The Hostess

by L. P. Gibbs

  “Jan, what have you done?” she asked, her eyes wide in amazement. “Have you left home, then?”

  “Aye, I have. That old bastard isn't going to bully me any more,” Janet replied, dropping her case to the floor and sitting down at the table opposite her friend. Sandra sat back down also. “Your Gran said I can stay here tonight.” Sandra almost squealed with excitement.

  “Oh, that'll be champion,” she yelled, throwing her arms around the other girl. “You can share my bed. We'll have a laugh as well.” At that point, Sandra's grandmother came back into the room, having locked the street door, just in case Bill Robson came round. She looked at Janet and shook her head, sliding her hands into the pockets of her flowered housecoat.

  “I knew he was a bad 'un when your Ma married him,” she said, the corners of her mouth drooping in disgust as she shook her head, her grey curls wobbling with the movement. “We all told her, but she wouldn't listen. He's had fights with everyone at the pub, even threw a brick through the Patterson's window once. You did right to leave, pet. He'll never change, though but.”

  Janet and Sandra sat up in the small, single bed until well after one thirty in the morning, chatting and discussing plans that had sprung into their heads. Sandra said she would leave home along with Janet and the pair decided to make their way to London the following day. They had both heard stories of others who had made the journey and succeeded.

  Both girls were wide awake well before six o'clock the next morning, fidgeting with nervous excitement at what lay ahead. They sat in the small bed, discussing where they would go and what they would do.

  Going downstairs, they put their plans to Mary-Ellen at the kitchen table over their breakfast of hot buttered toast with thick marmalade. The elderly woman took a handkerchief from her apron pocket and noisily blew her nose before standing. Without a word, she went silently across to an old, varnished, wooden dresser that stood against one wall, blue and white patterned plates arranged carefully upon it's shelves, and pulled open the bottom drawer. Rummaging around inside it for a few minutes beneath some documents, letters and bills, she pulled out a large, brown envelope and lifted the flap. She studied the contents for a moment. From within, she drew out a wad of banknotes and handed them across to Sandra.

  “There's just over a hundred pounds here, pet. Everything that remains of what your father left us when he died.” Sandra gazed in astonishment at the notes scattered across the bright, plastic tablecloth. She had never seen so much money in her life. She hesitated for a moment as it just didn't feel right. It did seem like an awful lot of money. She then took it and tucked it into her purse.

  “Thanks, Gran,” she said, deeply moved by the experience. The two girls looked at one another and began laughing out loud, their shoulders bobbing up and down with each nervous giggle. The old lady suppressed a giggle too. Although she was losing her granddaughter, the old woman knew it would be for the best. Janet obviously could not go back home and the girl would need someone to share her experience with her, help her through any hard times ahead..

  By nine o'clock that morning, they were walking away from the house, each of them now struggling with a heavy suitcase and a greaseproof paper parcel of sandwiches that had been prepared for them by Sandra's grandmother tucked into Janet's shoulder bag. Cheese and pickle, a favourite of both girls, although they had made sure that they ate their fill before leaving. Heading for the bus stop, they reached the corner with the main road and turned to wave to Mary-Ellen but she had already gone back inside, closing the door softly behind her, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. She stood with her back to the door and wept for almost twenty minutes.

  What she thought of as her little girl had grown up and flown the nest.

  * * * *

  LONDON

  Upon arriving at Newcastle Central Station, they bought second class, one-way tickets to London. They sat on one of the wooden benches in the middle of the station concourse, chatting nervously. They both knew they were about to embark on a journey into the unknown, an adventure that they had no way of knowing the outcome of. They chattered nervously.

  A little more than an hour later, the enormous, dark blue Deltic diesel locomotive from Edinburgh rumbled slowly into the cavernous station, the digits 'A35' prominently displayed across the fluorescent yellow square on the front, its engine growling as it gradually came to a halt alongside the platform, carriages with their buffers clanking against each other and the wheels causing a screeching noise as it stopped. The smell from the diesel exhausts filled the station.

