Everybody's Somebody

by Beryl Kingston

  ‘It is a simple device,’ she said, ‘as you see, and it comes in a variety of sizes so that we can fit it exactly to our patients. I will give you an internal examination, rather similar to the ones you had when you were in labour and nothing to be alarmed about, and once we have discovered the size that is right for you, I will show you how to fit it.’

  Rosie looked at the rubber circle and wondered how on earth she would do it, but the midwife took her through the process very gently, explaining things to her step by step. ‘If you cover it with this cream like this, and pinch the sides together like this, you will find it will slide in quite easily. Use it every time and you will soon get used to it. Now if you will go behind the screen and take off your knickers and your stockings, I will examine you.’

  By the time she left the clinic, Rosie was a fully-fledged member of the twentieth century and in charge of her fertility. She felt as if she was walking on air.

  Chapter 18

  The telephone gave a click like an unexpected hiccup and let out its sudden shrieking call. It had been silent for such a long time that the sound of it made Rosie jump. She was hard at work in the kitchen, sewing a bridesmaid’s dress for Mary and concentrating so hard she wasn’t paying any attention to anything else. Edie’s wedding was a mere matter of weeks away and rushing down on them like a steam train and there was a lot to be done.

  ‘Oh drat!’ she said, looking cross. But she put the dress on the table and went to answer it before it woke the girls. She didn’t want to have to settle them for the second time that evening on top of everything else.

  ‘Yes,’ she said into the mouthpiece.

  ‘Is that Helen of Troy?’ Gerry said.

  ‘No,’ she told him, tetchily. ‘It’s me and I’m very busy.’

  ‘Well then Me,’ Gerry answered, and it sounded as though he was laughing, ‘you’ve got an invitation to an exhibition.’

  She was annoyed to be laughed at. He should be treating her much better than that after leaving her without a word all this long time. ‘A what?’ she said.

  ‘I’ve been given an exhibition of my work at the Beaux Arts Gallery,’ he said, sounding pleased with himself. ‘It opens tomorrow evening and you’re the star of the show. I’ve been there all afternoon and they’re raving about you.’

  It pleased her to be told she was the star of the show, but she was still ruffled. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure about all that.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up around five,’ he said, ‘if that’s ok, then we can have a bite to eat beforehand.’

  ‘Well…’ she said again.

  ‘Go on,’ his voice teased. ‘I dare you. Wear something pretty. You’ll be the cynosure of all eyes.’

  She was intrigued, despite her disgruntled mood. ‘What’s a cynosure?’

  ‘Come with me and you’ll see,’ he said.

  Jim was none too pleased when she told him she wanted to go out that evening, especially when he knew she would be with that artist. ‘I can’t see the point,’ he said, scowling. ‘Gallivantin’ off ter some party this time a’ night. It ain’t as if you’ll be earnin’ or anythin’.’

  ‘You never know what’ll happen at a party,’ she said, trying to persuade him.

  It didn’t work. ‘That’s what I mean,’ he said and scowled worse than ever.

  But she looked out her prettiest blouse and her red skirt, stuck out her chin and went, no matter what he said. It was her life. Why shouldn’t she? And it was an amazing party. First of all, the exhibition was in a huge room, very grand and opulent with his pictures hanging everywhere she looked, and secondly there were lots of people there admiring them, all looking important in evening dress, drifting around, drinking champagne and talking to one another in drawling voices. She recognised Augustus John and Anthony Eden straight away and there were several others she’d seen at the RAC Club and, for a few seconds, she felt a bit out of place among so many toffs. Not that she showed any of them how she was feeling. That would never have done.

  Presently Gerry stopped a boy with a tray full of champagne glasses, took two and handed one to her.

  ‘Sip it,’ he advised. ‘It’s a noble wine and one never gulps nobility.’

