Georgia

by Lesley Pearse

  Never again would she hear that familiar clonking sound on the stairs. Or wake to see Helen making tea in her long, white old-fashioned nightdress, her red hair flowing over her shoulders.

  So many pictures trapped in her mind like a photograph album.

  Helen lying on the bed reading fashion magazines.

  ‘Do you think I could wear my hair like this?’ she’d say, holding the glorious mane on top of her head. ‘When my leg is normal again I won’t need to hide under all this!’

  There was the picture too of Helen on the market stall. Fur collar turned up on her russet coat, blowing on her fingers to warm them. Pale cheeks turned pink with the cold wind, her hair escaping in tendrils from her woolly hat as she animatedly teased the customers.

  Then there were the nights she didn’t work at the club. Those were special nights when they would giggle and chat until the small hours, drinking tea and eating biscuits in bed and Helen would talk about the man she intended to marry.

  ‘He’ll have to be big and strong. Dark hair, blue eyes, a sultry look like Elvis. But he’ll adore me shamelessly and buy me beautiful clothes and expensive perfume.

  ‘We’ll have two children. A boy with dark hair like him and a little girl with red. We’ll have a house on Hampstead Heath with a garden full of roses.’

  She sank onto Helen’s bed, shawl in hands, rocking to and fro with grief, tears cascading down her cheeks. A bellow of rage started within her, filling the room with a terrible sound.

  Helen would never find that perfect man, run, dance or make love. She would never know the bliss of a man’s arms around her who loved her, or have those children she’d longed for.

  It was after three when Georgia finally crawled into bed, her eyes swollen, her heart numb with grief.

  *

  ‘Georgia!’ she could hear Babs knocking on her door and calling. ‘Georgia. Pop’s been on the phone and wants to know if you’re all right.’

  ‘Come in,’ Georgia called out weakly. ‘It’s not locked.’

  ‘What is it ducks?’ Babs came bustling in bringing a smell of fried bacon with her. ‘Are you ill?’

  ‘Helen died last night.’

  Babs stopped short for a moment, her big mouth dropping open. ‘But we only left her at seven!’ Her work-reddened hands twitched at the stained apron, her mouth sagged as if suddenly all her teeth were gone.

  Georgia had forgotten how long Helen had lived in Bert and Babs’s room, and that they thought of her as a daughter. Until now she had been able to feel only her own grief, forgetting she didn’t have the monopoly in loving Helen.

  Babs’s face crumpled, tears welled up in her eyes, hands moving up to conceal them, shoulders heaving.

  So often Helen and Georgia had poked fun at Babs. They laughed about the rag-bag collection of clothes she wore, the way her hair never looked clean, and the missing tooth which gave her a curious wobbly smile.

  Maybe she wasn’t one of the world’s great beauties, but now as Georgia saw her grief, she felt ashamed.

  ‘Her heart was weak, it just gave out. She had an infection in her leg too. She died just after midnight.’

  Babs’s lips shook. She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling.

  ‘Why take ’er?’ she said angrily as if addressing God personally.

  ‘’Ow did you find out?’ Babs whispered, creeping nearer to Georgia across the dim room, reaching out for her hand like a life raft.

  ‘I was with her, a policeman came here for me about eleven.’

  ‘Oh, you poor love,’ now she enfolded Georgia in her arms, rocking her to and fro. ‘I know ’ow close you were. We told ’er what you was doing. She was so ashamed she’d thought the worst of you.’

  ‘She was so brave,’ Georgia buried her face in Babs’s big, soft chest, once again starting to cry. ‘She said she didn’t mind dying and that I had to do everything we’d talked about for her.’

  ‘Then you must my darlin’.’ Babs used that persuasive tone like Celia had, lifting her face up and dabbing at it with the corner of her apron. ‘But you’ve gotta get up and go to work. Sooner or later you’ll ’ave to.’

  ‘I know,’ Georgia buried her head in Babs’s shoulder. ‘But I loved her, she was my friend, sister and mother all rolled into one. I don’t even know what I should do about her funeral, or anything.’

