It's Now or Never (2 page)

There had been men, of course, but nothing serious. She still did not know whether to regard it as good luck or bad luck that Sam Walker had spotted her coming out of the stage door of the Royal Court one evening. Months later he had been in the audience at the Playhouse when she had been appearing there in a costume drama. When he had come backstage and asked her if she would accompany him to the evening do of the wedding of a female colleague in the police force, the years had rolled back, reminding her of the May blitz in 1941 and the day of her best friend's funeral.

Dorothy closed her eyes tightly. She was not going to dwell on that day now. If she did it would open a whole can of worms. She went over to the wardrobe and removed a pair of warm slacks and a cashmere jumper. The latter she had bought with some of the earnings from a part she'd played in a drama series on the radio. It had led to her getting her first film role in a Glynis Johns' vehicle,
Mad about Men
. It had only been a tiny role, but what fun it had been spending time on location in Cornwall.

As she dressed and reapplied lipstick and face powder, she found herself thinking about two American films in particular:
Roman Holiday
, introducing a new star called Audrey Hepburn along with the famous Gregory Peck. The other was
Three Coins in the Fountain
, which had also been shot in Italy in glorious Technicolor and had introduced two young foreign actors, Louis Jourdan and Rossano Brazzi, to British audiences.

She gazed at her reflection dreamily, thinking how it only took one good film for a career to take off. Now here she was being offered an audition for a co-starring role in a film set in Italy and Scotland. She could hardly believe it and knew she would be a fool not to seize the opportunity that her agent reckoned was within her grasp. She had been asked for especially by the woman in charge of casting.

Dorothy glanced at her watch, grabbed a cardigan and the key to her room and hurried downstairs. Once in the dining room she chatted to Kathy's teenage daughter, glad of the distraction from her thoughts.

After her meal, Dorothy went into the smoking lounge to have one of the five cigarettes she limited herself to each day. Contrary to what some doctors had claimed earlier in the century, they really weren't good for the throat, but the odd one definitely helped with the ol' nerves.

She went over to the window and, raising the bottom of the curtain, gazed out. The snow was still falling in fat flakes and already the road and pavements were covered in the white stuff. She imagined basking in the sun in Italy and warmth spread through her body. Perhaps she could persuade Sam to holiday abroad, driving the pride of his life, a second-hand Austin A40 Somerset he had bought last Christmas. He had wanted them to get engaged but she had told him she was not ready for such a commitment, so he had bought a car instead and she had promised that she'd reconsider his proposal next year.

She thought of their plans for tomorrow. Would Sam still have it in mind to visit his stepmother on the Wirral? This latest snowfall could change things, always assuming his job didn't. Sam was a detective sergeant, in line for promotion and if involved in a case, he could so easily cancel arrangements at the last minute. Maybe he would ring this evening if that was so? She finished her cigarette and decided to call it a day and go up to her room and read in bed.

But once in bed, Dorothy found that she could not concentrate on the words on the page and her mind began to drift. She had always wanted to be an actress, ever since she had run down the aisle of the Pivvie in Tunnel Road during a showing of
Cinderella
when she was five years old. The ambition had burned brightly in her ever since: she had even given her baby away without even telling its father, Sam, that she was pregnant because her heart had been so set on becoming an actress. Her stomach performed a somersault. She had certainly never thought she would get pregnant: that only happened to other girls. Her mother had been terribly upset and then became exasperated when her daughter refused to name the father, so she had arranged for her to go away to a relative, who knew of a charity home in the Cheshire countryside where unmarried mothers could have their babies. Apparently it had been founded by a rich female philanthropist who had an interest in ‘fallen women'.

Dorothy had hated the place but it had been preferable to giving Sam the news that he'd got her in the family way. After all, she wasn't the only one with ambition. Even then Sam had been determined to follow his father into the police force. They had both met with success but the ultimate dream was still just out of reach. Hers was to be famous and his to climb to the top in the police force but he also wanted a stay-at-home wife and family. If she mentioned Poppy's phone call and what it entailed, he would be far from pleased. He had told her that he loved her, and what woman would not be attracted to Sam? He was a dish, with fair hair and brown eyes and was amusing and clever.
Never mind his having a good body as well.
The temptation to try out for the role of wife and mother was there but was it enough? What the hell was she going to do?

