The Girls from Greenway

by Elizabeth Woodcraft

  He brought through the fold-up chairs they’d sat on before, then the tea. He handed her a mug. She looked at it appreciatively. ‘You’re good at making tea, I’ll give you that. Nice and strong.’

  ‘That’s me all over,’ he said. ‘What’s your name again? What did Harry call you? Anne? Anna?’

  ‘Angie.’

  ‘Hmm, Angie, Angela. Nice name for a nice girl.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Don’t forget, we’re just having a cup of tea.’

  They sat in silence, looking past the display dummies in the window, to the street outside. There were few passers-by at this time of the morning.

  ‘Why—?’

  ‘Where—?’ They began speaking together. ‘After you,’ he said.

  ‘I was just going to ask you why you came to Chelmsford.’

  ‘I was looking for a girl like you,’ he said.

  ‘We’re still drinking our tea,’ she said. ‘Hold your horses.’

  ‘My horses are champing at the bit,’ he said. ‘I was going to ask you where you work.’

  ‘English Electric,’ she said. ‘For the moment.’

  ‘Oh, are you looking for a new job?’

  ‘All the time.’ She was surprised at herself. Only Carol knew about her attempts. ‘It’s hard, you fill in the application, send it in with a stamped addressed envelope and then you never hear back. It’s expensive.’

  ‘You could come and work here. I could do with a bright sharp assistant.’

  ‘Oh, ha ha. You couldn’t afford me.’

  ‘Couldn’t I? That’s a shame.’

  ‘And it’s not just about the money. I think I’d be hopeless at it, if I’m honest.’

  ‘I like a girl who’s honest. Restores my faith in human nature.’ He stood up and took the mug from her hand and put it on the counter. ‘Makes up for the rest of us.’ Then he pulled her to her feet. ‘I like you,’ he said. ‘I like you a lot. I wonder why that is.’

  ‘Probably because I’ve already got a boyfriend so I’m not going to chase after you.’ He was still holding her hand.

  ‘No. I liked you that day when you came in, before Christmas, wasn’t it? And you were a bit upset, and you told me you didn’t like malted milk biscuits.’

  ‘I don’t,’ she said.

  ‘But you made me laugh. And of course, that glorious head of hair and those grey eyes of yours. Irresistible. I like grey eyes.’ He drew her to him and leaned down to her face. She could smell the tart lavender aftershave. ‘What’s that Roger got that I haven’t?’

  ‘Well, he hasn’t got a wife for one thing.’

  ‘Oh Cynthia. She and I are through.’

  ‘Given the glasses she wears I’m not surprised,’ Angie said. ‘That was her you were with that night, wasn’t it? In the County Hotel?’

  ‘Yes, it was my lovely soon-to-be-ex-wife. She occasionally deigns to bring down some stock from the London shop.’

  ‘So you’re not divorced, then?’

  ‘No, but as good as.’

  ‘Have you got any children?’

  ‘No. Cynthia didn’t want them, and I’m not bothered.’

  ‘I want children.’

  ‘Do you? We could make some now if you like. I’ve got a little camp bed out the back.’ He turned.

  ‘Ha ha. Just stay here,’ she said slowly. ‘Stop joking. I’ve got to think.’

  ‘What are you thinking about?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So, what are you thinking?’

  ‘Whether I should kiss you now.’

  ‘I think you should.’

  ‘Shut up! I’ve got to think. I’m not like you. I don’t kiss just anyone. There is Roger, after all.’

  ‘Oh Roger. Well I don’t want to kiss him.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t take too long,’ he said. ‘There’s work to be done. But I should say I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you walked into the barber’s this morning. You’ve got a lovely mouth, you know.’

  ‘All right,’ she said. She leaned into his face and kissed him. He put his arms round her waist and she wound her arms about his neck. This was lovely. After a few seconds he opened his mouth and she let her tongue creep in. His tongue met hers. She felt she was melting. Roger had never kissed her like this. Oh, Roger.

  The bell on the door tinkled and they jumped apart.

  ‘Good morning, young man,’ Gene said, rubbing his hands together. ‘What can I help you with today?’

