by Kitty Neale
‘Not now, Emma,’ Mo protested. ‘It’s Sunday morning so let’s listen to something soothing for a change. How about putting a few of my records on instead? Pearl might like Frank Sinatra, or maybe Doris Day singing “Secret Love”. That one’s got a smashing tune.’
‘No, thanks, Mum, I don’t want putting to sleep.’ She turned to Pearl. ‘I suppose we’d better keep the old girl happy. We can listen to Bill Haley later.’
‘Old girl! Who are you calling an old girl? I’m only forty-three.’
‘All right, keep your hair on.’
‘Yours could do with a brush, my girl.’
‘You must be kidding. It took me ages to get it like this.’
‘You’ve wasted your time then. Why don’t you have a nice perm like me?’
‘Mum, it’s nineteen fifty-six, not ’forty-six. Perm indeed. They’re for old ladies.’
Pearl listened to this repartee, unable to help smiling. The banter between Mo and her daughter was all light-hearted, with smiles to take the sting out of the words.
‘Why are you wearing those daft trousers again?’ Mo asked her daughter.
‘Daft! They ain’t daft. They’re the latest fashion.’
‘Huh. What do you say, Pearl? Don’t you think they look soppy?’
Pearl floundered. She didn’t want to offend either of them. ‘Er … I think they’re nice, and they suit Emma. I don’t think I could wear them, though.’
‘Of course you could,’ Emma said, looking Pearl up and down. ‘We’ll still go up to my room but instead of playing records, we’ll do something about your wardrobe.’
‘My wardrobe?’
‘Yeah, you need bringing up to date and I’ve got just the thing.’
Pearl followed Emma upstairs, surprised when instead of going to Emma’s bedroom, they went into hers.
‘Right, let’s have a look at your gear,’ Emma said, sitting on the side of the bed.
‘I haven’t got many clothes,’ Pearl told her and, going to her sparse wardrobe, she pulled out the lovely rose-patterned dress. ‘I got this from the second-hand shop, but I haven’t had the chance to wear it yet.’
‘Gawd blimey, it looks like something a posh bird would wear to a royal garden party. It’s way too old for you.’
‘Is it? But I think it’s lovely.’
‘I can see you need teaching a thing or too. What else have you got?’
‘Just a few skirts and blouses.’
‘Come on, I’ll show you some of the latest gear,’ Emma said, going into her room. She pulled out a pair of trousers. ‘I got these Capri pants in Petticoat Lane last week, but they’re a bit too tight. Try them on.’
Pearl looked at the pale blue trousers doubtfully, but at Emma’s insistence she slipped them on. ‘Here, try this sweater with them,’ Emma said, holding out a black polo neck.
Once again Pearl did as she was told, and when she turned to look at herself in the mirror her eyes widened.
‘Sit down and I’ll have a go at your hair. That style looks schoolgirly. You need to fluff it up a bit, like this,’ Emma said, picking up a comb and vigorously backcombing Pearl’s hair. ‘Don’t you wear make-up?’
‘Er … no.’
‘Right, more to sort out. I’m gonna enjoy you living here, Pearl. It’s sort of like having a kid sister. Here, try this,’ she said, spitting on a block of mascara and rubbing it vigorously with the small brush. ‘Put some of this on your eyelashes, and then try some lipstick. You need a bit of powder too, but my shade would be too pale for your skin.’
Bemused, Pearl applied the make-up, astounded at the result. Her eyes looked larger, her lips fuller, and though the backcombed hair looked strange, it did add height.
‘Come on, let’s go and show Mum your new look,’ Emma urged. ‘I can’t wait to see her face.’
Pearl took one last look in the mirror before following Emma downstairs, and as they walked into the kitchen, Mo gaped. ‘My God, what has my daughter done to you?’
‘Leave it out, Mum. She looks great.’
‘She looks like a clone of all your friends. If you ask me, these new teenage fashions are like a uniform. Teddy boys all dress alike and you girls are the same.’
‘Take no notice of her, Pearl. In fact, next week I’ll take you up to Petticoat Lane and you can buy a few things of your own.’
‘Thanks, Emma, but I’m afraid I can’t afford new clothes. Any spare money I have goes on painting material.’
