The Girl From Barefoot House

by Maureen Lee

  ‘I’m Miss Kavanagh.’

  ‘Well, Miss Kavanagh, I suppose it is like the Army in a way, though you won’t be put on a charge. You will, however, be ordered to leave immediately if you’re found with a man in your room, or you consistently fail to turn up promptly at eight o’clock for work. I don’t care if you’ve got a hangover, as long as you turn up.’

  ‘What’s a hangover?’

  ‘I think I’ll let you find that out for yourself, Miss Kavanagh. You must be the first chalet maid I’ve ever met who didn’t know. It’s rather refreshing.’ Mrs Baxter rubbed her thin hands together. ‘Well, girls, the rest of today is yours to do with as you please. The staff have their tea in the dining room after the campers, around seven. Tomorrow, being Sunday, you can have a nice lie-in, otherwise breakfast’s at seven, but I shall expect you in the laundry at twelve to show you round and tell you what you have to do. You’ll find overalls in the lockers. Always keep the key on your person, or you might have your valuables nicked. Oh, and I’d like your ration books, please.’

  ‘What about Mass?’ Lily enquired.

  ‘You’ll find a list of church services in Reception. I think the Catholic Mass is ten o’clock.’

  ‘Ta.’ Josie made a face as soon as Mrs Baxter left the room. ‘I might pray to be released. We’ll never get all our clothes in them lockers, Lil. I’ve brought virtually everything I own.’

  Lily was climbing the ladder of one of the bunks. ‘Bagsy me sleep on top.’ She burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Jose. This isn’t a bit like I imagined. What have we let ourselves in for?’

  ‘I dunno. I’d sooner be working in car insurance any day.’ To think she’d let Ben go for this! She banged her head throwing herself on to the bottom bunk. ‘Ouch! It’s worse than prison. Actually, Lil, I feel like a good cry.’

  Lily’s head appeared upside down. ‘Never mind, Jose. We’ll have a fine old time. I can feel it in me water. Let’s unpack, and we’ll explore.’

  It was, Lily said later, the most miserable day of her life. To cheer themselves up, they bought lipsticks in the chemist’s, and decided to have a go on the fairground, but found it unmanned. By now it was raining heavily, so they couldn’t play tennis or crazy golf. The bars were virtually deserted. At seven they turned up in the dining room, where several tables were packed with staff who all seemed to know each other. Some had worked at the camp before, and were comparing notes on what had happened since last year. Others were locals, about to go home for the night.

  ‘Help yourself to fish and chips, dearies,’ a woman shouted. They collected the food and took it to an empty table.

  ‘They’re wearing dead funny uniforms,’ Lily murmured. ‘On the table next but one. And they don’t half talk dead posh.’

  Josie had already noticed the dozen or so attractive young people dressed in black and yellow striped blazers, the men in bright yellow trousers, the women with yellow sun-ray pleated skirts. They made everyone else look very drab, and seemed to be blessed with enviable self-assurance, talking loudly and dramatically throwing their arms about. The meal finished, the group made a great show of leaving.

  ‘See you later, Jeremy. Have a good show.’

  ‘So long, Barbara. Try not to kill any poor souls at bingo.’

  ‘I loathe bloody bingo,’ Barbara yawned.

  ‘Darling Sadie, if you haven’t organised an olde-time dance, you haven’t lived.’

  ‘I wish we wore uniforms like that,’ Lily said inevitably. ‘They’ve got more class than an overall.’

  For something to do, they went to the theatre where, with about twenty other people, they saw Strip Jack Naked, in which half a dozen actors, dressed only in their underwear, rushed in and out of bedrooms that weren’t their own. Lily was disgusted, but refused Josie’s suggestion that they leave in the interval.

  ‘No, as we’re here, we may as well stay till the end,’ she said primly. ‘Did you recognise some of the cast, Jose? They’re the ones we just saw in the dining room. I’d have applied to be an actress if I’d known.’

  Over the next few days, the weather improved, and they slowly got used to the camp and the concrete bunker. At eight they reported for duty at the laundry, and helped sort the dirty linen. They went round the chalets, making beds, cleaning sinks, collecting rubbish, brushing floors, and were aghast to find they had to clean the communal lavatories at the end of each block. Lily worked with one hand, held her nose with the other and wished they’d never come.