  The fresh-faced mod boy who Angie didn’t recognise looked at the floor and then said, ‘I want one of those Fred Perrys you said were coming in.’

  ‘I said they were coming in and in they have come. Now what colour would you like?’

  Angie sat back down and picked up her mug of tea. She watched Gene talking to the mod boy, discussing colours and size, making the boy relax and feel important. She could almost see his chest swell as he looked Gene in the eye, and talked about the number of buttons and the way the collar sat. She was impressed by how cool Gene was being, as if they hadn’t just had such a wonderful moment. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. She was glad she had come back. She had wanted to for a long time. She didn’t know how it would affect her relationship with Roger. Her stomach twisted a little. She would think about that later.

  Gene was behind the counter, taking the money, making small talk. The mod said something and Gene laughed. ‘Bye,’ the boy said.

  ‘Bye,’ Gene and Angie said together.

  ‘I’ll see you tonight then?’ he said to Angie.

  ‘Tonight? I can’t tonight.’

  ‘How about next Saturday then. I’m usually in the Golden Fleece about eight. Will you be there?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, as casually as she could. ‘We’re usually in there about then. We’ll be there.’

  On the bus on the way home she thought about him, this morning, and now next week! Maybe next month. She imagined him leaving his wife for her. She decided she wouldn’t tell Carol about the arrangement because Carol might not want to come out and Angie needed moral support. For one thing, he might not turn up. And she wouldn’t tell Roger, there was no need, because next Saturday night Roger was out of town.

  CHAPTER 10

  IT HAD BEEN A HARD DAY at work. Graham was away ill and Angie realised how much she depended on him. She’d had to cover his work too, and one or two little mishaps had occurred, some valve components had been sent back to be done again and Mandy had got upset. On the way home, waiting for the bus, a car had driven through an enormous puddle and soaked her shoes and the bottom of her skirt and had splashed her suede. She longed to be indoors, take off her wet shoes and stockings and sit down in front of the telly with a good programme.

  When she walked through the back door into the kitchen, unusually her mum and dad were both at home. The kitchen table was covered with bits of paper, brochures and photographs. Mrs Smith was standing, looking at them thoughtfully. Her dad was leaning against the draining board, studying the racing pages in the newspaper. Neither of them looked up when Angie walked in.

  Angie went through and hung her coat in the hall and took off her shoes. Back in the kitchen all was silent. She stood beside her dad and washed her hands at the sink.

  ‘Put the kettle on for us,’ her mum said. ‘I’m dying for a cup of tea.’

  ‘Dad’s standing here. Why can’t he do it?’

  ‘Don’t start,’ Mum said. Dad moved to the other side of the room with his newspaper and leaned against the sideboard.

  As the water splashed into the bottom of the kettle, over her shoulder Angie said, ‘So how was your day out in London?’ She looked at the paper on the table. ‘What’s all that?’ She saw the words ‘Australia’, and ‘Ten Pounds’.

  Mum began to scrape the pages together. ‘Nothing. Nothing.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like nothing,’ Angie said.

  From the living room, Doreen ca
lled, ‘Tell her!’

  Mum sighed. ‘Oh, you might as well know. We . . . we went to Australia House. We thought we’d just go and have a look.’

  ‘A look at what?’

  ‘You know.’

  ‘No, what?’

  Doreen shouted from the living room. ‘They want to move to Australia.’

  ‘What? What do you mean?’

  Doreen walked into the kitchen. She was wearing a flowery cotton housecoat and she had rollers in her hair covered with a blue nylon mob-cap. She looked like a milk-maid with black eyeliner. ‘They want to go to Australia.’

  ‘Why?’ Angie said. She looked at Doreen.

  ‘To get away from their past?’ Doreen laughed as she examined her stockings. ‘I might get some stockings without seams for a change. What do you think?’

  ‘Why do you want to go to Australia?’ Angie asked again.

  Doreen looked up. ‘You’re coming too.’

  ‘Me? No, I’m not. Why would I want to go to Australia?’

  ‘You’re the one who’s always moaning about not doing anything or going anywhere. Well, here’s your chance.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’ Angie looked at Doreen to make her shut-up.

