The Factory Girl

by Maggie Ford

  He leaned back from her. ‘What, d’yer think I can’t afford ter pay for yer? I ain’t poverty stricken, y’know.’

  ‘I know you ain’t. But I’d prefer to pay for meself, that’s all.’

  ‘At least I got a job. Thousands ain’t. I can turn me ’and to anythink. I’m a bricklayer, decorator, carpenter, plumber, you name it, I can do it. Jack of all trades, me. And if I get any spare time I go up ter West London where the posh lot live and do a spot of decoratin’ or a bit of carpentry fer them, an’ they pay well, I can tell yer. So I do ’ave dosh in me pocket.’

  Gabbling on, he sounded just a little offended and she was sorry she’d mentioned paying her way.

  ‘If I was laid off termorrer,’ he continued, ‘I could still keep me ’and in doing odd jobs like that. One day I’m goin’ ter ’ave me own business. But time ain’t right yet, not with all this uncertainty since the Armistice – no one’s going ter put their ’and in their pocket to finance me and I ain’t got sufficient readies ter take chances settin’ up in business. But it’ll come in time when things settle down.’

  Carried away by his own plans he gave a sardonic chuckle. ‘She’ll be the loser when she sees me getting on in the world and ’er stuck with that crummy bugger I caught ’er in bed with. She wants ter marry ’im, what ain’t got two brass farthings ter rub tergether from what I ’ear. Well, it serves ’er right, the tart! I’ll show ’er when I’m rollin’ in dough with me own business.’

  It was his wife he was referring to, and that was another thing – she didn’t particularly relish hearing the man she was supposed to be going out with talking about the wife, even if he had slung her out and was going through a divorce. After all, he was still married to all intents and purposes. A divorce took years, and it gave her a funny feeling about being with him – another reason she was worried about the goodnight kisses getting too serious. But she did like him, very much. It was a pity so many things got in the way.

  In her bridal gown but no headdress as yet, Mavis was getting herself in a two-and-eight.

  ‘Look, can’t everyone stop milling about all over the place? I can’t think straight.’

  ‘Yer best place is upstairs gettin’ the rest of yerself ready,’ Mum told her in no uncertain terms. ‘The wedding is in ’alf an hour and you ain’t ’alf way proper dressed yet.’

  ‘Then come up and help me put me headdress on.’

  ‘’Ow can I wiv everyone comin’ in? I’ll come in a minute.’

  She’d been up there with Mavis most of the morning listening to her moans and groans as she helped her get into her gown and combed out her hair, which had been in cloth rollers all night so as to allow the curls to set tighter; the process of sleeping in them had deprived Mavis of what little sleep the prospect of the big day allowed.

  She’d been tossing and turning all night, keeping Geraldine awake, though Evie had slept like a log despite the bouncing bed. So Geraldine felt as tired as Mavis in the morning.

  ‘I need ’elp now, Mum,’ flounced Mavis, ‘not in a minute!’

  ‘I’ll come up with yer,’ said Geraldine. As chief bridesmaid it was her place anyway. Mum had her hands full with the guests.

  ‘I’d sooner Mum,’ snapped Mavis. ‘She knows just what ter do.’

  ‘And I don’t, I suppose!’ Geraldine flared. ‘I ain’t daft, I know ’ow to put a veil and ’eaddress on someone. I could of made the entire thing, dress an’ all, if you’d let—’

  ‘Will you two pack up arguing. It’s yer wedding, love – yer special day. Don’t go spoiling it.’

  ‘I ain’t spoiling it. It’s ’er.’

  ‘Then let ’er sort yer wedding veil out. She knows what she’s doin’.’

  In a huff, Mavis dashed up the stairs as fast as her tight-skirted gown allowed, closely followed by Geraldine, equally irascible. Why was Mavis like this towards her? They’d never been what people would call close. Right from tiny tots Mavis had snapped at her, found fault and shunned any offer of friendship. ‘Sometimes I wonder why she’s my sister at all,’ Geraldine would tell friends when she went on about her.

  With Mavis plopping ungraciously down on an upright before the little dressing mirror to suffer her headdress and veil to be arranged by her sister, Geraldine bet that Tom and his brother Sydney, his best man, weren’t arguing like this as they got ready for the church.

