The Telephone Girls

by Jenny Holmes

  ‘Take my brolly!’ Millicent called down the stairs as she heard Cynthia open the front door. ‘It’s tipping down.’

  ‘Ta!’ Cynthia took the umbrella from its peg on the back of the door. She opened it then rushed down the steps into the yard, held her breath as she went past the open door of the privy then breathed again and waved at Walter as she entered the ginnel.

  There goes love’s young dream, Millicent thought, watching from her first-floor window. She faced a long day without much to occupy her unless she took a paintbrush and a pot of green paint from the cupboard under the sink to freshen up the kitchen skirting boards. But this meant running the risk of coming across streaks of Sidney Hall’s blood left behind in the space where her ruined dress had been tucked away and she baulked at the idea. Instead, she sat at the table and started to flick through the pages of Woman’s Own for interesting recipes or attractive knitting patterns. However, she skipped the advice page where readers wrote in describing love tangles and romantic dilemmas. I have enough of that of my own, she thought with an exasperated smile. Her attention wandered and took her down the well-worn blind alley of her situation with Harold, so that she almost didn’t hear the knock at the door until it came a second time – louder and more insistent than before.

  ‘Hold on,’ she called as she scraped back her chair and glanced in the small mirror to the side of the sink to check that she was presentable. Ugh! she thought. Her face was pale and without make-up, her eyes dull. There was a third knock. ‘Coming,’ she said.

  She opened the door to find Harold standing in the rain.

  ‘Hello, Millicent. Can I come in?’

  ‘Of course. You’re soaked. Give me your coat.’ Drawing him indoors, she hid her shock. ‘Here – I’ll hang it up for you. Sit. Good Lord, Harold – you look done in!’

  Divested of his outdoor things, it was evident that the worry of losing his job had taken its toll. In stark contrast to the dapper man-about-town of their early days together, his face was thinner and more gloomy than ever, with a grey, two-day stubble shadowing his chin. His hair was uncombed. The whole dishevelled effect aged him so that he looked closer to fifty than forty.

  ‘Tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘Calamity, that’s what.’

  Millicent nodded. ‘Oldroyd hasn’t changed his mind, then?’

  ‘No. The mill’s finished. I’m finished.’

  The hurt he was feeling quickly transferred itself to her and she felt her spirits plummet. ‘Don’t say that, Harold.’

  ‘Why not? It’s true. North Park is sold to Antony Norton, the shop owner. The Oldroyds have to pack up and leave by the end of the month. And before you ask, no one in their right mind will step in and buy a clapped-out old woollen mill, not in this day and age.’

  She nodded again slowly then sighed. ‘So there’s no hope. What about you – how long have you got before they turf you out?’

  ‘It’s already happened. I’m out on my backside. I handed over the house keys on Friday.’

  ‘Where’s Doris?’

  ‘At her sister’s. She took the kids with her.’

  The finality of it all and his flat despair hit home. She crouched at his side and put an arm around his shoulder. ‘Don’t give up. This isn’t like you, Harold. Something will turn up soon, I’m sure.’

  He pulled himself free then stood up and paced the room. ‘Oh yes, something will turn up – but you tell me what. Look at me, Millicent. I’ve been slaving for that sodding man for more than twenty years, ever since I left school. I know every last thing there is to know about combing and carding, spinning and dyeing, weaving and finishing, but what good is that any more? No – I’m washed up – no job, no house, no family.’

  Millicent straightened up and watched from a distance. ‘You don’t mean to say that Doris has gone for good?’

  He nodded. ‘She couldn’t get away from me quick enough once the writing was on the wall. No wage coming in, no roof over her head. You haven’t met Doris, but she’s not one to rough it. She’ll tell everyone that it’s Freddie and Derek she’s thinking of – swanning off to sunny Saltburn and not letting on that anything bad has happened. But it’s not – it’s her and her damned pride.’

  Millicent leaned on the front window sill for support. A magician conjuring a rabbit out of a top hat couldn’t have astounded her more. Was this a trick or was Harold telling her the truth? Had he really separated from his wife at last and come to her without any ties? ‘So where does that leave you?’ she murmured. ‘Where are you living?’