  ‘It’s a whole new start,’ her mum said. ‘It’s warm, they have houses, they’ll get us a job. Your dad won’t have to clean windows anymore. They want people like us.’

  ‘People like us?’ Angie said. ‘What does that mean?’

  Before her mum could answer, Doreen said. ‘They want people with style and ideas. People who want to go places. Like me. And you, if you could be bothered. Anyway, there’ll be nothing left for you here. We’ll all be gone. You’ve got to come.’

  ‘Hush,’ her mum said. ‘Angie’s got Roger. I can see that might be a worry for her.’

  ‘It’s not just Roger,’ Angie said. ‘It’s . . . everything. My job, my future, all my . . .’

  ‘All your what?’ Doreen said.

  My dreams, Angie thought, but she was silent. She looked over at her mum. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Very serious,’ Dad said. ‘Look.’ He lowered the newspaper. ‘I even went and had my hair cut before we went up there.’

  ‘That’s only because Harry gives you a special rate,’ Angie said.

  ‘A haircut’s a haircut. Not that your friends would know that. Long haired idiots.’ Dad lifted the paper again and continued reading.

  ‘It’s . . . it’s because we want a change,’ Mum said. ‘A fresh start. There are so many opportunities. Things would be different there . . . For me. For your dad . . . For all of us.’

  ‘Well, good for you. Have a nice life. I’m not going.’

  ‘Of course, you’re coming,’ Dad said from behind the paper.

  ‘If we’re not here, where will you live?’ Mum said.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘There you are.’

  ‘Give me a chance. You’ve just sprung this on me. I could . . . I could live with Carol.’

  ‘They haven’t got room for you.’

  ‘I could share Carol’s room. Or I’ll get a place of my own. Or Carol and me could get a place together. I don’t know, do I? I’ll stay at the YWCA. Anyway, I’m not going.’ Angrily she heaped tea into the teapot.

  ‘If we go, you go,’ her dad said, not looking up.

  ‘That’s a nice attitude,’ Angie said.

  ‘Come and have a look at these.’ Mrs Smith spread the brochures out on the table again.

  ‘In a minute!’ Irritated, Angie lifted the kettle from the stove, poured the boiling water into the teapot and covered it with the green and red knitted cosy.

  Her dad stood up straight. ‘Nearly time for my programme. Bring my tea in.’ He walked through to the living room and switched on the television. Angie thought: just like him – declare they’re moving to Australia and then walk away.

  Mrs Smith on the other hand carried on. ‘You remember Ivy Beckton, who I went to school with.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of her,’ Angie said.

  ‘Yes, you have,’ Doreen said. ‘She came round once with a cake she’d made. When Dad . . .’

  ‘Doreen!’ Mrs Smith hissed.

  ‘When Dad wasn’t here.’

  ‘Oh, her. She was nice,’ Angie said.

  ‘Yes, well. She’s gone out there. And she loves it. She says that when we go we can live with them for a bit.’

  ‘Really?’ Doreen said. ‘They must be mad. How many kids has she got?’

  ‘She’s got two kids. They’re out there too, but they don’t live at home. They work. One of them’s a nurse, I think. That’s a nice job.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a nurse,’ Angie said.

  ‘They live in Melbourne. She put a picture of their house in her Christmas card. It’s lovely. I’m sure I showed you. But even if we couldn’t stay with her, they give you a place to stay in when you first get there, anyway.’

  ‘Yeah, but they’re not that nice,’ Doreen said. ‘A woman at work, her sister went and it was like a camp.’

  ‘Another reason not to go,’ Angie said.

  ‘I think they’re hostels. But that’s what I’m saying. We wouldn’t have to stay there. It’ll be so nice to see Ivy again. She was such a good friend. And they have a really nice life. Barbecues on the beach at Christmas.’

  ‘That is not natural,’ Angie said.

  As the TV set warmed up the sound of a serious voice came through into the kitchen: ‘Australia – a young country for you and your children.’

  ‘There, listen! The advert!’ Mrs Smith said.

  ‘It’s just an advert,’ Doreen said.