‘Painting! What do you mean?’
‘I … I go to art classes.’
‘Do you?’ Mo said, and turning to her daughter she added, ‘You could do with taking a leaf out of Pearl’s book. Instead of spending all your time going dancing you could be learning something too.’
‘Oh, yeah, like what?’
‘Well, how about dressmaking? That would come in handy.’
‘Mum, all my life I’ve had to wear clothes that you made for me, and jumpers that you knitted. It’s the last thing that I want now and I’d sooner buy them off the rails.’
Mo’s face saddened. ‘I didn’t know you felt like that. I … I did the best I could.’
‘Oh, Mum, please don’t get upset. I didn’t mind when I was a kid, honestly I didn’t, but it’s different now that I can afford to buy my own clothes. Look, I’ll think about learning something, maybe typing and shorthand.’ She turned to Pearl, an appeal in her eyes, ‘Here, why don’t you show us some of your paintings?’
Pearl took the cue. Emma had upset her mother and obviously wanted to divert the conversation. ‘I haven’t done many paintings yet. But I’ve got lots of sketches.’
‘We’d still like to see them.’
Pearl hurried upstairs, grabbed her folder and riffled through it until she found the one of Mo. It was a good likeness, but unsure of how the woman would feel about it, she stuffed it into her dressing-table drawer before returning downstairs.
‘Gawd, look at this one of Dolly Dolby,’ Mo said as they went through the folder. ‘And there’s one of Gertie too. These are really good, Pearl.’
‘Thank you,’ Pearl said, gratified to see Mo looking cheerful again.
‘Oh, look, here’s one of Nora.’
‘It’s not very good. She’s a difficult subject.’
‘The poor woman is a sandwich short of a picnic, but she’s harmless.’ Mo picked up another sketch. ‘My goodness, this is a marvellous drawing of Derek.’
Emma looked over her mother’s shoulder. ‘Yeah, but it doesn’t make him look any better. Oh Christ, sorry, Pearl, I forgot you were going out with him.’
‘That’s all right. I know he isn’t much to look at, but he’s a lovely man.’
Emma looked as if she was about to say something else, but then changed her mind as her mother found yet another drawing of someone she knew.
‘It’s young Eric Hanwell. He looks so happy in this picture. Did you draw it before, well … you know?’
Pearl nodded, her face saddening. In the sketch Eric looked mischievous, impish, his gap-toothed grin wide. Would he ever look like that again? She looked up as Emma spoke.
‘Mum told me that you found the kid. It must have been rotten for you.’
‘Yes, it was terrible, but nothing compared to what poor Eric went through.’
‘What was the bloke like who did it?’
‘In his forties, flabby, but to be honest I hardly saw him.’
‘I heard that he got done in.’
‘He didn’t. Bernie told me that he was castrated.’
‘That’s not what I heard, and anyway, he deserved more than having his balls cut off.’
‘Emma, that’s enough! I won’t have you talking like that,’ Mo admonished. ‘What we heard were rumours, that’s all and, if you ask me, nobody knows the truth.’
‘Yeah, sorry.’
‘I should think so too. What’s done is done and it’s best forgotten. Pearl was in an awful state when she found the boy and it isn’t ni
ce to make her go over it again.’
Pearl hung her head. They thought Trevor Bardington had been killed, but it had to be a rumour, it just had to be. Surely Bernie hadn’t lied.
She picked up her portfolio. ‘I’d best get ready to go round to Derek’s. They’re expecting me for dinner.’
‘That’s a shame. I was going to suggest taking you to meet a few of me mates,’ Emma said.
‘Oh, I’d have loved that. Maybe another time?’
‘All right, perhaps tomorrow night. You can wear that gear again.’
‘Thanks, I’d love to meet your friends.’
Pearl went back to her room. It had been a strange morning, but one she’d enjoyed until the conversation turned to Trevor Bardington. She liked Emma and maybe they really could become friends.
* * *
Pearl decided to leave the mascara and lipstick on, but when she sat across the table for dinner at Derek’s, she could sense an atmosphere.
‘Why are you wearing that muck on your face?’ Connie asked.
