West End Girls

by Jenny Colgan

  Her mother shrugged. “Well, obviously not. Good-for-nothing.” Her face clouded briefly. “And his mother obviously thinks she owes you for that. So, I think you should take advantage of your good fortune.”

  “Deffo!” said Penny, her eyes shining. “Oh God. I’m going to live up West.”

  She tried on a ridiculous accent. “Haylo! My name is Penelope Berry and I live in Chelsea. I have a terribly rich luff-er end I only shop at Christian Dior.” She clapped her hands in glee. “Oh God. At last. I knew something good was going to happen. I just knew it.”

  “Well, an old lady is in a home,” said their mother.

  “Yeah. But an evil one, though,” said Penny. “Honestly, until you tell me that she really encouraged Stephen”—Penny always referred to their father as Stephen, never as Dad—“to even phone us once, ever, I’m having real trouble dredging up the sympathy.”

  “I’m not sure about living in London,” said Lizzie. “I need to find a new job, and it’s really dangerous and expensive and busy and I don’t know anyone . . .”

  “But that’s what makes it great,” said Penny. “Honestly, you’re such an old maid.”

  “Shut up.”

  “OK. Don’t. Fine. I’m perfectly happy to move into a huge Chelsea apartment for free on my own. See you at my Chelsea registry office wedding, suckers.”

  “Stop it, you two,” said their mum. “Lizzie, pet. You know, it really is time you thought about getting a place of your own. And now you’ve lost that job . . . it’s a great opportunity for you, darling. You don’t want life to pass you by.”

  “I don’t mind,” said Lizzie.

  Their mother smiled. “Well, maybe I do. Just, you know, try not to get knocked up with twins in two months or anything.”

  Lizzie had a month’s salary in hand, and Penny had raided the tips jar on her way out, so together they would have enough to afford a taxi to take them into town.

  “And I’m never coming back,” said Penny. “Well, only in a gigantic big car. Not a limo, you can get those for twenty quid an hour down at Rumours. A Rolls-Royce or something. It can come and get me in my wedding dress on my way to Westminster Abbey.”

  “Who are you marrying?” said Lizzie. “Prince William?”

  “Or I’ll have found some fabulous job. PA to a celebrity or something. And they’ll pay me masses of money.”

  Lizzie stared out of their little bedroom window. Four ten-year-olds were jumping on top of a burned-out car.

  “I’m not sure I’d know what to do if I had any money.”

  It was true, she mused, staring at the gray paint factory under the gray sky. She and Grainne had talked it over a lot, what they’d do if they won the lottery. For a start, she’d have to lose the weight. And, she thought, I’d get a horrid stick-thin personal trainer with an aggressive Australian accent who’d shout harshly at me in the park and act absolutely stunned when she found out how many Pot Noodles I get through in a week, and talk about how, once you’re used to it, mung beans and broccoli are actually nicer than cake and hot buttered toast. Or it’d be some perfectly proportioned bloke with a wide-boy smile, and I’ll end up getting a terrible crush on him because he’s being a cheeky charming chappie and I won’t realize that’s how he speaks to all his “ladies” because it helps them to stay motivated, and he’ll have to kindly explain this to me after I’ve been fantasizing madly about him for weeks and have convinced myself he’s falling for my inner beauty. Then he’ll be really kind and explain that actually he’s seeing this Australian personal trainer girl whom he really thinks is the one.

  “Don’t be stupid,” said Penny, interrupting her reverie. “You could buy something you’ve always wanted.”

  “A horse, maybe,” said Lizzie, throwing her cheap market knickers into a holdall.

  “What would you do with a horse?” said Penny. “Eat sugar cubes together?”

  “Well, maybe,” said Lizzie, making a face at Penny’s narrow back. “Maybe we’d have a special bond nobody else could understand, and no one else could tame him and he’d have beautiful black hair and . . .”

  “Ah, see what you’ve done?” said Penny. “You’ve confused a horse with Colin Farrell again, haven’t you?”

