Can Dreams Come True?

by Oliver, Marina

Kate worked for two more weeks on the meat stall, hating every minute. She had to find something else. When she had an hour free at dinner time she tramped round seeking something more congenial.

  She tried dress shops first, always hoping she could get her preferred work, but when she had to confess she had no testimonials, and could not obtain one from her school because she had left in the middle of term, they lost interest.

  'If you went to that posh school you'll not settle to shop work,' one shopkeeper told her bluntly. 'You'll be off, wanting something better, by the time I've trained you. Besides, you don't look fit for a good shop like mine, if those are the best clothes you have and with your face so puffed up.'

  She visited various agencies who supplied servants, but was told she was too old to start where no experience was required, and without experience or references she would not be suitable.

  There were factories, but few jobs for women. 'There's plenty of girls who've got experience looking for jobs,' they told her.

  Bella was the only sympathetic person she could talk to in all that time. She had no spare moments for visiting Maggie, as Hattie kept her busy with cooking and cleaning when she was not at work or seeking jobs. But Bella listened to her with sympathy, never asking why she had so suddenly left school, or walked so stiffly, or had a black eye.

  'Stick it out, lass, and summat'll turn up.'

  She thought something had when Walter said he'd ask his boss. 'Arthur left, so we'm one short,' he said, beaming at her. 'It would be right grand if yer could work with us. And he'd pay more than mean old Mick.'

  Walter's boss, however, thought differently.

  'Why the hell should I want a slip of a girl working fer me?' he demanded, and cuffed Walter soundly round the head when he took Kate along and suggested it.

  With a rueful smile Kate thanked Walter for the idea, and went back to Mick's stall. Late on the second Saturday evening, as it grew near to the time the market closed, Mick began to reduce his prices, calling out the bargains. The poorer housewives, who had been waiting for this, surged forward and Kate was kept busy as Mick held up joints, hanks of sausages, or a few chops, calling out prices. She barely noticed the customers, counting out their change mechanically, until, holding out her hand for the next customer's coins, she found her hand grabbed hard and she was yanked forward across the trestles at the front of the stall.

  Kate let out a squeak of alarm, and then found herself pushed to the ground, rolling in the sawdust and frantically scrabbling to get out of the way of dozens of feet.

  Mick was yelling, several women were screaming, and Kate felt a boot connect with her stomach, making her double up with pain. When she got her breath back she found that the trestle had overturned, the remainder of Mick's wares were on the ground, and he was shouting furiously at her.

  'What happened?' she asked, struggling to get up.

  'Yer daft bitch,' Mick was yelling at her. 'Couldn't yer keep yer eyes on cashbox?'

  'The cashbox?' Kate was bewildered. 'I was pulled over.'

  'And he took cashbox,' Mick shouted. 'That's all me takings fer the day.'

  Kate was aghast. 'You mean they – he – whoever, planned it?'

  'Course he planned it! Knew a green 'un when he saw yer, dain't 'e?'

  'I'm sorry! I didn't know!'

  'Sorry's no good ter me. Well, no cash, no wages. Yer'd best tek yerself off before I gets really mad at yer!'

  Kate stared at him, and realised he meant it. She'd worked hard all week, and she wasn't going to get paid. It hadn't been her fault, she felt resentful, but there was nothing she could do. What would her mother say? Her shoulders sagged as she turned and went home. Could life get any worse?

  *

  Daphne glanced sideways at Robert. She'd been flattered when he had appeared at the house and asked if she cared to come for a ride in his new car, a very elegant-looking Lagonda. Though she had known him for years, he had only recently come back to Birmingham to work in his father's business, and this was the first time he'd asked her out.

  At the party, she'd seen how attracted he was to Kate. When the party was breaking up he'd come searching for her, saying he'd offered her a lift home, and Daphne had fully expected to hear from Kate at school the following Monday that she had indeed been taken home in his car. So why had he now sought her out?

  Kate had mysteriously vanished. She had not come back to school after Monday, and it seemed that Miss MacDonald had heard nothing to explain it. Was Kate ill? Daphne, though she had only once or twice been to Kate's home, went round there on several occasions, but there was never anyone at home. Maggie had not yet returned to work for her mother, so she couldn't ask her either.

