Georgia (18 page)

‘But I won’t let you go that way, baby,’ she whispered under her breath as she picked up the cheap tweed. ‘It ain’t a life, it’s just survival.’

A raw wind caught Georgia’s cheeks as she ran through the narrow back streets to Peabody Court.

Once away from the market it was quiet, offices closed for the weekend, too early in the morning for the night-time people to surface. Unpleasant odours seeped out of each dark alley, the many piles of vomit an indication of the previous night’s revelry. Cellar trapdoors stood open, belching out a stench of beer, while the cafés competed with the delicious aroma of fresh coffee and fried bacon.

She could never be sure whether she liked or feared Soho. For all the dirt, smells and danger that seemed to lurk round each dark corner, it had a warmer side that surprised her. A friendly wave from the old man in the corner sweet shop. A wolf whistle from the boy who worked in the Bastille coffee bar and a smile from the woman on her knees scrubbing her doorstep. Helen had no fear when she walked home late at night, the big bouncers in the clubs watched out for her, even the prostitutes and strippers knew her by name and Georgia was respected as being her friend.

‘Coo-ey!’ The call made her look up. Janet was leaning over a small balcony on the third floor making a signal she was on her way down.

The buildings were dismal. Four storeys of soot-blackened dwellings housing sixty families. Small spiral stone staircases behind rusting prison-like bars gave more than a hint of the dark ages this place belonged to. Yet many of the windows sparkled defiantly, sporting brilliant white net curtains as if the owners wanted to prove they hadn’t given up hope entirely.

Janet’s high heels clattered down the last few steps, bringing a touch of unexpected colour and glamour to the grey surroundings.

White-blonde bouffant hair, a leopardskin swagger-jacket, red lipstick and tight red skirt matching perfectly. Now Georgia saw why she held her own against younger girls in the strip clubs, and why she’d earned the title of Soho’s Marilyn Monroe.

‘You look lovely,’ Georgia was touched that Janet had considered taking her to a doctor enough reason to dress up. ‘Your hair’s so pretty!’

‘I got it done last night,’ Janet patted the masterpiece, and fluttered her spiky eyelashes. ‘Course it’s the first time you’ve seen me done up. Could I con anyone I was yer sister?’

‘Your skin’s a bit pale,’ Georgia giggled despite the turmoil inside her.

‘It’s not far,’ Janet tucked Georgia’s hand under her arm and marched her quickly down to Charing Cross Road. They stopped at a door sandwiched between two record shops.

‘I’m scared,’ Georgia hung back. ‘I don’t know what to say!’

Janet took her cold face between both her gloved hands and kissed the end of her nose.

‘I’ll be with you. Just agree with everything I say to him. It ain’t so bad.’

A bearded, tall, thin man answered the door, just as Janet was wiping her lipstick off Georgia’s nose.

‘Good to see you Janet,’ he smiled as if he really meant it. ‘Come on up, it’s bitterly cold isn’t it?’

His voice brought back Blackheath into sharp focus. Resonant, educated. If she closed her eyes she could almost pretend it was Doctor Towle in his spacious antiseptic surgery in the village.

Just one flight of shabby but clean stairs and they passed through a glass-panelled door.

‘How’s things, Roger?’ Janet swaggered into the flat as if she was no stranger to it. ‘Never see you down the club anymore. Got a new lady?’

‘I spend my time with good books these days,’ he laughed, implying that once he had been a regular visitor, waving one hand at a huge oak bookcase full of leather bound volumes. ‘And you must be Georgia,’ he smiled down at her, holding out his hand.

Georgia gulped. He had such nice eyes, pale blue, the colour of baby ribbon. When he smiled he looked younger than his fifty years, an unlined, almost boyish face.

‘Don’t look so frightened,’ he led her over to the couch and pulled out a cloth screen to put round it. ‘Pop in there and take off your undies, then up on the couch. Janet will be right here with me.’

Georgia took off her coat, then hastily pulled her knickers off under her skirt. Behind the screen she could hear Janet talking softly. She gave him the date of her last period, mentioned the bouts of sickness as if she were an aunt.

She had expected someone seedier, maybe foreign, anything other than this tall, bearded man with his gentle voice and kind face.

‘If she is pregnant you know I cannot condone an abortion,’ she heard him say. ‘I hope you didn’t think I would help with that?’

