The flat was as close to derelict as it could be, but it was also large, way too big for one person, in fact. There were three bedrooms off a large living area with a small kitchenette through a counter arch. The kitchen had a sink and a small gas stove that the last tenant had obviously never cleaned. It looked like somebody had died in the place and the bed was damp and smelly, but Lara had it all to herself. That first night, exhausted though she was, Lara took the carpet up in the biggest of the bedrooms. It had six-foot-tall windows and looked out onto World’s End and Fred’s cafe. The light was perfect and the buzz of the city outside would give Lara just the atmosphere she needed to be creative. After her first shift in the club she gathered odds and ends of furniture from the rest of the flat, and propped an unhinged bedroom door over the top of two chairs, turning it into a cutting table. With the kitchen table commandeered for her sewing machine, Lara frantically began drawing. Over the following few days she had already almost covered the mouldy walls in swatches of fabric and sketches. With the urgent desire to create, Lara had turned the space into a working studio any designer would want within her first week in London. She spent every penny she earned from her first weekend on fabrics, patterns and haberdashery. She was determined to get her first collection started as soon as possible. How she was going to sell it and who she was going to sell it to, were questions that she must ask herself later. When her time came, Lara wanted to be ready. If she left, or lost her job in Chevrons, she would have to leave the makeshift studio and who knew when she would find a place that could accommodate her work this well again? So she would put up with Ethel’s bullying and Shirley’s bitchiness for the sake of her future collection. After all, it really was a very small price to pay.
Cocktail waitressing in a gangster nightclub was not exactly Lara’s style, but then, neither had been dropping out of college and leaving the life she had so carefully built. The running away had certainly worked. Lara had been so busy surviving Chevrons and using every spare moment to pursue her dreams, that she had barely remembered the broken heart that brought her here in the first place.
‘Shit! It ripped again!’
Flossy, a pretty, plump girl was pulling on her kitty costume, when she felt a tear along the buttock seam. Tears were threatening to spill when Lara whipped a black needle and thread out of her cosmetic bag.
‘Give it to me,’ she said.
Flossy began to peel the costume off, wailing. ‘It keeps ripping.’
‘What do you expect if you keep eating dinners in Fred’s the middle of the day?’ one of the girls snapped.
‘Dinner…’ another sighed wistfully. ‘I ain’t eaten a proper dinner in six months.’
‘Roast chicken and gravy…’ another one said.
‘Stop it,’ another chimed in. ‘This is my third costume this year. I worked a full week last month ’cos it tore right along the side seam.’
‘I hate these stupid cat costumes. I’m on a permanent diet just to stay in the wretched thing.’
‘They’re too tight.’
‘There’s no give in them.’
‘And they itch like hell. I wish they’d change them.’
‘Shirley picked them out.’ One of the older girls frowned.
‘She doesn’t have to wear it.’
‘But she likes them, there’s no way she’s gonna change them.’
Lara fingered the cheap fabric. They were cheap – nylon – and completely impractical. They didn’t do the girls any favours either.
‘I’ll design you something,’ she said.
The girls went silent.
‘No, really, I will. I know about clothes. I’ve studied fashion. Leave it to me.’
All of them continued to eye her in silence. They were young, they didn’t understand. Shirley might be a bitch but she was also a manager, Lara reasoned to herself, a working woman. Surely, she would understand the benefit to her business in having the girls wearing uniforms they were happy with.
So, when her shift was over, Lara went in search of her boss. She found her in the back office, behind the bar, smoking with Brian, the bar manager.
‘May I have a word please, Shirley?’
Shirley ignored her but when Lara hovered beside her instead of going away, she stubbed out her cigarette and rolled her eyes.
‘What is it?’
‘I was wondering if I might have a word with you about the uniforms.’
Shirley smirked. ‘No, you may not. In fact, I wanted to have a word with you. I believe you dropped another tray earlier?’
