by Pam Weaver
‘Care of the elderly?’
Izzie wrinkled her nose. ‘They’re not all as nice as Mrs Shilling.’
Esther chuckled. ‘You might be right there. What about writing?’
‘I’m not clever enough for that,’ said Izzie.
‘Don’t put yourself down, Izzie,’ Esther scolded. ‘You’ve done wonders with that book of Mrs Shilling’s. Everybody says so.’
‘I’ve only written what she told me,’ said Izzie.
‘There,’ said Esther, stepping back and patting Izzie’s hair.
It looked amazing. With a few deft strokes of the hair brush she had made Izzie look very grown up.
‘Shove over Princess Margaret,’ said Esther, putting on a posh accent. ‘Here comes Lady Isobelle Baxter.’
And they both laughed.
The film at the Dome (Esther’s choice) was quite good. Starring Norman Wooland and Sarah Churchill, it was a comedy drama about a failing newspaper and two down-on-their-luck reporters who expose a corrupt property tycoon. As the credits rolled the two girls stood to their feet. ‘That Norman Wooland is really dishy,’ Esther said out of the corner of her mouth as they waited for the National Anthem to finish.
Izzie wasn’t thinking about him but the film had given her food for thought.
*
Back from Granny’s, Linda was also at the pictures. Terry, a boy she’d met on the bus back home, had asked Linda to go out with him so she’d agreed to meet him outside the Rivoli in North Street on the other side of town. Linda was very excited as this was her first ever date. Because she had assured Terry that she was over sixteen, he was taking her to the early evening showing of The Queen of Spades, an H rated film. You were supposed to be sixteen to go to a horror film so he obviously thought she was a lot older. They met in the foyer. He was quite good looking although she could see now that she was up close to him that he did have rather a lot of spots. His hair was brushed into a quiff and when she’d complimented him on his roll cuff denim jeans he’d told her they had cost him three weeks wages. Linda hung back until Terry bought tickets. They were for the back row.
Almost as soon as the lights went down, Terry held her hand and Linda shivered with a delicious sense of naughtiness. She felt ever so grown-up but what would her father say if he knew she was here? What would Izzie say?
The film, which was quite scary, was about a woman who sold her soul to the devil so that she could win at cards and a soldier who became obsessed with discovering her secret. During one spooky bit, Linda jumped and cried out. Terry took the opportunity to pull her towards him and then he began to kiss her. Her heart was thumping as his mouth covered hers and his tongue went between her teeth. At first, it felt as if she was being sucked right inside and swallowed alive and her initial reaction was ‘is this what they write songs about?’ but after a few moments, she began to enjoy it. When he began kneading her left breast with his hand, her heart beat even faster and it quickly became overwhelming. Linda tried to push him off but that only seemed to enflame his passion. His hand drifted up her skirt and between her legs. She tried desperately to stop him touching her knickers but it wasn’t until the usherette shone her torch their way that he moved away. Trembling and dishevelled, Linda sat up straight. The usherette moved on and a moment later Terry grabbed her again. This time he pulled her hand towards his crutch and she shrank away in shocked surprise at the huge bulge between his legs.
‘Don’t,’ she whispered as loudly as she dared. But the more she tried to regain her composure, the more excited he became. The next time the usherette shone her torch at them, Linda jumped to her feet.
‘Where are you going?’ he hissed.
‘To the ladies.’
She worked her way along the row and followed the usherette back into the foyer.
‘You all right, love?’ the woman asked.
Linda nodded dully but wasted no time in getting out of the cinema. As she pushed open the swing door onto the street, she heard Terry behind her calling her name. Panicking and scared, Linda just ran. Charging up North Street towards Richmond Road, her plan had been to turn into the darkened street and head straight for home but she had forgotten to bring her torch. Added to that, when she glanced behind, Terry was running after her, and worse still, gaining ground. Something told her to stay in an area where there were street lights and other people. It was better to avoid the dark twittens. With that in mind, she kept heading towards the centre of town.
A group of young people had gathered on the steps of St Paul’s Church for a group photograph. Linda mounted the steps to the side of them and stood at the back.
