The House by Princes Park (40 page)

Ellie couldn’t make head nor tail of Milton’s
Paradise Lost
, which was part of the English A level. It was something to do with hell having been taken over by some guy called Beelzebub. When the class had finished, she asked Clint Shaw if he understood what it was about.

‘Well, yes,’ he stammered.

‘Then help me with tonight’s essay.’ She fluttered her lashes and looked at him pleadingly. ‘We could do it together.’

‘I was going to do mine as soon as I got home. Me and Daisy are going out tonight.’

‘Then I’ll come with you,’ Ellie said with alacrity. ‘Your mum won’t mind, will she?’

He didn’t look terribly keen on the idea, but he’d never been able to refuse her anything. ‘Mum won’t be there. She goes to work.’

Ellie already knew that. Fate had provided the perfect opportunity to seduce Clint Shaw.

The Shaws lived in a street of substantial terraced houses off Wavertree Road, a street that Ruby had been very familiar with when she’d been the pawnshop runner, though the young people didn’t know that. Ellie had been to the Shaws’ house before. She thought it rather garish and over-furnished.

‘I usually do me homework in the kitchen,’ Clint mumbled.

‘That’s OK by me.’

They spread their books on the lime green table, sat on the lime green chairs, and he explained that
Paradise Lost
described the fall of man for having disobeyed God’s laws. Satan was trying to exact revenge for being expelled from heaven.

‘You make it sound so much clearer,’ exclaimed Ellie, filling her eyes with admiration.

Clint blushed. Gosh, she marvelled as the blush spread over his smooth, fair skin, he was incredibly good-looking.
How come he hadn’t realised? Why didn’t he play the field as boys did who were only half as attractive? His hair was thick and blond and almost straight apart from the ends which flicked up slightly, not quite reaching the collar of his school blazer, but not short enough to look old-fashioned. Everything about his face was perfect, from the fine eyebrows, grey eyes with lashes that most women would give their eye teeth for – not Ellie, who had equally long lashes of her own – straight nose, and slightly full mouth.

Gran used to wonder aloud where Clint had got his looks from. ‘Not his mother, that’s for sure.’ She’d never liked Pixie. ‘They must have come from his dad.’ Brian Shaw had turned out to be a rougher, tougher version of his son.

‘Can I have a glass of water?’

‘I’ll make tea if you like?’

‘Oh,
please
.’ She got to her feet when he did. ‘I’ll help, shall I?’ By the sink, she brushed against him so that her breast touched his arm. Clint looked embarrassed and edged away. Ellie giggled, slid her hand inside his blazer, and tickled him. She lifted her head and bit his ear, then rubbed her lips against his cheek. ‘You need a shave,’ she whispered, before kissing him fully on the lips.

She would never forget his reaction. He shuddered violently, as if he’d just had an electric shock and pushed her away. ‘
Don’t do that
!’

‘Oh, come on, Clint. What harm would it do.’ She approached him again and was about to put her arms around his neck, but he caught hold of her hands and held them tightly. ‘That hurts,’ she complained in a babyish voice.

‘Leave me alone.’ He flung her hands away, as if they were contaminated. There was a look on his face, as if he wanted to be sick.

‘Why?’ Ellie demanded.

‘Because Daisy’s me girlfriend. It wouldn’t be fair on her.’

Neither spoke for quite some time, just stared at each other across the room. Then, with a shiver of comprehension, Ellie understood. She felt herself go very cold.

‘No, that’s not why,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s nothing to do with Daisy. It’s because you don’t like women. You’re a queer.’

‘Just because I don’t fancy you, it doesn’t mean I’m a queer,’ he blustered, looking even sicker.

‘No, it doesn’t,’ Ellie conceded. ‘But you’d have behaved the same with any woman. I just know.’ She began to put the books back in her satchel.

Clint was trembling, leaning against the sink, supporting himself with his hands, as if his legs were about to give way. His face had lost all vestige of colour and his eyes were hot and feverish.

‘Don’t tell Daisy.’ The hoarse voice was as agonised as his face. ‘Don’t tell anyone.
Please
!’

‘Don’t worry,’ Ellie assured him. She felt scared and a little bit ashamed. ‘I won’t tell a soul.’

That night, Daisy came home early when everyone was still up. She burst into the living room, eyes shining. ‘You’ll never guess,’ she cried.

‘Guess what?’ demanded a chorus of voices.

Ellie didn’t speak. She sensed what her cousin was about to say.

