The Runaway Daughter

by Joanna Rees

  All the other girls followed Jane, bundling along the corridor to climb up the iron fire exit, their voices bouncing off the back alley’s bare brick walls. Jane was bemoaning the fact that Alex and Tommy hadn’t called them.

  ‘You said he had a big nose anyway,’ Emma pointed out.

  ‘Who? Alex?’

  ‘No. Tommy.’

  ‘That wouldn’t put her off marrying him,’ Betsy chipped in, and Jane gave her a shove. ‘Even with a hooter like that.’

  Vita laughed. She hadn’t expected tough girls – working girls like these – to be so romantic. She’d always had her own romantic daydreams, of course, but she’d kept them very much to herself. Stupid fantasies about escaping . . . about falling in love . . . about being swept into another, more exciting life by a handsome stranger. But here in London the girls were serious, their fantasies tinged with pragmatism. As if their dreams and fantasies really could come true. And their nightmares, too, of course. Their fears, in a post-war city, with so few men around, of being left forever on the shelf.

  ‘What about you, Vita? You’ve kept very quiet. Is there anyone you have your eye on?’ Emma said.

  ‘No,’ she laughed, out of breath as they climbed up the last flight of steps to the door.

  ‘Well, we can’t afford to hang around for long,’ Betsy said, with a sigh. ‘We have to get hitched when we’re at our best.’

  ‘It’s not all about getting married, though, is it?’ Vita said. ‘Surely?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ Jane replied. ‘Making the right match, well, it’s making a success of yourself, isn’t it?’ She grinned. ‘And just think of the party, too. I want the whole works. A white wedding, champagne . . . a romantic honeymoon.’ She burst into the lyrics of a song in her best deep voice and they all tumbled up onto the roof, laughing.

  29

  A Breath of Fresh Air

  A high wall enclosed the small roof space and Vita breathed in the city air, standing on tiptoe and looking across the rooftops. A church bell chimed in the distance. Pigeons cooed softly, traffic rumbled quietly far below.

  Downstairs in the dark basement it was entirely possible to forget what time of day it was – or even that it was day itself. Let alone one as glorious as this, the kind of day that whispered the promise of spring after weeks of drizzle. To Vita – used to the dampness of Lancashire – this felt like how she imagined it must be abroad. In Rome. Or Venice. In any number of those marvellous continental cities that she’d read about in the racy novels the girls secretly passed around at school.

  Watching the way they settled into easy sitting positions, and judging by the full ashtray, she guess the girls often came up here for a moment of fresh air. A couple of old tea chests and packing crates stood along the far wall, and Jane ran lightly over and jumped on them, sitting down, stretching out her feet and thrusting her face to the sun. Betsy was next, carrying today’s newspaper.

  Vita had scoured every paper she could lay her hands on every day, but today she felt like a rest from constantly looking for news from home. On the London rooftop, she felt free. She told herself over and over again that she’d escaped for good – so much so that she’d actually started to believe this wasn’t a dream from which she was going to wake up any second, but it was actually happening. She copied Jane and turned her face towards the sun and breathed in. Maybe Percy was right. If you pretended hard enough at something, it could become real.

  ‘Oh, my goodness!’ It was Betsy. ‘Look here. Vita, you’ll never guess! You’re in the paper.’

  Vita’s stomach lurched. What had she just thought?

  ‘Right here. Look,’ Betsy said, pointing.

  Vita’s feet felt like lead as she went over to where Betsy was spreading the newspaper on the wooden tea chest. Jane was reading over her shoulder.

  What had they seen? Her picture? A report on the Darton family and their tragic loss? Had they worked out who she really was and deduced the truth about what had happened to Clement? Did that mean all the girls – and, worse, Percy – would now know her secret? And the terrible thing she’d done?

  ‘You’re a dark horse, aren’t you?’ Emma chipped in, reading over Jane’s shoulder. ‘Right under our noses.’

  Vita didn’t understand. What were they talking about? Why were they smiling? Why weren’t they staring at her in horror instead?

