Paper Alice (17 page)

The corollary of this was starting to bubble up in me, like a tiny spring pushing through dry sand. I tried putting a mental foot on it.

Lil gave a hoot of laughter.

‘Oh, no, darls!' she cried, reaching up and patting Andy's hand. ‘Can you believe – he's got two Lils in his life! I'm
Lillian
, Lily's
Lily
! But I'm flattered,' she added, smiling. ‘An old bag like me being mistaken for such a gorgeous young thing!'

I laughed shakily, and murmured something like ‘nonsense!' but I felt a sudden rush of disappointment. The spring had dried up, just as quickly as it had started.

Lil was pointing at the small sofa opposite her, on the other side of the heater.

‘For heaven's sake, sit down! Andrew, where are your manners, leaving the poor girl standing there like that?'

As in, looking like a total dork.

And as for ‘Andrew' – the name definitely didn't suit him . . .

‘Well,' said Andy, after I'd obediently sat, ‘who'd like coffee? Alice . . . Lil?'

‘Yes, pl–' I started, my eyes sliding away from his, but Lil was starting to get herself up out of her chair.

‘I'll make it,' she said. ‘You–'

Andy pushed her gently down again. ‘No,' he said. ‘I'll get it.' He grinned at me. ‘You two sit and get acquainted!'

Oh, thanks.

So all I could do was smile sweetly and perch on the edge of the sofa, my hands tightly clasped, while Andy went to the kitchen. Jack promptly wandered over and settled right on my feet, circling and grunting until he got comfortable.

‘Well,' said Lil, nodding at him, ‘he obviously likes you – he doesn't do that to just anyone!'

I laughed and bent down to pat him.

‘True,' she cried, wagging her finger. ‘Dogs have got a sixth sense when it comes to humans!'

‘Well,' I said, still stroking him, glad of the distraction, ‘he's pretty cute . . . And pretty clever too, aren't you, Jack?'

Jack was in complete agreement. He rolled onto his back, paws dangling and tongue lolling, grinning ecstatically.

‘I saw him performing with Andy . . . and Lily, at uni,' I added, looking up again.

She nodded.

‘Yes, theatre's in the blood in this family, I'm afraid,' she said. ‘And Jack's just as much of a show-off as the rest of us.'

‘Oh . . .' I laughed, but she seemed to be quite serious. She picked up the framed photo beside her on the table and held it out to me. ‘My late husband, Ted,' she said. ‘Andy's grandfather. Impresario. Though he died in '78, long before Andy was born.'

I stared down at the portrait, not liking to ask exactly what an impresario was. It was one of those old black-and-white, studio shots, of a moustachioed man in a pin-striped suit, his eyes twinkling debonairly at the camera like an old movie star from the 40s or 50s. Clark Gable or Errol Flynn, eat your heart out.

‘He was very good-looking,' I said. He didn't look a lot like Andy, but there was a definite resemblance in the smile. I handed it back to her. ‘Were you an actress?'

Despite her leathery skin, the fingers that took it from me were long and tapering, and her cheekbones very pronounced in her gaunt old face.

‘I was a hoofer!' she said proudly. ‘One of the Tivoli girls!'

I'd never heard of hoofers or the Tivoli girls, but I got the general idea.

‘Wow . . . In Sydney?'

‘No darls, I was with the Tiv in Melbourne. Though we got about a bit; toured all over the country. Especially during the war – we put on shows for our boys – right up in the far north.' Her eyes gleamed. ‘Those were the days!'

‘I bet!' I stared at her, trying to picture her at twenty, without the saggy skin and veiny, arthritic hands.

She was reaching across to the bookcase beside her.

‘I'll show you.' She started pulling out an old album, then paused.

‘That's if you're interested. I'm probably boring you to death–'

‘No!' I cried, meaning it. ‘I'd love to see them.'

I started to get up, but she'd whipped the book out and was hauling herself up out of her chair. She tottered over with it and, despite being stooped and stiff, you could see that she'd once been quite tall.

She sank down beside me, then patted her cardie pockets.

‘Oh, my glasses . . .'

I went and fetched them for her from the table, and we settled down with the album on our laps.