The photographer was standing on the street complaining. ‘I can’t see everyone. Shorter people in the front please.’
A second later, Linda found herself being propelled towards the front of the group. She spotted Terry standing on the corner of Chapel Road and Union Place, doing his best to look nonchalant with his hands in his pockets.
The photographer shouted ‘Say cheese,’ and the huge bulb on the side of his camera exploded in a flash of white light. As Linda slunk around the back of the group again she saw Terry give her two fingers before he continued down Chapel Road towards the bus station.
‘Coming in for some refreshments?’
Linda swivelled around to face a girl about her own age. She shook her head.
‘I’ve never seen you at the youth club before,’ said the girl.
‘My first time,’ said Linda.
‘Oh, please come in,’ said the girl. ‘You’d be very welcome.’
Linda glanced around. Everyone was roughly her own age but they all looked a bit old fashioned and boring. The girl was keen to get Linda inside. ‘We’re going to have a warm drink and something to eat and we’ve got a table tennis table or you can dance if you want.’
Linda caught sight of a couple of good looking boys and smiled. ‘Have you got a group in there then?’
The girl laughed. ‘No, not tonight, but we do have a fairly decent gramophone and some really good records. By the way, my name is Ruth. What’s yours?’
Linda hesitated and while she dithered, one of the better looking boys came up to her. ‘You coming in then, doll?’ he said in a fake American accent.
Linda nodded. This couldn’t have been more perfect. If her dad checked up on her she could tell him she’d been to a church youth club and if she could name a few names so much the better. And when the paper came out later in the week, she would be right at the front of the photograph to prove it.
‘Yeah,’ she said with a lazy smile. ‘Why not?’
Nine
On Sunday morning, Izzie was so tired, it took ages to get out of bed. After a snatched piece of toast, she carried on with what was left of the mammoth task of clearing up the house. By eleven-thirty the place was looking better, but there was still no sign of her father or her sister. Her father would most likely stay in bed until the pubs opened and she guessed that Linda was avoiding her. And so she should. Izzie was dying to confront her about the stolen money. She’d been practising what to say for hours. In the end she couldn’t wait a moment longer and knocked on her sister’s bedroom door. Silence. She knocked again and pushed the door open. The room was a complete shambles with clean clothes and dirty things all over the place. The bed was crumpled but Izzie was fairly sure it hadn’t been slept in. She took in her breath noisily.
A sound behind her made her spin round. Her father had just come out of his room. He was bleary eyed and yawned as he scratched his head. Something about her expression must have registered because he said, ‘What’s up?’
‘Linda’s gone,’ said Izzie.
‘Probably went out early,’ he said.
‘There was no sign of her when I got up,’ Izzie said, ‘and she’s not here.’
‘What do you mean?’ Her father pushed past her and went into Linda’s bedroom. ‘Well where is she then?’ he added accusingly.
‘I don’t know,’ cried Izzie.
; Her father turned to her with a face like thunder. ‘You must bloody know. She must have said something.’
‘Dad, I don’t know where she is and I don’t care,’ Izzie snapped. ‘She wouldn’t tell me anything anyway. It’s about time you realised she’s a lazy good-for-nothing thief and a liar.’
Her father’s move caught Izzie off guard but the stinging blow to her cheek sent her reeling. She only just managed to save herself from tumbling sideways down the stairs. ‘Don’t you dare say that about your sister,’ he snarled. ‘Do you hear me? Don’t you ever.’
Tears sprang into Izzie’s eyes as she put her hand to her throbbing cheek. ‘But it’s true,’ she blurted out. ‘Before she went to Granny’s she stole my savings.’
‘I don’t believe you!’
‘It’s true, Dad. I had four pound something in my piggy bank and now there’s only twelve and six. She just helped herself to my money.’
‘Did you see her take it?’ he barked.
‘No, but—’
‘Well then don’t go accusing people when you’ve got no proof.’
‘There’s only the three of us in the house,’ Izzie protested.
‘Oh, so you’re accusing me now?’
