The Runaway Children

by Sandy Taylor

  I looked in the mirror; I hardly recognised the young girl looking back at me. The dress looked as if it had been made just for me. It had a sweetheart neckline and little capped sleeves, then it nipped in at the waist and fell in soft folds to just below my knees.

  ‘Blimey!’ said Jean. ‘You look, I dunno, but good. You look good, Nell.’

  Madam Eleanor had been right about the colour – it brought out the green of my eyes and highlighted the red in my hair. She had been right about Jean’s dress as well. She didn’t suit the red one at all but she looked beautiful in the sky-blue dress that she eventually chose.

  Madam Eleanor carefully folded both the dresses in tissue paper and put them in two bags that had ‘Madam Eleanor’s Dress Emporium’ written across the front in gold lettering.

  ‘Do come again, ladies,’ she said, as we left the shop.

  We thanked her and started to walk down the road towards the seafront.

  ‘What’s the address?’ asked Jean.

  I took the piece of paper out of my purse and handed it to her.

  ‘Glebe Villa, Kingsway,’ she read. ‘No number?’

  ‘Sorry, that’s all Lottie wrote down.’

  ‘Kingsway’s a long road; it could be the Hove end.’

  ‘No, Lottie said it was near the pier.’

  ‘Which one? There’s two.’

  ‘What are they called? I might remember.’

  ‘The Palace pier and the West pier. Ringing any bells?’

  ‘It’s the Palace pier.’

  ‘Let’s start at the West pier and walk along until we find it.’

  So that’s what we did. We walked past hotels and guest houses and private houses. Some had been damaged; one guest house with cardboard at the window had a sign saying: STILL OPEN FOR BUSINESS.

  I stopped outside a hotel and looked up. It must have been at least seven storeys high.

  ‘These buildings are so beautiful, Jean,’ I said.

  ‘They’re Regency,’ said Jean. ‘Named after the Prince Regent, who came to Brighton to take in the sea air.’

  ‘No wonder Lottie loved living here so much.’

  ‘I think this is it,’ said Jean.

  I looked up at the beautiful white house. It had a huge bay window on the first floor. I could almost imagine Lottie standing there, pretending to be sailing on a boat out at sea.

  ‘Blimey, your friend Lottie must be worth a bob or two! Do her parents own the whole house?’

  I’d been thinking the same thing. Why did Lottie want to be my friend? We were from different worlds – she was rich and I was poor. Her parents wouldn’t want a kid from Bermondsey as a friend for their daughter. I realised then that Lottie had only befriended me because there was no one else of the same age in Glengaryth. All that stuff about standing next to the sea together was just lies.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I said.

  ‘Aren’t you going to knock on the door, Nell? You never know, she might be there.’

  I shrugged my shoulders. ‘I just want to go home,’ I said sadly.

  I didn’t say much on the bus back to Eastbourne. I felt angry inside, and stupid and let down, but most of all I felt sad. Jean didn’t seem to notice though, she was too busy talking about the dance and how we’d be the best lookers there, and that we’d knock everyone’s socks off when we walked into the Grand Hotel wearing our new frocks. I just muttered yes and no in all the right places and that was all she needed from me.

  Olive was in the kitchen when I got back to the guest house and so were Mrs Wright and Mrs Baxter. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and the sight of the cakes and biscuits spread out on a metal rack made my mouth water.

  ‘Have one of my cakes, Nell,’ said Olive, picking one off the rack and holding it out to me. ‘I made them all by myself, didn’t I, Mrs Wright?’

  ‘She’s a good little cook,’ said Mrs Wright, smiling fondly at her.

  I took a bite. The cake tasted sweet and delicious.

  Mrs Baxter looked at the bag I’d put down on the floor. ‘Found something then?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Put it on then and give us a look.’

  ‘Yes, Nell,’ said Olive. ‘Put your new dress on.’

  I went upstairs to my bedroom, got undressed and slipped the beautiful green dress over my head. Then I brushed my hair and ran downstairs.

