The Candle Factory Girl

by Tania Crosse

  ‘Tell you what, then,’ Hillie said decisively. ‘Ring him back and tell him to come round in about three quarters of an hour. That’ll just give us time to pop down to see Jimmy and tell him we can’t stay. Never much fancied being in a rowdy old pub, anyway. We’ll come back here, but just for an hour, and go on to the party afterwards.’

  ‘Won’t get there till late, though, will we?’ Gert questioned, somewhat irritated since she couldn’t wait to meet Belinda’s brother, Rob, again.

  ‘That wouldn’t matter, would it?’ Hillie said, glaring at Gert. ‘Belinda said it won’t finish till gone midnight.’

  ‘S’ppose so,’ Gert shrugged back. ‘All right, then, Jessica. We’ll come.’

  At Gert’s words, a thousand stars danced in Jessica’s eyes. ‘Oh, that’s so good of you! But only if you let me give you some money for a taxi to your party.’

  ‘Oh, no, we couldn’t—’ Hillie began.

  ‘Cor, blimey, we’d really arrive in style, then!’ Gert crowed. ‘You’re on, girl!’

  ‘I’ll see you a bit later, then. And thanks ever so much.’

  They watched Jessica cross back over the street with a spring in her step before setting off themselves.

  ‘Never been in a taxi before, but you sure this is a good idea?’ Gert asked as they turned the corner.

  ‘Not entirely. But I know how she feels, so I suppose that’s why I want to help her.’

  ‘Well, on your head be it,’ Gert warned. ‘If it goes wrong, and her dad finds out and then he tells your dad, you’ll be right for it.’

  ‘Don’t I know it,’ Hillie murmured under her breath. But she said out loud, ‘But Old Man Braithwaite’s not going to find out, is he?’

  She just wished she felt as confident as she sounded!

  *

  Dolly Maguire was slumped in the snug at the Falcon, staring at her empty gin glass. It was still early, but she’d already tossed a couple of doubles down her throat. The shakes had stopped, so now she could start savouring every sip that passed her lips. The only problem was that she was short of the readies. She’d had to cough up the bloody rent that afternoon, and she’d had to dip into the money she’d put aside for her evening out. Damn and blast. She’d already squeezed an extra bob or two from her lodgers, so what could she do? It was bleeding New Year’s Eve, and she was going to have a good time, no matter what.

  There was only one thing for it. Sit there quietly and watch through the gap in the finely etched-glass partition for some likely punter in the main bar. Dolly never usually came to the Falcon, so she didn’t know its customers. But there was bound to be someone. Some fellow on his own, looking a bit down in the mouth. A bit scruffy and not too young. A toff, or anyone under about forty-five, wouldn’t look twice at her. She wasn’t daft about that. Didn’t flatter herself. But it didn’t matter who he was as long as he was willing and had a bit of money in his pocket. Enough to buy her a few drinks in exchange for a bit of company and a laugh.

  Maybe she’d strike even luckier. Sit with her victim in this secluded snug. Lend a sympathetic ear if it was needed. That was always a good one. If he seemed the right sort, she’d slip her hand under the table, rest it on his knee. Watch his face. Slowly walk her fingers up his thigh until she found what she was looking for. Tease him. Excite him to fever pitch. Offer to take him home. Or they could do it under the railway arches. She knew where you wouldn’t be seen. As long as he paid up, she didn’t care. On second thoughts, the railway arches would be best, ’cos then she might get more business after that. And that hoity-toity young bitch a few doors down couldn’t accuse her of turning her house into a knocking shop! If only she could goad the little tart with the truth about her own mother. From the way she’d reacted, the kid obviously didn’t know, and she’d never believe it anyway, so there wasn’t much point.

  Dolly leant forward so that her bloodshot eyes could get a better view into the main bar. The accumulating fug of cigarette smoke dulled the glint of the gleaming brass fittings as more and more customers, mainly men, of course, were coming in from the frosty streets. Dolly squinted at them with a calculating eye as they waited, two deep, to be served, their voices loud and raucous as they called over the heads in front. The clamour increased, and someone began bashing out familiar songs on the honky-tonk piano, tuneless voices joining in. What a bleeding racket! No one would notice Dolly if she stayed where she was. But what if she went over to the piano? She knew all the words. She wouldn’t kid herself about her looks, but she still had a good, strong voice. At least someone would stand her a drink or two.

