by Nancy Revell
Rosie paused.
‘I only wish she had felt able to tell me about it at the time, but – and it hurts me to say this – in her words, she “just got used to it” and decided, for whatever reasons, not to tell me.’
Rosie looked at the deputy head’s face, which was impassive.
‘But then the bullying escalated,’ Rosie said, trying her hardest to keep her anger at bay. ‘The little gang of girls – who are, from what I can gather, known bullies – got their hands on a letter I sent Charlotte which made reference to my job and one of the ships I was working on. This had the effect of adding fuel to what had become, at that point, a dwindling fire.’
‘Perhaps,’ Mrs Willoughby-Smith interrupted, ‘Charlotte should have been more careful with her personal possessions and not left them lying around for others to read.’
Rosie felt her face flush.
‘The girls in question didn’t find the letter by chance, or through any carelessness on Charlotte’s part. They snatched it out of the hands of her best friend – a young girl called Marjorie – after Charlotte gave it to her to read.’ Rosie took a deep breath. ‘The bullies then proceeded to read it out to the whole dormitory whilst – again in Charlotte’s words – “laughing like hyenas”.’
Rosie glowered at the deputy head.
‘The whole episode ended up in a fight, with Charlotte trying to reclaim her letter, and worse still, with Marjorie suffering an asthma attack. Thank goodness the poor girl’s no longer a pupil here.’
‘I’m afraid,’ Mrs Willoughby-Smith said, a condescending smile stretched across her face, ‘bullying is simply a part of life – be that at school or outside in the real world. The girls have to learn to deal with it. It’s part of growing up. They just have to toughen up.’
Rosie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It took her a moment to unjumble the myriad of arguments fighting to break free to show just how wrong this was.
‘Just because it’s a part of life does not mean it’s right, or that we should condone it by doing nothing!’ Rosie couldn’t stop the mix of anger and exasperation from breaking through.
‘Mmm,’ Mrs Willoughby-Smith mused. ‘I suppose we are all entitled to our own opinions, but I have to say, Mrs Miller, that had you not lied about what you did for a living, in all likelihood none of this would ever have occurred. So, if the blame has to be placed on anyone’s doorstep, I’m afraid it would be yours.’
Rosie looked at the deputy head sitting in her oak-carved chair, her hair swept back in a neat roll, make-up perfectly applied and a picture of the King on the wall behind her, and realised that she would never make this self-righteous woman see sense.
Rosie sighed.
‘You’re right, Mrs Willoughby-Smith, on one point, and that is I should have been honest from the start. I wish I had been. I really do. I should have been proud of my job and had the courage to stick my neck out and face the ridicule for doing a job those with closed minds think is for men alone. But I didn’t, and my little sister has had to suffer the consequences of my lack of courage.’
Rosie took a breath. She could feel her heart pounding.
‘However, what infuriated me perhaps even more than your inability to deal with the bullying and intimidation taking place,’ she continued, ‘was when Charlotte told me that she’d heard you laughing and snickering about the fact that I work as a welder in a shipyard.’
‘Really?’ Mrs Willoughby-Smith asked. The epitome of innocence.
‘Yes, really,’ Rosie said. ‘You might recall asking to see Charlotte after my last visit, when I was summoned to come and talk about the problems you were having.’
‘Yes, I spoke to both girls after our meeting that day,’ Mrs Willoughby-Smith said. ‘Gave them both a good dressing-down.’
Rosie straightened her back and leant forward in her seat.
‘You’ll recall, then, that you also had a meeting with the other girl’s father. I believe his name is Mr Malcolm Whitehead?’
Mrs Willoughby-Smith started to move around uncomfortably in her chair.
‘I did,’ she said.
‘And that you and Mr Whitehead had a good old chuckle over the fact that I am a shipyard welder and not a secretary, as I had purported to be. You were also keen that Mr Whitehead understand that he was to have no concerns about his daughter receiving any kind of disciplinary measures.’
Rosie breathed out.