‘Of course not, Roger,’ Janet’s voice lost its cockney edge. ‘She can stay with me, one more won’t break the bank. We just wanted to be certain before I take her to the hospital.’

Georgia tried hard not to blush when he came back to her pulling on rubber gloves.

‘Put your feet up, and let your knees fall apart,’ he smiled reassurance. ‘Relax. It won’t hurt.’

But it did hurt, not just physically, but mentally. It brought back that other examination after the rape. One more indignity, the shame of exposing herself to a man. Every muscle was tense as his fingers probed her. She screwed up her eyes, her toes and her fingers and wished she could just faint rather than submit to another minute of it.

His face was thoughtful as he removed his hand. He stood back and peeled the rubber gloves off as she hastily pulled her skirt down over her knees.

‘Sit up now and just let me see your breasts. Are they tender or enlarged?’

‘A bit,’ she said, as she struggled to undo her bra.

‘Hm,’ he said as he peered closely at them. ‘No doubt about it my dear. You are pregnant, around eight to nine weeks I’d say.’

Georgia could contain herself no longer. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she covered her face with her hands.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said gently, patting her shoulder. ‘Ideally, every baby should be planned. But believe me, few are. In a few weeks you’ll get used to the idea, in a couple of months you’ll be waiting eagerly for it.’

Once out on the street, Janet steered her across the busy road to a coffee bar.

‘Better now?’ Janet was surprised Georgia controlled herself so quickly, remembering her manners and thanking Roger for his verdict. If she didn’t know better she would assume Georgia had already come to terms with it. ‘I know it wasn’t the result you hoped for. But at least we know for sure.’

Janet took a booth at the far end of the coffee bar and ordered drinks for them.

Soho was full of coffee bars, by day office workers bought sandwiches in them, by night they became meeting places for the young. This one had gay red and white checked curtains, with white formica tables and a big bulbous juke box, the only customers two taxi drivers eating breakfast.

‘I’d rather leave this till you’ve had time to think,’ Janet said once the coffee was in front of them and she’d lit up a cigarette. ‘But time is the one thing we’re short on, so I won’t go round the houses.’

She drew deeply on her cigarette.

‘We could go right now to the police and tell them the whole story. They’ll arrest yer dad, and with a bit of luck they might offer help with an abortion in hospital.’

‘But what if they don’t?’ Georgia’s eyes filled with fright. ‘I don’t know if I could bear to go through all that questioning. Besides, when Mum hears about the baby it will make her even more miserable. I can’t do that!’

Janet sighed deeply. The bastard who’d done this to Georgia had filled her dreams last night. She wanted him crucified as an example to any other man who might get the idea of raping a child in his care. But however much she wanted it she was aware of the problems. Social workers would step in, the kid’d be back in care and they’d probably make her go through with the baby too.

‘The other alternative is to have the baby, maybe get you into a home for unmarried mothers and have it adopted when it’s born.’

Georgia stiffened. Eyes rolled in alarm, her lovely mouth tightening with hate.

‘I can’t have it. I loathe it already. No one could expect me to keep his child inside me, could they?’

Janet’s almond eyes closed for a moment as she thought what she would have done if those Americans had left her pregnant.

‘Then there’s only abortion,’ she sighed. ‘But that’s risky.’

Week after week Janet met women who had illegal abortions. Some women like her who’d already had children and couldn’t afford another, sometimes they were prostitutes who’d merely slipped up. But Georgia was a child, how could she help in something which could kill her?

‘How bad is risky?’

Janet looked into the dark, determined eyes and saw the same kind of stubborn pluck that had kept her going through countless hardships.

‘Infection, blood poisoning, even death. I won’t lie to you love, it’s heavy.’

‘I don’t care,’ Georgia brushed tears from her eyes angrily. ‘Anything’s better than having it.’

She put one hand on her stomach tentatively, hardly able to believe there was a tiny baby growing in there.

‘It ain’t a picnic,’ Janet warned. ‘It hurts so bad when the contractions come you’ll want to die. I don’t want to frighten you love, but it wouldn’t be right for me not to spell it out.’

‘I can stand it,’ Georgia stuck out her little pointed chin defiantly.

‘I hope so,’ Janet said softly. ‘I just hope so.’

