by Rosie Clarke
For a moment, she closed her eyes as she remembered.
‘I’ll be dead soon enough,’ her mother had cried out after some hours of pointless discussion. ‘Surely you can wait for a few years?’
The memory was still vivid, still hurtful.
‘But you would still be with us,’ Beth had replied, silently begging her to smile and say she was happy for her, but she hadn’t, instead she had fallen back on the pillows. ‘I love him, please let me marry him and live with us…’
‘You must do what you want with your own life, Beth, if your conscience is clear,’ her mother had said then and closed her eyes as if in pain. ‘I’ll just stay here in this bed until they take me into the infirmary…’
Beth had tried to win her mother round, but she’d insisted that Beth must not think of her and refused to be a burden to her, claiming that Mark would grow tired of having her in his home and she did not wish to be the cause of quarrels. Despite the regret and pain it gave her, in the end, Beth had told him she could not marry him.
Mark had taken her refusal badly. He’d thought she did not love him, because all she would say was that she could not leave her mother. He’d pleaded, but when she told him it was no use, he’d stormed off, angry and bitter. It had broken Beth’s heart and she’d hoped that he would come back and be her friend again, but he hadn’t visited or written even when her mother died.
‘Mother couldn’t face leaving her home – or the thought that she might be a burden to us. If I’d left her, she would have died in the infirmary…’
‘Oh, Beth,’ he said and looked stricken. ‘Is that what you feared?’
‘She – she would not live with us and…’ Beth shook her head as the tears stung her eyes. ‘I shouldn’t – it is so disloyal of me…’
‘Disloyal – you?’ Mark sounded. ‘You were the most loyal of daughters and she used you – yes, she did, Beth. You broke my heart and perhaps your own for a selfish woman…’
It was true. She knew that he was speaking the truth as it seemed to him, but he hadn’t been there and seen her mother’s fear, and he didn’t have the ties and the memories that had bound Beth to the invalid’s side. Mark might think her spineless and weak for giving in, but in fact it had taken strength to do what she knew was right despite her own longings and her heartbreak.
She could not bear any more of this!
‘I must go.’ Beth tried to move away, but he caught her arm. ‘Please, I know you’re angry but…’
For a moment, the passion flamed in his dark eyes and his handsome face looked almost cruel; she thought that if they were alone he might have kissed her or hit her and did not know which she expected. She did not know what she wanted, whether the love she’d had for him once was still there. Then, all of a sudden, the heat was gone and he smiled wryly.
‘It nearly killed me to leave you,’ he said, ‘but it hardly matters now – I’m married to a wonderful young woman and Lily adores me…’
There was something about the way Mark spoke, half gleeful, half angry, that made Beth look at him and the expression in his eyes gave her a jolt. It felt as if he’d plunged a knife into her heart.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ she asked and her voice shook. ‘It’s as if you hate me…’
‘I both hate and love you,’ he said in a quiet vicious tone. ‘Seeing you opens old wounds, makes me remember…’
His words, combined with what seemed like cold anger now, made Beth nervous. Fortunately, her bus drew up at that moment and she jumped on, looking back at him as he stood staring after her. His arm came out, almost as if in supplication, and she felt her heart twist with pain, but the bus was turning the corner and the conductor told her to move along.
‘Sit down, ducks, or you might fall and harm yourself…’ he said and gave her a cheery grin.
Beth nodded and moved numbly towards the nearest seat. She discovered that she was shaking and feeling a little sick. For a moment, she’d thought Mark might hurt her, but when he’d held his arm out to her at the last, it had been pain she’d seen in his eyes.
‘Tuppence please, ducks,’ the young conductor said as Beth asked for High Holborn. ‘You came up early this mornin’ – had a good day?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Beth swallowed hard, trying to rid herself of the hard knot of misery in her chest. When she saw Mark, she’d thought that he might still love her, that now there was a chance to find the happiness that had been denied her, but then he’d spoken the words that had broken any dream she might have held. He was married – to Lily, who loved him, and he despised Beth, thought her faithless for choosing her mother over him.
The tears burned behind her eyes, but she couldn’t give into grief in a public place. Years of strict discipline made her raise her head and hold back the tears. They would come later, when she was alone in bed. It was only now that Beth realised she’d been hoping that Mark would return one day and ask her to be his wife again. Now she knew the dream had finally gone.
‘It’s going to be a lovely day again tomorrow,’ the cheerful conductor said and winked at her. ‘They say the weather is settled for a while now, but more than likely it will rain all summer.’
‘I do hope not…’ Beth replied but couldn’t force herself to smile. She looked unseeingly out of the window. She would soon be home and could hide her tears in her room.
Aunt Helen was in the kitchen and the smell of vegetable soup cooking met Beth as she entered. Her aunt turned to look at her expectantly.
‘How did you get on then?’
‘I like it there,’ Beth said. ‘I’ll change quickly, Aunt, and then finish the supper…’
‘Just change and come down. I finished the costume I was making – and Mrs Wayman has ordered two summer dresses for her daughter, but I do not need to start them until tomorrow.’
