Better Days Will Come (26 page)

Three months without his lecherous hands all over her body. What bliss. And if she was lucky, they might never touch her again. This was her golden opportunity to get that locket. Somehow she had to get into the office without anyone seeing.

‘I hope you have a wonderful holiday, Mrs Finley,’ she said aloud. ‘In fact, why not take two? Take the whole bloomin’ year if you like.’

The lights were on in Archie’s shop as she went past and Michael’s chair was in the window. There was a notice across the seat. ‘To be restored …’

One part had been stripped away to the bare wood. The stuffing lay all around. Grace felt somehow at one with the chair. Her insides had been pulled out the day she’d walked away from Archie. A beautiful piece of red leather lay across the arm and a piece of green leather hung over the back of the chair. One day the chair would be beautiful again, its past torn away and forgotten. If only it was that easy for her.

She could see him at the back of the shop, bent over his work, and her heart lurched. He was working late. He’d be tired and then he’d have to go into the little flat and get his own tea. How she longed to offer him a meal, to sit by the fire and talk over the day. She thought back to that last day they’d had together, and his kisses. She closed her eyes for a second and sighed. If only, if only … She opened her eyes and saw a woman coming from the back of the shop with a cup of tea in her hands. She put it down next to where Archie was working. He stood up and held out a necklace of some sort. The woman clapped her hands and kissed his cheek. It was an awful shock. She didn’t know why but she had never expected Archie to find someone else. But why shouldn’t he? He was an attractive man, warm and friendly, the sort of man any woman would be proud to have. Grace turned her back and walked with hurried steps towards her home. Her heart was aching. Even if she were free to love him, he wouldn’t want her anyway, she told herself fiercely. She’d been in Finley’s bed. She was nothing more than a tramp and she hated herself.

Back home she washed herself in the scullery, but even when she’d finished, she still didn’t feel clean; and besides she couldn’t wash away the terrible ache in her heart. Life was so unfair.

With the onset of another Christmas without Bonnie, Grace struggled to pretend that everything was all right. More than a year had passed since she’d seen her daughter. What was she doing? Where was she living now? Was she happy? It was hard to believe that Bonnie could go a whole twelve months without a thought for the mother and sister she’d left behind. On dark days, Grace was convinced that Bonnie was ill, had perhaps contracted some God-awful disease like polio and was too ill to tell the authorities who she was. On really dark days, Grace imagined her daughter lying in a ditch somewhere, her poor body exposed to the elements, but then she remembered the birthday card. Bonnie couldn’t be dead if she’d sent her a card, and then it upset her that she couldn’t send one to her. She had no idea what Rita was thinking but after the night they had sobbed together in each other’s arms, it seemed that the girl was getting on with her life. They’d been shopping for a new suitcase – ‘part of your Christmas present’, Grace told her – and using her staff discount, Rita had bought a few more affordable things from Hubbard’s.

When Christmas came, fewer of their old friends came round. Uncle Charlie Hanson had taken Snowy to Dorset to meet his relations. It looked as if things were getting quite serious between them and Grace was glad. Snowy wasn’t meant to be alone. They still had a good time, but she missed Manny Hart. He had a heavy cold. Of course, Archie didn’t come, but then she hadn’t expected him to.

January 2nd 1949 found Grace on platform 2 of Worthing station to wave goodbye to Rita. Now that it was really happening, Rita was excited about the course but Grace had very mixed feelings.

‘Don’t forget to write,’ Grace told her for the umpteenth time. ‘And if there’s an emergency, ring Salvatore and he’ll come and get me.’

‘Mum,’ said Rita patiently. ‘Everything will be fine.’ The train pulled into the station and Rita gathered her things. ‘Try not to miss me too much.’

They gave each other a knowing look and hugged each other tight. ‘I promise, I
will
keep in touch,’ said Rita emphatically and Grace nodded.

Rita climbed aboard and leaned out of the window.

‘You’ve got Aunt Rene’s money safe?’ said Grace unnecessarily.

Rita nodded and kissed her cheek. ‘Take care, Mum.’