  ‘You should have woken us,’ Jane said. Her voice was laced with envy. ‘We had no idea you’d been out. How on earth did you get past Mrs B?’ She stared round at Vita, as if seeing her in a new light.

  Betsy now cleared her voice to read the column: ‘Later on, I bumped into Edward Sopel at Blanchard’s. Quite the man about town. He was dancing with Miss Verity Casey, a very fetching dancer in the latest new line-up at the Zip Club. A devilish young flapper, I must say. One would hope that such a perfect peach will not get bruised, if she’s cavorting with Sopel and his merry-makers.’

  It wasn’t about her at all. Not the real her. But about Verity Casey. It must have been the man at the club – the reporter.

  Relief made Vita’s legs feel like jelly for a moment.

  Devilish young flapper . . . perfect peach . . . Her cheeks started reddening with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. Was this good news? Or bad? She really had no idea. No – good, she decided. From the look on the girls’ faces, it had to be good. Each and every one of them was looking at her now the way they only normally looked at Edith. With a mixture of jealousy and respect.

  ‘How on earth do you know Edward Sopel?’ Jane asked, her voice laced with envy. ‘I’ve heard of him. Isn’t he frightfully posh?’

  ‘I thought you said you didn’t have anyone. There’s no secrets in the sisterhood, Vita,’ Emma added, her brow furrowing in mock reproach.

  Vita was about to tell them about meeting Edward in Percy’s room, but then she remembered that they wouldn’t have a clue about Percy. And after the other night, she would never betray his trust.

  ‘He’s an old acquaintance,’ she lied. ‘I bumped into him and told him I was in town, and he insisted I go out with him.’ There was no harm in riding the wave of their admiration. It clearly reflected well on her. Yes, she was sure of that now. She gave a little shrug, as if this kind of thing happened to her the whole time, while inside she was quaking, still counting her lucky stars that she was only in the paper because of this and nothing else. ‘You were both asleep and I didn’t know the rules, so I had to sneak out.’

  If only they knew.

  30

  High Kicks

  The girls were still gossiping about it five minutes later when Edith arrived. Maybe she was feeling left out, or maybe she’d been dismissed by Mr Connelly. It was difficult to know, from her haughty, superior glare.

  Vita had been happy to bask in the glory of her sudden notoriety, but now her smile faded, as Edith’s accusatory look ran between the girls.

  ‘Did I miss something?’

  ‘Vita is in Marcus Fox’s diary,’ Betsy announced, standing aside to give Edith a clear view of the paper.

  Edith didn’t say anything as she looked down her nose, scanning the column.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Vita said.

  ‘You might be in the newspapers, but that doesn’t qualify you as a dancer, just because it says so here,’ Edith responded, but Vita noticed a hint of something in her voice. Jealousy? Surely not respect? No, not that. Not from Edith.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I know,’ she mimicked Vita’s voice nastily.

  And there it was. As quickly as she had thought Edith might be starting to thaw came the realization that it was quite the opposite. She couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that Edith had seen right through her from the start.

  ‘So if you’re such a great dancer, why not show us your high kicks? I’m sure the others will agree that they were pathetic just now.’

  It was a challenge. Vita realized that Edith was throwing down some sort of gauntlet, designed to show he
r up in front of the other girls. She couldn’t help feeling affronted. She’d thought their run-through of the routine had been her best yet. But then she remembered: she wasn’t a dancer. Scraping through wasn’t what it was about. And the first show was tonight.

  ‘Now?’ she said, jutting her chin out and trying not to show the fear she felt.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Oh, Edith. Leave poor Vita alone,’ Jane said. ‘You’ve been on at her all week, and she’s learnt the dance perfectly well. This is supposed to be our break.’

  ‘I don’t know why you’re defending her,’ Edith said, and Vita saw in the look that had passed between them that Edith demanded total loyalty.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Vita said, keen to deflect Edith’s attention from Jane, who out of all the girls had been the most friendly. She had to do what Percy had told her: she had to front up to Edith and not be bullied by her. ‘Actually, I love high-kicking. But could you hang on?’ she said, an idea forming. ‘Just for one moment?’ Edith looked confused. ‘Who has some scissors? Jane? Any in your vanity case?’

