Secrets of the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  ‘But,’ she added, giving Dorothy a friendly nudge as they reached their work area, ‘if I do somehow miraculously find the time to sort it, then don’t you forget about that “great big cake” you promised me.’

  Dorothy’s face broke into a wide smile.

  ‘At last! A glimmer of hope.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Wednesday 5 November 1941

  ‘So, I’ll bet Isabelle and Pearl are getting quite excited about the big day?’ Maisie quizzed Kate. The two women were seated in Kate’s bedroom-cum-dressmaker’s-studio on the third floor at Lily’s. The room was surprisingly big considering it was an attic room; even the low slanted ceiling was actually quite high, and Kate had made sure she had utilised every square inch of the room. A mass of fabrics lay around on the floor, designs were pinned to the walls, and baskets overflowed with a bounty of different coloured threads and ribbons. In the midst of it all was a small table, on top of which was Lily’s donated black and gold Singer, a dressmaker’s dummy, and, of course, Kate’s bed.

  Kate had felt like she had won the pools when she’d been taken in by Lily. She still had to pinch herself every now and again to check that this was real, and often when she woke during the night she had a moment’s panic that she was back on the streets, until she felt the softness of the feather down pillow under her head. Despite what the nuns at Nazareth House had put her through, Kate still believed in God, and every morning she woke and found herself in this room she offered up a prayer of thanks.

  ‘I think Bel likes to be called Bel, not Isabelle,’ Kate said quietly, ‘only her ma calls her Isabelle.’

  Maisie shifted a little uncomfortably on Kate’s lumpy mattress and started picking out bits of ribbon from a basket next to the bed.

  ‘Oh, does she now? That’s nice. They must be close, the two of them?’ she probed.

  ‘Mmm,’ Kate was non-committal in her answer. She was not one for gossip and besides she felt a strange kind of loyalty to Pearl. She didn’t feel it was right to start and tell a complete stranger the ins and outs of their mother–daughter relationship, especially as Bel and Pearl were about as far from ‘close’ as you could get, and there was most definitely a love–hate relationship going on between the pair of them, with a rather larger dose of ‘hate’ than ‘love’.

  ‘Well, that’s the way it should be on a girl’s wedding day, isn’t it?’ Maisie persevered. ‘Mother and daughter enjoying the excitement of dresses, and planning and organising and chatting about it all until the cows come home. Vivian says they even live in the same house in the east end! Sounds very cosy. What do they call families like that – close-knit?’

  Kate didn’t answer so Maisie continued.

  ‘The only person who seems to be missing is Isabelle’s father. Is Pearl a war widow? I’ve not heard a peep about him. Surely Isabelle would want her father to give her away?’

  ‘I don’t think her da’s about,’ Kate said. ‘Not heard anyone mention him anyway.’

  Maisie stood up and peered over Kate’s shoulder as she inspected a line of stitching on the fascinator she was making for Bel.

  ‘Oh Kate,’ Maisie said, ‘you really are something special, you know? That is just so beautiful.’

  Kate’s chest puffed out a little with pride. The fascinator was a new venture for her and she had tried to make it different by using a rather eclectic mix of beads, crystals, feathers, and there was even a touch of velvet on it.

  ‘I’m guessing this is in place of the veil?’ Maisie said, bending over and gently touching the ostrich feather in the centre of the headpiece.

  Kate had to stop herself from slapping Maisie’s hand. She wished she would go now. Wasn’t sure why she had come up in the first place. Usually she was left in peace when she was up here. Only Vivian and Lily really bothered her, and then only when they were desperate for something to be repaired, or to show her a design they’d fallen in love with.

  ‘Was there anything in particular you were after, Maisie?’ Kate said, trying not to sound like she wanted rid of her. She was never impolite to anyone under Lily’s roof, but she struggled with Maisie. She had never really taken to her from when she’d first arrived.

  ‘Actually, there was, but there’s no rush, it was just something I wondered whether you could run up for me – once all this wedding’s out of the way, of course.’

