by Carol Rivers
'Have it your way,' he agreed sullenly, 'but don't say I didn't warn you.'
Raymond Taylor had hit a nerve but Bella wasn't prepared to show it. Instead she retaliated like she always did when she felt she was being attacked. 'Listen Ray, you're no different to any other bloke wanting to get his leg over, but you won't admit it. Added to which you've got a cheek to stand there and critisize me for the way I live my life when there's one or two whispers I've heard about you and a certain blackmarket butcher you're in with. It would give your mother a right old turn if she thought her darling boy was on the fiddle.'
'You little - ' Raymond stepped forward angrily, but Dolly jumped between them. Bella smiled in triumph; she had brought him down a peg and she was overjoyed at the result.
Dolly pushed against her brother's chest. 'Come on you lot, shake hands and be friends. Please.'
But Bella shook her off. 'No thanks, Dolly. I've had enough for one night.'
She flung the dishcloth down and strode into the hall, snapping her bag from the stand on her way out.
Bella walked with her head held high, satisfied she had had the last word although she would have preferred to give Ray Taylor the argument he deserved. How dare he tell her what was good for her and more importantly, what was not? He wasn't averse to flogging an off-cut of beef or pork on the quiet, pocketing the proceeds as fast as he made them. A fact that didn't quite fit with Mrs Taylor's image of her perfect son.
Bella blew out a long breath allowing her anger to cool. It was a beautiful summer's night. Why should she let Raymond Taylor spoil it? The street was full of children rummaging in the derelict houses of the bombed sites, just like she and Terry had once done. But she was older and wiser now and would never stand for such humiliation again. It was jealousy that made people like the Taylors look down their noses at others. And it certainly wasn't for the likes of Ray to sit in judgement when he was such a hypocrite himself.
'Bella!'
Dolly's call was panic-stricken. Bella turned round to find Dolly running after her, tripping over the cracks in the pavement in her haste to catch up. Her hair had lost all its clips and her round face was full of concern. 'Ray didn't mean what he said. I'm sorry,' she gasped as she drew level with Bella.
'It's not your fault.'
'He likes you, he really does.' Dolly held her sides, breathing hard. 'He wouldn't hurt you for the world. And what you said about the butcher? You won't let on to Mum, will you? She'd kill him.'
'You know me better than that.'
'It's just a little side line he's got going.'
'I don't care what your brother does,' Bella snapped. 'As long he leaves me alone.'
'He will, I promise.' Dolly groaned. 'I've got a stitch now.'
Bella giggled. 'All you need is a needle.'
Dolly laughed breathlessly. 'Oh, Bella, you're a laugh a minute you are.' Her eyes filled with tears. 'I keep forgetting we won't be going back to school after the holidays. I get a rotten sinking feeling inside when I think of that.'
'I don't,' Bella replied at once. 'I'll be free at last. And anyway, what are you worrying for? You're brainier than me and will get a job without any trouble.'
'Yes, but I'll be all on me own somewhere without you.'
'You'll have to learn to stick up for yourself, Dol.'
Dolly blushed. 'I know. You always stuck up for me. I was such a wimp.'
'Well, it's the real world for us now. People will walk over us if we let them.'
Dolly looked sad. 'I wish I was like you.'
Bella laughed. 'That's a funny thing to say. You've got everything a girl could want. A nice family, a proper roof over your head and you're bound to find a nice boyfriend.'
'But I'm weak and you're strong, Bella. You've always got the answers.'
'Only because I make them up.'
Dolly giggled. 'And you're funny. I never am.'
'Oh Dolly, do cheer up. Look on the bright side of life. You can start the morning with a smile on your face or a frown. It's your choice, as easy as that.'
Bella looked at her friend and wondered where they would both be in ten years time. Would Dolly be a replica of Mrs Taylor, with a neat and tidy terraced house, have kids with shiny faces and be married to a parrot of a husband? If that was so, good luck to Dolly! But that wasn't what Bella wanted and today had confirmed it.
'We can still go out together, can't we?' Dolly asked plaintively.
'Course we can.'
'Shall I call round your house?'
