Jazz Baby Page 5

  She missed singing. Going to church had never been her favourite pastime but the singing got her there. She loved it, and sometimes on a Sunday afternoon at the hotel half of Wollombi would gather around Alf’s Pianola and they’d have a real knees-up. Music and dancing seemed to be an important part of the entertainment at Mrs Mack’s too, though she’d never been invited to join in. If she left the door to her room open at night she could hear the music. Some of the songs she knew and they made her feet itch to dance. Humming the words to one of the tunes, she strolled back down the hallway just in time to see Alice appearing from their room.

  ‘Are you ready to go?’ Alice slipped her arm through hers. ‘Let’s go out the front door and get ourselves in the mood. We’re off shopping.’

  Dolly giggled and pranced down the steps. She’d hardly seen anything of Sydney; just the walk from the station on that first day and she’d been too terrified to notice anything other than the names of the streets as she’d followed Alf’s directions. She’d worked every day and never set foot outside Number Fifty-Four.

  Bouncing on her tiptoes she patted the money in her pocket and giggled aloud. ‘So where are we going, Alice?’

  ‘Down here, past the Courthouse. You want to steer clear of that place,’ Alice said, pointing to the imposing building with its row of Grecian sandstone columns and vast timber doors. ‘More people have got their comeuppance there than I’d like to count.’

  Dolly shuddered, not wanting any thoughts of courts and jails to spoil the day. She grabbed hold of Alice’s arm. ‘So we walk all the way down Oxford Street, then where are we going?’

  ‘I thought we’d go to David Jones. They say you can get anything there from a front door mat to the latest French perfume, and then maybe The Piazza, Mark Foy’s. There’s always a lot to see. Is there anything special you want to do?’

  ‘Yes.’ A blush crept across her face. ‘I want to buy some…buy a…step-in and a petticoat to wear under my frock.’

  ‘A petticoat?’

  ‘Yes. I hate the way you can see straight through when the light’s behind me.’

  ‘And what about a new dress?’ Alice said the words Dolly didn’t dare.

  She so badly wanted a new frock, not a sensible, cotton one with little flowers on it. If she had her way she’d never ever wear one like that again. She wanted something modern, something different to reflect her new life. Bright and exciting — with beads. ‘Oh, I’d love a new frock.’ Dolly sighed, squashing the thought that she should keep her money in case something unexpected happened.

  ‘Well, you can’t have spent much, you’ve hardly been outside the door. I’m sure we’ll find something.’

  ‘Maybe I should save some. What do you think?’

  ‘Live for the day, I say. Let’s see what we can find. We need to cross over here.’

  They ducked and weaved their way across the busy roads, skipping over the rail lines, avoiding a clanging tram by inches. The cloud of exhaust billowing from the back of a grocer’s van filled her mouth and she jumped onto the footpath and stopped dead. A massive building dominated the block ahead. With its turreted mansard roof and gold embellishments it looked like a palace. ‘Are we going in there?’

  ‘That’s right. Now, shoulders back, look like a lady. We’re going to find you a new dress.’ Alice grinned and led the way.

  The massive glass door reflected her image as the uniformed doorman held it open and she swept inside feeling for all the world like royalty.

  Two hours later Dolly emerged from David Jones, her body tingling with elation and a rush of moisture filling her eyes. Alice’s kindness overwhelmed her. She’d never had a friend before, never been shopping and never had so much fun. Her arms were full of parcels and her heart about ready to burst.

  Almost every penny had gone, including the five pound note Mrs Mack had given her. If it hadn’t been for the loan Alice insisted on making her she’d never have been able to afford the frock. In her head her mother’s voice chanted — never a lender or a borrower be — but she didn’t care. She knew where her next meal was coming from, she had a roof over her head and next week she’d earn more money and repay Alice.

  ‘So, are you pleased with yourself?’ Alice grinned at her and grabbed at one of the bags as it slithered to the ground. ‘Here, I’ll carry that. We can’t have you dropping your beautiful new frock. Let’s walk through Hyde Park.’

  They crossed the road by Museum Station skirting the great hole in the ground. ‘What’s that?’ Dolly peered between the hoardings.