  ‘In town. There’s a spare attic room above the King’s Head. Stanley Cooper, the landlord there, has promised to let me stay for nothing until I get back on my feet – in return for me mopping down the floors and taking out the used barrels first thing in the morning.’ Harold stopped pacing and watched Millicent warily. ‘I was thinking – this could work out all right for us in the long run.’

  What is he saying? Does he mean that we can build a future together? Her heart skipped a beat. Then straight away, the thought flashed into her mind: Is that what I really want?

  ‘Millicent?’ He came towards her, one hand outstretched, offering himself to her.

  She looked at him – unshaven, gaunt and bowed, a totally different man to the one she’d fallen for, even though she’d known from the start that he was married and would keep her dangling on the end of a piece of string during the good times, having his cake and eating it.

  ‘I’ll stay at the King’s Head for the time being – that goes without saying. Until we sort ourselves out.’

  Picking me up and dropping me whenever he likes, making me second best, always thinking up excuses.

  Harold took no account of the fact that Millicent stayed pressed against the window instead of taking his hand. ‘Then, after a decent amount of time – in a month, say, when everyone gets used to the fact that Doris and the kids have upped sticks – I can move in here with you.’

  Millicent blinked then swallowed hard. She must find her voice and speak quickly, before Harold ran away with himself. ‘I’m not sure—’

  ‘Oh, come on – what’s stopping us?’ he wheedled, puzzled by the wary look in her eyes. He moved in closer and put his hands around her waist. ‘There’s room for me here, isn’t there?’

  She braced her arms against his chest. ‘I don’t know. I have Cynthia to think about. She’s only just moved in.’

  ‘Then she can soon move out again. You know what they say – two’s company …’ Just like Millicent to put up a show of resistance, he realized. But I can soon win her round.

  ‘Stop – I have to think.’ Willing him to perform another magic trick, she looked into his eyes, desperate to rediscover the old feelings of love and desire. Surely they must be there somewhere.

  He pulled her to him and kissed her hard on the mouth. She drew back. He kissed her again.

  ‘Stop.’

  ‘What’s wrong? This is what you’ve always wanted – you and me together, with nothing standing in our way.’ Putting his hands on her hips, he swung her round then backed her towards the stairs. ‘Come on, Millicent. What are you playing at?’

  ‘Nothing. Don’t, Harold. Not now.’

  He tilted his head and glanced upstairs. ‘But this is our chance. There’s no one to stop us for once.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’ In place of the old feeling of mutual longing, she found only desperation.

  ‘What do you mean? This isn’t the time to play games,’ he said, narrowing his eyes as he tried to decide between two choices – either to force Millicent to come with him up to the bedroom or to carry on talking. He opted for words and self-pity. ‘Have you any idea what I’m going through?’

  Millicent nodded. ‘And I’m sorry for it.’ Sympathy ebbed from her even as she spoke the words. ‘But you have to let go of me, Harold. Taking me to bed isn’t going to solve anything.’

  ‘You’ve changed your tune!’ He pushed her away so strong
ly that she fell back against the stairs. Immediately regretting it, he helped her back on to her feet. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not myself. I don’t know what’s got into me.’

  ‘I understand, really I do.’ Always alert to the irony of a situation, Millicent almost smiled. She’d spent years listening to Harold’s laments and empathizing with his predicament and once upon a time she would have rushed into his arms at a time like this. But not now. Was it to do with the fact that she only wanted him when she couldn’t have him and now that she could, the spell was broken? Yes – that might be part of it, plus the fact that she at last rebelled, for good, against being at his beck and call.

  He kept his distance and watched her back away towards the front door. ‘So what now?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She’d looked for joy and delight and seen darkness. She’d been true to him all through his faithlessness. And now all that was left was pity. ‘Yes – actually, I do know. This won’t do, Harold. I can’t go on.’

  He saw her take a breath and draw herself up, like a soldier going into battle. She was tall and beautiful, regarding him with an unflinching gaze. ‘We can do what we want,’ he said weakly. ‘We can go to dances, take a holiday together. Whatever you like.’

