Spitfire Girl

by Lily Baxter

  ‘I think I’ll stay out here for a while. I feel closer to my Christine when I’m up here on the hill.’

  ‘Goodnight then, Mr Richards.’

  He held out his hand. ‘The name’s Dave. Young people calling me Mr Richards makes me feel a hundred and one.’

  She smiled and shook his hand. ‘Goodnight, Dave.’ She left him staring up at the stars and set off for home feeling happier than she had in a long time. It had been a relief to tell someone her story, and now her conscience was clear. Mr Richards, or Dave as she must try to think of him, was a good and kind man. It was comforting to know that she had a friend. There was a spring in her step as she walked back to the house.

  Next day, which she always set aside for baking, she made an extra batch of scones, and as it was her afternoon off, she planned to take them to the cycle shop together with a pot of last year’s blackberry jam. Mrs Kemp had taken to her bed with a headache and heartburn, which was hardly surprising as she had consumed a bowl of vegetable soup and several hot bread rolls at lunch time, washed down with a glass of stout. All this was followed by a slice of sponge cake that Susan had of necessity made with liquid paraffin instead of margarine or butter, and it had barely had time to cool before Mrs Kemp demanded a slice.

  Virginia had departed for the golf course and would be out for the rest of the day, and Pamela was at work, leaving Susan free to do as she pleased. She decided to smuggle Charlie out of the house and take him for his first daylight walk. After all, Mr Richards knew all about him, and it would get the puppy used to traffic and socialising with people and other dogs. With her basket in one hand and her gasmask case slung over her shoulder, Susan looped Charlie’s lead over her wrist and set off for Swiss Cottage.

  Dave Richards greeted them both with equal enthusiasm. He put the Closed sign on the shop door and ushered them upstairs to the flat. ‘I’m due for a tea break,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Had a sudden rush of work this morning, but I finished it just now, so I can relax. Come into the kitchen and I’ll put the kettle on.’

  Susan unclipped Charlie’s lead and he scurried off to investigate his new surroundings. She followed Dave down a narrow corridor to a small kitchen overlooking the back yard. It was a little bigger than the one in the shop below, but not much cleaner. Dave might be good at mending bicycles but he did not seem to have much of an idea when it came to housekeeping. She noted a mouse hole in the skirting board with a rusty mousetrap set up in front of it, which had been sprung but was empty. A rather ancient gas cooker stood against the far wall next to a chest of drawers that had also seen better days. The oilcloth on the top was littered with packets of tea and sugar, a bill hook crammed with dog-eared papers and half a loaf sitting in a sea of crumbs on a bread board. No wonder the mice thought it was heaven on earth, she thought, trying not to laugh. A gas geyser rumbled away above the sink and the wooden draining board was piled high with crockery, some clean and some in need of a good wash. The white wall tiles were streaked with condensation and the linoleum on the floor needed a good scrub. As Dave put a match to the gas the air was filled with the smell of sulphur, town gas and hot grease. He glanced at her with an apologetic smile. ‘I’m afraid it’s a bit of a mess.’

  That was the understatement of the year, Susan thought, but she merely smiled and made a space on the pine table for her basket. ‘I’ve brought some scones and homemade jam,’ she said shyly. ‘I baked them myself.’

  He filled the kettle at the sink and placed it on the gas ring. ‘My, my,’ he said, whistling between his teeth as he picked up the jam jar. ‘Did you make this too? What a clever girl you are.’

  There was nothing remotely patronising in his manner, and unused to praise she felt the ready blush rise to her cheeks. ‘It’s not difficult.’

  ‘It would be to me. I’m not much of a cook. I live mostly on fish and chips or beans on toast when Tony’s away, although I make a bit of an effort when the boy comes home.’ He replaced the jar on the table and turned his head to peer at the flame beneath the kettle. He sighed. ‘The gas pressure is low today so it will take a bit of time for the kettle to boil. I’ll give you the conducted tour of the flat while we wait for our tea. It’s very small so it won’t take long.’ He led the way into a long, rather dark corridor.

