The Saturday Girls

by Elizabeth Woodcraft

  As he stepped out of the dock Tap looked round. When he saw me, he winked. It was a sad wink, I thought. He wanted to show that what the lawyer had said about his mum was just any old rubbish. He hadn’t needed him to say that. But I was the only person he knew to wink at. And he didn’t even know me.

  ‘Lorna, you are a lucky girl,’ Sandra whispered to me, looking at Tap then back at me. I took a chance and beckoned to him to come and sit with us. He walked over and grinned at me. He looked as if he was near to tears.

  He took my hand. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he whispered.

  His hand was thin and bony and cold. Without thinking I covered it with my other hand and gently rubbed it. With his other hand he stroked my cheek. I wanted to kiss him. I think he wanted to kiss me.

  Sandra nudged me. They were calling Danny’s name. ‘Daniel Mulroney, Daniel Mulroney!’

  ‘Here we go,’ she said.

  ‘Daniel Mulroney! No reply,’ said the police officer with the clipboard.

  The chief magistrate leaned over to the man at the table in front of the Bench, the clerk of the court. I heard the word ‘warrant’.

  ‘He’s here,’ Sandra called.

  The chairman frowned. ‘Who said that?’ He looked round.

  ‘He’s here,’ Sandra said, less confidently. I nodded vaguely, which could have meant, ‘She’s right’, or, alternatively, ‘Fancy shouting in court!’

  ‘Could you try once more, officer, please?’

  The police officer left the court and we heard the cry, ‘Daniel James Mulroney!’ echo down the corridor.

  ‘He’s got to be here,’ Sandra murmured. ‘If he doesn’t turn up, I’ll kill him. I’ve taken a day off work because of him.’

  Then Danny sauntered in, laughing, as if he was in the middle of a good joke.

  ‘Stop smiling,’ Sandra hissed. He didn’t have a lawyer, so she had to tell him what to do.

  He was charged with forging four cheques belonging to Mrs Pamela Cook, his landlady. He’d nicked money from Cooky’s mum. That was terrible. And stupid. Had Sandra known? I looked at her. Her face was expressionless.

  The clerk of the court said, ‘How do you plead?’

  Danny said guilty.

  The chairman asked him if he had anything he wanted to say. Danny looked round the room and licked his lips. His head ducked forward. ‘They were charging me too much rent.’

  He got six months inside.

  Everyone stood up as the magistrates left the courtroom. Sandra gripped the bench in front of us. Tap slid along the seat and out of the door.

  CHAPTER 11

  Birthday Presents

  ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’ JUDITH SHOOK my arm but I wasn’t asleep. I’d been awake for ages. I struggled out of the sheet and sat up. This was going to be a great birthday for so many reasons. The Easter holidays had started. My stars in Woman’s Own had said, ‘Adventures of the heart will bring happiness. Money prospects are good’. And in the paper bag that Judith was holding out was the handbag I’d asked for, long and brown, with a big gold clasp and two handles. I’d seen an article about it in the Evening News and Judith had said she’d see what she could do.

  On the breakfast table was a small pile of presents. The straight shiny grey skirt from Mum and Dad I had chosen from Sandra’s mum’s catalogue. There was a book of plays by John Osborne from Dad, and a book about the Match Girls’ strike in 1888 that I had asked for.

  Dad said, ‘And there’s something else.’

  We all looked at him, including Mum.

  ‘Well, I don’t know if this is going to be a good birthday present because it will eat into your very important weekends, but Mr Wainwright said that from this weekend there will be a job for you in the Milk Bar.’

  ‘Really? That’s fab!’ The Milk Bar. The centre of town. ‘When, when can I start?’

  ‘It will be every Saturday, and sometimes in the school holidays. He said you could start on Saturday if you wanted, but I thought it might be a bit soon as you have other things to do.’ It was the Aldermaston march. ‘He said you can start the day after Easter Monday. And if you get on all right it will be permanent.’

  ‘That’s fantastic!’

  ‘How much is she going to get paid?’ Judith asked, obviously worried I might earn more than her.

  ‘It’s not a whole day,’ Dad said. ‘I think it’s about ten shillings, twelve and six perhaps.’