  ‘Bert and me’ll take care of that,’ Babs said gently. Her voice, usually so loud, was hardly above a whisper. ‘She was our Helen an’ all.’

  ‘She said I was to have everything of hers.’ Georgia raised a tear-stained face. ‘She said there was a box in the wardrobe.’

  ‘’Ave you looked in it?’ Babs wiped at her own face with a corner of her apron.

  ‘No,’ Georgia sniffed. ‘I’m kind of afraid to.’

  ‘Well, let’s do it together,’ Babs said. ‘Come on!’

  Georgia got out of bed reluctantly. The mirror on the wardrobe door reflected back a sad waif of a girl. Tangled dark hair, red-rimmed eyes, wearing pyjamas that she’d outgrown several months before.

  She found the chocolate box decorated with faded purple velvet flowers, tucked away under a pile of old jumpers.

  Georgia put it on the table and drew back the curtains.

  Babs was lighting the fire.

  ‘Jesus it’s cold in ’ere,’ Babs said coming back to the table, slapping her raw hands together, eyes glistening with tears. ‘Come on, get the lid off!’

  There was a letter on the top addressed to Georgia.

  Georgia picked it up and looked questioningly at Babs.

  ‘She went prepared, I’d say,’ Babs smiled affectionately. ‘But she was always one to think everything out.’

  Under the letter were three bundles of notes with rubber bands round them.

  ‘There’s about sixty quid ’ere,’ Babs said in surprise, flicking through the pound and ten shilling notes.

  ‘There’s more at the bottom, just change,’ Georgia said pulling out handfuls of halfcrowns.

  ‘Read the letter,’ Babs urged.

  Georgia opened it, her hands shaking.

  ‘Dearest Georgia,

  ‘I feel a bit silly writing this, I keep hoping that when I get out of hospital I can get this out and we both can have a good laugh about it.

  ‘But I’ve had a feeling for quite some time that I might die. I’ve got a weak heart and I’ve been told about the risks. Anyway, I wanted to tell you, just in case I never got a chance to say it to your face, how much I loved you and how happy you made my last year.’

  Georgia’s eyes misted over, for a moment she couldn’t see to read further.

  ‘I never had a family, or a close friend. I’d got so used to being on my own that I didn’t even try to make friends anymore. But then you came along, filled up my life with your presence and suddenly I felt wanted and needed.

  ‘If I am dead when you read this I hope you’ll be strong and not brood about me or feel guilty in any way.

  ‘Without this last year with you I would have died a lonely person. You enriched my life, you gave me laughter, the joy of sharing and most of all you gave me hope.

  ‘Carry on with your singing, fill the world with your beautiful voice. I’ll be watching over you forever now. Watching to see you don’t get tempted into bad things, or mix with evil people. I saw a lot of bad things while I worked at the club, gangsters, thieves, drugs and all sorts. Please be careful, don’t be too trusting and watch out for men who will try to use you.

  ‘All the money in here is for you. Buy a beautiful dress for your special night, something red, sparkly and flashy, the kind of dress we planned to wear when we were rich. You are probably amazed that I had so much. I had to be really careful when I first came to London and somehow I never got out of the habit.

  ‘Give Bert and Babs my love, thank them for all they did for me. I thought of them as my parents. I wish them a long and happy life.

  ‘Don’t cry for me Georgia. I’m happy now and I hope
you get everything you’ve dreamed of.

  My love always,

  Helen.’

  Georgia read the letter and handed it to Babs.

  Under the loose change were several photographs. Most were of Helen when she was a child, small, crumpled pictures of a painfully thin child with a mass of hair. There was one professional studio picture, taken before she left the home in Plymouth, her hair up, wearing a print dress with a large white lace collar. With this was a snap taken at Christmas of Helen and Georgia in the market, their arms around each other, laughing.

  Georgia remembered the stallholder taking it, but she had never seen the snap until now. She held it out to Babs silently.

  ‘Fancy her sitting and writing all this before she went.’ Babs was sobbing now, great tears rolling down her cheeks. She took the picture and looked at it, lifting it to her lips.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve got this, it’s something to really remember her by, you both look so ’appy,’ her voice shook and her lips trembled.

