The Fisherman's Girl

by Maggie Ford

  ‘I consider myself the lucky one,’ Alex said, looking across at her.

  ‘Well, whatever, still good news, Mr Willoughby. I wish the pair of you all the joy what you both deserve.’

  Annie looked across at them and smiled in amusement. Dad had so far never addressed him as anything but Mr Willoughby. To him Alex’s life was so far removed from the one Dad led. Also it was such a short while since she and Alex first met – just five months ago. Some parents might protest that it was too soon for engagements, that young people should wait to be certain of their own minds. But Alex was wealthy. Such doubts did not come up in the excitement of such fortunate circumstances. Almost like a form of greed, Annie deliberated indulgently. She didn’t feel greedy or avaricious. She was just deeply and helplessly in love.

  The rest of the family sat about in the small front room, all except Danny who, as usual, was out seeing his Lily for whom these past four or five months he had forsaken all other girlfriends.

  On the sofa with its flowered loose covers, Josie leaned over towards Connie and whispered behind her hand. ‘You and Ben mightn’t have to save so hard for your wedding now. He might help you. You never know.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Connie whispered back fiercely and looked quickly at Ben lounging beside her. He was very much part of the family now with their wedding just four months away.

  Arrangements were already in hand, the date booked with St Clement’s church, the banns to be called as appropriate, the church hall booked too, for far too many guests were invited to cram into this house or his parents’ cramped third floor letting in Waterlow Buildings. All his family lived in and around Bethnal Green, some in Corfield Street, some in Wilmott Street, some in Three Colts Lane, and some on the other side of the arches in Tapp Street, a close-knit family, and a lot of them. They would come to Leigh in a body, making it a weekend holiday as they did for the engagement party last June. That was the last party they’d had, the usual one at Christmas foregone with everyone saving like mad to help with the cost of the wedding. She just hoped Ben hadn’t caught what Josie had just said, that was all.

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking him for any hand-out,’ she hissed.

  Josie shrugged, listening to congratulations flying around the room, and before jumping up to add hers, hissed back: ‘Well, I must say, it does look as though he’s going to be part of the family, doesn’t it?’

  These days she spoke very correctly, echoing the way the wealthy in London spoke, happy to risk ridicule from friends and family. She had been to London several times, with Arthur, who had taken her up the West End, proud to show it to her. Dressed in her very best, many a polished young man’s eyes had turned towards her, and she would flutter hers at him in apparent surprise at the unspoken compliment given her. All without Arthur noticing a thing.

  Nothing came of it, of course. No matter how fashionably she dressed, they saw at a glance she wasn’t of their class, especially when Arthur opened his mouth. Not that either of them could afford to ever step into those expensive nightclubs. But they could linger outside while the wealthy went in. Arthur would boast how used he was to seeing it all, and she would merely gape and wish; dream what it must be like inside, how it would feel to be on the arm of some handsome, filthy-rich escort. But it was only dreaming. There was occasionally the odd one or two in a group who was without a partner, who appreciatively glanced her way, but only briefly. All she could do was dream, ending up at the pictures or in some ordinary dance hall with Arthur.

  Worse, it had grown less easy to run up a dress such as the wealthy used to wear. The sleeveless, knee-length, drop-waisted dress that had been in vogue for nearly four years until it felt that it had come to stay, had gone. Suddenly, drastically, this very month hemlines had fallen to calf length, a dress once more following the body’s contour after years of shapeless little shifts with fringes and beads and sequins to round them off. Suddenly the line was slinky, bosoms that had once been flattened had come back in fashion, backs plunged to reveal naked flesh. Even hairstyles were changing to longer marcel-waved coiffures. It was not easy to afford such hair styles, nor such dresses, even made at home. Unable to copy the fashionable set at all, Josie’s dreams had become after all just the dreams of an ordinary girl hopelessly yearning for the unreachable.

  ‘To think’ Mum was saying, holding firmly now to Annie’s hand with both hers, ‘a few months back there was me despairing of you ever finding yourself a nice young man, much less a nice young man like Alex. Annie, I’m so pleased for you. And so proud. It was a real surprise. What’s his parents say?’

