Violet moved to clout her, but Ellen was too quick and moved out of reach. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she exploded. ‘Lay one hand on me and I’ll be out that door for good.’
After she had gone up to her room, Ellen giggled to herself about Violet’s shocked expression. She wished she’d had the guts to stand up to her a long time ago. She couldn’t make Violet love her, but she might have won her respect.
Later that evening, once all the preparations for Christmas dinner had been made, Ellen studied the newspaper article again. She thought it strange that Josie had her hair in bunches, she hadn’t worn it like that since she was eight or nine. It was also odd that she was at a station, when it was common knowledge she’d gone up to London in a car. Then there was the question of the time gap. If this picture had worried the photographer so much, how come it took him six months to show it to the paper?
As her parents seemed to have calmed down a little, and were now sitting in the parlour in front of the fire with a large whisky each, Ellen thought she would tell them her opinion.
‘I don’t believe any of it,’ she said. ‘It’s some kind of a set-up. That picture looks staged to me.’
Ellen wasn’t exactly surprised that they didn’t agree with her. They were simple people who knew nothing of life outside Cornwall. She didn’t know much more herself; she certainly didn’t know anything about the workings of newspapers and journalists. All she had was a hunch.
Christmas passed quietly and uneventfully, aside from Ellen noticing her parents seemed to be drinking quite a lot. They had never to her knowledge had drink in the house in the past, and although it was quite normal for any household to get some in for Christmas, she had the feeling this was more than that.
Maybe it was a way of dealing with their disappointment in their children, or some kind of mutual comfort and support. It certainly seemed to have stopped them being as nasty to one another as they used to be. As it did seem to be mellowing them, or at least creating some sort of buffer between them, Ellen was all for it.
She had to return to Bristol on Sunday, the day after Boxing Day. That morning there was another article in the paper related to the one the previous week. This time there were pictures of young girls who worked as striptease artists in Soho. It seemed as if they were going to do a series of stories about the exploitation of youngsters who arrived in London. Right at the bottom of the article there was the picture of Josie again, with the same plea that if anyone knew where she was, to contact the paper.
‘If they really cared,’ Ellen pointed out to her father, ‘they wouldn’t have been so off-hand with you. They’ve got something up their sleeve, I’m sure of it.’
Ellen was very glad to go back to Bristol that afternoon. Apart from Violet’s constant barbed comments and her father’s sullenness, it was so cold and comfortless at the farm. Clearly she’d been softened up by central heating, but she couldn’t understand why her parents were so miserly with wood for the fire, and didn’t do something about the windows and doors to stop the terrible draughts everywhere. She wondered what would happen when they got really old. She wished she could find it in her not to care.
Over the next two weeks there were more articles about runaway youngsters in the same Sunday paper. Then at the end of January there was a large picture of Josie wearing a man’s shirt and very little else.
‘Found!’ was the headline. Mark Kinsale had tracked her down to a studio in West London where she and many other girls were posing for men who only pretended to be photographers.
Ellen’s first thought wasn’t one of dismay. Josie looked so adorable and pretty she couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. Yet as she read on her pride did turn to anxiety. It all sounded so terribly seedy.
Later that day her father rang her from the village phone box. He wasn’t used to phones and he shouted down it, nearly perforating Ellen’s eardrums. ‘Did you see it?’ he kept asking, even though she kept telling him she had. ‘It’ll be the talk of the village by tonight.’
There was nothing much Ellen could say to calm him down.
When she showed the paper to Mr and Mrs Sanderson, they didn’t seem shocked at all. ‘Don’t get all worked up about it,’ Roger said. ‘Newspapers do features like this to sell papers, they exaggerate and they exploit. You can bet your life this is all hatched up between the photographer and the paper. If that Mark Kinsale was on the level, when he found Josie he’d have packed her off on the first train home, not photographed her again.’
‘But why would they do all this?’ Ellen asked. She felt confused by their attitude being so far removed from her father’s.
