so you won’t want to see this, then,’ Janette said, waving a blurry carbon copied piece of paper in front of her.
‘James is going to Cyprus. He’s going to be away for—what’s that thing?’
Despite herself, her eyes had lighted on the word Dancers on Janette’s paper.
‘Sure you want to see?’ Janette teased, backing away from her with the paper held above her head.
‘Yes—come on—what is it?’
‘No more flipping James?’
‘OK, OK.’
Eagerly, Lillian read the notice. Do you like dancing? it asked. Are you fifteen or over? Come and audition for the Mamie Hill Dancers and help with our charity work dancing for Old Folks etc.
Her excitement dimmed a little at the words charity work. This was not a professional troupe, then. But it was a start. It was dancing, up on a stage, in front of an audience. She made a note of the time and place of the audition and spent the rest of the evening discussing it with Janette. James wasn’t forgotten, but she did have something to look forward to once more.
Mamie Hill turned out to be a tall lady with a cigarette in a long holder and rather too much make-up, who could have been any age from forty to sixty. She made an exotic figure in her bright dress and flowing scarves in the middle of a dusty church hall. What impressed Lillian was the fact that she had been a professional dancer—it showed in every movement she made.
After a word or two about the troupe, she got each of the dozen or so girls who had arrived to dance on the stage, accompanied on the out-of-tune piano by a woman who chainsmoked through the whole proceedings. Lillian did her We’re a Couple of Swells routine, enjoying the thrill of it all over again. As she dropped into the final splits on the rough boarding of the stage, she felt a splinter ram into her thigh, but managed to keep the bright smile on her face. She got up and looked at Miss Hill. Had she liked it? So much was riding on this. This was more than just one contest, this was the chance to learn and perform.
Mamie Hill opened her notebook, her gold propelling pencil poised. ‘What did you say your name was, dear?’
‘Lindy-Lou Parker.’
‘And have you been dancing for long?’
‘Oh—ages,’ Lillian said.
‘Mm—well—I won’t ask who taught you, but you’ve got a lot of rough corners to knock off. A lot. But you’ve got oodles of raw talent, and you can perform. That’s the thing, dear—performing. You have to give out to the audience, you have to give all of yourself, and you do that. Now, are you prepared to come to two practices a week and be available whenever we’re asked to perform?’
Was she? There was only one answer to that.
‘Oh, yes, Miss Hill! I’d love to.’
‘Very well, then. Be here at seven o’clock on Thursday.’
Lillian cycled home six inches above the ground. This was it! This was her start. Her feet were on the yellow brick road.
The only problem, and it was a huge one, was deciding what to say to the family. After the fuss about the talent contest, she feared that if she admitted to what she was doing it would be forbidden. Round and round her head went Aunty Eileen’s last words to her—Don’t let them stop you. Maybe the best way was simply not to tell them. But if she went ahead and did it, lying in the process, then there would be even bigger ructions when she was finally found out. She couldn’t bear the idea of being stopped before she had started, so she opted for secrecy and said she was going to see friends when she went to practices. Maybe something would turn up to change Gran’s mind. It was a long shot but she went for it, closing her eyes to the consequences.
Mamie Hill was a tough teacher. She treated the girls as if they were a proper dance troupe, picking up sloppy steps and lazy arms and making them all work really hard, going over each movement until it was right.
‘Practice, practice, practice!’ she insisted, gesticulating with her cigarette holder.
Some of the girls groaned and complained as they did a sequence for the tenth time. Two got so fed up that they left. But Lillian loved it. This was what she wanted. She could feel her body responding to the discipline. She welcomed the criticism and did everything that Miss Hill suggested. She got up early each day to do ballet exercises, using the chest of drawers as a barre and ignoring Wendy’s complaints at being disturbed. She went over the dance routines in her head as she cycled to work and practised steps in the store room of the shop as she searched for shoes.
The troupe got their first booking, a request to entertain the Darby and Joan Club at their birthday party. Lillian was thrilled. Then Miss Hill started to talk about costumes. Lillian listened, appalled, as ideas for three different outfits were described. How on earth was she going to make these? Like all girls, she had learnt some basic needlework at school, but a sailor suit? A frilly satin dress? How was she going to make those? And the cost! It was going to take all the money she had left from her earnings after giving her keep to her mother.
‘Now, I’m sure your mothers will be able to help you with this,’ Miss Hill was saying. ‘All mums are clever with their needles, and they love a pretty project to do. It makes a nice change from turning sheets sides to middle and mending trousers.’
Quite apart from the fact that she had not yet told the family about the Mamie Hill Dancers, Lillian could just imagine her mother’s reaction if she asked for help. That weary, washed-out look would come over her face.
Oh—I don’t know—really I don’t—your grandmother wants me to—
There was always something that Gran wanted doing. And the summer season was looming.
It was no use asking Wendy. She hated sewing and, anyway, she never helped anyone if she could get out of it. If only her aunty Eileen were still here, she would be delighted to try. Turning it over in her mind, Lillian realised that they did have someone in the family who could sew. Susan. Asking her would mean having to admit to what she was doing, and then of course Susan would tell Bob and then the whole family would know. But Susan, on James’s request, had come in on her side when she’d gone in for the talent contest, so maybe she would support her this time.
The next time Susan came round to their house, she waited till Bob was out of the room and broached the subject.
‘Oh, that sounds interesting, dear. A stage costume! I haven’t made a stage costume before. Let me see the pattern.’
Lillian showed her the sketches and the newspaper patterns that had been copied from the expensive tissue ones. Susan nodded and commented on the technicalities involved. Just as Mamie Hill had predicted, the project interested her. It was something a bit different from ordinary dressmaking. By the time Bob came back into the room, she was getting enthusiastic.
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