Molly gasped. Kath had let the cat out of the bag. Harriet and Simon would know that they had been found out.
Harriet looked at the brass clock on the mantelpiece. ‘They will be here soon, Simon. Deal with these two before they cause any more trouble.’
He grabbed Molly and Kath by the arms and marched them through to the kitchen. Molly kicked and shouted, but he was too strong for them. Kicking open the cellar door, he pushed them both down the steep steps. Kath gave out a cry as she stumbled and fell to the bottom. Molly grabbed a banister rail and regained her balance. By the time she’d done this, she heard the bolts slide across the door. Simon had trapped them in the cellar. A groan from the bottom of the steps signalled that Kath had been hurt.
‘Kath, are you all right?’ she called down into the darkness. Feeling her way, she reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped carefully, knowing Kath would be close to where she stood. Her foot made contact with Kath and she bent down. ‘Let me help you to your feet, Kath. I know this cellar well. There’s an old seat to the right of us.’ She moved Kath slowly until she reached the seat. By now her eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark. A small chink of light gave her an idea. ‘Let me sit you down and check you over.’
‘It’s just my ankle. I twisted it as I fell,’ Kath said as she felt her way onto the chair. ‘It’ll be all right when I’ve rested it. I feel such a fool for blurting what we knew to Harriet.’
‘Don’t be silly. I almost did the same,’ she reassured Kath. ‘There are some candles and matches here somewhere. I’m going to find them and then take a look at that ankle.’ Molly felt along the wall until she reached a shelf. Running her fingers over the thin strip of wood, she found what she was looking for and struck a match, lighting the stub of candle before the match went out. ‘That’s better.’
‘Yes, that is better. I’m not one for the dark,’ Kath murmured.
Molly looked at her friend’s face. She’d scratched it as she’d fallen and was looking pale. Molly bent down and checked her ankle. It was already swollen. Kath winced as Molly ran her hands over it. ‘Don’t worry, Kath – I’ll have you out of here soon.’
Thanking her dad for being so organized, she went to a small sink in the corner of the cellar and ran the tap for a while until it was running as cold as possible. She found some clean rags, which her dad used to clean his car, and ran one under the cold tap.
Kath sighed as Molly wrapped the cold rag round her ankle and raised it up on a box.
‘That will feel better in no time. I’m just going to see if I can hear anything.’
‘Be careful, Molly,’ Kath whispered.
Molly crept up the stairs and listened but couldn’t hear a thing through the door. She went back down to Kath. Already there was more colour in her cheeks. ‘There’s a small, narrow window at ground level, but I don’t think it’s been opened in years. I’ll give it a try,’ she said.
However much she pushed, the window wouldn’t budge. Taking off her shoe, Molly tapped at the glass, then listened. The noise hadn’t alerted anyone. She hit the glass harder and it cracked. Pushing the pane with her hand, the shards fell away from the frame and shattered on the path outside. She held her breath but was lucky as it hadn’t been heard by Harriet or Simon. She worked at the remaining pieces of glass that were left until the frame was free of jagged edges, then went back to Kath. ‘I can just see the path that leads to the road from the window. I plan not to make a noise until George arrives. Then we must scream and shout until he hears us.’
‘It’s going to be ages yet. The shop doesn’t close until half past five,’ Kath said. ‘What about making something we can wave through the window to alert a passer-by?’
‘I’m not sure we should try that, as it could anger Simon and we don’t want that. We’d best wait for George. However, something to wave at him would be a good idea.’
Molly had started to search for items she could turn into a flag when she heard voices outside. She blew out the candle and crept to the window to listen. Two men seemed to be discussing the house. They must be buyers. No doubt Simon wouldn’t show them the cellar, where his captives were. Molly prayed for George to arrive and rescue them. She checked her watch. It would be another hour at least. Leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes. A slight breeze from the broken window chilled her face. She hoped the men would leave before George arrived.
Molly was startled awake as she heard the men make their goodbyes. Thank goodness, she thought. She crept back to Kath. ‘The men have left. I’ll finish making my flag and listen for George. If only the window was just six inches larger, I’d be able to wriggle out and get help.’
‘Don’t do anything to alert them upstairs,’ Kath whispered. ‘Stay safe until we are rescued.’
Molly continued knotting the rags together. She found a bean cane and tied the rags to the end. Satisfied she could attract attention, she went back to Kath and checked her ankle. The swelling didn’t seem to be so bad. She ran the rag under the cold tap and reapplied it to Kath’s foot.
It seemed an age before they heard footsteps. Molly listened at the window but didn’t recognize George’s voice. But . . . was that Johnny? Yes, it was definitely Johnny, and she could hear at least two other voices. She grabbed her flag and poked one end through the window. ‘Help, Johnny, help. We’re in the cellar,’ she called. ‘It’s Molly and Kath. Help!’
Feet approached the window. She could see knees and then Johnny’s face as he peered through the small gap. ‘Molly, thank goodness. We have the police here. I’ll get you out of there in no time.’
Molly went back to Kath and hugged her. ‘Help has arrived. I don’t know how but Johnny has the police with him.’