  She sipped once, and enjoyed it, twice and decided it was the tastiest drink she’d ever tried, three, four, five times and discovered that the exhibition was the best place in the whole world. From then on, she drifted through the crowds in a champagne haze, following Gerry wherever he led, half hearing what was being said, glimpsing the paintings, and feeling that it was only right and proper that she should see her own face looking back at her from the walls. When they were joined by a strange man and Gerry introduced him as Mr Alexander Korda, she smiled at him as if he was an old friend. She couldn’t see him very well because the champagne seemed to be playing tricks with her eyesight, but she had a vague impression of a rather short, dark-haired young man with thick lips and very thick glasses. ‘Pleas’ ’a meetcher,’ she said and smiled again.

  He was talking to Gerry, praising his painting and telling him he certainly knew how to pick his models, but the conversation was difficult to follow, and somebody was holding out another tray covered in glasses full of champagne, so she took one and let her attention drift. Oh it was wonderful being here.

  Then she noticed that Mr Korda was holding out his hand towards her, so she took it, as that seemed to be expected, and he raised it to his lips and kissed it. Heavens! ‘If you ever think of changing your occupation, Miss Rosie,’ he said, ‘it would be worth your while to get in touch with me. Gerry knows where to find me. Your face could be your fortune you know. The camera would love you.’ Then he was off into the crowd and there were two other people pushing their way towards them to tell Gerry how wonderful the exhibition was.

  The wonderful exhibition went on until it was quite late and by then Rosie had drunk so much champagne, she could barely stay awake. Gerry laughed at her all the way home and eased her out of the car when they arrived as though she was made of glass. But when she’d giggled her way up the stairs and staggered into the kitchen, Jim was not pleased.

  ‘You’re sloshed,’ he said crossly. ‘Look at the state a’ yer. Didn’t I warn you? But no, you would go.’

  She was flushed and giggly and so ridiculously happy that, for the first time in their marriage, she didn’t care what he thought or said. ‘You’re such an ol’ grumps,’ she told him gaily. ‘I’m goin’ ’a bed.’ And she lurched out of the door towards the stairs.

  ‘She’ll ’ave a thick ’ead in the morning,’ Jim growled at Kitty. ‘An’ serve her right, goin’ off with that poncy artist. ’E’s no earthly good for ’er, never was, never will be.’

  He was right about the headache. When she was woken by her babies the next morning, Rosie felt as if her skull was splitting. She struggled from the bed to lift her howling Mary from the cot and suckle her back to smiling, vowing she would never drink like that again. Ever.

  It was a difficult day. Both babies were fretful and needed a lot of attention, and in the middle of the afternoon Gerry rang to ask how she was and to tell her he wanted her to model for him the next day. It didn’t please her at all, because modelling was the last thing she wanted to do in her present state. But she said yes, because she was far too proud to tell him how fragile she felt and, in any case, she needed the money, and the next morning he turned up in his grand car and drove her and her fractious girls to Chelsea.

  It was a disaster. Mary grizzled to be fed and wouldn’t take a dummy or be placated with sponge fingers and Gracie refused to go out with the nursemaid, setting her jaw and declaring, ‘No. Won’t.’ until Rosie gave in to her. Then she spent the rest of the day clinging to Rosie’s skirt or hanging round her neck. In the end, Gerry flung his paint brush on the floor and erupted into bad temper.

  ‘God damn it!’ he roared, stamping about the room. ‘How can I work in this racket? It’s like being in a farmyard. Squawk, squawk, squawk. I’m just wastin
g my bloody time and that’s a fact. Is it any wonder I won’t get married? Look at the state of this damned room. Babies are death to art. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times. Absolute bloody death. All right then, I give up. I give up. Absolutely give up! Take ’em away Rosie. I can’t bear them another minute.’

  She went home feeling like a whipped child, angry with him for being so unkind and angry with herself for letting him do it. It was a struggle to get on and off the trams with one baby in her arms and the other clinging to her hand. By the time she got back to Newcomen Street, she was tired and cross.

