The Girls from Greenway

by Elizabeth Woodcraft

  ‘Oh well, goodbye,’ she murmured. She slid into the taxi. She had a strange raw feeling inside. She felt cheated. She had wanted more. She had wanted him to climb into the back seat of the taxi with her, because he couldn’t help himself. She had wanted him to crawl on top of her, his need for her too great to stop. She had wanted . . . oh, everything.

  CHAPTER 25

  THE NEXT DAY, ANGIE WOKE UP from a dream about the College, tutors were smiling at her, telling her how talented she was, looking at exotic dresses she had made. As her eyes opened she was smiling, then with a jolt, she remembered. Her dad had run off and taken all the money. And that meant her job, her lovely new job, would have to end. Her life was in tatters. She lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. She could afford to go to work for one more week she had calculated. And then that was it. She almost couldn’t bear it. This had been her dream job. Even Miss Darling knew that. In fact, Miss Darling had almost set it up. Miss Darling knew she had it in her, to go on to something bigger, to make something of herself.

  But now everything was ruined.

  Of course, they hadn’t absolutely confirmed that Dad had gone for good. There was a chance, an outside chance, but a chance that it was all a mistake and he’d come back. Or at the very least that he’d left the money, or some of the money behind, so that they wouldn’t be left poor and destitute. Doreen would ring the pools people and the bank in the morning.

  Oh, but she was bound to find out it was true. And then, all the bills would pile in. Her own debts, her mum’s and Doreen’s. All the new things they’d bought, the money they’d spent. It was all debt.

  *

  It was true. Dad had gone. On Monday morning, in her coffee break Doreen rang the pools people introducing herself as Mrs Smith. The pools people said that yes, a bank account had been opened at Barclays in Chelmsford, for Mr Smith’s winnings. Then still posing as ‘Mrs Smith’ Doreen rang the bank and they agreed that the account had been opened a few weeks before but emptied on Friday. And, the helpful assistant manager had added, Mr Smith had changed the money into American dollar Travellers cheques.

  ‘Of course,’ Doreen said, as calmly as she could. ‘Just like he said.’ She put down the phone.

  All that money, she thought, all that money. Gone with her dad. She couldn’t quite believe it, her dad, taking that dramatic step. All the planning he must have done, buying the new clothes Angie had seen in that suitcase, deciding when to go, taking the money out of the bank. She couldn’t believe he’d done it.

  But done it he had, and left his family behind, up to their necks in debt.

  The phone rang. It was Angie, ringing from London, as they had arranged. ‘It’s true,’ Doreen told her. ‘He’s gone. And so has the money.’ She repeated what the bank had said. ‘Travellers cheques!’ she seethed. ‘What an idiot! All that money in Travellers cheques. He’ll probably lose them.’

  ‘Oh Reen,’ Angie snuffled down the phone.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Doreen said. ‘We’ll think of something. For the moment, we’ll just carry on as usual. We’ll go to work and we’ll sort things out and he won’t beat us.’

  ‘Oh Reen,’ Angie said again.

  They were going to have to do something.

  CHAPTER 26

  AS SHE DROVE INTO TOWN DOREEN reflected on the current state of affairs. Dad had disappeared into thin air, and so had the money. Mum was now spending hours on the phone, ringing anyone she could think of, asking if they knew anything about Dad, and each time she put down the phone she sobbed quietly for at least five minutes. And Angie was just a weeping wreck, thinking about losing her beloved job. And then there was the debt, the enormous pile of debt that could destroy them all.

  She was having to get rid of everything. She had returned three new dresses, an expensive necklace and four pairs of beautiful shoes already, and cancelled all the new furniture, which left her missing the old three-piece suite and the curtains and rugs they had so cheerfully thrown out. Thank God the sinks and the toilets were fixtures or they’d have gone too. The house was almost as empty as the day they’d moved in. And now she was losing the car. She thought back to the time before the money arrived and wondered if they’d ever again be as close and as happy as they had been then. It hadn’t been the greatest life, but at least everyone wasn’t crying all the time.

