Illusions of Happiness (6 page)

On the landing smelling of cooked cabbage was a stained sink and cold water tap, next to it a bathroom and toilet. One glimpse of the bowl was enough to make her heave as she tried to avoid contact with its wooden seat which all the so far unknown tenants had used before her.

An ancient gas boiler gave a dribble of hot water taking ages to fill the bath, and only just warm when filled, the bath sporting a wealth of yellowish stains. There was always the public baths which by law had to be spotlessly clean. She could go there, armed with towel and soap as often as possible so long as she had money for the entrance fee.

Her father had arranged a niggardly allowance sufficient to prevent her actually starving, its message clear enough – if she needed more, she’d have to find work. So what might have made him appear human enough to give at least some thought to the welfare of his only child, instead spoke in clear terms that he wanted nothing more to do with her; that her welfare no longer mattered to him, almost as if she no longer existed in his eyes.

Left more bitter than ever, she’d written a carefully worded plea to her mother the moment she arrived here hoping to melt her heart enough to talk to her father on her behalf. That had been over a week ago, still no reply. There’d never be one now. How had she managed to make such a mess of her life? Her sight misted over as she stared across at the other tenements of Moorgate’s dingy back streets a stone’s throw from St Paul’s as thoughts of last night’s dream stole back into her mind. She had had the same dream three times since coming here; so brief and so poignant: she’d be holding her baby close, nursing her, kissing her, such a lovely dream, but just as she started to croon to her, her own voice would wake her and she’d find herself alone in this still dark room, her arms empty, her pillow damp with tears she hadn’t dreamed she’d shed, making her get up and walk back and forth in an effort to push the memory from her mind.

Now she pushed it away again, forcing herself to think of something more realistic. She was going to have to make her own life, though how, she had no idea. Never having been alone before, never having to shift for herself, knowing only a life of luxury, she was only now learning how to cook for herself, buy food and prepare it, make a cup of tea, even to wash her own clothes. But to survive she was having to learn.

A kettle and a small brown teapot had been provided. In the cupboard drawer were a couple of spoons, a few odd knives and forks, an old carving knife and a bread knife. There was a saucepan for boiling vegetables and a greasy frying pan for meat, fish, eggs, bacon, sausages or whatever else the tenant thought to cook. Had there been an oven she wouldn’t have known how to use it. There were a few plates of odd sizes, chipped and of doubtful origin. With a little of her meagre allowance she’d have to buy decent ones from a market stall, as well as a decent towel, face flannel, soap.

The kettle and saucepan doubled as containers to boil water for washing clothes and bed linen in the bathroom. What she’d found here when she arrived had been so awful she’d drawn a little out of the precious pittance her father had put in the bank for her and had bought two pairs of sheets and pillow cases from the cheapest market stall she could find. At least she now had clean linen to sleep on.

This morning, seven thirty, after another uncomfortable night on the lumpy mattress and troubled yet again by the same dream, she was at the sink washing the old bed sheets as best she could in case they were ever needed.

She was so engrossed rinsing them that she wasn’t aware of someone emerging from a door down the passage until a voice made her jump.

‘Oh! You’re using it – the sink!’

Swinging round towards the voice, her arms dripping wet, she saw a girl of around twenty standing there. The girl’s lips parted in a grin. ‘Sorry, did I give you a start?’

Madeleine tried to gather her jangled wits and smile back. ‘You did rather.’

‘Sorry,’ the girl said again. ‘I should’ve made more noise. I was just coming to wash a couple of smalls, but I can wait. Will you be long?’

‘I’m nearly finished,’ Madeleine said. ‘I’ll just wring these things out.’

‘There’s a mangle downstairs in the back yard,’ came the advice. ‘Bit chilly out there this time of year, and a washing line too.’

‘I know, I did happen to see it,’ Madeleine said a little stiffly. ‘But I’ve not used the mangle yet.’

The girl’s smile seemed to be a fixture on her face. ‘I don’t hang me smalls out there,’ she said brightly. ‘Someone might pinch ’em. I just stick ’em on the backs of chairs round the fire in me room. When did you turn up?’

