Georgia looked at the clock. It was only seven. Although she wanted to get up she didn’t think she should disturb Helen just yet. She climbed back into bed, buried her head in the pillow and went back to sleep.
She awoke again to the sound of splashing water. Helen stood at the sink, naked, washing herself as if she were alone. Sideways on she had the figure of a small boy, flat-chested, with a tiny, bony bottom and concave stomach, her thighs so slender it was a miracle she could walk at all.
Georgia closed her eyes again, afraid she might embarrass Helen, and waited for her to dress.
‘Cup of tea?’ Helen was now wearing an old faded dressing-gown the colour of mushy peas.
Georgia sat up and looked at the clock.
It was only eight.
‘I always go out early,’ Helen smiled. ‘I go down to the library as soon as they open and read the papers.’
‘What for?’
‘To find out what’s going on in the world. Besides it’s warm in there, saves on heating. But I suggest you don’t go far today as they may be looking for you.’
Georgia looked sharply at Helen. Could she be intending to go to the police to turn her in? Or did she mean she could stay?
Helen frowned as though she had something on her mind.
‘I can’t promise anything,’ she said. ‘Last night I wanted to invite you to stay permanently. But I’m not sure now. You’re so young. We’d have to find you a job. I need time to think it over. I don’t even know if I could live with another girl. But stay till tomorrow. By then we should both know if it’s going to work.’
Helen’s honesty touched Georgia deeply, it lit up the drab, cold room and she felt ashamed that she had doubted her intentions.
‘But I’ve got no money,’ Georgia reminded her. ‘I can’t help out until I get some.’
‘Another day won’t break the bank.’ Helen limped over and sat on the bed. ‘Take the washing over to the laundrette across the street for me and tidy up. That’s enough help for one day.’
She passed over a mug of tea, put some coins on the table, then under her dressing-gown she started to dress.
Her knickers looked ancient, the petticoat was worn and thin. She sat down on the bed pulling on thick brown stockings held up with a garter of thick elastic. Next a thin sweater full of holes. The brown dress she’d been wearing the day before, and over the top a thick, gold-coloured cardigan which looked hand knitted.
Georgia gulped. She thought of her drawers full of clothes back in Blackheath, dainty underwear, soft sweaters, dresses hanging on padded, scented hangers.
‘You have to wrap up warm.’ Helen seemed to sense Georgia’s shock, turning to grin at her. ‘This place is like a morgue and it’s even worse on the stall.’
Pulling on her coat and a woolly hat over her ears, she left, shutting the door behind her.
Georgia sat for a moment, listening to the painful sound of the built-up boot clonking down the stairs.
Celia came sharply into focus. She could almost smell bacon frying, hear the news on the radio. Celia would be sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea from a bone china cup as she scanned through the post.
‘She’ll be crying,’ Georgia murmured, suddenly aware that until this moment she hadn’t really considered how her mother would be feeling. ‘She’ll be frightened for me.’
An acute pain made her curl up into a ball. She didn’t want to stay here in this dark, cold room. She wanted to be back home with Celia, fifteen was too young to be trying to fend for herself, how could she find a job alone? How was she going to manage?
But as she dug deeper into the bed, Brian’s face came back to her. She could feel his breath on her face as he lunged at her in the playroom.
‘You’re not my daughter.’ Those were his words. Everything she remembered and loved belonged to him. The house, her clothes, the piano, even Celia belonged to him. She couldn’t go back, not ever. It was over.
Slowly she lifted her head from the covers. This room wasn’t hers either, for now she was dependent on a crippled girl who’d been big-hearted enough to share what little she had.
‘You’ve got to make it work for you,’ she whispered. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself, the worst is over. Get up and get moving.’
The room was icy, but she must save the money in the gas meter. Jumping out of bed she moved the table to one side, taking the back of one of the upright chairs.
Dance exercises were the answer. She must get the blood flowing again, stretch those lazy muscles, warm herself up.
