by Pam Weaver
Twenty-Two
The steel grey sky threatened snow. Bonnie had two jumpers on under her winter coat, a scarf and thick woollen gloves, yet the chilly January air still found a way to rob her body of warmth. London was as busy as ever. The Christmas lights were gone but the January sales were in full swing. Bonnie willed herself not to be tempted as she walked along Oxford Street. She needed every penny she could get if she was going to find a proper home for Shirley one day.
Her training was going well but it was surprisingly hard work. She had to make notes during her lectures and write them up in two folders, one called ‘Child Education’ and the other called ‘Child Care’. She was expected to illustrate the folders with pictures from magazines and the newspapers, all of which took time. The course included visits to day nurseries and nursery schools in the area and she had to produce a written report on each of them. Bonnie was becoming competent in everything from mixing infant feeds to understanding the benefits of dressing-up play for the toddler, the use of rhyme and poetry in the nursery and planning a nutritious meal for a faddy eater. The course was exacting for all the girls but slightly more so for a single mother flying the flag for other single mothers who someday might be allowed to follow in her footsteps. For that reason, from day one, Bonnie had knuckled down and given 100 per cent.
She arrived at Lyons Corner House at Marble Arch in good time. She was alone. Nancy had agreed to look after Shirley. It was her day off too. ‘She’s no trouble,’ Nancy smiled. ‘She’s a little treasure.’
One of the waitresses, Nippies as they were called, took her order and Bonnie relaxed. Would Dinah turn up? More to thepoint, would John be with her? Bonnie felt sick with apprehension.
She had rehearsed what she would say a million times. She would tell Dinah about Shirley. It disturbed her that Dinah’s remark, ‘What a pretty child, how could a mother bear to put her in a nursery?’ made it obvious that she thought Shirley belonged to someone else. She would have to put that right. It felt too much a betrayal of the little girl she loved so passionately.
She’d also find out about her mother and Rita, although shestill wasn’t sure what she would do with the information. She kept swinging from one idea to another. On the one hand, shethought it would be better to stay away. After all this time, her mother would have settled down to life without her. If only she had known about John before she left Worthing she could have come back when she realised that George had walked out on her. Her mother had been unmarried when she had John. She would have understood what Bonnie was going through. On the other hand, the shame of what she’d done would overwhelmed Bonnie and she decided she couldn’t possibly go back. If she brought her child back home, how would Mum and Rita hold their heads up in Worthing again? Everybody would be talking about it.
‘Of course you know little Shirley Rogers is illegitimate … who was her father? I heard he walked out on her …’ Could she really put her mother and Rita through all that? Shirley would have to know the truth about her father one day, but for now everyone thought she was a widow and that Shirley’s father had been killed in that awful train crash.
Bonnie looked down at her tea. The cup was almost empty and the teapot was getting cold. She glanced up at the big clock. Dinah was three-quarters of an hour late. It was obvious she wasn’t coming. She rose to her feet just as Dinah burst through the door.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ she blurted out. She was totally out of breath. ‘Rehearsals went on far longer than I anticipated, and I had to race for the bus.’ She was taking her coat off as she spoke but all at once she stopped. ‘Darling, I’ve treated you very badly and I am most desperately sorry. Please forgive me and let me buy you lunch?’
Bonnie was already laughing. She embraced Dinah warmly. It was so good to see her friend again, and best of all, she was quite alone.
His father’s sitting room had a very masculine ambience. The walls were oak-panelled and the few pictures which hung from the picture rail were of Scottish highland cattle grazing in purple and yellow grasslands. Apart from the old chesterfield, there were two armchairs next to the fireplace and a leatherbound desk next to the window. A red patterned carpet covered most of the floor area and a cheerful fire in the grate made the room very cosy.
‘Sit down, son,’ said Norris. ‘Whisky?’
John Finley nodded. Perhaps the drink would give him a bit of Dutch courage.