  I could hear showers of coins raining down from the sky. I would be rich. I would have different clothes for every night of the week if I wanted. ‘I must tell Sandra.’ I ran to the phone.

  She answered on the second ring. ‘Oh, it’s you. Happy Birthday.’ It could have been Danny calling her from prison. When I told her the news she said, ‘Does that mean I’ll have to start going to the Milk Bar again? It’ll be funny asking you for a strawberry milkshake.’

  ‘It’s not the whole day,’ I said. ‘I finish at half past two. So we can still go down the Orpheus in the afternoon.’

  ‘And now you’re earning, you can buy the drinks,’ she said. ‘What a great birthday present. See you later.’ Sandra was coming to tea.

  ‘What do you want tonight?’ Mum said, as she went out of the front door. We were allowed to choose our favourite meal on our birthdays. I didn’t have to tell her. ‘I’ll get some eggs on the way home from work. I think we’ve got enough potatoes for the chips.’

  Judith said, ‘Do you like the bag?’

  ‘It’s fab,’ I said. ‘Do you want to come down the town with me and show it off?’

  ‘I’m going round to James’s,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you go with Sandra?’

  ‘She’s at work.’

  The whole birthday stretched ahead of me. I wondered what to do till the delight of fried egg and chips at teatime.

  *

  Sylvie answered the door quickly. She looked lovely, in a straight emerald-green shift dress that came down to her knees, and her black high heels. ‘Hello, Linda. What are you doing here?’ she said.

  ‘It’s my birthday,’ I said.

  ‘Happy Birthday!’ she said. ‘You should have told me.’

  ‘Didn’t I?’ I hadn’t told her because I hadn’t seen her.

  ‘So what are you going to do on your special day?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got to be in town a bit later, why don’t we go in now? Do some window shopping, drop in to the library. We could have a birthday cup of coffee. You can tell me all about your poetry recitation.’

  I looked at her. ‘There’s not much to tell. What about Mansell?’

  ‘He’s in the shop with Mum. I’ve got the day off.’ She smiled.

  ‘Does that mean I ought to go and take him for a walk?’

  ‘Oh, no!’ she said. ‘Mr Roberts is on holiday. They’ve all gone to Butlin’s. So Mum’s safe, and anyway, it’s your birthday! Is that a new outfit? It’s lovely.’

  I smiled down at the new skirt. ‘Yes. Thank you. And you look nice,’ I said, generously.

  ‘Thank you, Linda. Coming from you that means a lot. I know you have very high standards.’

  I made a face at her.

  ‘I mean it!’ she said. ‘Just give me a minute to powder my nose.’ She ran upstairs.

  On the bus she asked me how I was getting on with The Second Sex.

  ‘Well, I liked the bit about housework. How it’s a tyranny.’

  ‘Exactly!’ she said, and clapped her hands.

  I knew she’d be pleased I’d read that part. ‘I tried telling my mum.’ Mum hadn’t been impressed. She’d said, ‘Yes, housework is a filthy job. Unfortunately it’s a necessary job. And sometimes that job falls to you.’

  ‘What I thought was so . . . inspiring about the book,’ Sylvie said, ‘was how she absolutely puts her finger on what is wrong with our lives, we as women, I mean. Marriage is just a way of keeping women in their place through motherhood.’ She was speaking too loudly and people were looki
ng. ‘I mean, motherhood is OK, of course, but how it ties women down, how they are seen as mothers and only that. That’s how people see me, isn’t it? And a bad mother at that.’

  I looked at her. She was right. People saw nothing about her except that she’d had an illegitimate child. The people who were staring now, who were judging her, that’s all they saw. They didn’t see the Sylvie I knew.

  ‘Whereas you,’ she went on, ‘you will be more than that. And by the time it comes for you to have children the world will be a very different place.’

  I had never really thought about having children; getting married, yes, talking it over with Sandra, planning the day. But not children. I wouldn’t like to think that having children changed me as a person, or changed how people saw me.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts,’ Sylvie said.

  I smiled and shook my head.

  ‘Where shall we go for our coffee?’ she said. ‘Shall we pop into the Milk Bar?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ I said. ‘I’m going to start work in there soon.’

  ‘You got the job!’ she said. ‘Hooray! Linda, that’s marvellous. You can show me round.’

