The Leaving Of Liverpool by Maureen Lee Read Free Book Online Page A

the theatre district - she suspected the theatres would be all clumped together as they were in the West End of London. Now that she had funds, there’d be no need to go back on the game if she failed an audition or two, something she’d been forced to do more times than she could count back home. Trouble was, she’d had no experience or formal training, and hadn’t possessed a decent set of clothes in her life. She’d turned up for auditions looking exactly what she was: a pro, a woman of the streets, who’d just popped in hoping for a cup of tea or to get out the cold, yet she’d like to bet she could sing, dance and act as well as any girl there. She was a natural: just look at how well she’d acted today!
    As soon as she’d got rid of Annemarie, she’d washed off her make-up, slipped into one of Mollie’s frocks - the thick black woolly one with long sleeves and a Peter Pan collar - and pulled the pink hat down over her ears. She’d got quite a shock when she looked in the mirror and seen the prim, rather old-fashioned young woman staring back at her. But there was no time for such indulgences: she grabbed the handbag, picked up the suitcase, and left the cabin. Any minute now, Gertie would be back for Annemarie and there’d be ructions when she found the girl missing.
    She mingled with the crowds on deck, waiting impatiently for what seemed like hours, her heart in her mouth, as the big ship eventually ground to a halt with a rumble and an enormous judder. Minutes later, the passengers began to pour off, Olive with them, her heart still in her mouth. She still wasn’t in the clear: she had to get through Customs with Mollie’s passport.
    There was a queue at the barrier and she kept an eye out for Gertie, but there was no sign of her cabin mate. When it was her turn, the Customs officer looked at her closely, then back at the photo in the passport. Olive smiled at him brilliantly and said in a perfect imitation of Mollie’s accent, ‘It’s a horrible picture, is it not? I was coming down with the ’flu the day it was taken and I look as if I’m at death’s door.’
    ‘Well, you’re obviously much better now, Miss . . . ’ he looked at the passport again, ‘Miss Kenny. And what is your reason for visiting New York?’
    ‘I’m on holiday. I shall be staying with my aunt, Margaret Connelly, for a few weeks. She lives in Greenwich Village: eighty-eight Bleecker Street.’
    ‘I hope you like our city.’ He gave her the passport back. ‘Have a good time, miss.’
    She’d done it! She went to the Bureau de Change and asked for the pounds to be changed into dollars. In return, she was given a dazzlingly thick wad of notes.
    She’d actually done it!
     
    Hours later, it had begun to go dark and she was still closeted in the room, stunned by the enormity of what she had achieved. She sat on the bed and counted the money for the fifth or sixth time: $164 and some coins. She tucked it all inside the bag: tomorrow, she’d buy a little purse for the coins. There were quite a few things she wanted to do tomorrow, apart from finding where the theatres were, buying a purse, and getting some mercury tablets for the itch that continued to plague her.
    First, she intended to find a hairdresser and have her hair cut in a shingle - they were all the rage in London - and dyed back to its original dark-brown. The brassy frizz made her look like a tart. She’d like to bet she wouldn’t have been treated quite so respectfully at Customs or by the man on the desk downstairs had she not been wearing Mollie’s hat.
    She wondered what Mollie was doing now, poor cow. She’d be worried sick for her sister and was probably planning to catch the next boat to New York, that’s if she had money for the ticket. If Olive hadn’t arranged for Annemarie to take her place in steerage, by now she would have been safely delivered to the aunt: Gertie would have made sure of that. The aunt could have sent Mollie enough money to