  There was certainly no reason for Mavis to be so tetchy. Everything was going fine so far. The day was sunny and cloudy in turns and as moderately warm as March could ever be. True, the house was in turmoil, food still being laid out for the wedding breakfast and people milling about getting under each other’s feet as they prepared to leave for the walk to the church. Mavis would lead on the arm of Dad, followed by her bridesmaids. This was the old style of East End weddings. Few had the wherewithal for conveying a bride to the church and the Glover family was no exception. A girl just prayed for it not to rain. At least she had people all along the route coming to their doors to see her pass and to send their best wishes after her, though Mavis wasn’t so happy about the usual troupe of urchins following at a distance, whistling and catcalling, but there was nothing anyone could do about that – they’d follow anything, fire engines, water carts, brass bands, and of course anything resembling a procession. All Mavis could do was to grin and bear it. But Geraldine thought it did add to the general excitement of the day.

  The whole day went off with no hitches and hardly any nasty moments at the wedding reception with drunken differences of opinion. The kitchen became jam-packed with regular journeys to the beer barrel – a wedding present clubbed together from Dad’s mates, him back in his old gang again – on the stone copper, sorties to the sandwiches, jellies and cake on the board next to it, and later for a piece of wedding cake and a sobering cup of tea just before people began wending their way home, some straight, some slightly more uncertain.

  Around six o’clock the newly-weds, who’d done little but gaze adoringly into each other’s eyes all afternoon, were finally seen off on their honeymoon to catch their train to Eastbourne, a couple of the men helping them with their cases to the bus taking them to Victoria Station.

  This was the moment Geraldine was waiting for. Dashing upstairs the moment the two had gone, she dragged off the horrid bridesmaid’s dress and with great care got into her beautiful creation. The gasps as she glided down the stairs and into the back room where most of the remaining guests were gathered, apart from those back to boozing in the kitchen or stuffing what was left of the food, did Geraldine credit.

  ‘My Gawd!’ came the cry from her Aunt Violet, one of Dad’s three sisters. ‘What you got up as? You look like yer’ve just stepped out of society. What she want ter dress up like that for?’

  ‘She didn’t like’er bridesmaid’s dress much,’ excused Mum to her credit and Geraldine felt like hugging her as pride came into Mum’s voice. ‘Made that all ’erself, Vi.’

  Aunt Vi’s tone turned to admiration. ‘She could make my Edna a dress like that.’ Edna was the eldest of her three daughters, the other two already married, and three sons, all of whom were in the kitchen swigging the beer before it ran out.

  At the suggestion, Geraldine bit her lip. She hadn’t counted on admiration turning to hints of hiring her talents, and hurried away before she was required to reply that, yes, she’d be overjoyed to make Edna a dress like hers, and most likely for love.

  Dad’s other sisters, Lydia and Jessie, merely looked at her as though she’d dressed herself up like a dog’s dinner and was not worthy of comment. Several of her male cousins did raise their eyebrows in avid appreciation and said she looked smashing, while her female ones looked aside in jealousy, pretending not to notice. She was soon wondering if this had not been such a good idea after all.

  ‘That’s ever so pretty, love.’

  She turned with gratitude towards the voice of her mum’s sister Lizzie, and glanced modestly down at herself. ‘D’you think so?’
/>   ‘Oh, yes.’ Aunt Lizzie nibbled a piece of cake. ‘Where d’yer buy it?’

  The tone suggested it must have cost a fortune, ringing with both envy of her having so much money and censure that the money would have been better spent on something more suitable.

  It was confirmed by her adding, ‘But where’re yer going ter wear it, love?’ indicating the uselessness of such a dress.

  Geraldine was compelled to admit that she’d made it to lessen the sense of her being too well off or overlavish, at the same time putting herself in danger of another offer to have her make something similar for her two girls.

  But all Aunt Lizzie said was, ‘Well, I think you’re very clever, love. But you shouldn’t of made it look so ’igh class.’