  ‘Dances?’ she echoed. ‘Oh, Harold.’ Sadness overwhelmed her, but there were no tears. She opened the door and stood to one side.

  ‘That’s it, is it?’ Outside in the rain, the cobbles were dark. Green weeds pushed through the cracks. A gutter spluttered and disgorged its contents of blackened leaves and slime.

  ‘Yes.’ There was nothing left – no words, and no cure for the way she was feeling. ‘I wish you well, Harold.’

  ‘But you don’t want to see me again?’ Talking had been the wrong choice after all. It always was with Millicent – she was the type who thought too much and thinking had a habit of complicating things. Harold’s face set into bitter, frowning lines.

  ‘I wish you well,’ she repeated, seeming to read his mind. She saw at last that he didn’t care about her – not deep down. The ties binding her to him stretched then snapped. Her heart eased towards a new freedom. ‘But this is goodbye.’

  ‘Welcome back,’ Ruth told Millicent on her return to work. ‘You look well, considering.’

  Millicent took the rare compliment without comment and sat down at her switchboard. She and Cynthia had deliberately cut it fine, arriving at the exchange bang on half past eight to avoid being deluged with questions about the Sidney Hall business. As it was, they’d heard passengers on the bus gossiping about it and had seen the thick, black headlines on newspaper billboards – ‘Court Date Today for Murder Suspect’, ‘Brutal Killing – Local Woman Charged’, ‘Murdered Man’s Wife Speaks Out’.

  ‘Will you have to be a witness?’ Brenda asked Millicent during their dinner break, blundering in where angels feared to tread. The gramophone had arrived and Brenda had chosen a record, sliding it out of its paper sleeve and placing it on the turntable. There was a crackle as she lowered the needle on to the shiny disc then strains of an American big-band number provided a background to the stilted conversation.

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ Millicent replied with a shrug.

  ‘She doesn’t want to talk about it,’ Cynthia explained.

  Brenda lit a cigarette then sat down and crossed her legs. There was a swish of nylon stockings and the scent of eau de cologne was soon replaced by acrid smoke. ‘Oh, come on, Millicent – that’s not like you. Give us the inside story, why don’t you?’

  ‘I’d rather not.’

  ‘I expect it depends on whether or not Clare pleads guilty,’ Brenda speculated regardless. ‘To be honest, I can’t see what she has to say in her own defence, can you? I mean, you were there, Millicent. What did it look like to you?’

  ‘I really can’t say.’

  Cynthia intervened again. That morning she’d watched how carefully Millicent had got dressed in a summery, peach-coloured two-piece then combed her hair and put on her make-up, as if building a defence between her and the world. ‘She doesn’t—’

  Brenda tutted as she flicked ash into the ashtray. ‘Be quiet, Cynthia. I mean, it’s plain as the nose on your face – Sidney Hall pushed Clare an inch too far and the poor girl snapped. And you walked in on the result, Millicent. You’re a key witness.’

  ‘Let’s wait and see,’ Millicent said doggedly. ‘It might never get that far.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Point taken, according to Brenda. ‘All Clare has to do is to plead guilty then claim that she was provoked in order to avoid the hangman’s noose.’ While the others shuddered at this first open mention of the possible fate awaiting Clare, Brenda pursed her lips and directed smoke high in the air. ‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded. ‘I’m only calling a spade a spade. Anyway, let’s hope it doesn’t drag on too long then we can get back to normal and forget all about it.’

  Still at her switchboard while Cynthia and Millicent took their dinner breaks, Norma was thrilled by the sparkle of her ring as she placed a rear cord into a corresponding jack. ‘Hello, Muriel. Go ahead, please.’

  The dressmaker from Jubilee requested a local number and Norma was able to put her straight through.

  The ring was beautiful – just what Norma had wanted – and the shop assistant at Jasper’s had shown her one from the blue velvet tray that was the right size and that Douglas could afford. She’d walked out of the shop with it on her finger.

  ‘Hello, London. I’m afraid that line is busy. Please try later.’