  ‘We … haven’t told them yet.’ Annie remained straight-faced before her mother’s joy. Her mother leaned away from her.

  ‘Well I’m sure they’re going to be pleased as us when you tell them. They’ll be thrilled he’s found himself a nice respectable girl like you. When are you going tell them?’

  Dad was calling Alex Mr Willoughby again. Annie turned on him, taking Alex’s arm possessively. ‘Dad, please call him Alex.’

  Dad cleared his throat, awkwardly fingering the collar and tie he had hastily donned when she and Alex had come in unannounced this evening from their day in London buying the gorgeous solitaire diamond ring – a huge great thing – to tell everyone their news. ‘Er … Alex.’

  The ring flashed and glinted in the cold light of the gas lamp above it as if it were under electric light. Those like Alex’s people already enjoyed electric light.

  Pam seated on a hard chair, a little removed from the rest, couldn’t take her eyes off it. Silly great ostentatious thing – Annie showing off with her posh boyfriend.

  What sort of engagement would she have? None at all, she felt. She still hadn’t summoned up courage enough to tell them about her condition. Four months – she’d start to show soon. Then what?

  Already she was having to evade awkward questions from Mum on not seeing any soiled towelling from her monthlies by saying she had been washing them out herself as her monthlies had not been very heavy and she had actually missed one occasion the month before last, then come on just a little this month for only three days.

  Her mother had looked rather concerned. ‘Shouldn’t be that light that they don’t need a boil now and again. You sure you’re not ill? Shouldn’t you go an’ see the doctor? Could be something wrong with you. Anyway, where are you drying ’em?’

  ‘I only need to use a couple or so. They just need a quick rinse. They usually dry overnight.’ It was a poor excuse, something her mother would eventually see through.

  ‘Well, I think you ought to go and see the doctor, Pam. It ain’t right.’

  So far, that was all that had happened. But soon Mum must or would know.

  Chapter Eight

  Saturday, the first day of March. Today Alex had promised to take Annie to introduce her to his family. Now he was saying it wasn’t possible as they’d be away at their country home in Berkshire.

  ‘Well, can’t we go there? Surely it’s not that far in your car.’ He had a new car, a Daimler ADR8, he told her; had got it for a song straight from the Austro-Daimler factory in Germany, because the stock market crash last year had affected the luxury car market badly. It was to be used for business as well, he’d said, so it wasn’t really his, but he used it as though it were.

  Two weeks ago life had felt wonderful. He had his car, she had a lovely engagement ring that cost as much, the times did not seem to be affecting him or his family too severely. While unemployment was growing worse all across the world, their family business appeared to be holding up without much trouble. Diamonds, or any gem for that matter, must be keeping their worth around the world so long as one avoided investing too heavily on the stock market. Alex said that his father had always been prudent, thus escaping last year’s disaster that had struck down so many.

  ‘Can’t we motor out to Berkshire to see them?’ Annie pleaded, the thrill of the luxury she was marrying into taking second place to her need to s
ee her future in-laws. It struck her as odd that here she was engaged to Alex yet so far hadn’t met any of his family. ‘I’ll have to meet them some time.’

  ‘You will.’ He put an arm around her as they strolled along Southend’s Prom in the pale March sunshine. ‘It’s just awkward at the moment.’

  A bolt of anger she wasn’t expecting flashed its way through Annie in a wave of heat. She pulled away from his arm.

  ‘How awkward is it, Alex? Why awkward?’ He was smiling at her, a sort of confused smile – confused and uncertain. Annie read its message instantly. ‘It’s me, isn’t it? You want me but you’re ashamed of me.’

  ‘Of course I’m not.’ There was still the silly grin marring his usually handsome face, his wonderful face. She wanted in a moment of impulse to wrench his ring from her finger, the huge wonderful ring she had been so proud to wear, and throw it in his face.

