Bad Girls Good Women

by Rosie Thomas

‘He was. But handsomer. Belinda and I and all the rest of us adored him for years. Then he turned up with Julia. She didn’t ski, and she didn’t have clothes like any of the rest of us, and we thought she was so glamorously racy. She used to sneak out of Frau Uberl’s to stay with him at the Swann Hotel …’

  ‘Sophia.’ It was Alexander who interrupted her lubricated babble. He had been watching his sister’s friend. He liked the way that she had said almost nothing, listening and looking instead, but still gave the impression of energy and strength. He thought she looked clever, and contained, but with an edge of vulnerability that he found powerfully attractive. Alexander knew hundreds of women like his sister Sophia, but he couldn’t remember ever meeting anyone who intrigued him like Julia Smith. He wanted to know her better, and because he rarely wanted anything particularly seriously, Alexander usually got his way.

  Julia was hardly aware of him. She was staring at the tablecloth. Sophia’s prattle had unlocked the memories, too sharp, startlingly vivid. The white feathery bed and the ice-blue sky beyond the window. Skiers laughing and calling to each other in the snowy streets below. And Josh, with his breath warm on her face. She could see him and feel him. Hear his heart beating.

  Julia crumbled the last of her bread roll into fragments and pushed it off the edge of her plate.

  ‘I’m sorry, I talk too much.’ Sophia was clearly contrite. ‘I never learn.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Julia said.

  ‘So what do you do nowadays?’ Alexander asked, filling a small silence.

  Julia’s head jerked up. Suddenly she wanted to make Sophia’s eyes open really wide, and to shake her brother out of his complacent quiet. She felt stifled by the restaurant’s self-conscious smartness, and by the Blisses’ company, and by the thought of the secure green acres of their Dorset manor. She smiled a little. Mattie would have recognised the smile, but Sophia and Alexander simply sat, listening. Julia didn’t notice how much Alexander was taking in.

  ‘I’ve done all kinds of things since I was sixteen.’ Julia leaned comfortably back in her chair, keeping her voice soft. ‘Since I ran away from home with my friend Mattie. Before I met Josh, you know. We started by finding ourselves jobs. But we had nowhere to live, and we had to sleep rough. On the Embankment, actually.’ With relish, Julia went on to tell them everything, not glossing over any of the riskier parts, and embroidering wherever she felt like it. She told them about the square, digressing to Felix, and Jessie’s career in the clubs, about the parties and the Rocket and Flowers and Mr Mogridge and Francis Willoughby. She went to town on Mattie and the Showbox, on how Mattie had landed the lead in the most important play of the decade, and on their night’s celebration at Leoni’s and after. She dressed up her own importance to George Tressider, not too subtly considering Sophia was already a client and likely to notice any major exaggerations. But then being Sophia, Julia thought, she probably wouldn’t notice anything of the kind. But she passed quickly anyway from Tressider’s to her position on the brink of a career in international fashion modelling. The shadow of truth behind the story was that a photographer friend had taken her pictures, and claimed that he could get her some work for one of the magazines.

  ‘And that’s about it, really,’ Julia concluded. She made a dismissive gesture with the hand that wasn’t holding her glass.

  Sophia made a little sound that was half a laugh, half a gulp.

  ‘And I thought I had a busy life with a husband and two infants. Golly, how tame it is.’

  Alexander’s expression was unfathomable.

  Sophia looked at her watch. ‘Oh dear, and I’m supposed to be in the hairdresser at this very instant. I must fly.’

  A minute later they were out on the pavement. Sophia kissed the air on either side of Julia’s cheeks and insisted that they must do it again, very soon. Then she was gone.

  Julia looked at Alexander. She had been intending defiance, but to her amazement she saw that he was smiling properly now. It made his face look quite different, younger, with the sharpness smoothed out of it.

  ‘I’m very fond of her, you know.’

  It was so unexpected that Julia answered in the same spirit. ‘So am I. She was very kind to me in Switzerland. I was having a bloody time because I couldn’t ski.’

  ‘Didn’t the cartoon hero teach you?’ His dryness had dissolved into mockery. Julia tried to find some light-hearted words, but her mouth felt frozen.

  ‘Hmm. Have you got to go back to work at once?’ Alexander asked.