‘Ah, yes. I’m sorry but…’ Lara trailed off. There was no sense in explaining that Ethel had tripped her. ‘I’m happy to pay for the glasses out of my wages.’
‘Oh really?’ Shirley was losing patience already. Lara needed to steer the conversation back to where she wanted.
‘It’s just that I was talking to some of the girls earlier and they’re not happy with the uniform.’
‘Which girls?’
Oh God. She didn’t want to get them into trouble.
‘Well, um, me. I’m not happy with the uniform.’ Shirley was glaring at her now. Lara needed to get it all out, explain herself as quickly as possible. ‘I’m a dress designer and I was wondering if I made up a few designs you might consider—’
‘No,’ Shirley said. ‘And if you drop one more tray you’re out by the end of the week.’
Lara took a deep breath.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ She left quickly before her mouth got the better of her.
It was dawn outside; everything was closed up. Lara went back up to the flat but she was too furious to sleep. She took out her sketchpad but all she could think about designing were new waitress costumes for Chevrons. Once she got a creative idea in her head, she could not rest until it was out. Her head was a mash of ideas straining to come out. But what was the point? Shirley had made it quite clear she would not even consider looking at them. In fact, Lara didn’t even want to show them to her now. The worst thing she could do was give the woman another opportunity to undermine her. Frustrated, Lara paced about the flat until the sun rose and Fred’s cafe, across the road, opened for breakfast. Lara was hungry and, having not yet got the kitchen in the flat into a fit state to prepare food, had been eating nearly all of her meals in Fred’s.
Throwing a cardigan on over her shift dress, she made it just before the rain started. She was about to sit down when she realised that a beautiful girl with long auburn hair and pale, pale skin was sitting in her usual spot. She had to be Irish. Sad and lost, she reminded Lara of herself, just a couple of weeks ago when she was fresh off the boat, running from heartache and humiliation. The raw pain revisited her in the girl’s face. It had been the loneliest Lara had felt in her life and yet, less than a fortnight later, she was busy in her new life. The last thing Lara needed was somebody else’s problems but, instead of walking away, she found herself walking over and touching the seat opposite. The girl nodded, so Lara sat down.
‘You Irish?’ she asked.
The girl looked slightly panicked.
‘The red hair and milk-bottle skin.’ Lara smiled, shrugging off her cardigan to show her own pale arm. The girl nodded, obviously relieved. They introduced themselves and ordered breakfast. Straight away, it was clear they liked each other, agreeing with one another that Irish sausages were better than English ones. Annie had a refined accent – middle class – like somebody who had been to elocution lessons. Lara couldn’t place her county in Ireland and when Annie didn’t offer the information, she didn’t ask. Like herself, Annie was obviously running from something. She didn’t want to talk about what had brought Annie to London any more than she wanted to talk about why she was here herself. Lara had come to London seeking anonymity and found it – so it was her duty to help Annie find it too. They were both running and that was all they needed to know about each other. Ireland was in the past – today was where it was at. They were London girls now, part of the n
ew, modern generation. They were the ‘now’ people. Coming from nowhere but going everywhere, never looking back.
Their breakfasts arrived and as Lara buttered the mountain of white toast in front of her, she felt, for a moment, as if she was back home at her mother’s kitchen table.
‘Is this your first time in England?’
‘Yes.’ Annie, despite being as thin as a whip, was stuffing the food down as if she hadn’t eaten for days. Lara liked that.
‘Me too, I’ve only been here a couple of weeks.’
‘You seem like you’ve been here for ages,’ Annie said. Then added shyly, ‘You look like a London girl.’
Lara was flattered but demurred, ‘Well, the girls in work don’t think so. They nicknamed me “Irish”.’
‘That’s not very nice,’ Annie said.
‘They’re not very nice,’ Lara said. ‘At least, one of them isn’t. Ethel is a dreadful cow. Keeps tripping me up. Some of the others are OK, but the English are different to us. Harder. Straight to the point.’
Annie looked slightly alarmed.
‘Oh I don’t want to put you off… it’s great here, really.’
