by Joanna Rees
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is it difficult to get a position at a hotel like this?’ Anna asked the waitress as she poured her tea.
The young girl look startled. She had a plain face with large brown eyes. ‘I couldn’t say, Miss,’ she said, sounding defensive, as if Anna were questioning her right to her job. ‘I know there’s a waiting list. Always is.’
Anna nodded, smiling at the girl. ‘I see.’
She felt stupid that she’d offended the waitress. And pathetic for even attempting to cross the class boundary that the girl clearly felt lay between them.
‘You see, I can’t afford to stay here,’ she confided, hoping to salvage the situation. She longed for the girl to see her through sympathetic eyes.
‘Not many people can. It costs more for one night than I earn in a month.’
This was sobering news. How would she survive, if someone like this girl, with a decent job, earned so little?
It was only now that Anna realized how pitifully ill-prepared her life so far had made her, for her present situation. Her ability to ride a horse, or to execute some balletic pliés and pirouettes, was obviously going to be useless in London, as was her mediocre ability to play the piano. She could sew and she loved the idea of fashion, but how could she use any of these skills to earn money?
‘I need to find somewhere else to stay. Before my aunt joins me,’ she said hurriedly, remembering her lie. ‘Do you know where I might happen to find cheap lodgings?’
‘I live with my parents,’ the girl replied, with a shrug. ‘I couldn’t say.’
8
The Boarding House
Anna packed her bag slowly, eking out her stay in the hotel until the last possible minute. She’d thought she’d be able to come to London and reinvent herself, and fall effortlessly into a life of glamour and plenty. She’d been so convinced that there was a space in this city, just waiting for her to fill it, but now she saw what a fool she’d been.
Cramming her clothes into the carpet bag, she tried to steel herself for the outside world. This had probably been the easy bit, she concluded. Now the real test of her strength would begin, although every part of her longed to crawl back into the comfortable little bed and pull the quilt over her head.
When she checked out, she was pleased to see Wilf at the door.
‘Where are you off to?’ he asked her.
She looked up at the grey sky and the busy street. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’ he checked, with an amused grin, and she realized how naive she must seem.
‘My aunt is delayed and I’ve decided to stay in London, but I’ll need a cheaper place to stay.’
‘You’ll need a boarding house,’ he said. ‘Hard to find a good one. I know that much. I heard there were places in Brunswick Square.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Bloomsbury.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, as if she’d heard of Bloomsbury. She wished she had some money to spare to tip him.
‘Take the Tube, I would,’ he said, seeing her confusion. ‘You’ll find the maps at King’s Cross. Good luck, Miss,’ he called after her as Anna set off, and she felt a pang at leaving such luxury and kindness.
She bought a map, but it was difficult to find Brunswick Square, especially as the Underground was much more confusing and frightening than she’d expected.
She sat on the edge of the upholstered seat, gripping the armrest, watching her reflection in the dark window. As the lights flickered, she felt fear race around inside her. What if the Tube train got stuck, or stopped? She didn’t like the feeling that the man who was hanging onto the leather strap was giving her, or the noise of the train as it whistled through the tunnels. She felt terrified that she might get lost, then remembered that, technically, she was already lost. She sneezed and shivered. She really didn’t feel very well.
By the time Anna found Brunswick Square, her head was pounding. Walking along the pavement next to the black railings, she looked up at the row of dirty terraced houses. This was a far cry from the Midland Grand.
But she had no choice, she reminded herself. And she so desperately wanted to lie down. She could feel chills racing up and down her spine. She had always been strong and never prone to sickness, so now the thought that she might be ill came as a shock. How would she look after herself if she became poorly? Because what would happen if she got really sick? What if she died?
In the front window of the third house Anna saw a sign saying ‘Vacancies’ and she opened the iron gate, which squeaked loudly. She knocked on the door, praying that it might be opened by a friendly face. She was met by a red-faced woman with rough hands and a dirty apron. Her eyes were cold as she looked Anna up and down. When Anna explained that she was looking for accommodation and had seen the Vacancies sign, the woman tutted.
