The Factory Girl (7 page)

Apart from the odd reference to dogs' dinners and putting on airs, which she put down to sheer jealousy, it was a successful weekend. Tom's brother Sid asked her to go to the Troxy picture palace with him the following Saturday and she'd said yes, because she wasn't ready to be pinned down by any one boyfriend just yet despite envying her sister getting married.

Mavis would return from honeymoon and become a housewife in the tiny two-roomed flat they'd found. Dad had started Tom in the docks as a tea messenger, not being skilled, but he had to start somewhere and it brought in a wage, she as a married women, of course, no longer working. Geraldine's envy of her melted at the thought, knowing she was still free to do as she pleased.

It was a good job she didn't tell Alan about Sydney. That one date had been her last – completely boring, him going on about football, and not being in work like so many. Not his fault, but she'd paid for her own seat and he'd let her, not even putting up an argument. To pay for herself wasn't the trouble – being expected to was. She didn't think she'd be seeing him again and what Alan didn't know wouldn't hurt him. If Alan didn't ask her out again after she told him she'd not be seeing him that Saturday, there were still her friends from work to go out with.

Then there was that Anthony Hanford still never very far from her thoughts. She'd even dreamed of him at night: cycling past his shop and he leaping out to stand in her path and she with no way of avoiding crashing into him. That was her biggest concern, having to cycle past there every day. What if he saw her? She'd never gone back to claim those earrings, so how could she ever face him if he did come out? What could she say?

He must have seen her on occasion pedalling by furiously and wondered at her never coming in. Or maybe he'd forgotten her so that there was no point in worrying at all. Maybe he had only been friendly like a good shopkeeper. And her running away with the idea that she could have attracted a man like him. What a high opinion she'd had of herself. On the other hand a shopkeeper's friendliness didn't usually include offering a gift to a customer. Perhaps he had fancied her. Perhaps he'd been hurt by her refusal. Or heartbroken? No, that was being melodramatic. Of course he wasn't heartbroken. More likely he had shrugged and got on with his life. It was she who was getting melodramatic.

If she went in now, what would she say? If only she'd handled things differently. From time to time she'd taken out the necklace worn just that one weekend with her dress, and Mum saying what a waste of time and money spent on it. She studied the thing and the more she scrutinised it, the more came the suspicion that those beads were real stones.

Running her fingers over the blue ones – what had he called them, lapis lazuli? – they'd been smooth to the touch. Having looked them up in a book from the library, the gold flecks, it said, were a type of mineral. If he'd painted them on they'd have felt raised. If they were real gemstones, it would mean the pearls were real too and the necklace worth a darn sight more than two shillings. She'd seen in jewellers' windows up the West End what real pearls cost. Surely he hadn't been that silly to give her real stones, real pearls?

It made her feel a little sick to think of it and set a dilemma as to what she ought to do about it. What she did do was to cycle even faster past his shop, wishing there was another route home from work without having to pass it unless she was prepared to go miles out of her way. The days were growing longer which meant coming home in daylight. He'd see her even more easily so she cycled faster still. The irony of it was that she hadn't worn her lovely dress since the wedding – her Aunt Lizzie had been right, there'd been nowhere to wear it since. It hung in the cupboard alongside Evie's things, Mavis having taken her clothes away with her – a thorough waste of her time just to reap a glance or two of admiration and that somewhat mixed, leaving her with a feeling of having shown off. On top of that had been the humiliating necklace and earrings business.

Nearing Hanford's this April evening, with daylight still lingering, she wondered if he still had those earrings or whether he had now sold them. As she prepared herself to put on her usual spurt, she saw to her horror that he was standing at the door of his shop. She couldn't ignore him and automatically her face turned his way.

He waved. Her best bet would have been to wave back and cycle on, but she couldn't be that rude. Instead, she slowed, put one foot to the ground to steady her cycle to a stop, aware that he was already starting across the pavement towards her. Maybe he had been doing that as she made to pass, prompting the reaction of stopping.