Beth nodded, forcing a smile before escaping to her bedroom to change her dress for a comfortable old tweed skirt and a jumper. Aunt Helen knew nothing about Mark and she would not tell her. It was a private hurt that she must learn to put aside. Her future was at Harpers and she would probably grow old there and become a floor walker like Miss Hart…
6
Sally lingered in the shops. She knew all of them on her route back to the hostel well and spent as much time as she could every evening wandering towards New Oxford Street and Bloomsbury, looking in the windows or browsing the counters in those that opened late: anything to delay her return. It was hateful at the hostel and she longed to find a place she could call home, but that was something she’d never truly had. All her young life had been spent in orphanages run by nuns and she’d been passed from one to another, because the nuns said she was rebellious and flouted the rules. Sally supposed it was true, but she’d hated the nuns’ sombre attire and their stern faces and longed for someone to laugh and play with her, as a mother would – and yet she knew now that mothers did not always love their daughters. That dream had been shattered when she was sixteen and Mother Superior had called her into her office and told her that she must leave.
‘We took you from your mother, because the life she led was not suitable for bringing up a child…’
‘My mother…’ Sally had recoiled as though she’d been slapped. ‘My mother is dead…’
‘Of that I have no certainty,’ the nun had said sourly. ‘By her lifestyle, I would imagine she must be dead long since, but she abandoned you to the care of our order and we have brought you up as we do all motherless children…’
Sally’s eyes had blazed with anger, because she’d been passed from one home to another like a parcel. She’d pleaded then for more details of a mother who might yet live. The nun denied knowing more than she had already told her.
‘You were the child of a woman of the night and one of her clients. She was ill and begged us to take you, that is all I’ve been told.’ Mother Superior had hesitated and then removed something from the drawer of her desk. She had placed a tiny silver locket on the de
sk. ‘Your mother asked the sister who took you in to give this to you one day. Since I do not expect to see you again, Sally, it is yours, and now it remains only for me to wish you a good life.’
Feeling angry, torn with regret and bitter at being sent out alone to fend for herself, Sally had snatched up the locket and left the nun’s office. Tears had blinded her eyes, but she had forced them back. Her mother had given her to the nuns, condemning her to years of a cold, sterile existence, because she did not want her. So much for her dreams of a loving mother!
Sally shook her head, refusing to weep. It did not matter. She would never think of her again or long for something she could not have. Sally had ceased to grieve. She was strong and had learned how to manage alone.
Sally reached Selfridges and stood outside the window, studying the way the window was dressed. It was so stylish and the clothes were lovely. Sally’s dream was to work in the dress department, and perhaps to help dress the windows. She admired the way the clothes had been draped on the dummies but also the fact that the theme of the window was women dressed to go motoring and cycling and an old-fashioned penny farthing cycle had been brought in to make you smile and stop to look. Everyone marvelled at the window dressing at Selfridges and people would often crowd around a new display. Sally would have liked to continue working at the busy store. Unfortunately, that had become impossible for her and she’d been forced to hand in her notice, something that had annoyed her immediate supervisor.
‘I thought you were reliable,’ she’d told Sally crossly. ‘If you continue to leave your work every few months, no one will employ you…’
Sally hadn’t told her that it was Mr Jago’s fault, because Miss Robinson would not have believed her. Some of the firms she’d tried after leaving her last post had been reluctant to give her a chance – but she’d been lucky. Harpers needed experienced shop girls and fortunately her story had been believed.
She moved along to the next window and studied it. This was given over to a display of sporting clothes for men with cricket bats and various other items such as shooting gear and a sports rifle. She frowned slightly, feeling that something was missing; it didn’t quite have the interest of the first window in her opinion.
‘Have you noticed it too?’ a voice asked and Sally looked at the man who had spoken. She knew the owner of Selfridges by sight, and this gentleman wasn’t her former employer. Tall, dark haired with an open, fresh-faced appeal, he had the look of a sportsman. He was a gentleman, though, by his clothes, which were well cut and expensive, and she thought there might be a faint American accent. ‘Something’s missing – but I’m not sure what…’ he said more to himself than her.
‘There’s no life to it,’ Sally spoke for the first time. ‘Yes, there are two dummies, but both are men – it needs something to represent the way sport is enjoyed… a woman in a summer dress with a parasol. She’s there to watch and applaud the cricket, of course – or even some models of a fox or game birds.’ She cocked her head on one side and grinned because she could see it all in her mind’s eye. ‘It needs more to give it movement…’
‘Yes, I agree,’ he replied and she laughed inside as she saw him making notes in a little black book. ‘That is just the answer Marco would give. You are an intelligent young woman – are you employed here?’
‘No, not now,’ Sally said, wondering if he meant the Mr Marco she’d met earlier at Harpers. Was this man employed there too? ‘I did work here for a while but… I’m going to work for Harpers now.’
‘Why did you leave – were the wages better?’
‘No…’ Sally’s cheeks burned. ‘It was something personal…’ She turned to move away, feeling that she’d said too much.
‘Forgive me, miss… I did not mean to embarrass you, especially after you were so helpful.’
‘It’s all right,’ Sally said. ‘I should go now.’
‘Yes, of course – good luck in your new job.’