  Lizzie sighed and went back to throwing knickers in a pile. It was all right for Penny. She was good-looking and everyone liked paying attention to her. It wasn’t quite as much fun when you were trailing along behind carrying the bags.

  Their mother had been acting strange all week. Lizzie had tried to believe it was because she was sad they were leaving, but she seemed happy and excited.

  “Well,” Lizzie said finally, just as the taxi was drawing up outside the house on Sunday morning. It was a proper black cab and everything; Penny knew lots of the neighbors would be coming out to see the “little twins” head off to London, and wanted to do it in style. “I guess we’re off.”

  “Oh, it’s only London,” said their mother. “I’ll see you all the time.”

  “We’re moving away from home!” said Lizzie.

  “Yeah,” said Penny. “That’s how it works in EastEnders, isn’t it? They go up West and they’re never heard from again.”

  “And it’s a good thing for you,” said their mum. She leaned over and gave Lizzie a big hug.

  “What are you going to do, then, Ma?” said Penny. She didn’t really like being enveloped in her mother’s big beefy arms.

  “Well, get a couple of lodgers in, won’t I?” said their mum. “I’ve had some good news too. The school’s going to give me early retirement.”

  “Oh, that’s brill,” said Lizzie. “So you really will be able to put your feet up!”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” said their mum. “I’ve got a bit put away, after all these years. I was keeping it for you two, when you moved out to find your own feet, but you won’t be needing that now, so . . .”

  “So what?”

  “So I’m going.”

  “Where?”

  “Bingo?” said Penny.

  “To the RADA, of course!” said their mother. Her face suddenly creased into a big smile.

  “To the what now?” Lizzie had no idea what she was talking about.

  “To the RADA, of course! I hope they’ve kept my place.”

  “Have you suddenly caught whatever Gran has?” said Penny.

  “No, no, no,” said their mother. “I’ve got a place at the RADA. The Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts. I’m going to be an actress, darlings.”

  “How can that be?” said Penny.

  “Well,” said their mother patiently, “I auditioned and I got in. It’s really difficult.”

  “Yes, I know that . . . when?”

  “Uh, let me see . . . how old are you two now?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “Must have been twenty-eight years ago, then,” said their mum. “Fell pregnant with you guys, couldn’t take up my place. They said they’d defer it for me, though.”

  The children were silent.

  “For twenty-eight years?” asked Penny finally. “You think they’d keep your deferred place for twenty-eight years?”

  “I don’t see why not,” said their mother huffily. “It’s my place.”

  Lizzie put her suitcase down and headed toward her mother. “Why did you never tell us?” she said.

  “I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me for missing all my opportunities by having children and ruining my life.”

  “We wouldn’t have thought we’d ruined your life,” said Lizzie. “Oh. Oh, did we ruin your life?”

  There was a long pause.

  “Uh, no, of course not!” said their mum finally. “But, you know, I am a dinner lady. Usually though I pretend I’m really heavily into method acting and playing a part in which someone is required to work as a dinner lady for thirty years.”

  “That sounds like the kind of movie I’d like to see,” said Penny.

  “Then she becomes embroiled in a conspiracy to defraud s
chool funds and is the only one who can solve the crime.”

  The twins nodded.

  “And she has to have a torrid affair with one of the children’s fathers who turns out to be a spy. Only he’s working for the other side.” Their mother had started to go slightly pink.

  “Oh, Mum,” said Lizzie, giving her another hug. “That’s fantastic! That’s brilliant! It’s so great!” The taxi honked noisily outside.

  “And we really have to go,” said Penny.

  “Course you do,” said their mum. “See you at my first West End opening!”

  “And I thought it was only Stephen’s side of the family who were completely crazy,” said Penny, hoisting up her suitcase and leaving through the yellow-paneled front door.

  Chapter Three

  Neither of the girls spoke much on the way into London. Penny was too excited. Lizzie was upset at leaving home, even though she was twenty-seven and thus it was patently ridiculous to feel that way. She wished her mother had come with them. Coming into London from the east the sun bounced off Canary Wharf, and even Lizzie felt a jump in her heart.

