The Alphabet Sisters (22 page)

“So you’ll see it’s the age-old story of family against family, young love thwarted, a town pulling together against the odds, the tyranny and ferociousness of war, all to a sound track of lots of marvelous old songs from my favorite—sorry, everyone’s favorite—musicals.” There was a burst of applause, then Lola held up her hand again. “So now, over to my granddaughter Anna.”

Anna moved forward, all glamour and poise. “Good evening, everyone, and thanks for coming. We’ll have a warm-up or two, and then we’ll hear you do your individual pieces.”

At the piano, Bett watched as Lola made a poor attempt to slip unnoticed out of the room with Ellen. At Anna’s nod, she played the intro, then moved smoothly into the first song, “Do-Re-Mi” from
The Sound of Music.
There were only a few voices to begin with, but as she kept playing, more people joined in. By the end of the third verse everyone was singing, even if not all of them were in tune. Bett ignored what looked like Anna wincing, and moved into the second warm-up song, “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.” Things got a little livelier.

Anna stood up hurriedly at the end of the second verse, stopping them there. “Terrific, we’re off to a good start. Now, then, time for the solo spots.”

“There’s not hidden cameras here or anything, is there?” Bett overheard one man ask another. “This is getting a bit too much like that
Popstars
program for my liking.”

“Just sing any old way. Think of the free beer afterward.”

Bett grinned. It had been Carrie’s idea to add the offer of free drinks to the advertisements. “Otherwise we won’t get any men at all, and we need them for the villagers, and the soldiers, not to mention General MacArthur.”

At the desk, Anna picked out a registration form at random. “Right, then. We’ll start with Louise singing ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’ When you’re ready, Louise.”

I
n room seven, Lola was sitting on the side of Ellen’s bed, telling stories about the girls’ childhood. “I called it my Collection of Cries, Ellen. I had a whole row of jars and as soon as I’d hear your mother cry, or Bett, or Carrie, I’d sneak up behind them and capture their cries in the jar, then quickly put the lid on. It was marvelous. They’d stop crying immediately.”

Ellen was giggling. “And have you still got all the jars?”

Lola sadly shook her head. “No. Unfortunately three bold little girls opened all the lids one afternoon. You’ve never heard such a racket. Five years’ worth of tears and tantrums released in a moment. It took me some quick talking to convince the police nothing terrible had happened. As for the poor motel guests—they didn’t know what had hit them.”

Ellen moved farther down in her bed. “Can you tell me another story?”

“I will, of course. But not tonight. It’s past all good great-granddaughters’ bedtimes.”

“But wait, Lola. I’ve got another question.”

Lola waited. She was well used to these delaying tactics. Anna had been exactly the same as a child. “One more question, then.”

“Why have you got a funny voice?”

“What do you mean a funny voice?”

“You talk differently to other people. You talk like this: ‘It’s past all good great-granddaughters’ bedtimes.’ ”

Lola laughed out loud. Ellen had just perfectly mimicked her Irish accent. She was definitely Anna’s daughter. “That, my love, is called an Irish accent, not a funny voice.”

“I like it.”

“Good. I’ll keep it, then.” She kissed Ellen’s forehead. “Night night, sweetheart. Sleep well. And I’m three doors down if there’s anything you need, okay? And Mummy will be here soon, too, just as soon as she’s finished the auditions.”

“Night night, Lola.” Ellen’s voice was barely audible. Lola waited at the door for a few minutes until she was sure the little girl was content. After a minute she heard the sound of regular breathing and let herself out. Dear little thing.

Letting herself back into her own room, Lola suddenly felt exhausted. She’d have liked to sit and watch every moment of the auditions. She’d have liked to sit in on every production meeting, too. Painted the sets, helped Bett work out the music, sew the costumes, even. But she didn’t have the energy for it anymore. The spirit was more than willing, but the flesh was getting weaker all the time. Oh, yes, she was in better nick than most eighty-year-olds, there was no doubt about it, but it was all downhill from here, and she didn’t like it one bit.