  Maisie dug into the pocket of her cashmere cardigan and pulled out a creased-up page from a magazine. She unfolded it to show Kate the dress she wanted her to replicate.

  ‘I’ll pay you, of course,’ she said.

  Katie took the picture and scrutinised it. ‘This is actually quite a straightforward design. It’s quite twenties with its dropped waist,’ she mused.

  ‘I’ll leave you in peace, then,’ Maisie said, getting up and stepping across pieces of tweed, silk and cotton to get to the open doorway. ‘And thanks, you know,’ she paused, ‘for the chat. And for agreeing to make my dress.’

  As soon as Maisie had gone, Kate got back to work. She still had lots to do and the wedding was now only four days away. She would probably be up most of the night finishing this fascinator, but it was going to be worth it.

  ‘Oh, Rosie,’ Maisie said, ‘you’re here late.’

  Rosie was coming out of the front office and was putting on her coat ready to go home. She had heard Maisie come down from the third floor.

  ‘You been to see Kate?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes … you know … the usual beg for her skills,’ Maisie smiled. ‘But not until after the wedding, of course,’ she added.

  Rosie looked into Maisie’s incredible hazel and brown speckled eyes. Her words seemed true and her voice sounded genuine but her eyes told another story. Why did Rosie always feel a little uncomfortable around her? It was as if she didn’t quite trust her and she had no idea why she felt like that. After all, Maisie seemed nice enough. And she was certainly working all hours to get the Gentlemen’s Club up and running.

  ‘I think there’s going to be a bit of a backlog for Kate after the wedding’s been and gone. I think she’s going to need an extra pair of hands,’ Rosie said. She felt compelled to return Maisie’s friendliness; besides which, Lily hadn’t said as much, but she knew it was important they both got on. Maisie would be managing the club and Rosie the bordello and there might well be a few crossovers.

  ‘Ah, well I’d best get off home. I don’t know where the time goes,’ Rosie said, turning to undo the latch on the front door.

  ‘I’ll lock up behind you,’ Maisie said, walking over to the thick wooden front door, now ajar. Maisie wasn’t wearing her usual heels, but was barefoot and Rosie suddenly realised just how small she was. Under the bright hallway light Rosie also noticed how much light-coloured foundation and powder Maisie used.

  ‘Thanks,’ Rosie said, stepping outside into the cold, dark night, ‘see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Bonne nuit,’ Maisie said with a chuckle. Rosie forced a laugh out as she made her way down the steps.

  ‘Lily will be pleased!’ she shouted back over her shoulder. ‘She’ll have you fluent before you know it.’

  As Rosie pulled out her small torch and started walking down the road, she chided herself. Maisie seemed like a lovely person, so then, why did she feel so uneasy around her?

  As Maisie perched on the little wooden stool in front of her dresser, and carefully wiped her make-up off with a damp ball of cotton wool, she slowly revealed the natural brown colouring of her skin. Maisie had spent a lot of money on cosmetics over the years trying to make her skin as pale as possible. Now she had got her mix of foundations and powders down to an art and knew what she could get away with. She knew how light she could go without it looking obvious.

  But it didn’t matter how skilful a beautician she was, she knew she would never pass as ‘white’. She would never be able to disguise the fact that she was of mixed race.

  Maisie believed the colour of her skin had blighted her life from the
moment she had been born. It was responsible for the life she’d had foisted on her and all the awfulness that went with it. For many years it had been an anchor around her neck, dragging her down, trying to drown her. But, she had survived. In spite of her colour. In spite of what life had chucked at her. For she had turned the way she looked to her advantage. Made it work for her, rather than against her. She had learnt to be chameleon-like, in both looks and personality, in order to get what she wanted.

  As Maisie inspected her face in the mirror, she traced the line of freckles that ran across the bridge of her nose, and as she did so she let her mind trail over the outline of a plan. When she had decided to come up north, she had known exactly what she wanted to achieve, but hadn’t really worked out how she was going to achieve it. But that was just her way. She wasn’t exactly impulsive, but at the same time she wasn’t one of life’s great planners.

