Chapter Fifty-One

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

S ally had seen the advertisements, of course. She read the Highbridge Gazette , like everyone else, and most of the pub regulars had mentioned it, too. The day of the first audition she had spent in the park with Dougie, and the second with Noah’s parents and his brother in Sheffield. Even after Clive got his share, the tips were healthy enough for her to take a trip every month or so, if she also kept her hours up at the Metropole. Dougie flourished under their fussing. The summer was easier on his chest, but she dreaded winter coming again. She set aside her shillings, promising this time that if it got bad, she would take him to the doctor, no matter the expense.

On Tuesday morning, then, after she finished her hours at the Metropole, she took the tram home and climbed the hill with a feeling of relief. The question of whether she would try out or not was settled. She would not step on that stage. Not feel the weight of Tom watching her. Not when his family had left her boy without a father.

She let herself in at the side door and called out a hello to Belle and Alfred. She had her foot on the bottom stair, thinking of the small tasks and duties she aimed to get done in the rest of her day, when Belle called out.

‘Can you come into the saloon for a minute, Sally?’

Her heart froze in her chest. Belle’s voice was just like Mrs Parsons’ had been when she’d been let go from the grocer’s. Did Belle and Alfred have nieces who were after her attic? She was already running numbers in her head, thinking what a room in one of the lodging houses up the road would cost by the time she pushed open the door into the saloon.

Stella Stanmore was sitting on one of the benches facing the bar, a cup of tea on the table in front of her. Belle and Alfred, looking somewhere between starry-eyed and terrified, sat opposite her.

‘Look who’s come to visit you, Sally!’ Belle squeaked and then, without waiting for a reply, got to her feet and scurried out of the room, dragging her husband behind her, and blushing and mumbling as Stella thanked her for the tea.

Sally blinked. She looked a lot healthier than when Sally had seen her at Christmas – much more like the photographs in the magazines – but here she was, in full colour. Her ice-blonde hair was done up with a diamond clip, and her dress was patterned over with large red and black triangles.

‘Have we met, Mrs Blow?’ Stella asked. ‘I think not, but you look familiar.’

Sally stayed where she was. Just looking at Stella made her feel as if she had dirt under her nails, her working dress and blouse suddenly getting shabbier under Stella’s gaze.

‘I was holding the basin for Mrs Briggs,’ Sally said simply. ‘The day everyone got sick.’

Stella nodded and waved a hand at the stool. ‘Of course. The day I ran away like an awful coward and hid until my friends made me see sense.’ She fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Won’t you sit down?’

Sally found she’d rather stay where she was. ‘What are you doing here, Miss Stanmore?’

‘I’ve come to fetch you, Sally. For the Search for a Star Pageant. And do call me Stella.’

‘I’ve done with The Empire, miss. I told them all that weeks and weeks ago.’

Stella sipped her tea. ‘Yes, yes, I’ve heard all that. Grace told me. But I’ve chosen to ignore it. Did you know I’m going to be one of the judges? And that the Prince of Wales will be attending?

Sally shifted her weight, then decided she’d sit after all. She’d been cleaning since seven in the morning and the soles of her feet were starting to burn. She set down her bag and basket and settled on the stool.

‘’Course I’ve bloody heard! The Gazette ’s been blaring it every day for a fortnight, and even Belle and Alf are putting up bunting, and he won’t be coming anywhere near here.’

‘But you aren’t interested in performing for the Prince of Wales?’

Sally frowned. ‘Prince is neither here nor there. I can’t go on that stage. When I think what Noah went through . . .’

She looked down, her voice getting choked, at the lattice shadows across the top of the table.

‘He didn’t tell you anything about the problems he was having himself, did he?’ Stella said softly. ‘And he was proud of you, wasn’t he?’

Sally felt a bubble of sorrow in her throat. ‘He was so young,’ she said with a gasp. ‘Only twenty! He should be there when I sing, not Tom. It’s not fair.’

‘No,’ Stella said, her eyes clouding. ‘You’re right about that. He’d want you to sing, though, wouldn’t he? And maybe he’d like to see his son raised by a man like Tom Lassiter.’

‘That’s . . . There’s nothing . . .’

Stella waited, but Sally couldn’t put the words into a shape.

‘Look, Sally, I’m sure you loved Noah very much, and I’m sure The Empire did feel tainted after you found out what happened to him. But isn’t there something else? Are you afraid, Sally? You’ve had to keep your chin up and carry on for all these years since Noah died.’

How did she know to say those words , Sally thought, feeling it like a punch.

‘Maybe just making do and having the dream is better than getting this close and not making it? Have you dreamt about it – that moment of being applauded on a stage like that? Are you afraid that failing would be worse than not trying?’

Sally couldn’t say anything to that. ‘I didn’t audition.’

‘Ruby Rowntree gave you a song. You don’t need to audition.’ Stella sighed. ‘I did something terrible recently. Not anyone else. Me. And then I found out that most of my suffering was self-inflicted. I’ve come to believe the dead don’t want us to suffer, Sally. Not the ones who cared for us. They’re cheering us on.’

Stella reached into her neat leather purse and pulled out a card, then laid it on the table.

Sally read it. ‘You are cordially invited to attend the Empire Records Search for a Star Pageant. To be judged by Stella Stanmore, Harold Drabble, Josie Clarence and Lancelot Drake, in the presences of Their Royal Highnesses the Prince of Wales and Crown Prince Stefan of Marakovia.’

Names had been filled in, and Sally recognised Mr Poole’s lovely handwriting. Belle, Alfred and Dougie, and Mr and Mrs Blow.

‘I’m not on it,’ Sally said, looking up.

‘No, you’ll be backstage waiting for your turn!’ Stella said, laughing. ‘Bring Noah’s parents. The Empire isn’t to blame for your husband’s death. And I’m quite certain he’d want you to be there. Arrive by five, please.’