  ‘Now see if you can behave yourselves for five minutes while I put the kettle on,’ she said to her infants. She was too weary to scold them, but her disapproval was clear on her face and, although Mary gave her a rapturous smile, Gracie knew she was in disgrace and put her thumb in her mouth, looking cast down. And that made Rosie feel even worse than she did already. After all, they’d been behaving badly because they were upset, and she had a sneaking feeling that they were upset because she’d had a thick head. So when the tea was made, she sat in Jim’s comfy armchair and took them both on her lap and cuddled them to make amends. But Gracie was still weepy when Jim came breezing into the kitchen bringing the smell of the market with him and carrying a large punnet full of fruit.

  ‘Whatcher think, gels?’ he said. ‘Ol’ Manny’s give me a bonus. What say I take you all out fer a treat Sunday?’ And he picked Gracie up and tossed her onto the air until she squealed. ‘I thought we could go down the seaside an’ paddle an’ that. They got a charabanc goin’ ter Worthin’ Sunday. Whatcher think?’

  Rosie was still too down to be enthusiastic, but Mary clapped her hands as if she knew what was being said and Gracie said, ‘Oh yes, Daddy. Let’s.’ So it was decided.

  Later that night when he’d gentled her into an easier state of mind with the sort of tender lovemaking that was usual to them now, Jim asked her why they’d all been upset when he came home — ‘You was, wasn’tcher?’ — and she told him what a horrible day it had been. He was delighted to think that the great Mr de Silva had lost his rag. That’ll’ve cut him down to size, he thought. And not before time. But he didn’t say anything. Not then.

  Rosie didn’t say anything either although she too was thinking a lot. It was really good of him to spend his bonus on this outing and she didn’t want to spoil things by saying she didn’t want to go. But she didn’t. She was worried sick that the row with Gerry might mean that she’d lost her job. And how would they pay the rent then? It kept her awake off and on all night. But the next morning she had a postcard from Edie that changed her mind.

  ‘Me and Joe have got rooms in a little house in Worthing,’ she wrote, ‘what we move in Saterday an what I hope you can come and see soon. It’s just what we want. Nice and near the station.’

  She wrote back at once to tell Edie about the outing, ending,

  ‘See you by the pier, one o’clock, your loving sister.’

  So it was a successful expedition after all. The charabanc was crowded and lively, they sat side by side on the long wooden benches and sang songs all the way there, the sun shone on them nearly all day, they made sandcastles and went paddling and met up with Edie as the town clock struck one. Then they all went off for some of Gracie’s favourite fish a ship. And at the end of the afternoon they walked up to the railway station to admire the house, the women taking it in turn to carry Mary, and Jim giving Gracie a piggyback. It was a small terraced house, rented by a lady called Mrs Kennedy, who wore her hair in curlers and had a half-smoked cigarette attached to her lip and smiled when she opened the door.

  ‘Yes, my lovey,’ she said, when Edie asked if it was all right to come in. ‘Go on up. You know the way.’

  They traipsed up the stairs to inspect the rooms.

  ‘I’ll have to give ’em a good scrub through,’ Edie said. ‘They ent been lived in for quite a while — you can see that can’t you — but they’re a good size, an’ we got the use of the copper of a Tuesday, an’ I can cook over the fire, an’ we got our bed, an’ the table an’ chairs, an’ a chest a’ drawers.’ Then she looked anxiously at Rosie.

  Rosie kissed her. ‘You’re goin’ to be very happy here,’ she said.

  All in all, it had been a good day.

  And it was followed by an even better one when Edie and her Joey got married, Edie looking very pretty in her borrowed suit and a new cloche hat made of white felt and trimmed with roses to match her bouquet and Joey blushing so much he looked as if his cheeks were on fire. The sun shone on them so brightly when they walked out of the church that their guests cheered; Gracie and Mary were well behaved for once; Pa looked more frail than he used to be, but he seemed happy; and Mrs Taylor and Tess had produced their usual feast, spread out on the familiar trestle tables back in the cottage. And then, when the bridal pair had been driven off to the station in Pa’s cart and the usual shower of rose petals, the guests had wandered off home, and Jim and Kitty had taken the girls for a walk by the river, Tess sprang a surprise.