‘We didn’t go to the pictures, but for a walk instead. Clint asked me to marry him. We’re getting engaged. On Saturday, we’re going to town to buy a ring. Only a cheap one,’ she added quickly. ‘He’s only got a few pounds of pocket money saved.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful, love.’ Gran leapt to her feet and hugged Daisy warmly. ‘What do you think, Heather?’

Heather frowned. ‘You’re awfully young, Daisy.’

‘But Mum, we’re not getting married for ages, not till Clint’s at least twenty-one. We might go to live in London where it’ll be easier for him to get the sort of job he wants, scriptwriting, or something.’ She smiled blissfully.

‘Congratulations, Daise!’ Moira planted a kiss on Daisy’s freckled cheek.

‘I’ll get the sherry and we’ll drink a toast,’ Gran cried. ‘Someone fetch the glasses. What a pity Clint didn’t come in so we could have congratulated him too.’

‘You know Clint, he’s terribly shy,’ Daisy said with a proprietorial air. She examined the third finger of her left hand as if she could already see herself wearing the cheap ring.

‘I hope you’ll be very happy, Daisy.’ Ellie gave her cousin a brief hug. She’d never had much time for Daisy, but she was family and meant more to her than Clint Shaw ever would. He saw nothing threatening about Daisy and was using her as a cover. Was she supposed to protect him at the expense of Daisy’s happiness, let her go blithely ahead and
marry
the guy?

Yet she’d never seen Daisy as happy as she was now, as if a light had come on inside her. How could she spoil everything by telling the truth? Did Daisy know what a queer was? Would anyone, not just Daisy, believe her if she told them what she knew about Clint Shaw? Ellie doubted it.

She wanted to see the White House, Georgetown, the Lincoln Memorial, sail along the Potomac to Mount Vernon, visit museums and art galleries, which she wouldn’t have dreamt of doing at home, but was the sort of thing people did on holiday. She bought a guidebook and made a list of sights to see.

Beth was delighted she was coming to Washington and had booked a room at her hotel. ‘You’ll love it, Rube. There’ll be loads of exciting things to do, and you’ll meet all my friends.’

As usual, Ruby’s wardrobe was devoid of anything smart, but now she had a perfect excuse to renew it. Everyone in the house contributed in some way towards the holiday in Washington, even the students who clubbed together and bought a lovely black leather handbag to thank her for being such a great landlady. Before leaving, Ruby bade them a fond farewell. They would be gone by the time she came back.

Greta and Heather stayed in for three Saturdays in a row to see to things in the house, giving their mother time to roam the city shops and look for clothes. A delirious Ruby, drunk with excitement, purchased an elegant black linen suit, a blue frilly blouse and a plain white one to wear under it, two floaty, feminine Indian frocks in stunning jewel colours, a pair of daringly high-heeled shoes to go with the suit and gold sandals to go with the frocks.

Daisy bought her a pretty cotton nightdress – the ones
she had were probably older than Daisy herself and only fit for ripping into dusters, and the twins took note of every single item in her filthy, ancient make-up bag. They replaced each thing with a new one; lipstick, powder, eye shadow, rouge. ‘Cake mascara’s dead old-fashioned, Gran,’ Moira told her. ‘Nowadays, it’s in a wand. Oh, and we got you some kohl eyeliner.’

‘I’ve never used eyeliner before, but I’ll give it a go.’ She’d try anything once.

‘We bought a new make-up bag an’ all and some perfume. It’s only a little bottle,’ said Ellie.

‘I love
Je Reviens
. Oh! Aren’t you lovely girls! I know I’ll only be gone a week, but I’ll miss everyone something rotten.’

‘I’ll miss
you
, Gran.’ Ellie looked unusually tearful.

Now, here she was, on the plane, wearing the black suit, feeling like a member of the human race again.

The flight was enjoyable and she wasn’t the least bit sick or frightened as Heather had warned she might. She drank two gins and orange after the meal, then lost herself in a novel she’d been meaning to read for ages, feeling ever so slightly tipsy.

It was five o’clock on Saturday afternoon American time when Beth met her at Washington National airport. The occasional photos Beth had sent hadn’t shown how much she’d changed. She wore no make-up and her skin had acquired the texture of old, polished wood. It was hard to believe she’d once been so soft and plump when now she looked the opposite, hardy and tough. Her eyes held a glint, rather than a sparkle, and she even moved differently, in short, hurried spurts when she’d used to glide, driving Ruby mad with her refusal to hurry. She wore jeans, a T-shirt, and shabby sports shoes. Her short, wiry hair was almost completely grey.