  ‘It’s going to be the railway line that’ll meet up with Mr Bradfield’s new bridge across the harbour. It’s going to span the whole distance, nothing holding it up in the middle, you know, just pillars at The Rocks and over the other side at Milson’s Point. Reckon it’ll fall down if you ask me.’

  Dolly couldn’t even imagine the harbour, never mind a bridge going across it. She definitely needed to get out and see some of these wonders. What was the point of leaving Wollombi if she only saw the inside of Number Fifty-Four?

  ‘Shame you didn’t have enough money for a haircut.’ Alice yanked her arm and pulled her across the road, ignoring the frantic honking and rude-looking hand signals, to join the footpath running next to the park. ‘I reckon we can fix that up when we get back to Mrs Mack’s. Rosa’s handy with a pair of scissors. A new style will set your dress off to a tee.’

  ‘Do you think Rosa would do it for me? I’d love to have all this rubbish cut off.’ Dolly swung her head around and blew an errant strand of hair from her face, imagining a neat bob and maybe even some earrings.

  ‘Your hair’s thick enough. It’ll look a treat.’

  Leaving the tranquillity of the park behind Dolly followed Alice back down Oxford Street with a sense of accomplishment. Not only had she been shopping but she also knew the way home.

  ‘We need to get a move on. It’s four o’clock and if you want to show off your new clothes at teatime we’d better hurry,’ Alice said, walking briskly down the road.

  ‘Holy hell!’

  The two words stopped the entire room. Unlike the first time, Dolly cruised into the dining room throwing her shoulders back and performing a neat twirl. To thunderous applause and wolf whistles she made a neat curtsy.

  ‘Well! Hello Dolly,’ someone shrieked.

  ‘Blimey, look at you.’

  ‘Turn around again.’

  With all the make-up Alice had plastered on her no one noticed the flush covering her face; she puckered her painted lips and gave the kind of shimmy she’d been practising since she’d first seen Cynthia, then spun around again. Her short skirt flared from the drop waist and she gave the belt a swing before batting her sooty eyelashes and gliding to the nearest empty chair.

  With her heart pounding nineteen to the dozen she barely focused on the group of thunderstruck faces. She’d done it! A thrill of energy shot through her as she settled into the room with all the other brightly-clad girls, no longer feeling like a dowdy sparrow.

  ‘Well, ugly duckling doesn’t crack it anymore,’ said Mrs Mack from the far end of the table. ‘Good on you, love. I suppose you’ll be wanting a new job soon.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Dolly stammered, the purple feathered gown in the upstairs bedroom flashing through her mind. ‘I’m quite happy with my job, and with my wages.’ She giggled. ‘Alice and I went shopping.’

  ‘And who did your hair? It’s bloody marvellous,’ someone said.

  ‘Rosa.’ Dolly smiled down the table and patted the back of her cool, bare neck. Without the heavy swathe of hair she’d had for as long as she could remember she felt almost naked, yet the sense of freedom and lightness made her want to leap up and dance.

  The conversation rose and fell around her. Her haircut must have been a hit because the other girls vied for Rosa’s attention and fingered their own hair. Mrs Mack sat in her customary position, chin resting on her hands and her cinnamon eyes fixed on Dolly. She gave a tentative gri
n and Mrs Mack lifted her head and beckoned to her with a single manicured finger.

  Dolly pushed back her chair and walked to the head of the table. ‘Yes, Mrs Mack?’

  ‘What was that little song I heard you singing this morning?’

  Dolly swallowed and shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. I sing most of the time — while I’m working. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it disturbed anyone.’

  ‘It doesn’t. I have a feeling you might be hiding your light under a bushel so to speak.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Puzzled, Dolly tried terribly hard to remember what she’d been singing and when or whether she could possibly have offended anyone.

  ‘Something about a saxophone and wiggles. Like that little shimmy you did when you walked in the room.’ Dolly followed Mrs Mack’s finger as she pointed to the end of the table, almost as though she could, with a snap of her fingers, summon Dolly to perform the shimmy again.

  ‘Oh.’ Dolly cleared her throat. The thought that Mrs Mack had been listening to her while she passed the time with her dusting and polishing made her want to curl up and hide.

  ‘Well?’ Mrs Mack said.

