Living a Lie

by Cox, Josephine

  Kitty had no intention of letting that happen.

  Georgie wanted a great deal of waking.

  “Leave me be,” she groaned when Kitty shook her awake.

  “It’s been ages since I’ve slept in such a comfortable bed.”

  “Sorry, kid,” Kitty chuckled, stripping the clothes off her.

  “We’ve a lot to do this morning. You can have a lie-in tomorrow.”

  Sliding out of bed, Georgie moaned and complained. She grumbled while she washed and dressed, and all the way down to the dining room. She pulled a miserable face all through breakfast, and was still complaining when they came out into the street. By the time they boarded the bus for the first address, she was in a better mood.

  “Sorry, but I’m a miserable old cow first thing in the morning,” she told Kitty.

  “Yes, I had noticed,” Kitty replied with a sideways grin. In fact, she remembered Georgie’s impossible moods from their days in the children’s home. Somehow they only made her love her all the more.

  The first address was a basement flat on Viaduct Street. It was down a set of narrow dark stairs and the windows were so filthy the daylight couldn’t get through.

  “It’s like a bleedin’ prison!” declared Georgie.

  Kitty gave the land lord a ticking off for his misleading advert and they set off once more; this time to Maudsley Street, where the advert described: ‘a very desirable second-floor flat, with all mod cons and a wonderful river view’.

  As it turned out, the only ‘mod con’ was a bathroom shared by all six residents in the house. The ‘river view’ was a glimpse of the Mersey in the far distance, and a closer one of a dirty little brook that ran into the back yard and which, according to the woman in the ground-floor flat, “Brings the rats into the yard with every downpour.”

  “Jesus Christ! At this rate I’d rather sleep on a bench in the park,” Georgie said. Kitty told her to be patient and marched her off to the bus stop where they quickly boarded a number 10 and headed for the next viewing in Market Square.

  “It’s probably a space under one of the fruit barrers,” Georgie said, disgruntled. But Kitty could see the funny side of it all. When she smiled at the comment, Georgie smiled back, and soon they were giggling. It was so good to feel close again, to share each other’s up and downs.

  By the time they got off the bus at Market Square, the sun was bright and strong in a surprisingly blue sky.

  “Good job it ain’t pissing down!” Georgie muttered.

  “Flat hunting’s a bugger when it’s pissing down.” A slim attractive woman going into the news agent gave the two of them a look of disgust.

  “Such language!” she hissed, glaring at Georgie in particular.

  Kitty quietly reprimanded Georgie.

  “Behave yourself,” she warned.

  “This might be the place we’re looking for, and that woman could well turn out to be one of your neighbours. It would be a pity if you started off on the wrong foot.”

  Georgie was suitably humble.

  “You’re right,” she admitted. “The mouth allus was bigger than me brain.”

  Checking the address, Kitty realised it was the very news agent that the woman had gone into.

  “Let’s hope she isn’t the landlady,” she remarked, leading Georgie into the shop.

  Thankfully, as they went in the woman came out, giving Georgie the same shrivelling look.

  “Miserable old cow!” Georgie muttered, giving a little cry when she got a good hard dig in the ribs from Kitty.

  The owner of the shop was a little man with a warm homely smile.

  “What can I do for you?” he enquired, pushing his rimless spectacles back on to his fat little nose.

  “You’re new to these parts, aren’t you? I know everybody who comes in this shop, but I’ve never clapped eyes on you two before. Come to live round ‘ere, have you?”

  Kitty handed him the cutting.

  “My friend here is looking for a place to live. We’ve come to see the flat you’ve advertised.”

  He peered over his spectacles at Georgie.

  “You’re expecting, aren’t you?”

  “Well, ain’t you the nosy bugger.” Her grin widened.

  “I won’t give you no trouble, matey, and neither will the young ‘un if I’m living here when it arrives.”

  His smile showed he had taken a liking to her. He looked at Kitty, and thought they seemed a decent pair of young women, though he had a sneaking suspicion that Georgie was likely to be trouble.

  “Were you the one who was swearing just now?” he asked her.

  “Mrs. Jolly came in here in a right state…she said there was a young woman outside with a tongue like a sewer rat’s.”

  Georgie liked him, and she said so.

  “And I’ve a feeling I’d like to live on this street. I think the two of us could get on all right, but I’d be a liar if I said a wrong word never passed my lips. You see, I’ve been a rough ‘un, and I’ve run with rough ‘uns. I’m no angel and never could be;

  Kitty was proud of her.

  “She’s all right,” she told the shopkeeper, “and don’t let her tell you any different.”

  He looked from one to the other until his gaze rested on Kitty for a full minute.

  “I reckon you’re both all right,” he said, smiling.

  Reaching beneath the counter, he handed the key to Kitty.

  “Through there.” He pointed to a side door.

  “You’ll see the stairs leading up to the living quarters. Since the missus brought her mother to live with us, we’ve outgrown the space up there. I’ve bought a house two doors down from here and to tell you the truth, I did want a man to take on the flat…security and all that.” He gave Georgie another long scrutinising look.