  Julia should have been at her desk half an hour earlier. She thought of George and the telephone and the afternoon’s clients, and sighed. The Frascati and too much talk had fuddled her head as well as Sophie’s.

  ‘No,’ she answered, with a touch of weariness. ‘I don’t suppose I do.’

  Alexander drew her arm through his. ‘Then let’s go and take a look at the river.’

  They walked mostly in silence. He asked her just one question, still smiling, when they could see the tracery of Albert Bridge ahead of them. ‘Was any of that story true, by the way?’

  Julia kept her eyes fixed on the airy lines of the bridge. ‘Bits of it. But I shouldn’t have told you any of it.’

  ‘Oh, I enjoyed it,’ protested Alexander.

  They leaned against the wall and looked down at the river. The water was the same colour as the green olives presented with their lunch and a deep, muddy reek drifted off it. A barge came sluggishly upstream and Julia was reminded of herself and Mattie, stranded, with their belongings in two suitcases at their feet. Alexander appeared to read her thoughts.

  ‘Was it this part of the Embankment where you slept rough?’

  ‘That bit was true. We slept in a doorway beside the Savoy.’ She shivered at the memory. ‘I never want to have to do it again.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have to. You don’t see many top models dossing in doorways, do you?’

  Julia went faintly pink. ‘All right, you tell me something about yourself. Do you work in the City?’

  Alexander snorted. ‘I most certainly do not.’

  Alexander Bliss was a musician. What he liked doing best, he said, was playing the trumpet, but he wasn’t good enough at it to be any use to anyone. He earned his living as a freelance composer. Julia looked suspiciously at him but he drew his finger across his throat with a flourish.

  ‘Honest. The twiddly bits in films. Advertising jingles, that sort of thing.’

  The fresh air was clearing Julia’s head. They turned and walked towards the bridge, admiring its grace. They talked a little about his work, and then films that they had seen. Alexander was easy to talk to once the dryness was penetrated and Julia felt faintly regretful as she told him, ‘I must go back to work now. George will be in a pet as it is.’

  Alexander faced her. ‘May I see you again?’ Formal, very English. She saw his clothes again and remembered that she had categorised him as a stuffed shirt. He was probably just that, however profoundly he admired Bix Beiderbecke.

  Suddenly Julia smiled. She had a private system of tests for the men who took her out. She would make Bliss take her to the Rocket, and see how he stood up to that.

  ‘Yes,’ she said meekly. ‘That would be very nice.’

  He took her to the Rocket without demur, and he passed the test with top marks.

  He wore unexceptionable jeans and a roll-neck sweater, and he was a better dancer than Johnny Flowers. Julia watched him jiving with Mattie. She was impressed, in spite of herself. Mattie looked over her shoulder, and winked.

  After that, Bliss took Julia out quite regularly. They went to the cinema or the theatre, or to a restaurant. Sometimes Julia cooked a meal at his untidy flat in Markham Square, and once Sophia and her pedantic husband joined them.

  ‘Is this a serious romance?’ Sophia whispered eagerly.

  ‘Of course not,’ Julia told her. ‘We just get on well together.’ Bliss simply became a looked-for part of Julia’s life. He put his arms around
her and kissed her, leaving her in no doubt that he found her attractive. But he didn’t ask for any more than that, and Julia didn’t volunteer anything. It didn’t occur to her that Alexander was playing a more subtle game than her own. Nor did she look closely enough at him, in their round of jazz-clubs and parties and Chelsea pubs, to discern that his irony and his vagueness had long ago been assumed as protective camouflage. She enjoyed his company without feeling threatened by it, and she never guessed that that was exactly what he intended.

  As the weeks went by he passed all her tests except one. And the last one was impossible because it required him to be Joshua Flood.

  Julia saw less of Mattie. She was engrossed in rehearsals for One More Day. The play was to open after Christmas, and Mattie said that she was working harder than she had ever worked in her life and enjoying herself more. She was drinking noticeably less, and there was a glow about her that wasn’t all professional. She also mentioned Jimmy Proffitt more often than was strictly necessary, Julia thought sagely.

  Christmas came, and Felix arrived home just in time for it.

