Charleston, the Black Bottom and the Tango, and the Shimmy. She needs a partner, however, and we thought . . . we wondered . . .’
Lottie could see what was coming. ‘If you mean me, I don’t know any modern dances, and I don’t mean to learn them, either,’ she said firmly. ‘Just what have you got in mind, Mam? If you want to drop the tap-dancing and the songs . . . you know I wouldn’t mind, don’t you? The show must come first, as they say.’
Louella gave a trill of laughter and did not remind her daughter that she wanted to be called Louella all the time now. ‘Darling, how absurd you are!’ she said gaily. ‘No, I’ve something quite different in mind. I thought we would bill ourselves as “The Three Lacey Sisters” for the songs and the tap-dancing, and then you and Merle could do the modern dances. Merle would have to dress up as a boy because she’s seventeen and probably taller than you, but I dare say she won’t mind that.’
‘I dare say she will,’ Lottie said positively. ‘If she’s used to taking the girl’s part and wearing those wonderful waistless dresses with the skirts several inches above her knees, and having long necklaces and feathers in her hair, she won’t take kindly to a feller’s evening suit.’ Something struck her even as she said the words and she peered suspiciously across at her mother. ‘Merle? Did you say she was seventeen and her name was Merle? Oh, Mam – Louella, I mean – is she the girl who took my place when I was in hospital? The one you said couldn’t hold a tune?’
Cornered by her own eloquence, Louella could only nod unhappily. ‘Yes, Merle did stand in for you whilst you were in hospital,’ she acknowledged. ‘But of course she was a lot younger then and Max says her voice has improved no end. She’s left the circus and has been working in Birmingham, I think he said, doing a three sisters song and dance routine with two other girls, but they’ve moved on, so as I said she’s out of work. Darling, do be sensible! If the three of us can work up a good act, we can bring it back to Liverpool when the holiday season’s finished. I’ll still be Max’s assistant, of course, but I’ve been thinking for some time that our mother-daughter act isn’t as appealing now you’re older. Merle can be made up to look sufficiently like us Laceys to make the audience believe we really are sisters. But of course if you hate the idea I suppose I’ll have to think of something else.’ She took the cake bowl from Lottie and plunged it into the sink, then went over and grasped both her daughter’s hands, gazing earnestly into her face. ‘Darling, I’m going to let you into a secret and I want you to promise me that you’ll never say a word to a soul about what I’m going to tell you.’
‘Oh, Mammy,’ Lottie breathed, far too excited at the thought of a secret to consider forms of address. Perhaps, at last, her mother was going to divulge a bit more information about her past! Over the last two years she had told Lottie that Denham Duncan had been a stage name and that her father had really been Alf Denham, a name which Louella described with scorn as being far too commonplace for a magician. She had also admitted that the name Lacey was not her own maiden name but her mother’s, since it seemed that Lottie’s grandmother had been Jane Lacey before her marriage to Walter.
‘What was Walter’s surname?’ Lottie had asked, intrigued. She knew both her grandparents were dead, but now it seemed her mother was about to flesh their image out a little. ‘If Grandmamma had been Jane Lacey, then when she married she would have become Mrs Walter Something, wouldn’t she?’
‘Yes, that’s right. My father’s name was Henning,’ Louella had said, with a darkling look. ‘What a perfectly dreadful name! If I’d used it on stage, people would have made clucking noises and flapped their wings – elbows, I mean. They might even have thrown eggs. So
Lottie could see what was coming. ‘If you mean me, I don’t know any modern dances, and I don’t mean to learn them, either,’ she said firmly. ‘Just what have you got in mind, Mam? If you want to drop the tap-dancing and the songs . . . you know I wouldn’t mind, don’t you? The show must come first, as they say.’
Louella gave a trill of laughter and did not remind her daughter that she wanted to be called Louella all the time now. ‘Darling, how absurd you are!’ she said gaily. ‘No, I’ve something quite different in mind. I thought we would bill ourselves as “The Three Lacey Sisters” for the songs and the tap-dancing, and then you and Merle could do the modern dances. Merle would have to dress up as a boy because she’s seventeen and probably taller than you, but I dare say she won’t mind that.’
‘I dare say she will,’ Lottie said positively. ‘If she’s used to taking the girl’s part and wearing those wonderful waistless dresses with the skirts several inches above her knees, and having long necklaces and feathers in her hair, she won’t take kindly to a feller’s evening suit.’ Something struck her even as she said the words and she peered suspiciously across at her mother. ‘Merle? Did you say she was seventeen and her name was Merle? Oh, Mam – Louella, I mean – is she the girl who took my place when I was in hospital? The one you said couldn’t hold a tune?’
Cornered by her own eloquence, Louella could only nod unhappily. ‘Yes, Merle did stand in for you whilst you were in hospital,’ she acknowledged. ‘But of course she was a lot younger then and Max says her voice has improved no end. She’s left the circus and has been working in Birmingham, I think he said, doing a three sisters song and dance routine with two other girls, but they’ve moved on, so as I said she’s out of work. Darling, do be sensible! If the three of us can work up a good act, we can bring it back to Liverpool when the holiday season’s finished. I’ll still be Max’s assistant, of course, but I’ve been thinking for some time that our mother-daughter act isn’t as appealing now you’re older. Merle can be made up to look sufficiently like us Laceys to make the audience believe we really are sisters. But of course if you hate the idea I suppose I’ll have to think of something else.’ She took the cake bowl from Lottie and plunged it into the sink, then went over and grasped both her daughter’s hands, gazing earnestly into her face. ‘Darling, I’m going to let you into a secret and I want you to promise me that you’ll never say a word to a soul about what I’m going to tell you.’
‘Oh, Mammy,’ Lottie breathed, far too excited at the thought of a secret to consider forms of address. Perhaps, at last, her mother was going to divulge a bit more information about her past! Over the last two years she had told Lottie that Denham Duncan had been a stage name and that her father had really been Alf Denham, a name which Louella described with scorn as being far too commonplace for a magician. She had also admitted that the name Lacey was not her own maiden name but her mother’s, since it seemed that Lottie’s grandmother had been Jane Lacey before her marriage to Walter.
‘What was Walter’s surname?’ Lottie had asked, intrigued. She knew both her grandparents were dead, but now it seemed her mother was about to flesh their image out a little. ‘If Grandmamma had been Jane Lacey, then when she married she would have become Mrs Walter Something, wouldn’t she?’
‘Yes, that’s right. My father’s name was Henning,’ Louella had said, with a darkling look. ‘What a perfectly dreadful name! If I’d used it on stage, people would have made clucking noises and flapped their wings – elbows, I mean. They might even have thrown eggs. So
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