lillian managed to ask.

      ‘Next month. He’ll be there till he’s finished his time.’

      A whole year! James was going to be away for a whole year! And to Cyprus, where guerrilla fighters were attacking British troops. It wasn’t just a jaunt abroad, like being sent to Germany. He could be involved in real fighting. How was she going to bear it? She couldn’t even spill it all to Janette the next morning like she used to when they were at school together, but had to wait all through a miserable day till she could cycle round to Janette’s after tea.

      ‘My life is finished!’ she announced as she burst through the door to Janette’s flat. ‘There’s nothing left to live for.’

      ‘Oh, so you won’t want to see this, then,’ Janette said, waving a blurry carbon copied piece of paper in front of her.

      ‘James is going to Cyprus. He’s going to be away for—what’s that thing?’

      Despite herself, her eyes had lighted on the word Dancers on Janette’s paper.

      ‘Sure you want to see?’ Janette teased, backing away from her with the paper held above her head.

      ‘Yes—come on—what is it?’

      ‘No more flipping James?’

      ‘OK, OK.’

      Eagerly, Lillian read the notice. Do you like dancing? it asked. Are you fifteen or over? Come and audition for the Mamie Hill Dancers and help with our charity work dancing for Old Folks etc.

      Her excitement dimmed a little at the words charity work. This was not a professional troupe, then. But it was a start. It was dancing, up on a stage, in front of an audience. She made a note of the time and place of the audition and spent the rest of the evening discussing it with Janette. James wasn’t forgotten, but she did have something to look forward to once more.

      Mamie Hill turned out to be a tall lady with a cigarette in a long holder and rather too much make-up, who could have been any age from forty to sixty. She made an exotic figure in her bright dress and flowing scarves in the middle of a dusty church hall. What impressed Lillian was the fact that she had been a professional dancer—it showed in every movement she made.

      After a word or two about the troupe, she got each of the dozen or so girls who had arrived to dance on the stage, accompanied on the out-of-tune piano by a woman who chainsmoked through the whole proceedings. Lillian did her We’re a Couple of Swells routine, enjoying the thrill of it all over again. As she dropped into the final splits on the rough boarding of the stage, she felt a splinter ram into her thigh, but managed to keep the bright smile on her face. She got up and looked at Miss Hill. Had she liked it? So much was riding on this. This was more than just one contest, this was the chance to learn and perform.

      Mamie Hill opened her notebook, her gold propelling pencil poised. ‘What did you say your name was, dear?’

      ‘Lindy-Lou Parker.’

      ‘And have you been dancing for long?’

      ‘Oh—ages,’ Lillian