by Maggie Hope
Brian put an arm around Marina’s shoulders and hugged her comfortingly. ‘Did you ever think maybe she just wanted to get away by herself? You know what Alf Sharpe’s like, the slimy toad! You couldn’t blame any girl for wanting to lose herself if she had him for a father.’
She knew what Alf was like all right, better than Brian did. If he knew just what Alf had done … Marina shrugged away his arm and got to her feet. She walked to the window and looked out at the tiny garden. The flower bed under the window was bare so late in the year, except for a clump of Christmas roses just coming into bud. It would soon be Christmas, she thought. Rose had been gone for over a week now. Where was she? Marina asked herself for the thousandth time. Surely if she was all right she would have got in touch by now?
‘Will you come with me to see Alf Sharpe again?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I don’t know …’ Marina turned round sharply and frowned at Brian and he changed his mind abruptly. ‘All right. But it won’t make any difference. You know what he’s like.’
They had gone with Jeff to Alf’s house on the Wednesday night. At least Alf was at home then, the light was on in the kitchen, though the curtains were drawn and they couldn’t see anything. He didn’t answer their knock at first but Jeff persevered, thumping with his fist on the wooden panel of the door.
‘Come on, answer the door!’ he shouted. ‘We know you’re in there, Alf Sharpe!’
There was an exclamation from inside and eventually the door opened. Alf stood in the doorway, barring their entrance.
‘It’s you, you young buggers, is it? And what the hell do you want? I don’t know how you have the nerve to come round here, disturbing a man’s peace,’ he snarled.
‘We want to see Rose,’ said Jeff. ‘Where is she?’
‘You do, do you? Haven’t I told you not to come sniffing round my lass?’
‘Stand aside, we’re coming in,’ said Jeff. ‘I’m not prepared to have this out on the step.’ He shouldered the older man to one side and marched into the kitchen. In the short time since Rose had gone, the appearance of the room had undergone a dramatic change. There were dirty cups on the table, spilt grease on the bar of the range. To one side was a tin bath holding cold, black, scummy water. A pile of pit clothes was laid over the white cover on the back of the couch, specks of coal which must have fallen off them glistened there. He must be going to work then, surmised Marina. Yet he stank of spirit, his face covered in stubble and his eyes bloodshot. Surely not even Alf Sharpe would go down the pit drunk? And him an overman.
‘Where is she?’ demanded Jeff.
‘Well, she’s not here, is she? What did you think, I had her tied up somewhere?’ Alf was looking even shiftier than normal, Marina reckoned. He didn’t meet Jeff’s eyes when he answered but hawked and spat into the fire, then lit a cigarette with trembling fingers, drawing hard on it so that it burned halfway down its length.
‘I wouldn’t put it past you,’ growled Jeff. ‘You made the poor lass’s life a nightmare.’
‘Go on then, have a look,’ Alf snarled. ‘Gan on! I’m not stopping you.’ He gestured with the hand holding the cigarette, dropping an arc of ash on the mat.
‘I will,’ said Jeff. ‘Come on, Marina, come with me. You stay there, Brian.’
Marina followed him up the stairs, though she had a fair idea Alf was telling the truth. Rose wasn’t here. And so it proved. The only signs of her were a few clothes hanging in a wardrobe.
‘What did I tell you?’ Alf said truculently when they returned to the kitchen.
‘Well, she’s somewhere, Mr Sharpe,’ said Marina. ‘And she’s not at Shotton, I went to see and she’s not there. And your sister’s neighbour said she had come back here with you.’
‘You’re a sight too interested in our business!’ Alf flared up suddenly, rising from his chair and taking up a threatening posture over the girl.
Brian stepped in front of Marina protectively. ‘Don’t you bully her!’ he said. ‘She’s only trying to find out where her friend is. Anybody would think you’d be worried about Rose’s whereabouts too.’ He turned his head to Marina. ‘Go on, go outside, pet. We won’t be but a minute.’
‘Aye, you can all of you get outside. Go on, I’m going to work, you’re holding me up. If our Rose has gone off, what can I do about it? Here, look about you. She’s left me in a right mess, hasn’t she? No one to see to the place –’
‘Aw, shut your mouth!’ snapped Jeff contemptuously. ‘We’re going anyway.’
