A Mother's Trust (16 page)

Phoebe knew only too well. She had had twenty years’ experience of living with her mother and for the last decade she had helped create the illusion that Ma
could
contact the spirits of those who had passed on. She did not hold out much hope that her mother would listen to good advice, and when she took the opportunity that evening to broach the subject she was proved correct. As usual, Ma would go her own sweet way.

Herbert had apparently used his influence with Marcus White and Annie was granted permission to open up a fortune-telling booth in the foyer of the theatre one hour before the matinee performances were due to start, and for one hour at the end of each show. A mutually acceptable rent was agreed and Herbert made use of his many contacts in the town to procure a tent-like structure that was just big enough to seat Annie at a table and accommodate one client at a time.

Phoebe had done her best to make her mother see sense, but it seemed that everyone in the lodging house, including Judy, thought that it was an excellent scheme, and after an encouraging start the project proved to be more successful than anyone could have imagined. The theatre was filled to capacity for each show and Annie’s takings increased daily. Phoebe had to be relieved of some of the cleaning work in order to act as cashier and to make sure that the queues were orderly. She was happy to help her mother but she was wary when Marcus suggested that Annie could work some additional sessions before the evening shows. Annie had no such qualms and readily agreed to his proposal. The only person who seemed unhappy with this, apart from Phoebe, was Caspar. Annie, he said was invading his territory with her supposed
mystic
powers. Now there was ill-feeling simmering beneath the surface between him and Annie as well as Hyacinth’s open antagonism towards Phoebe. This was something that Phoebe had learned to live with. She ignored Hyacinth and she avoided Caspar.

As the weeks went by the town was held in winter’s icy grip. The pavements were filmed with ice and the bare branches of the trees were tipped each morning with hoar frost. Bitter winds blew in from the east and Phoebe’s concerns were for her mother’s fragile health. It was no longer possible to disguise her condition, even under the flowing robes that she wore when she was seated in her small booth at the theatre. She was becoming increasingly exhausted after each session and one evening in the middle of December, when the weather had been particularly harsh, Annie collapsed on her way to the theatre. Luckily Phoebe was with her and Fred had accompanied them as he had a complimentary ticket for the latest production. The variety show had been temporarily superseded by a repertory company performing
Maria Marten
, or
The Murder in the Red Barn
, and to Phoebe’s intense relief, Caspar and Hyacinth had a booking in Bournemouth, although they were due to return to Brighton in the New Year when the pantomime season ended. Fred caught Annie as she fell, but his legs buckled beneath her weight and he crumpled to his knees still supporting her in his arms.

‘What is it, Ma?’ Phoebe cried, raising her voice in order to be heard against the wind shrieking in from the sea. ‘Is it the baby?’

Annie’s eyelids fluttered and she clutched at Fred’s lapels. ‘I dunno. I come over all funny.’

Clutching her cloak around her as the wind attempted to rip it from her slender frame, Phoebe looked round in desperation. It was obvious that her mother could walk no further and Fred was not strong enough to carry her. She waved frantically at a passing hackney carriage but it sped past with its occupants staring curiously from the window. Otherwise the street was deserted and they were halfway between the theatre and home.

‘She’s swooned again, Phoebe,’ Fred said urgently. ‘I can’t get her to her feet like this.’

Cold sleety rain was beating in Phoebe’s face and soon they would all be soaked to the skin. She knelt down beside her mother, slapping her pale cheeks in an attempt to bring her round. After what seemed like an eternity but could not have been more than a minute or two, Annie opened her eyes, staring at her dazedly. ‘What happened?’

‘You fainted, Ma. We’ve got to get you home. D’you think you could walk if Fred and me help you?’

Fred struggled to his feet. ‘If we both take an arm we might be able to lift her, Phoebe.’

‘You’ll have to help us, Ma.’ Phoebe hooked her mother’s arm around her shoulders and Fred supported her on the other side. Together they managed to raise Annie to a standing position. ‘Well done, Ma. Now take small steps and you’ll soon be home in the warm.’

‘But the booth, Phoebe. I can’t let my clients down. They depend on me and we need the money.’

‘Let’s worry about that when we’ve got you home safe.’