  Doreen parked the car outside the showroom, opened the door, put her high heel shoes on the pavement and stood up. At least she looked good, she thought. She shut the door gently. Oh, she loved this car, she was so sorry to see it go.

  But now there was business to be done.

  She straightened her shoulders and sauntered in to the showroom as casually as possible. She glanced at one or two of the cars, as if she was considering making another purchase. She had worked out her strategy. She wanted to look successful, relaxed, but smiling, as if she was doing them a favour. Which, of course, she was – she was giving them the gift of a lovely car, one careful lady owner, who’d had the car for a mere five minutes. There was hardly any mileage on the clock. The mileage was so low, it was just as if one or two customers had taken the car out for a test drive.

  It wasn’t Saturday. The boy was nowhere to be seen. The man she had finally dealt with when she bought the car came out of his office, looking smart and cheerful.

  ‘Hello.’ She smiled as prettily as she could. ‘Remember me?’ She turned and indicated the Triumph at the kerb.

  ‘Of course. How’s it going? Is the car getting you everywhere you want to go?’

  ‘Oh yes. Well, I mean, I’ve hardly been out in it. It’s been parked outside the house for most of the time. The time it’s not been in the garage. All I’ve done is wash it!’ She smiled again.

  ‘The car will appreciate that. And so will you. They give back as much as they’re given!’

  She couldn’t believe the nonsense people talked. ‘And I’ve given it a lot.’

  ‘I’m sure you have.’

  ‘But now I need to get rid of it.’

  ‘Ohhh.’ His voice draped over the word in surprise.

  She had spoken too soon, been too blunt. She smiled again. ‘I can’t keep it.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s got a bit too much horsepower for someone . . . like yourself.’

  ‘No!’ Keep calm, she told herself. Keep smiling.

  ‘I know some ladies do find the convertible aspect a little difficult. Especially when it rains! With your hair and everything.’

  ‘What’s my hair—’ She stopped herself. She mustn’t let him annoy her. She mustn’t get mouthy. If he felt challenged or threatened in any way he would run and phone his bosses in Coventry or somewhere and they would tell him to say no dice, no chance, go to hell. Take it back? The very idea!

  But he was still talking, giving her his showroom patter. ‘I mean, we’ve got some lovely new little cars that you’d look smashing in. We’ve got a new Mini that a lot of the ladies are going for – so their husbands tell me anyway!’ He smiled knowingly. She still wanted to smack him.

  She took a breath. ‘The Triumph is a lovely car,’ she said. ‘I love it. I love every inch of it. You were right to suggest this car.’ She smiled at him, with her eyes, and a little pout of her mouth. He stepped back a pace.

  Wrong angle, she thought. I’ve frightened him, coming over all Brigitte Bardot. He’ll think I want to snog him. Or he’ll wonder what’s been going on, on those lovely leather seats. She put a concerned expression on her face. ‘What car do you drive?’

  ‘Me, ah well, I’ve got what you might call a good reliable family car. I’ve got a Vauxhall Viva.’ His tone had changed.

  ‘Of course. That’s what you need when you have children. Sorry, what’s your name?’

  ‘Charles.’

  I bet that’s your middle name, she thought. I bet your first name’s Fred. ‘How many?’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Children.’

  ‘Just the two, thank goodness.’

&n
bsp; ‘Oh lovely! How old?’

  ‘Five and seven. Boy and a girl.’

  ‘Gorgeous. I bet they’re a handful.’

  ‘Like you wouldn’t believe!’ He grinned.

  ‘I bet they are!’ She chuckled.

  ‘Do you have children yourself?’ he asked.

  So this was his thing. Family. ‘Soon, I hope!’ she said. ‘Just waiting for Mr Right!’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be here before too long.’

  ‘Fingers crossed.’

  ‘Then a Triumph Spitfire won’t be any good to you at all.’