  The thought kept haunting her, did Robert know? Surely Kate's disappearance could have nothing to do with him?

  They'd been driving for half an hour, and Robert had not spoken more than a few words. He'd commented on the weather, the heavy storm they'd had a few days ago, and how pleasant the party had been. That was all. And he hadn't sounded very enthusiastic when he'd mentioned the party, she thought, with wry amusement. What had happened between him and Kate? She longed to ask, but the grim expression on his face deterred her.

  'How old are you?' he suddenly shot at her, as though the words had been dragged from him.

  'Almost seventeen,' Daphne said defensively. Did he think she was too young to be taken out alone by a young man? Was that the reason for his silence? Had he had second thoughts about inviting her?

  'But you're in the same form as your friend, Kate, and she's not sixteen,' he said accusingly.

  Daphne glanced at him. Was this the problem? Kate was too young for him, and he was feeling bitter?

  'I had to have a year off when I was small. I was very ill. So I'm actually a year behind everyone else my age. Apart from the really stupid ones who had to repeat a year because they couldn't keep up with the others,' she explained carefully.

  'I see. She seemed older. Do you see much of her? Visit her at home?'

  'Well, no,' Daphne replied, even more puzzled. 'Her mother has to work, you see, and it's always been easier for Kate to come and visit me.'

  'Ha!' was Robert's only response, and he relapsed into a morose silence. A few minutes later Daphne ventured a remark about the village they were driving through, and Robert seemed to shrug off his preoccupation. He began to tell Daphne about some of the parties he'd been to in London, and she responded by talking about the following year when she was going to Paris to a finishing school there.

  'I'd much rather apply to medical school after matric,' she said, sighing, 'but they've promised me that if I am still of the same mind after Paris I can try. It's such a waste of time, and I won't change my mind.'

  'I'm often in Paris,' he said. 'Let me know when you are there, and perhaps your school will allow me to visit you.'

  Daphne's spirits lifted suddenly, until she realised that it would be a year before she went to Paris. Did he not mean to see her before then? But he probably thought she was too young too. Her spirits revived. She felt a mixture of delight and guilt. She'd admitted to herself that she'd been jealous of Kate when Robert had seemed so attracted to her. Now, clearly, something had happened, something she herself had not been involved with, she reminded herself sternly, so she need no longer feel guilty. She could feel sorry for Kate, she supposed, but perhaps there was no need. Perhaps Kate had not wanted Robert's interest. She was still very young. Then Daphne grinned. She herself sounded like a middle-aged matron.

  She did feel curious, though, but didn't dare risk ruining Robert's better mood by asking. In any case, he'd probably tell her it was none of her business, and she knew that.

  They stopped for tea and cream cakes in a small village, and then Robert drove her home. His earlier preoccupation returned as they reached the Edgbaston streets, and he said nothing until Daphne invited him in the house.

  He sat and made polite conversation with the family for a few minutes, and then ro
se to go.

  'I'll see you out, my boy,' Mr Carstairs said, and they left the room. It was a good half an hour later before her father came back, looking serious.

  'He wasn't asking for Daphne's hand, was he?' Stella asked, laughing, and her father gave her a distracted look.

  'No. No, of course not! She's far too young. It was a matter of business, a problem he has at work, nothing you need concern yourself about.'

  Daphne glared at Stella, and stood up abruptly. 'I've homework to do,' she announced, and stalked from the room, hoping her blushes had not been noticed. Stella could be so ridiculous at times. Would Robert ask her out again? Would he remember in Paris, or would she see him before then? She gave a shiver of anticipation. Maybe her mother and Stella were right, work as a doctor was not suitable for a woman. But it was far too early to think about that.

  *

  Kate found odd jobs around the market, a day here, a week somewhere else, but there was nothing better. Hattie remained grim-faced, and Alf was unusually subdued. All Kate's spare time was spent looking for a better job, and she sat for hours in the library perusing the newspaper advertisements. Why, when there seemed to be jobs available, did she not manage to get one?