  To Susan’s surprise there were three bedrooms, or rather two reasonable sized rooms that would take a double bed and one much smaller which could only be described as a boxroom. It contained a narrow divan and a single chest of drawers but it was clean and tidy, which was more than could be said for the master bedroom. Mr Richards held the door open briefly, closing it again with an apologetic smile. ‘Haven’t had time to make the bed. It may look like a jumble sale but I know exactly where to put my hand on things.’ He led the way to his son’s room a little further along the narrow hallway. ‘On the other hand, Tony is always tidy. He takes after his mum, thank goodness.’

  After the chaotic scene she had just witnessed, Susan was pleasantly surprised by the neatness and order in Tony’s bedroom. The walls were hung with framed photographs of military aircraft. Susan recognised the Spitfire and a Wellington, but she could not identify the others. It was a definitely masculine space with a double bed, and an oak wardrobe with a matching dressing table. On it was a set of hairbrushes, a leather cufflink case, and a photograph of a young woman with a small child on her lap. On closer examination Susan could only guess that the pretty lady with blonde hair and a nice smile was Tony’s mother. The round-faced little boy with fair curls like Bubbles and an angelic expression must be Tony himself.

  Dave cleared his throat. ‘He was four then, Susan. He was the apple of her eye. My Christine was a wonderful mother and the best wife a man could wish for.’ He ushered her from the room, moving quickly as if he wanted to shut away unhappy memories. He closed the door and appeared to relax just a little. ‘That just leaves the living room.’

  Situated at the front of the building with two small windows overlooking the busy street, the sitting rom was untidy, but there were definite feminine touches, which must have been put there by Tony’s mother and left undisturbed for years. The pink fringed shade on the standard lamp exactly matched the one on a table lamp by the window. The walls were papered in floral designs and hung with prints of idealised Victorian rural landscapes with thatched cottages and rosy-cheeked children, playing with kittens. A green onyx clock was set in the centre of the cream tiled mantelpiece, flanked by figurines of shepherdesses and cherubs clutching lyres and trumpets. Susan noticed that there was a film of dust on all the surfaces and cobwebs festooned the ceiling. The carpet was threadbare in front of the settee and the hearthrug might have once been white and furry, but was now matted and scarred by singe marks. The coffee table was littered with newspapers, trade magazines and empty mugs that had left scorch rings on the polished tabletop. In one corner of the room was a large wireless, and two saggy armchairs faced each other on either side of the hearth.

  ‘Take a seat, love,’ Dave said, shifting a pile of magazines onto the floor with a sweep of his hand. ‘I’ll bring the tea and scones.’

  ‘Can I help?’ Susan asked, keeping a wary eye on Charlie who had found something interesting beneath one of the chairs and was trying to dig it out.

  ‘No. You’re the guest of honour today. I’ll wait on you.’

  It was such a novel experience that Susan sat back on the sofa, avoiding a spring that was attempting to poke its way through the uncut moquette. She looked round the room with a critical eye. There was nothing here that could not be shifted by an inordinate amount of elbow grease, and the judicious application of Vim or Mansion polish. A wash with vinegar diluted in warm water would clean the mirror above the fireplace and the windows, and the old newspapers would bring them up to a crystal clear shine. She had not thought of housework as anything but a dreary chore, and yet for all its faults this was a much-loved home. She would have loved to get to work and bring it back to its former glory. Another photograph
of Christine smiled at her from the sideboard where it had pride of place. She sensed that Tony’s mum would have approved of anything that was done to make her men happy. For the first time in her life Susan felt that she was close to finding out what it was like to be part of a real family. She hardly accredited the Kemps with that honour. Virginia and Pamela were barely civil to each other and always squabbling, and their mother seemed to have little interest in anything or anyone other than herself.

  Dave returned with the tea and scones. He had found some plates, although they did not match, and two bone-handled knives, but he had forgotten a spoon for the jam, and they used the teaspoon, which they had had to share anyway as the others were in the sink waiting to be washed.

  ‘These are really good,’ he said with his mouth full. ‘Pity I haven’t got any butter or better still a dollop of cream to go on the scones, but they’re still delicious, Susan.’