  Nobody said anything for a minute – they just stared. Olive walked across to me and gently touched the silky fabric.

  ‘You look like a proper woman, Nell,’ she said softly.

  ‘I’m still Nell,’ I said.

  ‘But you look different.’

  ‘Olive’s right,’ said Mrs Baxter. ‘That dress does something for you. I don’t know if it’s the colour or the cut, but it’s perfect. You’re growing up, Nell.’

  ‘Into a beautiful young woman,’ added Mrs Wright.

  ‘You should go and show Miss Timony, Nell,’ said Olive. ‘I think she’d like to see your new dress.’

  ‘Oh yes, do,’ said Mrs Wright. ‘She’ll be tickled pink.’

  I still felt sad when I thought about my friend Lottie, but it was hard to stay unhappy around these three. I walked upstairs and tapped on Miss Timony’s door.

  ‘Come in,’ she called.

  I walked into the room. ‘I thought you’d like to see the new dress I bought for the dance,’ I said.

  Miss Timony took off her glasses and put the book she’d been reading down on the table next to her chair.

  ‘You chose well, my dear,’ she said, smiling at me. ‘You look charming.’

  ‘It was the lady in the shop that thought I’d look good in green.’

  ‘It makes such a difference when you are served by someone who has an eye for colour.’

  I nodded.

  ‘So what is troubling you, Nell? Because I can see that something is.’

  I stepped over the books and sat down on the little velvet stool. ‘It’s Lottie.’

  ‘Your friend from Wales?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Has something happened to her?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Do you want to tell me?’

  My eyes filled with tears and everything came tumbling out of my mouth.

  ‘She pretended to be my friend, Miss Timony, she said that one day we would stand at the edge of the sea together, that she valued our friendship, but she lied because she lives in this big house on the seafront, a whole house, not a flat, which means she’s rich, like, really rich…’

  ‘And what has this got to do with your friendship?’

  ‘Why would she want to be my friend, Miss Timony? I’m just some poor kid from Bermondsey, I ain’t got nothin that she wants.’

  ‘Except perhaps love and loyalty and friendship.’

  ‘But she can get that from anyone.’

  ‘Can she? I very much doubt that, Nell. All the money in the world isn’t going to buy her those things.’

  I wanted to believe her but I couldn’t: I’d made up my mind and that was that.

  ‘Forgive me, Nell, but you are behaving like the worst kind of snob.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You are judging Lottie purely on her social standing and not on the unique person she is. From what you’ve told me about your friend I’d say she has a mind of her own. She’s been brought up by liberal-thinking parents, who have taught her to think for herself. You are doing Lottie a great injustice, Nell, if you think she was using you because it suited her at the time.’

  I could feel my face going red. Was Miss Timony right?

  ‘And if you have just been to see her house then I presume she gave you her address. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Would you give your address to someone you never wanted to see again?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well then.’

  ‘I’ve been wrong about her, haven’t I?’

  ‘I’m afraid you have, Nell.’
/>   ‘I feel really bad.’

  ‘Think of it as a lesson learned. I doubt you will be so quick to judge someone because of their social status again, will you?’

  I smiled. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Now, go and enjoy this dance, Nell, I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time. I wish I was young again – I loved to dance.’

  ‘I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.’

  ‘I shall look forward to it. Now, what shoes are you going to wear with that beautiful dress?’

  I looked down at the black lace-ups I wore for work and groaned; I hadn’t given a thought to the shoes.

  ‘I suppose I’ll just have to clean these up.’

  ‘You can’t wear black lace-up shoes with that dress, you simply can’t!’

  ‘But they’re all I’ve got, Miss Timony. I’ll have to wear them.’

  ‘What size do you take?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue.’

  Miss Timony slipped her foot out of one of her slippers. ‘Try this,’ she said.

  I stared at her as if she was mad.

  ‘I’m not suggesting that you wear my slippers, Nell, I was just wondering if we are perhaps the same size.’

  Well, that was a relief. I slid my foot into the slipper. ‘It fits well,’ I said.

