The Girls from Greenway

by Elizabeth Woodcraft

  Doreen began to cry. Mrs Evans put her arms round her. ‘What do you want to do?’ she said quietly.

  ‘I don’t want to stay here.’ Doreen’s mind was racing. She thought of the next twenty-one years looking after a child. That was a long time. But what else was there for her in life? This way, she’d have a baby. Perhaps she would go to Australia. Her mum would be there to help out. Perhaps she could persuade Angie to come too. They’d find a story that would explain everything. They’d say she’d adopted the child, say it was the child of a close relative, no one would know any different.

  ‘I’m not sure she’ll be able to fit you in another day,’ Mrs Evans said.

  ‘I’ll take the consequences.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m sure.’

  They walked to the front door.

  ‘Should we tell Mrs Clokes?’ Doreen said.

  ‘She’ll know what’s happened. She’s used to it. But are you really sure?’

  ‘I’m not sure about anything,’ Doreen said, ‘except I have to get out of here. Now.’

  They stepped into the cool fresh air. The sky was getting dark and a street lamp opposite the house was already glowing. Doreen took a deep breath. She had made a decision. One decision.

  She’d saved fifty pounds. That was something.

  ‘Well, between you and me,’ Mrs Evans spoke in a comforting tone, ‘I think she’d have said you were too far gone for her to do it safely. She’s very strict about that. She has to be, of course. Now, how about we go and buy a nice cake at Sally’s and go back to mine and have a real cup of tea? I saw this morning she’d got some fresh vanilla slices. Do you like a vanilla slice?’

  Doreen murmured that would be very nice. She wasn’t ready to go home. Mrs Evans kept talking about her favourite cakes. Doreen’s head was full of thoughts about what she had done, what she hadn’t done, and what she might do in the future, tomorrow, next week, next year . . .

  In the baker’s she chose a chocolate éclair, although she couldn’t imagine herself eating it.

  *

  Mrs Evans sat with Doreen in the neat sitting room. Doreen had eaten the chocolate éclair and most of a vanilla slice, when she heard a key in the lock. She knew who it would be. Only an adult would have a key, and the only adult who lived in this house apart from Mrs Evans was Cliff. What would he say? What would he think? She looked wildly round the room – if there was an open window, she could quite happily jump out of it now. There was nowhere to go. Too bad. She ran a finger under her eyes to catch any smeared mascara, and touched her hair.

  She heard Cliff go into the kitchen, she heard his voice in conversation with Mrs Evans. He said something and Mrs Evans laughed. His voice got louder as he left the kitchen and she held her breath but she heard him go upstairs. He wasn’t going to come into the sitting room.

  She went into the hall and Mrs Evans came out. ‘Feeling better?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ Doreen said. ‘I’d better get going.’

  They both glanced up the stairs.

  ‘Yes.’ Mrs Evans lowered her voice. ‘You know, I think you made the right choice. For some girls Mrs Clokes is the best way and I like to see them happier. But for you . . .’

  ‘Yes, well.’ Doreen tightened the belt on her mac. She couldn’t tighten it as much today as she had last week. ‘Thank you for everything. Thank you for taking the time.’

  ‘Of course, Doreen. It was no trouble. And as I say, anytime you want a chat, just let me know.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Doreen said. She opened the door and stepped into the street. She walked along the road wondering how her life was going to change. How all their lives were going to change. Was she mad? A child? How would she afford it? How would she look after it? How would she play with it?

  She was at the gate when a voice said, ‘Weren’t you even going to say hello?’

  It was Cliff.

  Without turning she said, ‘Obviously not.’

  ‘Or apologise?’

  She turned. ‘Apologise? What for?’ He looked so cool in his black jeans and grey shirt.

  ‘You ate the vanilla slice that I was going to have!’

  She laughed. That was something, he’d made her laugh, even today. ‘Did I? Sorry. It was very nice.’

  ‘Glad you liked it! So, you’re a friend of my old woman now, are you?’

  ‘We’ve got things in common,’ she said.

  ‘Want a cigarette?’ He took out a packet of Benson and Hedges.