  He came up the stairs one evening, without warning, when Julia was trying to fix the Christmas tree in its pot in front of the window in Jessie’s room. She looked up and saw him, dropped the hammer and ran to fling her arms around his neck. ‘Felix! Oh, Felix, I’m so happy you’re back. Just wait till Mattie hears …’

  ‘I’m glad to be home. It’s been too long.’

  They stood back to admire each other. Felix nodded at her black jacket and slim skirt. ‘You look wonderful. You must have learned something while I’ve been away. But that tree’s crooked.’ They laughed, delighted to have slipped into the old idiom so easily. Julia looked carefully at him. Felix was too thin, and that made him seem even taller. But his expression was different. He looked older, and better. As if the parts of him fitted together more comfortably.

  ‘Welcome home,’ she smiled at him. She reached up and kissed the corner of his mouth. The colour of his skin was richer, warmed by the Italian sun. He smelt of lemony cologne.

  ‘Let me go and get my bags. I’ve got presents.’

  Having Felix back at the square again, especially this Felix who was both more relaxed and more sociable, made Julia and Mattie realise how much they had missed his company. They shared the happiest Christmas together, just the three of them. Mattie’s rehearsals were suspended for three whole days, George Tressider’s closed down for a week, and Bliss had gone home to Ladyhill, explaining that it was a family imperative. Felix happily spent most of the holiday in the kitchen. Julia was his assistant once again.

  ‘I had nowhere to cook in Florence,’ he explained. ‘Just a room to sleep in. I used to make meals in my head.’ Julia laughed, but Felix was suddenly sombre. ‘Oh dear, what a pointless exercise. After Christmas I’ll find myself a job. What shall I do, Julia?’

  ‘You can do anything,’ Julia said, meaning it.

  The day of the dress rehearsal came. Mattie was suffering badly after her early confidence.

  ‘I’m going to bomb,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing any more. I was so sure I had her …,’ Her voice trailed away. Her face was as white as paper. ‘Can I have a drink?’ she begged.

  Julia brought her some gin, no more than a mouthful, but as soon as she had drunk it Mattie was sick. Julia held her head and then wiped her face with a warm cloth.

  ‘Are you ill? Shall I call them and say you’re ill?’

  Mattie shook her head as if it hurt her. ‘I’m not ill. I’m just frightened. I’m so frightened I can’t do anything. It’s like being paralysed.’

  Julia soothed her. ‘You’re going to be all right. You’re going to be a big success. A sensation.’

  ‘Please, no,’ Mattie moaned.

  ‘Shall I come and watch the dress rehearsal? If you know I’m there …’

  Mattie’s fingers tightened around her wrist like iron rings.

  ‘No. I don’t want you to see it. I don’t want anyone I care about to see it.’

  The tickets for the first night were in Julia’s drawer. Everyone they knew was coming, and Bliss was even bringing China. Julia hadn’t met his mother yet.

  Julia stroked the bright mass of Mattie’s hair. ‘All right. That’s all right. If you don’t want us to be there, we won’t be. Look, Mattie, it’s time for you to go now. It’s only the dress rehearsal today. You can get through that, can’t you? Isn’t it supposed to be terrible? Just think of one thing at a time.’

  Mattie nodded. Her face was so pale it seemed transparent.

  Julia helped her into her coat and Felix came down the stairs with them. He found her a taxi and put her into it. They had a last glimpse of her wan face as they watched it drive away. Julia exhaled a long breath. They were like fond, anxious parents waving a child off to do an exam. Felix felt it too and they both laughed.

  ‘She’ll do it, won’t she?’

  ‘Of course she will.’

  Companionably they walked once round the square. The day was frost-sharp and the noise of the traffic was amplified in the stillness. The grass inside the railings of the square garden was still silvered in the hollows, and there were tufts of startling wet emerald where the weak sun touched it. When Julia gripped the iron railings, looking through them at the green and silver, her bare hands seemed to freeze to the metal. With her senses sharpened by her anxiety for Mattie, she had a sudden sense of the exquisite, orderly power of the physical world.

  Felix’s hand brushed her shoulder. ‘Sensualist,’ he said.

  Not really, she might have answered. I would have been, but not without Josh. It occurred to Julia again that she was getting older. She felt it in her heart, and in her cold hands.