‘How do you think that made Charlotte feel?’ she said. ‘Sitting there, outside your office, hearing the person she was meant to respect and look up to bad-mouthing the only living relative she has? Knowing that the bully was going to get off scot-free?’
The two women sat, both silent, staring at one another.
‘So,’ Rosie said, standing up, ‘as Charlotte will not be spending another minute under this roof, I will expect to be refunded the fees I have already paid.’
Mrs Willoughby-Smith let out a bitter laugh.
‘You have a good sense of humour, Mrs Miller, I will give you that.’
Mrs Willoughby-Smith stood up, moved around the desk and walked over to the door to open it.
Rosie knew this was one battle she would not win. If the school refused to give her back the fees, there was nothing she could do about it.
‘And …’ Mrs Willoughby-Smith moved towards Rosie and spoke quietly ‘ … I wouldn’t be repeating anything we have discussed in this room to anyone. It wouldn’t be wise. I’m sure you’ve heard about the laws regarding defamation? After all, who is going to believe a fourteen-year-old girl who’s got a reputation for bare-knuckle fighting and has no parents to speak of, and her sister who works as a welder in a shipyard?’
The deputy head wisely took a step back and looked out into the hallway.
Seeing George push himself out of his chair with his walking stick, and her secretary’s concerned expression, she forced a convincing smile across her face.
‘So, good day, Mrs Miller,’ she said, turning to Rosie, her voice saccharine sweet. ‘I’m so glad we managed to sort everything out.’
And with that, Rosie found herself being ushered into the foyer, the office door closing firmly behind her.
Following the deputy head’s lead, Miss Howey also got up and shut the heavy oak door to her office.
George looked at Rosie.
‘Home?’
Rosie nodded, her face like thunder.
As they made it down the stone steps, George asked, ‘How did it go?’
‘Not quite how I had expected,’ Rosie said.
‘Did you say what you came here to say?’ he asked as they reached the car. He looked about but could not see any sign of Charlotte.
‘Yes.’ Rosie paused. ‘Yes, I guess I did.’
‘Well,’ George said, ‘that’s the main thing.’
He walked over to the passenger door and opened it wide.
‘And did she agree to pay back the fees?’ he asked as Rosie stood with her hand on the open door.
Rosie let out a bark of laughter.
‘I think her words were “you have a good sense of humour, Mrs Miller”.’
George looked at Rosie.
‘Damn it!’ he suddenly said, putting his hand to his head. ‘I’ve left my hat in the lobby.’
He turned to head back to the school.
‘I’ll be back in a jiffy.’
Rosie was standing by the car, breathing in the fresh air, calming herself down and going over the exchange of words she’d just had with the deputy head. She hadn’t really managed to take her down a peg, but did it really matter? She knew Peter would be proud of her and that provided her with some solace.
She also knew that Peter would be glad that Charlotte was coming to live at home. He’d always been a good listener while she’d regurgitated all the reasons Charlie couldn’t possibly come back. His lack of words, though, had spoken volumes. She knew that he believed a family should be together. Regardless.
Seeing Charlotte ap
pear from the side entrance of the main building carrying her suitcase, Rosie had to admit that, deep down, she too had always felt the same.
‘You got everything?’ Rosie asked.
‘Yes,’ Charlotte said, heaving the case.
‘Here, let me give you a hand,’ Rosie said.
‘No, honestly, I can manage,’ Charlotte insisted, shoving the case into the boot of the MG.
Charlotte was just getting into the back seat when she saw George making his way towards the car.
‘Where’s George been?’ she asked Rosie.
‘He forgot his hat.’
‘Tally-ho!’ George said as he reached the car, lifting his fedora in the air. ‘Off we go! Home sweet home, and all that!’
He eased himself into the driver’s seat and shut the door.
Rosie followed suit.
‘Everything all right?’ Rosie asked, thinking George looked unusually chipper.
‘Couldn’t be better, my dear,’ he said, allowing himself a little rev of the engine before they set off.
Chapter Twenty
Leaving Vivian and Maisie to deal with the last clients of the evening, Lily grabbed her packet of Gauloises and tumbler of cognac and padded up to what she liked to refer to as her ‘boudoir’ on the second floor.