Outside Marina couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief. Since Rose’s revelations she hated to be in the same room as Alf Sharpe. Her skin had crawled in his presence. For the first time she realised what the saying meant. It literally felt as though it was crawling. She shuddered and Brian took her hand.
‘Never mind, pet,’ he said. ‘Rose must be all right or we would have seen something in the paper.’
They walked up the street to the end where Jeff’s car was parked. ‘I have to go, I’m on fore shift,’ he said, but was reluctant, they could see. He kept looking back towards where Rose had lived.
‘You’ll let us know if you find anything out, won’t you?’ Marina asked.
‘I will,’ he promised. They watched as he climbed into the car, started the engine and set off, waving as he went.
Now it was Friday teatime and Marina had persuaded Brian to go with her to visit Alf Sharpe once again, see if they could find out something, anything, about where Rose was and what was happening to her. But after all it was a waste of time for the Sharpe house was empty.
‘He might have had to go into the pit early,’ said Brian. He glanced at Marina, could tell she had built herself up to confront Alf again and now was disappointed that he wasn’t there.
‘Never mind, love,’ he said. ‘I’m sure she’s all right.’
‘How can you be? Anything could have happened to her.’
‘Well, we can’t do anything about it now, can we?’
‘If you had a car like Jeff’s …’
‘Yes, there’s something to be said for having your own transport,’ Brian said, rather wistfully.
‘Can you afford a car?’ asked Marina, rather startled at the possibility.
‘Not really.’ He grinned. ‘Not if we’re going to get wed. But maybe a motorbike …’ He watched her face for her reaction.
‘A motorbike! By, Brian, that would be grand,’ she exclaimed and they walked off down the road, arm in arm.
‘I’ve seen a Norton I could afford, I think,’ he confided. ‘Come with me on Saturday, it’s in Morrison’s in Bishop.’
Later, as she lay in bed, Marina was horrified to realise she had almost forgotten about Rose for the remainder of the evening. Kate had commented that probably she had simply run away to be on her own. ‘The lass is entitled to a life,’ she had declared. ‘Stop worrying about her all the time. She’d want you to get on with your own life, our Marina.’
Maybe that was true, she thought. But, by heck, she hoped and prayed that Rose hadn’t come to any harm. Maybe she’d gone into one of those mother and baby homes which they’d heard about during the war and after. And if she needed help she would surely get in touch. She knew where they were, didn’t she? But if Alf Sharpe brought the twins home to live with him, she, Marina Morland, wouldn’t keep her mouth shut, no she wouldn’t. She’d lay him in to the police, she would.
‘How would you like to go home today, young lady?’ Rose’s face must have shown her dismay for Dr Morris stopped smiling and looked concerned. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you want to go home?’
‘I can’t, I’m never going home,’ she said flatly. ‘Anyway, I can’t recall where home is,’ she added, remembering she was supposed to have lost her memory.
He looked at her impatiently. ‘Nonsense. Come on now, Lily, we know you’re putting it on. It often happens with girls in your position. You don’t think you’re the first to be afraid to tell your parents you’ve made a mistake, do y
ou? I’m sure your mother will be only too pleased to have you back, she must have been worried to death.’
‘My mother’s dead.’
‘Oh. Oh, I’m sorry, stupid of me.’ He patted her hand awkwardly. ‘Your father getting married again, is that it? I know that sometimes girls can’t accept a stepmother, sometimes they run wild. Is that what happened?’
‘No, it isn’t, Doctor. Please don’t ask me.’ Rose had to accept that her story had worn far too thin to hold up now but she certainly wasn’t going to tell him the truth. ‘Don’t worry about me, Dr Morris, I’ll be fine. I’ll find a room somewhere. And a job. I’m a sewing machinist, you know. I can get work in a clothing factory, there are plenty of them around here.’
Well pleased with the way he had got her thinking and planning for her future, Dr Morris smiled. These silly girls! How easily they were led astray by a man. No doubt she had thought herself in love. He had a sudden idea and made for the door. ‘I’ll be back in ten minutes or so,’ he said and went off down the ward.