She stifled a yawn and knew she must get some sleep. Hopefully, after a good night's rest, the picture would be clearer. The book slid from her fingers as she closed her eyes and drifted into sleep. She dreamed she was back in that home in Cheshire, reliving the birth of her baby and her final mocking exchange with the girl who had shared her room. As the images filled her mind, Dorothy found herself regretting her harshness and longed to have wished Lynne and her baby daughter good luck.

‘I wonder what happened to them?' she murmured.

Roberta Donegan was hurrying past the hospital on Myrtle Street, wishing that on this day of all days her mother had not arranged for them to meet at the milk bar in Lycee Street. Her cheeks were flushed with cold and several snowflakes landed on her nose. Her auburn fringe curled damply beneath the rim of her navy-blue school hat. She wore a blazer over a cardigan, beneath which she was clad in a gym slip, blouse and tie. Above her knee-length grey stockings, her legs were goose-pimpled and her feet were freezing in clumpy black leather shoes.

She would have felt even more chilled if it were not for the navy-blue and gold striped school scarf which she had shoved inside her blazer, criss-crossing the ends so it kept the worst of the cold from her chest. Her mother, Lynne, was always fretting about keeping warm because she had suffered from pneumonia when Roberta was a toddler and even her grandmother had a bad chest, mostly due to the Woodbines of which she'd been so fond, but her Nan's wheezing and chesty cough played a daily, rattling warning of the pitfalls of not looking after yourself.

Thinking of her great-grandmother made Roberta feel sad and tears pricked her eyes. Dear Nan, who had led such an interesting life and had so many tales to tell of her days as a dresser in the theatre. The one that Roberta liked best was about when she was a tiny baby and had slept in a box which Nan and Lynne had carried with them from place to place on their travels with the repertory theatre. It had all come to an end just after the war, when her mother had fallen ill.

Suddenly Roberta slipped in the snow and her heart jumped with fright.
Concentrate on where you're putting your feet
, she told herself. She thought how it would have been so much simpler for her to catch the number 25 bus outside school as usual and go straight home. That way she and her mother could have visited a local cinema instead of one in town. The thing was that Lynne enjoyed coming into town and so this evening was really to be a treat for both of them. It was Roberta's own fault, of course, that she was late, having forgotten to tell Lynne that the whole class would be kept in for detention that evening. Her mother was bound to be worrying because she was overprotective of her only daughter.

Roberta guessed that it could not be helped because like many a war widow, her mother had brought her up without the help of a husband. There had certainly been no help from Robert Donegan's side of the family, but maybe that was to be expected. After all they lived on the west coast of Ireland and her mother had never met them. As for Lynne's parents, her father, Nan's son, was dead and Lynne never spoke about her mother, except to say they had lost touch. Instead she had told her daughter more than once how she and Robert had fallen in love at first sight in an air-raid shelter here in Liverpool and, after a whirlwind romance, had married before his ship had sailed off into the blue – only for it to be torpedoed in the Atlantic.

Suddenly Roberta felt herself slipping again and she only just managed to save herself from landing flat on her back by grabbing hold of a convenient lamp post. She swung round as she hung on, so she ended up facing the way she had come. It was then she saw the man. Hastily, she dug in her heels and managed to bring herself to a halt. Her heart felt as if it was bouncing about in her chest. For an instant her fingers itched for paper and a stick of charcoal, despite not being able to clearly make out his features due to the brim of his trilby shadowing the upper part of his face. Could it be the same man she'd seen outside her school on Grove Street earlier? She was sure he'd been wearing a black trilby and gaberdine mackintosh but was this one as tall? She hoped that she was mistaken in thinking that he could be following her and wasted no time going on her way.