‘I arrived here just over a week ago,’ Madeleine supplied, now feeling forced into some sort of politeness but the girl’s beam broadened still more.

‘Don’t you talk nice,’ she remarked quite out of the blue. Madeleine blinked.

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘I said, you talk ever so nice,’ the girl repeated. ‘Ever so posh. What’s the likes of you doing in rooms like these then? I’d’ve thought someone that talks like you would’ve found theirselves a decent hotel if they want to live in London.’

The girl’s accent was very different from her own. Not exactly coarse like the Cockney accent of their landlady; more the way Freddy Dobson used to speak, untutored. The thought of him brought an unexpected pang to her heart and she turned quickly from it.

‘How long you expect to be here?’ the girl asked, breaking into her thoughts.

Madeleine hurriedly gathered her wits back together. ‘I’m not sure yet. I can ill afford anything else at the moment.’

An admission she’d not intended to make, but the girl interrupted any chance to correct herself.

‘Can any of us!’ she laughed. ‘Well, as it looks as if we’re going to be neighbours for a bit, my name’s Dorothy – Dolly, Dolly Grant. I come from Kent originally, Holstead, but I left a couple of years ago – couldn’t stand my family. Always arguing and rowing, so I walked out. What about your people then? And what’s your name?’

Madeleine told her, shortening it to Maddie, managing to sidestep giving any information about her family. Dolly seemed not to notice but merely stared at her giving Maddie time to take her in. She was tall, nearly as tall as herself, but desperately thin. The cheap high-necked blouse and ankle-length tube-like skirt seemed to hang on her. Dark hair, abundant and done in a coil or bun seemed to swamp the elfin, not particularly pretty features.

‘So what d’you do with yourself all day. Or in the evening?’ asked Dolly.

‘Nothing really.’ Madeleine turned back to rinsing the bed sheet.

‘You mean you’ve not been anywhere since you come here?’ the voice behind her exploded. ‘You can’t go on like that, Maddie. Look . . .’ Her hand came on Madeleine’s shoulder, making her turn back to her.

‘I’ve got to go off to work now. Part-time job for a window cleaning company, filling in for some chap who went off to war the day it broke out. But evenings I go out with some friends. Why don’t you come? We doll ourselves up and go off up West, see the sights, though London’s not as lit as it was now we got them German Zeppelins starting to come over. Dropped bombs in Norfolk y’know – killed some people. So the shops ain’t lit like they used to be. But we usually meet a few soldiers, get them to take us to some decent club or pub and have a good time. You come along. You’ll enjoy it.’

Madeleine nibbled at her lip. ‘I don’t know,’ she said doubtfully.

Memories of Freddy Dobson made her cringe inside from any man. At home she’d never been out of an evening without her parents. The only time she had ever gone out on her own had been with him and only for a briefly snatched half an hour, telling them she’d taken a walk through the village to put a little colour in her cheeks. She’d always been on edge the whole time she was away, except when lost in his arms and look where that had landed her, paying dearly for deceiving her parents.

‘You’ll be all right with us,’ Dolly was saying. ‘We won’t leave you on your own. They’re a nice bunch of friends. Rather like yourself except they’re still with their parents.’ It seemed Dolly already guessed she wasn’t living at home. ‘Do come, Maddie. I’ll make sure you come to no harm.’

What could she do but nod consent, hearing Dolly cry, ‘Good!’ as if she’d done her a great favour by accepting her invitation.

For the rest of the day Madeleine could think of nothing else but the evening when Dolly said she would call for her. Excitement pulsed through her veins such as she hadn’t felt since those times when she’d anticipated meeting Freddy. It didn’t matter that the very thought of that now made her feel sick and ashamed, knowing how she’d been led into believing all sorts of lies from his lips; what she was feeling now at being invited to join Dolly’s little group of friends was akin to how she had felt then.

On a whim, when leaving home, she had taken a couple of her lovely dresses with her. At that time she’d never thought she would wear them again. Her purpose had been to sell them for what she could get, knowing she might need the money. Now she was glad she hadn’t. This evening she would wear one of them.