Rose looked around her. Though the ward was spartan with its worn furniture – shabby lockers by the iron bedsteads standing in regimented rows down the sides of the ward, a steel cabinet at the end with a sink and boiler for sterilising instruments and such – it was bright and cheerful enough. Flowers stood on most lockers, and by the table in the centre patients who were mobile moved about chatting to those in bed. A cleaner was buffing the shining floor, a nurse pushing a trolley from bed to bed.
Rose liked it here. These few days had been a haven for her, she had felt safe. No one had actually pestered her to find out who she was, just a gentle questioning which she had resisted easily. She was grateful that she hadn’t been reported to the police, accused of aborting her baby. She supposed it looked as though she had simply fallen on something and hurt herself. Her baby. The phrase sounded strange in her ears. She felt no distress at losing it, only relief. Was she unnatural? No, never, of course she wasn’t. Instinctively she denied the thought.
The door at the entrance to the ward opened and Dr Morris came in, his open white coat flying behind him, stethoscope swinging from side to side around his neck.
‘Just having a word with Lily, Sister,’ he said as she looked up at him enquiringly and he walked over to Rose’s bed.
‘How would you like working in the sewing room here?’ he asked. ‘Just plain sewing, I know, but it’s a job. It will help you get on to your feet.’
‘Oh, could I? Is there a vacancy?’
‘I saw it among the job opportunities in the main entrance this morning. When you said you’d worked a sewing machine, I thought of it.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Of course, you’ll have to have an interview but I’m sure it will be OK.’ He walked to the end of the bed before turning back. ‘And you’ll have to give them your real name. And if you don’t know where your identity card is, then you will have to apply for another.’
Rose had to give a sample of her sewing but she was good and fast from having to do piece work in the factory at West Auckland when she’d first left school. When she left the hospital, clutching a piece of paper with the address of what the almoner called ‘a good, clean lodging house’, she had the job.
‘Start next Monday, nine o’clock sharp,’ Mrs Timms said. She was the housekeeper, or domestic supervisor. ‘It’s mainly plain work, mending sheets and pillowcases and such, and keeping the uniforms in good order. We have a nice set of women here, friendly like. Two pounds ten shillings a week and your dinner.’
She had looked Rose over, noting her pale face, the shadows under her eyes. But Dr Morris had assured her that there was nothing really wrong with her, she just needed time and good food to build her up.
‘Mind, don’t you go gadding about this week, take it easy,’ she advised. ‘Some walks by the sea, that’s what you need. I’m a believer in good sea air. Well, I’ll see you next week, I haven’t time to be standing here talking.’ She had bustled off, keys jangling by her side, a round little woman with iron-grey hair pulled back in a bun that was fashionable three decades before.
Rose found the address on the paper easily. The room in the lodging house was tiny, up in the eaves of the old house near the docks, but it was clean and the narrow bed comfortable. The almoner had arranged for her to have an advance on her wages to be paid back at five shillings a week.
These first few weeks were going to be hard but she would manage. She had to. If only she had some assurance that Michael and Mary were all right. She felt so betrayed by Aunt Elsie, so alone. Yet surely her aunt wouldn’t let anything bad happen to the twins? She loved them, didn’t she? In bed that first night, in the strange room with the strange sounds from the sea and the docks, Rose cried a little. Then, determinedly, she wiped her eyes, blew her nose and turned over to sleep. Worrying would get her nowhere and she needed her health if she were to be able to help the twins at all. But inside she couldn’t help weeping for them.
Chapter Twenty
‘There’s a letter for you,’ said Mr Brown. ‘Though why you should have your personal mail sent here I do not know.’ He pretended to be stern but Marina knew him well by now, he was just a softie underneath. Besides, now she had the job on the tabulator and already had her sights on the next rung up the ladder, she was becoming quite an important cog in the accounting-machine department at least. After that, who could tell?
