The Factory Girl (51 page)

Alan was talking to her as he'd never spoken before. Easing her down onto the settee, he put an arm around her shoulders and held her close. His tone was low and even. ‘No matter how much yer blame yerself, yer can't do nothink about it, yer know that?' She nodded, and he went on in the same even, gentle tone. ‘Now, we're goin' ter get married, yes?' Again she nodded. ‘But what sort of marriage are yer condemning me to? I want us ter be 'appy and how can we if you're going ter dig up the past for the rest of our lives? Think about that, Gel, yer not only making yerself miserable, yer making me too, and if yer love me, why do yer want ter do that?' She shook her head. ‘Right then, I ain't sayin' no more. You 'ave ter make up yer own mind. Remember, Gel, I love yer. But I ain't prepared ter be made miserable fer the rest of me life. It's up ter you.'

Letting go of her, he got up and went to stand at the window again to stare out into what was developing into a downpour of rain, misting the houses opposite.

Seeing his strong back, his broad shoulders, it was as if everything was clicking into place, her jangled thoughts calming. If those so-called friends of Tony's had done away with him it would have been before giving him a chance to smelt down that gold. He wouldn't have got a share of the gains. He wouldn't have gone off with Di Manners either. With no reason for her to know what had happened to him, Di Manners might be thinking at this very minute that he'd forsaken her, just as he'd forsaken his wife.

At that thought all guilt, all sorrow, all self-pity departed as though a skin had been sloughed. She even felt her lips twist into a satisfied grimace.

But what about Tony's business? Nothing to smile about there. So eager to see him bankrupted by a horde of creditors, she was now saddled with a business in deep trouble. All Tony's money had been tied up in that and would now come back on her. Would she end up totally penniless?

Alan turned as she voiced her concern in some panic, and retraced his steps to her.

‘Then we'd best start getting our house in order, hadn't we?' he said quietly, almost a note of relief in his voice. He sounded almost glad that she would be broke. It was at that moment she knew she'd never again refer to Tony in the light of revenge or mention the manner of his death. She would rely on Alan to sort out her creditors and be grateful. They would take everything, the shop, the contents, every stick of furniture in the flat. She felt no regret. It would be starting with a clean sheet, like being baptised again.

It was well after Christmas, in fact two weeks into 1926, that they finally heard from the authorities dealing with Tony's affairs. Geraldine was at home with Mum and Dad that Saturday at breakfast when it came, Dad's work in the docks always uncertain, having nothing until Monday. Glancing up from reading what had been sent, she met their anxious stares with a grin that was faintly wry. ‘Not a bean. All gone to pay debts. Nothing left. A few personal bits, that's all.'

She did have what was left in her own bank account, plenty of lovely clothes still, a bit of her own jewellery, and of course memories, some nice, some she would rather not have. The shop and its stock had gone to pay creditors. The flat too, and all the furniture she'd bought to help sink Tony into even deeper debt.

She'd worked so hard towards that, and all the time he had been at the bottom of the Thames, washed up on the bank by an outgoing tide only when that capricious river decided it had had enough of him.

She couldn't help it, she let out a slightly insane giggle. ‘Guess what, Mum, after all the lovely things I had, all the holidays and all those society friends, I'm back where I started.'

Mum didn't laugh. Busy setting the breakfast table, she shot a look at Dad as a small explosive sound of contempt hissed between his teeth so that he shut up instantly, then she turned back to her daughter, her tone as ever sharp and to the point.

‘Not exactly. Yer've got your Alan now. Yes, 'e's
your
Alan,' she went on as Geraldine made a half-negative gesture. ‘He's asked yer ter marry 'im an' you've told 'im yer would, ain't yer? Well then,' she continued as there came a half nod, ‘yer ain't quite back where yer started. He's got a decent business. Yer won't exactly be broke. Not yer 'igh an' mighty life yer thought was the be-all-and-end-all of everythink, but comfortable enough.'

Geraldine bit her lip in a surge of uncertainty. Was this the time to tell Mum what she'd known for the past six weeks? Alan should be the one to be told before anyone else. It concerned him the most and would be a shock enough without being told second-hand. Mum would be shocked too, she with her old-fashioned principles, but she could keep it to herself no longer.