  At first, it had simply been enough for her to move up here, with a job that paid well and somewhere to stay. She had been more than pleasantly surprised when she had arrived here at Lily’s. The place was as magnificent as Lily had described, and was very like some of the beautiful and opulent houses she had been invited to in Belsize Park and Hampstead in north London.

  Then she’d had another stroke of luck and been introduced to Rosie, and found out all about her squad of women welders.

  And now – the icing on the cake. This wedding …

  If she was a gambler, she’d be at the tables now. She was having a good run. It was as if a plan of action was being laid out right in front of her, showing her exactly what to do – like one of those dot to dot drawings she had loved doing when she was a child. The picture was drawn for you. All you had to do was draw your lines and then colour it in.

  Thoughts of her childhood, however, made Maisie naturally tense up. She realised she was clenching her teeth, so she blew out air and forced herself to relax.

  Memories of the years as a young girl, left alone and unloved, being passed from pillar to post, being either reviled or loved in a way she did not want to be loved, flashed across her mind and the anger she felt for the person she held responsible rose like bile to the back of her throat.

  At least now, finally, she was going to get her revenge for the loss of her childhood. The person who was ultimately responsible for ruining her life was going to get her just deserts. One way or another.

  ‘Maisie, my dear,’ she told the reflection in the mirror. ‘You will have your retribution. At long bloody last. And you’re going to enjoy every moment of it.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Ivy House, Hackney, London

  September 1913

  When Evelina found Pearl’s bed empty, there was a part of her that wasn’t at all surprised. She could understand why she had wanted to leave as soon as possible – but it would just have been nice to say a proper goodbye, check that she was all right, and see if she was going back up north. These girls that came through their doors were so young – many of them, like Pearl, were just children, really. Some left with a sense of relief that they didn’t have the burden of another life to care for; others, like Pearl, were deeply affected by being parted from their newborn.

  Evelina should have seen how attached Pearl had become to her unborn baby, but life had been so hectic these past few months; Ivy House was no longer big enough to cope with the number of young girls knocking at their door, so they were moving into a larger purpose-built maternity home on Lower Clapton Road. It wasn’t until she had seen Pearl cradling her baby daughter that Evelina had seen it – that fierce motherly love. Like a lioness with her cub. She had worried that Pearl would not forsake her baby; but there were no two ways about it – she had to. There was no other option for Pearl.

  Perhaps it’s for the better, Evelina mused as she pulled the sheets off Pearl’s bed and bundled them up ready to take to the laundry; the couple were coming today to sign the adoption papers and take their new baby home with them. Having witnessed the strength of Pearl’s maternal pull towards her baby girl, it might well have caused problems if she’d been about when her daughter’s new parents arrived. And Evelina didn’t want to let anything get in the way of this particular adoption.

  For, if Evelina hadn’t got to know this couple, she was under no misapprehension, it would have been nigh on impossible to have found even a halfway decent home for Pearl’s unique little girl.

  Mr and Mrs Washington arrived a little before they were expected. Evelina could tell that underneath their show of calm, they were both nervous and incredibly excited. As soon as they clapped eyes on their new daughter, they looked totally smitten. Mrs Washington even shed a few silent tears as she bent down to the cot and picked up her baby for the first time.

  Evelina just wished Pearl could see what a lovely family her daughter was going to, and also that they were more than well off. Pearl was getting her wish: her daughter would not be brought up in the kind of poverty she’d had to endure. Far from it.

  Apart from this, Pearl had asked Evelina if she could do one more thing for her. Pearl had never asked for anything in the all the time she had been at Ivy House – had always seemed eternally grateful they had simply taken her in – so Evelina had listened carefully as Pearl told her that she had chosen a name for her baby, and could Evelina persuade her baby’s new parents to keep the name? It was a nice name and Evelina said she would try her hardest, so when she took Mr and Mrs Washington into the office to fill out the official documentation, she told the couple about Pearl’s request and repeated the name Pearl had chosen.