In the playroom in Blackheath, she had the record player to help her concentrate. Her own barre Brian had put up for her. She would watch each movement in the big mirror to see it was right. Back straight, eyes ahead, moving in time to the music.
She had to pretend the chair was a barre, imagine the music, forget she was wearing pyjamas and her feet were bare. Maybe she had no dancing teacher or parents now, but no one was going to stop her getting on the stage. All it took was willpower.
First one leg, up, down, up, down, repeating it till she hurt. Then the other. Knee bends, high kicks, and toe touching until she was hot with exertion.
Visions of dancing class came to her. Sixteen girls, each identical in black tights and leotards, pink ballet shoes. Hair scraped back into a tight bun, Miss Askell pounding the piano as they plié-d and jeté-d at her instruction.
Today Celia wasn’t going to come for her, no flask of hot coffee while she got dressed, no hour of shopping before driving her over to her singing lesson in Greenwich. But Celia had believed in her talent enough to sacrifice each Saturday willingly. She must keep it up for Celia now.
She washed herself later in the sink, trying hard not to dwell on the sparkling bathroom she’d never see again. Then before she could get cold, she jumped into jeans and a sweater.
She filled a pillowcase with all the dirty clothes and bed linen, then made her way down the stairs, across the street.
The laundrette hadn’t been open long. A woman in a blue overall was mopping the floor, she turned to look at Georgia.
‘Service wash, love?’ she shouted above the noise of a radio.
Georgia stared blankly at the row of machines, round glass doors standing open.
‘I, I,’ she stammered, blushing with embarrassment. ‘What do I have to do?’
‘Well are you going to work, or have you got time to watch it yourself?’ the woman asked, stepping nearer.
‘It’s Helen’s stuff,’ Georgia said weakly. ‘Do you know her?’
The woman’s face broke into a smile, showing more gaps than teeth.
‘Oh, she gets special treatment.’ She reached out and took the bag from Georgia. ‘I see’s to it for ’er. She comes back later. She ain’t ill is she?’
‘No, she’s fine. I’m just staying with her for a day or two,’ Georgia reassured her. Already the woman had the pillowcase open, tossing the washing into two separate machines, whites in one, coloureds in another.
‘That’s all right then,’ the woman nodded at Georgia. ‘Come back around twelve, it’ll be ready then.’
Back upstairs Georgia stared around her, wondering where to start.
Last night the room had looked squalid, but by day it looked far worse. The small, dirty window cut a shaft of light through the middle, but under the eaves it was still in shadow. Yet looking objectively at the room, part of the reason it looked so wretched was the way the furniture was arranged. The wardrobe so close to the window blocked the light. The beds sticking out from the wall made it seem like a dormitory. So the wallpaper was stained, and the carpet would never curl comfortingly round anyone’s feet, but there was room for improvement.
Starting by the fireplace she cleared the furniture to the other side of the room by the sink. Then taking a small stiff brush she began to sweep the carpet on all fours. Again and again she went over it, until at last no more dust flew into the pan. Filling the bucket with hot soapy water she washed
down the fire surround, the mantelpiece, the skirting boards and the floorboards around the carpet. Then changing the water again, she went over the surface of the carpet, being careful not to make it too wet.
By the time she had finished the whole room it was twelve. The furniture stacked by the fire, ready to rearrange. She couldn’t count the number of buckets of black water that went down the drain. Her hair felt full of dust, she had tidemarks up to her elbows, but it was so satisfying.
The carpet was a red-brown. She could even see a swirly pattern now. The windows gleamed, letting in twice as much light, but most of all it smelled clean.
*
‘Been up a chimney?’ The woman in the laundrette grinned at her as she handed her the warm bag of washing.
‘Doing a bit of spring cleaning,’ Georgia said shyly. She could feel the dirt on her face and her hands were bright red from all the cleaning fluid. ‘How much do I owe you?’