‘Mum, I've somethink to tell yer.' Already she had reverted to her old way of speaking, no longer any need to watch every word she spoke. Yet a faint trace of that laboured effort to adopt an accent that had never been hers still lingered. ‘I'm going to have a baby.' There, she'd said it. But Mum gave no sign of surprise, somewhat angering her. Things hadn't changed.

‘I thought there was a look about yer. A woman looks diff'rent when she's carryin' a baby. How far are yer?'

‘Only about six weeks.'

‘Then yer'd best get married a bit sharp or the neighbours'll start ter gossip.'

Just like Mum to worry about neighbours, not about her but what people might think. ‘I can take care of myself,' she returned huffily. Mum shook her head.

‘Ain't made a good job of it so far, 'ave yer?' She turned sharply on Geraldine's father as he started to speak. ‘This is woman's talk, Jack. You go an' look at yer pigeons for a bit.' It didn't seem to concern her that it was freezing outside in the yard and even trying to snow, but her husband, with a heavy sigh, moved to obey. She turned to Geraldine as he disappeared.

‘Alan said you two was planning on a July weddin'. Well, I think you ought ter bring it forward ter March at the very latest. You tell 'im I said so. Then no one'll be bothered.'

She was interrupted by Dad coming back in. ‘I told you …' began Mum, but stopped as Alan was observed following close behind, having come around the back, no doubt popping in between jobs to see Geraldine. Both men were all smiles.

‘I've just told 'im about yer, Gel,' Dad burst out. ‘An' look at 'im, 'e's as pleased as punch, even if you two ain't married yet.'

Despite a sudden rush of irritation at her father which was also reflected on his wife's face, Geraldine couldn't be annoyed seeing the joy wreathing itself around Alan's huge grin. Even so, she wasn't pleased with her father.

‘Dad, it was my place to tell him!'

It was almost funny, the way Dad's face fell, but Alan had her in his arms. ‘I think we're goin' to 'ave ter get married a bit earlier than expected,' he said.

That in itself made her happy, Mum done out of giving the order. The old rift was still there, wasn't it? That was until the woman came over, almost forcibly parting the two, and to Geraldine's surprise, ready with an angry retort thinking her mother about to interfere, put her arms about her in the first cuddle that in many an age had genuine emotion.

Seconds later Mum had broken away as though embarrassed by her uncharacteristic show of affection.

‘If I don't get this breakfast ready, we'll be eatin' dinner! And you, Jack …' she turned to him. ‘If yer don't put that top back on that tomato sauce bottle after yer've used it, I ain't goin' ter buy any more.'

She turned to Geraldine. ‘Honest, he always forgets ter put the lid back on prop'ly and last week when I shook it ter use it, we 'ad red sauce all over me clean tablecloth. But that's men for yer. Never think, do they?'

Geraldine stared at her, amazed at being confided in in this way. This was how it had been before she had married and had gone off, thinking of herself as made.

Suddenly she was home. Come March, she and Alan would marry, a simple, rather hasty wedding, nothing elaborate. But more than anything else, she carried his baby, she who'd thought herself unable to have any more children after losing her first one and had assumed herself damaged.

This time there would be no such slip-ups. This time Mum would be on hand to tend her and it seemed Mum knew it as she came to stand even closer. She would look after her, make sure she came to no harm, make sure this baby, Alan's baby, would be born whole and healthy and strong.

As Alan began to laugh at what Mum had said, Geraldine took her cue and turned on him in mock severity. ‘And if you do that, I'll do the same as Mum and stop buying any.'

Mum's hand laid itself on her arm. ‘That's right, you tell 'im,' she said in a quiet tone.

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Ebury Press, an imprint of Ebury Publishing
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Copyright © Maggie Ford, 2002

Maggie Ford has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

First published in 2002 as
From Bow to Bond Street
by Judy Piatkus
(Publishers) Ltd
This edition published in 2015 by Ebury Press

www.eburypublishing.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 9780091956684