The Saturday Girls

by Elizabeth Woodcraft

  ‘Like where?’

  ‘I don’t know, at work, shopping, Gretna Green?’

  ‘Och aye the noo. Actually I do.’

  My throat ached.

  ‘I’m going to confession. I thought I’d come and see you before I go. Can you keep this?’ She held up the carrier bag. ‘Actually, can you keep it till I go?’ She winked at me again. It was as if I didn’t know her.

  ‘I can’t leave the counter,’ I said. I didn’t want to touch the bag. I could see other bags inside it. I didn’t want to know what was in them, or take them home. I didn’t want any part of this. But I did want to know what she’d bought. I wanted to see her holding up each item and saying, ‘What do you think?’ I wanted her to share it with me, not just dump me with it.

  Elsie was behind me, reaching for a Chelsea bun on the shelf. ‘Do you want to leave that?’ she said to Sandra. ‘Here, give it to me. I know little Linda’s a delicate flower. She’d probably drop it in the teapot. I’ll put it up behind the expresso machine.’ She smiled at Sandra and leaned past me to take the bag.

  ‘And this.’ Sandra held up a small brown suitcase. ‘I got it in the market. It was really cheap.’

  ‘Ooh, someone’s going on holiday,’ Elsie said, taking the suitcase. But she didn’t ask any questions and I knew she wouldn’t make any comments, whatever she was thinking.

  ‘What is it?’ I said to Sandra, as we watched Elsie tuck the bag and the case behind her stool.

  ‘It’s my trousseau.’

  ‘I know that, but what?’

  ‘Trousseau things.’

  ‘Are you really going to elope? Whose idea was it?’ I put the milk in front of her.

  ‘I don’t know. I mean, it came out of the blue. I hadn’t said anything about getting married.’ She handed me sixpence. ‘It was him. I was just telling him about the parcel and how we hadn’t opened it but I had an idea what was in it.’

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know, I just said that. But that was why I didn’t want to bring it with me. Then I told him how my dad called me downstairs and had a go, and I made it sound like it was all about the parcels, and my dad was probably about to call the police, and he said, and these are his precise words, he said, “You don’t have to put up with that, Sandra. You don’t.”

  ‘And I said, “What choice have I got?”

  ‘And he said, “Live somewhere else.”

  ‘And I said, “Yeah, where?”

  ‘And he said, “With me.”

  ‘And I said, “Is that a proposal?”

  ‘And he said, “Yeah. Yes, Sandra, it is.” And he got down on one knee, if you must know – in the middle of Snows! – and he said . . .’ She couldn’t stop herself smiling. ‘He said, “Sandy darling, be mine.” And then he burst out laughing. And I said, “Do you mean that?” And he said, “Yes.” And he said, “Let’s go out and get the ring”, but of course, it was after five o’clock, nothing was going to be open, which he’d probably worked out. I wanted to dash off there and then, and break into Walker’s and grab a selection, ’cos knowing him, he could change his mind. But I said, “What about your ring?” And he said, “Oh yeah.” And he was fumbling about in his pockets, looking for it, all panicked. He thought he’d lost it.’

  Or that he’d given it to someone else, I didn’t say.

  ‘So I put him out of his misery. I took off my chain and gave him the ring and he put it on my finger and he said, ‘We’ll get you a new one as soon as the shops are open. Then we’ll just go and do it.’ And then he kissed me. When I got home everyone was still bawling and shouting about the shame I’d brought on our family, Marie saying it was going to ruin her chances; and I still had to make the tea, and I thought, I’m just a slave. They think they’ve got me where they want me but that’s all they know. And I went out this morning and bought this.’ She pulled a small box out of her handbag. I was wiping the counter round her glass, trying to look busy. She prised open the box. Inside was the wedding ring we’d both been gazing at for months, a thick band of fine rose-tinted gold that would look lovely on anyone’s hand.

  ‘There was no point wasting money on another engagement ring. And he wasn’t at the bus station this morning anyway, so I just went straight down to Walker’s and got it. If he doesn’t like it, that’s too bad. He’s got to go through with it now.’

  I hesitated. ‘So what did he actually say about the parcels?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘And you’ve still got the one that nearly got me arrested!’