After a few minutes she decided that instead of crossing into Hardman Street when she reached the Philharmonic Hall, she would turn into Hope Street at the other end of which loomed the yet unfinished Anglican Cathedral. If he went straight on down to Lycee Street, then she would know that she was wrong in thinking that he could be following her.

She strained her ears for the sound of his footfall crunching in the snow and yes, there was definitely someone walking behind her. She resisted glancing over her shoulder and her fingers tightened about one of the straps of her satchel. It was getting dark and the street was deserted. She considered risking running as fast as she could to get the hell out of there and then saw light shining through a window. She felt a flood of relief because it came from the coffee bar where Betty Booth, a student at the Art School, worked part time as a waitress. Due to Roberta's love of art she and the older girl had struck up a friendship.

She decided to take refuge inside. But before she could do so, the door opened and a woman in police uniform and a man came out. Roberta recognized him as Lenny Colman, a man in his early thirties, of medium height with a mop of thick brown hair, the owner of the coffee bar. The two were talking and then the policewoman noticed her. ‘Were you wanting to go inside, love?' she asked.

‘Yes, but …' Roberta hesitated and glanced at Lenny. ‘Is Betty in there?'

‘No, you've just missed her. She's got visitors this evening and has gone home a bit early,' said Lenny.

‘Oh!' Roberta could not conceal her disappointment. Then she realized that the policewoman was exactly the person she needed in the circumstances. ‘Perhaps you can help me, Constable,' she said, dropping her voice.

‘What is it?' asked the policewoman.

‘I think I've been followed from school by a man. There was one hanging around outside the gates.'

‘I see.' The policewoman casually glanced up and down the street before asking, ‘Can you see him now? There's a man walking in the direction of the cathedral and another in a doorway on the other side up towards Hardman Street, lighting a cigarette.'

Roberta, feeling safer now that she had company, glanced in both directions. ‘I can't say for certain that it's either of them in this light. I can see they're both wearing a trilby and a mackintosh but that's all. I'm not much help, am I?' she said wryly.

The policewoman smiled faintly. ‘Did you get a good look at the man outside school?'

‘Not good enough to sketch a likeness, and when I spotted the man on Myrtle Street, the brim of his trilby cast a shadow over the upper part of his face.'

The policewoman glanced at the badge on Roberta's blazer. ‘I see you're from Liverpool Girls College. What's your name?'

‘Roberta Donegan.'

‘You're a bit late going home from school, aren't you, Roberta?'

‘Detention,' she said succinctly, hoisting her satchel higher. ‘I shouldn't even be here in Hope Street. I'm supposed to be meeting my mother in the milk bar on Lycee Street. Anyway, I decided to test whether the man was following me and when I decided he could be I realized I could take refuge here.'

‘You thought Betty could telephone the police?' suggested the policewoman.

‘Yes, until you appeared with Lenny and I discovered she wasn't here.'

‘Has she mentioned anything recently to you about a man hanging about outside here?' she asked.

Roberta shook her head. ‘No, but it's not unknown, is it? A friend of mine said they come to eye up the girl students a-and …' She paused, a blush on her cheeks, remembering talk about a man exposing himself.

The policewoman eyed her sympathetically and Lenny said, ‘He's a bloody nuisance and if I get my hands on him …' His voice trailed off and he obviously altered what he had been about to say when he continued. ‘Anyway, now Constable Walker is aware of your little trouble, kid, she'll sort it out.'

‘Too right I will,' said Constable Walker firmly. ‘It's not pleasant for young girls to be scared to walk the streets at this time of evening.'

‘I remember Nan telling me that she used to wear big hatpins and she kept one in the lapel of her coat,' said Roberta. ‘She was ready to use it if she was attacked when she left the theatre in the dark.'

The policewoman smiled. ‘I'd recommend carrying a small pepper drum with you.'

Roberta nodded. ‘Mam worries about Teddy Boys … which reminds me, she'll be waiting for me.'