Also by Elaine Roberts
The Foyles Bookshop Girls series
The Foyles Bookshop Girls
The Foyles Bookshop Girls at War
Christmas at the Foyles Bookshop
THE WEST END GIRLS
Elaine Roberts
AN IMPRINT OF HEAD OF ZEUS
www.ariafiction.com
First published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Elaine Roberts, 2020
The moral right of Elaine Roberts to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781838933500
Cover design © Cherie Chapman
Aria
c/o Head of Zeus
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5–8 Hardwick Street
London EC1R 4RG
www.ariafiction.com
Contents
Welcome Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Become an Aria Addict
To my wonderful family
for all the support they have given each other and me.
1
Annie Cradwell hummed to herself as she lifted her black skirt slightly to step across a muddy puddle. She looked up, flicking her long brown hair away as she peered over her shoulder at her friend, Rose. ‘I’ve decided it’s time I made a move. I’m eighteen and if I don’t do it now, I never will.’
Rose Spencer giggled at her friend. ‘Not this again, I’ve heard about nothing else since you were about twelve years old.’
‘Eleven, actually.’
‘All right, eleven then, but you’ll never leave your grandfather or your ma and pa, let alone your sister or brother, and, despite what you say, you love the farm.’ Rose paused. ‘You need to stop torturing yourself about it.’
Annie stopped dead in her tracks, rooted in the mud like the trees that surrounded them. She stared at Rose. ‘I can’t believe you’re even suggesting such a thing.’ She shook her head. ‘You of all people, you’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember, and know how important it is to me.’
‘But you love your family, and the village too.’ Rose pulled at her ankle-length skirt, attempting to free it from the wild grasses it was caught on, revealing her flat, high-buttoned black boots. The mud from the path had crept over them. She pushed her blonde hair off her face as she looked down. ‘Me ma will kill me if this skirt gets torn.’
Annie shook her head as she stepped forward to free the material from a bramble, careful not to prick her fingers on the thorns. ‘Your ma won’t notice, especially as yer good with a needle.’ She looked around her. The sun’s rays filtered through the tall oak trees, twinkling on the pearls of raindrops still visible on the leaves of the spring flowers and ferns that were sitting under their protection. The recent rain gave freshness to the air, while the birds were in full musical song hidden in the trees and dogs barked in the distance. Annie could remember climbing the same trees and picking the flowers with Rose and Joyce when they were children. There were so many memories. Rose was right, she would miss everything about this place but couldn’t give up on her dream. ‘Come on or we’ll never get to the shops.’
They locked arms and both stepped forward together.
Annie sighed. ‘I am going though, it’s too important to me.’
‘Have you talked it over with your ma and pa?’
Annie stared at the glistening grass. ‘Not recently, but they treat me like a child and think it will go away, just like the snow does every spring. They don’t understand.’ She glanced up at Rose. ‘The farm is their life but it’s not mine; for all the open fields, it feels like a prison. There’s no hope of escaping unless I follow my dream. I don’t want to be a farmer’s wife. My ma works so hard and she’s up before the sun on most days and for what? A few eggs from the chickens and the vegetables they dig up every day? No, it’s not for me.’
They stepped out of the woodland and trundled down the makeshift path. The small red brick village shops blended in with the criss-crossing of the black and white timber-framed houses and The Kings Arms Public House further along the road.
‘I’ve got to go to the baker’s. Ma slipped on the mud and hurt her wrist.’ Annie frowned. ‘So kneading dough is painful.’
Rose looked across at her friend. ‘Is she all right?’
The corner of Annie’s lips lifted for a moment. ‘You mean apart from her wrist and feeling embarrassed for slipping in the first place?’
Rose chuckled. ‘You do feel a fool when that happens.’
Annie nodded. ‘Well, thankfully, she’s fine.’
‘I’m surprised you’re buying the bread though, instead of making it yourself.’
Annie chuckled. ‘That’s easy; I’m not very good at making it. I can tell you who was good at baking: Joyce. Ma was always going on about how wonderful her cakes and bread were.’ She paused. ‘Do you know what she’s doing now? Hopefully she’s working in some fancy restaurant somewhere, or maybe she’s a suffragette, fighting for us to get the vote.’
‘She might be, but don’t say that in front of your pa because he definitely won’t let you go to London if he thinks that’s the case.’
‘No, you’re right, and my grandfather is very stuck in his ways too.’
Rose frowned. ‘We do exchange letters, not as often as we should but we try to write once a month or so, but she never mentions her baking.’ She smiled. ‘Or being a suffragette.’
Annie’s face lit up as she turned to face Rose. ‘Perhaps we should go and visit her. That would give me a chance to see all the London theatres.’ She clapped her hands together before reaching out and clasping Rose’s slender arm under her old woollen coat, which had been previously worn by her older sister. The excitement bursting from her disappeared as quickly as it had come. ‘Mind you it’ll be hard to find the time to go to London because I’m needed at home.’ Annie paused. ‘Also, it’s been ages since I’ve written to her… I haven’t been a very good friend, have I?’