  Norma had still been on cloud nine when she reached work that morning, flashing the ring under everyone’s nose with an undisguised delight that the others had been happy to share. Only Millicent had seemed less than thrilled for her and Norma hadn’t had time to discover why. It occurred to her again as she operated her board that something more than the Clare problem might be worrying her friend so she set her mind on finding out what it was as soon as she got the chance. I bet it’s to do with Harold, she decided, flicking a switch and speaking into her headset. ‘Hello, Mr Utley. Hold the line, please.’ Yes, Harold – that will be it.

  Sure enough, when Norma engineered an urgent from Ruth and made a quick detour into the restroom, she was able to confirm her suspicions.

  ‘Harold and I have parted for good,’ Millicent confessed in a whisper while Brenda and Cynthia were busy chatting to others. ‘I mean it this time.’

  Norma laid a hand on Millicent’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry to hear it.’

  ‘I’m not. It was my decision.’

  ‘But still.’ The affair had staggered on for a long time, Norma knew. ‘Will you stick by it?’

  ‘Yes, I did the right thing.’ Millicent shook herself. ‘Anyhow, I’m glad I’m back at work and I’m happy about you getting engaged at long last.’

  Norma smiled. ‘Ta. I have to go. I don’t want to push my luck with Ruth.’

  ‘Yes, go – you don’t want her coming down on you like a ton of bricks. By the by, you haven’t taken any calls from Mrs Parr this morning, have you?’

  ‘Not a peep. How about you?’

  ‘Nothing. Neither has Cynthia. Still, we’ll keep our ears open and let’s hope it happens soon if we want to be of any use to Clare.’

  ‘I agree.’ Norma hurried off. Perhaps we don’t have time to wait for phone calls from Mrs Parr, she thought as she resumed her seat in the workroom. Maybe – just maybe – I can come up with a plan of my own.

  That afternoon Millicent worked hard to respond quickly to the lamps that flashed constantly on her high back panel. She took calls from housewives wanting to order coal from the local merchant, groceries from Norton’s and cinema tickets from the Victory. She opened up lines to London and Paris, politely asking the callers to wait their turn. Late in the day there was a call from a phone box in Leeds city centre that turned out to be a reporter asking for a line to the editor of the Herald. She listened in long enough to hear the latest on the Sidney Hall murder investigation – there had been no
application for bail, no legal representation for Clare and the magistrate had ordered her to be held on remand. He had referred the case to the Crown Court.

  Seated to her right, Norma had been on the alert, watching out for Ruth, who – as luck would have it – was busy in her office. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked as soon as Millicent removed her headset.

  Millicent lost no time in bringing her up to date. ‘That makes both me and Douglas witnesses in a murder trial,’ she said grimly. ‘And it means Clare is facing the death penalty.’

  Norma shuddered. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  ‘I know – it’s barbaric. They should have stopped hanging years ago – especially for women.’ There was no more time to talk because Millicent had to take another light. ‘Hello, Mrs Parr,’ she said as she recognized the number. Her voice was higher than usual and she took out her handkerchief to attract Cynthia’s attention on her left side. Cynthia and Norma’s eyes widened. They scanned the room and saw that Ruth had closed a ledger on her desk and was coming out of the office.

  Meanwhile, Millicent pressed a rear key and scribbled down a name and number, speaking as she wrote. ‘Mr Poole, I have Mrs Parr on the line … Go ahead, Mrs Parr.’

  Phyllis Parr’s voice was interrupted by interference on the line. ‘Radio … news bulletin …’

  Drat! Millicent strained to make out more.

  The line cleared and a man’s voice replied. ‘I didn’t hear the news. Crown Court, you say?’

  ‘Yes. As far as I can make out, Clare hasn’t put up any defence.’

  ‘That’s a wonder.’ The man didn’t sound convinced. In fact, his deep, mumbling voice was edgy and confused.

  By contrast, Mrs Parr spoke insistently. ‘Listen to me, Vincent. If Clare was going to say exactly what went on, don’t you think she would have done it already?’

  Vincent! Millicent added this vital name to her scribbled note.

  ‘And the fact that she hasn’t is good news. It means no one will believe her if she waits until she goes before a jury. They’ll think she’s made it up.’