The Boy I Love (49 page)

He gave Sally another hug and said huskily, ‘Come on – let’s join the others in the pub.’

Everyone was a bit subdued, and the word was out that Jeremy and Eddie had been an item, so when they arrived at the pub no one quite knew what to say. Jeremy cleared the air by announcing that
the drinks were on him, and they were going to toast his lover and wish him well, wherever he was. A big cheer went up and everyone’s spirits rose. They were a team and would move on
together.

Sally sat in the corner and watched the proceedings. Dora caught her eye and waved to her. Sally smiled and waved back and was reminded that they were back in action again now, so anything could
happen. Dora had taken over Christmas Day with her high spirits, and wonderful news. Of course Mum and Dad were absolutely over the moon, and could not believe things had changed so much in just a
few months. Sally could not help but feel that she herself had somehow let them down. She had stayed in much the same place, as far as they were concerned. Never mind that she had fallen in love
and had her heart broken, discovered that she and her sibling were worlds apart, and decided that maybe she was not cut out to be an actress after all.

When Patricia had come to tuck her up on Christmas Eve, she said, ‘I know we joke about things sometimes and you may feel we don’t take you seriously enough, but you know you can
tell us anything, my darling. We just want you to be happy.’

Happy! Wasn’t that what everybody wanted in life? Was Eddie looking for happiness when he popped those pills? Was he searching for happiness when he was partying hard, and taking all those
men inside him? Was Sally happy when she woke up beside Rupert?

Yes, I was, I suppose, Sally thought to herself. But I was also happy because deep inside me, I felt good about myself. Surely I can achieve that contentment without having to rely on other
people all the time? I am quite content at Crewe, and I am going to enjoy each minute as it happens, and see where I go. As that agent Peter Stone said, it is all luck and karma, and being in the
right place at the right time.

‘Sorry to interrupt your day dream, sweetie, but I need you to help me clear the wing space for the next show,’ Heather said.

‘Just coming,’ answered Sally and went to find Jeremy.

He was surrounded by the lads so she pulled him to one side, saying, ‘I just wanted to tell you I love you, and that we
can
do this!’

That afternoon, Giles assembled the cast and crew once again to tell them that the police had finished their investigation of the theatre and they were now free to continue
their rehearsals. There was a round of applause and people wandered off to sort themselves out and get back to life as normal.

‘Oh, Jeremy,’ Giles called to him as he was leaving with the others. ‘This is for you. The police no longer need it and it is addressed to you.’ He handed Jeremy the
envelope.

‘But what about his family? Surely you should give it to his father?’ Jeremy ventured.

‘I have tried to contact Lord Graham on several occasions, but to no avail. It has been made very clear to me that neither he, nor the Graham family, want anything to do with me – or
the theatre for that matter.’ Giles smiled at Jeremy sadly. ‘God only knows what is going to happen to us next season when His Lordship’s grant is withdrawn.’

‘I am sure we can think of something, Giles, and everyone will rally round. Don’t give up hope yet, and just think: once
Hamlet
has had rave reviews, you will be flavour of
the month!’

‘Thank you for your vote of confidence, young man, it is much appreciated.’ Giles watched the young actor join the gang, and thought for the umpteenth time how much he missed Teddie.
But once again, Lady Luck had not left him completely. He had his production of
Hamlet
to keep him busy and he could do without romance for the time being.

Sally had invited Jeremy to supper at the flat. She had made proper dinner, and the two of them were sitting at the kitchen table finishing their bottle of wine when Jeremy
produced the envelope.

‘What’s that?’ asked Sally.

‘It’s the note Eddie left for me, and I thought I would share it with you.’ Jeremy smiled shakily and squeezed her hand. ‘I am not sure I could have read it on my own
anyway.’

He slipped his finger inside the envelope, took out the sheet of notepaper and began to read his lover’s last words aloud.

April 1983

Sally gazed out across the rooftops of Venice. The beauty of the scene was overwhelming. It was another world. She thought back to Christmas, just three months ago. So much had
changed in her life. When the season had finished at Crewe she had retreated home still reeling from Eddie’s suicide and Jeremy’s despair. She had so wanted to help her dear friend get
through this terrible time, but in the end it had to be down to him. They had parted with promises to catch up after a break, Jeremy to his parents’ home and Sally to hers. Dora had left to
go to Nottingham and suddenly Sally was back to her childhood days being cosseted by her parents.

And then there was Mack. She could not believe how happy she had been to see him. He had come to the house and they had gone for a walk, and to her amazement Sally had poured out all her hopes
and fears to him. He had wrapped her up in his love and coaxed her back to her usual sunny self. She still had not decided what she wanted to do next though, and suddenly fate had taken over.

‘I have been offered a three-month tour of Europe to teach and advise on sculpture for a new generation of city-dwellers,’ announced Mack one day in the pub. ‘God knows what it
means, but I get paid to work my way round Europe. Why don’t you come with me and give yourself a real break, Sally.’

