by Maggie Ford
‘What I’m asking is would you let me take you out to dinner, or maybe to a theatre, or both?’
She withdrew her hand before he could touch it, fiddled instead with the neck of her jacket. She wore it with her thick working skirt, not trusting the April weather as yet. She began to feel conscious of the way she was dressed.
‘What would you want going out with someone like me? I’m just an ordinary working girl.’
‘And I’m an ordinary working man.’
‘You ain’t,’ she shot at him. ‘You’ve got a father what’s a solicitor. You only chose to do this sort of thing to get back at him for somethink or other. You don’t really need to work at somethink like this, but me, I ’ave to work for me living. So why ask someone like me out?’
‘Because I …’ He hesitated then thought better of whatever he was going to say. ‘Because I like you very much and I’d like to get to know you even better. Please, would you let me take you out? Say you will.’
She remained silent, looking down at the handlebars. How she longed to say yes, but fear of the unknown was gripping at her. She felt she should shake her head, grab the handlebars and cycle away, but she couldn’t move.
‘Will you?’ he was urging.
It was all piling in on top of her, giving no time to think, to reflect on what the result of her reply would be one way or the other.
‘Please, will you say yes?’ he asked yet again.
Geraldine took a deep breath, felt her lips part for words that she couldn’t give voice to. Her lips were moving apparently of their own accord, almost forming the word ‘yes’ even though her brain was in danger of forcing her to shake her head. She tried to close her lips but they refused to be closed and moments later she followed their lead with a hardly detectable nod of her head. She was aware of him relaxing.
‘This Saturday then?’
Now she found her voice. ‘I can’t make it this Saturday. I’ll be out.’
‘With a boyfriend?’
‘Girlfriend!’
The lie burst out of her before she could stop it. She was going to the picture palace again with Alan. She’d have to tell Alan she wouldn’t see him the following Saturday. He was beginning to feel too secure with her, she was sure, even though there had been nothing going on between them – he was just a friend. Anyway he couldn’t really have a proper relationship with any girl while he was still officially married. Divorcing his wife for adultery, he could hardly leave himself wide open to a counter claim even though he was doing nothing wrong.
As far as she could see there was no future with him for a long time yet and in that time all sorts of things could happen. She was free to go out with whomever she pleased, but she couldn’t hurt him by saying what she’d really be doing the following Saturday, and anyway, this date with Anthony Hanford might only be this once. He might see her as not being his sort after all – well, she knew she wasn’t his sort – and not ask her out again. Then where would she be? But if she didn’t try, she’d never know, would she?
She came to herself with a start, aware that Anthony was asking her how she felt about going to the theatre. She looked up at him with startled eyes. ‘The what?’
He looked a little concerned. ‘You do like going to the theatre?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Quickly she gathered her wits. ‘I love going.’ She was about to gush, ‘I go all the time,’ but stopped herself. The only time she ever went was to the Queens Theatre in Poplar where they had variety acts, and of course stage acts put on between films at the picture palaces. Occasionally she had gone up to the West End with a couple of friends to line up with those like herself for the cheapest gallery seats, having saved up money for weeks for it. He wouldn’t take her up there in the top gallery of course. More likely the upper circle, where people with just a bit more to spend would go, and definitely more suitable when treating a girl.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Which one would you like to go to?’
Fighting confusion, she fought to think clearly and came out with the only name that came to mind. ‘The Hippodrome.’
He grinned. ‘You like revues then. Okay, the Hippodrome it is. I’ll get tickets for the dress circle.’
Stunned, she heard him instruct her to meet him here at six-thirty the Saturday after next, and not to worry, he’d take care of everything, getting her there, everything.
Chapter Five
‘See you next Saturday then?’
Alan’s parting reminder brought Geraldine up sharp. She’d mentioned nothing regarding next Saturday, hanging back in the hope that he himself might decide to let that go. Now he’d referred to it, she’d have to tell him that next Saturday was off – but what excuse to make? There had been so many of them jiggling around inside her head all through the film show that not only had she been unable to concentrate or enjoy what had been showing but she was now spoiled for which one to chose, always the bane of those about to tell lies. She settled on the first one to pop back into her head.
‘We’re going round to me sister’s fer tea.’
‘Oh.’ He looked dismal for a second or two then brightened. ‘What about Saturday after that?’
Geraldine took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know yet. It’s a long way ter think ahead.’
He was looking at her keenly, as if trying to judge her thoughts. ‘Are yer sayin’ yer don’t want ter see me any more?’
‘No, Alan.’ She didn’t want to burn her bridges just yet and she did like him very much. ‘If I can let yer know after next Saturday.’
‘’Cos if yer don’t want ter see me again, I’d rather yer let me know now, save me ’anging around ’opeful like.’
She squirmed with guilt. ‘Don’t be silly, Alan!’
‘It’s not silly. I know we’re only friends. Can’t be anythink else the way I’m placed. But even friends ought ter be straight with each uvver. If there’s some uvver bloke yer seeing, I’d sooner yer tell me.’