  “But I reckon a woman as swears like you do, would be just as good as any man in an emergency.” He laughed out loud when Georgie promised if anyone tried to break into his shop, she’d have the whole street out in minutes.

  “Why, it’s lovely!” Kitty was amazed.

  The shop was poky and dingy. But up here it was spacious and light. At the front where the living room was, the sun poured in through two long windows, each dressed with the prettiest floral curtains. The kitchen was surprisingly large, with a breakfast area at one end and a range of new pine units fitted round three walls; there was a round pine table with four ladder-back chairs and a wide shallow window that stretched almost the whole length of one wall.

  “I could live here all right; Georgie exclaimed, running from room to room.

  There was one large, tastefully furnished bedroom, and a small bathroom, tiled from top to bottom in soft grey tiles, with a carpet to match.

  “I could live here myself,” Kitty declared.

  “It’s like something out of a magazine.”

  The shopkeeper was delighted.

  “My wife is the one with the taste,” he said.

  “Give me an old sofa and a pair of slippers and I’m happy as Larry.”

  “Will I meet her?” Georgie asked.

  He grinned from ear to ear.

  “I reckon you’ve already met her, ain’t yer? She’s the one who said you had a tongue like a sewer rat.”

  When he saw their faces fall, he assured them, “She don’t often make her way here, and even if she did, I’m the one in charge of letting the flat, and I say if you want it, it’s yours. Pay three months in advance and you can move in whenever you like.”

  Terms were discussed and Kitty got out her cheque book.

  “We’ll pay six months in advance if that’s all right,” she said. At the back of her mind was the idea that it might take all of six months for Georgie to get herself organised. Meanwhile Kitty didn’t want her to feel that if she hadn’t secured a job and the money to carry on with the rent, she might be thrown out on the streets again.

  “You ain’t got a job going, have you?” Georgie asked the shopkeeper, “I’m good on the till
, and I don’t mind getting up early of a morning to see to the paper round.”

  “As a matter of fact, I just might be able to put a few early-morning hours your way,” he answered, “but the pay ain’t much. The shop isn’t a gold mine and, thanks to the missus, I’ve got a new mortgage round my neck.”

  Georgie was thrilled.

  “It’s a start,” she told Kitty.

  “That’s all I need, a start.”

  For the next two hours they traipsed the shops, buying towels and linen and anything Georgie might need in her new home.

  “I can’t believe it.” Georgie gave Kitty a big grateful squeeze.

  “What did I do to deserve a friend like you, eh

  “It works both ways,” Kitty reminded her as they went to have a scone and tea at a corner cafe. For a while she was deep in thought. They had found Georgie a place to stay, but there was still the moneylender to deal with and she would be on pins until Jack turned up. What if he should change his mind? After all, twelve thousand pounds was a small fortune.

  Friday morning came, and so did Jack. Tired and irritated after his long drive, he swept into the foyer and thumped his fist on the desk.

  “Mr. Jack Harper for Kitty Marsh. Let her know I’m here,” he instructed, and the clerk took an instant dislike to him.

  The three of them sat in the lounge, Jack stretched out in a big soft armchair, Kitty seated next to him on the edge of a settee, and Georgie next to her, nervous and anxious.

  “I’m sorry to be such a burden,” she told him.

  “It’s reallly good of you to let me have the money, but it’s only a matter of time before I pay you back, I promise.”

  Jack gave her a frosty look.

  “Best not to make promises you can’t keep,” he said.

  “But no matter, because I’m really doing this for Kitty, so I don’t want the money back.” He looked at Kitty as much as to say, “I’m having her instead’. But he merely smiled and touched her hand; his smile fading when Kitty visibly cringed. The incident did not go unnoticed by Georgie.

  While they chatted, the morning sped by. Jack treated them to lunch in the main dining room. Georgie ate heartily and Jack too had a healthy appetite, but Kitty merely picked at her food. She had other things on her mind. Soon she would be standing before God making her promises to a man she could never love. Yet she would do it, because she had given her word, and Jack had kept his.

  In the afternoon, Jack went to the bank, and Kitty took Georgie round the shops again.

  “You need some new clothes,” she said. And she needed to put a distance between her and Jack, at least for the time being.

  At five minutes to eight Kitty and Jack made their way down to the foyer. Georgie wanted to accompany them, but Kitty asked her not to.

  “There’s no need for you to face him,” she said.

  “Let me and Jack deal with it.” Georgie knew it made sense.

  The moneylender was already waiting as they came into the foyer.

  Addressing Kitty, he demanded, “Got the money, have you?”

  Jack moved forward and took the fellow by the lapels.

  “Watch your mouth, you creepy bastard!” he hissed, pushing him backwards until he fell into an armchair.

  “The money’s here.” He raised the briefcase.

  “But first, I want any papers that were signed.”

  The man sneered.

  “I’ve got them here.” He patted his breast pocket.

  “We’re not criminals, you know…just honest blokes trying to make a living.”

  Kitty spoke calmly, though she could easily have hit out at him.