‘No, you haven’t, and you should write to her. After all, we’ve all been friends for years.’
Annie looked ashamed for a moment. ‘You’re right, I’ll write to her as soon as I get home.’
Rose frowned. ‘Only write because yo
u want to, rather than because you want something from her. She’s been very lonely since her aunt’s been gone.’
Annie stared at her friend open-mouthed for a moment. ‘Rose, you must have a very low opinion of me but I’m not that bad.’
Rose chuckled at the hurt look on Annie’s face. ‘I know you’re not, but in her letters, she sometimes comes across as feeling quite sad.’
They both walked on in silence. A couple of children laughed as they raced passed them; a black dog ran alongside, giving the odd bark of encouragement to them both. The grocer was adding cabbages and spring greens on the stand outside his shop, stopping only to wave at a woman walking by.
‘Morning, Mr Butterworth, are you going to church on Sunday?’
‘As always, Mrs Levington, I wouldn’t miss it.’
‘I’ve a few errands to run, but then I’ll be back to buy my veg so make sure you save me a cabbage.’ Mrs Levington chuckled and waved as she paced down the road.
The girls walked past Mr Butterworth standing in the doorway of his shop. They didn’t stop to examine the baskets of potatoes caked in dirt or the other vegetables and fruit that were sitting outside the shop alongside the many potted plants that were for sale.
‘Don’t yer stop to say good morning then, girls. I thought yer parents dragged you up better than that.’
Annie stopped and looked round at the portly, balding man that was grinning at them. She took a breath and spoke in her best voice. ‘Sorry Mr Butterworth, we were deep in thought. Good morning to you.’
Mr Butterworth raised his eyebrows. ‘That can only mean trouble.’
Annie forced a smile to her lips. ‘Now that’s just plain mean, Mr Butterworth. I have never been in trouble and my ma and pa won’t thank you for saying such things.’
‘My apologies, Annie.’ Mr Butterworth tipped his head at her. ‘But you will be tarnished with the same brush if you are friends with the Spencer family. Ain’t that right, Rose?’
Rose tried to hold back the smile that crept across her face but failed. ‘My, Mr Butterworth, there’s you claiming to be godly and yet there’s no forgiveness in you. Yet it tells you in the Bible the great Lord, our Father, will forgive our sins and here you are holding on to them as tight as ever. “There’ll be no place in heaven” ––’
‘Don’t you quote the Bible at me, young lady! You need to learn one of the commandments yourself: thou shalt not steal!’
Rose couldn’t hold in the giggle that rose inside her. ‘Mr Butterworth, you shock me. I have never stolen anything in my life. You need to pray for forgiveness.’
Mr Butterworth’s face turned crimson as his rage rose to the surface.
Annie pulled at Rose’s arm. ‘Well, we have to go, Mr Butterworth, my ma will wonder where I’ve got to. I’ll tell them you said hello.’ She spun on her small curved heels and took Rose with her before the grocer could reply. ‘Rose, you shouldn’t bait him like that. I swear you get some kind of pleasure out of it.’
Rose laughed. ‘I think I do. He gets on my nerves with his holier than thou attitude.’
Annie shook her head. ‘I do understand, but you’re not helping yourself by rubbing him up the wrong way. You know he’ll tell everybody how disrespectful you are.’
Rose shrugged. ‘What gives him the right to say we were dragged up? Both of our parents work hard. They may not own their own business, like Mr Butter-wouldn’t-melt, but they put food on the table and have given us a happy home… well a reasonably happy home.’
Annie shook her head. ‘Come on, I’ve got to get this bread before we’re banned from all of these shops.’
Annie pushed open the baker’s shop door, almost bumping into Fran Cooper as she reached out for the door handle. ‘Oh, sorry, Fran, I should be more careful.’
‘That’s all right, Annie.’ Fran pulled her long, curly, black hair back from her face. ‘I haven’t seen you for a while.’
Annie smiled as she stepped further inside the baker’s, letting Rose in. ‘Oh, you know how it is; I’ve been busy helping at home. How are things with you?’
Fran nodded at Rose. ‘Like you, working hard.’ Blushing, Fran stared at Annie. ‘And Sam, how’s Sam?’
Annie smiled. ‘He’s the same as ever, isn’t he, Rose?’
Rose raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘That brother of mine will never change, he’s always working, and that’s all he thinks about. Well, that and Annie, obviously.’
‘There’s a lot to be said for settling down with someone who works hard; there’ll always be food on the table.’
Annie laughed. ‘That’s what everyone says.’
Fran looked away from Annie as she twisted a lock of her hair around one of her fingers. ‘How long’s it been now, six months since you two started dating?’
