The House By Princes Park

by Maureen Lee

  Daisy bought her a pretty cotton nightdress – the ones she had were probably older than Daisy herself and only fit for ripping into dusters, and the twins took note of every single item in her filthy, ancient make-up bag. They replaced each thing with a new one; lipstick, powder, eye shadow, rouge. ‘Cake mascara’s dead old-fashioned, Gran,’ Moira told her. ‘Nowadays, it’s in a wand. Oh, and we got you some kohl eyeliner.’

  ‘I’ve never used eyeliner before, but I’ll give it a go.’ She’d try anything once.

  ‘We bought a new make-up bag an’ all and some perfume. It’s only a little bottle,’ said Ellie.

  ‘I love Je Reviens. Oh! Aren’t you lovely girls! I know I’ll only be gone a week, but I’ll miss everyone something rotten.’

  ‘I’ll miss you, Gran.’ Ellie looked unusually tearful.

  Now, here she was, on the plane, wearing the black suit, feeling like a member of the human race again.

  The flight was enjoyable and she wasn’t the least bit sick or frightened as Heather had warned she might. She drank two gins and orange after the meal, then lost herself in a novel she’d been meaning to read for ages, feeling ever so slightly tipsy.

  It was five o’clock on Saturday afternoon American time when Beth met her at Washington National airport. The occasional photos Beth had sent hadn’t shown how much she’d changed. She wore no make-up and her skin had acquired the texture of old, polished wood. It was hard to believe she’d once been so soft and plump when now she looked the opposite, hardy and tough. Her eyes held a glint, rather than a sparkle, and she even moved differently, in short, hurried spurts when she’d used to glide, driving Ruby mad with her refusal to hurry. She wore jeans, a T-shirt, and shabby sports shoes. Her short, wiry hair was almost completely grey.

  ‘You make me feel over-dressed,’ Ruby cried after they’d hugged each other affectionately.

  ‘You make me feel like an old bag lady,’ Beth responded with a grin.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A woman tramp.’

  ‘We’ve always been honest with each other, Beth. You do look a bit like a tramp.’

  ‘I can’t be bothered with doing meself up nowadays.’

  ‘I spent ages doing myself up for you. I’ve just learnt to use eyeliner and I had my hair tinted. I’ve got a few grey ones.’

  ‘I’ve got rather more than a few and they can stay grey for all I care. Come on, I’ve a cab outside.’

  She linked Ruby’s arm and began to lead her towards the exit. Ruby thought it a shame that the girl who, during the war, had melted the remains of half a dozen lipsticks in an unsuccessful attempt to make a whole one, no longer cared how she looked. She recalled the unctuous flattery they’d both heaped upon various American soldiers in the hope of acquiring nylons.

  To her surprise, the cab driver turned out to be a woman.

  ‘Ruby, this is Margot,’ Beth said when they got in.

  ‘Hi, Rube. Nice to meet ’cha.’

  The three chatted amiably as the cab carried them through a warren of streets. Ruby’s eyes were everywhere. It was hard to believe that she was in a foreign country. ‘They’re all straight,’ she remarked.

  ‘What was that, honey?’ Margot asked.

  ‘The streets, they’re all straight. At home, they go all over the place.’

  ‘We’re more orderly this side of the Atlantic.’

  ‘Where are we staying?’ she asked Beth.

  ‘Halfway between Old Downtown and the White House.’

  ‘The White House is one of the first places I want to see.’ If you went on a guided tour, it was possible to get a glimpse of President Ford going about his business.

  ‘You’ll see it tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Goody!’

  The hotel was clean and functional and seemed to be run and occupied entirely by women. Beth introduced Ruby to the desk clerk and virtually every other woman they met on the way up to the second floor.

  ‘I always use this place when I stay in Washington,’ she explained, opening the door on to a small, plain room, completely devoid of pictures or any sort of ornament. ‘Would you like a rest?’

  ‘No, thanks, though I wouldn’t mind getting washed and changing into a frock.’ The temperature felt at least ten degrees hotter than in England. ‘Another thing, I’m starving.’