Bella smirked. Dolly never called. No one ever called, except Micky or Ronnie. 'If you dare.'
Dolly went pink. 'He won't answer the door, will he?'
Bella laughed. 'Tell you what, I'll come round to yours.'
Dolly looked relieved. 'Will you? Promise?'
Bella nodded. 'We'll go up the market. Cox Street or the Lane.'
Dolly flung herself forward and hugged Bella so tight, her bones cracked. 'I'm going to miss you so much.'
As they parted, Bella felt the shackles of their friendship fall away for unlike Dolly, she wanted to experience everything! She knew that life had only just begun now they had left school and the thought of freedom excited her beyond measure. She was going to meet new people and make new friends, though she didn't said as much to Dolly who was in floods of tears, trying to wipe her wet cheeks surreptitiously as she said goodbye.
Chapter 6
Bella typed the last instruction of the day; one bird's eye maple bedroom suite consisting of double wardrobe, one kidney-shaped dressing table and matching upholstered stool. One double bed and mattress with accompanying bedside tables and headboard. One chest of five drawers and oblong cream skin rug. Invoice for cash paid in full, eighty-nine pounds seventeen shillings and sixpence. Remember to date, stamp and post … et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
She pounded the full stop key on the typewriter with a flourish and sneaked a glance at her watch. Only twenty minutes to go till half past twelve. Then she would cover the machine in front of her and say goodbye to Dixons for the rest of the weekend.
The other three girls were concentrating so hard only their fingers moved in front of them. Back and forth went the rollers on the big, bulky typewriters, the clack of the keys reverberating round the walls. No one seemed eager to leave. Bella couldn't wait. Tonight she was going up West with Micky. He was going to visit a club called The Indigo and he'd asked her to go with him. She had to look at least eighteen to get in, Micky had warned. She was going to wear a dress that he'd bought especially for the occasion.
He said he intended to open a club on the island just like the Indigo and was counting on Ron to help him, but at the moment Ronnie was putting the damper on all his ideas. Since his demob in '45, Ronnie had changed, Micky said, scarred by his experiences at war, none of which Ronnie ever talked about. But she had to agree with Micky, Ronnie was a harder man all round.
Bella had butterflies in her stomach just thinking about the Indigo. What would it be like there and who would she see? Someone famous perhaps. Micky knew all the actors and actresses that went there; it was a really high-class club.
'Finished already?' Evelyn Donald, the girl working at the next desk, broke into her thoughts.
Bella nodded, aware of the disapproving expression in the other girl's eyes. 'Yes, aren't you?'
'It's not half past twelve yet,' Evelyn Donald said as she tapped her watch. 'There's five minutes to go. I'm beginning this pile of orders so I can get ahead for Monday.'
Bella began to draw the cover over her typewriter. 'I don't need to get ahead, Evelyn. I already am.' She looked straight into Evelyn's narrowed eyes and shrugged casually. 'I don't see the point of making extra work for myself. We're just typing orders and adding up a few figures, that's all, not a life and death situation.'
'But you have to make sure all the figures are correct,' Evelyn emphasized as she glanced at Bella's work. 'Miss Conway is quick to remind us that Dixon's policy is accuracy over spe
ed.'
'Well, it would be, wouldn't it?' Bella returned dismissively. 'They are the bosses and we are their slaves. They are never going to die from overwork are they? We do as we're told, yes sir, no sir and three bags full sir. Now, if you look at your watch again, it will definitely say half past and that's when we finish on Saturday mornings.'
Bella managed to prevent herself from laughing at Evelyn's horrified gaze as she continued to pack away. She couldn't imagine what these girls' brains were made of. Probably soup. They were all like sheep, running in one direction, following the leader. Bella had done it herself for the last four months, but she was tired of it. How did these girls tolerate the mind numbing boredom of their jobs? Margery Cooper had been here for fifteen years and Evelyn Donald for ten. All six girls in this office dutifully went over their work at the end of their day as if their lives depended on it. This job would have suited Dolly perfectly, Bella thought wryly as she watched Evelyn return her scrutiny to the book in front of her. Instead Dolly was slogging it out at Burlington Dock Fisheries, her clothes reeking of fish!