  ‘No.’ She nodded sadly. ‘Not when you’ve got kids. There’s no room for kids in this gorgeous car. And you can’t take the risk, can you? All that speed.’ She looked into his eyes. What was he seeing? A desperate woman? A smug bitch? Or was he wishing a Triumph Spitfire was his, for once, for a moment, that he was free and could drive anywhere, anytime, maybe even with an attractive woman by his side? Keeping her voice as neutral as possible, she said, ‘Have you ever driven a sporty car?’

  ‘Oh, that was a long time ago. Once. I did once.’

  ‘Well, before this goes back, do you want to have a quick spin? Up to the Miami Grill, say, and back. Go on!’

  The corners of his mouth twitched. He struggled to contain a smile. She had touched the spot.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he said.

  ‘And you’ll be able to inspect the car, make sure I haven’t broken anything. Which I haven’t,’ she added quickly. ‘I have really taken care of it.’ I even washed out the ash-tray, she didn’t say. ‘It’s not even run-in properly.’

  ‘Well . . .’ He pushed back the white cuff of his crisp, pale blue shirt and looked at his watch. ‘Perhaps a short run would be useful.’

  ‘If you think so,’ Doreen said, with a pretty frown. She handed him the keys.

  She watched his posture change. His back straightened, his head went up, he was young again. If she’d asked him, but of course she couldn’t because it would break the spell, but if she did ask him how he was feeling, she knew he would stress that he loved his wife and his children, more than life itself, but if he could turn back the clock for just ten minutes, he would, just ten minutes. He rattled the keys in his hand. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

  He walked round to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. She smiled and got in. She put a scarf over her hair while he sat in the driver’s seat and groped for a moment for the ignition. The car revved into life and they drove down Market Street, through the town, into Moulsham Street and up to the Miami Grill.

  ‘Runs very smoothly,’ he shouted. ‘Shall we just go along the bypass for a moment? Give the engine a bit of an outing.’

  ‘Lovely idea!’ she shouted. Whatever made him happy.

  Back at the showroom he slid out of the car. He glanced quickly at the floor and then at the pale leather driver’s seat, and when he’d opened her door and she’d climbed out, cast another glance at her seat. ‘I’ll just check the roof,’ he said.

  ‘Of course!’ she said, hoping a bird hadn’t flown in in the night.

  He strained to pull up the roof but she knew she couldn’t offer to show him the trick. When he’d got it in place, she smiled a congratulatory smile. She wanted to weep. It was such a lovely car, so neat and smooth, everything in its place. But it had to go back.

  They walked into the showroom and she took off her headscarf, and shook her head in a straightforward way, not a coquettish way, to straighten her hair. As they passed the shiny new cars, she looked at them as if she might be in the market for a new vehicle very soon.

  She waited for him to start the conversation.

  ‘So, you say you want to return the car.’ His salesman persona was creeping back up, his voice was taking on its original nasal tone.

  ‘I do. I must. It’s . . . well, it’s my mother. Well, my grandmother really.’ Nan, she said silently to her long departed grandmother, forgive me for what I am about to do. I always loved you. ‘She lives in . . . Australia.’

  ‘Really?’ he said.

  ‘She was married to one of those convicts.’

  He frowned. She was going too far.

  ‘No, sorry, that was always her joke. She’s got a great sense of humour. Oh, I love my nan, I miss her. She’s not at all well, and my mum needs to go out to see her. You know what it’s like these days. A boat takes forever. So I said I’d see if you’d take the car back, so that I can pay for her to fly out there.’

  ‘Well. That’s a sad story.’ He looked at her and sighed. ‘Quite frankly I don’t believe a word of it,’ he said, ‘but I think I can do something for you.’

  She looked at him and laughed. At last, she was dealing with the real man.

  ‘You paid how much?’

  ‘£550.’

  ‘How about I give you £450 back?’

  ‘Don’t you remember, I paid cash.’

  ‘Yes, you did. So?’

  ‘How about £500?’

  ‘It’s a deal.’