  She rose unsteadily to her feet, squeezing round the table. It was then that she spied the two girls sidling uncertainly through the corner door. Flaming heck. Talk of the devil, it was that prissy madam she’d been thinking of just now and her blooming friend. What the bloody hell were they doing here?

  Dolly drew back just enough so that she could watch without being spotted herself. The girls seemed to hesitate, and then suddenly stepped forward when they caught the eye of one of the young lads rushed off his feet behind the bar.

  Dolly all but lost her balance when the penny dropped. She hadn’t recognised him before, but now she was sure the boy behind the bar was the very same she’d seen Hillie Hardwick with on that evening back in the summer. And as if to confirm her suspicions, he lifted the hinged section of the wooden bar and came round to the two little floozies. They spoke for no more than a minute, the Hardwick girl doing most of the talking. The lad nodded, they were all smiling at each other like bloody Cheshire cats. And then Dolly’s heart sprang up inside her as the boy took the little trollop fleetingly in his arms and gave her a plonking great kiss.

  Dolly rolled gleefully back to her seat. Ho, ho, ho! Luck was on her side that night, after all.

  *

  ‘What part of Africa do you come from?’ Jessica asked, handing Patrick a cup of tea.

  ‘I come from Nigeria,’ he answered, and once again, Hillie could understand why Jessica was attracted to him. His voice was so gentle and lilting, his accent so intriguing.

  ‘It must seem an awfully long way away,’ she put in, watching Jessica sit down and place her stockinged legs discreetly to one side. ‘You must miss it.’

  ‘Yes, of course. It is a long sea journey. I have only been back twice since I came here, and I miss my family very much.’

  ‘Why did you come here, then?’ Gert asked bluntly. ‘Wouldn’t leave my family behind all that way.’

  Patrick gave a wistful smile, his large teeth flashing between his full lips. ‘I came here to study. I had received the best education my country had to offer, but to become a dentist was a different matter. I wanted to obtain the best training I could. Nigeria is a British Protectorate and English is our main language, so London was the obvious choice.’

  ‘It must’ve taken a lot of courage,’ Jessica said, and Hillie could see the admiration glowing on her face.

  ‘Yes. At first, I found it very difficult. Many people distrust the colour of my skin. They think of black people as savages, but once they get to know me, they realise that is not so. It was particularly difficult when I first set up my practice, but it is growing steadily. It is my dearest wish one day to be able to set up my own school of dentistry back in Nigeria, and to pay back my family’s generosity.’

  ‘I suppose it must’ve cost a lot for you to come here,’ Jessica observed.

  ‘Yes. But my family is not poor. Nigeria is made up of many chiefdoms that the British authorities have always maintained. Back home, my father is a chief and I, for my sins, am what you might call a prince.’

  ‘Blimey!’ Gert nearly choked on her tea.

  Patrick’s mouth stretched into that winsome smile again. ‘It was simply a matter of birth,’ he said almost apologetically. ‘I could have been born the poorest man on earth, as could any of us. But I was lucky. My family owns plantations, and my father is a good businessman. Our country grows many things that the wes
tern world wants to buy. Sugar cane and cocoa, for instance. Peanuts and coconuts. And palm nuts. That is what my father cultivates. And then he has the palm oil extracted ready to be exported.’

  ‘Palm oil?’ Hillie was more than a little surprised. ‘That’s one of the main ingredients of our candles.’

  Patrick’s grin widened. ‘That was why I was so interested when you said you worked at the candle factory.’

  ‘Only packing candles, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Yes, but you see the end product which must be most interesting.’

  ‘Not when you’re doing it day after blooming day,’ Gert moaned. ‘Here, Jess, your lav out the back? That tea’s gone straight through me.’

  ‘Outside?’ Jessica frowned. ‘No, it’s in the semi-basement next to the coalhole. At the bottom of the stairs. But you have to wash your hands in the kitchen just along the passage. I’ll show you.’

  ‘Oh, expect I can find it.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Hillie said, getting to her feet as well. ‘And then I’m afraid we’ll need to be off.’