‘No of course not.’
‘You’re always on at that girl.’
‘Only because she never does anything around the house.’
‘Linda is just a school girl,’ he said. ‘You can’t expect her to do a woman’s work.’
‘I’m not much older than she is and yet you expect me to do it all,’ Izzie retorted. She turned away in disgust. It was hopeless.
‘For God’s sake,’ he spat angrily. ‘You’re as bad as your bloody mother, always bleating on about something. You never know when to stop, do you Izzie. I’m sick of your whinging and complaining.’
Izzie stared at his receding back in shocked surprise as he went back into his bedroom. She couldn’t believe what he’d just said. Always bleating on? Izzie put her hand back onto her stinging face. It really hurt. He’d never hit her before and she’d certainly never heard him say anything like that about her mother before.
‘Your mother never bloody liked things the way they were,’ he shouted behind the closing door. ‘It didn’t matter what I did, there was no pleasing her.’ He reappeared, buttoning his shirt. He had his trousers on now. ‘So where did Linda go last night?’
‘I don’t know, Dad.’
He hesitated then added, ‘I’ll get my things on and go and look for her. You stay here and tidy up this mess.’
Izzie opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it.
As her father thundered down the stairs they heard the kitchen door open. ‘Linda,’ she heard him say. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
Izzie hurtled downstairs behind him.
‘Sorry, Daddy,’ her sister was saying. ‘Ruth let me to stay the night at her house. I would have let you know but we don’t have a telephone do we.’
A girl Izzie had never seen before stood in the hallway beside her. She was neatly dressed although her clothes were slightly prim, and she wore no make-up. ‘We are sorry if we alarmed you, Mr Baxter,’ she said, ‘but this awful man was following Linda and she was so scared I took her back to the vicarage.’
‘The vicarage,’ the father said dully.
‘My father is the vicar of St Paul’s,’ said Ruth. ‘We would have come straight round first thing this morning but we got up late and Linda asked if she could come to church with us.’
‘To church …’ They could all hear the astonishment in his voice.
‘I went to the church youth club last night, Daddy,’ said Linda, threading her arm through their father’s and smiling up at him. ‘It was ever so nice.’
Izzie felt her lip curl. Couldn’t he see Linda was just sucking up to him?
‘Well I’d better be going,’ said Ruth, putting out her hand to shake. ‘Goodbye Mr Baxter. See you next Saturday, Linda.’ And with that she was gone.
Linda batted her eyelids and smiled. ‘I hope I didn’t worry you, Daddy.’
‘It doesn’t matter, sweetheart,’ he said, placated. They walked together towards the kitchen. ‘You’re home safe and sound now.’
Still standing at the bottom of the stairs, Izzie’s eyes smarted with angry unshed tears.
*
If Izzie thought the fact that they had sent Mrs Shilling’s manuscript to the publisher was an end to the matter, she was mistaken. They worked steadily on her next book but soon after their return from Bournemouth, she found that the South American script had been returned covered in squiggles and funny symbols.
‘We have to go through it all again,’ Mrs Shilling explained. ‘The copy editor has found a great deal of mistakes and anomalies which have to be corrected.’
‘But I typed it just as you said,’ Izzie said.
‘It’s not your fault, dear,’ said Mrs Shilling. ‘It happens all the time. The good news is, they liked it so much, that they want to pay me an advance for the book about our travels in Africa.’ She chuckled. ‘It looks like you’ll be working for me for a while.’
Izzie was pleased to have the opportunity to work with Mrs Shilling but it did make finding a new job and leaving Worthing more difficult.
Mrs Shilling frowned uncertainly. ‘You’re happy about that, aren’t you, Izzie?’
‘Yes, yes of course,’ said Izzie. ‘It took me by surprise, that’s all.’
They set to work at once. At first the symbols on the page looked a bit like shorthand or a foreign language but the instructions were clear enough.
‘So that “Y” shape means I have to insert a space between those two words,’ said Izzie pointing down at the page.