  By the end of the week, though, they were looking forward to July and August when, according to staff who’d been before, the atmosphere would be somewhat similar to Las Vegas, and it was humanly impossible not to have the time of your life. The camp would be full, the ballroom and bars crowded, and there would actually be queues for crazy golf and tennis.

  The extrovert young people in the black and yellow uniforms were called Wasps. Most were in show business, and organised the dances, beauty competitions and games, or could be seen nightly on stage at the Prince of Wales. It was Josie’s and Lily’s job to clean their chalets – they lived in pairs in a row set aside from the main camp. Lily considered it degrading to clean up after people who were merely staff like themselves.

  ‘Yes, but very superior staff,’ Josie reminded her with a grin. Lily was insanely jealous of the Wasps.

  Their room-mates turned out to be two intimidatingly tough-looking, leather-faced sisters in their thirties. Rene and Winnie ran a market stall selling second-hand clothes in Bermondsey. They were married, but their husbands had ‘taken a hike’ years ago, and their seven children had been left with their nan because Rene and Winnie were ‘sick to death of the bleedin’ sight of them, if you must know’. They’d come for a break, and another sister was looking after their stall. Over the next few months, they intended to get ‘as drunk as pipers every bleedin’ night, and shag every man who looks at us twice’.

  It seemed strange to the girls, coming from women old enough to be their mothers. At first, they found Rene and Winnie faintly menacing, but their tough exteriors hid hearts of gold. It was rather comforting to be told, in a motherly sort of way, ‘If you ever have trouble with a bloke, darlin’, just tell me or Winnie here and we’ll lay the bugger flat.’

  A great heap of post awaited Josie when she called in Reception on her second Tuesday at Haylands. ‘Is it your birthday, dear?’ the woman behind the counter enquired.

  ‘Yes, I’m seventeen.’

  ‘Many happy returns of the day,’ the woman smiled.

  ‘Ta.’ She opened the cards there and then. Her boss and two of the girls from the insurance company had remembered it was her birthday. Aunt Ivy enclosed a pretty georgette scarf with her card. There were cards from most of the Kavanaghs, but none from the person she most wanted one from – Ben. Josie turned away, knowing it was unreasonable to feel so disappointed. Since leaving Liverpool, she had missed Ben far more than she had expected. She had grown used to him just being there.

  She was walking away when the woman cried, ‘Oh, Josie – it is Josie, isn’t it? Look, I’ve just found this little parcel on the floor. It’s addressed to you. It must have been in the middle of the cards and I dropped it. Sorry, dear.’

  The brown paper parcel was no more than three inches square. Inside was a velvet box containing a tiny silver locket, hardly bigger than a sixpence, with a curly, engraved ‘J’. ‘For my one and only girl’, Ben had written in his admirably neat hand, and underneath in brackets, ‘I bought this months ago. It seems a shame to let it go to waste.’

  Weeks passed, and more and more people, from the very young to the very old, descended on the tight, self-contained, over-heated little oasis of pleasure that was Haylands. Only one thought was in their heads: to have the best possible time during their stay. For the young and single, this meant throwing conventional morality aside. The men hoped to copulate frequently with a member, or members, of the opposite sex. The girls looked forward to romance, passion, to meeting t
he man of their dreams. Many tearful goodbyes were witnessed on Saturday mornings. Whether any of the promised letters were ever written, or the fervent vows to meet again were kept, no one knew.

  Lily could have gone all the way with half a dozen blokes a day, but hadn’t met a single one that appealed. ‘I’m too picky,’ she moaned. ‘They’ve always got something wrong with them. If it’s not their looks, then they’re too pushy. I want the first time to be extra-special, not some ten-minute, fumbly thing in return for a few drinks. I quite enjoy a good old necking session, but some boys don’t find that enough.’ Still, she lived in hope that one day the ideal bloke would turn up, and waiting didn’t stop her from having a marvellous time.