  The two girls went through the ticket barrier and boarded the long express train bound for London's King's Cross Station, some two hundred and fifty miles away. They easily found an empty compartment in the second class section and settled down in their seats. After a wait of just over fifteen minutes, the train pulled gently away and out of the station. Looking through the windows, they watched with some trepidation as the station signs slid past them to disappear from view. Neither of them knew when they might see those station signs next.

  As Janet sat in the gently swaying compartment, Sandra went along the corridor, staggering from side to side with the movement of the train to the buffet car, and bought two cups of tea in plastic containers and they ate the two ham and mustard sandwiches that her grandmother had made for them.

  Janet gazed out of the window at the lush, green countryside as they sped through it, the huge, metal wheels making a rhythmic clackety-clack sound on the tracks beneath them while Sandra read a Woman's Own magazine that she had brought from home. The platforms of other, minor stations rushed by at an alarming speed as the train travelled through them, only in view for mere seconds. The watery sun was straining to push through the gradually diminishing rain clouds, showing rays of gold, lilac and orange. It was a sign of better things to come, they hoped. They were both silently wondering in their own way about what lay ahead of them in London. Janet was deep in thought but certain that she had done the right thing.

  It took almost four hours travelling at high speed to reach their destination and both girls nodded off at one stage. Finally arriving at Kings Cross, it was nearing two o'clock in the afternoon when they made their way out through the magnificent, wide stone arch that brought them from Platform Two and into York Way. Looking around, they turned to their right and came to some traffic lights at a major road junction, bustling with people hurrying to and fro and more traffic, cars, buses, lorries and taxis than either of them had ever seen before in their young lives. They stood still for almost a minute and gawped at the magnitude of it all. How did these Southern people exist in this kind of craziness? Why were they all in such a hurry? Suddenly, a deep voice boomed from behind them causing both to literally jump.

  “You alright, girls?” asked a tall, thick-set, smiling policeman, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked down at them. “You look as if you're a bit lost. Can I help you?” At first, both were reluctant to say anything at all but Janet, being the braver of the two answered eventually.

  “We've just arrived in London and looking for a place to stay,” she told him. “Can you suggest somewhere nearby?” The constable frowned a little and studied them before replying.

  “Now then, how old are you two?” he asked gruffly, his thick, bushy brows knitted together in a questioning manner as he hooked his thumbs into the two breast pockets of his uniform. He rocked back and forth on his heels as he spoke. The big man had an air of authority about him which the girls fond comforting. As quick as a flash came the answer without a moment's hesitation.

  “We're both nineteen, sir,” Janet lied with ease, a pleasing, innocent smile on her face. It wasn't too far from the truth; she would be nineteen in three months time. The policeman appeared to accept what she had told him. With a raised eyebrow, he looked down at them.

  “Well, you won't find anything cheap around here,” he began. “and besides, this isn't the sort of area that decent young girls like yourselves want
to be hanging around in, you know. It can be a bit, …. er …. unsavoury to say the least, especially after dark.” He raised one eyebrow in a knowing manner. Sandra looked at Janet with a puzzled expression but her companion, being a little more worldly instantly understood what was being implied and took the hint immediately and nodded. The constable thought for a moment and then continued.

  “I think the best thing you can do is to make your way along to Camden Town and look for advertisements in some of the shop windows around there. You will always find someone advertising a room for rent. But be careful though,” he warned, wagging a chubby finger in the air in front of them and shaking his head vigorously so much that his plentiful jowls wobbled as he spoke. “Don't part with any money at all until you've had a really good look at the room, alright? Make sure it's clean and dry with no little, … er, … pests.” He nodded as if agreeing with himself that he had made the right decision. He raised a long, beefy arm and pointed along the road. “There's a bus-stop just around that corner where you can get a bus to take you straight there. Just ask the conductor to put you off at Camden Town Station.”