Kath and Molly huddled together as they listened to raised and angry voices through the floor above. Within minutes the cellar door flew open and Johnny, followed by George, appeared in the small cellar and the women were helped upstairs into the front room.
‘Is it safe?’ Kath asked, fearfully looking around for signs of Harriet or Simon.
‘The police took them away. They won’t set foot in this house again, or Erith, come to that,’ George said as he settled his wife on the sofa.
‘I don’t understand how the police became involved and why you are here, Johnny,’ Molly said as he handed her a glass of water.
‘I’ve been working with George to get to the bottom of this business with Harriet and Simon Missons. I had a private investigator check them out and it seems they’ve spent a lifetime defrauding people out of their inheritances. They made a mistake when they discovered your parents had died and thought you’d be an easy target. We handed over the information to the police yesterday.’
‘Did they live in South Africa?’
‘No, the only boat they travelled on was the Woolwich ferry. They were living in Silvertown.’
‘So many lies,’ Molly sighed sadly.
Johnny took her arm and they walked out into the garden. ‘It’s all over. You’re safe now, Molly. You have your home and your life back.’
‘There’s still something missing,’ she said, gazing up at him, ‘something I can’t live without.’
‘What would that be?’ he asked as he pulled her into his arms.
‘You. I know I need you in my life, Johnny. Today proved to me that you don’t give a damn about the starlets and the fans or you wouldn’t have come to rescue me. Being in danger, all I could think was I may never see you again. Is that job offer still open?’
He kissed her tenderly. ‘I would think so.’
‘How about the marriage proposal?’
‘Most definitely.’
‘There are a couple of things . . .’
He groaned into her hair as she pulled away slightly. ‘What now?’
‘I’ve purchased a house in Erith.’
‘Give it to Freda.’ He nuzzled her ear.
‘I want to sign the shop over to George,’ she murmured.
‘Good
idea.’
‘Johnny?’
‘Yes?’
‘Kiss me.’
Acknowledgements
It is often said that writing is a solitary occupation. I couldn’t disagree more. In the months since The Woolworths Girls was published and news of The Butlins Girls became known I’ve been inundated with readers informing me of their holiday camp memories. I’ve viewed photographs and heard of many happy memories from years gone by. A special thanks to my friends in the dog-showing world; I’ve known many of you for a good numbers of years now and appreciate your support of something that is ‘non-doggy’!
I have to thank my students at The Write Place for their support and friendship. Many are now published in various forms and make me very proud to be part of their writing journeys.
I can’t praise my literary agent, Caroline Sheldon, highly enough. Caroline is always there to answer my questions and calm me when I have a ‘wobble’ with my writing. I’m proud to be part of the agency’s impressive stable of authors and still pinch myself to check I’m not dreaming.
Pan Macmillan are absolute stars. To have faith in my writing and produce such fab books with my name on the cover is a dream come true. I’m never left to wonder what is happening and have been included in every step of the publishing process. The PR team is just great – I’m gobsmacked by the amount of work that goes into promoting an author.
My editor at Pan Mac, Victoria Hughes-Williams, is a delight to work with and her feedback on my writing is both inspiring and encouraging. Thank you so much.
I’m a great fan of The Romantic Novelists’ Society – such a supportive community of writers. The legendary parties, fabulous conference and online contacts, which we all know is work, makes this writer feel as though she in never alone at her keyboard.
Finally my husband, Michael. You have always supported my writing and are the sounding board for my plots and ideas. I may not always listen, and yes we argue, but your input is appreciated xx
Author’s Note:
My Holiday Camp Memories
It is said that Sir Billy Butlin came up with the idea for his first all-inclusive holiday camp after witnessing holidaymakers being booted out of their rooms after breakfast and not being allowed to return until late afternoon for their evening meal. Whatever the weather, the poor holidaymakers would have to find shelter from the sun and rain, and also entertain themselves.
This was a similar predicament for my parents when we had our two-week holiday each July in Ramsgate, and later the Isle of Wight, during what was then the shutdown period for industry in the UK. Having travelled by train or coach to the guesthouse we did not have the benefit of a car to jump in if the weather turned gloomy. Mum always planned ahead and saved money from her part-time job, not only for our holiday but also for rainyday treats: an afternoon at the cinema to see Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines, or a trip to the zoo where we would dash around between showers.
Once Mum discovered a brochure for a holiday camp, we spent many happy years touring the country enjoying all the camps had to offer. I’d like to say that it was Butlins where we enjoyed our vacations, but it wasn’t. We visited Warners, which was similar to Butlins since Sir Billy Butlin and Captain Harry Warner had worked together in the early years, and had very similar ideas about family holidays. Meals were plentiful, the wooden chalets clean and there was day-long entertainment come rain or shine.
We were ‘joiners’, and as everything was free we signed up for putting, tennis and darts, as well as more energetic events. Points were won for our house and the overall winner of each event was presented with a voucher and a medal. I had decided one summer to enter ‘women’s cribbage’, but had no idea how to play. An hour later I was sitting opposite a steely-eyed woman and I beat her! I didn’t progress much further that year, but do recall winning a medal for ladies’ putting with a hole in one, and also ladies’ darts.
