‘I have to,’ Margaret whispered. ‘He knows I’m in here.’
‘Please do not tell him I am here,’ Kat begged, gripping Margaret’s arm as if her life depended on it.
‘I won’t, but if I don’t say something he’ll come in.’ Margaret ran across the room and, putting on a smile, opened the door and stepped into the corridor. ‘Thank you, Mr Goldman ... Anton,’ she said, in a carefree voice. ‘I’ve got a bit of mending to finish, so I’ll wait for Bill.’
‘If you’re sure?’ Margaret nodded. ‘Goodnight then.’
‘Goodnight.’ Margaret watched him turn and leave. ‘Oh, Anton? Would you ask Bert to send Bill up when he arrives, please?’
‘Yes. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’ Margaret returned to the dressing room and closed the door. The two women listened as Anton Goldman walked along the corridor, his steps becoming fainter until there was no sound at all. Kat lit a cigarette and lay back on the chaise.
‘I’ll empty the water, so you can use the glass for your brandy,’ Margaret said. ‘Shan’t be a minute.’ When she returned Kat was asleep with her cigarette in her hand. Margaret took it and stubbed it out in an ashtray on the dressing table, before kneeling down and taking Kat’s hands. They were as cold as ice. She gently rubbed them; first one and then the other, but she couldn’t make them warm. She took off her coat and put it over the sleeping dancer. Her face looked like the Russian doll she kept on her dressing table for luck - round and white. Her hair, usually immaculate, was stuck to her head, lank and greasy. There was a pink spot in the middle of each cheek and dark circles under her eyes that made them look as if they’d been set too deeply in their sockets. Kat looked very poorly.
Margaret paced the floor. She didn’t know what to do. She thought about going down to the stage door and telephoning Bill, but she daren’t leave Kat. She looked at her watch. Bill would be here soon. Until then, all she could do was watch Kat sleep and hope she didn’t stop breathing.
Half an hour later, Bill arrived. ‘Kat’s ill,’ Margaret cried.
‘Good God!’ Bill said when he saw Kat. ‘Do you know what’s wrong with her?’ Margaret shook her head. ‘Kat? It’s Bill. Can you hear me, Kat? Can you open your eyes for me? Margaret, pass me that bucket and then go down and ask Bert to telephone for an ambulance.’
Margaret flew down the stairs while Bill, who was used to dealing with sick people, stayed with Kat.
On her return Kat, ghostly white and shivering, began to retch. ‘Sit up, Kat,’ Bill said, ‘or you’ll choke.’
Kat did as she was told and began to vomit.
Within fifteen minutes two ambulance men were carrying Kat down the stairs, strapped to a chair. Another five and they were lifting her into the back of an ambulance.
‘I’ll go with her,’ Margaret said.
‘She’ll be fine once they get her to hospital,’ Bill said. ‘Come on, you look all-in, let’s go home.’
‘No, I’m going with her. You go home – you’ve got an early start in the morning. I’ll be all right on my own.’
‘No you won’t. I’ll take you on the bike.’
Margaret opened her eyes with a start.
‘Hello sleepy head. I think it’s time I took you home,’ Bill said.
Margaret stood up and stretched. She slowly walked over to the window in the waiting room of the emergency department of St. Thomas’s Hospital and pulled back the blackout blind a fraction.
‘Careful, Margaret, you’ll let the light out.’
‘I won’t,’ Margaret said, yawning. ‘It’s lighter out there than it is in here.’
Bill stood up, but before he’d taken a step a doctor appeared. ‘Are you Miss Kaplinski’s friends? Was it you who brought her into the hospital?’
‘Yes,’ Margaret and Bill said in unison. ‘How is she?’
‘It’s good news. Your friend is still poorly, but you got her here in time. Another couple of hours and we might not have been able to save the baby.’
‘Baby?’ Margaret gasped. ‘Kat is having a baby?’
Margaret climbed onto the pillion seat of Bill’s motorbike. She held onto him as he slowly steered the powerful machine out of the hospital gates. Once they were on the road, Bill gave the bike some throttle and Margaret wriggled closer. She laid her head on her husband’s back. The leather of his motorbike coat felt cold on her face. She was too tired to care. Besides, she liked the smell, and being cold it might keep her awake.
Before they had travelled a mile, Margaret’s eyes began to grow heavy. Thanks to a pothole in the road she didn’t fall asleep. If she had, she might have fallen off the back of the bike. She tightened her grip around Bill’s waist and felt him lean back. He did that as a sign of affection. He did it in bed, before they went to sleep, and he was doing it now to let her know he was there and she was safe.
Margaret looked around. The streets were empty. It was too late for people to be going home after a night out, and too early for them to be going to work. She looked up at the sky. It was almost dawn but there was still a pale, almost transparent moon. On the south side of the river, black smoke drifted across a ruby sky; a reminder that the East End of London had been blitzed again.
‘Brrrrrrrrrrr, it’s freezing,’ Margaret said when they arrived home. ‘I’m so tired I could sleep for a week.’
‘Go and put your nightie on while I make us a cup of cocoa,’ Bill said.
‘Thank you. You are a