Annie looked thoughtful. ‘Yes, I suppose it must be, it’s easy to lose track of time.’ She smiled. ‘Is there anyone in your life we should know about? Any marriage plans?’
Fran’s colour deepened. ‘No, I’m sorry, I must get going. Ma is waiting on the shopping.’
Annie raised her eyebrows. ‘That was sudden, the need to get away I mean. Was it something I said?’
‘I remember her not saying boo to a goose when we were at school.’ Rose watched Fran scurry along the road. ‘You know I’ve always said it, and I do believe I’m right, I think Fran has been smitten with my brother since we were about ten years old.’
‘Does Sam know?’
Rose chuckled. ‘Of course he doesn’t, he goes around with his eyes shut.’ The bell above the door clanged as the shop door shut.
Annie shook her head. ‘If that’s true then I do feel sorry for her.’ She sucked in her breath, almost tasting the aroma of the freshly baked bread.
The baker’s wasn’t a large shop, the ovens, shelving and counter took up most of the space so only two or three customers could get inside it at any one time. The cobs, buns and bloomers stood lined up on the shelves while the beautifully decorated cakes, large and small, sat in the window to entice the customers in. Trays of loose biscuits sat on the counter. The man, wearing a white coat, leant on the counter and watched the girls closely.
‘Morning, Mr Blake. Can I have one of the white bloomers please?’
‘Morning, Annie.’ Mr Blake turned to take a loaf off the shelf before placing it in a paper bag. The rustle of the paper was drowned out by his chuckling. ‘I’m surprised you’re still here, what with your dream of becoming a star of the stage.’
‘It will happen, one day. How much do I owe you?’
‘That’ll be tuppence.’
Annie opened her small cloth purse. ‘I’ll tell ma the prices have gone up again.’ She pulled out two large copper coins to pass to him.
Mr Blake scowled. ‘Everything is getting more expensive, Annie, I have a family to feed as well you know. You know, one day the likes of me won’t be able to trade against the likes of the International Stores or The Co-Operative Wholesale Society, then there’s Sainsbury’s and the like. Us small shopkeepers can’t compete with them and then that’s going to affect the likes of your pa selling his vegetables so you need to think on that, young lady.’
‘Of course, Mr Blake, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.’ Annie forced a smile. ‘I only meant if my sister comes to buy some, she will have to make sure she has enough money on her.’
‘Yes well, your ma doesn’t buy enough bread from me so I shan’t worry about it.’ Mr Blake held out his hand to take the money.
Annie handed over her coins and took the loaf from him. ‘That’s because Ma makes her own, it’s cheaper.’
Mr Blake’s lips curled. ‘You do know you’ll have to change your name if you’re going to be famous. If you ask me, Annie Cradwell just wouldn’t cut it.’
‘Thank you for your opinion, Mr Blake, but nobody did ask you.’ Annie spun round, her face flushed with rage as she pulled hard on the shop door handle. It swung open and thumped against the wall as she storm
ed out.
Mr Blake shouted after Annie. ‘You know, for once, I actually feel sorry for young Sam. Perhaps I should have a word with him.’
Rose quickly followed her, shouting over her shoulder at Mr Blake. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’ The door slammed shut behind her. ‘Don’t take any notice of him, he’s just a mean old man.’
Annie glanced across at her with watery eyes. ‘My dream makes me a laughing stock round here, things need to change.’
Rose nodded. ‘In the meantime, have one of these.’ She held out her hand, a couple of biscuits resting on her palm.
Annie gasped. ‘Did you just steal them from the baker’s?’
Rose raised her eyebrows as she looked down at the biscuits. ‘Stealing is a harsh word, I prefer to think you paid for them when he overcharged you for the bread.’ She looked over at her friend. ‘Go on take one, he was horrible to you and there was no excuse for it.’ She paused. ‘He’s just a nasty old man.’
*
Annie sung quietly to herself as she turned her head, glancing in the oval mirror hanging on a chain from the picture rail above the fireplace.
Ivy looked up from peeling the potatoes at the kitchen sink, the small sharp knife poised in mid-air, as she glanced over her shoulder. ‘I don’t know how your father and I managed to have two beautiful daughters.’
Annie giggled. ‘Thank you, Ma, although I think you may be a little biased.’
Ivy smiled. ‘Of course I am and that’s how it should be. Are you going to change your skirt and blouse before you meet Sam?’
She pulled her ponytail through her fingers. ‘No, Ma, Sam and I are only going for a walk.’
Ivy tilted her head slightly. ‘Why don’t you go and put on the blue skirt you wear to church? You could even put a slide in your hair.’
Annie frowned. ‘Why? I don’t want Sam getting the wrong idea. He might think I’ve gone soft on him.’
Ivy gave a nervous laugh. ‘You should always want to look your best.’
a heartwarming WW1 saga about love and friendship (The West End Girls Book 1) Page 1
