Patricia Burns - Follow Your Dream

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 buttering the bread and setting the table so that tea was ready for when for Dad and Wendy came in from work and Frank turned up from wherever he had been. After tea she had the washing-up and clearing away to do. Wendy was supposed to help her, but she was getting ready for a date.

Lillian was dying to rush round to Janette’s, tell her about the contest and sift through her pile of records to find a suitable one to perform to. But with Mum in bed and Wendy and the boys going out, there was nobody left but herself to make tea and cocoa, answer the door to any late guests and see to anything Gran might want. Lillian spent the evening humming tunes and trying out steps. A fast happy song or a slow dreamy one? Tap or ballet? She just couldn’t make her mind up. And then there was the question of what she was going to wear. It was all a lot more complicated than she had first thought. One thing was clear, though, she now had something to prove to James that she was just as serious as he was about achieving her aim.

On Sunday morning her mother was on her feet again, though looking far from well, but Lillian still had to help prepare the breakfasts for the PGs, clear away and wash up afterwards and strip their beds when they had left. Then there was Sunday lunch, with more washing-up and the cooker to clean.

‘Horrible, horrible thing!’ she growled, scrubbing grease from the inside of the oven.

It was nearly three in the afternoon before she finally made it round to Janette’s, and by then she was just bursting with impatience.

Her friend was thrilled with the idea of entering the talent contest.

‘You are brave! I like doing shows with the dancing school, but I couldn’t get up there and dance in front of judges.’

‘It’s a way to get noticed,’ Lillian said.

‘Won’t your family mind?’

This had been bothering Lillian. There was no danger of their going to the contest but, if she won, she would be in the local paper. She couldn’t imagine what the reaction would be.

‘I’m not going to think about that,’ she said. ‘Let’s decide what music I should choose.’

It took two days of constant mind-changing before she finally decided on We’re a Couple of Swells. The music was jaunty but not too fast and gave her an opportunity to put some gymnastics into the dance. She and Janette cobbled together bits of routines Janette had learnt at her classes with new ideas of Lillian’s that had been inspired by trips to the cinema and the variety shows she had watched on Janette’s parents’ television.

‘It’s no good trying to look like Grace Kelly or someone like that. My dance teacher says people like young girls to look like young girls, not sophisticated women. You need to be fresh and lively. People like lively. It makes them feel happy,’ Janette said.