‘It’s only a bit of mascara and lipstick.’
‘You don’t need it, and if you ask me it makes you look like a tart.’
‘Gran, don’t say things like that. I think Pearl looks nice.’
‘Rubbish. Nice girls shouldn’t wear that stuff.’
‘All young girls wear make-up nowadays,’ Derek protested.
‘In my day only tarts painted their faces. Pearl looks better without it.’
‘I think she looks fine.’
As Connie scowled at her, Pearl felt like a naughty little girl. She lowered her eyes, but then Connie’s voice softened.
‘Take no notice of me, love. I saw my daughter painting all that muck on her face, and … well … has Derek told you what happened to her?’
Pearl lifted her head, seeing sadness in Connie’s eyes. ‘He told me that she was killed during the war.’
‘Yes, that’s right, but it was well before the war, in nineteen twenty-nine, when she met up with some rough characters and took to plastering her face with make-up. She started going to the West End, but wouldn’t tell me what she was up to. Then one day she came home with a bun in the oven.’
‘A bun in the oven?’
‘She was pregnant, and unmarried. I can’t tell you how ashamed I was. I mean, you can imagine what the neighbours would have said.’ She exhaled loudly. ‘I couldn’t face the gossip, and though I’ll regret it till the end of me days, I chucked her out. When Derek was born I still wouldn’t have anything to do with her. In fact, I didn’t even see him until my daughter was killed in nineteen forty, and by then he was ten years old.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Pearl whispered.
‘I don’t deserve sympathy. If I could turn the clock back I’d have done things differently, and then perhaps my daughter would still be alive.’
‘Leave it out, Gran. She was killed by a bloody bomb.’
‘Yeah, but if I hadn’t chucked her out, she wouldn’t have been in a pub. She’d have been at home, looking after you instead of palming you off with neighbours while she was out having a good time.’
‘Gran, you know that she was a bit wild, and I doubt you could have kept her in. Anyway, you can’t spend the rest of your life living on what might have been.’
‘Yeah, I expect you’re right, but it’s something I’ll never know.’ She turned to Pearl. ‘I’m sorry for lecturing you about make-up. It was wrong of me to compare you with my daughter. You’re a nice girl, a good and innocent girl, and I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.’
Pearl flushed. Innocent – Connie thought she was innocent. Oh God, if only that were true.
19
After only two weeks of living at Mo’s, and the day before her birthday, Pearl was happier than she had ever been in her life. Emma had continued to take her under her wing, and now Pearl was transformed. Her hair had been restyled and, despite initially protesting, she had been unable to resist the young fashions for sale in Petticoat Lane.
Even the shopping trip had been a revelation. Emma thought nothing of bartering with the traders, returning their cheeky repartee, and managing to get a good few bob knocked off the prices. Pearl loved the wide flared skirt she had purchased, together with a sweater. They were the latest thing, Emma assured her, buying one too, but in a different colour.
It was Saturday night, and instead of going to the pictures with Derek, she was going dancing again with Emma. She loved the loud, foot-tapping music, and with Emma’s help had learned to jive. She hadn’t liked disappointing Derek again, but loved the company of Emma and her crowd, never before feeling so young, alive and carefree.
‘Does this look all right?’ she asked Emma, spinning around to show her the outfit.
‘Yeah, but don’t wear your sweater on the outside. Tuck it in, and clip that wide, elastic belt I gave you around your waist.’
Pearl nodded, happy to take Emma’s advice, and looking in the mirror she had to admit the outfit looked better. With a grimace she stuffed her feet into a pair of high-heeled shoes that Emma had lent her, wondering if she would ever get used to them.
‘Right, I’m ready.’
‘Me too, so let’s get going.’
As both girls went downstairs, Emma broke into song.
Pearl smiled, recognising ‘Be-Bop-a-Lula’ by Gene Vincent. Emma was mad on it. Mo stood at the kitchen door, doing her best to look stern.
‘Now, you two, I want you home by ten thirty and no later.’
‘Keep your socks on, Mum. We won’t be late.’
‘You’re wearing too much make-up, Emma. You’re skin is lovely and doesn’t need plastering with pan stick.’