Come the evening we joined in with the talent competitions. Dad was a decent singer and could belt out an Elvis or Tom Jones number, while my sister and I would dance or perform a skit. Mum’s skill was in the fancy-dress competitions. In those days no one bought outfits, so everything was made from crepe paper that was purchased in the camp’s gift shop. Fancy hats based on a popular tune found Mum melting chocolate into a lump on my favourite sun hat and winning a prize for her ‘On Mother Kelly’s Doorstep’ creation. However, to this day I can recall the horror of the ‘Topsy Turvy’ competition – for a fourteen-year-old to see her mother line up on the stage dressed as a bishop, complete with moustache, was too much to bear. I could see friends we made that holiday sniggering. I wanted to run away and hide, but Dad decided we had to clap as loud as we could. It must have worked as she won.
We stopped visiting holiday camps after Mum died in 1971. Even when quite ill she insisted we all went to Great Yarmouth, and I have bittersweet memories of her last holiday – and yes, she did manage to sew costumes and that time I had to wear them!
If you enjoyed The Butlins Girls
then you’ll love
The Woolworths Girls
Can romance blossom in times of trouble?
It’s 1938 and as the threat of war hangs over the country, Sarah Caselton is preparing for her new job at Woolworths. Before long, she forms a tight bond with two of her colleagues: the glamorous Maisie and shy Freda. The trio couldn’t be more different, but they immediately form a close-knit friendship, sharing their hopes and dreams for the future.
Sarah soon falls into the rhythm of her new position, enjoying the social events hosted by Woolies and her blossoming romance with young assistant manager, Alan. But with the threat of war clouding the horizon, the young men and women of Woolworths realize that there are bigger battles ahead. It’s a dangerous time for the nation, and an even more perilous time to fall in love . . .
Coming soon in
November 2017
Christmas at Woolworth
1942. All across Britain, people’s lives have been altered by the war, and the girls of Woolworths in Erith are no different.
Sarah, Maisie and Freda, brought together by their jobs, now cling to the shop as a refuge of friendship and normality. But outside of Woolies they live in fear of what each day will bring. Alan, Sarah’s husband, will soon be called up once more as a member of the Air Force, while Freda’s dear brother is in the Navy and fighting his war at sea. Maisie, meanwhile, longs for a child and a settled family life but is determined to do her bit for the war effort.
As the year draws to a close, the girls must rely on their friendship more than ever before to navigate the dark days that lie ahead . . .
Q&A with Elaine Everest
We caught up with Elaine for an exclusive chat about her experiences writing The Butlins Girls . . .
The Butlins Girls is your second novel. Have you found the writing process easier this time round?
I’ve always loved the process of planning a story, be it a short story for a magazine or a novella, or even in my non-fiction books, which always contain paragraphs about my dogs. For me, the story starts with the planning: what can I put into the book, who will be my characters and can I bring back a favourite friend from another book? This is why Freda from The Woolworths Girls makes another appearance. Once I start to write I can enjoy the process of seeing my characters travel through the plot and hopefully not straying from what I have planned for them. I laugh with them and I can also sob at my keyboard when their lives become hard.
How did you come to choose Butlins as the setting for your novel?
I wanted to set my story in a place that was as popular as Woolworths. I also wanted to start the story in Kent – in Erith, to be more precise, where I often set my stories. As a child I had fond memories of family holidays at Holiday Camps, and although this was the mid-sixties nothing much had changed from when Sir Billy Butlin opened up his camps after World War Two. From there the story started to weave in my mind, and many happy months follow
ed as my new ‘girls’ started work at Butlins in Skegness, and whilst working hard they found love, excitement and happiness.
How are you going to celebrate the publication of The Butlins Girls?
When The Woolworths Girls was published, I was away on a writing retreat with three good friends as news arrived that the book had entered the bestseller charts. We were in an ice cream parlour in Ramsgate and celebrated with double scoops and extra chocolate flakes, quickly followed by a glass or two of bubbly. I’ll never forget that day. This year I plan cake and more bubbly with my students, and a meal out with my husband. But as there is another writing retreat on the horizon there may just be time for a visit to that ice cream parlour and even more bubbly!
Do you have ideas for your next books?
Goodness, yes! I’m really happy to say that I will be revisiting Woolworths and all my lovely characters that readers have asked about. The war has moved on and so have the lives of The Woolworths Girls.
The Butlins Girls
Elaine Everest has written widely for women’s magazines, penning both short stories and features. When she isn’t writing, Elaine runs The Write Place creative writing school in Dartford, Kent, and the blog for the Romantic Novelists’ Association. The Butlins Girls is Elaine’s second novel with Pan Macmillan, following the successful novel The Woolworths Girls. Elaine lives with her husband, Michael, and their Polish Lowland Sheepdog, Henry, in Swanley, Kent.
You can say hello to Elaine on
Twitter @ElaineEverest or Facebook Author page:
https://www.facebook.com/ElaineEverestAuthor/
First published in 2017 by Pan Books
This electronic edition published 2017 by Pan Books
The Butlins Girls Page 31