She opened the bar fridge and mixed herself a gin and tonic. She’d have a little read, a little think, a little drink, and then a good night’s sleep. She was longing for her bed, in fact. They didn’t warn you of that in the growing-old books, did they? That some days all you would ever want to do is sleep, just like a baby. It was true, the older you became, the more your life went backward, your hair thinning, your teeth falling out, your bladder getting a life of its own. What would be next to go? Her marbles?

She sat upright in her chair. No, she was damned if that was how she was going to go. She’d made it this far; she was going to keep at it. As soon as she started lolling about, getting lazy, giving in, it would all collapse around her. She hadn’t let it happen when she was young, and she wouldn’t now.

She deliberately moved to the hard chair, and sat there, more awake, remembering Bett asking her if she missed being young. She’d thought about it since and decided she missed one very simple thing. Running. She missed being able to run, wished, just one more time, that she could run like she used to run as a child in Ireland, across the fields behind the house, through the soft rain or on the mild summer days, with the grass and the chestnut trees lush with new growth all around her, feeling the ground beneath her feet, muddy at times, and the long grass against her bare legs. Her favorite route had been from the front door of the big house, down the drive to the oak tree outside the main gate. She’d touch it once, twice, three times for luck, then run back as fast as she could.

She took a sip of gin and moved to turn on the TV, then changed her mind, preferring her own thoughts. She’d been remembering a lot from her childhood recently, ever since she had gone through the few photos she had, picking them out so Frank from the electrical shop could turn them into slides for her. He’d dropped the originals back that afternoon, and come in for a chat, full of questions. He was off to Ireland himself for a holiday in a few months and was keen to hear tips, asking did she want anything brought back or did she want him to call at her old house and take photos?

She’d patted him on the hand. “Kind Frank, thank you but no. Bett did that for me when she was there a few years ago.” Not that Lola had ever looked closely at the photos Bett sent back that time. Well, there’d been no need to, had there? It wasn’t as if they had meant anything to her. All the same, she’d sent Bett a note, thanking her for going to all the trouble of traveling there, talking to locals, taking the photos. And then she had never raised the subject again. She’d had more than the occasional twinge of guilt. Wanting to tell someone the truth. But too much time had gone past by now for it to matter anymore, surely.

She took another sip of her drink and turned to her crossword. She’d finish the last few clues, then go to bed. As she reached for her pen and reading glasses, there was a crackle and a fizzing sound and the ceiling light went out. The wall light was on, so she could still see, but it wasn’t bright enough to work by. She’d been telling Jim for years he ought to improve them. She had a spare lightbulb in the wardrobe. She stood up and felt the desk chair. Yes, it was sturdy enough and the ceilings were so low, she’d easily be able to reach. It wouldn’t take a moment, and she must have changed hundreds, if not thousands, of lightbulbs over the years. And made thousands of beds. And set thousands of breakfast trays. And cleaned a
million
lavatories. She must count them all up one day; it could be amusing.

She took a scarf off the end of her bed to unscrew the hot bulb. Opening the wardrobe door to give herself something to hang on to, she climbed up onto the chair. As she did, the chair shook slightly. She turned to grasp the wardrobe door but misjudged the distance. The chair tilted some more and she felt herself falling. She put out both arms to stop herself, but it was too late. Her head knocked sharply against the wardrobe door and she fell to the floor.

T
he break was nearly over. Everyone was milling back in from the bar next door, complimentary beer and wine in hand. At their table in the corner, the three sisters were flicking through the forms.

Bett glanced down her list. Many of the names had enthusiastic ticks beside them. “What did you think, Carrie?” She was quite surprised how easy it had been tonight to make conversation with her sisters. Then again, Lola’s ban on difficult subjects was still firmly in place.

“I thought there was plenty of talent. And these here, see. What about them for the lead roles? Anna, who have you picked out?”

Anna moved her hand. Her sheet of paper was blank, apart from a few swirling doodles.

Bett bit back a smile. “Anna, it’s an amateur musical, remember. We’re raising money for a new ambulance, not going for the Tony Awards.”

“But if we’re going to do it, we may as well—”

“Do it well,” the other two chorused. The times they’d heard Lola chant that.

Anna sighed heavily, then flicked through the forms again. “Have we heard this Daniel Hilder audition? He filled out the form, and he’d be the right age for the Jack-the-Lad character, wouldn’t he?”