  ‘But you didn’t get arrested. It’s all right. It’s going to be my wedding present to him. At least we’ll have one wedding present to open.’

  I looked at her. How could it be a wedding present? It was stolen goods, contraband; a rare painting folded up small, or an ancient Egyptian manuscript. ‘But we could all get into so much trouble.’

  ‘Not you. You took the wrapping away with your name on. And he said there won’t be any more. So it’s nothing to do with you now.’

  I wasn’t so sure. ‘And once you’re actually married, where exactly are you going to live?’

  ‘Somewhere. He’s got plans. And if he doesn’t do something, I will.’

  ‘What about Cooky?’

  ‘Cooky? That was never going to be anything.’ She shuffled on the stool. ‘Roll on Monday.’

  ‘Monday! You’re going on Monday?’

  ‘I wish it was tomorrow.’

  ‘Is Danny really, really serious?’ I said.

  ‘We’ll just have to see.’

  She grinned. Perhaps it didn’t matter what happened. She was so happy now. She slipped off the stool and out of the door.

  *

  ‘So are you going to the pictures with Ray?’ Val was sweeping the floor. It was the end of the day.

  I was collecting cups. ‘I might as well. I haven’t got anything else to do.’

  ‘But I mean it, if you don’t want him, I’ll take him off your hands.’

  No you won’t, I thought. ‘I’ll let you know,’ I said.

  I trailed home with Sandra’s bags. As I walked up Sperry Drive I realised there was something I should have done before I came home. I was her best friend and in spite of everything, the least I could do was buy them a proper wedding present, something other than the so-called wedding present she’d already got, which would be awful to open on your wedding day, whatever it was. It had to be today, because tomorrow was Sunday and then nothing would be open at all. I considered the shops on our parade and what I could buy there. Baker’s? Nothing. Off-licence? Absolutely not. Sweet shop? Chocolate? Three sixpenny bars of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk, please. No. The grocer’s? Mrs Brady, do you have anything suitable for a wedding present? What do you think your daughter would like? Oh, whoops, I wasn’t meant to say. I don’t think she’d have much use for a Betty Crocker cake mix, anyway. Greengrocer’s? Apples? Fish shop? Yes, a couple of pickled eggs please, wrapped in your finest newspaper. The hardware shop. Maybe.

  I went into the hardware shop. I looked around hopelessly. I didn’t really know what a wedding present should be. I could hardly buy her a watering can or a tin of Ajax. Candles were too cheap. A hairdryer was too expensive. A set of spanners might be useful, but Danny would probably use them on a job. Quickly, before someone I knew came into the shop and asked questions, I chose a torch. ‘They take two batteries,’ Mr Lambert, the manager, said. ‘I’ll put them in if you like.’

  I watched him. ‘Have you got any wedding paper?’ I asked.

  He looked at me strangely, looked at the suitcase and the overflowing carrier bag. ‘We don’t sell that here.’

  I left the bag and the case in the shed, tucked behind the bikes, while we had tea. When everyone was watching the boisterous opening number of the Billy Cotton Band Show I ran out and dragged them upstairs. For once I was pleased that he shouted, ‘Wakey wakey!’ so loudly. Judith came into the bedroom as I was trying to close the wardrobe door. ‘Runni
ng away from home?’ she said.

  ‘When I’ve saved up enough.’

  ‘I could you lend you some money,’ she said.

  *

  I looked at my watch. No sign of Ray. I felt a sting of worry. Perhaps he’d gone to the pictures with Val. I should have been clearer. It would have been good to think about something other than elopements and parcels. I went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. ‘Anyone want a drink?’ I shouted.

  No one replied.

  I was listening to the hiss of the coffee powder dissolving in the boiling water when there was a knock on the door.

  Ray! Thank goodness. ‘At last,’ I smiled, opening the door.

  But it wasn’t Ray. It was Sandra. ‘I’ve come to pack,’ she whispered. ‘I’m meant to be delivering a pair of shoes from my mum’s catalogue to someone in the flats. I can’t stay long.’

  I stared at her in silence. She looked like a stranger, a strange rocker. She’d obviously been to the hairdresser, but this was much more extreme than when we went to Wormwood Scrubs. Her hair was standing out round her head in a tawny beehive like the girls in the Long Bar. She looked like Barbara.