Bella stood up as Miss Conway, the supervisor, walked in. She was small and stocky with a man's short, straight haircut. From Bella's first day they had taken an instant dislike to one other.
'Finished already, Miss Doyle?'
'Yes,' Bella nodded, adding dutifully, '… Miss Conway.'
'Well, I am sorry to say I have found a number of faults in the work you left on my desk last night. As you know I dislike crossings out. If a mistake is made, I prefer the paperwork to be redone completely. Our customers don't expect to be issued with inferior accounts.'
'But I wouldn't cross out,' Bella protested. 'All my work was correct. I check it thoroughly before I bring it to your office.'
'Well, let me refresh your memory.'
Bella took the papers Miss Conway gave her. Someone had carefully crossed through her figures, making an unsightly repair to the total.
Bella's cheeks flushed as she glanced quickly at Evelyn who was typing away and didn't look up. It was Evelyn who had offered to take her work and leave it on Miss Conway's desk as she went out.
'Is this your work?'
'Yes, but – '
'No buts Miss Doyle. Errors are not company policy and quite unacceptable. You'll make out fresh paperwork, check the figures carefully this time and let me see them before you leave.' She turned and marched off in her thick-heeled brogues leaving Bella to stare at the other girls who, without comment, began to pack away and leave their desks. It took Bella a few minutes to realize what had happened. Someone amongst them had successfully sabotaged her prompt departure.
Bella was standing on tiptoe, gazing in the mirror propped against the wall of the room she still shared with Terry. There was no free space even though she kept the worn floorboards clean and tidy; the old mattress on which they had slept as children was gone and two narrow iron bedsteads and their horsehair mattresses now replaced it. The only other item of furniture was a small set of drawers. The chest was covered with a broad chintz runner to disguise the woodworm below. Beside it stood the long mirror, broken at one corner but still in one piece.
Bella was gazing into it, admiring her reflection as she stood in the calf-length black dress that Micky had bought her. He didn't even know her size and yet it fitted to perfection. The dress was made of a soft, clinging fabric that must have cost the earth and the transformation had taken Bella's breath away.
'And where in the name of Jesus did you get that dress, girl?' Mary Doyle's voice was slurred as she leaned against the door.
'Where do you think?' Bella tried to ignore the unbridled aggression in her tone. An unspoken challenge that suggested a need for an all out shouting match. She had been hoping that her mother would have left for the pub, her shift of duty beginning at six. But instead, Mary Doyle had sunk the last of the gin, a bottle she had found in the man's pocket an hour ago. Bella had watched her search him as he lay snoring in the chair. A satisfied expression had crept over Mary's face as she'd unscrewed the top and poured what was left of it down her throat.
'You've got a vicious tongue on you, girl. Talking to your mother as if she was – '
'What?' Bella's own anger was surfacing now. 'Someone who really cared what I look like?'
'I'll tell you what you look like in that - a slut. A cheap little tart.'
'And you should know, mother, shouldn't you?'
Bella had long ago accepted that Mary Doyle would pull out all the stops to spoil any happiness she found in life. It was in her mother's nature to resent her children's existence outside of the four dingy walls surrounding them. Mary's bitter thoughts showed on her face as she stood in the doorway, examining the picture that Bella presented.
'For all the grand clothes he buys you, it's still a Doyle inside them,' Mary persisted drunkenly. 'You'd think the Bryants were saints themselves for the crumbs they've thrown our way.'
'Crumbs is it?' Bella countered angrily as she took a step towards her mother. 'If it wasn't for them, you and that cripple outside – ' she jerked her head fiercely towards the next room, 'would be begging on the streets and me and Terry put away somewhere.'
Mary lifted the glass in her hand and sucked down the alcohol noisily. 'Perhaps it would have been better if you had. A fifteen-year-old girl dressed up like a whore and that man himself is responsible and she still can't see it.'
Bella looked coldly into her mother's eyes. 'Micky's not responsible for what I look like, Mum. You should know that better than anyone. If I've the makings of a whore inside me, it's you that put it there.'
