The Dressmaker - Beryl Bainbridge [51]
‘How much did that material cost you?’ she asked.
‘Four shillings a yard,’ said Nellie.
‘You were done. I saw some just like that in Wharton’s window. I swear it was a bob cheaper.’
‘What Wharton’s?’ asked Nellie, not looking up.
‘That shop near Ethel Freeman’s house. Round the córner from where Frisby Dyke’s used to be.’
‘Ethel Freeman never lived near Frisby Dyke’s,’ said Nellie. ‘You’re thinking of someone else.’
‘Get away. I went there regular.’
‘Not Ethel Freeman,’ Nellie said again.
It made Margo mad the way Nellie never gave up, never admitted she could be wrong. She was like a bull terrier with its teeth dug in. She would die rather than let go.
‘I’ve joined the Dramatics,’ she said, daring Nellie to make a scathing remark.
But Nellie didn’t say it was foolish or wonder how long that little phase would last. ‘That’s nice,’ was all she said, bunched up against the sofa as she snipped at the curve of the armhole, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth with the effort of cutting straight. She wanted to make a lovely job of the dress. She was very fond of Valerie. For all the difference in their attitude to life she could admire the girl. Never underhand, Valerie gave the impression she knew how to deal with living. She was confident. Nellie had thought of giving her the dress as a present, but no one had ever mentioned a wedding or given any indication of how long the engagement might be. They were going to have a party – everyone in the road invited, people from the camp, relatives from Yorkshire, a really big do. No one knew how much longer the war might last, whether Chuck would be sent abroad. It was all indefinite.
‘If the war ends,’ said Margo, ‘will Chuck stay on, or will Valerie rush off to America?’
‘How do I know?’ Nellie said, ‘you see more of them than I do.’
Jack came and they listened to Gilly Potter on the wireless talking about Hogs Norton. Rita stayed upstairs. Jack called her down for a cup of tea and a cream cracker, and she wandered round the kitchen like a stray animal, scattering crumbs from her mouth, slopping tea into her saucer.
‘Get away!’ cried Nellie, fearing damage to the green taffeta on the table. So she ran upstairs again, tears of affront in her eyes, slamming her bedroom door in a temper.
On Tuesday Margo was told to come to the Dramatics room the following evening for an audition.
‘A what?’ she cried appalled. ‘I can’t do no audition.’
‘We only want to hear your voice, girl. We’re not asking for bleeding Shakespeare.’
On Wednesday morning when the alarm went for six o’clock she shut her eyes again, tight.
‘Get up, Marge!’ said Nellie, kicking her on the ankle. ‘Alarm’s gone.’
‘I feel terrible,’ she moaned. ‘I feel that poorly. I think I’ll go in later when I feel more myself.’
‘Get off, there was nothing wrong with you last night.’
But she couldn’t very well drag her out of bed, she couldn’t dress her and push her out of the door. Marge stayed where she was till midday, waiting till Nellie went out shopping on Breck Road.
‘I may pop over and see Jack,’ Nellie called, listening to Marge wheezing in the bedroom. Marge didn’t reply. She was lying upstairs, right as rain, smoking her cigar ettes in bed.
Margo wanted to be really ready for the audition. She washed all over and shook some of Nellie’s talcum powder inside her corsets. She was bound to get sweaty, being nervous. She tried singing the chorus of ‘I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside’, but she broke into a fit of coughing when the band played ‘tum, diddly um tum tum’. She put her earrings on, and a bracelet, and pinned a brooch to the front of her dress. Then she unpinned it, because she didn’t want to seem to be trying too hard. It was her talent they were after, not the crown jewels. When she was going downstairs, someone knocked at the front door. She saw the outline of a man’s head outside the glass. It was Ira. She led him through into the front room. Afterwards she