‘I’d say Kinsale thinks he can make money out of her,’ Shirley said thoughtfully. ‘He’s hooking the public with this picture, and you can bet your boots it won’t be the last one. A pound to a penny he thinks he’s got another Twiggy or Jean Shrimpton on his hands. I’d say he has too, she’s prettier than either of them.’
Over the next few months Ellen saw that Roger and Shirley were right, for pictures of Josie kept appearing in newspapers and magazines. They played it up as a sort of Cinderella story, the poor little farm girl who’d come to the big city to seek her fortune. While Ellen enjoyed seeing pictures of Josie, or Jojo as they called her, in London’s Carnaby Street, kitted out in outrageous clothes, she was repelled and horrified by what they were saying about her home life.
According to the press, Josie had run away from cruelty and severe hardship. Someone had taken pictures of the farm, and they’d gone out of their way to make it look sinister. Violet appeared in one, and she looked even more of a dirty harridan than she did in real life, clearly unaware she was being photographed as she fed the chickens.
Ellen wanted to be glad for Josie as it really looked as if she was going to attain her childhood dream and become a famous model. But she felt ashamed of her sister too for being so disloyal as to allow her parents to be shown in such a bad light.
Her father didn’t telephone Ellen again, and only wrote very brief notes which never mentioned Josie. But Ellen heard from Mrs Peters that Violet was distraught, and Albert had become even more of a recluse, not even going to the pub at the weekends. Mavis Peters also said that Violet had come to her, pleading for help. Mavis had helped her write a letter to Josie care of the Sunday paper that had started it all. In this letter she’d begged Josie to let her know where she lived, saying she was frantically worried about her.
Ellen was afraid that Josie had cut her out of her new life too, as there were no more letters or cards. Yet she collected all the press clippings about her sister, and the first few magazine advertisements for shampoo she modelled for, and pasted them in a scrapbook. That way she felt she was still close to her.
Two letters arrived for Ellen on the same morning in July. One was from a school for handicapped children in South Bristol, offering her a position as general assistant in September. The other was from Josie. Both thrilled her.
She hadn’t thought she’d get the job at the school, because she had no relevant experience. Yet the headmistress had recommended her over twelve other applicants.
But Josie’s letter, this time with an address in Chelsea, and even a telephone number, almost eclipsed the job offer.
Dear Ellen, she read. I bet you’re really angry with me for not writing, or letting you know where I was. But I was scared to in case you told Mum. You know what she’s like and if she came up here it would spoil everything. Promise me faithfully you won’t tell her yet? I still can’t face her and I expect both her and Dad are hopping mad about the stuff in the papers about them. I didn’t say all that to anyone, most of it came about because Dad was such a pest ringing up the Mirror and making himself sound like an ogre.
Anyway, I’m doing just fine, I’ve got a fab flat in a posh part of London and so many lovely new clothes. Mark says I’m going to be The Face of the Sixties, he’s my photographer and manager. He takes me to lots of smart places, and he says everyone thinks I’m gorgeous.
/> But I miss you. If you aren’t too angry with me will you come up to London for the weekend? I could show you King’s Road and Carnaby Street, you’ll love it, it’s really exciting.
My love
Josie
Ellen read and reread both letters several times. Wonderful as they both were, she knew Shirley wasn’t going to be very pleased about either. Ellen hadn’t asked for any time off since Christmas because she had no desire to go home and face her parents. So Shirley and Roger had got used to her being there every single weekend to look after the boys. While they couldn’t really refuse her one weekend to see her sister in London, as soon as she told them she had another job for September they were likely to be difficult.
In the eighteen months she’d been working for the Sandersons Ellen had gradually come to see they weren’t such kind, big-hearted people as she’d first thought. While it had been good of them to give her a job and a home when few others would have done so, with hindsight she could see they were really only thinking of themselves.