‘And that mark which looks a bit like a doorstep, means we should have started a new paragraph there,’ Mrs Shilling added. ‘Oh dear, I’m afraid you really will have to type the whole thing again.’ She smoothed out the page of instructions and put it beside the typewriter.
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Izzie, anxious to get started.
By lunch time she had worked her way through twenty or more pages and it was agreed that she would begin typing them up again while Mrs Shilling had her nap.
The trouble was, as soon as Izzie was on her own, it was hard to keep her mind on the job. Over the past few weeks, she had done a lot of serious thinking. After her latest altercation with her father, Izzie had made up her mind that come hell or high water she was definitely going to try and find her mother. He’d treated her like a child but from now on, she didn’t care what her father said and she wasn’t even going to ask his permission. Although, at seventeen, she was still very much a minor (you had to be twenty-one to be considered an adult), Izzie felt competent enough to begin the search for her mother by herself. But where should she start? Esther was a good friend but Izzie felt she needed an older, wiser head on the subject, so she made up her mind that after Mrs Shilling had had her rest she would ask the old lady’s advice.
‘Do you think your mother may be living locally?’ Mrs Shilling asked when Izzie spoke to her about it.
Izzie shrugged. ‘I have no reason to think otherwise, but the truth is, I don’t know.’
Mrs Shilling looked thoughtful. ‘Izzie this may take some time. You’ll have to take it one step at a time. I think the first thing is to put an advertisement in the paper.’
Later that week, at her employer’s suggestion, Izzie placed an advertisement in the Worthing Herald, the Littlehampton and the Worthing Gazette and the Brighton Evening Argus.
If you have any information about the whereabouts of Doris Baxter of Elm Grove, Worthing, last seen on February 25th 1947 in Worthing, Sussex, please contact …
*
When she got back home, Izzie didn’t bother to mention what she had done to her father, or to Linda, for that matter. Her father seldom read the papers so unless a customer mentioned they’d seen it, there was a good chance he would never even know. Izzie decided to ris
k it. Mrs Shilling had also advised Izzie for safety’s sake to use a box number.
‘It’s better not to let people know your address,’ she’d said. ‘There are a lot of cranks out there who might try and take advantage of you.’
‘I can look after myself,’ Izzie said stoutly but she took the advice anyway.
Now all she had to do now was wait.
*
Doris Baxter hurried along Upper Rock Gardens in Brighton, hugging two portions of fish and chips wrapped in newspaper. She’d slipped them inside her coat to keep them warm and the delicious smell of salt and vinegar so close to her chest was making her mouth water. Hurrying through the pub door, she went behind the bar and upstairs. She would have to be quick. It was almost a quarter to six and Arthur was a stickler for time.
She’d left two plates warming under the grill. They’d be red hot now. She hadn’t counted on the queue in the fish and chip shop. Arthur came to the table and watched as she tipped an enormous piece of fish onto his plate. She had a smaller piece and she gave him half of her portion of chips as well. Their bread and butter was already waiting under a damp tea towel.
‘This looks good enough to eat,’ Arthur said and she chuckled even though she’d heard the same joke a hundred times before.
They began to tuck in. Doris glanced up at him. For all of his size, he had good table manners. They’d taught him that at the orphanage, but not with kindness.
She poured him some tea. ‘How was Isaac?’
Arthur shook his head. ‘Not good,’ he said sadly. ‘I fed the dog and took it for a walk, but I told him it would be better to take it to the PDSA or the vet.’ He helped himself to some more bread. ‘I told him, Isaac, I said, you’re in no fit state to look after that dog. It’s not fair on him and it’s not fair on you.’
‘It’ll break his heart if the dog goes,’ said Doris.
‘Maybe,’ said Arthur, ‘but he can’t go on like that.’
Doris nodded. Arthur was right. Isaac Farrant, one of Arthur’s regulars, had a bad chest but this year it was much worse. Nobody said anything but his forty a day habit had caught up with him and the old boy was heading for the hospital. Kind-hearted as he was, Arthur went round to see Isaac most days. Doris also did a bit of shopping for him and kept his room clean and tidy.