  ‘Then you shall go to the ball, Cinderella,’ said Miss Timony, smiling.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I met Jean outside the pier and we made our way along the seafront to the Grand Hotel.

  ‘Nice shoes,’ said Jean.

  ‘They belong to Miss Timony,’ I said, looking down at the pretty cream shoes. ‘I only had a pair of black lace-ups – I completely forgot about shoes.’

  ‘I just presumed you had some,’ said Jean.

  ‘I don’t have much of anything,’ I said. ‘If it wasn’t for our uniform being free I don’t know what I would have done.’

  ‘Some hotels make you pay for them, you know. They take a bit out of your wages every week. But Mr Costos isn’t like that.’

  ‘Is he married?’ I asked.

  ‘There’s a mystery there, Nell, because you might have noticed that he wears a ring on his wedding finger, but I’ve never heard him mention a wife.’

  ‘I suppose she could be back in Italy,’ I suggested.

  ‘I think we’d have heard about her by now, don’t you? I mean, she would have shown her face at some point, wouldn’t she? And I can’t remember the last time Mr Costos went to Italy.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s dead and he still wears the ring.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Jean, but she didn’t look convinced.

  ‘And what about Mr Philip? Where does he fit in?’

  ‘Another mystery we are destined never to know, Nell, and that’s so bloody annoying.’

  We stood looking up at the Grand Hotel. There were a lot of young people running up the steps and through the doors. The girls all wore pretty dresses and the boys looked smart, with slicked-back hair and nice suits, and then there were the servicemen. The sailors in navy blue, the airmen in a lighter blue, and then the khaki uniforms of the Army. I was trying to spot Robert but he wasn’t amongst them. I could hear music coming from inside and my tummy felt as though it was full of frogs. It wasn’t just me that was nervous, Jean looked pretty overwhelmed too. I took a deep breath. ‘Come on, Jean,’ I said, sounding braver than I felt. ‘Gird yer loins, as my mum used to say.’

  ‘Never heard that one,’ said Jean, laughing.

  ‘Maybe it’s a Bermondsey thing.’

  We linked arms and ran up the steps. The foyer was full of young people laughing, chatting and calling out to each other. It was all lovely and exciting and I couldn’t wait to get into the ballroom.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ said Jean.

  ‘But we’ve only just arrived.’

  ‘I don’t mean leave, I mean go, you know, to the lavvy. It always happens when I’m nervous, sorry!’

  We manoeuvred our way through the crowd towards the cloakroom. Loads of girls were jostling for space at the long mirrors that ran the full length of the room. They were giggling, fiddling with each other’s hair. The room smelled sweet, like lavender and talcum powder. Jean went into a cubicle and I leaned against the wall and waited for her. I looked at the girls in their pretty dresses with crimson lips and pink cheeks. I’d never worn make-up; maybe if it hadn’t been for the war and I’d stayed in Bermondsey, Angela and I might have tried it. I’d never even seen lipstick on my mum, but I guessed she just never had the money to spend on herself. The only women I knew who wore lipstick and rouge were the pretty ladies in Bermondsey who stood on the corners chatting and winking at the men. But even though I wasn’t all dolled up, it didn’t matter. I was wearing my lovely green dress and Miss Timony’s shoes and I didn’t feel out of place at all.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Jean, coming out of the cubicle, ‘I’m ready to gird my loins now.’

  Back in the foyer we paid our two-shilling entry fee and went through the big double doors.

  The room we entered was enormous. Huge chandeliers hung from the ceiling, twinkling like a thousand stars. A blue haze of smoke drifted above our heads. Tables were grouped around a shiny wooden dance floor, where a few couples were already dancing. At the far end of the room was a raised platform, where musicians were sitting on chairs playing violins and trumpets and saxophones and instruments that I didn’t know the names of. They wore black suits and white shirts and dickie bows, and they sounded lovely. Jean and I stood just inside the door, completely terrified.

  ‘Do you think we should sit down?’ she whispered.