He’d tried broaching the subject at the meal table but somehow it didn’t quite work out. His mother wanted to know what he’d been doing with himself and he found himself talking about Dinah and the weekend he’d enjoyed with friends.
‘Anyone I know there?’ his mother asked.
John shook his head. ‘Funnily enough, I did meet a Worthing girl there though,’ he said. ‘Bonnie Rogers.’
He would have told them more but his father dropped a tablespoon of peas all over the tablecloth and the chaos distracted them for several minutes. When they got back to normality, his father dominated the conversation by talking about his forthcoming trip on the Queen Mary. Norris called it a business trip but it seemed like he was taking in the whole of New York and half of the east coast of America before setting off in a plane to South America for another week. John couldn’t for the life of him think what sort of business his father was doing in Argentina, but his knitwear factory had certainly taken off in the past few years. It must be doing brilliantly well for Norris to be able to afford such lavish cruising.
As he sipped his whisky, John wasn’t looking forward to this one bit. He wished Dinah was with him. She could charm the birds out of the trees, and buttering up the old man would be as easy as anything to her.
He and his father didn’t get on. There had been too many thrashings when John was a boy for that. Norris was still a powerfully built man but he hadn’t touched John since he was fourteen. That was the day John stood up to his father for the first time. He’d grabbed a garden rake as Norris had cornered him in the summerhouse, the belt of his trousers wrapped around his hand, and told him in no uncertain terms that if he ever laid a finger on him again, when he grew up and was a man, he would exact his revenge. Norris no longer hit his son, but his tongue was just as powerful.
Norris handed John another whisky. ‘As soon as I get back,’ he said, ‘I plan to branch out a bit. I may open another factory. There’s plenty of scope around here and the council welcomes employment.’
‘Good for you, sir,’ said John.
‘I might have a go at running for office. You know, make a name for myself.’
John smiled. They were like chalk and cheese. Wealth and power held no interest for John. At almost twenty-four he still had to embark on a career – which was precisely why he was here.
‘It would be marvellous if you would take over the factory for me while your mother and I are away,’ Norris went on. ‘Miss Samuels will show you the ropes, and without me there, you can be your own man.’
‘That’s very generous of you, sir,’ said John, ‘but I have other plans.’
Norris’s lips set in a hard line. ‘Other plans? What plans?’
John took a deep breath, probably the last one he would take before the explosion that was sure to follow. ‘I’ve already enrolled in a college in London,’ he began. ‘RADA. I finish the course at the end of the year. Apparently, I have a talent and everyone seems quietly confident that I could make a go of it.’
His father stared at him with a blank expression. ‘What the deuce is RADA?’
‘The Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts.’
John took a swig of the whisky. Norris froze in his seat. He continued to stare. ‘You mean to tell me that you’ve been mixing with a load of nancy boys and poofters?’ he bellowed.
‘I didn’t say that at all,’ said John calmly. ‘It a perfectly legitimate occupation. People like John Gielgud and Laurence Olivier got their training there.’
‘Bloody pansies,’ sneered his father. ‘Oh well, I must say, that should suit
you down to the bloody ground but if you think I’m wasting my hard earned money …’
‘You don’t need to,’ said John staring into the bottom of the empty glass. ‘I have money of my own.’
‘Where from?’ his father demanded to know.
‘From the country,’ said John. ‘I spent few of my wages while I was flying during the war. I didn’t have the appetite for it with all my friends dying around me, and I never touched a penny of what my grandfather left me, so I’m using it now.’
‘Oh no you’re not, you ungrateful little sod,’ Norris bellowed.
‘I’m old enough to make my own decisions now, Father,’ said John. ‘In fact I don’t have to listen to this any more.’ He rose to his feet and put the whisky glass on the table.
Norris was purple with rage. ‘When I think of all that I’ve done for you …’
But by now he was speaking to the closing door.
Bonnie and Dinah slipped back into their friendship easily. It felt like they’d never been apart but even so, Bonnie searched for the right words to tell Dinah about Shirley. In the end, she just came out with it.