It was the fourth time she’d taken the two from the curtained alcove where they’d been hanging on wooden pegs, to scrutinize each in turn. One was heavy silk, salmon pink, the other lighter weight pale blue silk or ninon. Neither had creased at all, looking as fresh as the day they’d been ordered for her from a Parisian couture house in London for when she would have ‘come out’. Not too showy, quite modest in their way as expected of a young girl of only just eighteen, neither would look out of place tonight.

She finally chose the blue with its floating drapery about the upper arms, tasteful silver embroidery about the neck and narrow skirt. The black, glacé kid court shoes which she’d not worn since leaving home and the black velvet Juliet cap from last year which she still wore would go very well with the blue. A pity she had only the one coat, but on a chill February evening who would pause to pass judgement? For so long Madeleine had worn only plain, shapeless garments while awaiting the baby, but this material felt good to the touch as did the silk stockings that had lain so long unused until now.

The day was endless. With no interest in food as she waited, it was just as well there was little in the cupboard, half a small loaf – she’d have to buy another one soon – some margarine, a bit of cheese, some milk, a couple of eggs. She’d finally learned to make an omelette after several unsuccessful attempts, the ruined results of which she had bolted down in desperation at the time, all the while thinking of all those sumptuous meals she’d taken for granted at home.

Now at seven o’clock she waited on tenterhooks for Dolly’s tap on her door. There came a moment of panic as she paced the room. Was she overdressed? If the others were casually attired she’d look silly. She’d dabbed her cheeks and nose with a little face powder in the box she’d taken with her to the home though with little use for it there. Regarding herself yet again in the tiny hand mirror she’d found on some second-hand stall, she stood biting at her lips to make them look pinker.

Manoeuvring the mirror carefully this way and that she surveyed herself, realizing that she looked quite pretty. While pregnant there had seldom been any wish to look at her reflection in any mirror, the face staring back drawn and blotchy, the once slim shape become gross, the breasts heavy, the stomach more bloated by the day. Now that was all suddenly gone, her slim figure back to normal, her blue eyes, once dull, seeming to glow. Her hair, lifeless during pregnancy, had regained its blonde sheen. She’d lost all interest in herself during that time. But now she was . . .

She almost jumped out of her skin as a sharp rap came on the door, hurrying to open it.

Dolly stood there in a nice but cheap-looking dress of pink crêpe de Chine, Madeleine experiencing a glow of relief that by comparison her own was of far finer quality. Neither did she feel out of place any more.

The girl gave an instant sigh of appreciation. ‘My, you look a proper lady. That dress must’ve cost a fortune!’

‘No,’ Madeleine said quickly, almost apologetically, suddenly feeling bad for her moment of superiority though not for the sense of relief she’d felt.

‘It’s second-hand really,’ she continued to lie, though it wasn’t that much of a lie, having worn it before which might in truth make it second-hand.

‘The only decent thing I have,’ she went on, which
was
a lie. All the clothes she’d brought with her were of fine quality and expensive. She would have to take great care of them, make them last. She’d also take care of what she wore when with Dolly so as not emphasize their quality too much.

‘Are you ready?’ asked Dolly.

Madeleine nodded, hurriedly closing the door behind her.

Dolly’s four friends, Bess, Millie, Florrie and Hilda, turned out to be chatty and sociable and instantly enfolded her in their midst, calling her Maddie which was nice and for a while she forgot that lurking, insidious weight in her chest each time thoughts came of the baby taken from her.

Gabbling and giggling, they introduced her to her first ever experience of the Underground, helping her on to a noisy, swaying train that had her on edge the whole time though they seemed not to notice the racket at all, merely lifting their voices above it.

Alighting at Tottenham Court Road, they wandered along Oxford Street gazing into half-darkened store windows and on to crowded Piccadilly to revel in being ogled at by young uniformed men most out looking for fun not knowing how long before they’d be sent to France and possibly the front line. Thus banter was exchanged eagerly, unashamedly, almost desperately.

Like Dolly they were from lesser backgrounds than hers, but had the advantage of still living with their families. London was their home. They wandered their city without fear whereas she had never before been let loose in London much less unchaperoned. But the war had changed a lot of things and tonight was an experience. Even so, they were expected to be home by eleven and would honour that. Though before then there was fun to be had.