Meg threw a little half-smile at Milly, who was already dreading how the story would end.
‘I wondered where she had got to. I thought there might be a queue and so I waited and I waited. After an hour or so, I think I knew she wasn’t coming back, but I didn’t want to believe it, so I made up more excuses for her. Maybe she really had been taken ill or had got lost. But deep down I knew. I knew she’d lied to me; it was all about her on the make, seeing what she could get. I fell for it because I wanted to believe her. I haven’t seen her since then.’
‘I’m so sorry, Meg.’ Milly reached out and gave Meg’s hand a sympathetic squeeze. ‘You’ve really not had it easy, have you?’
Meg gulped and stared up at the ceiling, trying hard not to open the floodgates again.
‘Someone told me once,’ Milly continued, ‘that there are only two ways to be a parent: you either learn from your own mum and dad and copy them or you learn from your own mum and dad and do it differently. But I imagine it’s a whole lot more complicated than that.’
‘Bill used to say that we’d figure it out as we went along,’ Meg said, her voice quivering. ‘I never thought about how I was going to be as a mum, because I thought with him as a dad, this baby couldn’t really go wrong.’
‘I think you’re going to do a great job.’ Milly patted Meg’s arm. ‘You’re already taking such care of the baby and it’s not even born yet.’
Meg looked up at her. ‘You’re right. My mum never made me feel safe. Never. I don’t want my little one to ever feel like that.’ Her lip trembled and her tears fell again.
Milly put her arm across Meg’s shoulders and held her tight.
Pru was going a little stir-crazy. Normally she enjoyed the odd day when she didn’t venture outside, when she’d laze around wearing her pyjamas and watching TV or pottering in her bedroom. But being told she couldn’t go outside meant she instantly wanted to. She flung open the double doors of the French windows in her bedroom and stood at the Juliet balcony looking down over Curzon Street.
‘I can’t see any photographers, Alfie. Do you think I’m out of the woods?’
Evening was biting on the day. The lights from the restaurants and bars were blazing, inviting passers-by to step inside. Marco the Italian chef, who worked in Shepherd Market, stood in the alley wearing his chef whites and blue dogtooth-check trousers. In his right hand he held a cigarette, gesticulating wildly with it as he shouted in Italian into his mobile phone. She couldn’t tell from his tone if he was arguing or chatting. A tall Asian man was counting bank notes as he tucked them into his wallet, concentrating as if his life depended on it. A cab crawled past with its hire light giving off the distinctive orange glow, hugging the kerb, eager to pick up the customers that spilled from pubs and offices. The cinema hoarding stood out, the word ‘Blockbuster’ written larger than any other. A skeletal-looking girl with white-blonde hair that skimmed her waist tottered on towering heels. She wore oversized sunglasses despite the encroaching darkness and held a designer bag under her arm, out of which poked the head of a dog so small it looked like a prop.
Pru watched the lives unfolding on the street below her, wondering how many of them had dark secrets lurking in their past, tales and predilections that they would take to their grave. Not her; no such luxury. The whole world knew her business, and she felt bruised by the revelations.
The next day, Meg was working in the café when Milly popped up from the kitchen. The two of them stood behind the counter.
‘Sorry for going all teary on you yesterday, Milly. I think it must be my hormones. How’s Pru? I was going to pop in and see her last night, but I didn’t want to disturb her and it was a bit late.’
‘She’s doing okay. Bored stupid, but a couple of days of resting and hiding won’t hurt her. It’s nice to have her out of my hair!’ Milly laughed.
Meg hesitated and looked at Milly. ‘I feel so sad that she went through those things I read about. Sad that she had to, but I understand why.’
‘It was a very long time ago.’ Milly gave a small sigh.
‘I wanted to ask you, Milly, did you… were you…?’
‘Was I on the game too?’
Meg nodded.