  It was, she remembered, only two weeks before the end of the school term when she encountered Daphne outside the library one Saturday lunchtime. Daphne fell on her with glee.

  'Kate, what on earth has been happening? Where have you been? I've been so worried! And what's that scar under your eye? Have you had an accident?'

  Kate shook her head. 'Not really,' she answered quickly, her hand going up in a defensive gesture to cover the scar which had been left from her fall against the edge of the table. 'I had a fall, but I'm OK. I had to leave, to get a job. But it's not so easy.'

  'Come and have a cup of tea.'

  Daphne dragged her, protesting, into a nearby tea rooms and ordered tea and cakes.

  'I mustn't stay long, I'm working, I came up here in my dinner break, and I must get back soon.'

  'You can spare ten minutes to tell me why you never got in touch. Miss Mac is furious, going on about ingratitude, and she's trying to make Mother persuade the Governors not to allow any more scholarship girls.'

  'Oh no!' Kate was horrified. Had her actions had this effect, destroyed the chances of other poor girls?

  'Don't worry, Mama won't be bullied by such as Mac. She's as worried about you as I am. And Maggie. She's apparently still too ill to come back to work.'

  Kate glanced at her but did not comment. She had not been to see Maggie again, her mother having forbidden it on pain of a further beating, and her sister was not mentioned at home. Kate had had no idea she was still unable to work, and felt guilty again.

  'What sort of jobs?' Daphne asked.

  Kate grimaced. 'I can't get work in a good shop, I don't look smart enough, and I can't get a reference from school, can I? Mac never liked me, and she'll feel I let the school down by leaving so suddenly, not even telling her why.' She touched her cheeks, recalling the pain of that beating, but most of all her mother's openly-expressed dislike. Why did Hattie hate her so much? Was it just that she had not wanted another child, so late in life, and so long after the others? Or was it jealousy that she was getting a good education, something Hattie had never had an opportunity to have?

  'My mother would give you one.'

  Kate's eyes brightened. 'Would she? But how?'

  'She's a Governor, and she got you into the school. She knows why you left, and she won't hold it against you. I'll meet you here again next Saturday, and bring it.'

  *

  Robert stopped the car and looked up at the house. He had no idea which rooms Kate and her parents rented. It was Sunday afternoon, a time they were likely to be at home. He'd had the utmost difficulty in waiting this long. It had been on Tuesday when he had finally admitted to himself that he had to see her again, and the rest of the week had seemed endless.

  Would she be pleased to see him? Luckily the day was fine, and he might be able to tempt her out for a drive. She would want to see the new Lagonda.

  He'd thought no more about what would happen, apart from recognising that she was so young, ten years younger than he was, and he must not treat her with anything more than simple friendliness. Not yet. But he'd never felt such an instant attraction to a girl, and he could not bear the idea that they might lose touch. The occasional outing, he persuaded himself, would suffice. They could get to know one another slowly, and by the time she was old enough for more, she would trust him, and he hoped, like him sufficiently to respond.

  He got out of the motor car and approached the door. As he began to climb up the steps the door opened, and a wizened old man came out.

  'What do you want?' he demanded rudely.

  'Which are the Martins' rooms?' Robert asked.

  'First floor.'

  With that the old man hobbled down the steps and set off up the road. Robert looked after him, amused. He was not one to waste words. Well, it had been made easier for him. He glanced round at the whitewashed walls and the scuffed linoleum on the floor. The landlord clearly didn't waste his money providing comforts for his tenants. The stairs were bare wood, worn smooth, the centres hollowed out from the many feet which had used them over the decades.

  Robert felt a great urge to remove Kate from this decrepit house. He knew perfectly well that it was much better than some of the dreadful habitations the City Council were in the process of clearing, the rat-infested back-to-back houses in stinking, foetid courts, but his Kate was too fine, too delicate, to endure even such slightly more salubrious conditions as these.

  Slowly he mounted the first flight and came to a door at the top, where the paint was peeling, and a slight gap showed where the door sagged on the hinges.

  He knocked firmly. Inside was silence, and he raised his hand to knock again. It would be too disappointing, after all his imaginings of the past week, if there was no one at home, and he could not see his Kate.

