The Telephone Girls

by Jenny Holmes

  ‘We haven’t the faintest idea. Or Phyllis Parr, for that matter.’

  ‘Sergeant Stanhope will have to take statements from them,’ Norma predicted. ‘I’ll see if I can winkle anything out of Douglas when I see him tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, but tomorrow is your special day.’ Millicent suddenly remembered that it was Norma’s twenty-second birthday.

  ‘Don’t remind me.’ Norma grimaced. ‘Don’t wish me a happy birthday. Because it’s not going to be.’

  ‘It can be if you let it,’ Millicent insisted.

  ‘Not with all this misery surrounding us.’ Norma was in any case all too well aware that July the seventeenth was the date she’d set for giving Douglas a final answer. A murder and an engagement were two events that didn’t sit happily side by side.

  ‘Try not to let what’s gone on at Sylvia’s spoil your day,’ Millicent advised, wishing in vain that she could follow her own advice. In fact, her nerves were worn down and her spirits lower than she’d ever experienced. ‘I mean it, Norma – put on your best bib and tucker, meet up with Douglas and have a nice time.’

  For her birthday Norma received a pair of white cotton gloves from Ivy, a hairbrush from Ethel and an embroidered doily from her mother. Though she’d suggested they club together to buy her a recording of Judy’s Garland’s ‘Waltz with a Swing’, she accepted the gifts with good grace then went off to work where all of the talk was of Sidney Hall’s murder and Clare Bell’s arrest.

  ‘Did you notice – the blinds are down at Sylvia’s?’ Norma said to Agnes during her dinner break. Cynthia was still at her switchboard so she had no one else to talk to.

  ‘I saw Mrs Parr go in there earlier with a policeman,’ Agnes reported. ‘To inspect the damage, I suppose. It could be a while before she can open up for business again.’

  ‘She’s the one who should have been taken in for questioning, never mind Clare.’ Norma had tried not to take much notice of the morning’s headlines but couldn’t resist looking at the newspapers spread across the table in the restroom. It was as she’d expected – the journalists had pounced on Clare and the supposed souring of her relations with Sidney Hall. ‘A Woman Scorned’, said the caption under a grainy photograph of a glamorous-looking Clare on the front page of the Herald.

  There were gory details in the report about Sidney’s slow and painful demise, the size and shape of the weapon used and the trail of blood on the floor of Sylvia’s Salon. Much was made of the victim’s wealthy family connections and of the prime suspect’s poor background, leading to wild suppositions about her motives – hence the caption and the foregone conclusion.

  ‘It shouldn’t be allowed,’ Norma insisted as she pushed the newspaper out of sight. ‘They’re saying Clare is guilty even before the case comes to court.’

  ‘It won’t matter in the long run what they print in the papers – it’s up to the police whether or not they charge her.’ Agnes was her usual calm and sensible self. ‘And if they do, Clare will be given the legal help she needs. Meanwhile, we just have to sit tight.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Norma agreed with a faint smile. ‘I wish everyone could keep their feet on the ground the way you do, Agnes, instead of getting caught up in all the silly “Woman Scorned” business.’

  ‘People always jump to conclusions.’ Looking at her watch, Agnes saw that it was time to go back to work. ‘How’s Millicent after her ordeal?’ she asked as she stood up and straightened out the creases in her skirt. ‘Is she managing all right?’

  ‘As well as can be expected, ta.’ Norma gave Agnes an appreciative smile.

  Agnes returned the smile warmly. ‘I suppose she’s itching to get back to work, knowing her.’

  ‘She is.’ Norma too was on her feet. ‘I’ll tell her you were asking after her.’

  ‘Do.’ Agnes extended her hand and gave Norma’s arm a gentle squeeze. ‘And by the way, Happy Birthday.’

  Norma was touched. She blushed and thanked Agnes again.

  ‘I trust you and your young man are going out tonight to celebrate.’

  ‘Not as far as I know,’ Norma said, following Agnes across the foyer into the workroom. ‘Douglas is coming to my house for tea. Ethel’s promised to bake a cake.’

  ‘How many candles this year?’ The supervisor opened the door to a cacophony of voices and an array of panels displaying winking lights, a scene of fingers darting hither and thither to deftly insert jacks into sockets.