‘You’re a fine little one, ain’t you?’ another woman leered. Anna realized that the voice belonged to a woman on the doorstep of the next-door house, who was addressing her over the railings. She was wearing a shawl with red fringing, her hair dyed the most alarming orange, her lips smeared red to match her shawl. ‘You looking for lodgings?’
‘Yes,’ Anna admitted, taking a step towards her.
‘Oi, Rose, leave her alone.’ This was the landlady, who now stepped forward and grabbed Anna’s arm. ‘Come in here, Miss,’ she said.
Anna looked in confusion at Rose, the other woman, who laughed knowingly and licked her lips. She followed the landlady through the grubby front door.
‘You don’t want to be talking to the likes of her, believe me,’ the woman said. ‘She’d eat you for breakfast, if she could.’
Anna felt confused. Apart from Wilf, Rose had been the most friendly person she’d met since arriving in London.
The whole house smelt of suet cooking, and the wallpaper was black with streaks of damp. Anna reassured herself that it wasn’t that bad, but even so, it took all her effort not to put the cuff of her coat over her nose to mask the smell.
In the kitchen at the back, a giant pot bubbled on a black stove, and the sink was piled with dirty plates.
‘I’m Mrs Jackson,’ the woman said.
Anna nearly introduced herself as Verity Casey, but thought Mrs Jackson might laugh at her, so she said her name. ‘I’m Anna.’
Mrs Jackson looked suspicious. ‘You staying long? You got work?’
‘No, I haven’t. You see, I’ve just arrived and—’
‘You don’t look very well. Are you in the family way? I’m not taking you, if you’re in the family way.’
‘No!’ Anna said, astonished that the woman had made such extreme assumptions about her. ‘I seem to have a headache. That’s all.’
‘Yes, well, I’m sorry to ask, but one of my last tenants caused a terrible commotion.’
‘Who’s this then?’ Anna turned to see a man with arms like hams coming through the back door, in a grubby collarless shirt, his braces hanging down.
Anna backed away. This wasn’t good – these people . . . they were the wrong sort. She could sense it now, as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and the man looked her up and down. She shouldn’t have come in, she realized. She should have looked around and found a respectable place.
‘New one. Fresh in,’ Mrs Jackson said.
The man came right up to Anna and looked into her face, before feeling the wool collar of her coat between his grubby fingers.
‘A month up front,’ the man said. Anna recoiled from his breath. ‘And she can have the room on the third.’
She wanted to run, but she forced herself to stay calm, although her stomach churned with misgivings. She handed over almost all the rest of her money to the man, who terrified her nearly as much as Clement had. She was furious with herself as they climbed the rickety stairs, but she felt as if all her energy had drained away.
They passed a girl with blonde hair on the way. She was wearing a fashionable dress and looked at Anna appraisingly.
‘Oh, a new girl,’ she said, but Anna was unsettled by the knowing smile that she gave her. ‘Good luck in that room.’
‘Don’t mind Suzanna,’ Mr Jackson said. But Anna looked after her, as she flounced down the stairs. She could hear the voices of other young women and felt slightly heartened. Could she possibly find friends here?
Mr Jackson opened the door to a small room at the end of the corridor. A chipped chamber pot was balanced on a chair, catching drips from a leak in the ceiling. The air was acrid with stale smoke and damp. So this was what the girl Suzanna must have meant, about needing luck for this room. It was dreadful. She couldn’t even begin to think what Martha would say about her staying somewhere so awful, but it was too late to back out now.
She shivered and tried to smile and tell Mr Jackson it would do nicely, but he just slammed the door. Anna bit her lips together, telling herself to be strong, as she put down her carpet bag. How could she have been so stupid as to have handed over all her money before checking the room? She felt annoyed with herself that he’d taken advantage of her so easily. And that girl, Suzanna, must have thought she was a complete fool.