Bett stiffened. “Daniel Hilder’s here?”

“The photographer?” Carrie looked up. “I didn’t see him. Shall I go and ask him to audition?”

“No.” Bett spoke louder than she intended.

Anna and Carrie looked surprised. “You don’t want him to audition?” Anna asked.

“No, I mean I’ll go and ask him.” Bett stood up, taking her glass of wine with her. What would Lola have said to her? Face your fears. You are thirty-two. What happened was years ago, embarrassing and all as it was. Exactly. Of course she could handle this.

She did a circuit of the room, then spotted him walking in from the bar, a drink in hand.

“Daniel?”

He turned. As she came near him, someone behind her stepped back suddenly, bumping her elbow and sending her glass of red wine flying. She stood there with red wine dripping from her chin to her knees and all down the front of her dark blue dress.

For a split second she was tempted to run out of the room. Then she had a brainwave. React as if you are Anna, not Bett, she told herself quickly. It worked. “I’m going to ignore the fact that even happened,” she said coolly.

“Are you?” He seemed surprised. “All right, then. So will I.”

She stared straight at him, trying to ignore a glint of amusement in his eye. “I was wondering whether you wanted to audition, because if you do there’s still time.”

He nodded, but didn’t answer.

“Well?”

He smiled. “I’m sorry, Bett. I really am trying to ignore that little accident, but it’s a bit hard when you’ve got red wine dripping down your chin.”

She clung desperately to her new cool persona. “Well, we can’t have that.” She reached for a serviette, and wiped it away. “Would you like to audition? I noticed you’d put your name down, but we didn’t get to hear you.”

“I got called out for an hour,” he said. “An urgent phone call. I missed my slot.” He gave a surprisingly shy smile. “I thought it might be something different to do.”

How come he was being so normal? Did he have one-night stands all the time or something? Or had he blanked it out? Bett had been trying to, but all day she’d been tormented by memories from that night. She tried to block them out again. He’s got a live-in girlfriend, remember that. Possibly even married. Possibly even seven or eight children. A Labrador. Halitosis. Alopecia. Fungal toenails. It wasn’t helping. She was noticing only good things about him. The dark eyes. The laughter lines. The kind face. The shaggy dark hair. The faded jeans and casual shirt, hanging loosely, sexily, on him.

She opened her mouth, needing to say something about their night together, trying to find the words for it, when she heard a voice behind her.

“Hi, Daniel. I’m Carrie. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Hello, Carrie.”

Carrie looked from one to the other. “So are you two ready to get down to it?”

Bett blushed. She didn’t look at Daniel. “Pardon?”

“The audition?”

Yes, the audition. “Of course. Ready, Daniel?” Bett discovered you could look just to the right of someone’s face, and it almost seemed as though you were looking directly at them.

He smiled. “Ready when you are.”

Bett followed them back to the piano, surprised the candles on the tables weren’t melting from the heat coming off her face.

I
n her room, Ellen woke up. “Mummy?” No answer. “Mummy?” Then she remembered. Her mum was doing the musical and Lola was looking after her. She’d told her to come to her room if she wanted anything.

Ellen climbed out of bed.

A
nna was businesslike. “Okay, Bett, Daniel, when you’re ready.”

Daniel was standing by the piano, looking down at her, ready to sing. She had to blink away another memory of kissing him. If she was remembering his body, was he remembering hers? She sucked in her stomach.

“Bett?” Anna’s voice a little louder.

Concentrate, Bett, she told herself. Easier said than done. How had her life come to this? Sitting at the piano in the Valley View Motel about to play the backing music so that Daniel Hilder could audition for a musical Lola had written. She’d have been less surprised to find herself strapped to the nose cone of a space shuttle. She stared at the sheet music. Hands poised over the piano, she glanced up at him, nodded, and played the first note.

A loud shrieking filled the room.

They all turned. Ellen was in the doorway, dressed in her pajamas, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“Mummy, Lola’s dead.”

Chapter Eleven

B
ett pressed her cheek against the wall of the hospital corridor, feeling the coolness as she spoke into the public phone. “No, you don’t need to come back, Dad. She’s in hospital. It’s all under control.”