The Saturday Girls

by Elizabeth Woodcraft

  Judith walked in. ‘Come on, just because you’ve finished your exams, we still have to go to school.’ She was hoping to be a prefect so she was practising bossing me about. ‘What’s wrong? What’s that?’

  ‘Nothing! It’s Sandra’s.’ I felt guilty immediately.

  ‘Is it her birthday?’

  ‘No, it’s . . . it’s something I borrowed. I’ve got to take it back to her.’

  ‘We’re going in five minutes,’ Judith said.

  I shoved the package under the bedclothes with my nightdress.

  *

  After tea I knocked on their back door. ‘She’s up in their room,’ her mum said.

  I ran upstairs. Sandra was combing her hair, switching the parting from side to side. ‘Did you give him the parcel?’ I said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Did he tell you what it was?’

  ‘No, but he was very, very pleased to get it. Why?’

  Suddenly I was furious. ‘Another one’s come!’ I took the parcel out of my bag and threw it on her bed.

  ‘Oooh.’ She picked it up. ‘Oooh. This is good.’

  ‘No it’s not,’ I shouted.

  ‘Shhh!’

  ‘It’s terrifying. You’ve got to stop him. Even if you don’t care about your future, I care about mine.’

  She picked the parcel up. ‘This one he’s going to have to bargain for. He’s going to have to make me an offer. He’ll have to, let’s say, propose. And then perhaps I’ll give it to him as an engagement present.’

  ‘Isn’t that called blackmail?’

  ‘No,’ Sandra said, ‘this is life. I want him, he wants this. Everybody wants, everybody gets.’

  ‘But it must be something illegal. What if someone finds out?’

  ‘How? Have you said anything to anyone?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘No one will know. And once I make my bargain with Danny, he gets the parcel and we’ll be in the clear.’

  ‘I’d rather we were in the clear now.’

  She was smiling. She looked happy. ‘It will all be fine. A wife can’t give evidence against her husband.’

  ‘But how does that protect me?’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with you now. Forget it. It’s all over.’

  ‘Sandra!’ It was her dad, shouting up the stairs.

  We exchanged a look. What could he want? ‘Quick, give me that other bit of paper, the top bit!’ Sandra said. Roughly she rewrapped the parcel and thrust it under her pillow.

  ‘Sandra!’ Her dad sounded angry. ‘Get down here!’

  ‘What? What?’ she whispered. ‘You don’t think he saw it, do you?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘He wasn’t in the kitchen.’

  ‘Sandra!’

  ‘Shall I come with you?’ I said.

  She shook her head and ran down the stairs. Five minutes later she raced back up. ‘I’ve got to tell you to go home.’

  ‘What? What’s happened?’

  ‘Someone saw me.’

  ‘Who? What?’

  ‘That stupid Uncle Peter of your friend Sylvie. When I took the parcel to Danny. He was outside the pub. He just told my dad. Apparently he said I was hanging about with criminals. Which is a laugh. He was the one who was as drunk as a skunk. He kept asking Danny for money.’

  Her dad’s voice reverberated up the stairs. ‘Sandra!’

  She slid back down the stairs. She started talking as she walked along the hall. ‘I wasn’t doing anything.’ The kitchen door closed and I couldn’t hear any more.

  But then the shouting began. There were arguments in Sandra’s house, I knew. Her mum and dad were always having a go. But this shouting was different.

  What were they saying? I crept down the stairs and hovered on the bottom step. I could run back up quickly enough.

  The words slut, criminal, cheap, in Mr Brady’s voice, ricocheted off the walls. Sandra murmured something and Mrs Brady wailed, ‘Stupid tart! We should have put you in a home. I told you, we should have put her in a home.’

  Mr Brady said, ‘You are not going out of this house again.’

  ‘Oh, and what about my job?’ Sandra shouted. ‘Do you want me to give up work? I can give up work if you like.’

  ‘That’s enough cheek. You’re not going out.’

  ‘You can’t tell me what to do,’ Sandra said. ‘I earn my own living. I pay my way.’

  ‘You think what you give your mother pays for everything? You’re very wrong.’

  ‘You can’t keep me in. What’s the point?’