On the other side of the wall, she heard a couple arguing. And then she heard the sound of someone being struck, and a scream. Anna gasped, ran to the door and opened it. Mr Jackson was standing on the other side, leaning against the rickety bannister, as if he’d been waiting for her.
‘You mind your own business, Miss,’ he said, nodding for her to go back into the room. ‘There’s a good girl.’
9
Robbed
The fever struck with such alarming intensity that Anna was unable to get up the next morning. She lay alternately shivering and sweating in the damp bed, listening to the strange noises of the house, wondering what was real and what had been in her dreams.
She told herself to pull herself together, but her bones felt as if they were made of lead and she gave up trying to get dressed. At some point Mrs Jackson had been up to the room and had reluctantly delivered soup, and Anna had tried to reassure her, through chattering teeth, that she was going to be better soon. But in the dead of night, with drunk people lurching around in the street below and the couple arguing on the other side of the thin wall, she felt so wretched that she wondered whether she might die. And when morning came, her fever kept on getting worse.
Days passed as she slipped in and out of consciousness, delirious dreams about Clement racing around her mind. At one point she was convinced that Clement was in the room with her, telling her to be quiet; and even though a part of her knew that she was alone and miles away from home, she still shook with terror. At times she cried – for Martha, of all people. As the nights bled into the days, Anna became convinced that this was the end.
She was woken nearly a week later by the sound of church bells and birdsong. It was early on a Sunday morning and Anna realized she was ravenous – and better enough to get up.
Her legs were wobbly as she made her way to the dirty bathroom, glad of the cold water to wash away the acrid sweat. But when she looked in the mirror, there were dark circles under her eyes and her skin was sallow. ‘You didn’t die,’ she told her reflection. ‘That’s something, at least.’
Back in her room, she sat back on the bed with a sigh and gathered her clothes to get dressed. She reached into her pocket to count the rest of her money to make a plan, but the notes weren’t there. She searched through her bag and her clothes twice more, but her money had gone. She felt a hollow despair grow and grow inside her.
Downstairs in the kitchen, Anna lost the nerve to challenge Mrs Jackson about the lost money. The landlady didn’t seem particularly bothered that she was better, only relieved that she hadn’t died. She asked for some breakfast, but Mrs Jackson said she didn’t have much in and that Anna was to wait in the living room. Suzanna, the girl she’d seen on the stairs, smiled at her as she went into the small room. She was lying on one of the sofas, her feet up on the arm, smoking a cigarette.
‘You had quite a fever,’ she said.
‘I know.’
‘We were worried about you.’
Worried enough to rob me, Anna wanted to say. ‘I’m better, I think.’
They must have been around the same age, but Suzanna seemed so much more worldly. They talked about the weather, and then Anna plucked up the courage to tell Suzanna that she’d been robbed.
‘Of course you were. You didn’t lock the door. You can’t trust anyone in this place.’
Anna nodded, feeling stupid. ‘I don’t know what I’ll do, now the money’s gone. I need a job – and fast.’
Suzanna leant forward, looking towards the door as if frightened of being overheard by Mrs Jackson. ‘You could work for Rose.’
Anna remembered the woman next door, who had leered at her. ‘Work doing what?’
‘Oh, you’re a green one all right,’ Suzanna laughed.
Anna felt confused, so Suzanna enlightened her. ‘She runs a bespoke service. We . . .’ she paused, sucking on her cigarette, ‘entertain certain gentlemen.’
Anna felt a flush starting right inside her. ‘I couldn’t, I mean—’
‘It’s not for everyone, I’ll grant you that,’ Suzanna said, letting her off the hook. She stood and crossed her arms over her slender waist, appraising Anna. ‘If you’re really short of money, I’ll buy that coat from you,’ she offered, looking at Theresa Darton’s checked coat, which hung over Anna’s arm.
‘This?’ Anna asked, holding it up.
‘Yes. I need a new coat, and I rather admired that one when you came in.’