  ‘I’m glad someone’s in the money.’ She took one from the packet.

  He struck a match and held it to her cigarette, holding his hand round hers to protect the flame. Then he lit his own. They stood in silence. ‘I hope my mum’s helped you out,’ he said.

  So he knew! She looked at him, he was examining his cigarette.

  ‘She’s a very kind woman,’ Doreen said. Tears pricked her eyes. ‘She did what she could.’

  ‘And you’re all right?’

  ‘I’m all right. Thanks for the cig.’ She opened the gate. ‘See you.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘See you.’ He flicked his cigarette into the air and they both watched the red glow as it soared and then fell to the ground.

  CHAPTER 32

  IT WAS SEVEN IN THE MORNING. Doreen walked into the front room where Angie was cutting mint-green material into dress pieces. Three piles of material, mint-green, pink and royal blue, sat on the sofa. Over the back of the sofa were three completed dresses. On the new table by the window sat the expensive sewing machine, threaded up with mint-green cotton.

  Angie looked up from the floor. ‘Where are you going all poshed up? We’ve got two dresses to make before we go to work.’

  ‘Ah, well, I can’t help you right now,’ Doreen said.

  ‘Oh, thanks a lot. This was your big idea, and now you’re running out on me.’

  ‘Mum and I are going to Australia House, to sort out our passage. You don’t need me,’ Doreen said. ‘You know that. You’re the creative one, you do all the designing. I can do a bit of sewing, but anyone can do that. Most of the time you hate me, anyway.’

  ‘I know,’ Angie sighed. ‘But I’d have given Gene up at some point. You were right. He played both of us.’ She sat back on her heels. ‘And you don’t just do a bit of sewing. You’re the one who found a way to sell the dresses, the one with the exercise book, the one who’s drawn lines in the pages and written it all down, what we’ve spent, where we spent it and you put the heading on that big wide column, “Money In” ready for the money we’re going to make.’

  ‘I know,’ Doreen said mournfully.

  ‘Well, out of my way. I’ve got to cut out another two dresses before I go to work.’ She waved her scissors at Doreen.

  Doreen laughed. ‘Look at you!’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen you this enthusiastic since you staggered up the stairs with that bloody sewing machine.’

  ‘That’s because this is the most exciting thing I’ve ever done. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. And you did that, Reen. You made it happen. I’d never have thought of asking Gene. I’ll probably never have the nerve to ask anyone about getting a market stall.’ She put down the scissors. ‘Reen, instead of you asking me to go to Australia all this time, why don’t you stay here with me, and we can really make this work.’

  ‘Oh.’ Doreen lifted the pile of royal blue material and sat down. She was silent.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘That would mean Mum going on her own.’

  ‘She’s got Ivy out there and all those barbecues she’s going to. She’s going to be taking a new pair of shorts as well!’

  ‘Mum in shorts!’ They both laughed. ‘It would mean me having the baby in this country.’

  ‘Are you going to keep it? You could put it up for adoption.’

  ‘Mum would be the one who’d want me to do that and she won’t be here. No, I think I will keep it. But I’d have to thin
k of how to explain it. If I stay here, no one’s going to believe my widow story or any of the other ways people get children.’

  ‘Do you really care what people think?’ Angie said. ‘I don’t care and we’d all be living together.’

  Doreen looked at her with big eyes.

  ‘People will get over it.’

  ‘Will they?’

  ‘Do you care?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Doreen said. ‘I’ll be a scarlet woman and proud of it! But if I stay, I’d have to get a job. Bolingbroke’s won’t even want me in the back room.’

  ‘You’d need one of those in Australia too. And you’ll need time off when the baby comes, and by then, if you stay, we’ll have started making millions, according to you.’

  ‘We might.’

  ‘But do you want to?

  Doreen jumped up. ‘Of course I want to! Of course I bloody want to. I can’t think of anything more exciting and thrilling and fantastic.’ She stopped. ‘But I’m scared, Angie. It’s not going to be easy, me with the baby and you with your business.’

  ‘I know, Reen. But we can do this, we can do it together. All you have to do is take a chance.’ Angie stood up. She walked over to Doreen and hugged her. ‘I love you Reen,’ she said.