‘Hullo! Haven't see you for some time.' His voice, low and full-bodied, made her tingle, despite feeling flustered.

‘No,' she managed. ‘I've been working all the time.'

‘I saw you pass here a few weeks ago.' So he had seen her. She felt even more flustered. ‘But you were going at a terrific rate of knots.' Had he made to hurry out but had missed her? ‘So how are you?'

‘I'm very well, thank you,' she replied, finding the pavement and kerb to have become very fascinating.

‘Did the wedding go well?'

‘Yes, very well, thank you.'

‘And you wore your dress?' She nodded furiously, loathing this odd shyness. She was never a shy person normally. ‘And the necklace? Did you like the necklace?'

Again she nodded. Now was the time to confront him as to their genuineness or not, but no words came out. She merely nodded, her head lowered. In fact her brake handles became a thing to study, whether they were fixed tight enough to her handlebars.

‘I'm glad you did. I wanted you to. Very much.' There was a pause. Then, ‘Those earrings I made for you. I'd have sent them to you but I don't know your address. They've been here waiting for you to come in again.'

Now she raised her head. ‘You've still got them?' Lord, such dark-grey eyes he had. They sent silly, unexpected shivers of excitement through her.

‘Yes, I do.'

‘I thought you'd of sold them by now.'

‘They were a present for you.'

She let her glance fall away in embarrassment. ‘I didn't think you meant it. You didn't know me all that well and … and after all, shopkeepers – I mean … people what don't know you don't usually make presents of things like that. I mean they were real … I mean, my necklace was …'

She came to a halt, confused, feeling awkward. What must he be thinking of her? She looked up quickly to see him smiling.

‘Clever girl.' It sounded almost derisive, but his eyes were soft. ‘You discovered my secret. Please forgive me if I embarrassed you but it seemed right for you to wear something worthy of you. Your colouring was just right for blue, and there's no blue as striking as lapis—'

‘But they're real and all you charged me was two shillings.'

He was still smiling. ‘I had to charge you something or you'd have walked out. As you did when I offered the earrings. And please don't worry, Geraldine –' he'd remembered her name! ‘– they're not exactly precious.'

‘They still cost more than I could ever afford,' she shot at him, angry now at the way he was smiling at her patronisingly, it struck her, his tone steady, but most of all his assumption that he could be familiar enough with her to use her given name without a by-your-leave. He was, after all, a shopkeeper, whether he had money or not, and as such she was better than he!

‘I'm sorry,' she said tersely, gazing ahead towards her destination. ‘I've got to go. I'll be late 'ome for me tea.' She was trying to speak nicely but it wasn't working. It came to her that why should she be trying to? Who was he anyway? She was really angry now, mostly with herself, seeing the chance she'd longed for all this time slipping away, and also that he was seeing her as an ordinary East End girl yet had the cheek to chat her up.

‘I'll bring the necklace back tomorrow. I can't pay just two bob for something as valuable as all that. Even though you tell me it's not that valuable, it's still valuable enough. Anyway I don't suppose I'll use it again. I don't go to places what call for that sort of jewellery—'

‘Would you like to go somewhere where you could wear it?' he cut through her gabble.

She looked sharply at him. ‘Pardon?'

‘I wondered if you'd like to go somewhere nice, where you could make use of it, and your dress as well.' As she continued to stare at him, he cocked his head on one side to gaze into her eyes, his own holding an enquiring glow. ‘If only to wear it in a nice setting in good company, or, let's put it another way, so I could see how you look in your lovely dress and the necklace, and of course the earrings.' His hand appeared to be moving towards hers, resting on the bicycle handlebar.

‘What I'm asking is would you let me take you out to dinner, or maybe to a theatre, or both?'

She withdrew her hand before he could touch it, fiddled instead with the neck of her jacket. She wore it with her thick working skirt, not trusting the April weather as yet. She began to feel conscious of the way she was dressed.