  ‘We’ll eat downstairs the minute you’re ready.’

  The restaurant was more like a school canteen, the tables big enough for eight. Ruby, freshly made-up and wearing a filmy green Indian frock and gold sandals, felt slightly overdressed when she went in with Beth who was still in her bag lady outfit. The food was plain and nourishing and reminded her of the convent. More women joined their table as the room quickly became crowded and a floundering Ruby was asked loads of questions about her home country to which she didn’t know a single answer.

  No, she hadn’t a clue how many women were members of the British parliament, or how many were senior civil servants, leaders of unions, announcers on television, chief executives of this or managing directors of that.

  ‘Margaret Thatcher was elected leader of the Conservative party earlier this year,’ she told them in a lame attempt to show she wasn’t completely ignorant, but they already knew.

  No, she’d never been a member of a union, she confessed. ‘I’ve never had a proper job, so there’s never been the need.’

  ‘Isn’t there a housewives’ union?’ one of the women queried. ‘I remember reading about it once.’

  Ruby had no idea. Beth took pity on her and changed the subject. ‘You’ll never guess what she did before the war. Tell them about the pawnshop runner, Rube.’

  The women listened, fascinated, while she described going to and from the various pawnshops with Greta in her arms, then both children in a pram. She got quite carried away – or perhaps she wanted to impress after the abysmal ignorance she’d just shown – so told them about Foster Court, the cleaning jobs, and Jacob’s extended stay in bed.

  ‘Gee, honey, you sure showed some enterprise.’

  ‘I guess you’ve seen poverty most of us have never known.’

  ‘I suppose I must have,’ Ruby said modestly.

  Everyone remained seated while the tables were cleared. ‘What’s happening now?’ she asked.

  ‘There’s a meeting,’ Beth replied.

  ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘The glass ceiling.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Ruby had never heard of the glass ceiling, but soon discovered it was what women encountered when they tried to climb the hierarchy of an organisation. It wasn’t visible, but it was there. Women were promoted so far, but all sorts of sneaky, underhand things were done to prevent them rising further.

  Ruby couldn’t find much sympathy for the speaker, an aggressive, well-spoken journalist who claimed she’d been thwarted on numerous occasions when she’d applied for promotion. ‘I wouldn’t like to work for her,’ she whispered. Beth just smiled.

  When the meeting was over, an all-women rock group appeared to entertain them. By the time they’d finished. Ruby was ready for bed.

  Next morning, she put on her other frock – turquoise with little gold beads around the neck – and applied her make-up with extra care for the visit to the White House, hoping her hand wouldn’t shake as she drew a fine black line around each eye – Moira and Ellie claimed eyeliner made her look exotic and glamorous.

  ‘I’m not too old for it at fifty-seven?’ Ruby had asked them anxiously. ‘I don’t want to look like mutton dressed up as lamb.’

  ‘You always look gorgeous, Gran. Everyone at school thinks you’re our mother.’

  Last night at the meeting there’d hardly been anyone wearing make-up, or frocks, come to that. They’d mostly been like Beth, in jeans and T-shirts.

  ‘Will you be comfortable like that?’ Beth enquired at breakfast.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

  Beth shrugged. ‘No reason. Let’s not dawdle over coffee. People are a
lready beginning to collect outside.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘The march to the White House.’

  An hour later, Ruby found herself in the blazing sunshine marching up and down Pennsylvania Avenue in front of an impressive white building holding a placard bearing the message, ‘Equal Pay for Equal Work’, a concept with which she fully agreed, but she’d been expecting something other than a march. Not only that, the gold sandals had started to pinch, her feet hurt, she was perspiring from every pore, and her throat was as dry as a bone. She was beginning to wonder if there’d ever be time to go sightseeing or whether the week ahead was to be a long series of demonstrations and marches.

  ‘Have you come far?’

  She turned to find a young woman beside her. ‘England,’ she replied in a cracked voice.

