‘That’s Dixie!’ Netta screamed, jumping out of her seat to wave at her. Arnie held her back whispering, ‘Shush! She’s a foreigner.’ He thought Netta was going bananas and tried to pull her down but she was determined to see if it really was her old sparring partner. At the interval she made him troop round to the stage door to ask if they could speak to Miss Karenza herself. The doorman wouldn’t let them cross his threshold but did allow Netta to scribble a note to the artist instead. ‘Hi there! Greetings to the Evaporee from Stratharvar! How’s Malky?’ Her hand was trembling with excitement. Arnie did not know where to put himself for shame at her antics.

‘What will Mother say?’ he mumbled.

Within minutes a woman shot out of the door in a glamorous dressing gown lined with swan’sdown, ‘Ach, away ye go, hen. Is it really yous?’

‘She’s foreign, right enough,’ whispered Arnie.

‘That’s not foreign, it’s broad Glaswegian! Have you forgotten your Scottish education already?’ Netta laughed and gave Wilma a bear hug, introducing the astonished Arnie who seemed dazzled by her false eyelashes, make-up and glamorous air. Wilma looked like a Hollywood star now but underneath Netta sensed that she was still the same rough and ready Dixie.

At the end of the show she took them both for a late-night meal in a cellar where there was a jazz band and dancing. The music was sizzling and Arnie’s feet never slopped tapping. It was the best birthday night out ever, thanks to Dixie’s nous. She knew city hot spots better than any locals. The night began for her only when the curtain dropped. They missed the last bus home and Arnie walked Netta all the way to Kirkstall. ‘To think we grew up in the same city,’ he said,’ and didn’t know each other.’

‘I don’t think yer mothers washed in the same bathhouse, Arnie. Peg never got over having Papes and Jews as refugees, and her such a good Presbyterian. What a coincidence we should all meet up again, even if she’s just passing through.’

‘She’s off to the Grand in Bolton, next week. Wasn’t she wonderful… those costumes, and such a smart act? To think we’ve so much in common. I’ll take Mother to see her tomorrow.’

‘I don’t think so, it’s Friday,’ whispered Netta tactfully. Poor old Arnie was smitten by the sight of Karenza in the footlights and the lure of her greasepaint. Vida was not going to be happy about this at all.

*