  ‘Of course.’ Patrick stood up politely. ‘I have already detained you too long.’

  ‘No, it’s been really interesting, and you’ve got a few minutes while we’re downstairs. Come on, Gert.’ And Hillie almost dragged her friend from the room.

  ‘What you doing, leaving them two alone?’ Gert hissed as they trotted down the stairs.

  ‘They’re not going to get up to anything in five minutes, are they? Look, here we are. This must be it. You go first.’

  ‘Cor, this is all right, ain’t it, not having to go outside in all weathers? And proper toilet paper rather than torn-up newspaper.’

  ‘Oh, go on, shut the door and get on with it.’

  Hillie waited impatiently, taking in her surroundings. There was an outside door, heavily bolted, that she realised must lead to the area steps up to the street – from the days when the house had been built and servants were obliged to use a different door from the owners of the house. She’d noticed that the wooden stairs they’d come down were bare painted wood, unlike those she’d glimpsed going up to the bedrooms that were thickly carpeted, brass stair rods gleaming. The drawing room they’d sat in was twice the size of the front room in her house, with coving around the ceiling and an ornate ceiling rose. It was beautifully furnished, as Hillie expected the rest of the house was, and she couldn’t help feeling envious. She could only ever dream of living somewhere like this.

  ‘Your turn, then.’

  She used the facilities as quickly as she could, and then joined Gert in the kitchen to wash her hands. Again, the room was large, with a massive dresser on which fine crockery and shining pans were neatly displayed.

  ‘See they still have a bathtub, mind,’ Gert grinned, digging her in the ribs and pointing to a smoothly enamelled bath half-hidden behind a badly pulled curtain. ‘Can’t imagine old Braithwaite or his wife using that, somehow!’ she chortled.

  Hillie came up beside her. ‘I don’t know. Look at the quality of it. It’s on legs, and it mightn’t have taps, but the waste is plumbed in. I’d use it any day rather than the old tin thing we have to lug in from the yard each week. And yours is in a worse state than ours!’

  ‘Well, maybe when I’ve had this ride in a taxi, I’ll be wanting to save up for a spanking new bath and all!’ Gert declared in such an airy tone that both girls fell about laughing.

  *

  Dolly Maguire staggered blindly along the street. Why couldn’t the bleeding pavement stay still instead of waving up and down like the bloody sea? Even the blooming houses were dancing round her like a flaming merry-go-round! She’d been having a damned good evening, singing, dancing the can-can and knocking back every drink she was bought by customers grateful for her merry entertainment. It wasn’t until she’d tripped over a table – what was the blasted thing doing there? – and thrown up on the floor that the landlord had told her to leave. What? After keeping all his blessed customers happy all evening? And then he’d got two of his lads to drag her outside and dump her on the pavement – and one of them was the boy that Hardwick girl was seeing! Dolly had it in for both of them now!

  Was this her street? They all looked the bleeding same. She was so tired now. Just wanted to curl up and go to sleep, but it was cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey and she didn’t want to wake up as stiff as a board. She wanted her bed.

  Now, wait a minute, this looked familiar. A street, not very long. On one side, a terrace of small houses almost straight onto the pavement. One of them could be hers. On the other side, the houses were a bit more posh. Three with tiny front gardens and bay windows, and then four grander ones with one set of steps leading up to the front door and another, behind railings, going down to the semi-basement. And, yes! At the far end of the street was another pub. This was it. She was home.

  *

  ‘That was a great party, best I’ve ever been to!’

  ‘It’s the only party like that we’ve ever been to!’ Hillie chuckled as she corrected Gert from the back seat of the motorcar. ‘Do thank your parents again for us, won’t you, Rob? We did say thank you, but with everyone leaving at the same time, they might not have heard properly.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ Rob answered. ‘Down here, you say?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right. Pity Jessica felt she couldn’t join us after all. But she was scared she wouldn’t be back before her mum and dad.’

  ‘What the—?’ Rob had to swerve as a figure staggered out in front of the car.

  ‘Oh, that’s old Dolly Maguire,’ Gert told him. ‘Never mind her. Yeah, this is our house. Thanks ever so for the lift, Rob. I hope we’ll see you again.’