Mary Doyle stepped forward and landed a blow across her cheek that momentarily stunned her. The stinging sensation spread over her skin and down to her neck but the discomfort was brief as she tossed back her dishevelled hair.
'Don't ever do that again, Mum,' she warned, her eyes bright with anger.
'I'll not have you speak to me that way, girl.' There was a note of fear in Mary's voice as she stared into her daughter's burning gaze. 'Sure I'll keep you and your brother on the straight and narrow if it kills me,' she added weakly, falling back against the door.
Bella shook her head in amazement at these words. 'Don't worry that'll never happen. In fact I'd be willing to lay top odds you'll never die of doing me and Terry a good turn. If you did, it would be the first ever since our births and even then, it would turn out to be a mistake.' In silence she lifted her coat from the bed and slipped her bag over her shoulder. Straightening her back she walked past her mother to the front door where Terry stood waiting. Then she turned slowly back to smile at the overweight, overblown body of Mary Doyle.
'Don't wait up for us,' she said as she grasped Terry's big hand in hers. Allowing her gaze to linger for a last few seconds on the harrowed face, she reminded herself that she needed no words from Mary Doyle to keep her on the straight and narrow. The picture before her was lesson enough.
Bella pulled Terry into the fresh air. The door banged noisily and she breathed in oxygen until her lungs felt as though they would burst. Bow Street air wasn't fresh. It was contaminated by the decay of the abandoned cottages and broken sewers. But any air was fresher than the poison under that roof.
The night was cold and dark as Bella and Terry looked around them at the forgotten street. After the war, the council hadn't bothered to light a road that was dying.
The sound of a car's engine rumbled in the distance.
'Micky!' cried Terry excitedly. 'Micky's coming.'
Bella's heart began to beat fast as she recognized the sound of Micky's car. For the next few hours she would pretend that she had never heard of Bow Street or the remaining inhabited cottage. She would step out of this apology for a life and into a better one by far.
'Terry's comin' tonight, Micky.'
'No Terry, not tonight, chum.' Micky's response was soft but final. 'You're staying with Sean and Ashley. They got a nice game of Snap going just for you.'
'Terry want
s to come.'
'No, Terry,' Bella repeated gently from the front seat of the big car, Micky's latest toy. 'Me and Micky are going out.'
Bella glanced at Micky as he drove. His face was smiling and happy and she hoped Terry wasn't going to spoil the evening. Micky was always very good with him, but Terry could try the patience of a saint sometimes. And Micky was no saint.
He inhaled the smoke from his cigarette and turned the wheel of the car. Bella thought he looked more handsome than ever in his dark suit with the cuffs of his white shirt showing under his jacket. When he caught her looking at him, he grinned.
'You wore it tonight then, doll?'
'Oh, Micky, it's a really lovely dress.'
'Right size?'
'I don't know how you guessed.'
'Easy. You've got a good figure. I just described you to the girl. You know, with a bit of make-up you could look just like Lana Turner.'
'Lana Turner?' Bella didn't much like wearing make-up as she had a good complexion and wanted to be acknowledged for her own looks, even though Lana Turner was a big name on the films.
'Yeah … with a few touches here and there you could be the spit,' Micky continued, oblivious to her thoughts. 'My favourite flick with her in was called Johnny Eager, back at the beginning of the war. I took that old slag – 'scuse my French – Sheila Belcher, to see it. Course, I didn't see much the first time round …' Micky smiled crookedly in the driving mirror. 'But when I went again with a mate, me eyes were riveted. She's not called the Sweater Girl for nothing. That flick really blew me socks off.'
Bella was engulfed by a wave of jealousy. She wasn't certain whether it was the mention of Lana Turner or Sheila Belcher that made her feel so bad. Lana Turner was blonde and a sex symbol and it would take a mountain of make-up to create even the slightest resemblance between them. As for Sheila Belcher, she remembered her clearly. She still had the vivid memory of seeing Sheila and Micky together, kissing and cuddling on the couch at Piper Street. Through a kid's eyes Sheila had been as voluptuous as Lana was now, all blonde hair and smouldering looks. At least that was how it seemed then. If Sheila was an old slag, then Bella hadn't known it then.