  ‘We can keep you from making an exhibition of yourself. Bringing the family into disrepute, flinging yourself about like Sylvia Weston. What about your sister’s reputation? And your mother has to work in the shop.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve got to serve everyone on the estate. They’ll love that, talking and laughing behind my back.’

  ‘What about Linda? When am I going to see her?’

  I shrank back against the wall.

  ‘Linda! Christ knows what her mum would say if she knew who you were hanging about with,’ Mrs Brady said.

  The kitchen door burst open and I flew back up to the bedroom, followed by Sandra. She was crying as she stomped back into the room. ‘My dad’s going to meet me at dinner time and come home with me every night, and that’s the end of my life.’

  ‘Who are you talking to?’ Mr Brady’s voice came up the stairs. ‘Is Linda still here? I told you to tell her to go home! You won’t be seeing her for a while.’

  We looked at each other. Angry tears were in Sandra’s eyes. ‘I hate them,’ she said. ‘I hate them. I give them all my money, I cook the dinner, I don’t do anything wrong. Well, they’re not going to stop me seeing Danny. They’re not going to ruin my life.’

  ‘You’d better be getting off home now, Linda,’ Mr Brady called. His tone was gentler to me. ‘It’s time you went home.’

  I stood up.

  And then the phone rang.

  Sandra and I stared at each other in horror. We both ran for the stairs. But Mr Brady was there already. He picked up the receiver.

  ‘Sandra? No, you can’t. And if that’s one of her criminal friends,’ he said, ‘you can just drop dead.’ His Irish accent was more pronounced when he was angry. ‘Don’t get brazen with me, mister. No, I will not give her a message. She will not be meeting you tonight, or any night. And do not call here again.’ He slammed the receiver down.

  ‘You are just ignorant!’ Sandra called down the stairs. ‘That was my phone call. You can’t choose my friends.’

  ‘While you are living under my roof I can choose whatever I want. Come on, Linda.’ He beckoned to me. ‘It’s time for you to be off.’

  ‘I bet that was Danny!’ Sandra whispered to me. She looked at her dad. ‘I’m going out!’ she shouted.

  ‘If you think you’re going to meet the ratbag who was just on the phone, you’ve got another think coming.’

  ‘I’ve got to go out.’

  ‘If you leave, you don’t come back.’

  I could see Sandra weighing up the pros and cons. ‘You’ll have to go,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m going.’

  ‘No, to meet him.’

  ‘What, now? Sandra!’

  ‘Off you go, Linda,’ her dad said.

  Sandra looked at her watch. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Try the Clock House. That’s where he drinks now. Say I’ll see him on Friday night, straight after work. I do have to stay late sometimes on a Friday. My dad won’t wait for his tea, he’ll want to get straight home.’

  ‘Where? Where will you meet him?’

  ‘I don’t know. The bus station. I must be allowed to go to the bus station, unless they want me to walk home. Tell Danny I’ll see him in Snows.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I said.

  ‘Yes. Quick. Hurry.’ She ran into her bedroom and came back with the parcel. ‘And give him this.’ She thrust it into my hands.

  ‘What if h
e’s not there?’

  ‘He’ll be there.’

  The Clock House wasn’t far, just past the 1930s bungalows on the Main Road, on the edge of the estate. But somehow it seemed further and the parcel felt heavier and more dangerous than when I’d crossed the road to Sandra’s house an hour earlier. And what if he wasn’t there, what would I do with it? I’d just throw it away, anywhere, in someone’s dustbin.

  But he was there, sitting on a wall outside the pub, with a pint of beer in his hand.

  As I approached, Danny looked up. ‘Fancy seeing you here,’ he said. ‘Where’s Sandra?’

  ‘She’s at home.’

  ‘Really? I just had a very funny phone call with her dad.’

  ‘Well, you’ve only got yourself to blame.’ I sat down beside him. I gave him her message. Then I said, ‘I’ve got something for you.’

  ‘Thank Gawd,’ he said.

