The Factory Girl

by Maggie Ford

  The sun peeped out from a September cloud and shone suddenly as brilliantly as at any time in the height of summer. Geraldine glanced at her dad and smiled a little warily. He returned the smile equally as warily. They hadn’t yet quite got over their differences of these past few weeks, but now he felt for and took her hand, his palm feeling calloused and hard against hers.

  His light-brown eyes, faded now, but once, so Mum had told her, the most attractive thing about him, gazed into hers.

  ‘You orright, Gel?’

  She nodded without speaking and he looked down at the linoleum-covered bedroom floor.

  ‘It’s goin’ ter be strange, not ’avin’ you around – just Evie, Wally and Fred left. Funny not ’earin’ your sewin’ machine goin’ any more. Used ter drive me ter drink cold tea, that thing rumblin’ away over me ’ead. Goin’ ter be very strange.’

  ‘I ain’t goin’ far, Dad,’ she told him. ‘I’m only down the road. Hardly miles, is it?’ But he shook his head.

  ‘It don’t ’ave ter be miles what takes people away.’

  For a second she felt a chill like a cold flat shaft of metal go softly through her body. Why did Dad always have to put the kibosh on things? He’d never been much of a talker, but when he opened his mouth it was almost always some observation that for all its truth tended to provoke annoyance or evoke discomfort. What he’d just said, intimating that married she’d be too well off and fancy-free to have time for them, dispelled all of the fondness she’d been feeling towards him, and she had to force herself to be cheerful.

  ‘Come off it, Dad, you’ll ’ave me in tears in a minute.’ But she still needed to get in a dig of her own. ‘You won’t miss me one bit, you and me’s never seen eye to eye for years.’

  ‘Probably miss that too,’ he said in a low voice, then looked up almost in relief as a car’s horn hooted down below. ‘Right, then!’ He surprised her by giving her a sudden, brief kiss, his face as hard to the touch as his hands had been. ‘Come on, Gel, you knock ’em in the aisles, eh?’

  Not much was said in the car. It was such a short journey to the church that a car was hardly necessary, but it seemed to take ages, the driver not rushing so that the neighbourhood got a good view of the bride. Geraldine could imagine the conversation spoken through pursed lips even as they waved to her: ‘Showin’ orf in a posh car – what’s someone round ’ere want a posh car like that for? Ain’t even five minutes walk from ’ere ter the church?’

  Mavis on her wedding day had walked, same as most brides around here, unable to afford anything else, and Geraldine felt a little guilty knowing how much her wedding was costing Tony. It made her stand out like a sore thumb and she wished he hadn’t done it.

  There at last, Uncle Bert, Dad’s brother, took a snap with his Brownie box camera of her on Dad’s arm, then rushed back into the church ahead of them and to his pew. Mavis and Evie were in the porch waiting to receive her for a last-minute prinking of her headdress and she began her walk on her father’s arm to the swelling of organ music while her heart thumped like an unevenly beaten drum inside her.

  The air in the church felt cold on her skin. Faces looked up at her, smiling as she passed slowly by them. She recognised those of her family but couldn’t truly see who was and who wasn’t there, except to note vaguely that while her side of the aisle was full, Tony’s seemed sparse of people. He didn’t have the large family she had, but his parents had to be there.

  At the altar rail she could hardly turn to see as Tony moved to stand beside her. He seemed very calm, confident. He felt for her hand, squeezed it, and as she managed a peek at him he smiled. She smiled back, feeling better. In half an hour this man would be her husband and all the earlier altercations between him and her family, her and his, would be over.

  The service went smoothly. She could hear her mother’s tearful sniff once or twice, and the rustle of wrapping paper – guests bringing their wedding gifts in with them – and once Mavis standing behind her gave a subdued little cough. Tony fumbled in putting the ring on her finger but his voice rang clear as he repeated his vows at the vicar’s bidding. Her vows had not been half audible enough but her throat had gone dry.

