Clover Moon Read online

  ‘Well, you finish off your boot while I set to work on your clothes. Dear Lord, did those nasty boys roll you in the gutter? They’re in a right state!’ said Thelma, clicking her tongue. ‘But your saucy beret is as good as new.’ She tried it on, tipping it to one side at a jaunty angle. ‘Very French,’ she said, admiring herself in the mirror.

  ‘It suits you,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, it does, doesn’t it?’ she said complacently. Then she looked at me. ‘You’re shivering, poor little mite. You’d better have my jacket.’

  ‘No thank you, I have a shawl,’ I said, proudly producing it from my sack.

  ‘Oh my, very fancy.’ Thelma sifted through my clothes. ‘Oh dear Lord, I’m going to get that muck all over my own outfit if I’m not careful!’ she declared.

  ‘Then please let me do it,’ I said.

  ‘No, little rabbit, I’ll manage,’ she said. ‘I’ll just have to strip off too.’

  She was nowhere near as shy as me. She had her jacket and dress off in a trice, her fingers undoing each button, hook and eye so speedily that I couldn’t help staring.

  ‘We have three costume changes in the show,’ she said. ‘You have to be quick about it or you find yourself going onstage in your drawers. And how the crowd would love that!’

  Her underwear was extraordinary. I had no idea that grown-up ladies wore such amazing laced corsets. I’d seen Mildred without her dress but she simply wore her old threadbare shift, plus a petticoat on Sundays. Her large chest flopped loosely like a pillow down her bodice. Thelma’s chest was firmly pushed into place by her corset, beautifully arranged like two peaches on a plate. Her petticoat was frilled and trimmed with pink lace to match the little rosebud sewn at the top of her corset.

  I wondered if I would ever be able to wear such beautiful clothes.

  ‘Do you earn lots of money as a dancer, Thelma?’ I asked her as she fetched lavatory paper, more rags, the violet soap and a bucket of water.

  ‘Not really, dear, not for all the hard work we do. But I get by. I do a turn at midday at a dining club – a little solo act that goes down well with the gentleman, and they pay a bit better,’ said Thelma, spreading my clothes out on the floor and then setting to work, scraping and rubbing and scrubbing.

  ‘Oh, Thelma, you’re doing such a good job!’

  ‘Well, I know what I’m doing, dear. I worked in a laundry when I was fourteen, and they teach you all the tricks. Couldn’t stand the work though. My hands were always scarlet, the colour of me fancy boots, and in the winter when I had chilblains I was near screaming,’ she said.

  ‘So you left?’

  ‘Yes. Though it was a case of out of the frying pan into the fire,’ said Thelma.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I went into service, didn’t I, forging me own reference. It was hard work too, but I didn’t feel boiled to death like a lobster every day, and the missus seemed nice enough. And the master. Too blooming nice, he was. He quite turned my head and then I was a little fool.’ She gave me a sideways glance. ‘Do you get my meaning?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Yes, well, I won’t dwell on what happened next. They weren’t good times, I tell you, but I tried to keep my spirits up. One day I was dancing in the street when the barrel organ was playing, and this gentleman stopped me and said I had natural talent and was quite a looker and why didn’t I try my luck on the stage? Of course I thought he was having me on, but he was actually a producer, would you believe.’

  ‘So now you’re a famous dancer!’ I said.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far, dear. I’m not a solo act, just one of a line of dancing girls. But I earn my keep and you can’t say fairer than that.’

  ‘Do you think I could ever be a dancer too?’ I asked. I’d done my own share of twirling round to barrel-organ music and taught Megs and Jenny and little Mary several fancy steps.

  I wondered if I dared show Thelma – but she was shaking her head at me.

  ‘You’re not really the right type, dear. The management like dancing girls big in all senses of the word. You’re always going to be the small, scrawny type, little rabbit,’ she said, rubbing away at my coat.

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said, sighing.

  ‘Don’t look so down-hearted. You seem like a clever girl to me, if a bit naïve. Are you good at your lessons?’

  ‘I don’t rightly know, as I’ve never been to school. I’ve always been kept at home to look after the little ones. But I can read and write and I know quite a lot, I suppose, because Mr Dolly’s forever telling me things.’

  ‘Mr Dolly?’

  ‘He’s the loveliest gentleman ever, and so very kind to me. He gave me Anne Boleyn.’ I nodded to her, sitting on the floor beside me. ‘He makes wonderful dolls and he’s very learned and extremely kind, especially to children, but just because he’s a little crooked in his person, with a poorly back, folk laugh at him and say dreadful things. Why do people have to be so horrid?’ I asked passionately.

  ‘Who knows? They just are,’ said Thelma.

  ‘But some people are very kind. You’re very kind, Thelma. I’m so grateful to you.’

  ‘Bless you, sweetheart, all I’m doing is cleaning up your clothes, and that’s no trouble. You got that boot stitched yet? Better try it on to make sure it still fits.’

  It was a little too snug at first, squeezing my ankles, but the felt was so soft it stretched as I wandered around the dressing room, examining all the paints and powders and fingering the bright clothes hanging from the racks. My boot was almost as good as new, though now it had a jagged line of stitches on one side. Thelma went on soaking and scrubbing and smoothing my clothes until she shook them out and spread them before me on the floor.

  She bobbed a curtsy to me. ‘Well, ma’am, cast an eye on your pretty outfit and see if I’ve made a difference,’ she said, pretending I was a lady and she my maid.

  ‘Oh my goodness, you’ve made all the difference in the world!’ I said. ‘You’re magic, Thelma!’

  ‘There now, I’ve just cleaned them up a bit, that’s all. They’re still a bit damp. Leave them to dry a little,’ she said, arranging the coat and dress over the backs of chairs. ‘Here, we’ll do a bit of dancing now to keep you warm. I’ll teach you our opening number.’

  It was the funniest dancing ever, all wiggles and bold moves and high kicks. Mildred would have died to see me showing my drawers but I was too out of breath laughing to care about being immodest.

  Wait till I show Megs! I thought for an instant – before I remembered.

  ‘What’s up?’ said Thelma. ‘Have you got a pain?’

  ‘It’s Megs,’ I said. ‘My sister Megs. Oh, I miss her so.’

  ‘What did she die of?’

  ‘Scarlet fever,’ I said.

  ‘Oh!’ said Thelma, and took a step backwards.

  ‘But I haven’t got it, I swear I haven’t. Megs caught it from a shawl.’

  Thelma’s eyes widened as she stared at my present from Jimmy.

  ‘Not this shawl, I promise,’ I said hastily.

  ‘Dear God, you know how to startle a girl,’ said Thelma, fanning her face. ‘So none of your family caught the fever too?’

  ‘No. Mildred shut me in the cupboard, just to make sure.’

  ‘She shut you in a cupboard?’

  I didn’t point out that it was the reasonably big cupboard under the stairs. I enjoyed seeing Thelma outraged on my behalf.

  ‘She didn’t let me out for days,’ I said.

  ‘Oh my, what a witch! Didn’t your pa say anything?’

  ‘He just does what Mildred says, mostly.’

  ‘Then you’re better off without them. You don’t need family, Clover, not when you’ve got friends,’ Thelma declared.

  13

  ‘ARE YOU REALLY my friend, Thelma?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course I’m your friend, you ninny,’ she said, smiling at me. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea, eh? And there’s a baker’s two doors alo