  Then he heard a slight noise, and shuffling feet. The door was flung open and a large man, unshaven, his shirt undone, ragged braces and a hank of rope holding up his trousers, a pipe dangling from his mouth, glared out at him.

  'What do yer want? Can't folk as work all week 'ave a bit o' peace and quiet on a Sunday?'

  'Mr Martins?' Was this Kate's father? How on earth could a man like this have produced a girl like Kate?

  'So? Who wants ter know?'

  Robert breathed in deeply. He had a sudden urge to push this man aside, sweep his Kate into his arms and carry her away. He suppressed a smile at these fantasies.

  'My name is Robert Manning. I met Kate at the Carstairs' house, and I wondered if she would like to come for a short drive with me.'

  Alf Martin's face was suddenly suffused with blood, and he took a step forward, raising his fists threateningly.

  'So you'm the swell she went out with before, are yer?'

  Robert frowned. What was the man so furious about? Surely he couldn't object to Kate's going for a ride in his motor car? But she was very young. Maybe he was just being protective.

  'I took her out, yes, for a perfectly innocent drive in the country,' Robert began, but Alf stepped forward and he was forced to give way as the older man loomed up at him. Robert was as tall as Alf, but Alf was far heavier, and years of working in the market had given him powerful, muscular arms.

  'Alf, what's going on?' a woman's voice interrupted, and a woman Robert assumed was Kate's mother appeared behind Alf. She was much smaller, her hair was streaked with grey, and pulled back into a scrawny bun. She was drying her hands on a scrap of towelling.

  Behind her Robert caught sight of Kate, peering anxiously over her shoulder, her eyes wide with terror.

  Alf ignored his wife. 'Innocent?' he was roaring. 'I'll believe that when hell freezes! You'm all the same, you nobs! After what you can get, sniffing round a gal's skirts! Well, yer can just hop it, Mr High an' Mighty! My Kate's not one of yer
fancy pieces, ter be used and then thrown on the scrap heap! She's a good 'un, my Kate, and she'll stay that way!'

  'Mr Martins, I assure you,' Robert began, but Alf didn't let him finish. He stepped forward and swung one of his huge fists which, if it had connected, would have broken Robert's jaw.

  Robert danced backwards, putting up his own fists. He had boxed at school, and been useful with his fists, but Alf, though twice his age, was twice as heavy, and wild with fury. Robert hoped his own science would be enough to counter the bull-like tactics of this man who seemed determined not to listen to reason.

  The landing was small, and Alf rushed in, giving Robert little room for manoeuvre. He was vaguely aware of a woman screaming, but whether it was in terror or to urge Alf on he didn't have time to wonder. He was fully occupied with keeping out of the way of Alf's huge fists.

  'Dad! Don't!'

  It was Kate's voice, and Robert glanced across at the doorway. She was trying to get past her mother, who was clinging to her, barring the way.

  'Let be, yer silly wench! Let yer Pa see 'im off.'

  Robert forgot Alf for a crucial moment, and saw the wild swing out of the corner of his eye. He ducked, but not fast enough, and the glancing blow on the temple felled him. His head hit the wall as he fell, and he saw stars, but at the back of his mind knew he had to pull himself together and ignore the pain.

  He had no chance. Before he could scramble to his feet he found the woman throwing herself across his legs. She was screeching something he couldn't understand, and he could hear Kate sobbing and pleading with them not to hurt him. Before he knew it Alf had him in a vice-like grip, pinning his arms to his side.

  'Tie 'is feet tergether, Hattie,' Alf panted, and Robert, though he kicked and struggled, deciding that he needn't worry about chivalry with such a virago attacking him, was no match for them.

  Soon his feet were tied with the rope from round Alf's waist, and his hands with what felt like a greasy rag. He was dizzy from the blows to the head, and powerless to resist when Alf, with a grunt, heaved him over his shoulder.

  For a moment Robert feared that Alf meant to toss him down the stairs, but the man had at least some regard for his own skin. He wouldn't want to risk the gallows by murdering Robert. Instead he carried him down the stairs and his wife hurried to open the front door for him.