  I opened my bag and was pulling out the parcel when Danny stiffened. A plain dark saloon car was pulling into the pub car park. Two men got out; one wore a grey raincoat and the other was wearing a uniform, a police uniform. He flipped a peaked cap onto his head as he walked towards us. I crammed the parcel down into my bag and stood up. ‘I don’t care what her name is, she can have you!’ I shouted and pushed Danny so that he almost fell over the wall. ‘And don’t try and ring me up!’ Danny stared at me open-mouthed. I was breathing heavily. I hoped the police officers thought it was a lovers’ tiff.

  ‘All right then,’ Danny said, catching on.

  ‘Make sure you lock him up,’ I said to the policemen, hoping it sounded angry and meaningless, and I stalked away, praying they wouldn’t call me back. But I could hear Danny laughing. Laughing! I almost turned back and told them what I had in my bag, but I knew that could be dangerous. As I got to the corner I looked round. Danny was shaking his head, holding out his arms, opening his jacket as if he was asking to be searched.

  I heard one man say, ‘Lucky this time, Mulroney. But remember, we’re watching you.’ A car door slammed and then the car drove away.

  I walked straight to Sandra’s house. I knocked on the back door and Sandra opened it, with soapy washing-up hands. ‘What?’ she hissed. ‘Go away.’

  ‘My mum said I had to give you back the . . . cardigan you lent me. Here, she wrapped it up.’ I handed her the parcel, sliding off the top layer of paper. ‘I told her you wanted to . . . wear it on Friday.’

  We stared at each other and she closed the door.

  I walked home quickly and asked Mum if I could have a bath. I wanted to wash it all away: the package, Sandra’s mum and dad, the police.

  CHAPTER 22

  Sandra Takes Steps

  ON SATURDAY I WAS IN THE MILK BAR, making a banana milkshake, hooking the beaker onto the whisking machine, when Sandra came in.

  ‘Watcha,’ she said. She pulled a stool across and climbed onto it.

  I stared at her. She wasn’t meant to be here. I’d nearly got arrested because she wasn’t allowed out, and now she walked in as if everything was normal.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I said, reaching for a glass, keeping my eye on Mr Wainwright. ‘Do your mum and dad know?’

  ‘According to them I’m at work. We’re doing the annual stocktaking in our office at the moment. They don’t know I’m not part of it.’

  ‘Is everything all right?’ I went to unhook the milkshake beaker.

  ‘We’re getting married.’

  I stopped. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Danny and I are getting married.’

  ‘You mean, you’re engaged?’ The whisk kept turning.

  ‘No, I mean we’re getting married.’

  ‘Does he know?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘He’s asked you to marry him?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I hadn’t expected this. ‘When? When did all this happen?’

  ‘Last night. Don’t act surprised, you arranged it.’

  ‘I arranged a cup of coffee in Snows, not a wedding.’

  Mr Wainwright was looking at me. I unhooked the beaker, poured out a glassful of foaming pale yellow milk and took the glass and the beaker to the customer at the far end of the counter. I’d been handling stolen goods for a criminal and she was getting married. Married. We’d joked about it; yes, we’d made New Year’s Resolutions, but not really, not seriously, not Danny.

  I gave the customer her change and went to serve Sandra. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want to marry Danny.’

  ‘To drink.’

  ‘Oh, a glass of milk.’

  We’d run out of clean glasses. I stood at the dumb waiter for a tray of steaming hot glasses to arrive from Doris in the kitchen and Sandra dragged her stool along the floor to sit opposite me. She watched silently as I unloaded the tray.

  I stared her in the face. ‘Do you think he means it?’

  ‘He gave me this.’

  She stuck out her finger.

  ‘You had that before.’

  ‘Yes, but he’d forgotten I’d got it. This time it’s for – for real.’

  The ring was still too big. ‘I don’t understand. What does your mum say?’

  ‘She doesn’t know.’

  ‘You’re wearing the ring.’

  ‘I don’t wear it at home.’ She beckoned to me and I leaned towards her over the counter. ‘He said we could elope.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Run away, elope.’

  ‘Really? You’re going to elope?’

  ‘Shh! Yeah.’ She looked around carefully. ‘Why not? It’ll be a laugh.’

