Wilf Todmore.
‘Here y’are, Sydney.’ She had lowered her voice. ‘Three thirty, each way on Bright Star.’
Glancing quickly around him, he took out a small notebook, scribbled something, tore out half the page and handed it to her. ‘How’s hubby?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘He won’t get no better but he ain’t no worse, thanks for askin’.’ She looked at Rose. ‘’Aven’t I seen you at The White Horse? Aren’t you the singer with the brolly?’
For a moment Rose brightened but then, remembering the present circumstances, she said, ‘No. It wasn’t me.’
‘Well, you’re the spitting image!’ She lowered her voice. ‘Listen, dearie. Hot tip. Bright Star. Three thirty. Sure thing.’
‘Oh, er. Thank you.’
The woman tapped her nose. ‘We got this system, see. I do the tea leaves and my Bert, he interprets ’em. That’s what it’s called, see – interpreting, though some people call it reading but it’s not the same thing. I saw a sort of star this morning in the dregs of his tea cup and right off he looks down the runners and blow me down – he sees Bright Star!’ She waggled fat fingers by way of goodbye and they all watched her go.
Marcus asked him, ‘Does it work, her system?’
‘Hardly ever.’ He turned to Rose. ‘Satisfied? Now hop it!’
Marcus took hold of Rose’s arm. ‘His name’s Sydney. He’s not the one, Rose.’
Rose was reluctant to give up. ‘Does a Wilfred Todmore ever come here?’
‘I’ve never heard of him and that’s the honest truth.’ He looked at Marcus. ‘Take her away, for Gawd’s sake! She’ll get my ruddy collar felt!’
Marcus took out his handkerchief, wiped Rose’s tears and led her away. ‘We’ll find a café,’ he told her, ‘and have a cup of tea.’
Subdued by her disappointment she asked, ‘What are you doing here? I don’t want you following me around just now.’
‘I’ve something to ask you, Rose. Something exciting.’
‘Exciting?’ She shook her head. ‘No thanks, Marcus! I’ve had enough excitement for one day.’
‘Are you going to explain why the bookie’s runner was so important?’
‘No. It’s . . . it’s a private matter.’
‘What was all that about tea leaves?’
‘Forget about it, Marcus. I’ve got too much on my mind right now.’
‘Aren’t you ever going to tell me what’s going on?’
‘Probably not.’
Wisely, he made no reply.
Fifteen minutes later they were sitting in ‘Maida’s Café’ with tea and cakes and Rose was listening half-heartedly to Marcus’s offer.
‘So you want me to come with you and Marie to take her to France, to your mother? Is that right?’
‘To help look after her on the journey, yes. I thought you’d jump at the chance.’
He was obviously disappointed with the way she had received his exciting news and Rose understood. At any other time she would have jumped at the chance but now she had her career to think about and she also had to deal with her father’s arrest and the possible arrival of the bailiffs. The latter was a deep humiliation to her and she was determined that Marcus should remain in the dark about it for as long as possible.
‘I have three performances a week at Andy’s Supper Room,’ she told him with more than a hint of pride. ‘How can I let them down? It’s my big chance.’
‘I see that. Couldn’t you ask him to alter the dates – let you start later?’
‘But I need the work. I have to live!’ Already she had worked out that she would have to leave the house where she was born. With half the furniture missing and no contribution from her father – legal or otherwise – she was going to have to move out and Connie’s place beckoned. If she went to France she might come back and find that someone else was renting Connie’s spare room.
‘But we’d pay you for your time,’ he told her. ‘Didn’t I say that?’
‘No you didn’t.’ Just like rich people, she thought bitterly. Money was of no
‘Here y’are, Sydney.’ She had lowered her voice. ‘Three thirty, each way on Bright Star.’
Glancing quickly around him, he took out a small notebook, scribbled something, tore out half the page and handed it to her. ‘How’s hubby?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘He won’t get no better but he ain’t no worse, thanks for askin’.’ She looked at Rose. ‘’Aven’t I seen you at The White Horse? Aren’t you the singer with the brolly?’
For a moment Rose brightened but then, remembering the present circumstances, she said, ‘No. It wasn’t me.’
‘Well, you’re the spitting image!’ She lowered her voice. ‘Listen, dearie. Hot tip. Bright Star. Three thirty. Sure thing.’
‘Oh, er. Thank you.’
The woman tapped her nose. ‘We got this system, see. I do the tea leaves and my Bert, he interprets ’em. That’s what it’s called, see – interpreting, though some people call it reading but it’s not the same thing. I saw a sort of star this morning in the dregs of his tea cup and right off he looks down the runners and blow me down – he sees Bright Star!’ She waggled fat fingers by way of goodbye and they all watched her go.
Marcus asked him, ‘Does it work, her system?’
‘Hardly ever.’ He turned to Rose. ‘Satisfied? Now hop it!’
Marcus took hold of Rose’s arm. ‘His name’s Sydney. He’s not the one, Rose.’
Rose was reluctant to give up. ‘Does a Wilfred Todmore ever come here?’
‘I’ve never heard of him and that’s the honest truth.’ He looked at Marcus. ‘Take her away, for Gawd’s sake! She’ll get my ruddy collar felt!’
Marcus took out his handkerchief, wiped Rose’s tears and led her away. ‘We’ll find a café,’ he told her, ‘and have a cup of tea.’
Subdued by her disappointment she asked, ‘What are you doing here? I don’t want you following me around just now.’
‘I’ve something to ask you, Rose. Something exciting.’
‘Exciting?’ She shook her head. ‘No thanks, Marcus! I’ve had enough excitement for one day.’
‘Are you going to explain why the bookie’s runner was so important?’
‘No. It’s . . . it’s a private matter.’
‘What was all that about tea leaves?’
‘Forget about it, Marcus. I’ve got too much on my mind right now.’
‘Aren’t you ever going to tell me what’s going on?’
‘Probably not.’
Wisely, he made no reply.
Fifteen minutes later they were sitting in ‘Maida’s Café’ with tea and cakes and Rose was listening half-heartedly to Marcus’s offer.
‘So you want me to come with you and Marie to take her to France, to your mother? Is that right?’
‘To help look after her on the journey, yes. I thought you’d jump at the chance.’
He was obviously disappointed with the way she had received his exciting news and Rose understood. At any other time she would have jumped at the chance but now she had her career to think about and she also had to deal with her father’s arrest and the possible arrival of the bailiffs. The latter was a deep humiliation to her and she was determined that Marcus should remain in the dark about it for as long as possible.
‘I have three performances a week at Andy’s Supper Room,’ she told him with more than a hint of pride. ‘How can I let them down? It’s my big chance.’
‘I see that. Couldn’t you ask him to alter the dates – let you start later?’
‘But I need the work. I have to live!’ Already she had worked out that she would have to leave the house where she was born. With half the furniture missing and no contribution from her father – legal or otherwise – she was going to have to move out and Connie’s place beckoned. If she went to France she might come back and find that someone else was renting Connie’s spare room.
‘But we’d pay you for your time,’ he told her. ‘Didn’t I say that?’
‘No you didn’t.’ Just like rich people, she thought bitterly. Money was of no
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