  Which in a way annoyed her that people like her should be expected to keep to their station in life. Silly, old-fashioned ideas, held before the war. Well, things were different now. The war had done away with a lot of the old class distinction and women had proved they could do anything having done men’s jobs all through those four years and could go on doing them. Soon it would be the start of a new decade – 1920 – and already society women were wearing Bohemian clothes with impunity and shortening skirts. So why shouldn’t she be fashionable? She thought again of Anthony Hanford. She could be as good as him any day, learn to speak nice, behave like a lady, dress like one, especially if she could make clothes like this one that had already drawn comments, good and bad but none against the dress itself and its workmanship. She was aware of the looks of appraisal that even her uncles were giving her, as were the young men here, Tom’s brother and best man, for instance.

  Apart from the odd reference to dogs’ dinners and putting on airs, which she put down to sheer jealousy, it was a successful weekend. Tom’s brother Sid asked her to go to the Troxy picture palace with him the following Saturday and she’d said yes, because she wasn’t ready to be pinned down by any one boyfriend just yet despite envying her sister getting married.

  Mavis would return from honeymoon and become a housewife in the tiny two-roomed flat they’d found. Dad had started Tom in the docks as a tea messenger, not being skilled, but he had to start somewhere and it brought in a wage, she as a married women, of course, no longer working. Geraldine’s envy of her melted at the thought, knowing she was still free to do as she pleased.

  It was a good job she didn’t tell Alan about Sydney. That one date had been her last – completely boring, him going on about football, and not being in work like so many. Not his fault, but she’d paid for her own seat and he’d let her, not even putting up an argument. To pay for herself wasn’t the trouble – being expected to was. She didn’t think she’d be seeing him again and what Alan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. If Alan didn’t ask her out again after she told him she’d not be seeing him that Saturday, there were still her friends from work to go out with.

  Then there was that Anthony Hanford still never very far from her thoughts. She’d even dreamed of him at night: cycling past his shop and he leaping out to stand in her path and she with no way of avoiding crashing into him. That was her biggest concern, having to cycle past there every day. What if he saw her? She’d never gone back to claim those earrings, so how could she ever face him if he did come out? What could she say?

  He must have seen her on occasion pedalling by furiously and wondered at her never coming in. Or maybe he’d forgotten her so that there was no point in worrying at all. Maybe he had only been friendly like a good shopkeeper. And her running away with the idea that she could have attracted a man like him. What a high opinion she’d had of herself. On the other hand a shopkeeper’s friendliness didn’t usually include offering a gift to a customer. Perhaps he had fancied her. Perhaps he’d been hurt by her refusal. Or heartbroken? No, that was being melodramatic. Of course he wasn’t heartbroken. More likely he had shrugged and got on with his life. It was she who was getting melodramatic.

  If she went in now, what would she say? If only she’d handled things differently. From time to time she’d taken out the necklace worn just that one weekend with her dress, and Mum saying what a waste of time and money spent on it. She studied the thing and the more she scrutinised it, the more came the suspicion that those beads were real stones.

  Running her fingers over the blue ones – what had he called them, lapis lazuli? – they’d been smooth to the touch. Having looked them up in a book from the library, the gold flecks, it said, were a type of mineral. If he’d painted them on they’d have felt raised. If they were real gemstones, it would mean the pearls were real too and the necklace worth a darn sight more than two shillings. She’d seen in jewellers’ windows up the West End what real pearls cost. Surely he hadn’t been that silly to give her real stones, real pearls?

  It made her feel a little sick to think of it and set a dilemma as to what she ought to do about it. What she did do was to cycle even faster past his shop, wishing there was another route home from work without having to pass it unless she was prepared to go miles out of her way. The days were growing longer which meant coming home in daylight. He’d see her even more easily so she cycled faster still. The irony of it was that she hadn’t worn her lovely dress since the wedding – her Aunt Lizzie had been right, there’d been nowhere to wear it since. It hung in the cupboard alongside Evie’s things, Mavis having taken her clothes away with her – a thorough waste of her time just to reap a glance or two of admiration and that somewhat mixed, leaving her with a feeling of having shown off. On top of that had been the humiliating necklace and earrings business.