  We crept up to my bedroom. She was so excited, she couldn’t stand still. She kept walking over to the dressing table and smiling at herself in the mirror.

  I heaved the case and the carrier bag out of the wardrobe.

  At the sight of the bags Sandra’s face lit up. She explained her plan. She would pack the case from the things in the carrier bag, leave all the empty bags in the back of our wardrobe and hide the case out in the shed, where she would come round for it on Monday morning before anyone was awake.

  ‘What are they going to say when you don’t come home from work?’

  She put the case on my bed and opened it. ‘I’ve told them I’m going to Halina’s for a couple of days because her mum’s not well and she has to get up in the night with her. Silver End’s far enough.’

  ‘And they believed you?’

  ‘Oh, her mum sent a letter! All in weak, wobbly writing. Which I wrote because she’s so ill. They don’t know that. And Halina rang from a phone box and spoke to my mum. Halina hasn’t got a phone, so they can’t check. She hasn’t got a mum, actually, not an ill one, anyway. They’re just pleased that I’ll be out of town, out of trouble. It’ll give us a day or so.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then it’ll be too late.’ She danced over to the dressing table, singing, ‘Here comes the bride’. She puckered her lips at herself in the mirror and murmured, ‘Gorgeous.’

  ‘So what happens after you pick up the case from our shed?’ It didn’t seem a very romantic way to start a wedding.

  ‘Then I catch a bus down to the railway station. If he’s not there, I’ll meet him at Liverpool Street.’

  ‘He isn’t even going to London with you? You’re eloping. He’s meant to be carrying you off.’

  ‘He might. He probably will. He said the problem is that someone might see us together, and try to stop us. Anyway, he’s going out tonight to see who’s saying what in the town. Although the only people who might remotely care about us going are my mum and dad, and I don’t think that’s very likely. In fact they probably paid him to ask me, to take me off their hands.’

  I remembered the part of the big argument when Mrs Brady had said they should have put Sandra in a home. They’d been saying that to her ever since I could remember. Did they really wish she was in a home, or at least not in their home? Or perhaps it was just something people said. Not that anyone ever said it in our house. ‘All right, so you get to London, then what?’

  ‘He’s booked us into a hotel. A hotel! If he’s not at Liverpool Street Station, he’ll come and meet me there. It’s near Petticoat Lane. I could do a bit more shopping for the trousseau. I need a new jacket, really. Ooh, I could get a hat. With a veil!’ She moved her shoulders at her reflection.

  ‘After the hotel, then what?’

  ‘We catch the train to Scotland.’

  ‘What time’s the train?’

  ‘I don’t know. Shut up. He’s arranging the London part. I just have to get up to Liverpool Street. We didn’t have that much time to go into all the details.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t come?’

  ‘He’ll come. I know he’ll come. I’ve got the parcel, for one thing. And he gave me twenty quid to buy all this lot. And for Danny, that’s as good as getting married just by itself. Anyway, I don’t care. I’m eloping. And if he doesn’t come, I’ll elope on my own.’ She lifted her chin at herself.

  ‘What are you wearing for the actual ceremony?’ I said. I had a good idea, because I’d looked in the bag on the bus home, but I wanted her to show me so we could talk about it.

  A large pale pink carrier bag bore the name of the exclusive dress shop in Baddow Road. Tissue paper gave an expensive rustle as Sandra pulled out the dress. It was Nottingham lace, cream and fitted with darts at the waistline. I was so jealous. We both loved Nottingham lace. ‘And I’ve got these shoes.’ She wrestled with the box in a Dolcis bag and drew out a pair of beige quilted leather slingbacks. They had chisel toes and Louis heels. We’d been looking at them in the Dolcis window for weeks.

  ‘You’re so lucky,’ I said.

  ‘I know,’ she whispered. Carefully she laid the shoes in the new suitcase. ‘And . . .’ She pulled a Bond’s bag from under her coat. ‘I mustn’t forget to take this.’ She took out a package wrapped in pale blue paper covered in silver horseshoes. ‘My wedding present to him. Looks better like this, doesn’t it?’ She delved into the carrier bag again. One by one she threw some light, crackling packets onto the bed. ‘A new girdle, three new pairs of stockings and – ta-da!’ She pulled out something gauzy and flimsy. ‘Some sexy baby doll pyjamas.’