‘Remember the baby in the pushchair when we last met?’ Bonnie began.
Dinah nodded. ‘Such a sweet little thing. Who is she?’
‘She’s mine,’ said Bonnie, watching Dinah’s face carefully.
Dinah smiled. ‘I’m not surprised,’ she said. ‘She looked exactly like you. I would have been astonished if you had said any different.’
Bonnie’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t expected that at all. She’d been so sure Dinah would have been shocked, or called her a tart, or maybe walked out of the restaurant. ‘You knew …’
‘Not until I saw her,’ said Dinah. ‘I had no idea why you ran off like that. When your mother came to the store …’
‘My mother came to Hubbard’s?’ Bonnie interrupted.
‘She was really worried about you,’ said Dinah. ‘She asked all of us about you. Of course we didn’t know anything. You’re a bit of a dark horse, aren’t you?’ She laughed. ‘What did you call her?’
‘Shirley.’
‘Shirley. I like that name. After Shirley Temple, is it?’
Bonnie shook her head. ‘To be honest I never thought of that. I just like the name.’
‘She’s George’s child, I take it.’
It was then that Bonnie decided to tell Dinah everything. She began with Lady Brayfield, that awful Mother and Baby Home, the nursery and the fact that she was now working towards her NNEB. She explained that it was such a new innovation, having only come about because wartime experiences had forced the government to realise that they needed a recognised qualification for those who cared for children.
Dinah was impressed. ‘I’m so glad you were able to piece your life together so well after what happened to George.’
Bonnie froze. ‘What happened to George?’ she repeated. ‘What are you talking about?’
The waitress interrupted them by taking away their dirty plates. ‘Would you like desserts?’
Dinah shook her head. ‘Not for me, how about you?’
Bonnie shook her head as well. She wished the waitress away,to the far side of the moon if necessary. Something had happened to George. Had he married someone else, had a car accident, broken his leg, or what? Perhaps he hadn’t deserted her after all. Was Dinah going to tell her he’d got TB or some other dreadful illness and was languishing in some hospital somewhere?
‘More tea?’ said the waitress. ‘Or can I get you a coffee?’
‘Coffee,’ said Dinah. She glanced at Bonnie who just stared back at her with a blank expression. ‘Make that two coffees,’ she called as the waitress hurried away.
‘What happened to George?’ said Bonnie. Her voice was urgent.
‘My dear,’ said Dinah. ‘Of course, you can’t possibly know, can you? I think you’d better brace yourself for some bad news.’ She leaned forward and held Bonnie’s hand. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, but George is dead.’
Bonnie felt the room sway. Her dinner churned uncomfortably in her stomach and she felt cold and clammy. She was going to be sick. She rose from the table looking around desperately for the cloakroom sign and then ran between the tables towards it like a woman possessed.
John Finley went to the sitting room where his mother sat with her sewing. It was a much cosier room than his father’s, with a stone fireplace and deep chairs drowning in chintz-covered cushions. There was a roaring fire in the hearth.
‘Hello, dear.’ She glanced up from her embroidery as he came into the room. ‘Finished your talk with your father?’
He marvelled that she was always so calm. His altercations with his father always left him angry and frustrated. It was totally ridiculous. He was a man now. He’d fought the bloody Germans and yet Norris had this … power over him. He had no desire to follow in the old man’s footsteps, but he just couldn’t make him see that. To John’s way of thinking, his mother had a bit of a dog’s life, always having to fall in with the old man’s plans, and yet she was never flustered. These days she seemed to be a very contented person, although he couldn’t understand for the life of him why.
He flopped into a chair and stretched out his legs. ‘I’ve just told the old man I’m an actor.’
His mother looked at him over the rim of her glasses. ‘Good for you,’ she said, ‘but I’d much rather hear about the girl who has put that twinkle in your eye.’