‘There we are.' Her pink fingernail tapped an old black-and-white photo on the first page. ‘The girls . . .'

‘Oh, hey,' I laughed, ‘cool!'

It showed about seven dancers wearing spangly leotards and ankle-strap heels, huge bows in their hair, posed in a classic chorus-girl line-up. Left knees raised high, arms around one another's waists, beaming their dark-lipsticked smiles.

I leaned forward. ‘Which one's you?' But I knew, even before she pointed. The one in the middle with the dark, shoulder-length wavy hair and the longest legs.

‘Wow,' I cried, ‘you were
gorgeous
!'

Then I sneaked a sideways look at her, wondering if I'd sounded too surprised. But she was staring down through her glasses, a faint smile on her lips.

‘Yes,' she said, ‘we were quite something.
And
, unlike these skinny-minny, anorexic models of today, we had
curves
!'

I laughed, nodding. The girls, despite their trim, fit-looking figures, would almost certainly be considered too big by today's size-0 modelling standards.

‘What with two shows a day,
plus
rehearsing for the next revue,' she cried, ‘we were often dancing practically nonstop, from nine-thirty in the morning till eleven at night – six days a week. We simply couldn't have kept
going
if we didn't eat!'

‘I bet . . .' I stared down at the lissom beauty in the photo, her skin so dewy and her smile so radiant. Did she ever imagine herself, I wondered, as the wrinkled old thing sitting beside me now?

‘Hard to imagine, isn't it?'

I almost jumped. I turned to her, trying to look surprised.

‘Pardon?'

‘That
that
,' she said, pointing to her image with a wry laugh, ‘could turn into
this
!' Tapping at her chest. ‘Enjoy your youth and gorgeousness while you can, lovie,' she added cheerfully. ‘It doesn't last!'

She turned the stiff page.

‘And here we are entertaining the troops during the war.'

The daytime shot, captioned
Townsville, 1942
, was taken from near the back of a huge and obviously rapt audience of uniformed men sitting on the ground, arms around their knees, watching the figures on stage.

‘And packing up . . .' Her finger moved to the photo below, under which she'd written
Moving on
. Lil
and another girl were hanging out of the back of a removal truck, laughing their heads off. Another giggler was being trundled towards them in a barrow, wheeled by a cheeky-looking boy in a cap and a long apron, cigarette dangling out the side of his mouth.

‘That's Bert, one of our stage hands, pushing my best friend, Vera. She passed away, in '87, God love 'er!'

I turned to her in sympathy, but sadness was obviously not on the agenda. ‘Oh, but we had some laughs!' she cried, shaking her head. ‘There's nothing like roughing it on tour together to leave you with wonderful memories.'

I suddenly wondered what my wonderful memories would be like, in sixty or seventy years' time.

Just then Andy came round the door with the coffee tray. He stopped.

‘Don't tell me she's got you on the albums already!'

‘You shush,' said Lil, not looking up. ‘Alice's interested, aren't you, darls?'

‘Sure am,' I said, meaning it.

We looked at more photos while Andy poured the coffee. Full-stage panoramas of different shows. Singing and dancing in amazing costumes. The gals posing with some visiting American gridiron players. Visiting sick children in hospital. Lil and Vera out to dinner with friends, Lil next to her fiancé, Ted. Lil and Ted on their wedding day.

‘Your grandfather looks a bit like you,' I said, glancing across at Andy.

‘Andy's the image of his mum, who takes after Ted, so it's not surprising,' said Lil matter-of-factly, not looking up from the album. She turned a page. ‘Oh look, there's the Paris Follies show – I'd forgotten about that.'

At the mention of his mother, I looked at Andy enquiringly, but something in his eyes stopped me asking. Normally so alive and humorous, they'd suddenly looked quite flat.

‘Bickie?' he said, proffering a plate of custard creams.

‘Thanks . . .' I dropped my gaze and leaned forward to take one. So, I thought, Mr Funny, Sunny Man has a dark side . . .

Then I wondered if I'd imagined it, because by the time I looked up again, the old Andy seemed to be back. And was present for the rest of the evening – teasing Lil, making Jack roll over to get a biscuit, laughing at me.