Grace was dry-eyed as the train pulled out of the station but down in the underpass a tear trickled down her cheek. Bonnie was gone, and now Rita. She sniffed. If it hadn’t have been for that damned war, she would still have Michael to go home to. If it hadn’t have been for Norris Finley, she’d still have a son … and she might have been going home to Archie. Just the thought of him made her heart constrict. She forced herself to pull herself together. It was no use hankering after something that would never be. There were plenty of people far worse off. She walked out of the station with a newfound determination. She still had a life to live and she could see things a lot clearer now. She had to stop kowtowing to Norris. All she had to do was get her hands on that locket.

The steel grey sky threatened snow. Bonnie had two jumpers on under her winter coat, a scarf and thick woollen gloves, yet the chilly January air still found a way to rob her body of warmth. London was as busy as ever. The Christmas lights were gone but the January sales were in full swing. Bonnie willed herself not to be tempted as she walked along Oxford Street. She needed every penny she could get if she was going to find a proper home for Shirley one day.

Her training was going well but it was surprisingly hard work. She had to make notes during her lectures and write them up in two folders, one called ‘Child Education’ and the other called ‘Child Care’. She was expected to illustrate the folders with pictures from magazines and the newspapers, all of which took time. The course included visits to day nurseries and nursery schools in the area and she had to produce a written report on each of them. Bonnie was becoming competent in everything from mixing infant feeds to understanding the benefits of dressing-up play for the toddler, the use of rhyme and poetry in the nursery and planning a nutritious meal for a faddy eater. The course was exacting for all the girls but slightly more so for a single mother flying the flag for other single mothers who someday might be allowed to follow in her footsteps. For that reason, from day one, Bonnie had knuckled down and given 100 per cent.

She arrived at Lyons Corner House at Marble Arch in good time. She was alone. Nancy had agreed to look after Shirley. It was her day off too. ‘She’s no trouble,’ Nancy smiled. ‘She’s a little treasure.’

One of the waitresses, Nippies as they were called, took her order and Bonnie relaxed. Would Dinah turn up? More to thepoint, would John be with her? Bonnie felt sick with apprehension.

She had rehearsed what she would say a million times. She would tell Dinah about Shirley. It disturbed her that Dinah’s remark, ‘What a pretty child, how could a mother bear to put her in a nursery?’ made it obvious that she thought Shirley belonged to someone else. She would have to put that right. It felt too much a betrayal of the little girl she loved so passionately.

She’d also find out about her mother and Rita, although shestill wasn’t sure what she would do with the information. She kept swinging from one idea to another. On the one hand, shethought it would be better to stay away. After all this time, her mother would have settled down to life without her. If only she had known about John before she left Worthing she could have come back when she realised that George had walked out on her. Her mother had been unmarried when she had John. She would have understood what Bonnie was going through. On the other hand, the shame of what she’d done would overwhelmed Bonnie and she decided she couldn’t possibly go back. If she brought her child back home, how would Mum and Rita hold their heads up in Worthing again? Everybody would be talking about it.

‘Of course you know little Shirley Rogers is illegitimate … who was her father? I heard he walked out on her …’ Could she really put her mother and Rita through all that? Shirley would have to know the truth about her father one day, but for now everyone thought she was a widow and that Shirley’s father had been killed in that awful train crash.

Bonnie looked down at her tea. The cup was almost empty and the teapot was getting cold. She glanced up at the big clock. Dinah was three-quarters of an hour late. It was obvious she wasn’t coming. She rose to her feet just as Dinah burst through the door.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ she blurted out. She was totally out of breath. ‘Rehearsals went on far longer than I anticipated, and I had to race for the bus.’ She was taking her coat off as she spoke but all at once she stopped. ‘Darling, I’ve treated you very badly and I am most desperately sorry. Please forgive me and let me buy you lunch?’

Bonnie was already laughing. She embraced Dinah warmly. It was so good to see her friend again, and best of all, she was quite alone.

His father’s sitting room had a very masculine ambience. The walls were oak-panelled and the few pictures which hung from the picture rail were of Scottish highland cattle grazing in purple and yellow grasslands. Apart from the old chesterfield, there were two armchairs next to the fireplace and a leatherbound desk next to the window. A red patterned carpet covered most of the floor area and a cheerful fire in the grate made the room very cosy.