  It was after the signing of the register, the triumphant rising of organ music bringing them from the vestry to walk back up the aisle followed by the congregation, that she noticed the absence of Tony’s parents. Glancing at him she saw a tightness on his face and knew he was thinking the same thoughts as she, only with more regret and bitterness. She wanted to comfort him but all she could do was walk beside him to the din of music meant to glorify their union.

  Someone who looked very much like Tony, no doubt his sister, had been there with a man and a small child. Tony had said his sister was six years older than him and had a daughter five years old. Geraldine found herself wondering if Fenella’s husband had been in the war – an idle thought that served to blot out the empty pew where Tony’s parents should have been.

  Outside for photographs, the sun now behind thin clouds but the air warm, Fenella came up to them during a lull in the congratulations and confetti-throwing. She was tall like her brother and angular like her mother but the angles were softer, revealing the beauty their mother must have been at her age, both she and Tony very like her in looks. Leaning forward she kissed first his cheek then Geraldine’s, the kiss warm and friendly, the grasp of her arms conveying genuine delight for them and Geraldine felt instant friendship flow between them as Fenella introduced her husband Reginald and daughter Stephanie.

  Waiting in the church hall to welcome their guests, Geraldine asked about the absence of Tony’s parents only for him to snap, ‘Later – I’ll tell you later, darling.’

  She knew even before he produced the telegram arriving moments before he left for the church that they had backed out. She felt angry for him, sad for him, knowing how he must feel, and through a dull ache made herself smile as people came to wish them lots of health, wealth and happiness. The anger stayed with her all through a day that should have been her happiest, but no one noticed as she laughed and chatted and danced to a tinny piano and a neighbour’s accordian providing music.

  The lack of Tony’s guests was unmistakable. Her family, close workmates and friends, even Alan Presley, now established as a friend of the family, entirely swamped Tony’s few friends from past years, who, with Douglas his best man, his wife and two small children, his sister and her family, were all there were. It was embarrassing in a way and she felt deeply grateful to Fenella for turning up, in some way making up for his parents.

  As to her parents all differences of opinion seemed to have vanished, which was gratifying and she hoped it would continue. More worrying were most of her uncles getting drunk, and several aunts tipsy. She prayed there’d be no arguments breaking out as so often happened at weddings. It had happened at Mavis’s – something one sozzled uncle had said that had displeased another, aunts having to separate them, something they had laughed over afterwards, as ever. But would she feel like laughing if Tony or Fenella or any of his nice friends saw such goings on to her lasting shame? Fortunately, with her lot probably being well behaved in the presence of a different class to themselves, there wasn’t one squabble.

  In fact there was a tension about the whole day that put Geraldine’s nerves on edge, everyone trying to be at their best. But at least their send-off was enthusiastic, perhaps her own sort feeling relief that it was all over and the posh lot would go home, having to travel, while they lived only in the immediate vicinity and could go back and finish off the evening with a bloody good knees-up without feeling awkward.

  With gales of laughter and shouts to the departing couple not to get carried away and that they had all their lives to ‘do it’, confetti was showered over them, a fine rain now making it stick to everything.

  Wally and young Fred were thumping the groom heartily on the back, Mum cuddling the bride to her, telling her to take care of herself and make him take care too – ‘Don’t
want ter start ’avin’ babies too quick, give yerselves time.’

  Fenella came forward to say not to lose touch and that they could meet in the West End sometimes for coffee. Aunts and uncles and friends took their turn to kiss the bride, Alan’s slightly more lingering than she would have liked (it came to her that he must still be in love with her, a thought she brushed quickly away with a sort of sad feeling in her heart); the men to shake the groom’s hand; and Dad who came forward, kissed her cheek and held her tightly to him for a moment, something very unusual for him to do, and in doing so managed to spoil it all by muttering in her ear, ‘Don’t distance yerself too much from us, understand?’

  She was so hurt and shocked by the tone that she couldn’t even whisper in return, ‘Of course I won’t, Dad,’ the filial words sticking in her throat.