Actually it seemed more like flirting. Which I tried not to return too much; tried to stay a bit cool. His grandmother's words like a brake in my mind.

He's got two Lils in his life
.

And maybe, I thought, a few more girls as well.

And then my phone beeped. When I fished it out of my bag, I could hardly believe the name.

Hey what you up to?? x dunc
.

I thrust it back into my bag as though it was red hot.
What, Miss Commerce not so interesting after all?

‘Bad news?'

I looked up and met Andy's eye.

‘Oh–' I gave a little laugh and shrugged, over-casually. ‘No, it's nothing . . .'

I could feel Lil looking at me too. Then just as quickly she turned to Andy.

‘By the way, I haven't told you what Ivan got up to today! Ivan,' she added, smiling at me, ‘is our crazy Russian neighbour–'

‘“Crazy”,' said Andy dryly, ‘is putting it mildly.'

Lil launched into a long involved account of Ivan's antics, something about a hose, a busted tap and a telephone call to the council, which made her grandson laugh, and I'm sure would have made me laugh a couple of minutes before. But now all I could do was try and look interested and pretend to chuckle.

A phrase was going round in my mind like one of those circular news flashes at the bottom of a TV screen.
Keeping his options open.
That's what Dunc was probably doing – keeping his options open.

And so, I decided, as I watched him laugh and then turn to share it with me, was Andy. Going out with the other Lil while he played flashing eyes with me. That's what most boys did, didn't they? Kept their eye out for the best deal?

But were girls any different? So how did anyone end up staying together for the long haul?

‘Anyway,' Lil was saying, yawning and giving a little stretch. ‘I think I'll toddle off to bed.' She smiled at me. ‘At my age I need all the beauty sleep I can get!'

I smiled politely back, suddenly remembering Andy's description of her nocturnal habits.
She's up till all hours, listening to the radio.

Was she being tactful, giving Andy and me a chance to be alone together – despite his going out with Lily?

Now I really did feel confused. And my first reaction was to flee. I grabbed my bag.

‘I must be going!'

Lil stretched out a hand.

‘But darls, you can't go home by yourself in the train, not at this hour of the night! And taxis are so expensive . . . where d'you live?'

‘Neutral Bay . . .'

The fare would certainly be enormous from here, I knew, a great chunk of my night's wages. What on earth had I been thinking, stopping off at Andy's place when I didn't have a car?

‘Why don't you stay the night here?' cried Lil. ‘The bed in the spare room's made up–'

‘Yeah,' said Andy. ‘Stay here.'

All at once I could barely look at him. ‘Oh no,' I said quickly, glancing at my watch. ‘The train'll be OK . . .'

Though I wasn't exactly relishing the idea, not at one in the morning.

‘There is no way,' started Lil, ‘that you're catching the tr–'

And then right at that very moment my phone actually rang.

I did another bag rummage, apologising. And guess who it was? I stared blankly at the familiar name, then pressed the green button.

‘H-hullo?'

‘Hey . . . Where are you?'

His voice sounded slightly urgent, as though he'd been stewing about things. And drinking, probably.

I gave an exaggerated eye roll in the general direction of the other two, before turning away slightly.

‘What's the problem?' I muttered. It's hard to sound curt when you're trying not to be overheard.

‘Where
are
you?' he asked again. ‘Your dad said you were working till about ten.'

What I really wanted to do was shout, ‘What the bloody hell business is it of yours?' But in the current circumstances I simply murmured: ‘At a friend's place. Why?'

‘What friend?'

He'd definitely had a few drinks.

I took a couple more steps away from the others. Whose conversation seemed to have dried up.

‘None,' I growled softly, teeth gritted, ‘of your business!'

‘I know, I know . . .' I got a mental picture of him raising his palms. ‘It's just that . . .'

‘What?'

‘Can we talk?' I could've sworn he sounded a bit teary. ‘Where are you? Can I come and pick you up?'

I felt a stab of alarm. ‘You're not
driving
?'

Small laugh at the other end. ‘Nah, Baddo is. And he hasn't had a drop. Have you, Baddo?' he added, his voice swinging away.

My heart sank as I heard the clunk and rustle of the phone being passed.