Sally could not think of one reason not to say yes. And here she was in Venice, looking across St Mark’s Square, feeling as if she was in a Canaletto painting. She was the happiest she had
ever been in her life, but sometimes a nagging little voice would remind her that she had to decide what she wanted to do with her life. Her career. She suddenly thought of Jeremy and all the
conversations they used to have about commitment to the theatre and dedication. She must send him a postcard. Maybe when she got back, she would ring him and see if he wanted to share a pad
together. They had discussed it at one point . . .

‘Hey, you – come back to bed. I need you.’

Sally turned and looked at the huge double bed, then the head of glossy black hair, beneath which she could see a pair of piercing blue eyes smiling at her.

Domani
,
domani
– tomorrow, tomorrow – what would tomorrow bring?

Final Curtain

Read on to discover Lynda Bellingham’s first novel

Tell Me Tomorrow

Hertfordshire, Spring 1910

John and Alice Charles had three sons, loud, strapping lads always up to mischief, but only one daughter. She was called Mary, and she was the youngest of the family. John was
the vicar of St James’ Church in a small village called Allingham, not far from the historic town of St Albans in the county of Hertfordshire.

It was on a church outing to St Albans that Alice Cooke entered the young would-be curate’s rather lonely life, and love blossomed. Alice was the daughter of a wealthy landowner in
Buckinghamshire, and her marriage to John was deemed a drop in the social scale. Once it was clear to Alice’s parents that she was determined to marry beneath her station, they sent her
packing, albeit with a quite substantial dowry. However, Alice never saw her parents again. They regarded her as feckless, and a disappointment, and concentrated their hopes and ambitions on their
two sons instead. As the only child of elderly parents who died when he was embarking on his career in the clergy, John was alone in the world. Alice was now abandoned, so the two young lovers made
their world themselves, and thanks to Alice’s optimistic nature and goodness of heart, between them they created a loving family.

Their daughter Mary had the advantages of being brought up with three brothers – and the disadvantages. She was protected and spoiled, but also very innocent, and unaware of life outside
her family. But she had a lively mind and had inherited her mother’s warmth and optimism. She loved to learn, and if truth be told she was the brightest of them all. However, life in those
days was ruled by the men. Mary had to play a secondary role to her brothers even though she often taught them herself, as school was not something they went to willingly. There was many a day when
cries could be heard from the scullery as one or other of the boys was beaten for playing truant.

But not today; nobody was going to be shouted at today. It was Sunday, Mothering Sunday to be precise, and it was a beautiful morning, with the promise of spring in the air. Mary had been
waiting for this special day to arrive for ages. She had made a card for her beloved mother and helped her brothers to make one from them. The back door of the scullery was wide open as the girl
searched the garden for early snowdrops and budding daffodils to put on her mother’s breakfast tray. She could hear a lark showing off in the field behind the house, and paused to listen to
the clear notes soaring above her. It was hard not to enjoy the promise of the day, outside here on the step.

But Mary was under a dark cloud that morning. Her mother, Alice Charles, lay upstairs grievously ill with pneumonia.

Mary was only ten years old but was already taking on the household chores. With her father and three brothers in the house, the work never ended. Mrs Edge came in every day to help. She was a
lovely round lady who lived in the village. Her duties covered everything from cooking a hearty tea for Mary and the boys, to arranging all the flowers in the church and leading the ladies of the
village in the cleaning of the brass. She was a great comfort to Mary as her mother’s illness took hold. The little girl was very much alone as John Charles did not seem able to cope at all
with his wife’s decline. He had always been a rather distant figure to Mary. He worked very hard, dividing his time between the church and his parish duties, and spent hours shut away in his
study. He always had time for his wife, of course, for Alice was the light of his life, and she tried to ensure that the house was calm and tranquil. Not an easy task with three sons around. Now
Mary was trying to ease the burden of her mother’s care, so that her father could write his sermons, and perform his pastoral duties. But the house had lost its brightness since her mother
had taken to her bed.

Mary had spent most of the night beside her mother, tending to her and trying to keep the fever at bay. She had just changed the bed-linen and Alice’s nightgown. Having washed the other
sweat-soaked sheets by hand and stuffed them through the mangle, she was hanging them out in the morning sunshine to dry. She felt a little faint from lack of sleep but paid no heed. Time enough to
sleep when her mother was on the mend.

Back inside the kitchen, she put her posy of flowers in a tiny glass vase and placed it on the tray. Then she went to the range to pick up the heavy black iron kettle that was boiling on the
top. She made some tea and spooned plenty of sugar into a cup. Mrs Edge said sweet tea could cure anything. This would make her mother feel better. She was not supposed to touch the heavy kettle,
but these were difficult times, and all the child knew for sure was that she had to do her very best. She cut a slice of bread very carefully, with the sharp bread-knife threatening to do her
mischief at any moment, and spread some butter and jam on the extra thick slice. How she loved the sweet-smelling sticky jam her mother made. It smelled of summer and strawberries and fun.

She carried the tray upstairs to her mother’s bedroom. The curtains were closed and the room was dark and stuffy, and it smelled sour. Mary put down the tray and tiptoed to the bedside.
Alice was propped up against the pillows, her eyes closed, breathing with great difficulty. The little girl took her hand and squeezed it gently.

‘Happy Mothering Sunday. I’ve got your breakfast, Mother. A nice cup of tea, and some bread and jam. Now you must eat it all up to make you strong.’