‘What would you want going out with someone like me? I'm just an ordinary working girl.'

‘And I'm an ordinary working man.'

‘You ain't,' she shot at him. ‘You've got a father what's a solicitor. You only chose to do this sort of thing to get back at him for somethink or other. You don't really need to work at somethink like this, but me, I 'ave to work for me living. So why ask someone like me out?'

‘Because I …' He hesitated then thought better of whatever he was going to say. ‘Because I like you very much and I'd like to get to know you even better. Please, would you let me take you out? Say you will.'

She remained silent, looking down at the handlebars. How she longed to say yes, but fear of the unknown was gripping at her. She felt she should shake her head, grab the handlebars and cycle away, but she couldn't move.

‘Will you?' he was urging.

It was all piling in on top of her, giving no time to think, to reflect on what the result of her reply would be one way or the other.

‘Please, will you say yes?' he asked yet again.

Geraldine took a deep breath, felt her lips part for words that she couldn't give voice to. Her lips were moving apparently of their own accord, almost forming the word ‘yes' even though her brain was in danger of forcing her to shake her head. She tried to close her lips but they refused to be closed and moments later she followed their lead with a hardly detectable nod of her head. She was aware of him relaxing.

‘This Saturday then?'

Now she found her voice. ‘I can't make it this Saturday. I'll be out.'

‘With a boyfriend?'

‘Girlfriend!'

The lie burst out of her before she could stop it. She was going to the picture palace again with Alan. She'd have to tell Alan she wouldn't see him the following Saturday. He was beginning to feel too secure with her, she was sure, even though there had been nothing going on between them – he was just a friend. Anyway he couldn't really have a proper relationship with any girl while he was still officially married. Divorcing his wife for adultery, he could hardly leave himself wide open to a counter claim even though he was doing nothing wrong.

As far as she could see there was no future with him for a long time yet and in that time all sorts of things could happen. She was free to go out with whomever she pleased, but she couldn't hurt him by saying what she'd really be doing the following Saturday, and anyway, this date with Anthony Hanford might only be this once. He might see her as not being his sort after all – well, she knew she wasn't his sort – and not ask her out again. Then where would she be? But if she didn't try, she'd never know, would she?

She came to herself with a start, aware that Anthony was asking her how she felt about going to the theatre. She looked up at him with startled eyes. ‘The what?'

He looked a little concerned. ‘You do like going to the theatre?'

‘Oh, yes.' Quickly she gathered her wits. ‘I love going.' She was about to gush, ‘I go all the time,' but stopped herself. The only time she ever went was to the Queens Theatre in Poplar where they had variety acts, and of course stage acts put on between films at the picture palaces. Occasionally she had gone up to the West End with a couple of friends to line up with those like herself for the cheapest gallery seats, having saved up money for weeks for it. He wouldn't take her up there in the top gallery of course. More likely the upper circle, where people with just a bit more to spend would go, and definitely more suitable when treating a girl.

‘Good,' he said. ‘Which one would you like to go to?'

Fighting confusion, she fought to think clearly and came out with the only name that came to mind. ‘The Hippodrome.'

He grinned. ‘You like revues then. Okay, the Hippodrome it is. I'll get tickets for the dress circle.'

Stunned, she heard him instruct her to meet him here at six-thirty the Saturday after next, and not to worry, he'd take care of everything, getting her there, everything.

‘See you next Saturday then?'

Alan's parting reminder brought Geraldine up sharp. She'd mentioned nothing regarding next Saturday, hanging back in the hope that he himself might decide to let that go. Now he'd referred to it, she'd have to tell him that next Saturday was off – but what excuse to make? There had been so many of them jiggling around inside her head all through the film show that not only had she been unable to concentrate or enjoy what had been showing but she was now spoiled for which one to chose, always the bane of those about to tell lies. She settled on the first one to pop back into her head.

‘We're going round to me sister's fer tea.'