  ‘No!’ I said. ‘I don’t want to go in till I start.’ What if they didn’t like me? I didn’t want people to see that happen.

  ‘Ah, quite right,’ she said. ‘Save all the embarrassing meetings till you actually work there.’ I did like that about her, that she understood.

  We went to the Amber Tea Bar near the cathedral. Sylvie ordered us both a strawberry milkshake.

  ‘Are these milkshakes as good as Wainwright’s?’ she said.

  I took a long, thoughtful suck on my straw. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘That’s what we want to hear,’ she said. ‘You will be working in the emporium that serves the best milkshakes in town. And because it’s your birthday, how about a bit more of our story while we are enjoying the second-best milkshakes in Chelmsford?’

  ‘OK,’ I said. The fact that she wanted to tell me the story and I hadn’t even asked her made me feel that we were almost friends.

  ‘Are you sitting comfortably?’ she asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘Then I’ll begin.’ She sat up straight and pushed her empty glass to one side.

  *

  I stood in front of the mirror in the small wardrobe in the bedroom, sighing. I was desperate. How could I be glamorous for a casino? The skirt I was wearing was made from an old dress of my mother’s. It wasn’t bad, cotton with a contemporary design, and it was clean, but it was hardly glamorous.

  ‘Here.’ Janet tied the ends of my blouse into a bow at the front, so that it looked more fun.

  ‘I look like a harlot.’

  ‘You look fabulous,’ Janet drawled in an American accent. She was staying in to wash her hair.

  I ran down the stairs.

  We were meeting in the Queen’s Head at the end of the road. I looked through the window of the pub and saw them standing at the bar. Bob was wearing a shirt and tie, carrying a jacket hooked over his shoulder. He looked splendid and mysterious and like no one I had ever known. I stepped up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder – he was at least four inches taller than me – and he spun round. He hesitated and I had a pang of anguish – was he disappointed in me? Then he smiled and put his arm round my shoulders.

  His friend Gary murmured something and laughed. Bob pulled me towards him and rubbed his fingers up my neck. It made me shiver. They ordered me a beer, because that’s what they were drinking, though Bob complained it wasn’t cold enough.

  ‘It’s beer,’ I said. ‘What do you expect?’

  Gary seemed disappointed that Janet hadn’t come, and said he would go to the pier to see what there was to see. ‘You kids have fun now,’ he said, putting his empty glass on the bar.

  The air was hot as Bob and I walked through the streets. He held my hand and told me about his day with Gary, swimming, walking and finding themselves participating in a football game. He called it soccer. ‘I didn’t know the rules, but apparently I scored three goals,’ he said, ‘and a couple of bruises.’ We seemed to be walking for ages, passing through alleys, round dark corners. We had almost left the town when we came to a high wall with two large wrought iron gates. Through them I could see a drive and small lamps guiding the way up to an enormous house. I was wide-eyed with excitement. Bob rang a bell and a man in a commissionaire’s uniform, all gold braid and buttons, stepped forward and ushered us in. The front door of the house was suddenly flung open and the light was dazzling. Two chandeliers hung down low from the ceiling. Again I was conscious of the odd material of my skirt and the silly knot in my blouse. I stepped over the threshold like a timid mouse, clutching my handbag in front of me with both hands like a shield, trying not to care.

  Bob exchanged some money for plastic chips and guided me towards another room where it was dark, just a few lights hanging low over gaming tables, so now nobody would see the wretched skirt. At first he did nothing, moving from game to game, watching. People milled around us. It was another world. It was so exciting. My cheeks were throbbing with heat. He came up behind me and stood very close, then he breathed in my ear, ‘When’s your birthday?’

  ‘The fourteenth of October.’

  He reached forward and put a small pile of chips on square number fourteen. The wheel spun round, the ball clattering.

  ‘Rien ne va plus.’

  I leaned closer to him, all the time trying to focus on the wheel and to keep sight of the ball as it whirred round. It shuddered to a halt on fourteen. Chips were pushed towards him. He played again and again, so calmly, bending forward, putting down the chips, standing quietly. But his sweat changed, I could smell it, through the soap, as though his body was tense, even if he wasn’t showing it.