Anna couldn’t help feeling that the money Suzanna handed over a few minutes later was rather grubby, but she didn’t care.
When Mrs Jackson brought in tea, Anna loaded sugar into it and then took the paper that was folded on the small wooden table by the fire and pored over it for news of Darton. She read all the obituaries, too, looking for any mention of Clement.
But there was nothing about Lancashire at all and she put the paper down, then saw an advertisement for a show. She ran her finger over the picture of the chorus line. The girls, with their long legs and bright smiles – if only she could be one of them. If only she could belong to something. Instead, she felt like a ghost. Here, but not here.
She wandered out and found a church on the corner of the street. The service was over and Anna went inside and sat in the pew, staring up at the wooden cross above the altar.
She’d so hoped to become Verity Casey, with a bright future, but instead she’d lost all of her money and, with it, her hope. And now, having spent the worst week of her life, alone and sick, she prayed things would start to get better. But a churning sense of fear overcame her. The sale of her mother’s coat would only sustain her for a short time, and fairly soon she was going to be completely penniless. And what then?
The boarding house was bad, but being on the streets would be a hundred times worse. The word ‘destitute’ sprang to her mind. Anna knew all about the shame of being destitute. Her father believed anyone who lost their home to be degenerate and feeble-minded, and thoroughly deserving of the fate that befell them. He and Clement had always been quick to mock the poor and unfortunate. But perhaps they were right. Perhaps she would be thoroughly deserving of her fate, too.
She thought briefly of Suzanna’s offer and how she could work for Rose, but she couldn’t ever do that, could she? Was that the only option? To sell her body, in order to eat?
Maybe she should telegram her parents. Admit what she’d done. Get them to pay for her ticket home, where she would have to face the police and her punishment – although this felt like punishment enough.
But then . . . she’d got this far, hadn’t she? To London. To a place she’d only ever dreamt of. She thought of the advert in the paper and of the smiling dancing girls.
‘Please, God,’ she whispered, ‘I know we probably don’t believe much in each other any more, but please, if you’re there, give me s
trength.’
10
Blackness
Noises . . . voices and pain. Pain. He gasped as he felt himself swimming up into consciousness from the darkness.
He saw a blurred face above him. A woman with a white hat. A nurse?
Voices.
‘I think he’s coming round. Clement? Clement, can you hear me?’
Shadows coming closer. Slowly focusing now: Mother . . . in a black dress, her face pale, leaning down. He tried to move, but couldn’t. Something was on his face. What? A bandage . . . Where was he?
‘Can he speak?’ His father’s impatient voice.
‘Give him time, Darius.’ Another man’s voice. A glimpse of his face. Was it Doctor Whatley? ‘It’s a miracle he’s made it.’
The people all went blurry again, then a sharp scratch. A needle in his arm.
Pain, but it subsided. A warm, fuzzy feeling set in.
Then a memory: her . . . Anna – that bitch.
11
The Girl in the Green Coat
Determined not to have to succumb to Suzanna’s proposal to work for Rose, Anna took to the streets, resolved to discover the city – her eyes open for any kind of possibility. Surely it was only a matter of being positive, she told herself. Something would turn up, surely?
She’d gone further afield each day, first to the British Museum and then down to Trafalgar Square, wandering around the National Gallery and marvelling at the artworks.
Today she walked along Shaftesbury Avenue and, as she walked, she hummed ‘Bye Bye Blackbird’, trying to keep herself steady and to ignore the rain.
Her mother, Theresa, had always told her that singing of any sort – apart from in church – was vulgar and unnecessary, but Anna had always loved music, pressing herself against the wireless when she was alone, to devour the romance of the latest songs. Now she stopped to shelter under the awning of a theatre.
It wasn’t open yet, so she peered in through the glass doors to the foyer, looking longingly at the red carpet and imagining the theatre beyond. What if she stayed until opening time: might she meet the manager and get a job selling tickets? Or even become a cleaner? She would do anything. Anything at all.