  The motor car had borne the couple off to their flat over the jeweller’s shop, Geraldine’s new home at least for the time being, she had said. Once settled, they’d find a nice house to live in.

  The car having left, the guests turned back towards the hall to finish off the evening. Mum did not follow for a moment or two. Her gaze now came to rest on Alan, who still remained where he’d been after kissing Geraldine goodbye. Even in the half-light she could see a look on his face that made her heart spill over for him. Quietly she went to stand beside him.

  ‘Yer comin’ back in?’ she asked, and he turned as if struck but said nothing, merely shrugged.

  For a moment Hilda hesitated, then continued in a quiet voice, ‘Life ’as ter go on, love. It ’as to. Come back into the ’all. It’s gettin’ dark. Yer’ll get cold standin’ out ’ere, and it don’t achieve nothink, do it?’

  Now he spoke, his voice low. ‘When did yer suspect?’

  ‘Ages ago. Couldn’t be off suspecting it. It shows on every inch of yer face.’

  ‘She never noticed.’

  ‘Oh, I think she did,’ Mum murmured. ‘And I think she loved you too. But ’e came along. Don’t blame ’er, Alan. He’s got money and she ain’t known nothink but ’aving ter struggle ter make a livin’ all ’er life, like we all do. It’s bound ter turn any girl’s ’ead. He’s ’andsome, and he’s got charm, bags of it. That goes a long way to makin’ a girl fall in love. Ain’t ’er fault.’

  She began guiding him towards the now song-filled hall, but went on talking. ‘I ain’t saying you ain’t got charm, love. But his is different. Yours is genuine and it don’t make no breezes. It’s like a calm day. A girl goes along with that quite ’appily. Then comes this gale what blows ’er thoughts away, and that’s it. She gets blown along and she couldn’t ’elp ’erself.’

  ‘I ’ope he makes ’er ’appy, that’s all,’ he said slowly, and it was her turn to go silent as she guided him on into the hot, now rowdy little hall that smelled of beer and was filled only by their own, the posh lot having departed seconds after the happy couple had left, easing into their own vehicles and with gushing thanks for a lovely time, had sped off to their nice homes.

  It was so wonderful being married. At times Geraldine could hardly believe she was, and to the most wonderful of men. At times it felt she was still being courted, he taking her here, there and everywhere: dancing, theatres, private parties where he delighted in showing her off.

  ‘The prettiest girl on the set,’ he’d say, and made sure she had the most fashionable clothes he could afford. It seemed he could afford it with ease despite an obvious dearth of customers in his shop; he in dinner jacket or evening suit. Dad had hardly laid eyes on one much less ever worn one.

  Perhaps Tony was being quietly funded by his father to be able to afford such things. She did ask at one time if that was how he could afford to keep up such finery and take her places. He had given her a sly smile and though he hadn’t voiced it, she took it to mean that was where most of it must stem from. His father couldn’t be all that bad after all and perhaps he in turn was keeping his occasional handouts secret from his wife, thus Geraldine decided the least said the better and did not mention it again.

  Even so, they were living comfortably enough. The flat was small but one day they would move to somewhere really lovely. He still worked down in his back room, turning out bits and bobs to display in his window. These were times when she saw very little of him, and sometimes he would work well into the evening, the shop closed, but he not appearing.

  She did ask on one occasion if she could look after the shop for him but he said no, very firmly. Of course she no longer worked and couldn’t say she missed it. With time on her hands she still saw Eileen occasionally, at midday for a snack in some local café, making sure to dress down for her benefit so as not to look too opulent, and sometimes treating Eileen to a cup of tea and a sandwich – not going too over the top for rather than be grateful Eileen would have seen it as her being patronising and spoil their friendship which was tenuous enough lately. Eileen knew full well that her friend could more or less afford anything while she still struggled as Geraldine once had. She tried her hardest not to look too puffed up, but it didn’t always work – Eileen saw things in every gesture that she hadn’t intended.