  Edith backed away. ‘What do you need scissors for?’ She sounded suspicious, and she saw Jemima and Betsy laugh in a surprised way.

  ‘You’ll see,’ Vita replied, as Jane rummaged in her little leather pouch and produced a tiny pair that were hardly more than nail scissors. ‘The best I’ve got.’

  ‘They’ll do.’ Vita took them and ran over lightly to where a discarded windowpane leant against the wall, so that she could see her reflection. And, biting her tongue, she set about cutting off the legs of the dusky pink trousers she was wearing.

  ‘What are you doing?’ This from Jane. Vita saw her shocked reflection in the glass.

  ‘Percy gave me these,’ Vita said, with difficulty, contorting herself to reach behind her. ‘But they’re too flappy to high-kick.’

  She didn’t say it in so many words, but Percy had divined that she was lacking any sort of suitable clothes, so he’d helped her pick out an outfit for rehearsals from his rail.

  ‘I need a new look. A sort of reinvention,’ she’d told him, and he’d taken on the challenge, pulling out various options. Some – like these trousers – were rather outlandish and she’d been scared at first, but Percy had told her that, with the right attitude, she could wear anything. She simply had to experiment and be bold. And having never been bold before now, she’d grabbed onto his words. Because Verity Casey was bold and daring. Wasn’t she? Even if she was quaking inside. It felt slightly sacrilegious to do what she was about to do, but then she thought of Percy – he would approve, wouldn’t he?

  ‘Here, I’ll help,’ Emma said, bending down and taking the scissors from Vita, who felt the cold blade on the back of her upper thigh. ‘Are you sure about this?’

  ‘It’s too late now,’ Betsy said.

  Vita stood tall, seeing her reflection in the pane. She adjusted Percy’s pink paisley cravat, which she was wearing as a headband. Then suddenly the leg of the trousers was free.

  ‘Oh, you do look funny,’ Jemima laughed.

  ‘Shall I do the other one?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Better had,’ Vita nodded. ‘So that I’m level.’

  In a moment the trouser legs had both gone and Vita flipped them off her ankles.

  ‘That’s much better,’ she declared, bending forward easily. ‘I’m ready now.’

  Edith strutted over and shrugged off the light cardigan she was wearing over her shoulders, throwing it so that Jemima had to catch it. She looked up and down at Vita’s attire with disdain. ‘It’s just that we do need to check that you can high-kick.’

  With that, she flung one of her superb legs high into the air, her eyes never leaving Vita’s. She followed with a small part of the routine, a shuffle ball change and another high kick and a turn.

  Vita followed suit. She probably couldn’t kick as high as Edith, but she was damned well going to try. Putting her hands on her waist, she re-enacted the part of the routine that Edith thought was lacking, flinging her leg up into a series of high kicks. Soon her lungs were screaming, but she wasn’t going to let Edith know that. Instead she met Edith’s blazing gaze with a cool one of her own. She’d spent so long being cowed by Clement that it felt good to meet a challenge like this head-on.

  ‘That’s enough,’ Jane said. ‘She can dance just as well as the rest of us.’

  Edith stopped and gave Jane a withering look that made it perfectly clear they all thought that particular statement wasn’t true. Jane pulled a face back, as if daring her to say it.

  ‘I don’t trust her,’ Edith pronounced. ‘Not when we don’t know where she’s from or what she’s up to.’ Vita was about to speak and defend herself, but Edith put up her hand to stop her. ‘But I believe in keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. I’m going to Annabelle Morton’s twenty-first next Saturday night after the show,’ she said, as if Vita should be impressed. ‘Nancy’s coming with me, of course, but you can come, if you bring Edward. You see, we’re old friends,’ she added, with an amused eye-roll at the others. She was clearly implying that she and Edward had been more than friends.

  ‘I’ll ask if he’s free,’ Vita bluffed, rising to the challenge, trying not to show how out of breath she was.

  Edith’s blue eyes narrowed and bored into hers. She didn’t believe that Vita knew Edward Sopel. This was all a big test. ‘I wouldn’t tease him, though. He’s a sensitive chap. He took it very badly when I ended our . . . dalliance.’