  Without looking at me he said, ‘Here. Try your hand with these,’ and he gave me four chips.

  I was in a casino with a beautiful man and I had chips to play with. I put them on two squares and six chips were pushed back towards me. It was wonderful and I clapped my hands with joy. He laughed at me. And then, of course, I immediately lost them all. He squeezed my hand and said, ‘Don’t worry, honey, I’ll win for both of us.’

  And he did. He won a lot more. He relaxed, his shoulders loosened. We strolled back over to the cashier and he exchanged chips for wads of paper money.

  ‘You’ve brought me luck,’ he said. He peeled off notes. One pound, two, three, ten, twenty pounds. ‘Here you go.’ He gave me a huge grin. ‘Buy yourself something beautiful to wear. Tomorrow’ – he looked at his watch – ‘no, tonight! we’ll come back and play again.’

  It was two in the morning. The streets were empty and there was a chill in the air. He took off his jacket and draped it round my shoulders. The notes were almost throbbing in my handbag. I’d never had so much money in my life before.

  The boarding house was in darkness as I slid the key into the lock. As the door swung open he whispered, ‘Are you thirsty? Why don’t you come to my room, for an orange juice?’ Oh, he was such a charmer!

  ‘What about Gary?’ I murmured.

  ‘He’s a big boy, he’ll find himself a place to stay for the night.’

  I looked at him and he stroked a strand of hair from my face. He seemed almost sad. He was an airman, far from home. He could go off to war at any moment and never come back. ‘All right then,’ I said.

  The door to his room clicked shut behind us. He didn’t switch on the light . . . He was very gentle, asking about the sunburn on my back, as he slipped the top from my shoulders. Then he said all those soft American words. ‘Honey’, ‘baby’, ‘crazy’.

  *

  Sylvie fell silent. She had almost forgotten I was there. ‘Do you know what he asked me? He asked me if it was my first time. I think he was really worried. I said no, because I didn’t want him to think I was just a silly girl. But it wasn’t true. It was my first time. I don’t know if he believed me. He looked at me seriously and said, “You
are so sweet. Thank you.” And I looked at his beautiful face, and his soft lips and the creases round his eyes when he smiled, and I thought, I should be thanking you!’

  *

  She laughed.

  ‘So, then what happened?’ I said. I wanted her to move on, get out of the bedroom. It was too embarrassing.

  ‘Ah, well, the next part – perhaps that isn’t quite a birthday story. Whereas today is your special day,’ she said. ‘How lovely to be young.’ She rummaged in her bag. ‘Just a moment.’ She rummaged some more, then handed me a small white paper bag folded in half.

  I opened it. It was a hanky, fine white cotton with deep red roses embroidered in the corner.

  ‘It’s from a set my grandmother gave me when I was about your age.’

  It was so pretty and so soft. I loved it. ‘Are you sure?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, I’ve had it for ages in the back of my dressing-table drawer. I never use it. It’s much more appropriate for someone of your age.’

  I folded the handkerchief carefully back into the bag. ‘If you could go back, would you have done things differently?’ I said.

  ‘Hmm, good question . . .’ Thoughtfully, she wiped the straw round the inside of her glass. ‘Am I allowed to change everything? I’d like to have had an ordinary life. Because if I could have, I would certainly have chosen a different family.’

  ‘But your mum’s nice, isn’t she?’

  ‘Oh, my mum’s not so bad,’ Sylvie said. ‘It’s her brothers. In particular, my Uncle Peter, who lives too close.’ I knew he and his wife Rita lived in the same road as Sylvie. ‘Ironically, they’re the reason we moved here, all the way from Braintree.’ She licked her straw. ‘My grandmother’s not much better, even though she once gave me that lovely hanky.’

  ‘What’s wrong with them?’ I asked. Sandra’s mum had said the rest of the Weston family were low life and gave our estate a bad name.

  ‘Let’s say they don’t understand me.’ Sylvie gave a small laugh. ‘There’s nothing wrong with Rita, she’s got a good heart, but Peter thinks he has to act as my father, as well as drinking rather too much and therefore finding it difficult to hold down a job. The others still live over in Braintree, which is good, but unfortunately not far enough.’ She sighed. ‘They just don’t like me.’