Annie stood still, refusing to move. ‘No, Phoebe. If we let Marcus down he’ll find someone else to do my job, especially as I’ve made such a success of it. We’ll need all the money we can get to make a fresh start. I’m not giving up my child for anyone – not the Giamattis nor the Paxmans.’

‘What’s she on about?’ Fred glanced anxiously at Phoebe.

She shook her head. ‘She has fancies. It’s her condition.’

‘Don’t talk about me like I wasn’t here,’ Annie said angrily. ‘I’m not out of my head.’

‘You need to rest, Ma. You’ve been overdoing it.’

‘I’m going to the theatre.’ Annie broke free from them but she staggered and it took their combined efforts to keep her from falling to the ground.

Clutching her mother in a firm grip, Phoebe heard the sound of horse’s hooves and glancing over her shoulder she saw a hackney carriage approaching from the town centre. She waved frantically and it drew to a halt at the kerb. ‘Get in, Ma, and no arguments. Fred will take you home and I’ll go on to the theatre. I can fill in for you tonight.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Quite sure, Ma.’

Annie allowed Fred to help her into the cab, but as he attempted to climb in beside her she shook her head. ‘Go with my girl. I’ll be all right on me own.’

Phoebe knew it was useless to argue any further. It
was
only a short carriage ride to the lodging house and it was Madame Galina’s evening off from working behind the bar in the Crown and Anchor. Although neither Galina, Judy nor Gussie had personal experience of childbirth, Phoebe knew that Ma was in safe hands. Judy promised to send for the doctor if it became necessary, and Phoebe was content to leave her wayward parent in their care. She linked arms with Fred and headed off towards the town centre.

When she arrived at the theatre, Marcus and Herbert were initially sceptical of her ability to take over the fortune-telling stall, but Phoebe was adamant that she could fill her mother’s place without losing the clientele that Annie had built up amongst the dedicated theatregoers. After a brief discussion they agreed to give her a chance, and with help from Rose she transformed her appearance into that of a gypsy fortune teller. She settled inside the small booth to deal with the steady stream of people eager to know what the future held. She had learned the patter from her mother along with the tricks of the trade that Annie used in order to elicit personal information from the punters. Having gained their confidence, Annie would launch into predictions of good fortune or romantic encounters with handsome strangers. Phoebe followed this example to the letter, although she found it disturbing when she saw shadows of ill health or bereavement lurking in the background. These came unbidden into her mind but she was too well trained to pass on forebodings of gloom. There was enough poverty and disease already in their grim world. Even in the comparatively
healthy
seaside resort, death stalked young and old with equal tenacity. The end was inevitable, but what Phoebe sold was the hope of something better in the interim.

She was exhausted by the time she had seen the last person in the queue. She stepped outside to warm congratulations from Marcus. He patted her on the shoulder. ‘Well done, Phoebe. I didn’t know you had it in you.’

She managed a tired smile. ‘I started young, Mr White.’

‘That I can see, but you were obviously an apt pupil. I listened in to some of your readings and I was impressed.’ He slipped his arm around her shoulders. ‘I think we can talk business, my dear. It’s obvious that Annie is close to her time and cannot continue much longer. I’m offering the job to you. What d’you say, Phoebe?’

‘I say yes, Mr White.’

‘Call me Marcus, my dear.’

PHOEBE WORKED HARD
at perfecting her act, for that was what she considered the fortune-telling booth to be. It was a piece of fun; an entertainment preceding the main event and not to be taken seriously. She enjoyed seeing the patrons leave with smiles on their faces, and as the weeks went by she began to recognise the regulars. She looked forward to hearing the details of their lives, which they were only too pleased to share with her. It seemed that by giving them the hope of better things to come their attitude to the daily trials that beset them had become more positive. She could not explain this, but she was happy if she had been able in some small way to be of help to the people who were fast becoming her friends.

Although she enjoyed her new status, she could not afford to relinquish her cleaning job. She tried at first to do both but Marcus, being an astute businessman, saw his profits growing and insisted on hiring a woman to take over the more onerous tasks of scrubbing the floors and polishing the brass handrails. Phoebe still swept, dusted and tidied the dressing rooms, wiping greasepaint off the mirrors and face powder from the table tops. The repertory company was notoriously untidy, leaving fish and chip wrappers, empty beer
bottles
and soggy fag-ends in unexpected places. Phoebe had come across an odd shoe that had been used as an ashtray for hand-rolled cigarettes and cigar butts. Somewhere in the theatre there must be a man searching in vain for his lost footwear. She could picture the frustrated owner hopping from one dressing room to another, but it was never claimed.

