‘Why can’t he be more like Angus, riding horses and living in the Highlands?’ And she began humming ‘Auld Lang Syne’, this time softly, sadly. And without thinking, Caroline dejectedly joined in. ‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot.’
The train arrived, full as usual, so they stood, holding on to the rail, and as it plunged into a tunnel, Caroline knew the dream had come to an end. The light at the other side of the Underground would be lifeless and drab, the same as it had always been.
Her life would be plunged back into grey, bleak and inexorable.
LUCY
BACKSTAGE AT THE APOLLO THEATRE,THE CACOPHONY OFwomen’s chatter was deafening. A constant stream of fear gushed through Lucy as she squeezed between the half-naked girls in the changing area. Everyone else seemed to know one another, but Lucy was lost, invisible.
Back in Guest Room 33, buoyed by Richard’s assurances, she’d been brimming with excitement and confidence.
But now that she was here, she felt completely out of her depth.
She hadn’t a clue what to expect. No one she knew had ever been in a competition like this.
Not that she’d asked.
She hadn’t wanted to tell her colleagues in the palace. With their suspicions about Richard and doubts about her new blonde hair, she’d decided not to share this new adventure. Shirley and the others would never understand how much it meant to her to be onstage. It was up to her and her alone to forge ahead.
In the end, it was Miranda who had given her the money for the hairdresser, although she’d had to go to the cheap place on the corner. It hadn’t turned out how she’d expected, brighter and more garish. She’d pay Miranda back as soon as she could, which would hopefully be once she’d collected the thousand-pound first prize.
The possibility that she might not win had been all too casually swept aside.
But now it seemed possible, if not probable.
Balancing in the squashed changing room, she slithered into herblue silk gown. It was nicer than the other girls’ dresses, some of which were homemade, the new nylons in gauche pinks and yellows. The room stank of cheap perfume and face powder, and from the stage area, a band played ‘There’s No Business Like Show Business’ with building excitement.
Nervously, Lucy opened her compact and added more lipstick and mascara. She didn’t want to look childish or out of place, the naïve country girl she now felt.
And what about Richard? She hadn’t seen him on her way inside – yet another reason for her growing anxiety. She’d thought about him a great deal since their last meeting. Once she received the prize money, she’d be able to buy better clothes, maybe take elocution lessons, become the kind of woman he wanted.
But where was he?
Could her friends be right about him?
Shirley’s wedding was only a week away now, and Lucy was hoping to show her old neighbour how well she was getting on without her, how she was a beauty queen with a rich and handsome man on her arm.
Had she been wrong?
‘Nice dress. Lucky you’ve got the cleavage for it.’ The girl beside her had a thick Cockney accent, her hair a dazzling orange red, as if she’d poured neat dye over it.
Lucy nodded. ‘It’s the first time I’ve ever done anything like this. Have you done it before?’
The girl let out a short laugh. ‘It’s my fourth, and I’m still only seventeen. Need the winnings to make ends meet. I’m hoping to win the thousand pounds tonight, or there’ll be hell to pay with Mum.’
Lucy was about to reply, but a balding man with a cigarette glued to his lips ordered them to line up. As they went, he patted their shoulders and hips to slide them into place, like cattle going into a milking shed.
‘Follow the girl in front of you, and absolutely no lingering. Anyone hogging the stage will be disqualified. Collect your paddle before you go onstage.’ On her way past him, he whispered, ‘Let me know if you wanta bit of extra luck, love,’ into her ear, making her jump as his practised hand gave her bottom a squeeze. Frantically, she leapt into line.
Before she had time to see what she was supposed to do, a paddle with the number eleven was shoved into her hand, and out they paraded onto the stage, the spotlights glaring into her eyes, the shadowy audience applauding and cheering from afar.
As instructed, she followed the girl in front, walking across to the middle of the stage, posing momentarily like a model, before turning and joining the row along the back.
As her eyes began to adjust to the lights, she scanned the audience, surprised to see so many men. There were a number of older women, too, probably mothers of other contestants like the poor redhead.
The presenter was walking down the queue of girls, having a brief chat with each, things like, ‘What kind of job is lucky enough to have a looker like you?’ or ‘Do you have any hobbies, like dancing or tennis – we’d love to see you in one of those short skirts, wouldn’t we?’ to the audience’s delight.
When he got to Lucy, he took an admiring step back. ‘Look at that! You must have the perfect figure – let me guess.’ He made a low whistle as he gazed at her bust: ‘Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six?’