  ‘Twenty-two,’ Norma replied. Twenty-two candles and a decision to make – the biggest of her life so far.

  ‘Cherry madeira with a frosting of icing sugar.’ Ethel presented Norma’s birthday cake with a flourish. She set it in the middle of the kitchen table and instructed Norma to blow out the candles while Ivy, Hetty and Douglas stood by and watched.

  Norma leaned over the cake, drew a deep breath and blew noisily until every flame had flickered and died. ‘This is just the job!’ she told Ethel. ‘It’s my favourite kind.’

  Gratified, Ethel took the bread knife and sliced into the cake, handing Douglas the biggest piece first. ‘Get this down you,’ she urged. ‘Put a bit of meat on those scarecrow bones.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that,’ he demurred with a wink. ‘Norma tells me she likes me just the way I am.’

  ‘There’s nothing of you.’ Ethel stuck to her opinion that he was too thin. ‘If you ask me, it’s to do with the worry of chasing after criminals, day in, day out.’

  ‘Especially the likes of Clare Bell.’ Hetty brushed cake crumbs from her bosom and settled in her fireside chair. ‘It can’t be good for your nerves – having to tidy up after that messy business. Is it true what they say – that there was blood everywhere?’

  ‘Mother!’ Norma failed to stifle her protest, which popped out in spite of a resolution to keep quiet.

  ‘Yes – leave the poor man alone,’ Ivy said hastily. ‘Norma, why don’t you and Douglas go for a walk?’

  Norma readily took up the suggestion and soon they were out of the house and walking hand in hand up Albion Lane towards the Common. ‘Don’t mind Mum,’ she told him. ‘She’s always putting her big foot in it.’

  ‘Don’t worry – I get asked about it all the time. Everyone wants to know the details. It’s human nature.’

  ‘Not me,’ Norma declared as they waited to cross Overcliffe Road. ‘But the one thing that does bother me is what’s happening to Clare.’

  ‘Right now this minute?’

  Norma nodded.

  ‘I’m not sure. They brought in Detective Inspector Davis from Leeds. He’s taken over from Sergeant Stanhope now.’

  ‘So where is she?’

  ‘Still at the station. The inspector questioned her but didn’t get much out of her, from what I gather.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me. She’ll be like a rabbit caught in a car’s headlights. And from what Millicent says, the poor girl wasn’t very good at sticking up for herself in the normal run of things, let alone now.’

  ‘Anyway, as I say – it’s out of our hands.’ An early-evening light fell across the Common as they started down the cinder track towards the pavilion. There were long shadows and a coolness in the air. ‘The inspector read the evidence in the sarge’s and my reports and decided it was enough to charge her with murder. They’ll be taking her off to Armley.’

  ‘To prison!’ The news made Norma’s blood run cold.

  ‘Do we have to talk about this?’ Douglas flicked back a stray lock of hair and went ahead of her into the pavilion where they sat down facing the setting sun. ‘Can’t we forget about work?’

  ‘Soon,’ she promised. ‘But first, tell me – has Clare confessed?’

  Douglas shrugged. ‘All I know is that she’s been charged and held on remand. Oh, and it turns out that Sidney Hall has a wife somewhere, and two kiddies – a boy and a girl.’

  ‘Oh!’ Norma gasped then fell silent, contemplating the widow’s reaction to news of her husband’s death. More anguish,
more betrayal. And children too.

  ‘The post-mortem report says that he died from a stab wound straight to the heart, with half a dozen other cuts to his hands and arms, where he tried to ward off his attacker.’ Anxious to be done with the subject once and for all, Douglas spoke fast. ‘All this will go to the magistrates’ court on Monday morning.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’ Norma cried. ‘How many lives has this man ruined?’

  ‘And he’s paid the price for it, hasn’t he?’ Suddenly Douglas had had enough. He got up and walked away, hands deep in his trouser pockets, on along the path towards Brimstone, feeling angry with Norma for poring over every detail. All right, so it was a bloodthirsty murder and Clare Bell was a local girl, but why couldn’t Norma and her pals stand back and let the law take its course? Didn’t he and she have more important things to talk about?

  ‘Douglas, come back,’ she called after him.

  He picked up his pace without turning round.