  They went inside again, up the familiar stairs.

  In Jessie’s room Felix prowled silently to and fro, turning a picture to catch the light, lifting the heavy folds of the curtains and letting them fall again in looser ripples. Watching him, Julia felt her forlorn longing relax its hold a little. She had missed Felix, too, and now he was home. She sat down on the plush sofa and drew her knees up so that she could rest her chin on them. She wanted to draw him closer, to fill in the space between them. Felix was easier company now, but Julia was clearly aware that he guarded his feelings even more carefully.

  ‘Tell me about when you were away,’ she asked.

  Felix turned abruptly. In the silence he heard the whisper of dry needles falling from their Christmas tree. Julia wouldn’t allow it to be taken down before Twelfth Night.

  He had been waiting for a question that he could put an answer to. He had never done so for Jessie, and in a sense what he wanted to tell Julia was for Jessie too.

  ‘Julia. You know that I’m a homosexual, don’t you?’

  Her head didn’t jerk up. She didn’t even catch her breath. She went on looking at him, her expression not changing. He loved her, then.

  Julia said, ‘Yes. Yes, I suppose I did know. Without really knowing it.’

  ‘I wanted to be sure.’ His voice was expressionless. ‘Because of what happened between us.’

  She nodded quickly. They were remembering the day of the funeral, and the wet petals glued to the soaking earth. The party that Felix had wanted to give for Jessie afterwards, and the quiet grief that the bottles of whisky had failed to dispel. And after that, Felix’s bedroom with the pictures of Mattie and herself and Josh pinned over the mantelpiece. Felix had turned off the light, leaving the darkness full of silence and empty spaces.

  What would Jessie say now? Julia thought. It was imperative to make the response that Jessie would have made, to be able to offer Felix some of his mother’s broad understanding. She was afraid of her own inadequacy, but it occurred to her that it was easier for her than it would be if she really were Felix’s mother. She smiled, faintly. Felix saw it and came to sit beside her, the old plush sofa creaking in protest. Julia held out her hand, palm up, and Felix covered it with his own. Their hands clas
ped.

  ‘Did you always know?’ she asked simply.

  ‘No.’ And then, ‘If I did, I didn’t admit it for a long time.’ Felix was thinking, That doesn’t change. I can’t admit to you now that when I took you to bed, all that time ago, I was thinking of Josh. Wanting to think of Josh, and then despising myself for it. Subterfuges, and learning to live with the need for them.

  Julia couldn’t decipher what he must feel. She was only aware of wanting to offer him what he needed, as Jessie would have done. ‘Tell me,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Only if you want to.’

  They had both changed, Felix realised, Mattie and Julia. They had acquired reticence, even with each other. Their exchange of confidences was less raucous, the atmosphere of femaleness surrounding them less exclusive. They had turned into women, Felix thought. The realisation touched him.

  He told her what had happened. Not everything, not even most of it, but at least the truth at the heart of it.

  Felix had survived his National Service; had almost, perversely, enjoyed it. He soon discovered, however, that he was better equipped for the struggle to survive each day than most of the other recruits in his squad. He was older, he was self-contained and used to the necessity of being so, and he was dexterous and efficient. It was Felix who discovered that the thick, shapeless khaki uniform trousers that they had all been issued with could be made to hold creases that would satisfy the NCOs if the nap was shaved off along the crease line with a razor blade. He could mix Green Blanco to just the right consistency and apply it to his webbing in the correct quantity so the smooth surface didn’t crack. He could polish his brasses to a mirror shine, and he was the barracks champion with the heated spoon that was the only way of removing pimples from the leather surface of standard issue boots. He could also execute the intricate regulation folds in the rest of his kit when laying it out on his bed for the daily inspection, and he learned to stuff the empty pockets of his laid-out kitbag with newspaper to give it the correct square proportions.

  Almost all of their non-soldiering interest and conversation centred on sex. As soon as they were allowed Saturday night off-barracks passes, the squad’s two loudest studs had fresh encounters to boast about. Almost all the others had their own stories to tell, true or – as Felix suspected – mostly invented. Not a detail was spared. Only the grammar school boy with glasses blushingly admitted his virginity.