  Other times she went over to see Mavis or Mum, or sometimes popped in to see an aunt or two, but again there was a certain something in the air she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Much more pleasant was meeting Fenella in the West End, and there she found a different air, as though the woman was making an effort to come down to her level. Apart from a faint sense of resentment Geraldine realised that it was exactly the way she was probably striking others. It was a painful eye-opener and she vowed to try to be a little more natural with them.

  She remembered that first time two weeks after her wedding, how excited she’d been to receive that telegram from Fenella to meet her in the Ritz in Piccadilly for coffee that Tuesday and a bit of shopping afterwards. She had asked Tony and he’d been all for it. ‘It’ll stimulate better interests,’ he’d said, ‘better than sticking around here with your old friends. You need to leave them behind.’ He’d given her money to buy a few things while up there and she’d forgotten to be annoyed at the way he’d said that.

  He was doing his best it seemed to stimulate her better interests.

  Towards the end of November he’d taken her to a party at a large Kensington flat and the size of the rooms had taken her breath away. He seemed to be making friends with all sorts of society people, perhaps through his line of business, she supposed, though he said little about it. He’d warned her to watch how she spoke and when she had asked if she didn’t speak well enough, he’d said, ‘You speak marvellously, darling, considering how you were when I first met you. Just keep your ears open for the things they say, the small talk. You want to pick it up for when we are really rich and go to more places.’

  ‘Oh, are we going to be really rich?’ she’d bantered, and his earnest expression had melted into a grin.

  ‘I promise you, one day we’ll be filthy rich!’

  The dress he’d bought her for that party had been stunning. A pinky-beige, silky and backless, the height of fashion these last weeks of 1920, so daring that she’d been almost scared to wear it, feeling practically naked – no bra, those straight bits of material designed to flatten the breast in a manner acceptable to young people of fashion.

  But wear it she did, to his satisfaction, and after a while she got used to the feel of the air on her bare back, more concerned in picking up the jargon of the day so as to please him with it later. It was after they got home that he showed her a piece in a copy of Punch which he always had delivered. ‘Have a laugh at that,’ he said, and she read what the wit had written:

  Mary, Mary, slightly airy,

  How do the fashions go?

  Scraped up hair and shoulders bare

  And vertebrae all in a row.

  She had giggled and he had burst out laughing and life was so carefree.

  Now it was Christmas and she’d have to dress down to spend it with her parents. No point making th
em even more estranged from her than they had grown to be these last couple of months. To them she was apparently parading around mixing with what they saw as high society, seeing herself as part of it. The last thing she wanted was having them think she was putting on airs and graces in front of them. Better to be discreet.

  ‘Do we have to go?’ was Tony’s first reaction when she said she must spend Christmas with them.

  It had developed into the first quarrel of their marriage, she instantly huffy where normally she forgave him his speaking out of turn because her smallest frown would have him rushing out to buy her flowers so as to make up for upsetting her, and how could anyone be angry with someone making peace with flowers? Anger instantly soothed, she’d love him even more.

  Accusing him of not trying hard enough, of being stand-offish and talking down to them, her anger hadn’t been directed at him so much as an offshoot of anger at her parents. It hurt that despite the apparent armistice at her wedding, their attitude towards Tony hadn’t changed one bit since his offer to help her father. Taking his generosity the wrong way, they wouldn’t face the humility of saying that they had been wrong. After all, one can take personal pride only so far and it touched her as being grossly unfair.

  Even Tony’s parents, who’d made her feel utterly awful when she’d met them as well as not attending the wedding, seemed to have accepted her if only by making sure their son wasn’t short of funds, she in turn benefiting from it. It had to be that funding that was helping him clothe her so finely, and himself too, as he could never have done it on what was coming in from his shop. It had to be his father’s doing even though she never saw money arrive with the post. Probably being paid straight into a bank account. Tony never said, but of course that was his prerogative and so long as he was looking after her the way he was doing, she had no intention of prying. She was happy and content. But this evening she felt far from content.