  ‘Wait for me,’ she cried.

  On he went, head down, towards the crags – striding out, not looking back. She’d vowed to give him an answer and he’d waited and waited. He’d come to the house today and eaten cake, been polite to Ivy and Ethel and their tactless, busybody mother, but Norma had failed in her promise and caused him more heartache than he’d ever thought possible. Now he feared that the volcano was about to explode. Damn her, then, and damn all women who played around with a man’s feelings. He strode on, casting a dark shadow over the buttercup-strewn meadow. She’s had her chance, he thought. I won’t hang around to be made a fool of a minute longer.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Norma said. ‘Douglas, please wait. I’m truly sorry.’

  ‘Don’t,’ he muttered, casting off the hand that she’d placed on his arm when she’d at last caught up with him. ‘You don’t consider how hard it’s been for me, having to wait for an answer, wondering if you love me as much as I love you.’

  ‘Douglas!’ The sadness in his eyes stopped her in her tracks and made her heart jolt.

  He walked until he reached the first of the large, dark boulders scattered amongst the heather then he stopped and took a deep breath. Layers of pink clouds edged with gold made a pattern like seashore pebbles in a pale blue sky.

  She ran again to keep up with him, her throat dry with fear and exertion.

  He shut his eyes and leaned against the rock.

  ‘You’re right,’ she stammered. ‘I’m a selfish so-and-so, making you wait this long. I don’t mean to be.’

  ‘Then why do it?’ Eyes still closed, he felt the rough, cold rock against the back of his head, which thudded with a dull dread. Here it comes, he thought, the answer I never wanted to hear. ‘Spit it out, Norma. Let’s get this over and done with.’

  He’d walked away from her, cast her off and her heart shuddered again then raced. ‘I’m twenty-two years old,’ she whispered.

  He opened his eyes and frowned, not registering the look of panic in her eyes and unable to work out where this latest remark was leading. He felt a corresponding fear snake its way into his chest. Get it over with. Make it quick.

  ‘That’s not old, is it? I mean, I’m only just finding my feet – at work, in life. And getting married is such a big step.’

  Here it comes. Oh God, this is misery. Douglas wanted the ground to swallow him up, to dissolve into dust and be blown away across the purple heather.

  ‘It’s a bigger step for women than it is for men.’

  ‘There you go again,’ he pointed out. ‘Putting yourself before me.’

  ‘No. That came out wrong.’ Norma managed not to wilt in the face of his anger and went on with her explanation. She stood very close to him, talking softly and looking straight into his eyes. ‘What I mean is – you men can go on with your jobs and that’s good, there’s nothing wrong with that. But we women can’t – we have to settle down to being housewives.’

  ‘Someone has to look after the home,’ he said with a shrug. That was how things worked, and had done for centuries, whatever the suffragettes had fought for.

  ‘I know. And I wouldn’t mind – I would enjoy making things nice for you … for us.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘It might not be enough,’ she murmured, turning his face back towards her when he tried to look away then stroking the frown lines that marked his brow. ‘That doesn’t mean I don’t love you, Douglas. I do.’

  Love but not marriage, then. How does that work?

  ‘Say something,’ she pleaded.

  ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘Tell me you love me too.’

  ‘I do. You already know that.’

  ‘Say it without frowning. Kiss me.’

  He shook his head and drew away. She kept shifting the ground from under him, saying she loved him but still not giving him an answer. Yet being this near to her soft, smooth skin and lips was too big a temptation so he leaned back in and their lips touched. Her hands came around his neck and the kiss deepened.

  Norma was the first to pull away. ‘It’s not just leaving a job I love in order to stay at home,’ she went on haltingly. ‘We’d have children, wouldn’t we?’

  ‘I hope we would. Yes, for me that’s a big part of it.’ Fear began to give way to puzzlement. They’d never talked about things like this before. In fact, he’d never even thought about them – he’d just taken them for granted.

  ‘For me too,’ she realized. ‘Only – not straight away.’

  ‘There’s no rush,’ he said slowly, putting a hand on her shoulder and finding that she was trembling.

  ‘Maybe not for a few years yet?’

  ‘Oh.’ His head dropped and he avoided her gaze.

  ‘Does that bother you?’