  ‘I’ll never forget her anyway,’ Georgia said brokenly. She scooped up the pictures and the money and put them carefully back. ‘Now what shall I do with all this?’

  ‘Exactly what she said,’ Babs said firmly. ‘She wanted you all dolled-up for that night. You can’t disappoint her.’

  Chapter 9

  A rush of blood to his head, a tingling down his spine made Maxwell Menzies sit up sharply as the girl’s voice soared out across the Acropolis.

  He hadn’t wanted to come tonight. Greek family parties were almost as boring as Jewish ones. But Andreous was his brother-in-law, and Miriam had insisted.

  ‘Summertime!’

  The last time he’d heard that song was in New Orleans back in ’58 and he defied anyone to surpass the fourteen-stone Negress who had turned his legs to jelly. This girl came close though, she might be young and slender, but her voice had the same depth and passion, and she was better to look at!

  Max forgot his drink and Miriam’s tiresome family and friends all around him, all he could see and hear was the girl in front of him.

  Black curls piled upon her head, fixed with glittery combs to match the long, spangled red dress. A hint of small brown breasts nestling below the plunging neckline, and when she turned, a deep ‘V’ of naked brown skin made his heart thump. But it was her eyes which held him, so sad and huge, at times glistening with tears.

  ‘This is it, Maxy,’ he said to himself. ‘You’ve found the crock of gold.’

  *

  Few men stood out in a crowd as Max did. It was not merely his rugged tanned face, height, wide shoulders and expensive clothes, but the sheer force of his personality.

  As a young man he had flirted with boxing, but he was shrewd enough to know it would get him nothing other than cauliflower ears and a broken nose. He may not have won any titles, but it had left enough of a legend to intimidate his adversaries.

  A burst of applause broke round Max as the first number ended.

  ‘That was lovely,’ Miriam put one plump, ring-laden hand on his. ‘Fancy her just working in Pop’s workshop!’

  Max glanced across at Pop. The man’s eyes were glued to the stage, a smug look of satisfaction on his usually lugubrious features. Max had barely acknowledged this invitation when it arrived several weeks earlier, much less listened to Miriam rattling on about how excited Pop and Andreous were about this girl’s voice, but now he wished he’d been attentive.

  She was now singing the Everly Brothers’ hit, ‘Till I kissed you’. It was slower than their version, plucking at his emotions in a way the original never had and as her body swayed with the music, Max found himself slipping into a dream.

  The London Palladium, then Vegas and Hollywood. He could see himself in a box looking down at her, hear the applause, see the sparkle of diamonds, smell money. The time was right. American men had dominated the charts for too long. This stunning girl with her powerful voice could be the one to change everything.

  Across the same table, Pop too was struggling with his emotions, but unlike Max he had no thoughts of money or power.

  Helen’s death sent shockwaves throughout the market. He’d seen Georgia bent to the point of breaking with grief. He hadn’t heard her laugh in weeks, her face grey with pain, every line in her body showed the depths of her feeling. Yet somehow she’d found the guts to go on and rehearse.

  Right up to the moment she walked on to the stage, Pop had expected her to falter. Yet she’d picked up the microphone as if she was born to it, nodded to the band and straight into ‘Summertime’ as if she was merely in the workroom. Georgia had more sides than a threepenny bit. But until tonight he hadn’t seen this adult and desirable woman.

  Her slender body moved sensuously to the beat, eyes flashing, hips undulating in her clingy dress. He couldn’t help but wonder if his wife would be quite so maternal to Georgia in future.

  Glancing sideways, he saw Christina was as engrossed as the entire audience, one foot tapping, forgetting even her drink in front of her.

  It was the last number of the first set. A Peggy Lee number she loved. ‘Fever’.

  Georgia hadn’t copied the original version. Her voice was sweeter, more melodic and she sang it with just enough humour and pace to carry it off magnificently.

  The audience applauded wildly.

  She was just Georgia again, grinning as confidently as she did in the market. Eyes shining, beads of sweat glistening on that small brown forehead.

  Then as if remembering just where she was, she bowed deeply, and ran off stage.