How Bonnie got from Lyons Corner House to Dinah’s flat in Primrose Hill she hardly knew. She allowed herself to be bundled into a taxi but she remembered little of the journey. The flat was on the first floor, or was it the second? She could only remember a lot of stairs.
Dinah was apologising that it was so small, but Bonnie couldn’t focus her mind on anything except what she had told her in the restaurant.
George is dead. George is dead. It banged around her head like a dinner gong. George is dead, dead, dead. She kept asking stupid questions. ‘How can you be so sure it was him?’ ‘Did the police actually see his body?’ ‘How can they be sure he’s dead?’ Every time she asked, Dinah answered her but the words didn’t go in.
She had developed a terrible gnawing emptiness in her chest and the pain around her heart was so unbearable she honestly wanted to die herself.
Once she reached the flat, Bonnie allowed herself to give way to her tears. She cried solidly for half an hour. It left her with a terrible headache and feeling cold and clammy. After a while, someone came into the room and gave her an injection and everything went still.
When she woke up, the room was getting dark. She sat up suddenly and realised that although she was fully dressed apart from her shoes, she was under a pink satin bedcover. It took a few minutes to understand where she was and why and then the terrible grief came flooding back in, crushing her spirit and driving the breath from her body. He was dead. Her lovely, fun-loving George was dead. Shirley would never know her father, never call him Daddy. She closed her eyes and imagined her daughter, their daughter, just a little bit older, maybe three or four, in a meadow with the sun streaming down. She was chasing butterflies among the flowers, running along in that endearing way small children do and giggling as she went. Then George came up behind her and swept her into his arms, twirling her around as she gasped, ‘Put me down, Daddy, put me down …’
Bonnie swung her feet over the edge of the bed and back into the here and now. That would never happen, would it? George was dead. She sighed. She had to get back to Shirley. She had told Nancy she would be back in time to put her to bed.
The door opened very slowly and the light from another room flooded in.
‘Oh, you’re awake.’
‘What time is it?’
There was a pause and then Dinah said, ‘Five thirty.’
Bonnie shot to her feet. ‘I have to get back to the nursery.’ She swayed and her head began to spin.
Dinah rushed to her side. ‘You’re in no fit state to go
anywhere. You’ve had a massive shock. I had to call my doctor and he gave you something to calm you down.’
‘But I have to bath Shirley and put her to bed. I’m her mummy. She’s expecting me.’
‘Give me the telephone number,’ said Dinah, pushing Bonnie gently into a sitting position. ‘I’ll explain everything.’
‘I need to know about George,’ said Bonnie, her eyes filling with tears again.
‘I know, darling. I know.’
As soon as she’d told Matron, Dinah made some tea and telephoned John. They had planned to meet later that evening. Dinah quickly explained what had happened.
‘John, please don’t rush back to London,’ she said. ‘I can’t leave Bonnie. She’s in such a state. She had no idea her boyfriend was dead.’
‘Her boyfriend?’ said John.
‘Shirley’s father,’ Dinah explained. ‘The man they found in your father’s cold storage room.’
‘Good God!’ exclaimed John. ‘How absolutely bloody.’
‘I know,’ said Dinah. ‘You do understand, don’t you, darling?’
‘Of course,’ said John. ‘Give her my love.’
Dinah put the phone down and went back to Bonnie. Clasping her hand gently, she began to tell her all that she knew.
‘But I went to the factory,’ Bonnie protested. ‘I finished work early. I went to his digs and he wasn’t there so I went on to the factory.’
‘He was found in the cold room at the back,’ said Dinah.
‘I didn’t go right inside,’ Bonnie admitted. ‘There was some horrible chap there throwing stuff around. He shouted at me and I fled.’ She frowned. ‘What’s a cold room?’
‘They used to store valuable fur coats there in the summer.’
Bonnie was hardly listening. ‘Was there an inquest?’
Dinah stared at Bonnie’s hands in hers. ‘It was an open verdict.’
‘So they don’t really know how he died.’