‘Call it five bob,’ the woman said. ‘I dried everything real well and folded it. It’s good ’Elen’s got a bit of company, spends too much time on ’er own does that one.’
The market was packed with shoppers. Women from offices buying vegetables, young girls looking at clothes. Georgia kept her eyes down as she scuttled back across the street, aware of a policeman standing by the door of the café.
Was he looking for her, or merely taking a break in his beat? Her heart thumped with anxiety as she slipped in the front door. What if he asked the lady in the laundrette about her?
Upstairs again she felt safer and she had a great deal more to do before Helen got back.
Helen smelled bleach and disinfectant as she stepped into the dark hallway. Instinctively her hand went out to the light switch and to her surprise a light on the stairs came on.
She blinked. Not a sweet wrapper or bus ticket in sight. Balls of fluff and a coating of grey grit on each stair had gone. The carpet was so worn in places she could see the stair treads showing through, but it was clean!
Slowly she hauled herself up by the bannister. She was so cold she couldn’t feel her toes, but for the first time ever she felt a rush of pleasure to be going home.
The open door to the bathroom beckoned her. She paused, leaning heavily against the wall, staring in amazement.
The smell of bleach was so strong it almost choked her, but in front of her was a clean bath, basin and toilet.
Granted there was still a stain of limescale where the cold tap dripped in the bath, and nothing could be done about the chips and scratches, but the tiles were white! The window-sill was shiny, even the cracked lino was clean. The smell of stale urine was gone. They could even use the bath if they wanted to!
But there was another smell too as she went on up the stairs in a daze. An aroma of meat pie. Was she dreaming all this, or was it merely a faint memory of something from years ago?
The door opened as she turned on to the last flight of stairs. Georgia stood there, a smile of welcome on her face.
‘I thought you’d never come home,’ she said, taking Helen’s basket from her arm. ‘I’ve got the tea ready.’
As Helen limped into the room she stopped suddenly.
The fire was lit. Curtains drawn. The table was now under the window laid for two, saucepans and kettle rattling on the cooker.
Georgia had moved everything and it looked almost like a real home. The beds flanked the walls either side of the fire place, made up properly, each covered with the bedspreads she had never bothered to get out of the wardrobe.
‘What have you done?’ Helen asked, tears for no apparent reason pricking her eyelids.
She couldn’t hold back the tears, she groped for the armchair and sat down heavily.
‘I’m sorry,’ Georgia said, as if froms a long way off. ‘I didn’t mean to be bossy. I’ll put it all back how it was tomorrow.’
‘It’s,’ Helen couldn’t speak for a moment. ‘It’s just such a shock.’
Only then did she really see Georgia. She wore a red sweater and jeans, kneeling down in front of her, her heart-shaped face a picture of concern, her eyes bewildered and afraid.
‘I didn’t mean to upset you. Please don’t cry.’
Helen’s mouth shook, laughter bubbling up inside her. Georgia’s face was so lovely, she hadn’t fully taken it in the night before.
The big, dark doleful eyes, the sooty lashes, the curly hair tied up in a pom-pom on top of her small, beautifully-shaped head. The grace in her movements, the slender hands and the soft voice. Who would have thought a girl who looked like that could be capable of cleaning a stinking toilet?
‘I’m not cross,’ she said weakly. ‘I just didn’t expect it.’
‘Why are you crying then?’ Georgia’s voice was tentative, like a child who isn’t convinced she’d really won approval.
‘I’ve lived here for nearly four years,’ Helen sniffed. ‘In all that time no one has ever been up here except me. I can’t remember the last time someone had a meal ready for me, or cared enough to tidy up for me. You don’t know how good it feels.’
Georgia’s eyes seemed to grow bigger, her wide, curvy mouth quivering.
‘I wanted to show you how much I appreciated your kindness,’ she said softly, reaching out and touching Helen’s cheek. ‘If you’ll let me stay and help me find a job I’ll cook and clean for you every day.’