  ‘Yes, so do I,’ said Rob, getting out of the car to open the doors for them. ‘Happy New Year to you both.’

  ‘And you!’ they both replied. ‘See you soon!’

  They stood on the pavement, waiting while Rob drove off and turned out of the street. As soon as he was out of sight, Gert grabbed Hillie’s hands and jumped up and down with excitement. ‘Oh, I think he really liked me!’ she crowed.

  ‘Yes, I think he did,’ Hillie smiled, so pleased for her friend. ‘Goodnight then, Gert, and a Happy New Year!’

  She turned away, waving to Gert, but the smile quickly slid from her face as she took the few yards towards her own house. A bit further down near the corner was the heap in the road that was Dolly Maguire, and Hillie wrinkled her nose in disgust. But she had more important things on her mind than the slovenly, drunken woman. For if her dad was still up, she’d no doubt have to face the music. Happy New Year? She hoped so. But God knew what it might hold for her.

  *

  Dolly Maguire fell off the pavement and into the street. What the hell was that noise blaring in her lugholes? Get off the road, bloody motorcar! Just bleeding missed her! She scraped herself off the tarmac as it went on down the street and pulled up outside Stan Parker’s house. And would you look at that! Stan’s girl – what was her name? Didn’t matter. Getting out the front, and some young geezer getting out the driver’s side and shaking her hand. And then blooming Hillie Hardwick getting out the back.

  Bleeding hell! First her lover boy chucks her out the pub, and now she very nearly runs her over. Dolly wasn’t so drunk that she’d forget that in a hurry! She’d make the pair of them pay – once her head had stopped spinning and she could figure out how.

  But for now, she used the lamp post to drag herself upright and then vomited into the gutter.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Thought you’d get away with it, did you, you sly little slut?’

  On the Saturday evening two weeks after the New Year’s party, as Hillie let herself in the front door, glowing with the few hours she’d spent with Jimmy, the hand that shot out and grasped her by the collar was so swift that she had no time to dodge it. The next instant, she was being dragged, half choking, into the gloom of the hallway. Her own hands flew to her throat, trying
to tear away the strangling grip. Grab the little fingers and bend them backwards. But she was still wearing the woollen mittens her mum had knitted her for Christmas to match the beret, and she couldn’t get a hold. She fought to draw breath, air wheezing noisily in her lungs, and even as she struggled, she could feel herself coming over faint.

  He slammed her against the wall then, and the pain of it stung through her neck and back, leaving her stunned and winded as she slithered helplessly down onto the linoleum. She was aware of a moment’s respite as she heard the front door crash shut. Oh, thank God, it was over…

  But in a flash, she was being yanked upright again. Her feet flailed in the air, but she seemed unable to find her footing before a giant fist cracked against her skull. Once, twice, she lost count as black stars wavered across her vision. She felt herself falling into a deep, dark pit. Was she lying on the cold floor again? Consciousness fled, no pain, but aware of the boot that rammed against her ribs again and again. Had she rolled into a ball to try to protect herself? She didn’t really know if… or even how.

  ‘For God’s sake, get off her!’ she heard her mum scream, and when she managed to drag her eyes open a slit, she saw Nell trying to restrain her dad, but he merely threw her off and sprang forward again.

  The smell of sweat, of stale beer, of hate, of her own fear in her nostrils. Darkness. Nothingness.

  ‘If I catch you so much as looking at Jimmy Baxter again, I’ll kill you. Remember that, you trollop.’

  Oh, yes, she’d remember that, all right. And this time, she felt all too well the agony of the vicious kick that split her sides before she passed into oblivion…

  Outside, Dolly Maguire had slunk up to the door, her flabby, scarlet-painted lips twisted in a malicious, gloating leer. It had taken her a few days to sober up, get rid of the hangover and thumping head. But when she’d got herself back on her feet, she’d watched and waited for the best opportunity to reveal her secret. It hadn’t come for a couple of weeks, until this evening when she’d spied the little tart heading to the cinema, hand-in-hand with her lover boy. Dolly had rubbed her hands in glee, and made her way to Harold’s front door. What a welcome committee the floozy would get on her return!