  For a moment Vita thought about calling her out and exposing her for the liar she was, but she couldn’t, without implicating dear Percy.

  Edith puffed her chest out. If the high-kicking had tired her, it didn’t show one bit. ‘Come on, girls. There’s work to do. This show is a shambles, and I won’t have our reputation in tatters because of a few stragglers.’ She looked over her shoulder at Vita.

  ‘I really don’t know what they see in her. She’s so horrible. Here, have this. For your scrapbook,’ Emma whispered, passing Vita the paper.

  Vita was folding it up as Nancy arrived.

  ‘What did I miss?’ she asked, clearly disappointed that the others were on their way back downstairs.

  ‘She’s coming with us to Annabelle’s,’ Edith said. It sounded like an order.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Verity. Your friend.’

  Nancy took in this information, slowly turning her head towards Vita, who could see her trying to make sense of it all: that Edith was now not only speaking to Vita, but had invited her to a party.

  Edith flounced through the door into the dark stairwell, followed by Emma and the others. Left alone, Nancy put her hand on her hip and looked at Vita through narrowed eyes.

  ‘She’s forgiven you and, therefore, so must I.’

  Vita nodded. ‘For what it’s worth, I still feel terrible. About lying to you.’

  Nancy smiled and flipped her hand. ‘No, you don’t. Anyhow, I like you. You have gumption and pluck.’ She cocked her head on one side and twisted her lips. ‘But I’m afraid, my little Vita, I’m going to have to take you in hand.’

  Vita laughed suddenly, wondering what Nancy meant by this. But she didn’t care. She was too busy mulling over what had just happened.

  ‘By the way, whatever are you wearing?’

  ‘Oh,’ Vita said, stooping to pick up the trouser legs. She wasn’t ever going to waste any material. ‘I thought they were better like this for dancing.’

  Nancy nodded. ‘I like them. They look good,’ she replied, linking her arm through Vita’s as if they’d always been the best of friends.

  31

  Show Time

  Despite her earlier confidence and the buzz of winning back Nancy’s approval, by the time the evening came, Vita felt like a nervous wreck. Her headpiece fluttered in the hot draught of the open dressing-room door as Percy fixed the final details of her costume.

  There was a charged atmosphere backstage, which only made Vita’s stoma
ch dance with butterflies even more. She could hear the band playing out at the front of the club and the hubbub of voices. Here, backstage, Edith and Jemima were singing arpeggios to warm up their voices, while stretching their legs on the small ballet bar in the corridor. Emma and Betsy were busy applying the gold sequins to each other’s faces. Vita already had her show make-up on and stretched her face uncomfortably in the mirror.

  ‘Stop worrying,’ Percy said, turning sideways and admiring her profile.

  ‘Oh, but I hate my arms,’ she said, feeling exposed. She pointed to the large mole on her shoulder. ‘It’s ugly, don’t you think?’

  ‘I’d never have noticed it, unless you’d pointed it out. What do you think, Wisey?’

  ‘Oh, go on with you. In the movies they paint those things on. As I always say, be proud of the skin you’re in,’ she said.

  Vita laughed, amazed as always at the older woman’s wise words. No wonder her nickname had stuck. ‘Take it in just a bit more, maybe. Here.’ She pinched the gold material and looked down to where Percy was kneeling by the hem of her dress, some pins in his mouth. She looked at herself a little less critically, deciding that she wouldn’t be self-conscious about her arms from now on.

  ‘Stop it,’ he said. ‘You’ll ruin the line.’ He stood behind her now, staring in the mirror at the dress he’d made. ‘What about here,’ he said, hitching up the strap on her shoulder and then taking a pin from his lapel and pinning the strap. ‘That better?’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Vita, delighted with the small adjustment. She’d been terrified about falling out of the dress, and Percy was the only one who understood. Maybe it was because of the secrets they already shared, but being around Percy made Verity Casey – the person she wanted to be – come alive. As if his very presence made her feel more vivacious and daring.