  “Ta very much, officer,” Janet said as politely as possible. The pair made their way to the bus stop he had indicated.

  “Be careful how you go, mind,” they heard him call from behind them as they hauled their cases along.

  Ten minutes later they had boarded a bus and were on their way. The conductor told them when they had arrived in Camden Town. They alighted from the platform and looked about, turning three hundred and sixty degrees to get their bearings. They spent nearly an hour trudging slowly along the main road, stopping every now and then to peruse advertisements in shop windows. It also gave them the opportunity to put their cases down on the pavement and rest their now weary arms. Janet glanced at Sandra and saw signs of despair on her face.

  “Come on,” she said with an encouraging smile. “We'll find something, you'll see, don't worry.”

  It was fast approaching four o'clock when they eventually found what they were seeking. The pencilled, fading advert on a curled, yellowing postcard in the window of a tobacconist's shop must have been there for some time.

  'Room to let immediately. Share toilet & bath. £4 per week. 199 Royal College Street, Camden Town, NW1.'

  Obviously, neither of them knew where the address was and so asked an ageing, hunch-backed newspaper vendor outside Camden Road station for directions. Wearing an old tweed jacket, worn grey flannel trousers that had seen better days and a flat cap tilted at a jaunty angle upon his head, he laughed, his toothless mouth wide open and pointed across the road.

  “There y'are, girls,” he informed them eventually when he had stopped laughing. “That's Royal College Street, right in front of yer.”

  Thanking the old man, they crossed over and began walking past The Eagle public house on the corner, past a fish and chip shop and along the road. It was only a hundred and fifty yards later that they came to the address they had copied down, situated on their right hand side. They stood back a little closer to the kerb and looked up with some trepidation at the big, old, double-fronted house. It had a gloomy look about it and had definitely seen better days judging by the paint peeling from the outside walls and door. They could see, even from the pavement, that some of the wooden sash-window frames had started to rot and where the house had once been painted white, the entire building was now a decidedly dull grey, probably from the exhaust fumes of the incessant traffic that grumbled past in a constant, steady stream. Something else that the girls would have to get used to if they took the room.

  Dark grey and off-white storm clouds, laden heavy with rain were scudding rapidly across the sky and a chilly wind blew along the length of the long, busy thoroughfare as the two girls went tentatively up the four steps and pressed the lower bell marked 'Caretaker'. From somewhere deep within the bowels of the building they heard it ring hollowly. Sandra shivered involuntarily. Just below them in a gated off area below street level, the sash window to the basement went noisily up and a bespectacled, middle-aged man's balding head poked out to stare accusingly up at the two girls as if he was regarding an annoying salesman.

  “Yes? What do you want?” said the head in an impatient manner as if he regretted having his peace disturbed.

  “We've seen an advert for a room,” Janet replied. The man appeared to be studying them from below although from way his eyes were moving from side to side behind the round glasses perched on the end of his somewhat pointed nose, Janet was certain he was trying to peer up their short skirts. She moved back a little from the edge of the steps, moving her case in front of her.

  “Hang on there and I'll come up,” the man told them and rattled the window shut. Shortly after came the sound of heavy, uneven footsteps trudging up the stairs inside the house from the basement. They heard his feet clumping across the floor. The creaking front door was opened.

  “Now then,” the man said, looking them up and down. “It's only a single room, you know, it's just got the one bed in it.” Janet offered her sweetest smile , her head tilted to one side.

  “Oh we don't mind, we can share. We're only small.” The caretaker seemed to have made up his mind to accept them.

  “Right then,” he began, “it's four pounds a week, in advance plus a weeks money as a deposit, eight pounds altogether. Okay?” They both nodded vigorously, thankful to have found somewhere to sleep before the darkness of the evening crept in, even if it did seem a bit shabby.