  ‘We’re from New Zealand. I’m with my mum. She’s back there somewhere.’ The girl gestured vaguely. ‘They weren’t doing much to celebrate International Women’s Year at home and Mum was determined to experience at least a bit of it. It’s wonderful, isn’t it? The feeling of sisterhood, of women being in charge, able to do things that men have always insisted that they couldn’t. I wonder if there’ll ever be a woman President one day – of America, that is.’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  ‘Well, there’s not much sign of it yet,’ the girl said, her face glowing with youthful indignation. ‘Don’t you feel as mad as hell when you see all the world leaders together on television and there’s not a single woman amongst them?’

  ‘I do. I feel outraged.’

  ‘It’s not fair, is it? Why should it only be men who have a say in how the world is run when more than half the population are women?’

  ‘You’re right. It’s not a bit fair.’

  ‘Oh, my mum’s calling me. Well, it was nice talking to you. Perhaps we’ll come across each other again some time.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Ruby smiled. For the first time, she was aware she was taking part in a great event. The women began to sing ‘We Shall Overcome’, and she joined in, moved and uplifted in a way she’d never felt before. Later, she’d buy jeans, a couple of T-shirts, and some comfortable shoes, and leave the pretty, entirely unsuitable frocks for when she got home. It seemed unlikely she’d sail along the Potomac, visit a single museum or gallery, and this was as near as she would get to the White House. Still, it was International Women’s Year and she was determined to enjoy the experience to the full.

  After a rally and numerous speeches, they returned to the hotel for dinner which was followed by a black factory worker describing how the female workforce had been sexually harrassed, then sacked when they’d demanded to be represented by a union. Three years later, after a vigorous campaign, they’d been reinstated and the union recognised. The entire room erupted in cheers when the woman finished.

  Later, Ruby, Beth, and half a dozen other women went to a nearby basement club and drank too much wine. Ruby wondered aloud why every single person there was female. ‘Are men banned?’ she enquired.

  ‘No, but they’re not exactly welcome,’ she was told.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s a lesbian bar, honey.’

  Had Beth become a lesbian? Ruby asked her when they got back to the hotel. They stopped in the foyer to buy coffee from the machine and went to sit in the lounge.

  ‘Of course not, idiot.’ Beth laughed. ‘But we have to show solidarity with all our sisters, Rube, whatever their colour, race, or sexual disposition. Women should stick together.’

  ‘That woman last night, the one on about the glass ceiling, she was pushy and aggressive and would make a terrible boss. I don’t see why I should show solidarity with someone like her.’

  ‘Why should only men be allowed to become terrible bosses?’ Beth said reasonably. ‘No one’s saying all women are nice, but being nasty doesn’t stop men from getting on.’

  ‘Gosh, Beth, you’ve changed.’ Ruby stared at her friend’s gritty, determined face. ‘There was a time when you never had a sensible idea in your head. Now you’re full of them.’

  ‘If my marriage had been different, I’d be at home baking cookies and keeping the house nice, bemoaning the fact that one of my kids was dead and the others were married. But I was forced to do something or go under. The more I did, the more I became involved and the more I changed. Things mattered that I’d never thought about before.’

  Ruby nodded. ‘And now it’s Daniel stuck at home. Is he happy?’

  ‘Not really. He can’t stop mourning Seymour. I don’t like leaving him, but he left me when I was unhappy. I suppose that sounds selfish, but I don’t care.’

  ‘You still loved Jacob, though he did much worse than that.’

  ‘I still love Daniel. I’m just putting myself first.’

  ‘I’ve never been able to do that,’ Ruby said with a sigh. ‘The girls have always come first with me, then their girls. They’d never manage without me.’

  ‘Are you quite sure about that, Rube?’ Beth’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you honestly saying Greta and Heather wouldn’t have somehow coped if you hadn’t been around? People usually do. You know the old dictum, “No one’s indispensable.” ’

  ‘Are you saying I’ve wasted my life?’ Ruby replied hotly.

  ‘No, but you’ve done exactly what you wanted to do, Ruby. Don’t get angry.’ She put her hand on Ruby’s arm. ‘You’d make a lousy employee. If the boss looked at you sidewise, you’d bawl him out. You can’t stand criticism. You need to be top dog, to be in charge. So, you created your own little world and crowned yourself its queen. Don’t tell me you haven’t been contented with your lot, for most of the time, that is.’