  ‘It’s just a song I heard them singing the other night in the Blue Room.’ No amount of make-up could cover the bright red of her cheeks now. She stared down at the ground, willing it to open up and swallow her. Why, oh why, had she made such a spectacle of herself? And now this!

  ‘Sing it for me.’

  Dolly’s mouth gaped as she shook her head, unable to drag enough air into her lungs to breathe, never mind sing.

  ‘I can’t. Not in front of all these people. I only sing to amuse myself — pass the time.’

  ‘Today you might just have to do what you’re told and sing for your supper.’ Mrs Mack’s eyes narrowed and the firm line of her lips showed she meant business.

  Dolly swallowed the surge of nausea coursing up her throat. ‘Mrs Mack, please.’

  ‘I’m the boss, Dolly. When I ask you to do something you do it. Otherwise…’ Mrs Mack opened her hands and shrugged her shoulders. Her meaning was clear.

  Otherwise she wouldn’t have a job.

  Dolly cleared her throat and clasped her hands in front of her and started singing the ridiculous words. Her father had never been a trombone player and the thought of her mother having anything to do with ragtime was a joke. They’d both be turning in their graves. She struggled on, her voice not making a dint in the conversation around the table. No one listened, or even seemed to care. Intent on keeping Mrs Mack happy her voice swelled.

  As she continued to sing, the girls around the table faded into the background. She had nothing to lose and a job to keep. Her voice got louder.

  By the time she sang the final chorus, the other girls had joined in and Dolly began to enjoy her moment of glory. ‘That’s me!’ She finished with a flourish and applause broke out for the second time that afternoon.

  Laughing aloud Dolly glanced at Mrs Mack just in time to catch her wink.

  ‘I think we have a star attraction. Eat up, Dolly, you’re performing tonight.’

  ‘And if you’re good you get to keep your tips on the first night,’ Alice shouted down the table at her. ‘So then you can pay me back.’

  Chapter 8

  For the third night in a row Jack knocked on the battered wooden door. ‘Is Susie in?’

  As before the bouncer’s toothless grin invited him inside. Dressed the same way as all the other drinkers they now treated him as a regular. Jack had spent time getting to know the blokes who ran the game, playing two-up most nights or sitting around nursing a bottle of beer wrapped in a brown paper bag; however, he’d only received dismissive shrugs when he described Ted. He’d taken care not to mention him by name, wary of them warning Ted off.

  He’d pretty much given up hope of Blue the Ringy ever appearing. Then last night he decided to have one more bet and double-check the faces around the canvas before he called it quits. To his surprise Bluey had appeared on the other side of the canvas and he sidled up behind him. Millie’s name worked like African juju and the bloke promised he’d have some information for him tonight.

  Tipping the bottle back against his mouth Jack discovered it was empty. He screwed up the brown paper bag and tossed it down the hallway, squinting at the path it took. The bouncer swung open the front door and stepped back to allow a couple of men over the threshold. As Jack slid up the wall to his feet the brown paper ball rolled towards the door. Bluey lobbed it out into the street and turned to the bloke behind him, who had his hat pulled low over his face.

  Jack stepped into the centre of the hallway, his heart rate kicking up a notch as he craned from one side to the other trying to get a better look. The man’s leather trench coat reached well below his knees covering all except the bottom six inches of his legs. The boots gave him away — airman’s boots.

  Standing stock-still Jack waited until the Ringy approached, not daring to breathe.

  ‘He’s here. He doesn’t want to be.’ Bluey flicked his bullet head to the rear of the building. ‘Out the back.’

  Against his better judgement Jack turned and made his way back down the hallway. He half expected Ted to shoot through before he got there. Somehow Bluey talked him into staying.

  Once outside Jack nodded his thanks.

  ‘Don’t thank me. If it wasn’t for the fact I owe Mrs Mack he wouldn’t be here.’ The Ringy lumbered into the crowd leaving Jack face-to-face with Ted.

  Expecting another punch, Jack braced himself and waited with every muscle tensed.

  After a long moment Ted pushed his hat back off his face and stared at him. ‘I told you I’d got nothing to say to you.’ Despite his antagonistic tone Ted didn’t leave. The black patch he now wore over his eye eased the impact of his injuries giving him an almost self-assured look.