‘I thought you were such a child this morning.’ Helen found herself crying again, remembering all the second thoughts she’d had during the day. ‘I panicked because I thought you would want me to look after you. That’s why I went out early. I even thought of going to the police and telling them you were here.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘It seemed cowardly,’ Helen sniffed. ‘Besides, I half expected you to take the money and go. I couldn’t see you wanting to stay with a cripple in a slum.’
‘That isn’t how I see you,’ Georgia looked shocked. ‘Maybe I did at first, but then you became just another girl with a bad leg, someone all alone like me with nothing but bad memories behind her. But who knows? Maybe we can have a future together.’
‘Oh, Georgia,’ Helen reached out for the younger girl, drawing her to her breast, an instinctive action she had never done to anyone before. ‘I’ve got a feeling this was meant to be.’
Helen felt Georgia’s tears even through her coat and in that moment she knew something shocking had happened to her, something far worse than a family row.
‘What’s the smell?’ she said, lifting Georgia’s chin up.
‘Meat pies from the market.’ Georgia wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I bought them with the change from the laundrette. I hope that was all right?’
‘I love meat pies,’ Helen smiled. ‘Especially when I’ve got company to eat them.’
Chapter 5
‘Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be warm again.’ Georgia held her toes up to the fire and massaged them with her fingers.
‘It’s March next week, spring’s nearly here,’ Helen sighed in sympathy. She was stirring a pan of soup over the cooker, still wearing her coat. ‘Why don’t you do some exercises if it’s that bad?’
‘I ache too much,’ Georgia growled at Helen. ‘Besides you always laugh at me.’
‘Sounds like a feeble excuse. What happened to your fighting spirit?’
‘Died of cold.’ Georgia looked round at her friend and tried to smile. She didn’t want to admit she’d been sick again that morning, or about her fears.
‘Did Janet get her letter from the sailor?’ Helen plonked half a loaf down on the table and turned to get the teapot.
Georgia stood up, pushing her feet back into her slippers and went over to the cooker, peering into the pan.
‘No, I think she’s given up on him now. She made some joke about how she could always pull men, but she hadn’t figured out how to keep them yet.’
Georgia prodded the soup. Her insides were bashing together with hunger, yet just the thought of vegetab
le soup again made her feel queasy.
‘It’s ready, pour it out will you?’ Helen didn’t notice Georgia’s grimace as she got cups out of the cupboard.
‘I can’t eat this,’ Georgia dropped her spoon with a clatter after a few tentative mouthfuls. She picked up a hunk of dry bread and wolfed it down.
Helen said nothing, just a slight raise of one gold eyebrow as she lifted the spoon to her lips.
‘Go on, say it,’ Georgia challenged, her mouth full of bread. ‘I’m a spoiled brat and it’s my fault there’s no money left this week.’
‘Did I say a word?’ Helen retorted.
‘You don’t have to,’ Georgia sniffed. She picked up her spoon and tried again.
Helen had asked her to buy belly of pork at the weekend, but she’d seen a piece of beef in the butcher’s shop and bought that instead. Now she was discovering what a tight budget really meant.
‘It’s a good job we can get vegetables for nothing,’ Helen grinned. ‘I bet you won’t be so daft again.’
‘It’s all right for you. You get a meal at the club later,’ Georgia said. She had had to buy that beef, her stomach was screaming out for the sort of food Celia cooked. How was she to know how much beef cost? ‘I bet you’ve been eating fruit all day too!’
‘What is it Georgia?’ Helen put down her spoon and reached across the table to touch her hand. ‘There’s something wrong isn’t there, something more than being hungry and cold. Do you want to go home?’
‘This is my home,’ Georgia shovelled the soup in her mouth, barely tasting it.
Of course she wanted to go home! Day after day she dreamed of Celia’s hot meals waiting for her, the clean sweet-smelling house, her warm bedroom and all the other things that home meant. But there was no way back now, this room, her job as a machinist and Helen was all she had now.
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