  She wiped her lips on her hanky. It would be useless to ask if Mr Richards had such a thing as a table napkin. Mrs Kemp would be shocked to the core if she could see the way they were seated round the coffee table, using newspaper as a cloth and dipping the hot teaspoon into the jam jar. Susan licked her fingers, enjoying the freedom and the feeling of rebellion against middle-class etiquette. ‘I’ll bring you some more when I do the next lot of baking. Maybe I could smuggle out a bit of cake too.’

  Dave shook his head. ‘No, love. I don’t want you taking things from your employer. That wouldn’t be right. Just this once is a real treat, but you’d be in trouble if the old lady caught you.’

  ‘I’m always in trouble anyway,’ Susan said, sighing. ‘But as long as she doesn’t find out about Charlie I can take it.’

  ‘He’s going to be a big dog. You won’t be able to keep him a secret when he learns how to bark, and he’ll need proper food as he grows. Have you thought of that?’

  ‘I’ll manage somehow,’ she said stoutly. ‘Whatever happens, I’m not giving Charlie up. I don’t care if I have to live rough. He’s mine. He stays with me.’

  Dave frowned. ‘Good luck then, love. That’s all I can say. You can bring him here any time. I’ll always be pleased to see you both. Anyway, how about another cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes, please. But then I’d better think about getting back. Mrs Kemp will probably stay in bed all afternoon, but I don’t want to bump into Virginia when I’ve got Charlie with me.’

  ‘And I’d better open up the shop or I’ll be losing trade, but you will come again soon, won’t you, Susan?’

  ‘I’d love to.’ She glanced round the room trying to think of a tactful way to suggest that she might be able to help tidy up, but decided against saying anything. She did not want to hurt his feelings, but her fingers itched to start on the kitchen, even if it was just to do the washing-up.

  She left the shop half an hour later. It was mid-afternoon and the light was fading as dark clouds obscured the sky, threatening rain or maybe even a dusting of snow. Soon it would be Christmas, but there was little sign of anything festive in the shop windows. As she trudged homewards she remembered the lines from a poem she had learnt at school: No sun – no moon. No morn – no noon. She could not remember the middle bit, and no doubt the poet, Thomas Hood, would be turning in his grave, but she recalled the last line: No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds – November. That was just how it felt on this dreary day even though it was now December. When she arrived home she thought how drab and unfriendly the house appeared in the dusk. She had an inexplicable sinking feeling as she let herself in through the side gate, but as she turned the corner of the building and came face to face with Dudley, she felt even more apprehensive. He was standing outside the kitchen door smoking a cigarette. He stared at Charlie. ‘Well, well, well. What’s this, Susan? Is there something you’ve been hiding from us all?’

  She stopped, holding Charlie back with difficulty as he bounded forward to greet a prospective friend. ‘It’s not what it looks like.’

  Dudley flicked his cigarette butt into the air and it landed in the flowerbed, the tip glowing on the naked soil. ‘It looks to me as if you’ve got a secret, young lady.’ He took a step towards her, laying his hand on her shoulder. ‘Now what, I wonder, would it take to make me keep my mouth shut about your little friend?’

  Chapter Four

  Susan brushed his hand away. ‘He’s not mine. I was walking him for a neighbour.’

  Dudley bared his teeth in a smile. ‘Now we both know that’s not true, don’t we, my dear?’

  Suddenly he reminded her of the Big Bad Wolf and she was little Red Riding Hood. She glared at him, meeting his unflinching gaze with a defiant toss of her head. ‘I’ve told you – he’s not mine.’

  ‘All right, Susan. Let’s take him home where he belongs.’ He was still smiling but there was a cold, calculating look in his eyes that sent shivers down her spine.

  ‘Why don’t you mind your own business? It’s got nothing to do with you, anyway.’

  He grabbed her by the shoulders. ‘Don’t speak to me in that tone of voice, you little skivvy. Show some respect for your elders and betters.’

  She made an attempt to break free but he tightened his grip, and the anger died from his eyes, but was replaced by something infinitely more frightening. She had never seen naked lust, but it did not take a genius to recognise it now. ‘You’ll be nice to me, Susan,’ he said, emphasising his words by shaking her until her teeth rattled. ‘I promise not to tell, if you’ll cooperate.’ Despite her struggles, he managed to undo her coat, and with mounting excitement he tugged at the neck of her brown uniform, sending a shower of buttons flying onto the gravel path.