  The girls from the workshop were practically jumping out of their seats, yelling and stamping their feet, quite forgetting where they were.

  Janet had pulled out all the stops tonight. A long black dress, glittery earrings, like an actress at her première.

  She wiped a tear of pride from her cheeks and grinned at the other girls.

  ‘Our little Georgia,’ she sniffed. ‘I’m so bleedin’ proud of her you’d think I trained her!’

  ‘Now that girl’s got class. Don’t you think so darling?’ Max turned to his wife.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Miriam gushed, encouraged by his dark eyes studying her so attentively. ‘Couldn’t you manage her?’

  ‘That’s jumping the gun a bit,’ he stroked her plump arm softly. ‘She might be able to sing amongst her friends, but she’s still a bit raw and we don’t know anything about her.’

  When he married Miriam she had been as slim as Georgia, shiny dark hair with eyes to match. But like most Greek women she had turned to fat, almost as soon as the honeymoon was over. Her place was in the home, a mother and housewife, but tonight she had another purpose.

  ‘Talk to her darling. You know how I trust your judgement about these things!’

  ‘Oh, Maxy,’ she cooed. ‘What a sweet thing to say!’

  Max picked up his glass of brandy and downed it in one.

  Miriam could be so simple. Like a trusty dog, wagging its tail after a few kind words, forgetting how often her master stayed away from home and the women his name was linked with.

  She knew how to make the best of herself though, despite her weight. Once her dark hair became grey she dyed it a dark auburn, an elaborate ‘beehive’ style which lengthened her round face and showed off her jewellery to advantage. The black dress she wore tonight was cleverly cut like all her expensive clothes, drawing the eye to her good points and camouflaging the bad. A low neck revealing her smooth olive shoulders and cleavage, sheer chiffon sleeves and draped empire line, hid away the damage a life of ease and plenty had caused.

  ‘She could be the one to change our lives,’ Max whispered, running one finger down her arm sensuously. ‘But we don’t want to get into anything blind.’

  Miriam glowed at his words. He had sulked all day about coming. The best she had expected was for him to be pleasant to her family, then insist they leave before the party even got going.

  She was only thirteen when her family left Greece an
d opened the restaurant in Greek Street. Her parents had led her to believe London would be wonderful, but all she saw in her teenage years was drudgery. Up to her elbows in greasy dishes, dark dreary rooms and a school where the other girls laughed at her accent. Pop and Andreous both worked as waiters then, and she knew her father had singled out Andreous for her.

  Back in Greece she would have welcomed the handsome young man with his soft eyes and ready laughter, but in London she saw them as a trap.

  At seventeen she met Max and suddenly her mind was made up. Here was a man who wanted more out of life than waiting on tables. Little Ruth her younger sister could have Andreous.

  Max was a theatrical agent then. Even in his early twenties he showed signs of what was to come. Shrewd, manipulative, with an eye for the main chance. Exciting, not just the way he made her disobey her parents and slip out to meet him, but the way things happened around him.

  Faced with the risk of his oldest daughter bringing shame to their family, her father finally agreed to the wedding. Andreous married Ruth and when her father died, he left them the restaurant, and Miriam a few hundred pounds.

  Andreous turned the restaurant into a club and barely scraped a living out of it. But Max used Miriam’s money to launch himself into the music world. He went to America and found talent, bringing them back to England and putting them on the road.

  At twenty-three Max had been lean and hungry looking. But twenty years on, money, another stone in weight, he was in his prime. Sensuous, hooded eyes and fleshy lips promised passion. Thick black hair streaked with grey, detracted the eye from his Roman nose. A man who knew the effect he had on women and used it shamelessly. The handmade silk shirts, Italian shoes and his ostentatious jewellery were unnecessary adornments. No one ever forgot Max Menzies.

  By the second set Georgia was getting into her stride. Her voice had a new maturity and range. Notes of caressing sweetness, mingled with shots of raw emotion that kept her audience spellbound.

  ‘When I fall in love’, had them wiping a tear from their eyes. ‘The Locomotion’ made their feet itch to dance, and finally when she burst into ‘Wonderful World’ she wrenched the last dregs of emotion from everyone.