‘It ain’t anythink like that. It’s just … Look, I’ll drop you a note next week. I’ve got ter go, Alan. It’s gettin’ late, an’ Dad’ll be wondering where I am. I’ll see yer soon. Not next Saturday, maybe the one after. Let’s say goodnight, Alan. I must go now.’
Tilting her face for his usual goodnight peck, eyes half closed, she was surprised to find him walking swiftly away from her, his parting words, ‘See yer around then,’ coming back to her in a strangled sort of tone.
Her heart gave a thud of remorse. She was about to chase after him to tell him not to be so silly but instead she just stood there watching him, the circle of fitful yellow glow from a street gas lamp further along lighting up his tall, straight figure for a moment before shadows swallowed it up.
She was seeing Anthony outside his shop at six-thirty and her stomach was all collywobbles, first and foremost at the prospect of the meeting itself and also at the idea of being taken to the theatre, the dress circle no less!
She’d never been in the dress circle in her life, nor anywhere else in a theatre but up in the gallery, the gods as it was termed by those who could afford nothing else. She and a couple of girlfriends, with what was left of their weekly pay packet after handing over half of it to their mums for their keep, would line up outside and while they queued would be entertained by buskers, some every bit as good as the performers inside except that many were missing a leg or an arm or were blinded by courtesy of the trenches in which they’d fought, and all of them just about scraping a subsistence by kerbside entertainment.
She and her friends would finally be admitted by a side door to mount endless flights of stone stairs between pockmarked walls to where the tatty, grubby balcony jutted out just below the theatre roof, its occupants required to sit on tiers of wooden steps each with the minimum of padding for a bottom to sit on, and certainly no backrests. The audience there would be in everyday clothes and any woman too overdressed would be seen as a tart or worse, and any finely dressed man would likewise be looked on as a pansy.
Now she was to be treated to the dress circle, not even the upper circle where she might have felt more comfortable. In the dress circle she’d have little idea how to deport herself. There was a feeling too that Anthony Hanford would have taken a girl of his own sort into the stalls with the fur-coated and bejewelled. Perhaps he was sparing her the embarrassment of rubbing shoulders with the extremely wealthy, but though that should have been a relief to her it annoyed her a little. Wasn’t she good enough to be with them in the really posh seats? Perhaps he didn’t see that by considering her feelings he was in fact embarrassing her already.
Dad glanced up from his Evening Standard as she entered the back room. ‘Where you off to, all dressed up?’
Mum was in the kitchen washing up with Evie wiping. They hadn’t gone to the pictures this Saturday being that Dad was short of money this week. Geraldine had hoped that was where they would have been so that she could have crept out in her best clothes without being seen. But no, it had to be Sod’s Law, didn’t it, that they’d be home on this particular evening of all evenings?
‘I’m just going out, that’s all,’ she answered sharply.
‘Must be somewhere posh. You ain’t worn that thing since Mave’s weddin’. Showing orf that time like you was rollin’ around in dosh.’
She was churned up enough by this business without having to explain herself away to Dad. ‘I’m just going to see a friend of mine.’
‘Bloke? New bloke. Posh is ’e?’
‘That’s my business!’
‘Well, you be sure of ’im bringin’ yer ’ome by ten-thirty.’
‘I’m going to see a show, Dad. It don’t finish before then.’
‘Eleven then. And straight ’ome, mind – no funny larkin’ abart, understand?’
‘I’ve never done anything like larkin’ about.’
‘There’s always a first time. You just see this ain’t it, oo-ever ’e is.’ Geraldine didn’t reply. Her main worry was passing Mum in the kitchen and having to deal with her comments and questions.
Her only answer to Mum’s startled enquiry as she rushed for the back door and the strong smell of carbolic as she opened it to the yard, was, ‘I’ll be ’ome by eleven, Mum!’
It was a good job this late April Saturday had decided to be warm and she could dispense with her outdoor jacket, tatty thing that it was, and not spoil the look of her lovely dress. At least she had a nice neck-wrap, spending out three shillings and eleven pence from her hard-earned pay on a blue feather necklet to suffice for evening wear. It made her look more dressed.
Anthony met her outside his shop. She had felt a bit conspicuous walking through the streets to meet him, sure all eyes turned to her as she passed, their owners musing on what she was up to all dressed up like she was, maybe on the game. Uncomfortable though it felt, she couldn’t have asked him to call for her. Not that he didn’t know what this area was like – he worked in it, but a young man didn’t come calling until he’d been out with a girl several times. Even more people would have wondered at the expensively dressed young man and his transport and put two and two together.
As she had guessed, he did have transport, a motor taxicab, already waiting, so certain he was of her being on time. For a second or two she felt rankled that he was so sure of her, but moments later felt quite special that he should think she would be, and felt even more so as he helped her into the taxicab.
It was the first time she’d ever been in a motor vehicle other than a tram or omnibus and it was grand sitting beside him watching the shops go by without other people sharing the same view as her.