  ‘We need to talk, Ted, and more importantly, Dolly deserves to know you are alive.’

  A shudder shook Ted’s shoulders at Dolly’s name and he chewed his lower lip. ‘What’s she doing in Sydney? Why isn’t she at home?’

  ‘Come over here and sit down.’ Jack hitched his thumb at a couple of rickety chairs backed up against the outside window; he was certain Ted would feel better if he wasn’t staring into his face. Jack let out a long slow breath as he sat down, determined to maintain the fragile truce. ‘Do you want a beer?’

  Ted cracked his knuckles one by one. ‘Get on with it. I haven’t got all night.’

  Jack doubted Ted had anywhere else to go and from the smell of him he hadn’t been near a bath recently. He didn’t beat around the bush. ‘Your father died about six months ago. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I know.’

  Ted’s bland response hit Jack harder than the punch he’d received the first night and his anger spiked. ‘You know! And you left Dolly alone to deal with it? How bloody long have you been back in the country?’

  ‘Just over two years.’

  ‘Two years! Where the hell have you been?’ Jack dragged his chair around to face Ted not caring how much it offended his sensibilities. All he could think about was Dolly. Left to deal with her father dying without knowing his only son was alive and back in the country.

  ‘Doesn’t sound like you went rushing back to Wollombi to look after Dolly the minute you got home,’ Ted said.

  ‘She’s not my bloody sister and it wasn’t my father dying.’ Jack’s fingernails cut into his palms as he clenched his fists. He wanted nothing more than to knock the selfish arse off his bloody chair, injuries or no injuries.

  ‘I was in France, took me a while to get back to England. Matter of a bloody bullet ripping half my face off and my best mate not giving a shit whether I’d survived or not.’

  Jack closed his eyes and forced his shoulders to drop. Ted’s words cut deep. He’d left him for dead, it was true, though not until he’d seen Ted’s plane spiral out of control and hit the ground in a scorching inferno. Christ, almost as many pilots were killed learning to fly the wre
tched planes as had been shot down. Sopwith Camels were hard to handle at the best of times, never mind with half your face shot off. No one could have survived the impact — but it appeared Ted had. ‘How did you get out?’

  ‘Phoenix, mate, Phoenix.’

  Momentarily their old bond surfaced and Jack laughed. The rest of the squadron named their planes after anything Australian — kangaroo, emu, boomerang, kookaburra — but not Ted. He’d insisted from the beginning his plane was Phoenix. ‘Yeah? Come on, seriously.’

  ‘Just luck. I was thrown clear. Broke one leg and my collar bone, and this.’ He gestured to his face.

  ‘Jesus, mate. We circled and watched. Your plane burst into flames before you even hit the ground.’ Jack had no trouble remembering. The images played out each night in his dreams. ‘The wing tip clipped a tree and — ’

  ‘And I was thrown clear. You probably know more of what happened after that than I do. When I came to, my mates had gone and the Phoenix was ashes.’

  Jack dropped his head into his hands reliving the seconds after the crash. He’d watched helplessly as the flames took hold of Ted’s plane and blamed himself for not preventing Ted from going in first. He’d flown back up into the clouds in search of the German clown who’d clobbered Ted. Found him and shot the bugger down. Not before the fuselage of his own plane and his right leg had taken a pounding.

  ‘What happened then?’ Jack asked, keen to keep Ted talking. He still hadn’t agreed to see Dolly. The tiniest hint of their old friendship swirled in the darkness and through their conversation some of the aggression leached out of Ted. Jack twisted his head and studied Ted’s face. His scarred cheek lay hidden in the shadows…they might have been sitting thigh-to-thigh down by the creek with fishing rods.

  ‘Couple of locals found me and patched me up as best they could. They wanted to hand me over. I talked them out of it. Once I got a grip on things I got back to England. By then I’d started to heal and there wasn’t much the doctors could do. I talked the authorities out of contacting Pa and Dolly. Wanted to wait until I looked less like a gargoyle.’ He uttered a harsh laugh. ‘It was never going to happen, though at that stage I still cherished a few foolish dreams.’