  Nearing Hanford’s this April evening, with daylight still lingering, she wondered if he still had those earrings or whether he had now sold them. As she prepared herself to put on her usual spurt, she saw to her horror that he was standing at the door of his shop. She couldn’t ignore him and automatically her face turned his way.

  He waved. Her best bet would have been to wave back and cycle on, but she couldn’t be that rude. Instead, she slowed, put one foot to the ground to steady her cycle to a stop, aware that he was already starting across the pavement towards her. Maybe he had been doing that as she made to pass, prompting the reaction of stopping.

  ‘Hullo! Haven’t see you for some time.’ His voice, low and full-bodied, made her tingle, despite feeling flustered.

  ‘No,’ she managed. ‘I’ve been working all the time.’

  ‘I saw you pass here a few weeks ago.’ So he had seen her. She felt even more flustered. ‘But you were going at a terrific rate of knots.’ Had he made to hurry out but had missed her? ‘So how are you?’

  ‘I’m very well, thank you,’ she replied, finding the pavement and kerb to have become very fascinating.

  ‘Did the wedding go well?’

  ‘Yes, very well, thank you.’

  ‘And you wore your dress?’ She nodded furiously, loathing this odd shyness. She was never a shy person normally. ‘And the necklace? Did you like the necklace?’

  Again she nodded. Now was the time to confront him as to their genuineness or not, but no words came out. She merely nodded, her head lowered. In fact her brake handles became a thing to study, whether they were fixed tight enough to her handlebars.

  ‘I’m glad you did. I wanted you to. Very much.’ There was a pause. Then, ‘Those earrings I made for you. I’d have sent them to you but I don’t know your address. They’ve been here waiting for you to come in again.’

  Now she raised her head. ‘You’ve still got them?’ Lord, such dark-grey eyes he had. They sent silly, unexpected shivers of excitement through her.

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘I thought you’d of sold them by now.’

  ‘They were a present for you.’

  She let her glance fall away in embarrassment. ‘I didn’t think you meant it. You didn’t know me all that well and … and after all, shopkeepers – I mean … people what don’t know you don’t usually make presents of things like that. I mean they were real … I mean, my neckl
ace was …’

  She came to a halt, confused, feeling awkward. What must he be thinking of her? She looked up quickly to see him smiling.

  ‘Clever girl.’ It sounded almost derisive, but his eyes were soft. ‘You discovered my secret. Please forgive me if I embarrassed you but it seemed right for you to wear something worthy of you. Your colouring was just right for blue, and there’s no blue as striking as lapis—’

  ‘But they’re real and all you charged me was two shillings.’

  He was still smiling. ‘I had to charge you something or you’d have walked out. As you did when I offered the earrings. And please don’t worry, Geraldine –’ he’d remembered her name! ‘– they’re not exactly precious.’

  ‘They still cost more than I could ever afford,’ she shot at him, angry now at the way he was smiling at her patronisingly, it struck her, his tone steady, but most of all his assumption that he could be familiar enough with her to use her given name without a by-your-leave. He was, after all, a shopkeeper, whether he had money or not, and as such she was better than he!

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said tersely, gazing ahead towards her destination. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ll be late ’ome for me tea.’ She was trying to speak nicely but it wasn’t working. It came to her that why should she be trying to? Who was he anyway? She was really angry now, mostly with herself, seeing the chance she’d longed for all this time slipping away, and also that he was seeing her as an ordinary East End girl yet had the cheek to chat her up.

  ‘I’ll bring the necklace back tomorrow. I can’t pay just two bob for something as valuable as all that. Even though you tell me it’s not that valuable, it’s still valuable enough. Anyway I don’t suppose I’ll use it again. I don’t go to places what call for that sort of jewellery—’

  ‘Would you like to go somewhere where you could wear it?’ he cut through her gabble.

  She looked sharply at him. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I wondered if you’d like to go somewhere nice, where you could make use of it, and your dress as well.’ As she continued to stare at him, he cocked his head on one side to gaze into her eyes, his own holding an enquiring glow. ‘If only to wear it in a nice setting in good company, or, let’s put it another way, so I could see how you look in your lovely dress and the necklace, and of course the earrings.’ His hand appeared to be moving towards hers, resting on the bicycle handlebar.