Once they’d got her there, and saw she cared for their boys as tenderly as if they were her own, they hadn’t wanted to lose her. That was the real reason they’d suggested she stayed with them instead of going to the mother-and-baby home. Shirley’s advice that it was less cruel to hand over Catherine in the hospital was based on self-interest, not the truth, or concern for Ellen’s feelings or the future for her and her baby. She had been manipulated, robbed of all choice to ensure the Sandersons had continuing help around the house.
Ellen had observed that Shirley was not at all maternal. Although she did love her boys, business was far more important to her. She was already expanding the wholesale company and had future plans that relied on everything running smoothly at home. She would find it impossible to get anyone else prepared to live in a box-room and be nanny, cook, housekeeper, cleaner and gardener for three pounds a week.
Ellen had often had to bite her tongue when Shirley went off to work even when one of the boys was ill, or when she expected her to cook a meal for guests on top of all her other duties. Lately she’d been coming home later and later, sometimes long after the children were in bed. Ellen knew that from the moment she gave her notice, Shirley was going to sulk and imply she was letting her down.
On top of that, Ellen would have to find somewhere of her own to live in South Bristol for when she began her new job, but while she was working such long hours, based on the other side of the city, she didn’t see how it would be possible.
After mulling all the problems over for a couple of days, Ellen could see that the best way to solve them all was to find a temporary cheap room somewhere in nearby Clifton. She could easily get a clerical or waitressing job for the remainder of the summer, and find somewhere permanent to live for September. That way she could go and see Josie for a weekend, and she could earn more money.
Just after clearing away the evening meal, Ellen took the plunge and told Shirley she wanted to leave. It was a Monday night, the boys were in bed, Roger had gone into the sitting-room to watch the news and Shirley was in a good mood because she’d won a contract earlier in the day for supplying food to a chain of hotels in the west.
Ellen was careful how she broke the news. She mentioned first how good Shirley and Roger had been to her, but that she felt the time had come when she had to move on.
Shirley looked much younger than she usually did that evening as she’d changed into pale blue slacks and a gingham shirt and combed out her beehive when she’d come home from work. But as Ellen began talking, her previously cheerful expression changed.
‘You want to leave? Just like that, after all we’ve done for you?’ she snapped at Ellen. ‘You ungrateful little baggage!’
‘I’m not ungrateful at all,’ Ellen retorted. ‘I’ve worked hard for you for eighteen months, but I want something more than being a mother’s help. I’ve been offered a job that’s a real career.’
‘If you wanted a career you shouldn’t have got yourself pregnant by the first man who came along.’
Ellen’s heart hardened at that spiteful remark. ‘Don’t you think I paid enough for that mistake?’ she said coldly. ‘But I’m damned if I’ll spend the rest of my life paying for it again and again. I’ll be leaving next week.’
‘Oh, will you now?’ Shirley’s eyes narrowed with malice. ‘Suppose I choose not to give you a reference?’
‘It won’t matter to me if you don’t,’ Ellen said, not caring now if she had to be rude. ‘They’ve given me the job on the strength of my ability and on the word of Dr Fordham. She vouched for me and said how well I looked after your children.’
‘Fat lot you care about them.’ Shirley’s voice rose higher in anger. ‘Who’s supposed to look after them now?’
‘You could look after them yourself,’ Ellen said tartly.
With that Shirley seemed to swell up, her face turning purple with anger. ‘That’s it,’ she shouted. ‘You can go right now. I don’t want you in the house another minute.’
Ellen’s heart plummeted. It was eight in the evening and she hadn’t got anywhere to go yet. She’d planned to find a place on her Saturday afternoon off. Yet as she looked at Shirley she saw an expression so like the one she’d often seen on Violet’s face. Pure malice.
‘Right, I’ll just go and pack then,’ she said. She wasn’t going to back down, even if she had to walk the streets tonight. Her days of being subservient were over.