‘Thank you,’ Sally said and moved away, a little flustered. For a moment, she’d thought he was going to proposition her and wondered if her open manner had given him the wrong idea. She’d liked the look of him and even a few minutes spent talking with a stranger was better than returning to the cold cheerless place where she lived. Yet Sally didn’t want to be thought fast and needed to protect her good name. Men often tried to take advantage of a pretty young woman with no family and Sally was determined not to end up like the street walkers she often saw in Soho Square.
Refusing the temptation to glance back, Sally walked steadily on. Even the shops with later opening hours were closing now and she would either have to spend a few pence buying a cup of tea or return to the hostel and make a cup of cocoa before going to bed. There was nothing else to do when she got there because the canteen would be filled with girls she had nothing in common with, so she kept to her own room most of the time.
Sally had been lucky enough to have a friend when she first arrived, but Jane had fallen pregnant and her boyfriend had married her. She’d invited Sally to pop round whenever she liked, but Sally was uncomfortable with Roger, Jane’s husband. For some reason, he didn’t like her, though she’d done nothing to upset him.
She’d never managed to make friends at the orphanage. Sally wasn’t sure why, but she thought it might be because she was a rebel and often punished and the other girls thought they might get punished too if they were her friends. At Selfridges, she’d tried to make friends and one or two had been nice to her, but then she’d had to leave and she hadn’t seen them since.
Feeling lonely and still reluctant to return, she walked on towards Clerkenwell and finally turned the corner into the dingy lane that housed the hostel for young working girls. In itself it was respectable enough and the rules were strict. Another twenty minutes and the door would have been locked for the night.
Across the street there was a rowdy pub that was noisy on Friday and Saturday nights when the working men got paid; it doubled as a working man’s club and on Saturday nights there would be music, singing and laughter. The King Billy was always busy and she’d been told the food at the bar was good but had never dared to venture inside. The men took their wives there on special nights and Sally had seen them coming and going from her window that overlooked the lane. Occasionally, there was a fight in the lane and early one morning she’d woken to the sound of pounding feet and police whistles, but that didn’t happen often.
As Sally paused at the hostel door, waiting for it to be answered, a man came out of the pub and grinned at her. Mick was Irish and ran the bar for the owner. He always looked at her as if he wanted to say something, but she wasn’t in the mood for flirting, and it seemed that was what most men did when they met Sally. Mick had tried to be friendly, but she did her best to avoid speaking to him, though now and then he would deliberately come across the lane to speak to her.
She escaped inside as the door was opened by Mrs Hobbs, who was in charge of locking up for the night and for making breakfast for the twenty young women who lived in the hostel.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said, sniffing in disapproval, and glanced at the American wall clock. ‘Leaving it nearly to the last minute as usual, I see. You won’t get any supper now. I’ve cleared the counter.’
‘That’s all right, Mrs Hobbs,’ Sally said cheerfully. ‘I had something to eat out.’
‘Lucky you can afford it!’
The custodian gave her a suspicious look, sniffing again as she went back to her private room and Sally made for the stairs. She could hear voices from the landing above. Three girls were arguing, two shouting at each other and the third trying to keep the peace.
‘That bitch Jean was in my things, I tell you – and my garnet beads are missing.’
‘She’s a liar. Tell her that she’s a lying cat, Bessie. I never touched her beads. I wouldn’t be seen dead in them…’
‘What are yer starin’ at?’
Jean’s sharp voice directed at Sally made her start.
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‘I’m just going to my room…’
Sally turned away from the unpleasant scene. Jean and Violet were always arguing and Bessie tried to keep the peace between the roommates. It was at times like these that Sally was glad she paid three shillings a week and had a room to herself rather than sharing. She’d had a run-in with Jean herself occasionally and it was best to stay clear.
Her room, which she always left locked, was so small that it was filled by a bed, a chest of drawers with a swing mirror on top and the single bed. There was no wardrobe, so Sally hung her clothes on hooks behind the door. It wasn’t ideal and looked untidy, but if she’d folded her spare dresses in the chest they would have needed to be ironed every time she wore them.
Even though tiny, it was better than living at the orphanage, where the nuns were so strict it bordered on cruelty and the young girls were turned out as soon as they were old enough to fend for themselves. Nuns were supposed to be the brides of Christ, but how could they justify their unkindness to God? Sally wasn’t sure she believed in God at all, and if she did, it wasn’t the one those awful women worshipped, she was sure of that…
Sally took off her jacket and dress and hung them up on the hooks, put on her bathrobe and then brushed her hair in front of the mirror, in the lamplight it glowed with red highlights. She picked up her towel and soap bag and went down the hall to the bathroom. Luckily, it was empty and she took the chance to wash her face and clean her teeth. Sometimes, she had to queue for the privilege, but most of the residents didn’t bother to wash at night. In the morning, there was always a rush and some girls shared to save time.
Returning down the hall, she saw one of the other girls, Sylvia, come upstairs. She nodded to Sally. ‘I just made it,’ she said. ‘Mrs Hobbs is on the warpath again.’
‘Yes, she hates latecomers, as she calls those who stay out to the last moment…’