Annie smiled, self-consciously, though she hadn’t smiled in that natural ordinary way for quite a long time.
‘Don’t worry, I don’t scare easily. I’m not as delicate as I look.’
Lara thought she liked this girl very much indeed. She hadn’t realised how lonely she had been, surrounded only by English girls that she had nothing in common with.
‘Where do you work?’
‘In a nightclub – well, it’s a sort of joint you could call it.’
‘Sounds like fun.’
‘Hmmm – sometimes. But most of the time it’s just very hard work in a short skirt.’
‘Tell me about it, will you?’ Annie said, refilling their teacups.
Lara confided in her new friend about all her problems in the club and Annie drank in every word of her story. Annie was happy to have something else to focus on bar her own, sordid reasons for being here. Getting involved in Lara’s life felt like a relief.
‘If this Shirley won’t listen to you maybe you should go to her boss?’ Annie suggested. Lara considered it, then agreed. It was a good idea. Lara liked this girl. And talking to her about work, she realised she needed a friend.
‘Have you got a job yet, Annie?’
Annie shook her head.
‘A place to stay?’
The beautiful green eyes began to fill with tears and Annie tried to apologise, hastily wiping them away. Lara knew the feeling.
‘Why don’t you come back and stay with me? It’s not much. In fact it’s a horrible place, virtually derelict. But it’s home. Actually, it’s not even that, not yet. I’ve only been there less than two weeks myself but it’s a place to stay and you’re very welcome.’
Annie did start crying fully then. Lara, tired and emotional could not steel herself, and joined her, until the two of them started laughing.
As soon as Annie got into the flat she went straight to the kitchen and started cleaning.
‘Leave that!’ Lara said, embarrassed.
But Annie had already located a filthy cloth, a scrubbing brush and a tin of Ajax under the kitchen sink.
‘Tell you what, I’ll leave this kitchen as soon as you have some uniform designs drawn up for that club of yours.’
Lara smiled and wrinkled her nose.
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ said Annie.
‘You think I should?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Right. I will!’
In that small, certain exchange with a girl she had just met, Lara got a warm feeling in her heart that she thought might be happiness.
8
‘He’s dead. He’s dead.’ Annie sat up suddenly in the bed. Black, nervous dread filled every molecule of her body. The black fear was so overwhelming that, for a moment, she thought she was dead and hell lived inside her. As she woke to her new surroundings in Lara’s flat, the mismatched sheets, a lumpy pillow, the long window in front of the bed which looked out onto the Kings Road, her head immediately came alive with the terror of getting caught. Were the guards looking for her in Ireland? They would come after her. She would get flung in prison in England or taken back to Ireland. Back in Killa, everyone would know what she had done. The life here, which had barely started, would end. Lara would be horrified to realise she had taken a murderess into her home. Had she left some crucial evidence behind? Annie was convinced that she must have done. She wanted so badly to forget. Lara had offered her the chance to do that. But Annie knew that the only way to unlock this paralysis of fear was to make herself remember.
So she got out of bed and walked over to the window to look down onto the early morning quietness of the broad street. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and rewound the last few days.
Dorian’s lifeless body. Lift his hand – check he’s dead. Blind panic. Suitcase. Desk. Running through the bog. The Galway bus. Annie drew up each picture then discarded it like she was flicking through somebody else’s photo album. The Dublin train. The man offering her a cigarette. GPO post box. As she quickly referenced each event she reassured herself that she had left no clues behind. By focussing on single, innocuous details she was somehow able to forget the overwhelming fact of murder. Queue for boat. Holyhead terminal. Train from Wales. Annie could feel her stress lessen in picturing each truth, covering each track. The final scene was arriving at London’s Euston station in the early morning, then wandering the streets of London, in a clueless, miserable state wondering what the hell she was going to do, until Lara found her in Fred’s cafe.
That was it. They had come back here and she had slept, until now.