  ‘I didn’t say nothin’ while the weddin’ was goin’ on,’ she said to Rosie, as she poured tea for them both. ‘That wouldn’t ha’ been proper but I can tell you now, I’m gettin’ married an’ all.’

  ‘Oh Tess,’ Rosie said. ‘That’s lovely. Who to?’

  ‘Sydney,’ Tess said.

  That was a puzzle. The only Sydney Rosie knew was Mr Turner, the man who kept the piggery, and he was sixty if he was a day. She couldn’t mean him, surely.

  But she did. ‘Yes,’ she said, speaking boldly because she’d read Rosie’s horrified expression. ‘It’s the piggery man, an’ I know what you’re thinking. He is gettin’ on a bit. But I’ll tell you this, Rosie, he’s a good man, an’ he’s been ever so lonely since his wife died, an’ he’s got a cottage. He’ll treat me proper.’

  ‘But he’s old enough to be your father,’ Rosie said and regretted the words before they were out of her mouth because Tess looked so bleak.

  ‘It’s no good saying that Rosie,’ she said. ‘He’s offered and I’ve accepted. That’s all there is to it. Beggars can’t be choosers. There ent the young men around to marry my generation. That’s the truth of it. They’ve all been killed off. An’ I don’t want to be left on the shelf.’

  ‘Does Pa know?’

  ‘I told him last week.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He said to go ahead on account of Sydney’s a good bloke.’

  It’s settled, Rosie thought, and turned the conversation to safer ground. ‘D’you want a lend a’ my dress?’ she said.

  ‘No,’ Tess said sadly. ‘It ent that sort a’ weddin’.’

  ‘What rubbish!’ Rosie said trenchantly. ‘A weddin’s a weddin’, an’ a bride’s a bride. If you want to look grand on your weddin’ day, you should go ahead an’ do it. You’ll need a new hat to go with it, mind. Nothing like a new hat to set off an outfit. An’ you might need a new pair of shoes to match an’ all. We’ll go shoppin’. I know some very grand places in Arundel an’ your Sydney could afford it, couldn’t he?’

  To hear her intended called your Sydney cheered Tess up as nothing else could have done. It was a sign of their easy affection and it meant her marriage was approved of. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Let’s get our Edie settled an’ we’ll see.’

  They saw four weeks later and found a pretty hat and a pair of stylish shoes. Then they went off, arm in arm, to have tea and buns at Rosie’s favourite tea shop.

  ‘Now all we need is a date to put in our calendars,’ Rosie said, licking her fingers. ‘You’d better get on with it, especially if I’m going to make pies.’ It was doing her good to be involved with this wedding because she was privately feeling rather down. She hadn’t heard a word from Gerry since he took exception to her infants and as the weeks and the silence went on, she was beginning to think her job and her affair really were over. Losing her job was the more worrying of the two because the rent had to be pai
d whether she was working or not. If I haven’t heard anything by the time this next wedding’s over, she thought, I’ll have to find myself a job in a local pub or a shop.

  It was a good wedding despite everything. Mr Turner wore a suit and was unrecognisably clean which made him look quite different, if a little uncomfortable, and Tess was calm and elegant, in her white silk suit and her splendid hat. Mr Turner’s two sons, who were called Dick and John, had come with their wives and their children and they all said how pretty Tess looked and how fond of her they were.

  ‘What comes a’ knowin’ her all our lives,’ Dick said. ‘We’re a-goin’ to call her Tess, on account a’ that’s what we’ve always called her, an’ we could hardly call her nothing else.’ And he smiled across the table at her.

  Rosie was heartened by the way they were talking, and she felt very proud of Tess, sitting at the centre table with her new husband attentively beside her and wished her well with all her heart. Dear, dear Tess. And towards the end of the meal she was proud of Edie too. She’d been sitting next to Rosie, enjoying the meal and looking plumply pretty, but when it was over and Mrs Taylor had started to clear the dishes, she turned towards her and whispered that she had ‘a bit a’ news’. Rosie guessed what it was before the words were said and beamed in readiness.