  ‘You are!’ she railed instead. ‘If I’m not good enough for your fine family, then how do you expect us ever to get married if you can’t even bring yourself to introduce me, this poor girl of working-class parents, to the sort of people you belong to? Why did you ever choose me?’ She was beginning to cry, her voice wavering, bereft of strength, taking on a tone of disbelief, of pleading. ‘You knew my people were nowhere like yours. Yet you made yourself known to me, knowing how it would end up. Selfish. Cruel and selfish. You thought only of yourself. You said to yourself, my God, she’s a good-looker, I’d like to get to know her. Who cares about the consequences?’

  ‘That wasn’t how it was.’ Now he too was angry. ‘All right, I was very attracted to you, Annie. But I fell in love with you too. From the very start. I loved you, Annie. It’s not my fault they expect me to find myself a girl of their sort. You’ll be marrying me … me, darling, not my family.’

  It was an old cliché, spoken at some time or another by all those in love as truth. But there were families involved and she stood in the middle, caught between it all. She would be the sacrificial lamb for his own needs. And he, of course he was in love with her, but if they parted, if she threw back his ring, he’d go back to his fine family, in time get over her, find himself a wife of their sort. And what would she be left with? Having known, though only for a short while, the luxury he had shown her, how could she go back to her own sort and find herself a man who must work for a living, take his wages each week and eke them out until the next pay day? She couldn’t. It was impossible. Annie felt herself dissolve.

  ‘Alex. Do you mean that? You mean you wouldn’t care what your family said? That you’d marry me no matter what they say?’

  Her body was leaning heavily against his. He guided her to a seat by the promenade that was vacant, sat her down and sat down beside her, his arm about her holding her to him.

  ‘Now listen to me.’ His voice was low and soothing, and held a note of command, melting her completely. This was why she loved him so; why she couldn’t imagine ever being without him, why she was so afraid of losing him. ‘I know it sounds old hat, the bit about marrying me not my family. But I mean it, with all my heart, darling. I will introduce you to them. What worries me is how you, not they, will take it – how you’ll take the way they might probably look at you. They might not. I don’t know. But I’m scared.’

  She looked up, her eyes faintly flushed from crying. ‘Scared?’

  ‘Not for me … well, yes, for me. In case you decide we can’t make a go of it. But for you too. I don’t want you hurt. Yet again they might be nice as pie about it all. I just don’t know. That’s why I’ve been holding fire.’

  ‘Well don’t,’ she told him. ‘It’ll make no difference whether you tell them now or later. But we can’t go on like this.’

  ‘Listen, I’ll speak to them, tell them about you and how strong our love is. I’ll tell them this very week. And no matter the outcome, we’ll never be parted.’ He bent and kissed her and all his love was in that kiss.

  It was all that had mattered, Annie kept telling herself, but three weeks had gone by and not a word from him, not a letter, not a telegram to say why he hadn’t got in touch. At first she merely thought something, some workload in his father’s company, had come up to keep him away, and had felt just a tiny bit annoyed that he hadn’t found time to let her know.

  Mum had asked where he was and she had fobbed her off by saying she had known about it and he couldn’t always be here at every turn, but he would come here next week or she go there to his people in London.

  ‘You’ve met his parents, then?’ Mum queried. ‘You never said. Are they nice people?’ Annie almost flinched.

  ‘Oh, yes … Nice. Not a bit stuck up.’ Lying, with its habit of needing to be embroidered upon, took hold in even more fabrication. ‘His dad is … really nice, though his mother’s a little reserved. But … but she kissed me. They really welcomed me.’

  ‘Oh, that is nice.’ Annie cringed from her mother’s trusting voice. ‘We might be meeting them soon, then, eh?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Her reply tersely cutting the cross-examination short before she was compelled to elaborate even further, Annie had made herself scarce. But she had neatly scuppered herself. Impossible now to confide her woe in her mother even if she had wanted to sink her pride. She sought Connie out instead.

  ‘I’m so miserable.’ Pride might prevent her confessing her white lie to Mum and gaining her sympathy, but Connie, always full of sympathy and understanding, was someone one could turn to at any time, and safely. Nothing said to Connie passed her lips. She’d listen with that intense look of concentration, thinking about what was told her, and could always be relied upon to come up with some comforting words even if she had no solution to the problem.