The time passed quickly and Christmas was approaching, not that there was much festive spirit in the lodging house. Judy, it seemed, did not hold with celebrating the season of goodwill, or if she did she managed to hide her feelings beneath a veil of contempt for fools who spent their money on lavish meals, presents and entertainments. Phoebe suspected that Christmas dinner was to be the usual boiled ox head or cod served with cabbage and potatoes. She had never complained about the meals that were served up with monotonous regularity, but she was worried by her mother’s lack of appetite and the fact that despite her enlarging belly she was pale, thin and listless. Phoebe knew that Annie missed working in the theatre and that she hated being confined to the house. Dolly was happy to keep her company and wait on her hand and foot, but Annie was easily bored and made it plain that she missed the bright lights and the adulation she received from the public.

One night when Phoebe arrived home late she was horrified to find her mother prostrate on her bed, snoring loudly and smelling strongly of gin, while Dolly slept as peacefully as a child in her truckle bed. Phoebe attempted to wake her mother, but Annie was
too
far gone in drink to open her eyes, and next morning it was apparent from Herbert’s demeanour that he too was suffering from the after-effects of a heavy session in the pub.

Madame Galina took Phoebe aside. ‘My dear girl, I think there is something you should know about your mamma and him.’ She jerked her head in Herbert’s direction. ‘They’ve become regulars in the saloon bar at the Crown and Anchor. Now I like a drop of brandy every now and again as I’m sure you know, but your mamma should not be drinking in her condition. She will kill herself and the child.’

‘Thank you, Madame,’ Phoebe said in a low voice. ‘I’ll speak to Ma when she wakes up, and I’ll tell Herbert Jackson what I think of him too.’

Madame Galina laid a warning hand on Phoebe’s arm. ‘Be careful. He’s not a man to cross. He may seem like a good fellow, but when he’s drunk he’s a bad man. Little Rose knows this and she tries to keep him on the straight and narrow, but give him hard liquor and you must watch out.’

‘He looks sorry for himself this morning.’

‘A bear with a sore head is the term, I think.’ Madame smiled ruefully. ‘I’ve been there myself, little one. Best leave him until the headache wears off and he puts on his cheerful face.’

‘What are you two whispering about?’ Gussie demanded, rising from the breakfast table. ‘It’s rude, you know.’

‘Mind your own business, you stupid woman.’ Madame waved her away with an imperious hand.
‘Keep
your place, Gussie Watts. I was having a private word with my little friend.’

Gussie’s small features knotted into a scowl. ‘Don’t believe a word the old fraud says, Phoebe. She always was a troublemaker.’

‘Will you two shut up?’ Herbert stood up, glowering at them. ‘My head aches. I need some seltzer and there’s none in the cupboard. Someone has stolen my seltzer.’

‘Rubbish.’ Madame Galina tossed her head. ‘You’ve used it all up, you old soak.’

‘It takes one to know one,’ Herbert snapped back at her. ‘I’ll use another drinking establishment in future.’

‘Good. You’re no longer welcome in the Crown and Anchor.’

‘Who says so?’ Herbert moved towards her with his chin outthrust. ‘You’re just a barmaid, Galina Lavrovna.’

‘I’ll have you know that I was famous in Russia.’

‘Well we’ve only got your word for that, you fat old faggot.’

Madame bristled visibly and for a moment Phoebe thought she was going to hit Herbert, but she was forestalled by Rose who had entered the kitchen unnoticed. ‘Poppa. I never thought I’d hear you speak so harshly to someone who’s been kindness itself to you and me.’

‘A serpent’s tooth,’ Herbert declared dramatically. ‘An ungrateful child.’

Rose hurried to his side, and clutched his arm, her eyes wide with fear. ‘Please don’t get yourself in a state. You’ll make yourself ill.’

‘Leave me alone, you snake in the grass.’ He pushed
her
aside and she stumbled against the table, knocking the teapot onto the floor. Hot tea spilt on her arm and stained her skirts. She cried out in pain and Phoebe hurried to her side, taking Rose gently by the hand and examining the injured limb.