  ‘But it’s an advert for Australia!’

  ‘Oh Mum!’

  Mrs Smith pushed Angie and Doreen into the small living room. ‘Shh, watch. Look at that! Look how hot it is. Ice cream all year round.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘And that, there. Sandy beaches, lovely waves.’

  ‘But Mum . . .’

  The advert ended. Mrs Smith looked from Doreen to Angie. ‘Say what you like, but we’ve just been and got all those leaflets and now the advert’s come on telly, the very same day. Don’t you think that means something?’

  ‘Oh Mum!’ Doreen and Angie chorused together.

  ‘What? I thought you wanted to go.’ Mrs Smith looked at Doreen.

  Doreen shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Do you really?’ Angie turned to her sister.

  ‘Why not? It would make a change. See some different people. Get a tan. Wear a bikini.’

  ‘Yeah, I expect that’s what they want. More people to wear bikinis on their beaches. I thought you were supposed to have a skill.’

  ‘We’ve got skills. Your dad’s got skills.’

  ‘I’ve got skills,’ Mr Smith muttered

  ‘Such as?’ called Doreen.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody cheeky. Now get out and let me watch the television in peace.’ It was a programme about the war.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind,’ Doreen murmured, ‘but he wasn’t even in the war.’

  Mrs Smith hustled Angie and Doreen back into the kitchen. She began pouring the tea. ‘He did his part up at the airbase,’ she whispered. ‘He’s done a lot of things you don’t know about.’

  ‘Things we don’t know about? Like what? Changing his pub?’

  ‘Hush! He was an engineer. And then there’s me. I’ve got my thing.’

  ‘What thing?’ Doreen asked.

  ‘The glassblowing.’

  ‘You?’ Angie was astounded.

  ‘I did it just after I left school,’ Mrs Smith said proudly. ‘I was the only girl at Crompton’s who did it. When they had visitors, they used to bring them round to see me.’

  ‘Why did you stop? What happened?’

  ‘Your father.’

  ‘Tell them I was an engineer!’ her dad called from the living room. ‘I did seven years’ apprenticeship.’

  ‘When?
He’s never been an engineer in my lifetime.’ Doreen said. ‘Bloody hell. How come there are all these things about my family that I never knew? And now you say he’s changed pubs!’

  ‘You were small. He worked at Crompton’s. That’s where we met.’

  ‘I knew that,’ Doreen said. ‘I just thought he was a cleaner. When did he stop working there?’

  ‘You would have been about seven or eight. He lost his job.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There was some trouble.’

  ‘What kind of trouble?’

  Mrs Smith said nothing but gave them a look that said, ‘You can guess.’ She held up her fists in a fighting stance. Aloud she said, ‘He was young. Anyway, he’s got the qualifications they want.’

  ‘So why was he a chimney sweep and why is he cleaning windows if he’s got all these skills?’

  Mrs Smith made another ‘you can guess’ expression.

  ‘What are you saying now?’ Mr Smith called.

  ‘Nothing,’ Mrs Smith called back. ‘We could have a whole new start there,’ she whispered. ‘It would be good for all of us. We’ve all got skills. Angie, you’ve got your valve work and Doreen, well, you can sell stuff, I suppose.’

  ‘I do book-keeping too,’ Doreen said, ‘when Mrs Preston’s not there.’

  ‘There you are! We’re set.’

  ‘Where’s the tea?’ Mr Smith shouted.

  ‘A really good new start would be us going and leaving him here, Mum,’ Doreen said.

  Mrs Smith laughed. ‘Yes, that would be something, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘But I suppose it’s his engineering skills they really want,’ Angie said.

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘So, why don’t you just send Dad and you can stay here with me?’ Angie said.

  ‘No.’ Mrs Smith shook her head. ‘That wouldn’t be fair.’ She took a cup of tea through the arch into the living room.

  Doreen and Angie stood in silence. Angie’s mind was churning. How could they go to Australia? Their family was a mess. Surely no one would want them. One thing was definite. She wouldn’t go. She had too much to do here. She looked at her watch. She definitely had something to do now. ‘What’s the time? I’m going to be late.’