‘Thank goodness I’ve finally got you on my own,’ she said, bustling into the room and seeing George getting changed. ‘So, come on, I want every cough and spit. I’ve been busting to know all day.’
She plonked herself down on the stool in front of her vanity and lit up a cigarette.
‘What did they say when they saw Rosie in her raggedy overalls?’ She eyed George in the mirror as she blew out smoke. ‘Gawd, I wish I’d been a fly on the wall.’
George laughed.
‘So do I, my dear, so do I.’
He unwrapped a cigar and smelled it.
‘Well, let’s just say I think they would have happily thrown a blanket over Rosie and bundled her out of the building, away from prying eyes, if they’d had the opportunity.’ He laughed, recalling the look on the secretary’s face. ‘I think the only reason they allowed her into the office was out of fear that someone would see her standing in the foyer.’
‘So, what did you do when she went in there?’ Lily started to remove her make-up with large dollops of white cream.
‘Nothing. I just sat there on the “naughty chair” outside the secretary’s office and waited,’ George said, lighting up his cigar and puffing hard. ‘I asked Rosie how it had gone when we walked back. She didn’t seem exactly over the moon, but she said that she’d managed to say what she’d wanted to say.’
‘Do you think Rosie got the better of her?’ Lily asked.
‘Mmm,’ George pondered, putting his cigar on the side of the ashtray. He went over to Lily, unclasped her thick gold necklace and kissed her neck.
‘I don’t think you can really get the better of people like Mrs Willoughby-Smith. But I do think Rosie managed to at least get her point across, even if it was dismissed without a second thought.’
George proceeded to unzip the back of Lily’s black dress.
‘Well,’ Lily said, standing and shaking herself out of her dress, ‘it will have been good for Charlotte to see her sister do what she did. It took some nerve turning up there in her work overalls.’
Lily stepped out of her dress, now a mound on the floor.
‘I’m guessing Mrs Deputy Head didn’t give Rosie her refund?’ she asked, putting on her dressing gown and taking a sip of cognac.
George shook his head as he had another puff on his cigar.
‘So, you did as planned?’ Lily asked. ‘Went back for your fedora?’
‘I did indeed, my dear.’
George puffed some more.
‘I was, of course, very polite and very professional.’
‘Of course,’ Lily said, ‘I wouldn’t have expected anything less. So, what exactly did you say?’
‘As discussed,’ George said, ‘I mentioned that I had been interested to hear from Mrs Miller that Mrs Willoughby-Smith, in her capacity as the deputy head of one of the country’s top girls’ schools, was on such friendly terms with the former prospective parliamentary candidate Mr Whitehead. And how I would guess that most of the parents with pupils at the school – and probably a good percentage of the staff – would be less than happy to hear that anyone from the school, never mind someone of Mrs Willoughby-Smith’s standing, would be fraternising with a politician with such far-right leanings. Someone who had only just missed being interned along with Sir Oswald Mosley and the rest of his British Union of Fascist cronies.’
‘Oh, George, you are good,’ Lily said proudly. George had told her how the name had rung a bell when Rosie had mentioned it. When he’d repeated the name to the Brigadier, the old man had nearly choked on his brandy, gone bright red and relayed Mr Whitehead’s entire tawdry history to them both. Lily had made a conscious decision to have more patience with the Brigadier in future, or at least to make sure the girls paid him plenty of attention.
‘After which,’ George said, ‘I simply told her that it would be appreciated if she could write out a cheque for the money paid by Mrs Miller for the remainder of the term.’
‘I’m guessing she did just that?’ Lily said.
‘She certainly did. Cool as a cucumber she was. Didn’t say a word, simply opened her drawer, got the chequebook out and did what she should have done from the off.’
George bent down to pick up his discarded shirt.
‘And,’ he added, leaning on his walking stick as he stood up, ‘I also told her that should Charlotte’s new school need a recommendation regarding their new pupil, then they would receive such a reference and that it would be exemplary.’