  ‘Let me go. I’ll tell Miss Virginia.’

  ‘And you’ll lose your job as well as the mutt.’ He aimed a savage kick at Charlie, who was chewing his shoelaces. ‘Get him away from me or I’ll knock the little blighter into next week.’

  Susan seized her chance. ‘Let me go, then. I’ll take him indoors out of the way.’

  He hesitated, but Charlie was determinedly attacking his other shoe. ‘All right, but no tricks.’ He released her, standing aside while she fumbled in her handbag for the key.

  ‘Wait here,’ Susan said as she opened the door.

  ‘Don’t tell me what to do, miss.’ He pushed her aside and stepped into the kitchen ahead of her. ‘Give me credit for some brains, you little idiot. You’d have locked me out, given half a chance.’

  She forced herself to remain calm. ‘You’re not so green as you’re cabbage-looking.’

  ‘My dear, I love it when you talk like a common shop girl.’ He took a step towards her but Charlie jumped up at him, obviously considering that this was a new game. Dudley caught him with the toe of his highly polished leather shoe, sending him slithering across the floor and somersaulting onto an astonished Binkie-Boo. The cat leapt up, arching his back with his fur standing on end like a woolly-bear caterpillar. He let fly at Charlie with claws unsheathed, catching him on the nose and making him yelp.

  Susan raised her hand and struck Dudley across the face. ‘That’s for Charlie, you big brute.’

  He caught her by the wrist, dragging her into his arms. She tried to fend him off, but despite his sedentary job at the bank Dudley Chapman was a big man and it was well known in the family that he had followed Charles Atlas’ course in body building in order to impress Virginia. Holding her in an iron grip he covered her mouth with his in a wet and slobbery kiss that made her feel physically sick. She struck out with her fists but he seemed to take pleasure in violence. He was sweating profusely and murmuring obscenities in her ear as he thrust his hand beneath her skirt. He tugged at her knicker elastic and his fingers sought the private place between her thighs. Part of her brain told her to fight, but another small voice warned her that it would be useless. He forced her lips open with his tongue, but he recoiled violently as she seized her one chance of escape and closed her teeth on it. ‘You little bitch.’ He grabbed her by the hair, forcing her
backwards over the kitchen table and sending the basket flying. The plate she had used for the scones hit the tiles, shattering into shards.

  Susan opened her mouth and screamed, just as the door opened and Virginia strode into the room.

  ‘Dudley. What the hell is going on?’

  He pushed Susan away roughly, causing her to fall to the floor. ‘She threw herself at me, Ginnie. Honestly.’

  Virginia stared at the telltale bulge in his tight-fitting trousers and her lip curled. ‘Don’t lie to me, you bastard. I know what you’re like when you get overexcited, and it’s not a pretty sight.’ She stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face. ‘Get out of here. I never want to see you again.’

  Pale and patently shocked, Dudley held his hand to his face. ‘Darling, please.’

  ‘Don’t darling me.’ Virginia marched to the back door and flung it open. ‘Get out.’

  ‘Why all the shouting?’ Mrs Kemp had entered the kitchen unnoticed, and she leaned on her cane, staring from one to the other. ‘What’s going on?’

  Virginia drew herself up to her full height, pointing a shaking finger at Dudley. ‘That brute was all over her. They were about to copulate on the kitchen table. I’ll never eat in this house again.’

  ‘Dudley, what have you got to say for yourself?’ Mrs Kemp demanded in a calm voice that astonished Susan. She would have expected hysterics at least.

  He positively cringed. ‘It wasn’t me, Mrs Kemp. It was her.’ He turned to Susan who had struggled to her feet and was trying to conceal Charlie under her coat, but he was apparently under the impression that life was one long playtime, and had managed to escape. He bounded up to Mrs Kemp, wagging his short tail.

  She could not have looked more horrified if Susan had brought a Burmese python into the house. She pointed her stick at Charlie who immediately leapt upon it and attempted to wrestle it from her hand. ‘What is that?’ she demanded. ‘Banks. This is all your doing.’