  Josie felt very much a wet blanket. Already, she was tired of the dances, of being asked the same old questions over and over again. ‘What’s your name?’ ‘What do you do?’ ‘Where do you come from?’ ‘Can I walk you to the chalet?’ And if she let a boy take her back to the concrete bunker, she felt traitorous. They would pass rows of heaving couples lined up outside the ballroom, the chalets, in every dark corner. But after a single kiss she would flee, convinced that Ben was watching with his sad, hurt eyes. She preferred to go home alone. Lily would usually arrive about an hour later, and Rene and Winnie even later, or sometimes not at all. It was July but so far she hadn’t particularly enjoyed herself. She liked playing tennis or crazy golf with Lily, but the inevitable boys would arrive, wanting to make a foursome and a date for that night. The same thing happened on the fairground or in the theatre. You weren’t even safe from male attention in a shop, and she felt obliged to play along for Lily’s sake. She began to wonder why they’d come. For adventure, she recalled. Lily had come for the boys, of which there’d been plenty. She herself had wanted adventure but so far there had been no sign of it.

  One day Josie returned to their room after work to find a parcel the size of a small shoe box on her bed. ‘I noticed it in Reception,’ Winnie said. She was lounging on the bunk, drinking gin and orange. ‘So I thought I’d bring it.’

  ‘Ta. I wonder who it’s from?’ She didn’t recognise the writing, but her name and address had been printed in large, anonymous capitals.

  ‘Open it, darlin’, and find out.’

  Josie undid the string, opened the box and stared at the contents, mystified. She removed them one by one, and found a note at the bottom. ‘Dear Josie, You forgot to take these with you. Love, Ivy.’

  It hadn’t crossed her mind to bring the photo of Mam making her First Holy Communion. Even less would she have thought to bring Mam’s veil and the white prayer book, which she considered her most precious possessions. And she had deliberately left behind the watch Aunt Ivy had given her as a leaving school/starting work/fourteenth birthday present, in case it got damaged or even lost.

  Winnie nodded at the photo. ‘Who’s that, darlin’? Let’s have a decko.’

  ‘It’s me mother, me mam,’ Josie said. ‘She died ages ago. I can’t think why me auntie sent it.’

  ‘She’s pretty, just like you.’

  ‘Ta.’ The parcel made Josie feel uneasy. It seemed such an extraordinarily strange thing for Aunt Ivy to do. Hardly a day went by when she didn’t think of Mam, but seeing her picture, holding the things that Mam herself had once held, brought everything flooding back, as if Mam had died only yesterday.

  Next morning, Lily received a letter from her mother which she read over breakfast. ‘Our Marigold’s in the club again,’ she gurgled, loud enough for everyone to hear. ‘And our Stanley’s getting married in Berlin to someone called Freya.’ Her voice rose to a shriek. ‘And we’re buying our own house. It’s a semi-detached in Childwall with a big garden and a garage for me da’s car. Our Daisy’s staying in Machin Street with her friend, Eunice. And me brother, Ben, is going to Cambridge University. Look, Jose, Ma’s sent you a note an’ all.’ She handed Josie an envelope. ‘She’s marked it “Private” – as if I’d have opened it,’ she said in a hurt voice.

  Mrs Kavanagh had written:

  My dear Josie,

  I have no idea whether Ivy has told you her news. Somehow, I suspect not, which is why I am writing this, though I hate to spoil what I hope is a happy time in the camp. I worry you might hear from someone else, and thought you should be forewarned.

  Anyroad, I’ll stop beating about the bush. The thing is, dear, Vincent Adams is back in Machin Street. I heard a rumour months ago that Ivy had been seen with him in town, but couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw them walk by our parlour, arm in arm and as bold as brass. I can’t help but wonder what she’s told the neighbours.

  It means you have some thinking to do about your future, Josie. Whether to go back to Machin Street in October, with all that entails, or find yourself somewhere to live, a little flat or a bedsitting-room. Or perhaps a job with accommodation would be a good idea, a hotel, for instance, or some sort of boarding school. You can stay with us in the new house while you sort yourself out – Ben will have gone by then. But he is still shattered over the break with you, and I know he misses you dreadfully. We’re hoping he’ll feel better about things by Christmas, so it would be best if he didn’t find you here. (Are you QUITE sure it’s over between you? Eddie and I still have hopes you’ll be our daughter-in-law one day.)

  I know this will have come as a shock, dear. My thoughts will be with you over the next few days.