He hadn’t greeted her with a kiss as she had somewhat feared he would, but had taken her hand saying how nice she looked and his eyes reflected that comment. Now, as she watched the world speed by from the taxicab window she said in her nicest manner, ‘I am wearing the right sort of clothes for the dress circle, aren’t I?’
His hand moved to cover hers in a reassuring pressure. ‘You look very nice, lovely, the bee’s knees as they say.’
‘I hope you like revues,’ she said tentatively. She hadn’t asked him.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Though usually I see the occasional play. But with no one to accompany me, it isn’t the same. Maybe I can take you another time?’
He was implying that he would want to see her again and Geraldine’s heart did a little skip. Tonight she must make certain to conduct herself with decorum so that he wouldn’t be disappointed in her. And who knows where this would all end. To think that only a few weeks ago she’d only dreamed of being on his arm going to the theatre.
Mum was scrutinising her. ‘So where was it yer went Saturday night with this new bloke of yours?’
All through Sunday Mum had been aching to know more about her evening, full of hope that her next eldest daughter might soon find a young man and in a year or so follow her sister down the aisle, although so far Geraldine had been able to parry her questions. But she couldn’t go on evading her forever. Mum was persistent if nothing else.
‘The Hippodrome,’ she finally conceded over her breakfast on Monday.
‘The one in Poplar?’
‘The one in the West End.’
‘Oh-h-h – posh!’ Mum’s mouth described a downward curve in a mixture of gentle derision and approval. ‘Got money ter take yer up West End theatres ’as ’e? Wondered why you was all togged up Saturday. What’s ’is name, this bloke? Do we know ’im?’
Geraldine picked up the bit of toast Mum had done her for breakfast before leaving for work. ‘No, but if all goes well, I’ll bring ’im to meet you.’
‘Do it look like it might go well then?’
‘I don’t know. We’ve only been out the once.’
‘Yer must know if yer like ’im. It don’t take all that long ter know.’
‘He was nice, acted like a gentleman. It’s still early days yet, Mum.’
She took a slurp of tea, her need for the toast dwindling. All she wanted was to be out of the house and away from her inquisition. At this stage it wouldn’t do to tell Mum too much and by the look in her eyes, she was already seeing this one as hopeful – a young man able to afford to take her daughter to a West End theatre, on their first date as well. It was usually a walk in the park and a bob spent on fish and chips to round it off.
‘Yer must ’ave some idea,’ she furthered. Geraldine stood up sharply.
‘I’ve got ter go. I’ll be late fer work.’
They’d all gone before her except Evie, Dad and Wally having left very early, both in the same gang now and hopeful of being called on, and young Fred now a messenger boy for a newspaper in Fleet Street, proving himself to be a bright lad, needing to be the first one there in case he was wanted for an errand.
Evie didn’t have to get in to the local co-op where she worked until half past eight so she was always last to leave. She now came leisurely down to the kitchen as Geraldine was making ready to leave.
Picking up a slice of toast Mum had spread with margarine, she began putting a scrape of jam on top while Mum poured the cup of tea.
‘Had a good time Saturday night, all dressed up?’
‘I ain’t got time now,’ evaded Geraldine and hurried off out the back door to retrieve her bicycle she’d earlier propped against the back wall, stepping over the white puddles of carbolic Mum had poured to cover the smell of Dad’s nightly mistake
. Yet again he hadn’t managed to make it to the lavatory in the early hours.
As she wheeled her bike down the side alley to the road, Geraldine was elated. Tony – he’d asked her to call him Tony – had asked if he could see her again next Saturday.
‘I enjoyed this evening,’ he’d told her as the taxi drew up halfway down her street. Had her parents seen her getting out of it they’d have had a fit, thinking she’d been up to no good, or been taken ill, or something.
She and Tony had sat for a moment or two in the back while the driver stared prudently ahead but no doubt with ears cocked to what fruity things might be said, though he’d been doomed to disappointment, Tony merely saying that he hoped she too had enjoyed her evening, to which she had gushed that she hadn’t had such a lovely time for ages.
‘I’d like to take you out to dinner next Saturday,’ he’d added, ‘if you’d care to.’
Fearing to appear too eager, she’d nodded her consent and he’d said to meet him outside his shop at seven-thirty. Then to her complete surprise he had taken her hand and kissed it in a really gentlemanly way, saying that she’d best be off so as not to get on the wrong side of her father’s humour. In fact he’d brought her home to the very minute that she’d said her father had asked her to be home. That was the kind of gentleman he’d proved to be.
Geraldine mounted her cycle and pushed away. On Saturday she would wear her best dress again with her lovely necklace and the earrings she’d felt she had to accept being as he had taken her out. But her thoughts were now more on what she must tell Alan.
She had told him that she’d see him this coming Saturday. Now she must break it to him that she couldn’t see him after all. It wasn’t a pleasant prospect. He was so nice and so honest and had been through such a rotten time in his marriage that he didn’t deserve her putting him down on top of it all. Perhaps if she said she’d see him Friday instead, it would make things a bit easier, but it felt wrong even though theirs was only friendship.
