need to trouble Mrs B. But if you truly want Kenny to come with us you’d better go round there right away.’
‘Mam . . . Louella . . . Mrs Magic . . . I asked you a question,’ Lottie almost shouted. ‘Did we know someone called Sassy when we lived in Rhyl? All you have to do is say yes or no.’
Her mother turned and gave her a long, speculative look. Then, smiling primly, she said, ‘No. Why do you ask?’
It was a masterly table-turning, and for a moment Lottie could only stare. Then she spoke, her voice a nice blend of sulkiness and defiance. ‘Someone shouted “Sassy” in the street, and came over to us, then – then mumbled a bit, said I looked like someone called Sassy, and went away.’
‘Often happens,’ Louella said. She sounded pleased, Lottie thought. ‘Anyway, Sassy isn’t a name. It’s what Americans call a cheeky, uppity girl or boy. I believe it’s a corruption of “saucy”. So you see it’s not a name at all.’
‘Oh!’ Lottie said, considerably taken aback. Trust Louella to get out of answering any question which might embarrass her! She was tempted to continue, to describe the boy and repeat what he had said, then changed her mind. Louella was quite capable of telling a whopper if she thought that the truth would not be good for her daughter. But I will find out, Lottie told herself. One of these days I’ll go back to Rhyl and find that boy and learn what he knows. I will, I will!
Chapter Three
It was a fine summer afternoon towards the end of August. Lottie was standing in the wings, ready to go on when she heard her cue. She was wearing her frilly pink ballerina frock, long white tights and her pink satin shoes with the blocked toes. But instead of the familiar fluttering in her stomach at the thought of the performance ahead, she was feeling a trifle rebellious. After good weather at the start of the month they had had a great deal of rain, and now, on the first really fine day for ages, she would not be joining Kenny in a trip to Seaforth Sands, or her friend Betty, who meant to take some bread and jam and go down to the canal to watch the boats unloading at the wharf. Instead, she would be stuck in the stuffy theatre, performing before a hot and restless audience, smiling an artificial smile, and being sweet when she felt as sour as any lemon.
When her mother had called her in from the court where she had been playing skipping, she had suggested that she might be allowed to miss the matinée performance as it was a lovely sunny day for a change. ‘There won’t be much of an audience, norron such a nice day. Kids won’t come, ’cos in another ten days they’ll be back in school,’ she had pleaded. ‘Honest, Mam – Louella, I mean – no one will miss me. You know you can do the whole act by yourself. Kenny’s goin’ to skip a lecky out to Seaforth Sands, and, oh, I do love the seaside! Mrs B will make us a carry-out – she’s awful good like that – so you wouldn’t have to worry about feeding me.’
They had been in the kitchen by then, sitting opposite one another at the big wooden table and eating cold ham and salad. Max had already left for the theatre because the stagehands who took his magical apparatus into the wings at the end of his act had dropped the disappearing cabinet and the sliding panel had been knocked out of true. It had happened before but Max did not trust anyone but himself to put it right, so he had made himself a thick cheese and pickle butty and had left a good hour earlier. This was unfortunate since Max might have taken Lottie’s side – his own son did not work in the theatre, after all – but as soon as she had finished speaking, Lottie had realised that she might as well have saved her breath. Louella had been tapping her fingers on the table, a sure sign that she was not going to give in. ‘How can you suggest such a thing, Lottie?’ she had said plaintively. ‘I’m far too professional to miss a performance and you
‘Mam . . . Louella . . . Mrs Magic . . . I asked you a question,’ Lottie almost shouted. ‘Did we know someone called Sassy when we lived in Rhyl? All you have to do is say yes or no.’
Her mother turned and gave her a long, speculative look. Then, smiling primly, she said, ‘No. Why do you ask?’
It was a masterly table-turning, and for a moment Lottie could only stare. Then she spoke, her voice a nice blend of sulkiness and defiance. ‘Someone shouted “Sassy” in the street, and came over to us, then – then mumbled a bit, said I looked like someone called Sassy, and went away.’
‘Often happens,’ Louella said. She sounded pleased, Lottie thought. ‘Anyway, Sassy isn’t a name. It’s what Americans call a cheeky, uppity girl or boy. I believe it’s a corruption of “saucy”. So you see it’s not a name at all.’
‘Oh!’ Lottie said, considerably taken aback. Trust Louella to get out of answering any question which might embarrass her! She was tempted to continue, to describe the boy and repeat what he had said, then changed her mind. Louella was quite capable of telling a whopper if she thought that the truth would not be good for her daughter. But I will find out, Lottie told herself. One of these days I’ll go back to Rhyl and find that boy and learn what he knows. I will, I will!
Chapter Three
It was a fine summer afternoon towards the end of August. Lottie was standing in the wings, ready to go on when she heard her cue. She was wearing her frilly pink ballerina frock, long white tights and her pink satin shoes with the blocked toes. But instead of the familiar fluttering in her stomach at the thought of the performance ahead, she was feeling a trifle rebellious. After good weather at the start of the month they had had a great deal of rain, and now, on the first really fine day for ages, she would not be joining Kenny in a trip to Seaforth Sands, or her friend Betty, who meant to take some bread and jam and go down to the canal to watch the boats unloading at the wharf. Instead, she would be stuck in the stuffy theatre, performing before a hot and restless audience, smiling an artificial smile, and being sweet when she felt as sour as any lemon.
When her mother had called her in from the court where she had been playing skipping, she had suggested that she might be allowed to miss the matinée performance as it was a lovely sunny day for a change. ‘There won’t be much of an audience, norron such a nice day. Kids won’t come, ’cos in another ten days they’ll be back in school,’ she had pleaded. ‘Honest, Mam – Louella, I mean – no one will miss me. You know you can do the whole act by yourself. Kenny’s goin’ to skip a lecky out to Seaforth Sands, and, oh, I do love the seaside! Mrs B will make us a carry-out – she’s awful good like that – so you wouldn’t have to worry about feeding me.’
They had been in the kitchen by then, sitting opposite one another at the big wooden table and eating cold ham and salad. Max had already left for the theatre because the stagehands who took his magical apparatus into the wings at the end of his act had dropped the disappearing cabinet and the sliding panel had been knocked out of true. It had happened before but Max did not trust anyone but himself to put it right, so he had made himself a thick cheese and pickle butty and had left a good hour earlier. This was unfortunate since Max might have taken Lottie’s side – his own son did not work in the theatre, after all – but as soon as she had finished speaking, Lottie had realised that she might as well have saved her breath. Louella had been tapping her fingers on the table, a sure sign that she was not going to give in. ‘How can you suggest such a thing, Lottie?’ she had said plaintively. ‘I’m far too professional to miss a performance and you
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