Her suitcase was on a chair by the window. She went over and opened it. She shivered at the contents. Stolen jewellery, a bloody apron. Things she had stolen from him. She took out the few items of clothes she had thrown in and some cash, then rummaged around and found a padlock. As a doctor, Dorian kept a padlock in every bag in the house, in case he needed to lock away medicines while travelling. She padlocked it then placed the suitcase squarely under the centre of the double bed so that it could not be seen from either side. She wanted to forget about the case and everything in it. She wanted to pretend it wasn’t there.
There was a tap on the door and Annie quickly jumped up.
‘I made you some coffee,’ Lara said, opening the door and handing her a mug.
‘Instant?’ Annie said, taking a sip of the acrid black liquid, laced with sugar.
‘Is there any other kind? I’m afraid I’m not much of a hostess.’
‘You’re a wonderful hostess,’ Annie replied, ‘taking a stranger into your home.’
‘Not much of a home, I’m afraid,’ she said, nodding around the rather grim and grubby decor. ‘Besides, a red-haired colleen straight off the boat? That virtually makes you family!’
Annie laughed. The fear was gone. In company, she felt safe.
‘I’m happy to pay rent,’ she said. ‘I can start looking for a job today.’
‘No need,’ Lara said. ‘With a face and a figure like yours, they’ll lap you up in Chevrons. The pay is okay and the work is easy enough, once you get used to it. And it’ll be even easier with these fantastic new uniforms.’
Lara waved a sketchpad in front of her.
‘I was up early putting some ideas together – thanks to you, friend.’
‘I don’t know that I’d be very good at waitressing,’ said Annie.
‘Look,’ Laura said, in a firm, pragmatic tone, ‘the most important thing is that you look absolutely gorgeous – and you’re a friendly person. They’re the two qualifications you need to do that kind of club work. Trust me – they’ll love you.’
It wasn’t difficult for Lara to persuade Shirley to give Annie a try-out. Good-looking girls were always a welcome addition in Chevrons and this one, with her long legs, striking face and red
hair, was a knockout. Shirley put her on the lunchtime shift, there and then sending her and Lara straight into the changing room with a spare kitty outfit. Annie’s skinny limbs barely filled the ill-fitting costume and immediately she put it on Lara could see how uncomfortable she was in it. Annie kept picking at the back gusset with her long fingers to try to pull it down and make it less revealing. From the minute she hit the floor it was obvious that Annie was not cut out for the rough and tumble of nightclub work. The leering men made her visibly uncomfortable and the feisty English girls could not make head nor tail of her timid, ladylike manner. She tiptoed through the tables trying to smile politely at customers, but flinching every time one of them spoke to her.
After one hour, Shirley took Lara aside and declared, ‘Where did you get her from? She an even worse waitress than you! Get that lanky freak off my floor. She looks terrified and she’s upsetting the customers.’
Lara couldn’t argue. Annie was clearly excruciated by the whole experience and seemed relieved when Lara said her trial period was over.
‘Did I get the job?’ Annie asked.
‘Afraid not,’ Lara said apologetically. ‘I think she had somebody else lined up.’
Annie said, ‘Sorry, Lara.’
She was upset at having let her new friend down.
‘That’s OK,’ Lara said. ‘I’ll see you up in the flat later. Make yourself at home.’
Annie went back to the flat and busied herself cleaning it from top to toe. Then she took a lot of money out of her bag and went in search of a shop where she could buy groceries, including real coffee. She remembered, with a shudder, Dorian ordering coffee through the post from Fortnum & Mason’s, nonetheless wondering if the shop was nearby. She would cook Lara a magnificent meal that evening and start again, tomorrow, looking for work. Although she had not the first clue what she was qualified to do. Clearly not working in a nightclub, but office work was out – she had never learned to type – and she had very little schooling. She wasn’t creative or clever, like Lara. Maybe cleaning work? But where?
As she was thinking that very thought, she passed the door of Fred’s cafe, the place where she met Lara the day before, and saw a sign in the window. HELP WANTED.
That Girl Page 5