  No it won’t, I wanted to say. It’ll all go wrong. He is a criminal. Your mum and dad will disown you. I took a glass over to the milk machine. As I watched the milk bubbling into the glass, my stomach was churning. This was going too far. It was stupid. She was crazy. But even though I knew that, I felt alone and left behind. I slammed the glass down in front of her. Mr Wainwright was looking across at me. ‘That’ll be sixpence,’ I said.

  She paid me and gulped down her milk.

  ‘When’s all this meant to happen?’

  ‘Linda!’ Mr Wainwright called. ‘Customer!’

  ‘You’d better get back to work.’ Sandra slid off her stool. ‘Just don’t say a word.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to say. I don’t know anything. When will you tell me? I’m not supposed to talk to you, remember, because of your criminal friend Danny. Did he tell you the reason I didn’t give him the parcel was because the police came? The police. They searched him. They’re after him.’

  For a moment she looked worried.

  ‘You haven’t given it to him, have you?’ I said. ‘You’ve got to.’

  ‘It’ll be OK.’ She waved her hand, the engagement ring slipping round her finger. ‘And now I’ve got to go and buy my trousseau. Sorry, I mean, go back to work to finish the stocktaking.’ She winked at me.

  If this had been one of her usual mad Danny plans, I would have said something about stocking up on stockings and we’d have laughed and arranged to meet later in the lingerie department in Bond’s or Bolingbroke’s. But there was no time to joke, no time to enjoy the prospect of a wedding, to mull over the pros and cons of a negligée versus two nightdresses, a new girdle versus two suspender belts. She was going to buy her trousseau without me. Our trousseaux were something we’d always planned together, discussing the length of our petticoats, the need for a bedjacket, white bras or black, dark stockings or light. It would have been such fun. But she was going to do it on her own.

  If she was buying her trousseau today without waiting for me, it must mean she was planning something really imminent. I wanted to call after her. I wanted to tear off my overall and catch up with her and find out what was happening. But Mr Wainwright was still looking at me and I’d had my break at half past ten.

  I stared at her as she crossed the road towards the High Street. I hoped that wasn’t the bargain – the parcel for an elopement. S
he slipped into Bond’s. I wondered what she’d buy.

  *

  I was taking an egg sandwich out of the display cabinet when Ray came in. ‘Watcha,’ he said, grinning. ‘I’ve come for that drink you promised me.’

  ‘No, if I remember rightly, I didn’t,’ I said.

  ‘OK, you’re right.’ He looked at my face. ‘What’s the matter?’

  I wanted to tell someone; I felt full to the brim with it, but it was such a secret. I was afraid just thinking about it would somehow get back to Sandra’s mum and dad. I couldn’t smile. ‘What did you say you wanted?’

  ‘I didn’t, but I’ll have a tea.’ He settled himself onto a stool and drummed a tune on the counter. ‘Cheer up,’ he said. ‘It might never happen.’

  ‘I bet it does,’ I said.

  ‘Am I bothering you?’ he asked. ‘I could just go.’

  ‘No, no. I’m sorry, no. I don’t know. Everything’s funny today.’ I put his tea in front of him. ‘That’s fourpence.’

  Val came over and nudged me. She stretched her hand out to Ray across the counter. ‘I’m Val, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m very pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Likewise,’ he said, shaking her hand.

  ‘Linda!’ Mr Wainwright called. ‘Could you clear a few tables?’

  ‘Well, bye then,’ I said to Ray.

  ‘Do you want to go to the pictures tonight?’ he said. ‘I’m celebrating.’

  I looked at him blankly. ‘What is there to celebrate?’

  ‘I passed my test! We can go out on the scooter.’

  ‘Linda!’

  I shrugged.

  ‘If she doesn’t go with you, I will,’ Val said.

  ‘Right you are,’ he said.

  Unhappily I squeezed past Val. I picked up a damp dishcloth and walked over to the table by the stairs. When I finished clearing and wiping, he’d gone.

  *

  Sandra was holding a large cream carrier bag when she came back in. She settled herself on a stool. ‘Glass of milk, please,’ she said. ‘That’ll be my second one of the day. Do I get a discount for buying in bulk?’

  I looked at her. ‘Don’t you have to be somewhere?’