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Authors: Julia Gregson
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Eyes’, and hearing the stenographer give a little gasp, a sound she recognised, dared to hope that after all the many anxieties of the day, things were going well.
She sang her last song, ‘Mazi’, on her own and when she finished, faced them close to tears. Tan had taught her that song; she’d sung it with her father in the chicken shed.
One of the nameless men who were watching her stood up. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his head. He looked at her aslant, as if she was a piece of furniture he would shortly measure.
The pianist smiled for the first time that day.
‘Right-ho, a break for lunch now,’ was all he said. ‘We’ll see the Banana Brothers at three and Arleta after them. We’ll meet at four for our final decision.’
‘Flipping heck,’ Arleta joked to Saba. They had paused on the island between two rows of busy traffic; they were on their way to lunch. ‘Now I’m going to sound like something the cat’s sicked up after you, so thank you very much. But actually’ – she held out a protective arm as an army truck passed – ‘I’m more in the novelty-dance line myself. I really just sing to fill in the gaps.’
The truck driver wolf-whistled; Arleta gave him a coy wave. ‘Naughty,’ she called out happily.
They ate lunch at Sid’s, a workman’s café with steamy windows, full of people in khaki. The set menu, a two-and-six special, featured strong tea in thick white china cups, a corned-beef patty made with greyish potatoes, tinned peas, and a custard slice for pudding. While they were eating, the three Banana Brothers arrived. Lean, athletic men whose age Saba guessed to be around forty.
‘Well whoop de whoop,’ said Arleta, who seemed to know everyone. ‘Look who’s here.’ She kissed each one of them on both cheeks and did the introductions.
‘This is Lev, and that’s Alex.’ The two men folded into graceful bows. ‘This little titch,’ she pointed towards a younger man whose hair was dyed an improbable black, ‘is called Boguslaw.’ He closed his eyes dramatically and let his lips nuzzle their hands. ‘You won’t remember that,’ she added. ‘You may call him Bog or Boggers, or Bog Brush.’
She explained to Saba that they’d all worked together before, too, in panto in Bristol. ‘And they all behaved appallingly .’ She narrowed her green eyes at them, like a lioness about to slap her cubs. The acrobats, squirming and smirking, seemed to love it.
Close up, Bog was handsome, with a chiselled jaw and the kind of shine and muscle definition most usually seen on a thoroughbred horse. He sat down next to Saba, tucking his napkin in when the waitress came. He asked for a piece of fruit cake but refused the corned-beef patty, because, he said, they were auditioning after lunch and he didn’t like to do anything on a full tummy. He looked Saba straight in the eye as if he’d said something mightily suggestive.
Arleta was pouring tea for all of them from a stained enamel pot. ‘I hope we all make it, and I hope it’s Malta,’ she added. ‘I had a lovely time there last time.’
‘Do you never know where you’re going until they tell you?’ Saba put down her knife. She was trying not to seem as shy as she felt.
‘Never,’ Arleta said. ‘It’s a complete lucky dip, that’s what I like about it.’
When the boys had gone, Arleta, pouring more tea, gossiped in a thrilling whisper about the acrobats. They were from Poland originally, she said, and were a first-class act. Lev and Bog were real brothers. They had lost almost their entire family during the war, and sometimes they drank and got angry about it, so it was better not to talk too much about families unless they brought it up. Bog, the younger one, was a womaniser and had got two girls, to her certain knowledge, in the pudding club. He had been excused call-up because of his hammer toes, although how you could be an acrobat with hammer toes was a complete mystery to her, but they wouldn’t
She sang her last song, ‘Mazi’, on her own and when she finished, faced them close to tears. Tan had taught her that song; she’d sung it with her father in the chicken shed.
One of the nameless men who were watching her stood up. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his head. He looked at her aslant, as if she was a piece of furniture he would shortly measure.
The pianist smiled for the first time that day.
‘Right-ho, a break for lunch now,’ was all he said. ‘We’ll see the Banana Brothers at three and Arleta after them. We’ll meet at four for our final decision.’
‘Flipping heck,’ Arleta joked to Saba. They had paused on the island between two rows of busy traffic; they were on their way to lunch. ‘Now I’m going to sound like something the cat’s sicked up after you, so thank you very much. But actually’ – she held out a protective arm as an army truck passed – ‘I’m more in the novelty-dance line myself. I really just sing to fill in the gaps.’
The truck driver wolf-whistled; Arleta gave him a coy wave. ‘Naughty,’ she called out happily.
They ate lunch at Sid’s, a workman’s café with steamy windows, full of people in khaki. The set menu, a two-and-six special, featured strong tea in thick white china cups, a corned-beef patty made with greyish potatoes, tinned peas, and a custard slice for pudding. While they were eating, the three Banana Brothers arrived. Lean, athletic men whose age Saba guessed to be around forty.
‘Well whoop de whoop,’ said Arleta, who seemed to know everyone. ‘Look who’s here.’ She kissed each one of them on both cheeks and did the introductions.
‘This is Lev, and that’s Alex.’ The two men folded into graceful bows. ‘This little titch,’ she pointed towards a younger man whose hair was dyed an improbable black, ‘is called Boguslaw.’ He closed his eyes dramatically and let his lips nuzzle their hands. ‘You won’t remember that,’ she added. ‘You may call him Bog or Boggers, or Bog Brush.’
She explained to Saba that they’d all worked together before, too, in panto in Bristol. ‘And they all behaved appallingly .’ She narrowed her green eyes at them, like a lioness about to slap her cubs. The acrobats, squirming and smirking, seemed to love it.
Close up, Bog was handsome, with a chiselled jaw and the kind of shine and muscle definition most usually seen on a thoroughbred horse. He sat down next to Saba, tucking his napkin in when the waitress came. He asked for a piece of fruit cake but refused the corned-beef patty, because, he said, they were auditioning after lunch and he didn’t like to do anything on a full tummy. He looked Saba straight in the eye as if he’d said something mightily suggestive.
Arleta was pouring tea for all of them from a stained enamel pot. ‘I hope we all make it, and I hope it’s Malta,’ she added. ‘I had a lovely time there last time.’
‘Do you never know where you’re going until they tell you?’ Saba put down her knife. She was trying not to seem as shy as she felt.
‘Never,’ Arleta said. ‘It’s a complete lucky dip, that’s what I like about it.’
When the boys had gone, Arleta, pouring more tea, gossiped in a thrilling whisper about the acrobats. They were from Poland originally, she said, and were a first-class act. Lev and Bog were real brothers. They had lost almost their entire family during the war, and sometimes they drank and got angry about it, so it was better not to talk too much about families unless they brought it up. Bog, the younger one, was a womaniser and had got two girls, to her certain knowledge, in the pudding club. He had been excused call-up because of his hammer toes, although how you could be an acrobat with hammer toes was a complete mystery to her, but they wouldn’t
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