He picked up the letter and looked at the stamp. ‘London, eh? Who do you know in London?’ He caught her expression and, smiling, handed over the card. ‘None of my business, eh? No, of course it isn’t. Now we’d better get started – there’s a lot to do today. Salaries, grants for university …’ He sighed in mock sorrow. ‘No one ever gave me a grant. Money for nothing, eh?’
‘Yes, Mr Brown.’ Marina’s answer was mechanical. She was staring at the handwriting on the envelope, not taking in what was written at first. Waves of relief swept over her. Oh, thank God, Rose was all right, she was fine! She had to be or she couldn’t have written a letter, could she? Sometimes in the night when Marina woke or when she was feeling down, she had wondered if Rose was dead. Something could have happened to her. In the light of day she agreed with what Brian said must have happened: Rose had simply gone away, she was getting on with her own life. And here was proof. Marina tore open the envelope as she walked to her locker.
‘I’m OK, Marina,’ Rose had written. ‘Living it up in London. I’ll write again.’ Nothing else. No mention of Jeff or her baby or anything. No address. But she was all right, she said she was. Oh, praise be! Though as time had gone on the worry about Rose had faded into the background somewhat, it had still been there and now Marina felt as though it had rolled away. She couldn’t wait to get home and see Brian.
‘We’ll go through to Easington and tell Jeff,’ was the first thing he said. ‘We’ll go tomorrow. See, I told you she would be fine, didn’t I?’
It was Friday evening and the couple were in Kate’s kitchen. As usual Brian had called for Marina. They were off to the Majestic picture house where The Greatest Show on Earth was showing. The summer of 1949 was a warm one and Marina was wearing a starched cotton dress, white with red sprigs on it, and a red cardigan to match. She looked a picture, Brian thought proudly, her brown hair shining and healthy, cut in the shorter style now coming in with a fringe across her brow. She was so happy about Rose and it was good that she felt like that for her friend. Like himself and Jeff it was.
‘Have you thought of telling Alf Sharpe?’ asked Kate, and at Marina’s blank look added, ‘Well, don’t you think he would be interested? He is her father, after all.’
‘We should tell him, Marina,’ said Brian quietly.
‘Oh, you tell him if you like, I’m not going near the old toad,’ she said flatly. ‘Now, are you ready?’
‘You’re not going on the back of the motorbike dressed like that, are you, my girl?’ demanded Kate, and Marina pulled a face but caught up her duster coat and took it with her.
She loved riding on the Norton, her arms around Brian’s waist, her head pressed into his back and her hair wound up in a scarf against the wind. Passing the bus as it trundled its way into town was great. And it felt like they were flying down the last hill and then up again the other side, the engine loud in her ears as Brian revved up to reach the top.
They parked opposite the cinema and he took her arm as they crossed the road. He bought her Maltesers at the kiosk inside the foyer for at last sweets were off the ration. They sat in the back seat of the balcony and Brian put his arm around her shoulders and Marina felt warm and happy as they watched the main feature and ate the chocolates.
‘We would have had to walk home if we hadn’t had the bike,’ she remarked as they came out into the moonlight. ‘The last bus will have gone by now.’ She lifted her wrist and peered at the watch which Brian had bought her for Christmas.
‘It would have been great walking through the fields,’ he said, grinning. ‘No one else about. We could have got up to all sorts of things …’
‘Oh, you!’ said Marina and felt that familiar pang of excitement mixed with apprehension. Brian must have guessed there had been something between her and Charlie when he saw them together the afternoon of the wedding; that she and Charlie had gone ‘all the way’ as they said. Surely he had? But nothing had been said about it since then. Would he care that she was no longer a virgin? All the girls said a man could tell … Sometimes it had been hard to resist Brian when he kissed her, put his hands on her. Her body had leaped in response. But she had always managed to stop him before things went too far, fearful he would realise she was experienced. Experienced! She didn’t feel experienced, it was a daft word to use.
Oh, what the heck! she told herself. She wasn’t going to think about it. Brian started the bike and waited for her to climb aboard and she threw her leg over and tucked her skirt in decorously before leaning in to his back, hugging him to her. And away they went down Tenters Street and along the main shopping street to the road for Jordan. Brian stopped the bike at the yard gate and kissed her goodnight. Both of them had work to go to in the morning.