‘Tonight’s the night then,’ Janet whispered to Georgia at work. Three, painfully slow weeks had passed since the visit to Roger. ‘Did you weaken and tell Helen?’

‘No. I said I was minding your kids for you.’ Georgia’s face was pale but resolute. ‘If I could get back home on Sunday she need never know. You know what a worry-guts she is!’

A whole week spent waiting for Janet to contact the man. Another five days while he considered whether he would do it, then another nine of being so terrified she couldn’t sleep at night.

On top of that was the worry about getting the ten pounds needed, along with hiding it from Helen. No lunch, sweets, new stockings or magazines. It was lucky Pop had asked them to work overtime on several occasions for a rush job, otherwise she would have had to borrow some of it from Janet. The longest three weeks she had ever known, but now the moment was close.

What would happen if she got rushed to hospital? Would she be brave enough not to implicate Janet? And what if she did die? Would Janet go to prison for helping her?

It was raining hard as Georgia and Janet left work, for once the streets were almost empty. Neon lights from the clubs and bars were twinkling in puddles, the old yellow street lights giving St Anne’s Court a Dickensian quaintness that belied the sordid activities which it was famous for.

Sally was the only other person who knew what was going to happen. She had already taken Janet’s children down to her flat on the ground floor and she’d promised to look in the next morning to see how things were.

‘Well, this is it,’ Janet said as she opened her front door. ‘Sorry about the mess. I didn’t have time this morning.’

Two months earlier Georgia would have considered Janet’s home a slum, but after her attic room with Helen, it looked homely. Small boxy rooms, congested with furniture. A garish, orange patterned carpet vying with a red overstuffed three piece suite. Yet despite the clothes and toys strewn about, it was clean, bright and cosy. Photographs of her children, glass ornaments and seaside souvenirs jockeyed for position on the mantelpiece, window-sill and two shelves on the walls and gave a feeling of security.

‘We didn’t even have a bath till last year,’ Janet yelled at her as she made a cup of tea. ‘I used to stand the kids in the sink. Posh ain’t it?’

Georgia looked enviously at the white bathroom, almost as if she’d never seen one before. She may have improved her bathroom enough to use it, but it still made her shudder. Would there ever come a time when she and Helen could arrange their talcum powder, shampoo and face flannels like Janet had done? Or be able to invite friends round and not be embarrassed?

Georgia was in the bedroom getting herself prepared, when the abortionist arrived.

‘It’s time,’ Janet said softly from the doorway. ‘Remember what I’ve told you. It’s embarrassing, but not painful. I’ll stay with you so don’t panic!’

Georgia’s stomach churned as she saw the man in the bathroom. He was short and very dark with hair that grew right down the back of his hands and thick eyebrows which met in the middle.

‘Call me Eric,’ he smirked, not meeting her eyes. Seedy was the description that fitted him best. Clean enough, but with frayed cuffs to his shirt, and the trousers which didn’t match his suit jacket were shiny with age. As he took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, stale sweat wafted out.

Georgia could think of nothing to say. She stood awkwardly in her dressing-gown, her bare toes curling up on the cold lino as he turned to the bath and bent over.

A tubular chair was already in place, Eric was furiously whisking a bowl of bright pink soapy water. The smell of carbolic took Georgia right back to her ordeal in the bathroom at the convent. She gagged involuntarily.

The closer she looked, the less she liked him. He had a paunch that hung over his trousers and through his thin shirt she could see bumps of a string vest. How could she let this man touch her?

‘I know this isn’t the best way to meet people,’ he said still whisking the soap. ‘Try to think of me as a doctor.’

Georgia had an overwhelming desire to run away. He had a length of rubber tubing in his hands, testing it by submerging one end in the water and squeezing a round bulb in his hand. The other end of the tube had a firm nozzle, the bright pink water was splashing into the white bath.

‘Hop up on the chair,’ he said, glancing round and taking her firmly by the hand. ‘I expect it’s been explained to you but I’ll tell you once again.’

‘I can’t,’ Georgia said suddenly as panic washed over her. She had looked at those hairy hands, knew where they were going and the thought disgusted her.

‘Yes you can,’ Janet said firmly behind her. ‘Don’t even look at Eric, sit on the edge of that chair and try to relax.’