Chapter 6

      Tom collected Clover at eight o’ clock on the Wednesday evening. The weather had turned and a light drizzle had set in. Beneath his brolly, she warmly linked her arm through his as they walked along Brown Street and on, down steep Caroline Street and Claughton Road towards the Opera House, absorbed in each other.

      Outside the theatre in Castle Hill, people arrived in cabs and stepped off trams in swarms. In the foyer, folk were milling about animatedly, looking at photographs and colourful posters, chatting, laughing. ‘Tickets here, please,’ somebody in uniform was calling. Tom joined the queue and paid for two seats in the stalls near the orchestra at two shillings each. He smiled at Clover as he rejoined her and his heart skipped as the bright flare of the ornate gas lamps reflected in her eyes, enhancing their sparkle. An attendant with polished brass buttons pushed open the door into the auditorium. Two enormous crystal chandeliers that hung majestically from the high ceiling cast a warm glow. Several men in army uniform, tall, straight-backed, with fine moustaches, turned to stare at Clover and nudged each other as Tom allowed her to go before him.

      They took their seats ready for the nine o’ clock show and Clover smiled admiringly at Tom. As they sat, he looked at her with profound curiosity.

      ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ she asked, puzzled.

      ‘Because you never seem to look the same twice,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d remembered your face from the last time I saw you, yet you look different. Your cheeks seem rounder, your eyes bigger. Your nose…No, your nose is the same…as beautiful as ever.’

      ‘My nose!’ she said with exaggerated scorn and laughed. ‘You’re always going on about my nose.’

      ‘I can’t get over your nose.’

      ‘Because it’s such a big obstruction?’

      He laughed. ‘It’s not big. Only you think it’s big…All right, it’s a tiny, tiny bit long, but that’s what makes it so exquisite. Don’t you see?’

      ‘I’m glad you like it. I hate it.’

      ‘Don’t hate it. It’s an alluring feature.’

      ‘Let’s look at the programme,’ she said, wishing to turn his attention. He opened it up between them. ‘Have you heard of any of these?’

      ‘I’ve heard of that comedian, Little Tich, and Casey’s Court Circus troupe. They’re supposed to be very funny. Nobody else, I must admit.’

      ‘Nor me. I’ve not seen a variety show before. I expect you’ve seen hundreds.’

      ‘Oh, I’ve been here a few times – and to the Empire. I always enjoy it. I imagined you would enjoy it as well.’

      ‘Well, it’s a change for me.’ She looked about her and was surprised to see how already nearly all the seats had been taken. Another couple asked if they could come through their row and Tom and Clover stood up to allow them passage. ‘I do like the atmosphere,’ she whispered. ‘It seems so friendly and warm.’

      The lights went down and the little orchestra struck up. An arc light was trained on the stage curtain and a little man wearing navvies’ clothes strutted on and told a few ribald jokes then sang a song. He introduced the magician, who had a moustache bigger even than Jake Tandy’s.

      Clover’s attention was divided equally between the show and Tom’s being so close to her. Sometimes she would turn to him and smile and he would tilt his head towards her as she whispered some comment or query. Then she would tilt her head as he whispered a reply, and his breathy words in her ear sent shivers up and down her spine.

      She glanced about her, at the ornate plasterwork of the Opera House, and the gilt scrolls and the fluted columns that supported the roof and the galleries behind them. She watched the conductor’s baton as it waved about like something from a Punch and Judy show above the dark velvet curtain with its bright brass rod that divided the orchestra from the rest of the auditorium. She shuffled her bottom in the velveteen-covered seats that were so plush and comfortable. She loved the acrobats that tumbled all over the stage and somersaulted off each other’s shoulders and tiptoed across a wire that was fastened tight between two posts.

      The comedian called Little Tich, who wore a dark suit with large yellow buttons and a shiny top hat, had her in stitches with his smutty jokes that would have had her mother turning her nose up in disapproval. When one of his jokes went over her head, she tapped Tom on the arm, shook her head and frowned. He explained it in a whisper and she put her hand to her mouth in shock, then giggled and nodded that yes, she did understand after all.

      Tom’s attention was focused almost entirely on her. He loved how she chuckled at what she heard, at her facial expressions that registered shock, surprise and apprehension, sometimes all at once. He loved the way she glanced at him to see his reaction to almost everything, how her eyes creased and sparkled with vitality as she laughed. He was excited at having her so close to him, at having her to himself at last, after yearning for her for so long.

      Dottie Baxter, a handsome, round-faced girl with a fine figure and wide hat trimmed with lavender, sang ditties with a streak of blue implicit in them. She had the modest air of a young girl at her first dance, and Clover identified with her. During her first performance she pretended to surprise herself with little fantasies that cropped up in the lyrics of her songs. The audience became mouse-quiet, leaning forward lest they missed any of it.

      The next turn was spectacular: Monsieur and Madame Salambo, human lightning conductors. A volunteer was needed from the audience and a self-conscious young man was coaxed onto the stage. Madame Salambo asked him to hold one end of a hollow glass tube while she retained the other end. Suddenly, there was a brilliant flash as the glass tube lit up, and everybody laughed at the astonishment on the young man’s face. When he was asked to touch Madame and Monsieur he was just as amazed when a series of sparks shot out from them. The tricks went on, amazing everybody and Clover looked on in open-mouthed incredulity.

      When the curtain came down for the interval, Clover asked Tom the time and he told her it was just after ten.

      ‘I ought to go,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Mother will have been expecting me by ten.’

      ‘But we’ve only seen the first half of the show. Don’t you want to see the rest of it?’

      ‘’Course I do. More than anything.’ More than anything she wanted to remain with Tom. ‘Oh, to hell with her, Tom. I’m staying. If I’m late, I’m late.’

      ‘Blame me,’ Tom said. ‘I’m the one keeping you out late. Anyway, what do you have to fear? You’re a grown woman and Jake is very fair. You’ve said so yourself.’

      ‘It’s just that I didn’t realise we were coming here tonight. If I’d forewarned her…’

      ‘Well, the show won’t be over till after eleven. You might as well sit it out and enjoy it. You might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb. What time do they shut the Jolly Collier?’

      ‘Oh, they’ll be serving till going on for twelve o’ clock. Maybe later.’

      ‘Well, then. They won’t even notice what time you come in. In any case, I’ll come in with you and explain. I’ll tell your mother it’s my fault. Anyway, you should be allowed to stay out late if you want to. It’s not as if you’re a child.’

      Clover smiled up at him, embarrassed that they should both have to contend with her mother’s quaint but annoying idiosyncrasies. She made her mind up to do something about it. Indeed, she would have to if she wanted to be courted regularly by Tom.

      So, she settled comfortably into