  “Follow me and I'll show you the room first, then you can decide whether or not you want it, but don't take too long making your mind up. I'm a busy man, you know, and there are plenty of others looking for rooms, so it won't stay vacant for long.”

  They both knew from the faded look of the advertisement they had seen that this was untrue but said nothing. With that, he turned and led the way up the wide staircase, which was bereft of carpeting. “There's the only toilet and there's a bath inside as well,” he said as they went, indicating a door to the left on the first floor landing as they passed it. Still they continued up even more stairs, across another landing and then another, smaller and narrower staircase. At the top of this on a tiny landing were two doors, one either side of the staircase. The man unlocked the door on his left, pushed it wide open and stood with his back against it.

  “This is it,” he informed them with a creepy smile. “I'm Arthur, by the way. I'm the caretaker for the entire house and I collect the rents for the owner every Saturday without fail. No excuses, mind. Miss the rent once and you're out! There are no visitors of the opposite sex allowed at any time of the day or night, I hope you understand?” he said with emphasis. The girls assured him that they most certainly did understand and squeezed past him as he stood there, making no attempt to move so that they both had to brush against him to get into the room.

  With desperation beginning to set in, the two girls looked at each other, nodded and decided to take the room. Janet handed the man a ten pound note.

  “I'll have to get some change from downstairs,” he told them, shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh. “I'll bring it up to you later. Here are the keys. There are two for this door and the other two are for the main door downstairs.” Handing them over to Janet, he went out, casting a sneaky glance over his shoulder as he went, shutting the creaking door behind him.

  The pair looked around at their new home and Sandra's nose wrinkled in disgust. The walls just about held up a dark shade of beige, flowered wallpaper that was peeling in several places and threatening to completely come away from the plaster. Opposite the door was a small, dust covered window that overlooked the noisy street far below. Against one wall was a single, metal framed bed topped with an unhealthy looking mattress without any sheets. A bare, thin, striped pillow rested at the head of the bed. It had once been white striped but now a dirty brown colour. There was a small, square table with one chair which had been placed at the foot of the bed. An ancient, mahogany veneered wooden
wardrobe occupied one corner of the room and in another corner, behind the door, stood a small wash-basin. Between this sink and the wardrobe was a fireplace that appeared not to have been lit for many years judging by the cobwebs that hung from the mantelpiece and across the grating, all thick with gathering dust. The floor was just bare boards, well worn, except for a two by four foot, almost threadbare rug that had been thrown down beside the metal bed. Above the door, resting loosely at a precarious angle on metal brackets was an electricity slot meter. Sandra looked around and sighed with a heavy heart. She hadn't been expecting anything wonderful, but this? She dropped her case to the floor, sending up a shower of grey dust.

  “Cheer up, pet,” Janet said with a comforting smile when she noticed Sandra's concerned expression. “If we put our minds to it, we'll soon have it looking nicer, don't you worry.”

  “We'll need some sheets and blankets first,” Sandra responded, staring forlornly down at the mattress. “There's not even a kettle so that we can have a cup of tea. Are you sure we've done the right thing, Jan?” Her companion slowly nodded as she also gazed down at the bed.

  “It's too late now, Sarn, I think,” Janet said. “We're here now, and from the looks of him we probably wouldn't get our money back, anyway. We may as well make the best of it for the time being until we get sorted out with jobs. Then we can look for somewhere better. Let's go out and buy some sheets for the bed, and a kettle, tea, sugar, milk and bread and butter for the morning too. We'll have to be quick though but, it's getting late,” she continued, looking at the little round Timex watch that her mother had given her for her eighteenth birthday. “It's half past four already and the shops will probably close at five. We'll have to hurry.”

  Leaving their cases on the bed and locking the door behind them, the two girls ran noisily down the stairs and out into the street. They retraced their steps to the main road and went across to the old newspaper seller once more. Janet strolled right up to the man and bought an evening paper.