‘I didn’t know what was going on for a long time. I was naive; we both were. We moved in with an amazing girl called Trudy; she’d had a bit of a life, to put it mildly. Pru twigged long before I did how she made her money. She saw it as the answer to our dreams, a way to get the cash we needed. By the time I found out, Pru was already making good money and that was that, the path was set. I’m only a year younger than her, but she’s always felt responsible for me.’ Milly smiled at the truth of that. ‘She didn’t want me to follow the same path, but I didn’t want her to be the only one going through that; I wanted us to be equal, in everything. So I got a couple of clients and did what I did.’
‘Oh, Milly, I don’t know what to say. I feel sorry for you both.’
Milly stuck out her chin. ‘It was hard, yes. Horrible, in fact. Scary. Disgusting sometimes. There’s a reason neither of us have ended up married.’ She sighed. ‘But no one forced us. We made the decision – Pru made the decision – and we saw it as a price worth paying.’ She stood a little straighter. ‘And now we’ve got this amazing life. For two poorly educated girls from Bow, that was probably the only way we could have done it back then. When it comes down to it, I don’t think I’d change a thing, not really. Except for losing Bobby, of course. I’d give anything to have her here.’ She swallowed.
Meg nodded guiltily, all too aware that she was only there because Bobby wasn’t. ‘What happened to Trudy? Is she still in London?’
Milly shook her head. ‘No. Trudy fell in love with an American who was over here on business. His name was Frank. He was a short, bald New Yorker, a salesman. Lovely man. They made an unlikely couple but he adored her, treated her like a queen. She packed up the flat in Kenway Road and went back to the States with him, to Florida. It was as if she knew she wasn’t coming back; she gave nearly everything away. She gave Pru her beautiful kimono and me a silver hair brush and comb, which I still treasure.’
Milly and Pru went to Heathrow to say goodbye, and the memory would stay with Milly for a long time. Even now she could picture the two of them: Frank barely reaching Trudy’s shoulder as they stood together in Departures, and Trudy draped in a silver faux-fur collar, despite the clement weather. Frank went off to the loo, leaving the three old friends alone to say goodbye.
‘Look at you, Mrs Big Shot in her Chanel jacket!’ Trudy had said, playfully hitting Pru on the arm with her gloves. ‘Quite a turnaround for those two little match girls who pitched up at Kenway Road all those years ago.’
‘We’ve had funny old lives, haven’t we?’ Milly reflected.
Trudy nodded. ‘Yes we have and I’ve a feeling mine is going to get a whole lot funnier. I mean, Florida, it’s hardly Paris!’
Pru rolled her eyes affectionately. ‘You’ll have a ball, course you will.’
‘I don’t know about that, but right now I could do with a smoke!’ Trudy dug into her clutch bag and pulled out an empty cigarette holder. ‘I shall hold this for comfort.’ She removed her passport and opened it at the back. ‘What do you think, you two, is it a good likeness?’
They both squinted and read the name: David Parkes. ‘It’s not bad.’ Milly smiled at the photo, remembering the certificate she had spotted in the hallway of Trudy’s flat that first day, and Trudy’s oblique comment about a brother who’d ‘died’ a couple of years earlier. In all the years since, they’d never discussed Trudy’s past, and Milly and Pru were both immensely touched by this parting gift of their friend’s most precious secret.
‘You are an amazing woman,’ Pru said, ‘and I owe you so much.’
‘We both do,’ Milly added.
‘Oh for God’s sake, don’t start with all that, you’ll set me off and I don’t want this foundation smudged. I intend to arrive in Florida looking absolutely
immaculate.’
‘You always do.’ Pru was sincere.
‘Smoke and mirrors, love. Smoke and mirrors.’ Trudy laughed.
Frank reappeared and took Trudy by the arm. As they walked towards the gate, Trudy looked back over her shoulder. She gave her friends one of her legendary winks. ‘I love you, Prudence and Millicent Plum! Bakers of the best bloody bread and cakes in London!’ she shouted as she waved over the heads of the fascinated crowd.