  The cabbie muttered something about the congestion charge as they came down in through the city, past the Gherkin and the large white buildings of the Stock Exchange. Of course they’d been here a million times, up in town to shop or, very occasionally for Lizzie, to go out, but now . . .

  “In for a holiday, are youse?” asked the cabbie.

  “No,” said Penny, in what almost sounded like a drawl. “We live here.”

  Lizzie suppressed a smile, and tried to stop looking at the meter. They were arriving in style, that was all. And it was stylish. Lizzie felt her heart leap. And their mother too! RADA! What if she became one of those famous old lady actresses? They couldn’t keep casting Judi Dench forever, could they?

  They whizzed around past Big Ben and along the Embankment. Chelsea Bridge was pink and looked as if it was made of spun sugar, little lights popping along its length. The cabbie turned right and they were in Chelsea proper, heading down the King’s Road. Tantalizingly, every street off it was filled with little pink and blue cottages, or large mansions, or big glass-covered apartment blocks. Neither of the twins could remember anything about the flat from the outside, except that it had seemed big to them when they were little, and dark and dusty. Both felt a definite thrill of anticipation.

  “I suppose it will look really small to us now,” said Lizzie.

  “What, smaller than the shoebox rooms we have now?” said Penny. “That’ll be interesting, given that I can touch all four walls at once.”

  “What if there’s only one bedroom?”

  “She brought Stephen up there, didn’t she?”

  The cab slowed, and turned left, as the twins stared out of the window.

  Redmond Street connected the King’s Road to the river. It was lined on both sides with high white-stuccoed houses, like a long wedding cake. There weren’t ordinary street-lights—covered in graffiti and dog crap and with the lights blown out—like the girls were used to; instead, elaborately carved lampposts held up little clusters of bulbs. Black polished railings lined the small front gardens, all immaculate, behind which were painted and polished huge heavy doors in dark green, black, navy, and red.

  The cabbie stopped outside their gran’s flat. This door was navy blue, with a black knocker, and a large round brass doorknob inexplicably placed in the middle. The girls got out and stood, simply staring.

  “OK, loves,” he said, and named the price for their journey, which made Lizzie want to be physically sick. Penny, however, handed it over blithely, adding a fat tip on top.

  “Come on,” she said, at Lizzie’s aghast expression after he’d driven away. “It’s the high life now. You’ve got to fake it to make it.”

  “Fake it to make it . . . all the way to debtors’ prison,” said Lizzie crossly, picking up the bag with the broken strap. “You do remember we’re both unemployed.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Penny, looking around the perfect street. It looked as if the cast of Mary Poppins might hop out and start dancing at any moment.

  At last. She was where she belonged. She pulled out the heavy keys that had arrived for them, and fitted one into a large old lock. She pushed the door open tentatively.

  Inside there was a large hallway with parquet flooring and a staircase with an elaborate balustrade and pale rose-covered carpet; Lizzie wondered how it was ever kept clean. To the right of the door was a shelf with neat piles of interesting-looking mail, and a huge mirror with a gold frame. A little white door indicated the first flat, but they went on up to the second floor.

  On the landing, two flights up, it was a little darker, with only one window at the end of the hallway letting in light, along with a small electric candelabra set above another large gilt-edged mirror. Penny, fumbling with the keys, opened the door.

  “Ready?” she said.

  “Mmm,” said Lizzie.

  “One . . . two . . . three . . .” Penny attempted to flamboyantly throw open the door. But she failed immediately when it scraped and jammed.

  “OK,” said Penny. She put her shoulder to it and shoved again. “Three . . .”

  And this time, with a grind and a twisting of paper, they were in.

  The girls stood there, stunned, looking around.

  “Well,” said Penny eventually, “you can’t say it’s not big.”

  “No,” said Lizzie. They had stepped directly into the main sitting room. It was vast, opening out on their right to a huge bay window. On the left, over by the windows at the back, was a kitchen. Straight ahead—although it seemed miles away—was a fireplace, and beyond that, a passageway with three doors leading off it.