  He looked up again. ‘No – I understand. Eventually, we’d have them, though?’

  ‘All being well – yes.’

  Douglas pulled her close. Her whole body shook as he clasped her in his arms. ‘Don’t be scared.’

  ‘But I am. I liked things the way they were. I wasn’t ready for them to change.’ As confessions poured from her, she felt tears well up. Don’t be such a cry baby! she told herself. Douglas and I can say anything we like to one another. We’re in love.

  For a while he held her without saying anything, breathing in her scent and resting his lips against the top of her head. ‘It’s my fault – I shouldn’t have rushed you,’ he murmured at last.

  ‘No – it wasn’t you who was in the wrong. It wasn’t me either.’ Calmer now, Norma stepped away and breathed deeply then she held both of his hands and looked steadily into his eyes. ‘You’re a fine catch, Douglas Greenwood, and I hope you know it.’

  ‘Likewise, Norma Haig. I reckon I’ve got the pick of the bunch.’

  She smiled. ‘I only wish I hadn’t hurt your feelings so badly and that we’d had this talk sooner.’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  Norma let go of his hands and turned back towards the pavilion, silhouetted in the dwindling light, its ironwork tracery and pillars dark against the pink clouds. A tram rattled along Overcliffe Road, past a boy pushing a cart laden with firewood. The scene was nothing special but in her new state of certainty and hope it filled her with contentment. She slipped her arm through the crook of Douglas’s elbow. ‘Ready?’ she asked.

  ‘For what?’

  She set off across the Common, leaning into him as they walked. Ready to go home together and make an announcement, to step out into our future and whatever that will hold. ‘To get married,’ she said. The engagement ring, the congratulations, the wedding dress, the walk down the aisle – suddenly it all came together in her mind’s eye and her heart sang. ‘I’m saying yes, Douglas. Yes, yes, yes!’

  Saturday was Cynthia’s day off so she spent the morning with Millicent, both keeping their minds off serious matters by doing small jobs around the house.

  ‘Would you like me to wash these for you?’ Cynthia asked,
steeling herself to take Millicent’s bloodstained clothes from the cupboard under the sink. She’d already swept the floors and dusted the ornaments on the mantelpiece so now she was ready to rise to this sterner challenge.

  Millicent had just come back from setting their empty milk bottles on the top step. It was a dreary, cloudy day, threatening rain, but the yard was alive with activity: the dustcart men had come to empty the ash pit and Walter’s daughter Joan had brought out a stepladder to wash the old man’s windows, a chore she did with bad grace during her fortnightly visits. Millicent glanced at the bundle of clothes in Cynthia’s outstretched arms. ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Those can go straight in the dustbin, ta.’

  So Cynthia carried them outside and disposed of them, slamming the lid back on the dustbin just as Norma appeared at the end of the ginnel.

  ‘Hello, Cynthia. I was hoping you and Millicent would be in,’ Norma said with a smile that would have lit up the greyest of days.

  ‘She’s inside. Come on in.’ Cynthia led the way back into the house. ‘Here’s Norma,’ she announced.

  Recoiling from the glimpse of her bloodstained dress, Millicent had sat down at the kitchen table, hands clasped and eyes closed, but she rallied quickly and offered Norma a cup of tea. ‘Strong with two sugars?’ she checked as she put the kettle on to boil.

  ‘I’ve come to share my news,’ Norma declared, taking Millicent’s place at the table.

  Lifting the tea caddy from the shelf, Millicent paused. Cynthia too stopped what she was doing.

  ‘Douglas and I are engaged!’

  ‘You don’t say.’ Millicent rapped the caddy down on the draining board.

  ‘Oh, Norma,’ Cynthia whispered.

  ‘We are,’ Norma said, as if she could still hardly believe it. ‘It’s official – we told Mum, Ivy and Ethel last night and this afternoon we’re going shopping for the ring.’

  Norma’s happiness radiated around the room and broke through the numbness that Millicent had endured for three nights and two days – a feeling of drifting aimlessly without noticing what was going on around her, as if there was a physical barrier between her and the world. Now, though, she felt a surge of pleasure on Norma’s behalf. ‘About time too,’ she said with a smile. ‘Let’s forget about the tea. This calls for something stronger.’