  They were pink nylon. I didn’t want to look at them. Not because I was jealous, but because I just didn’t want to hear about sex. Somehow it was always there. Cooky wanting to know how I felt about sex before marriage; Tap asking me how old I was; Trevor talking about Soho. Even Ray, looking at me so intensely. I wanted to know but I didn’t.

  ‘Don’t make that face. It’s no big deal. I might as well tell you, we’ve already done it.’

  That was shocking. ‘When?’

  ‘Oh, ages ago.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell me?’ I knew it!

  ‘There wasn’t much to say.’

  ‘Where was I?’

  ‘I dunno. Looking after your suicidal friend Sylvie or something.’

  ‘Don’t. But is that why you’re marrying him? Because you’re . . .?’

  ‘In the club? No. Well, I’d better not be.’

  ‘What was it like?’ I said.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Did it hurt?’

  ‘A bit. I don’t know what all the fuss is about. Especially if you haven’t got anywhere nice to do it. The back of a car isn’t exactly Buckingham Palace, I can tell you.’

  ‘You did it in a car? Not Cooky’s?’

  ‘No! Danny gets cars. But if it had been Buckingham Palace I might still have had trouble.’

  ‘Yeah, you might have had to marry Prince Charles.’

  ‘But then you could have been my bridesmaid in a big fancy dress and held my train and caught my bouquet.’

  ‘Oh, can’t I come and be your bridesmaid?’ Tears suddenly welled in my eyes.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ she said, folding the baby doll pyjamas with precision. Carefully she pressed them into the case. Without looking at me she said, ‘I wish you could, too, but we couldn’t afford the train fare.’ She closed the lid. ‘Let’s take the case downstairs before they notice I’m not back and start suspecting the worst.’

  We concealed the bulging case under an old sheet in the shed. Danny’s parcel was back at our house. I tried to tell myself that if it was in the shed it was not my fault. Anyone could have put it there.

  I walked her to the gate. We didn’t say anything about what would happen in th
e next few days. I just said, ‘Here.’ I gave her the torch that I’d wrapped in Christmas paper. ‘It’s another wedding present,’ I said.

  ‘I’m so scared,’ she whispered.

  ‘Don’t go,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve got to.’

  ‘Stay there a moment.’ I ran back into the house and up the stairs. I pulled open the top drawer of my dressing table. Under my best petticoat was a box that held my jewellery. In the box, underneath the bangles and brooches I’d had for years, was a small bundle of money, my carefully saved wages, ready for our next trip to London, ready to exchange for some wonderful mod clothes, ready to change my life.

  I ran back out into the garden, where Sandra was hopping from one foot to the other, anxiously looking up and down the street. ‘Here.’ I crushed the notes into her hand. ‘Take this. Hide it in your shoe or in your washing bag. Don’t tell Danny. This is for you.’

  She gazed at the fifteen pounds. ‘But what about that dress you wanted? Those shoes?’

  ‘I’ve still got some left,’ I said. I had twelve shillings and sixpence. ‘I’ll earn some more.’

  We looked at each other.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said.

  ‘Good luck,’ I whispered.

  CHAPTER 23

  Confessions

  I HAD NO CONTACT WITH SANDRA on Sunday, not a note, not a phone call. I watched from the window in case she went to post a letter. Nothing.

  And now it was Monday morning. When I had shaken the tablecloth outside the back door after breakfast, I looked in the shed. The suitcase had disappeared. All trace of her elopement was gone, and so was the parcel. I could stop worrying about being arrested in the night. I could start to worry about the elopement. She must have come really early. I wondered if she’d caught the bus at the top of the road, or walked down Sperry Drive to the Main Road. I wondered how often she’d had to put the case down, how often she’d swapped hands.

  The summer holidays stretched out endlessly, emptily, before me. What was I going to do without her?

  I was going to work.

  But at half past three I was back on the estate with nothing to do. Perhaps I could take Mansell out. If I was lucky they might even pay me. Mrs Weston was busy serving as I went over to the pram. Mansell grinned at me and said, ‘Mama.’