  Your loving friend, Mollie Kavanagh.

  Aunt Ivy knew someone would tell her. She’d sent those things, her most precious things, as a sign she didn’t want her back. Not that she would dream of going back, not with Vince there, but just in case, in desperation, with nowhere else to go, she returned to the only flesh and blood she had on earth.

  Perhaps the penny had yet to drop, because the only feeling Josie had was pity for her aunt. Poor Ivy. Fancy loving someone so much that you excused every single thing they did, no matter how wicked. Besotted, that was the word Lily had used. Ivy was besotted with Vince. He must have been the friend she’d been meeting. Haylands had come up at an opportune time. No wonder she’d been anxious for Josie to leave.

  ‘What did Ma have to say that’s so private?’ Lily sniffed.

  ‘Nothing,’ Josie said abruptly. She stuffed the letter in her overall pocket and quickly left the dining room before her friend could follow. She wanted to be by herself to think.

  Outside, the camp was virtually deserted. A few hardy campers had risen early to savour the lovely July morning. The fresh, salty air was rent with the harsh cry of seagulls as they swooped on the remains of last night’s fish and chips which would shortly be swept up.

  She wandered over to the fairground. Without the bright lights and loud, jangly music, the rides looked rather shabby, she thought, in need of a lick of paint. She climbed on a bobby horse and found the Irish Sea within her sight – vivid, sparkling, green, the waves tipped with creamy foam.

  ‘One day I’ll sail across there, to America.’ In a way, Mrs Kavanagh’s letter was a ticket to freedom. She had no responsibilities, no dependants. She could go anywhere in the world.

  ‘The world is my oyster,’ she said aloud.

  Climbing down from the bobby horse, she made her way to the big wheel, which was only small as big wheels went. She sat in the bottom seat, pushed her foot against the platform to make it swing and thought about the letter again. What was she going to do? Did she really want to be totally independent at seventeen?

  At that moment, on such a beautiful morning, with the sun shining warmly on her back and the sea glittering in the distance, the problem didn’t seem that acute. But Josie knew that with each day that passed, October growing nearer, the problem would get bigger and bigger.

  She read Mrs Kavanagh’s letter again. There wouldn’t be enough to pay rent out of a seventeen-year-old’s wages, though she’d quite like to work in a hotel. But she would feel vulnerable, living there, as well. If things went wrong, she would lose her home as well as her job. The same thing went
for a boarding school, and everyone would go home in the holidays except her.

  A gull had perched on the back of the seat in front, and was watching her curiously with bright, black eyes.

  ‘No,’ she said, and the gull flew away. No, she didn’t want to live and work in either of those places.

  ‘You can stay with us until you sort yourself out,’ Mrs Kavanagh had written. But she mustn’t be there at Christmas when Ben came home. It wouldn’t be fair. ‘Eddie and I still have hopes you’ll be our daughter-in-law one day.’

  Reading it again, Josie saw a simple way out of her problem. She would write to Ben, tell him she missed him as much as he missed her, that she was sorry she’d gone away. It was true. His shadow had haunted her ever since she’d come to the camp. Just dancing with another boy made her feel guilty, because it wasn’t him. There was no need to wait to get married. Circumstances had changed. They could get married next year, as soon as she was eighteen, and live in Cambridge. She would find a job and support him until he was ready to work himself.

  She smiled. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

  Josie wondered why, despite having sorted everything out so satisfactorily in her head, she felt more confused than ever.

  She was cleaning the chalets that housed the Wasps. So far, she had managed to avoid Lily, who was unbearable if she knew something was being kept from her. Josie wasn’t in the mood for her friend’s remorseless probing, followed by the predictable oohs and ahs and shrill expressions of disbelief that Vince Adams was back in Machin Street.

  ‘And after what he did an’ all!’ Lily would say, having guessed a skeleton of the truth. ‘What exactly did he do, Josie?’

  Most Wasps lived in a terrible state of untidiness. A few women kept their chalets neat, their clothes hung up. Some even made their own beds. It wasn’t Josie’s job to tidy, so she ignored the mess, merely straightening the beds beneath the heaps of clothes on top. She brushed floors, took mats to the door to shake. She worked automatically, her mind on other things.