‘Sit down, son,’ said Norris. ‘Whisky?’

John Finley nodded. Perhaps the drink would give him a bit of Dutch courage.

He’d tried broaching the subject at the meal table but somehow it didn’t quite work out. His mother wanted to know what he’d been doing with himself and he found himself talking about Dinah and the weekend he’d enjoyed with friends.

‘Anyone I know there?’ his mother asked.

John shook his head. ‘Funnily enough, I did meet a Worthing girl there though,’ he said. ‘Bonnie Rogers.’

He would have told them more but his father dropped a tablespoon of peas all over the tablecloth and the chaos distracted them for several minutes. When they got back to normality, his father dominated the conversation by talking about his forthcoming trip on the
Queen Mary
. Norris called it a business trip but it seemed like he was taking in the whole of New York and half of the east coast of America before setting off in a plane to South America for another week. John couldn’t for the life of him think what sort of business his father was doing in Argentina, but his knitwear factory had certainly taken off in the past few years. It must be doing brilliantly well for Norris to be able to afford such lavish cruising.

As he sipped his whisky, John wasn’t looking forward to this one bit. He wished Dinah was with him. She could charm the birds out of the trees, and buttering up the old man would be as easy as anything to her.

He and his father didn’t get on. There had been too many thrashings when John was a boy for that. Norris was still a powerfully built man but he hadn’t touched John since he was fourteen. That was the day John stood up to his father for the first time. He’d grabbed a garden rake as Norris had cornered him in the summerhouse, the belt of his trousers wrapped around his hand, and told him in no uncertain terms that if he ever laid a finger on him again, when he grew up and was a man, he would exact his revenge. Norris no longer hit his son, but his tongue was just as powerful.

Norris handed John another whisky. ‘As soon as I get back,’ he said, ‘I plan to branch out a bit. I may open another factory. There’s plenty of scope around here and the council welcomes employment.’

‘Good for you, sir,’ said John.

‘I might have a go at running for office. You know, make a name for myself.’

John smiled. They were like chalk and cheese. Wealth and power held no interest for John. At almost twenty-four he still had to embark on a career – which was precisely why he was here.

‘It would be marvellous if you would take over the factory for me while your mother and I are away,’ Norris went on. ‘Miss Samuels will show you the ropes, and without me there, you can be your own man.’

‘That’s very generous of you, sir,’ said John, ‘but I have other plans.’

Norris’s lips set in a hard line. ‘Other plans? What plans?’

John took a deep breath, probably the last one he would take before the explosion that was sure to follow. ‘I’ve already enrolled in a college in London,’ he began. ‘RADA. I finish the course at the end of the year. Apparently, I have a talent and everyone seems quietly confident that I could make a go of it.’

His father stared at him with a blank expression. ‘What the deuce is RADA?’

‘The Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts.’

John took a swig of the whisky. Norris froze in his seat. He continued to stare. ‘You mean to tell me that you’ve been mixing with a load of nancy boys and poofters?’ he bellowed.

‘I didn’t say that at all,’ said John calmly. ‘It a perfectly legitimate occupation. People like John Gielgud and Laurence Olivier got their training there.’

‘Bloody pansies,’ sneered his father. ‘Oh well, I must say, that should suit you down to the bloody ground but if you think I’m wasting my hard earned money …’

‘You don’t need to,’ said John staring into the bottom of the empty glass. ‘I have money of my own.’

‘Where from?’ his father demanded to know.

‘From the country,’ said John. ‘I spent few of my wages while I was flying during the war. I didn’t have the appetite for it with all my friends dying around me, and I never touched a penny of what my grandfather left me, so I’m using it now.’

‘Oh no you’re not, you ungrateful little sod,’ Norris bellowed.

‘I’m old enough to make my own decisions now, Father,’ said John. ‘In fact I don’t have to listen to this any more.’ He rose to his feet and put the whisky glass on the table.

Norris was purple with rage. ‘When I think of all that I’ve done for you …’