  Every single bit of surface, every single possible spot, was completely and utterly obscured by junk. The entire room inside was gray, despite the brightness of the day outside. The windows were utterly encrusted with grime. There was a table, placed in the bay, with five or six chairs around it, all mismatched and looking mostly broken, with legs and bits of wood on the floor. Everywhere else there was rubbish of the most spectacular fashion. There were broken children’s toys; huge piles of dusty, ancient magazines; odd bits of knitting and macramé; a whole crate full of empty medicine bottles; boxes full of who-knows-what; piles of dresses and skirts; trolleys full of bric-a-brac of every description. Books, old dusty hardbacks giving off a terribly musty smell, were untidily scattered over every available surface and piles of newspapers lined the corridor leading off the back of the room.

  The kitchen was full of plates, chipped and mismatched, more than one person could use in a lifetime. Hundreds of pots were chaotically stacked up, along with at least a hundred washed-out milk bottles. Lizzie breathed a huge sigh of relief when she noticed that someone had cleaned out the fridge and left the door open. She didn’t think she could have managed that.

  “So,” said Penny after a time. “We’re not supposed to move anything, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Fuck that. I’m off to choose a bedroom.”

  And she started to pick her way across the rubbish.

  The two bedrooms proved just as bad even though they were a wonderful size, with near perfect views if you squinted through the murk of the filthy panes, over the rooftops and Mary Poppins chimney pots of Chelsea. They were piled high with old shoes, and each had three wardrobes. The bathroom, with its old-fashioned claw-foot bath, was full of old perfume bottles and an odd collection of wooden-handled toothbrushes.

  “You have to say,” said Penny, “she’s a site-specific crazy old bat.”

  Lizzie was too overcome to speak. She wondered how long the old lady had sat here, surrounded in rubbish, all alone. How they’d found her . . . and who. Despite realizing it wasn’t her fault—she didn’t exactly owe this woman much—her eyes cast over a huge box of old photographs, and she felt sad, culpable, and guilty.

  Lizzie knew her mum didn’t think she could remember their dad, but sh
e could. He used to bring sweets and he was incredibly handsome. Penny used to shriek all the time. Lizzie used to think that was why he didn’t come back, and practiced being quiet. If they hadn’t been twins . . . if she hadn’t been so dumpy and useless, maybe they’d all still have been a family and they’d have been coming to Chelsea for years.

  “Right,” said Penny, “let’s dump our stuff in this shithole and head out.”

  “You are joking?” said Lizzie. “Nobody is going anywhere until . . .” and she handed Penny a pair of rubber gloves.

  “Oh for God’s sake.”

  “House and jobs first. Fun later,” said Lizzie. “Please, Penny. Please, let’s not fall out quite yet.”

  Penny rolled her eyes.

  “Plus, we’ve spent all the money on the cab,” said Lizzie. “Plus, what if you want to get up for the toilet in the middle of the night and fall over and get smothered and die?”

  Penny pouted.

  By the end of the day, it looked a little better, but not much. You could make toast in the kitchen without immediately contracting salmonella, and even risk a bath, but Lizzie was conscious of her grandmother’s strict orders not to move anything, and even if she wanted to, where would it go? Every square inch of the property was already stuffed full. She didn’t know, it might even be valuable, though she doubted it very much, looking at the empty milk bottles. She’d done most of the scrubbing and Penny had sat around grumbling about it, but now, as they sat down with their Pot Noodle in front of the ancient television, she wondered if it had even been worth it.

  “Ah. Pot Noodle in front of the TV,” said Penny, casting a glance out of the window. “This is almost as good as being at home.”

  “You go out if you want,” said Lizzie. “I’m tired.”

  Penny wobbled a bit. “I will,” she said. “I’ll go out there. Take it by storm. And all that.”

  “Yes,” said Lizzie.

  “Maybe a job first.”

  Lizzie nodded, a little surprised, but not much. Penny might have a veneer of hardness, but underneath there was a bit of mush only her twin got to see. Which was why, she thought glumly, she’d had to stick by her for so bloody long.