  ‘I don’t know what to do. It’s the third week I’ve not seen him. Until now we’ve seen each other every weekend since we first met. He always says he can hardly last the week without seeing me. There must be something wrong.’

  Connie reached out and touched her arm as they stood in the back yard in the dark. She had called them out to see the stars, the dark sky so clear they stood out like sequins. A dreamer was Connie, when she wasn’t looking on the dark side of things in connection with herself. With others she was all hope and reassurance.

  The family – that was Mum, Dad and Josie – Pam was out with friends and Danny out with girls or a girl – hurried back in out of the cold after indulging Connie in her star-gazing, so she and Annie stood alone. A chance arose for Annie to tell someone about her misery.

  ‘I thought he might write. I was going to write to him or telephone him from the box, but it looked silly then, running after him the second he didn’t turn up. I really thought I’d hear from him. Then when he didn’t come this weekend and sent no word, I wouldn’t let him see I missed him. But again this week. How can I write now, begging him? It’s all over. I know it is. The waiting’s been sheer hell, Connie. Whoever said no news is good news? If it had been good news, I’d have had a message from him by now, or he’d have come himself. He promised to convince his parents that nothing they said would part us. Obviously he hasn’t convinced them, has finally been persuaded that I’m not for him.’

  All the while she poured out her heart Connie’s hand was still on her arm, the touch light yet reassuring. ‘I think you might be jumping the gun a bit. It might be nothing like you’re imagining. Something’s just delayed him, that’s all.’

  ‘Yes.’ Annie heard the rasp of her own voice. ‘Cold feet.’

  Sure of it, while Connie and Ben went off to church and the rest of the family did what they most liked doing, lounging around the house, Annie took herself to Southend to be on her own and escape the inevitable awkward question from Mum on why she and Alex hadn’t seen each other this weekend. Despite a drizzle that had followed the clear night sky that Connie had dragged everyone out of doors to see, Annie spent the whole morning here summoning up her resources enough to come to a conclusion that it was indeed all over. She resolved that under no circumstances
would she be the one to get in touch. She had never begged in her life and wouldn’t do so now even though her heart was breaking. Her hands in the pockets of her raincoat, she finally turned and made her way back to the station and home. Lovely while it had lasted, she and Alex, but since he was a rich man’s son, made for disaster. She would put it all behind her. She wouldn’t write, wouldn’t beg, wouldn’t lower herself, her pride good as any the wealthy could summon up. Now she must tell her parents that it was all off. And that was the worst part of all.

  Lounging on the settee, Danny thought of last night. Lily lying under him, giggling, saying he knew how to make love all right and how marvellously strong he was, masterful. He had lapped it up. Well, any man would. Lily was the prettiest girl in the world, so slim, so pliable, and so ready for him.

  ‘Go on like this, love,’ he’d puffed, ‘and I’ll have to marry you.’

  ‘Ooh, yes, darling,’ she had found enough room between gasps of ecstasy to reply. ‘I want you to marry me.’

  It had been wonderful making love under the stars, on damp grass, and he had almost proposed. Only afterwards when he’d rolled off her, spent, was he glad he hadn’t. Not yet anyway. She’d be ideal for him. They were ideal for each other, but he still needed a little more freedom, just in case. In case of what? In case another girl came along? He loved Lily. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. But marriage … such a big step. Planning, a white wedding, church, reception, honeymoon … well, honeymoon was all right … people to invite, having to grin like a bloody Cheshire cat at them. God. Yet it was worth it to have Lily. What if someone else claimed her while he was dithering around? He sat up quickly. Tonight he’d start the ball rolling when he saw her. Mention it, seriously. Lily would jump at it.

  A knock at the door and his mother’s voice as she opened it made him sit up hastily, check that his fly was buttoned, his shirt, collarless though it was, at least done up to the neck, that his dark curly hair wasn’t sticking up from contact with the settee. Too late to find his shoes upstairs.