  ‘I don’t know what we’re supposed to do,’ I said, looking around.

  We were saved by Robert, who was making his way towards us across the dance floor. He kissed my cheek and said, ‘I’m so glad you came, Nell, I wasn’t sure that you would. And this is…?’ He smiled at Jean.

  ‘My friend Jean,’ I said.

  ‘Would you ladies like to join me and my friends?’

  I nodded and we followed him across the room. As we approached a table, three very handsome young men stood up and shook our hands. They introduced themselves as Eric, Bryan and Tom. All three had crew cuts, just like Robert, and they all wore the distinctive blue Canadian Air Force uniforms.

  ‘Lemonade?’ offered Tom, smiling.

  ‘Yes, please,’ I said. ‘Jean?’

  She nodded and Tom went to get the drinks.

  ‘They’re all gorgeous,’ whispered Jean. ‘And so polite. You can tell they’re not English, can’t you?’

  ‘I suppose you can,’ I said, grinning.

  The one called Eric was smiling at Jean across the table and she was smiling back at him. He moved seats so that he was sitting next to her. They started chatting straight away.

  ‘Do you want to give it a go?’ said Robert, nodding towards the dancers.

  ‘I’m not very good, remember?’

  ‘And neither am I,’ he said, grinning, ‘but who cares?’

  He took my hand and we walked onto the dance floor. Then he put his arms around me and I leaned into him. He smelled nice, like newly mown grass and soap, and his face was soft against mine as we started to move. The band was playing something beautiful that I’d never heard before. ‘What are they playing?’ I asked.

  ‘“Moonlight Serenade” by Glenn Miller – it’s great, isn’t it?’ said Robert.

  ‘I could listen to it forever,’ I said.

  Tonight, everything felt magical and special. The lights, the music, the way my new green dress swished softly around my legs and the way Miss Timony’s cream shoes managed to take me around the dance floor as if I had danced in them all my life. I felt like a different person, not the old Nell. It was like these last few years had never happened – Auntie Beth and Uncle Dylan, the Hackers, Clodagh Price, Annie and Yann were like ghosts drifting above my head, like the smoke from the cigarettes. Except for Jimmy; he was still too real to be a ghost. Even in Robert’s ar
ms, Jimmy was still as real to me as the day I’d trusted him with my locket.

  ‘You look lovely, Nell,’ Robert whispered in my ear.

  ‘So do you,’ I said, because I didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘I don’t think anyone’s called me lovely before,’ he said, grinning. ‘Handsome, maybe, but not lovely.’

  We danced till we could dance no more, then made our way through the dancers and sat back down. Robert lit the candle that was stuck in a wine bottle in the middle of the table. I sipped my lemonade and smiled at him.

  ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ he asked, taking a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket.

  ‘Not a bit,’ I said. ‘My dad is a smoker – my mum was always nagging at him to give it up, but he never did.’

  Robert flicked the lighter, then cupped his hand around the flame until it caught. He inhaled deeply and stared at me through the smoke.

  ‘So, tell me about yourself, Nell. You said you were from London – what brings you to Eastbourne?’

  ‘The war,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I’m not sure you’re any safer here.’

  ‘I know, but I’m happy. I’ve got a good job and my little sister likes her school so I think we’ll stay.’

  ‘You have a little sister?’

  I nodded. ‘Her name’s Olive.’

  ‘And are your parents with you?’

  I didn’t want to tell him my story; I didn’t know him and I didn’t think he’d be interested anyway. ‘My dad’s at sea,’ I said, ‘and my mum stayed in London with my baby brother. What about you?’ I quickly changed the subject.

  ‘I’m from London too.’

  ‘You are?’ I said, puzzled.

  ‘But not your London,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m from London, Ontario.’

  ‘Is that Canada?’ I said.

  He nodded.

  I was just about to ask if he had a girlfriend back home when Jean plonked herself down next to me. ‘I’m bushed,’ she said, fanning her face with her hand.

  ‘Where’s Eric?’