  ‘I love you too, kiddo,’ Doreen said. ‘All right, big decision. I’ll stay. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Now let me go before my mascara runs. I’ve still got to face my public and take Mum up to London. And I’ve got to tell her I’m not coming with her. As for you, you’ve got half an hour to run up a couple of seams before you go to work.’

  ‘You aren’t going to get all bossy on me now, are you?’

  ‘No, but look. If we’re going to do this properly we are probably going to have to start thinking about some serious financial backing. And before you say anything, I don’t think Gene is the right person to ask. For all sorts of reasons. So while I’m on the train, and you’re at work, think about it. We’re going to do this, and we’re going to do it well.’ They grinned at each other.

  ‘Mum!’ Doreen shouted. ‘We’ve got to go. And I’ve got something to tell you.’

  *

  A week later Angie rang the boutique and said she was coming in with ten dresses.

  ‘Really?’ Gene sounded pleased. ‘Just a minute.’ She heard him say to someone in the shop. ‘You’re in luck, I’ve got my supplier on the phone. If you’d like to come back in an hour, I think you’ll find what you’re looking for. But don’t hang about, because I’ve got four chicks on my waiting list already.’ He spoke into the receiver. ‘So I’ll see you in thirty minutes, Miss Smith.’

  ‘Have you really got a waiting list?’ Angie asked.

  ‘Well, if you can manage to get me a few more for the Kings Road shop, that would be great. I know they’re going to go like hot cakes here too.’

  ‘There’s no Kings Road shop.’

  ‘That’s right,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll come up as soon as I can,’ Angie said.

  She and Doreen walked into the boutique carrying the dresses. They had wrapped them in covers bought from the haberdashery department of Bonds. ‘We must make sure we bring them back,’ Doreen said. ‘And, whatever you do, don’t fall in love with him again.’

  ‘Who do you think I am? No, this is too important,’ Angie said.

  In the boutique Gene was chatting to two mod boys in long suede coats. They were looking at Ben Sherman shirts. When he saw Angie and Doreen, Gene said to the boys, ‘And while you’re at it, tell your girlfriends that from today we’re selling original dresses for mod girls, so they should come and get them quick, because I’ve already got a lot of people waiting for them.’

  He walked over to them. ‘The rack’s in the back, waiting. Have you got hangers? Good. Then when you’re ready we’ll wheel it out and put it in that corner. I’ve put a new bulb in over there, so it’ll be good and bright.’

  The camp bed was gone. In its place was a chair with the record player on it. Angie unzipped the covers and Doreen carefully hung the dresses on the rail. They looked perfect, hanging in a row, the colours glowing in the dark back room. They were all the same simple design, a shift with short sleeves and a contrasting stripe at the neck and the hem. A label at the neck of each one read ‘Regina’, embroidered in maroon, on small squares of black satin and sewn into the neckline. They had decided on the name together, Regina was a mix of Reen and Angie. And they had made price tags, pinned to the sleeve, that resembled Gene’s price tags.

  Angie stuck her head into the shop. ‘Ready to rock and roll.’

  Gene smiled. ‘Let’s have a look.’ He walked into the back room. ‘Wow, they look fantastic.’ He picked up the hem of one of the dresses. ‘Very nicely finished. That’s great. Now just tell all your friends to come and buy them. You know what? I might ring the Essex Chronicle, a chap I know, Brian, I’ll get him to come and do an article. Take a photo. That should get them in.’

  He wheeled the rack of dresses into the shop and placed it under the spotlight in the corner where the record player had stood. He stepped back and looked at them. ‘They look fantastic, my darlings,’ he said.

  ‘Here’s the invoice,’ Doreen said, and handed him the document that she had prepared.

  ‘Very professional. I like to see that.’ He signed it and handed it back.

  ‘And here’s one for you,’ Doreen said. ‘Now we’ve got to go back to work.’