‘You make me feel over-dressed,’ Ruby cried after they’d hugged each other affectionately.

‘You make me feel like an old bag lady,’ Beth responded with a grin.

‘What’s that?’

‘A woman tramp.’

‘We’ve always been honest with each other, Beth. You do look a bit like a tramp.’

‘I can’t be bothered with doing meself up nowadays.’

‘I spent ages doing myself up for you. I’ve just learnt to use eyeliner and I had my hair tinted. I’ve got a few grey ones.’

‘I’ve got rather more than a few and they can stay grey for all I care. Come on, I’ve a cab outside.’

She linked Ruby’s arm and began to lead her towards the exit. Ruby thought it a shame that the girl who, during the war, had melted the remains of half a dozen lipsticks in an unsuccessful attempt to make a whole one, no longer cared how she looked. She recalled the unctuous flattery they’d both heaped upon various American soldiers in the hope of acquiring nylons.

To her surprise, the cab driver turned out to be a woman.

‘Ruby, this is Margot,’ Beth said when they got in.

‘Hi, Rube. Nice to meet ’cha.’

The three chatted amiably as the cab carried them through a warren of streets. Ruby’s eyes were everywhere. It was hard to believe that she was in a foreign country. ‘They’re all straight,’ she remarked.

‘What was that, honey?’ Margot asked.

‘The streets, they’re all straight. At home, they go all over the place.’

‘We’re more orderly this side of the Atlantic.’

‘Where are we staying?’ she asked Beth.

‘Halfway between Old Downtown and the White House.’

‘The White House is one of the first places I want to see.’ If you went on a guided tour, it was possible to get a glimpse of President Ford going about his business.

‘You’ll see it tomorrow morning.’

‘Goody!’

The hotel was clean and functional and seemed to be run and occupied entirely by women. Beth introduced Ruby to the desk clerk and virtually every other woman they met on the way up to the second floor.

‘I always use this place when I stay in Washington,’ she explained, opening the door on to a small, plain room, completely devoid of pictures or any sort of ornament. ‘Would you like a rest?’

‘No, thanks, though I wouldn’t mind getting washed and changing into a frock.’ The temperature felt at least ten degrees hotter than in England. ‘Another thing, I’m starving.’

‘We’ll eat downstairs the minute you’re ready.’

The restaurant was more like a school canteen, the tables big enough for eight. Ruby, freshly made-up and wearing a filmy green Indian frock and gold sandals, felt slightly overdressed when she went in with Beth who was still in her bag lady outfit. The food was plain and nourishing and reminded her of the convent. More women joined their table as the room quickly became crowded and a floundering Ruby was asked loads of questions about her home country to which she didn’t know a single answer.

No, she hadn’t a clue how many women were members of the British parliament, or how many were senior civil servants, leaders of unions, announcers on television, chief executives of this or managing directors of that.

‘Margaret Thatcher was elected leader of the Conservative party earlier this year,’ she told them in a lame attempt
to show she wasn’t completely ignorant, but they already knew.

No, she’d never been a member of a union, she confessed. ‘I’ve never had a proper job, so there’s never been the need.’

‘Isn’t there a housewives’ union?’ one of the women queried. ‘I remember reading about it once.’

Ruby had no idea. Beth took pity on her and changed the subject. ‘You’ll never guess what she did before the war. Tell them about the pawnshop runner, Rube.’

The women listened, fascinated, while she described going to and from the various pawnshops with Greta in her arms, then both children in a pram. She got quite carried away – or perhaps she wanted to impress after the abysmal ignorance she’d just shown – so told them about Foster Court, the cleaning jobs, and Jacob’s extended stay in bed.

‘Gee, honey, you sure showed some enterprise.’

‘I guess you’ve seen poverty most of us have never known.’

‘I suppose I must have,’ Ruby said modestly.

Everyone remained seated while the tables were cleared. ‘What’s happening now?’ she asked.

‘There’s a meeting,’ Beth replied.

‘What’s it about?’

‘The glass ceiling.’

‘Oh, right.’ Ruby had never heard of the glass ceiling, but soon discovered it was what women encountered when they tried to climb the hierarchy of an organisation. It wasn’t visible, but it was there. Women were promoted so far, but all sorts of sneaky, underhand things were done to prevent them rising further.