  “Whether you’re a criminal or not is a matter for discussion,” she said. Turning to Jack she said, “Wait a minute. Don’t hand anything over just yet.” As she walked away she heard the fellow complaining about how he hadn’t got time to waste ‘buggering about’.

  When Kitty returned with the hotel manager. Jack was puzzled. The moneylender guessed her intention.

  “No need for any of this,” he said.

  “Oh, I think there is,” she answered. At the desk she had explained what was going on to the manager, and though he was indignant that such a transaction should take place in his hotel, he was even more indignant about the moneylender’s trade.

  “I’m well aware of what’s going on here,” he told him in a hostile voice.

  “Let this be the last time you set foot in this establishment.”

  It took only a few minutes to make the transaction. When he was certain that the amount of money tallied with what he had to collect, the moneylender gave up the papers that Mac and Georgie had signed.

  Satisfied, he was about to leave when Kitty called him back.

  “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

  Without a word he reached into his breast pocket and produced a printed receipt-pad. After scribbling the date and sum received, he handed it to her.

  “You’re wasting your time anyway,” he declared with a wry little smile.

  “They’ll be back for more. Once we have them in our clutches, they always come back.”

  “Not this time,” Kitty said, putting the receipt in her handbag alongside the papers.

  “I think you’ll find you’ve seen the last of this little source of income.” She hoped so. Dear God, she hoped so!

  But, with Georgie, you could never be sure.

  On Saturday, Georgie moved into her new home.

  “Normally I would want to clear the cheque,” the shopkeeper said, “but I trust you. You’ve got an honest face.” His remark was directed at Kitty.

  After the groceries were unloaded, Jack was eager to be away.

  “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us,” he moaned, “I don’t like travelling the motor ways in the dark.”

  “Take care of yourself,” Kitty told Georgie.

  “I won’t let you down,” she promised.

  “And I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.”

  She gave her heartfelt thanks to Jack who hinted, “I’m a businessman. If I pay out, I expect something to show for it.”

  At first Georgie took that to mean he expected her to prosper with the excellent start she’d been given. But after he and Kitty climbed into the car and she was waving them away, she caught sight of Kitty’s face peering out of the window. It was a sad face, a face that told a story, and it set her thinking.

  Kitty had little to say on the way home. She felt desperately unhappy. Wasn’t it strange how life turned out? she thought. She and Georgie had come a long way since the children’s home. Now she was going back to a life of luxury, while Georgie was settling into a flat above a news paper shop. And, as the car carried her away from Georgie and nearer to the day of her wedding, Kitty would gladly have changed places.

  PART FOUR

  •••

  1981 ~ WINNERS

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The phone had been ringing some minutes when Harry came into his office. Throwing off his mac, he grabbed up the receiver.

  “Jenkins’ Haulage.” It always gave him a rush of pride when he said that.

  There was a slight pause at the other end, before a man’s voice crackled over the line.

  “Harry? Harry, is that you?”

  Harry recognised the voice as belonging to one of his main customers.

  “Mike!” Harry was relieved.

  “Am I glad to hear your voice! I’ve been trying to get hold of you all week.”

  Based in the south of England, Michael Norden owned a string of garages throughout the country. Against more established hauliers, Harry had won the contract for distributing spare parts far and wide.

  “What’s the urgency, mate?” As a rule Michael Norden was friendly and chatty. This time he seemed impatient, almost irritated.

  “I still haven’t had this month’s despatch sheets,” Harry told him.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Taking the phone with him, he
sat in the chair behind the desk. He was shivering with cold. The weather had taken a turn for the worse. All night it had been pouring with rain, and since four o’clock that morning he had been up to his neck in axle grease and filth. One of his drivers had called him out after a breakdown on a country lane in the middle of nowhere.

  “What with one thing and another, I’m late in planning the schedule,” he explained, “so I need those sheets like yesterday.”

  “Late in planning your schedule? It sounds to me like it’s you that’s got the problem.”

  Harry was not about to confess he had lost contracts that had been his bread and butter.

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he affirmed.

  “I can take the schedule over the phone now, and you can send the paperwork on. I’ll get the deliveries out today. One of the lorries is in dock right now, but I’ve another returning this afternoon. If needs be, I’ll do the job myself.”

  He picked up a pencil and began scribbling.

  “If I remember rightly, you were waiting on a delivery to the Cambridge depot? It would have been done by now, but like I say, I couldn’t get hold of you, and no one seemed to know where you were.” He laughed.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were giving me the runaround.”

  The silence at the other end set off warning bells in his mind. In a worried voice, he said, “Mike? What’s going on?” Still no answer.

  “All right. Out with it. Am I still on your books or what?” His jaw worked in anger. There was something funny happening lately, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  “Answer me, Mike. Do you want the job done or don’t you?”

  “It’s not up to me. Harry.”

  “What do you mean, ‘it’s not up to you’? It’s your company, isn’t it? Who the hell else is it up to?”

  “I have to answer to the bank, you know that.”

  “As we all do,” Harry retaliated, trying to inject some humour into the situation.