Less than fifteen minutes later she was walking up the hill towards the Downs and Clifton which lay beyond them. She had little more with her than when she’d left Cornwall – just new clothes that had replaced her old ones, and a few personal items she’d bought to make her bedroom more homely. But the case was heavy and it was starting to rain. She thought Roger might have come and said something to her before she left. He had always been more considerate and appreciative than his wife, but he’d stayed in the sitting-room throughout the row, and she thought he was cowardly.
But she was most saddened by not being allowed to say goodbye to the boys. She had grown to love them, and she was going to miss them terribly. Yet she bit back her tears and walked on determinedly.
She thought of telephoning Dr Fordham, but dismissed the idea immediately. She wasn’t going to beg for a bed for the night, she still had some pride.
It was another two weeks before Ellen was able to go and visit Josie. On the evening she’d been thrown out of the Sandersons’ home, she had got the local paper and seen that several hotels were advertising for live-in chambermaids. She rang several of them, although by then it was very late. All but one said she could come for an interview the following morning, but the St Vincent’s Rocks Hotel in Clifton sounded so desperate that she felt able to suggest she could call on them immediately.
They took her on there and then, at six pounds a week all found, and gave her a tiny room up in the attics. That night, as she looked out of her window and saw the Suspension Bridge across the Avon Gorge all lit up in the rain, she felt happier than she had for a long time. She was free for the very first time in her life.
As the coach drove into the bus station at Victoria, Ellen’s stomach was full of butterflies, afraid Josie might not be there to meet her as she’d promised. She had never been to London before, and she hadn’t expected it to be quite so vast, or so busy with traffic and people. But as she stepped down from the coach, Josie came whirling through the crowds and enveloped her in a tight hug.
‘I was afraid you might miss the bus or not be able to come after all,’ she blurted out. ‘I’ve thought of nothing else all week but you coming.’
For a moment or two Ellen could only stare at her sister in wonder. She looked so grown-up and beautiful in an emerald-green mini-dress with matching shoes. It was one thing to see her pictures, she knew that someone did her hair and makeup and chose her clothes for her, but she hadn’t expected her to look like a fashion plate in the flesh.
‘You look so gorgeous,’
she said reverently, then blushed, realizing how frumpy she looked in comparison. ‘I should have bought something new to wear,’ she added.
Josie giggled and looked Ellen up and down, as if agreeing that her cotton skirt was far too long and her blouse only suitable for the dustbin. ‘You can wear some of my things,’ she said. ‘You won’t believe how many clothes I’ve got now, they often give me stuff I model.’
On the bus back to Chelsea and her flat, Josie never drew breath once, pointing out sights, talking about restaurants and pubs she’d been to, and she mentioned Mark in almost every sentence.
It was only as they got off the bus that she asked how Ellen’s job was.
‘Dead easy,’ Ellen grinned. ‘Especially after how hard I was working at the Sandersons’. I only work from seven in the morning till twelve, doing the rooms and stuff. Then I get the afternoons off, go back to turn the beds down around seven, and that’s it for the day.’
‘So what do you do with all that time off?’ Josie asked.
Ellen shrugged. ‘Go round to flat-letting places to see what they’ve got, read, sunbathe on the Downs. Look in the shops. There’s another girl there called Anne, we often go out together in the evenings.’
‘What, to pubs or night-clubs?’ Josie asked.
‘No,’ Ellen giggled. ‘Just for a walk, or to the pictures. We aren’t old enough for that sort of stuff yet.’
‘Neither am I,’ Josie said airily. ‘But I go to them all the time with Mark.’
Ellen was really impressed by Josie’s sunny, spacious flat, although there wasn’t much furniture. ‘Where do you hang your washing?’ she asked, and Josie got a fit of giggles.
‘Don’t be daft, Ell,’ she said. ‘People in Chelsea don’t hang washing out. They take it to the laundrette.’
Ellen wanted to know what that was, and how much it cost, but Josie wasn’t interested in talking about such mundane things.
Father Unknown Page 22