  They shook hands. She’d lost £50 but it could have been worse. As she left the showroom, she looked back at him. ‘I really loved it though.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  *

  She’d taken the morning off work and there was an hour before she had to be back. But there was more business to be done. Business with Gene. She’d spent a lot of time thinking about Gene – Gene and Angie and Gene and herself. It was absurd, it was wrong in so many ways and it couldn’t go on. She wasn’t going to do that to herself. Yes, being with Gene was one of the most exciting things that had ever happened to her, the chemistry crackled between them, but when he was given a choice he hadn’t chosen her, he’d opted to carry on with both of them, her and Angie. And it wasn’t good enough. She couldn’t stop Angie from seeing him – that would only cause her more heartache, and goodness knew she had enough heartache to be going on with at the moment. She couldn’t end it for Angie, but she could end it for herself.

  She decided to go into work, there’d be no one in the staffroom at this time. She would ring him up from there. She would tell him it was all done and over. It shouldn’t have started in the first place and now it was finished.

  She rang the boutique and before he could say anything warm or funny she blurted out, ‘It’s over. We’re finished.’ He said nothing. She realised she wanted to cry, just when she wanted to be strong.

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I see. You sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He paused. ‘Well, we had a good time, didn’t we?’

  ‘Not good enough! How can I go out with the same man as my sister? It’s no good. Not for me. Not to mention the fact that you are still married.’

  ‘It didn’t matter before.’

  ‘It matters now.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Ange, don’t be mad at me. It was fun, wasn’t it?’

  ‘My name,’ she said, as coldly as she could manage, ‘is Doreen. I think you’ve made your point.’ She slammed down the phone.

  She went into the toilets and shut herself in a cubicle. She punched the wall and howled. As she came out a new junior from furniture came in and looked at her with wide eyes.

  ‘I had a fishbone stuck in my throat,’ Doreen said.

  ‘Like the Queen Mother,’ said the junior.

  ‘Just like the Queen Mother,’ Doreen said. She coughed, clearing her throat. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  Doreen made herself a cup of coffee. If she examined her feelings now, she had to admit she felt better. She only wished he hadn’t agreed to it quite so quickly. A bit of an argument might have made her feel he’d cared a little. If he’d moaned, ‘Why, Doreen, why why?’ If he’d pleaded with her to change her mind, she might have felt more heroic. But no, he’d been calm and reassuring. Well, good riddance to bad rubbish. She just hoped he cared more for Angie.

  CHAPTER 27

  ANGIE WALKED OUT OF THE TECH with Cath
. She had intended that this would be her last class. Her hours at the job in London were too unpredictable, and anyway, there she had all the classes she needed. But the job in London was going to go, it had to go, she simply couldn’t afford it. There would be no more exhausting, exhilarating classes in London, no more learning lovely new tricks and turns in stitching. It was all gone, with the money. So she would stay at her evening class in Chelmsford. It was the one good thing to come out of this horrible mess. Tonight in the Tech class she’d felt as if she was clinging on to a lifebelt after a shipwreck at sea, hanging on to her dreams in the middle of chaos.

  It had been a lovely class, she had felt happy for the first time in days. As she and Cath left the building they laughed about the latest homework, to make an outfit for a child’s teddy bear. Cath was going to make an evening suit with a waistcoat and a bow tie. Angie was wondering where she could get some offcuts of suede to make a coat for a mod bear. She would be back next week, and she was looking forward to it. Perhaps there was light at the end of the dark tunnel of Dad leaving and the money going.

  On the road a scooter was parked. She gave a small gasp of surprise when she realised it was Roger.

  ‘Ooh, who’s that?’ murmured Cath.

  ‘He’s my boyfriend – my old boyfriend,’ Angie said. ‘And I don’t know what he’s doing here.’

  ‘Well, if you’ve finished with him, I’m happy to step in to mend his broken heart,’ Cath said.

  Angie didn’t know if she was pleased to see him. She would have preferred to see Gene. But no, disappointingly he had a business meeting. She still had his birthday present. She had bought him a tie-pin, with a small diamond in the centre. She’d bought it before Dad ran off and had kept it in her pocket ever since she walked out of the shop. She liked carrying it around with her. It made her feel close to him. Now it was another item on the pile of money she owed.