‘Good thinking,’ Lily said. ‘So, was that it? You just took the cheque and left?’
George took another puff of his cigar, blowing out a swirl of smoke.
‘Mrs Willoughby-Smith might also have been given a short lecture on the importance of the shipbuilding industry and particularly how vital its role is at this tumultuous moment in time.’ He paused. ‘That is, if winning the war was what one wanted.
‘And,’ he added, ‘how really she should be parading Mrs Miller around the school in her overalls and boots, praising her and other women like her for doing the invaluable jobs they are doing.’
Lily clapped her hands in glee.
‘Well bleedin’ done, George!’
Taking off her dressing gown, Lily climbed into bed.
She opened her arms.
‘Now, stop puffing on that cigar and get yourself into bed. Your future wife wants to show you just how much she loves you.’
George laughed and stubbed out his cigar.
Chapter Twenty-One
Tuesday 27 October
‘So, let’s hear all about it,’ Dorothy demanded as they settled down for their lunch in the canteen.
‘Gloria here wouldn’t tell us a thing, miss,’ Angie groused.
Gloria looked at Rosie and rolled her eyes heavenwards.
‘Just that you’d gone to Harrogate to see that Mrs Willoughby-what’s-her-name,’ Martha said.
‘And that it was something to do with Charlotte being bullied,’ Polly said, taking a bite of her sandwich.
Everyone looked at Rosie expectantly.
As Rosie began to relay the real reason for Charlotte’s refusal to go back to Runcorn, their expressions changed to ones of outrage.
‘Poor Charlotte,’ Hannah said, her big brown eyes pooling with empathy. ‘Why would anyone pick on another person because they’d suffered such a terrible tragedy – and at such a young age?’
‘They should have been nicer to her because she didn’t have a mam and dad, not nastier,’ Olly said.
Hannah nodded vigorously.
‘Perhaps in an ideal world,’ Rosie said sadly.
‘And Charlotte’s friend with the asthma – what’s her name again?’ Polly asked.
/>
‘Marjorie.’ Dorothy beat Rosie to it.
‘Poor Marjorie,’ Polly said. ‘Thank goodness she’s not there any more.’
‘I know,’ Rosie said. ‘I think that was when Charlotte decided she’d had enough.’
‘When she was totally on her own,’ Martha surmised.
‘Exactly,’ Rosie said. ‘It sounded like no one wanted to be friends with Charlotte after the fight for fear of being bullied themselves.’
‘Honestly,’ Polly said, ‘makes me glad I went to Hudson Road School.’
‘I just can’t get the image of them all taunting Charlie and laughing at her.’ Rosie dropped her voice on seeing Gloria nod her head at the counter, warning her that Muriel was about.
‘And,’ she added, ‘I do feel a bit guilty for being so hard on her. Especially as the reason she didn’t tell me was because she was worried about hurting my feelings.’ She sighed. ‘I should have realised that there was more to it than she was letting on.’
‘Well, I don’t think there’s been any permanent damage done,’ Gloria said, taking a sip of her tea. ‘I think Charlotte’s a chip off the old block. Like her sister – got broad shoulders.’
Everyone murmured their agreement. They were all glad Gloria was back in the fold. Their mother hen had returned to rule the roost.
When Rosie told them she had worn her overalls and boots, there were cries of disbelief, a huge guffaw from Martha, and an actual scream from Dorothy.
‘Sorry.’ Dorothy belatedly put her hand across her mouth and looked around her.
Dozens of nearby workers had swung round to see what the emergency was.
‘Eee,’ Polly said. ‘I wish I’d seen you.’
‘I wish I’d seen the looks on their faces,’ Gloria said
Rosie thought for a moment and then laughed.
‘In hindsight, it was a bit of a crazy thing to do.’
‘I’d say! Wouldn’t you, Ange?’ Dorothy nudged her friend.
‘Too bloomin’ right,’ Angie agreed. She hadn’t thought it possible to idolise her boss any more than she did already.
‘Oh, I forgot,’ Rosie said, rummaging around in her bag. ‘Charlie asked me to give you this, Hannah.’