  ‘I suppose I have, but what if Larry and Rob hadn’t been killed and the girls hadn’t come back home? What would I have done then?’

  ‘Married Chris, trained for a career, ended up as someone important. You have to be important, Rube. Remember how much we all needed you during the war? You revelled in it.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘You certainly did.’

  Ruby would have liked to continue the conversation, but more women came into the lounge and joined them, and a different conversation ensued well into the early hours.

  The rest of the week flew by. By the time it ended, Ruby had learnt more about herself and the rest of the world than she had during her entire lifetime. In the past, she’d watched television or read the paper and complained loudly to whoever would listen about the injustices in the world, but apart from the years in Foster Court, she’d never had to struggle. She’d worked hard, but had never fought for anything in her life. Compared to many of the women she’d met that week, she’d had things easy. When she got home, she was determined do something, join something, read the books she’d bought from the numerous stalls and broaden her education. Most of her life had been spent in a rather comfortable rut – with the help of Matthew Doyle, she realised thirty years too late.

  On her final afternoon, Beth took her on the metro to City Place, a bargain mall, where Ruby bought a long cream jacket to wear with the jeans she’d got earlier in the week – she’d travel home in the new outfit, give everyone a surprise. She chose little gifts, mainly ethnic jewellery, for the girls, and hesitated a while over a navy silk tie with a tiny embroidered White House on the front before deciding to buy it.

  ‘Who’s that for?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Matthew Doyle.’ It wasn’t much, but it was a gesture.

  Ruby wasn’t the only one leaving next morning. The night was spent wishing a tearful farewell to women with whom she’d become instant friends and was unlikely ever to see again. It finished with drinks and a singsong in the hotel where the warm, comradely atmosphere was thick with emotion and virtually the whole room was in tears.

  Nothing would ever be the same again, Ruby thought dismally. Life would be unbearably dull back in Liverpool.

  Saying goodbye to Beth next morning was the worst thing of all. They could hardly spe
ak, just clung to each other at the airport until Beth pushed her away, saying gruffly, ‘You’ll miss the plane.’

  ‘Bye, Beth.’

  ‘Tara, Rube,’ Beth said, lapsing into a Liverpool accent for the first time. Ruby burst into tears.

  It had been an exhausting seven days. For most of the flight, she slept soundly, but woke up feeling not even faintly refreshed. Her legs could barely carry her when she walked down the steps and her feet touched the tarmac in Manchester airport.

  She caught a taxi home; hang the expense. All she wanted was to see her family, give them their presents, then go to bed, where she would probably sleep for a week.

  Mrs Hart’s house looked smaller than she remembered and much shabbier. The front door opened when she was paying the taxi driver and Greta came out. Ruby thought she’d come to help carry her bag as she didn’t think she had the strength left to lift it.

  Instead, Greta said in a tragic voice, ‘Oh, Mam! Our Ellie’s disappeared. According to Moira, she’s run away to Dublin with that student, Liam Conway. Oh, Mam! What are we going to do?’

  At that particular moment, Ruby had no idea.

  It wasn’t the only thing that had happened, just the worst. Three fifteen-year-old French students were arriving on Monday.

  ‘Some woman rang to ask if it was all right,’ Heather told her. ‘I said it was.’

  ‘But I wasn’t expecting them until the week after!’ Ruby cried. She’d like to bet no one had cleared up after Frank, Muff and Liam. From previous experience, the rooms were usually a tip, full of rubbish and unwanted belongings, when their occupants left for good.

  Ellie wasn’t the only one in disgrace. Daisy had given up her office job and was working as an usherette in the Forum.

  ‘An usherette!’ Ruby said faintly. ‘Is that where she is now?’

  ‘Yes.’ Heather pursed her angry lips. ‘She didn’t discuss it with me first, just gave in her notice weeks ago and swore Matthew to secrecy. I’d have given him a piece of my mind, except he’s already got troubles of his own.’