  ‘Look after them, won’t you?’ Angie said. ‘Don’t let people run their dirty hands all over them.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can.’ He laughed. ‘But get your friend Carol to come in here and all your other mates.’ As Doreen pulled open the door to leave, he said, ‘Great job, girls. Oh girls, you may have broken my heart.’

  ‘Shame,’ Doreen said. ‘And once more, for those in the back row, this arrangement is strictly business.’ She took Angie’s arm.

  Angie looked back across at the dresses, crisp and new and waiting to be sold. ‘Good luck,’ she whispered to them.

  As they walked back along the high street, Doreen said, ‘I think that went very well.’

  Angie laughed. They had done it. He had asked for dresses, they had supplied dresses. They were on sale in a shop, her dresses, with their label. This is where it all begins, she thought.

  Doreen crossed the high street to Bolingbroke’s and Angie turned into Bonds.

  ‘And why are you looking so very happy?’ It was Miss Darling, coming out of the shop, looking as always, out of place in the street and not in a classroom, dressed in a sharp-cut grey crêpe suit, with a tumble of embroidery on one lapel.

  ‘Oh Miss Darling!’ Angie stopped. Miss Darling had helped her get the job in London and she had thrown it all away. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘You got me that job at the College and I had to leave.’

  ‘Yes, I understand there were some difficulties. That is why it’s such a pleasure to see you smiling. Do you have another job?’

  ‘I do! I’m working in Bonds.’

  ‘Oh, Angela. Is that satisfying?’

  ‘It’s not bad. The people are nice. But . . .’ She felt herself swell with pride.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Today my sister and I delivered ten of my dresses – dresses I’d designed and made – to a boutique just down the road. They’re hanging up there, on sale. My dresses.’

  ‘Angela! That’s magnificent news. Well done. Is this a one-off or is it a business you’re starting up?’

  ‘This is the start. We’re going to see how this goes.’

  ‘So you’re not doing it all yourself?’

  ‘It’s a business with my sister. If it goes well, I don’t know.’

  ‘Let’s go and have a cup of coffee and you can tell me all about it.’

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to be at school?’

  ‘Didn’t you hear, dear? I’ve retired.’

  ‘I didn’t know! Oh but I can’t have a cup
of coffee. This is my dinner hour and I’m almost late. Another day.’

  ‘Off you go,’ Miss Darling said, patting her arm. ‘I wish you all the very best. Perhaps I’ll pop into Bonds one day and we can talk then.’

  ‘That would be nice,’ Angie said. ‘Why don’t you go into the boutique and look at the dresses?’

  ‘I definitely will. See if you’ve remembered all I said about finishing a hem.’

  CHAPTER 33

  IT WAS SIX O’CLOCK ON SUNDAY morning. Doreen couldn’t sleep. She had been awake since four. It was wonderful how many dresses they’d made and how Angie was so happy and applying herself to making their Regina business work. But lists of figures were running through her head, people she owed money to, how she was going to repay them, ideally before the baby came. Regina would take time. They needed a benefactor. She really hoped they wouldn’t have to ask Gene.

  She got up and quickly dressed. She needed cigarettes. She walked round the Crescent and crossed Greenway Road to the shops. In the newsagent Mr Johnson, the manager, looked up from the Sunday newspapers laid out on the counter at the far end of the shop.

  ‘Oh Doreen, I’m so pleased to see you. I have to nip home for about fifteen minutes. Could you keep an eye on the shop? There’s a packet of Bensons in it for you.’

  ‘Of course, no trouble. Shall I come through now?’

  ‘If you could, love, that would be very helpful.’ Mr Johnson knew that Doreen worked in Bolingbroke’s and knew she could handle the shop.

  She lifted the flap in the counter and walked round to the display of the children’s sweets, the penny chews, the threepenny bars of chocolate.

  ‘Right. I’ll be back soon. I’ve got to make breakfast for Mrs Johnson. She’s not been too well. Twenty minutes at most. If the paperboys come back, tell them they can wait or I’ll pay them in the week. And if anyone rings to complain about the wrong paper, say I’ll be back soon.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She put on her Bolingbroke’s voice.

  Mr Johnson lifted the counter flap, and shrugging into his coat, pulled open the door and disappeared.