Pru nodded and held Milly’s hand. They were unable to reply, their throats too clogged with emotion.
‘Did she not come back then?’ Meg’s question drew Milly back to the present.
‘To London? No, no she didn’t. For six months she was happy. For the first time in her whole life, I think, she was happy. But then she got sick. Those bloody little cigars that she was never without finally did their job.’ She paused to remember their formidable mate. She had passed away in her adopted Florida well over a decade ago, with her beloved Frank by her side. ‘Her cancer spread quickly and she died just before her sixtieth birthday.’
The jingle of the café door opening roused them. A man entered, weighed down by a black satchel, a briefcase and a holdall. He hovered. It was clearly his first time at Plum’s.
Meg walked forward. ‘Good morning, sir. Table for one?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded and followed her to a quiet table in the window.
He spread his bags around his feet, making it nearly impossible for anyone to pass between the tables. Meg said nothing; it was quiet and the man would probably be on his way before the lunchtime crowd descended.
‘What can I get you today?’ she delivered with her biggest smile, remembering that everyone should be made to feel comfortable.
‘Coffee, I think.’ He smiled back.
She used her pen to indicate the list on the blackboard behind the counter, which started with French roast breakfast blend and ended with a decaffeinated frappé.
‘I’ll take a normal flat white with two sugars.’
‘Coming right up!’ She nodded and turned to head for the kitchen.
The man spied Milly behind the counter. ‘Phew, been a manic morning!’ He raised his eyebrows in her direction.
‘Well, a nice cup of coffee should put you right.’
He leant forward. ‘Are you one of the Plum sisters?’
Milly’s instinct kicked in – a journalist or a pap. Either way, she wanted him gone. ‘No, I don’t have a sister.’
‘Millicent, isn’t it?’
‘Well, if you know, why are you asking?’ she snapped.
‘I just want to talk to you. I can make it worth your while, or if that’s not of interest, it’s a good opportunity for you to set the record straight, put your side of the story.’
Meg approached with the coffee to see Milly standing beside the man’s table, her hands on her hips. ‘I have nothing to say to you and would like you to leave now.’
‘I think I’ll have my coffee first.’ He smirked, drumming his fingers on the table.
Meg set the coffee on the counter and walked over. She bent low behind the man and spoke into his ear. ‘Did you threaten me when you came in?’
‘What? No! Of course not!’
‘I think you did. Me! A pregnant woman! How dare you!’
‘I hardly said a word to you!’ He looked at her as if she was nuts.
‘There you go, threatening me again. What kind of man does that to a vulnerable girl! Did you hear him, Milly?’
Milly nodded. ‘Loud and clear.’
‘I think I better take your name and who you work for. I’m not letting this drop!’ Meg rubbed at her stomach. ‘I don’t feel too good; your words have upset me. Now, if I were you, I’d fuck off before I call the police and take things further.’
The man pushed his seat away from the table and gathered his bags. He left rather quickly.
Milly stared at Meg. ‘Where did that come from?’
‘You don’t grow up in care and not learn a thing or two.’ She grinned at Milly, who was still shaking her head. ‘I do feel a bit wobbly though.’ Meg slumped on to the chair the man had vacated.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, I just feel a bit sick.’
‘You’d make a crap henchman, coming on heavy one minute and then feeling sick straight after! You’re going to need to practice.’
They both laughed. It was only ten o’clock and they’d already had quite a morning.
*
Pru did as she had done with regularity: tuned in to watch Christopher on the screen. She brushed her hair and spritzed herself with perfume; ridiculous that she should want to look her best, but she did. Sitting in a ladylike pose, with a file on her lap awaiting her attention, she picked up the remote control and perused the channels. And there he was, Christopher. His face loomed large on the screen and his name and title were written in the bottom right-hand corner: Sir Christopher Heritage, Chief Whip.