  Evelina was pleasantly surprised when both Mr and Mrs Washington’s faces lit up; they seemed to genuinely like the name, and happily agreed to give their child the name the birth mother had chosen.

  Evelina wished she could have told Pearl that she had managed to do this one thing for her. It might have been some consolation – even if it was just a very small one.

  When Pearl reached King’s Cross station shortly after midnight she was in a state. She had been crying on and off since giving birth to her baby girl. For the last few months of her pregnancy, the love she had for the little being growing inside of her had become all-consuming. She had thought of endless ways in which she could keep her baby. Her brain had actually ached on a daily basis with her relentless questions and meanderings as to how she could bring up her child, but she had realised there was no magic solution. There was no option other than to let her baby go. Evelina was right – she had to give her baby the chance of a life. And the only way she could do that was by giving her to someone else.

  As Pearl sat huddled up under one of the stone arches in the main entrance of the station she almost welcomed the bitter cold that was creeping into every part of her body. Please let me freeze to death, Pearl had silently prayed. Please let me drift off to sleep and never wake up. The pain was too much and it wasn’t the physical pain she felt from having just given birth, nor the aches in her limbs from having walked miles to get here from Hackney. That pain she could suffer, but the searing heartache, the constriction in her chest, she simply could not bear. Never before had she experienced pain that had made her want to leave this life for good.

  As the tears started to roll down her face once again, a down-and-out came to sit next to her. Pearl didn’t care that he smelt, nor that he was chatting on inanely about something that made no sense; there was even a part of her that wished the bag of bones sidling up to her had murder in mind. At least then this terrible torment she was going through would come to an end.

  Pearl felt the tramp nudge her and she looked at him through a blur of tears as he raised his arm. In the semi-darkness she thought he was going to punch her, but then she saw he was holding a bottle in his hand and that he was actually offering her a drink.

  Pearl’s mouth was dry; only her lips were salty and wet with the tears she was still shedding and which seemed to know no end.

  She watched as she raised her arm and took the dirty bottle from h
is hand. She took a drink – two big mouthfuls – and swallowed. A harsh burning sensation filled her mouth and her throat, and, for a moment, the pain distracted her from the agony in her heart. The moment’s relief was welcome.

  For the rest of the night Pearl and the tramp sat together. He chatted on unintelligibly while she cried quietly to herself. They both drank from the bottle and as Pearl supped the burning liquor, the terrible sorrow and grief she felt slowly started to fade – until finally she had her wish. She was numb. She had managed to escape her heartache.

  For a few hours, at least.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The day before the wedding

  Friday 7 November 1941

  ‘Pearl, have you sorted everything out at the Tatham?’ Agnes sounded fraught.

  ‘Aggie,’ Pearl said giving a deep, dramatic sigh, ‘stop getting your knickers in a twist. Everything’s sorted at the pub. I’m just off there now to do a couple of hours and to remind Bill and the two young lasses he’s got working there that they’ve all got to be on their best behaviour tomorrow – and that the place has got to be spic and span … Oh, and of course, that they’re well stocked up!’ she cackled. ‘Can’t be having them run out of booze, can we? If you can’t have a skinful on a wedding day, when can ya?’

  Bel looked over at her mother and, not for the first time these past few weeks, had to pinch herself. The change in her was incredible. Of course, she was still the same old Pearl – totally self-obsessed, completely devoid of any kind of empathy, and with a razor sharp tongue she enjoyed inflicting on anyone and everyone. But what had amazed Bel the most was that her ma had positively thrown herself into the preparations for the wedding with gusto. Bel had expected her mum to be sloping around, drinking and smoking, and generally being unhelpful and negative in the run-up to her nuptials with Joe. But, incredibly, quite the reverse had happened – Pearl had actually offered to help out. In fact, it was thanks to her mother that they were going to have a proper wedding reception at the Tatham, instead of everyone simply cramming into the house and having a few drinks and sandwiches. It had made the whole event so much more celebratory – more of an actual party.