‘I ain’t got that much on, and anyway, it covers up my spots.’
‘You wouldn’t have spots if you didn’t wear that muck on your face.’
Pearl hid a smile, used to his nightly exchange. In some ways Mo was of the same opinion as Connie about make-up, but Emma would win the argument; she always did.
‘All right, I won’t put so much on next time, but we’re meeting the girls and if we don’t get going we’ll be late.’ Bye, Mum, love you,’ she added, planting a smacking kiss on Mo’s cheek and leaving an imprint of pale pink lipstick.
Mo smiled with pleasure at her daughter’s show of affection. ‘Go on then, off you go, but don’t forget what I said. Ten thirty and no later.’ Bye, Pearl, have a nice time.’
‘Bye, Mo,’ Pearl called as she followed Emma outside and, linking arms, the two girls hurried along Pennington Street.
The dance hall was crowded, the music loud, and already two of the girls in their crowd had been asked to dance. Emma was next, and suddenly Pearl found she was alone. She stood a little selfconsciously on the edge of the floor, jumping when she felt a tap on her shoulder.
‘Hello, Pearl. I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t think this was Derek’s scene.’
When Pearl saw it was Kevin, her first instinct was to walk away, but hiding her feelings, she answered, ‘I didn’t know this was your scene either. Derek’s not here. I came with my friends.’
His eyebrows lifted and then he looked her up and down. ‘You look a bit tasty tonight. Do you fancy a dance?’
‘No, thanks.’ She saw his face darken and shivered, hoping he wasn’t going to turn nasty.
‘I insist,’ he said, pulling her on to the dance floor.
The tempo changed to a ballad and as he put his arms around her, she looked up into his handsome face. As they danced, there were many girls eyeing him and he had the pick of them all, but he didn’t notice them, concentrating only on her. Despite her resolve, Pearl loved being in his arms, melting against him, but when he spoke softly in her ear, she stiffened.
‘Do you still think about the night we had it off, Pearl?’
‘No … I don’t.’
‘Leave it out, you needn’t pretend. You loved it, loved me fucking you, and if you ask me nicely, I’ll do you again.’
Pe
arl felt her stomach turn. He made lovemaking sound so crude, animal-like and she’d been mad to let him get through her defences again. ‘No, thanks,’ she snapped, trying to break away.
He held her arm fast, now trying to pull her from the dance floor. ‘Come on, you needn’t play games. My car’s outside and the back seat is roomy.’
‘No,’ she gasped, struggling again.
‘Are you all right, Pearl?’ Emma asked, rushing to her side.
‘She’s fine, and you can get lost,’ Kevin snapped.
‘Let her go,’ Emma insisted loudly.
Several heads turned in their direction and with a snarl, Kevin released Pearl. ‘Sod you then, it’s your loss.’ But as they made to walk away, he spat, ‘I don’t think your mum would want you knocking around with a tart, Emma. I’ve had Pearl and she was easy.’
Pearl felt the heat rise in her body and, unable to look Emma in the face, she made a dash for the door, her heels wobbling dangerously on the polished floor.
‘Wait, Pearl! Wait,’ Emma shouted.
As she reached the street, Pearl took in great gulps of air. Her face was still flaming, and she dreaded facing Emma and her friends. She wanted to run, to flee, and jumped when a hand touched her arm.
‘It’s all right, love,’ Emma said softly. ‘I don’t know what made Kevin Dolby say that about you but I know you’re not a tart. He can be a nasty bugger and my mum warned me about him ages ago.’
‘D … did she?’
‘She’s worked in the café for years and has seen him grow up. She said he’s turned into a nasty sod and blames Dolly. Apparently anything Kevin wants, he gets, so my guess is that he asked you out and you said no. Am I right?’
‘Yes,’ Pearl said, grabbing the excuse.
‘He ain’t used to being turned down, and that was his spiteful way of getting his own back. Come on, come inside and forget about Kevin Dolby. He ain’t worth wasting your breath on.’
Unable to face going back into the dance hall, Pearl shook her head. ‘I think I’d rather go home, but I need my coat and bag. Would you mind getting them for me?’
‘All right, but are you sure you won’t change your mind?’