Pru watched as he smoothed his hair and gave a small cough into his bunched-up fist. Even the sight of him had the power to make her heart flutter and her stomach contract; she had forgotten how he made her feel. She felt a wave of sadness wash over her, mingling with fury at his betrayal. The weeks she had spent in his company had been the happiest she had known and to see him was like reopening an old wound. No matter how much it hurt, she was unable to turn the TV off, or change channels.
She listened to his voice and wished that things could have been different; she wished she was heading to the park or popping the kettle on, waiting for him to come home.
‘You all right, girl?’ Milly asked.
Pru looked up. She hadn’t heard her enter and didn’t have time to swipe the tears from her cheeks or change her expression. She nodded at her hands folded in her lap. ‘I’m fine.’
Later that evening Pru stood by the open window in her bedroom and scrolled through the contacts in her mobile phone. She stopped at the initials CM and pressed the number.
He answered almost immediately. The sound of his voice set her teeth on edge and made the little hairs on her neck stand up, but her hand remained uncharacteristically steady, something she could not have envisaged even just a few weeks ago.
Crying Micky snorted down the line. ‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t the elusive Miss Plum! I am honoured to be in receipt of a phone call. You’re lucky to have caught me, just back from a little trip overseas, stocking up you might say. Seen sense have we?’ He followed this with his irritating nasal laugh.
Pru dipped into her memory bank and pulled out the voice of her youth, the one she’d used before Trudy had so patiently coached her in how to ‘talk proper’, as Milly called it.
‘Hello, Micky. Yes, I have “seen sense”, as you put it.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. I thought that little display of defiance went on longer than was necessary. You could have saved us both the bother and rolled over sooner, if you’ll excuse the pun. You’ve got my account details, I expect to see a payment within the next twenty-four hours or there will be repercussions.’
‘What kind of repercussions?’
‘You need me to spell it out for you?’
‘I do,’ she whispered.
‘Well for a start that shopfront ain’t going to look too pretty with a dirty great lump of concrete sticking out of the window and a few choice words sprayed here and there. Might make your stuck-up punters ask a few questions, do you get me?’
Pru sighed loudly. ‘Oh yes, Micky, I get you. Or should I say, I’ve got you – this whole conversation – recorded, just in case. I don’t think extortion and blackmail are looked on very favourably.’
‘You can’t scare me, you fucking old bike.’
‘No, and you can’t scare me any more. I have stopped your payments and I shall pass this recording on to a close friend of mine. I shall tell him to do nothing yet, but to store it away for safekeeping. But if you contact me or any member of my family again then it will go straig
ht to the police and I mean it.’
‘Is that right? You think you’re so clever! I’ll go to the press – sod the money, I’ll do it just so your customers know what you are! I’ll bring you down.’
Pru looked around her bedroom. Her eyes lingered on the photos of the people that she loved, the people that mattered, and on the stunning bouquet from Lady Miriam with her handwritten note of thanks for having made Bunny’s birthday so perfect.
‘You do that, Micky! Although I think you’ll find no one is really that interested. You’re about four days and a few hundred thousand copies too late.’ She pressed the button with her now trembling finger, ending the call. Then she wiped the sweat from her top lip, took several deep breaths and smiled at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror: she wouldn’t have the first clue how to record a telephone call.
For the first time in an age, Pru fell into a deep, worry-free sleep. Her phone shattered the peace in the early hours.
‘What’s up, love, are you okay?’ Pru spoke through the fog of sleep; a quick glance at her alarm clock told her it was three in the morning.
Meg’s voice came in short, breathless bursts. ‘Oh God, Pru! I think I’m having the baby! I’ve just had this watery stuff come out all over the kitchen floor and I’ve got waves of pain. I don’t know what to do!’
Pru sat bolt upright and closed her eyes. ‘Well the first thing is to keep calm. It will all be okay.’
‘It will all be okay!’ Meg repeated for her own benefit.
‘That’s my girl. Now listen to me very carefully, Meg.’
‘I don’t want to listen to you very carefully!’ Meg shouted. ‘Can’t you just come here?’
A Little Love Page 23
