Georgia (21 page)

He had humoured her by making six. But it wasn’t until she tried a pink one on with a wide belt that pulled her waist into a handspan and added a can-can petticoat that he became convinced. Perhaps it was only her brown skin and tiny waist that made it look chic and expensive, but it was worth a try.

‘Now get down there.’ He shoved the rest of them into her arms, pointing down towards his stall in the market. ‘Sell those for me today and I’ll believe you.’

Her face and figure were enough to get her noticed, yet she had that bouncy enthusiasm for life that set her apart from other young girls. In less than an hour the dresses were gone, sold to little office girls who hoped they’d look as good as Georgia did in hers. Thanks to Georgia’s idea he’d had the best summer season ever and he had money put by for his expansion programme.

It was silly to think a young girl could change his life, but she had. She’d made him think big, want to reach out and grab things, just the way she did.

He was going to get a proper workshop. Employ a designer and sell his clothes everywhere. Georgia was right, the future lay with youngsters, not the staid old ladies he’d once catered for.

It was just before Christmas when the idea of Georgia’s birthday present came to him. The workshop was festooned with paperchains. Cotton wool snow stuck to every window, doors decorated with large Santa Claus’s, all made by Georgia out of old fabric.

Janet ushered Andreous, an old friend, into his office, bringing three glasses with her.

‘Thought you’d want a seasonal drink,’ she said, hands on hips, a sprig of mistletoe in her untidy hair. She winked at Andreous.

Andreous owned the Acropolis club in Greek Street and like most women, Janet fancied him.

‘Who’s the third glass for?’ Pop asked, amused by her direct approach.

‘For me,’ she said, plonking a kiss on his forehead.

Pop and Andreous were like brothers, the same olive skin and dark sad eyes. But women failed to notice Andreous’s thinning hair and paunch. His charm and a certain mischievous, sensuous look had ladies doting on him.

Pop rolled his eyes at his friend who laughed uproariously, patting Janet on her ample backside.

‘You can have a drink if you strip for us,’ Andreous said, leering at her breasts which almost popped out of her low-cut black blouse.

‘I don’t want to get you too excited,’ Janet put on a motherly expression and patted his cheeks. ‘One glimpse of my luscious body sends old men’s blood pressure sky ’igh.’

‘Off with you,’ Pop said, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘Andreous is here on business.’

He poured her a little brandy however and pushed it across his desk at her.

The idea popped into his head out of nowhere. Andreous had a club, he employed musicians and singers. Why not give it a try?

‘Get Georgia to sing for us!’

She downed the drink in one gulp, and bent to kiss Andreous lightly on the lips.

‘Your wish is my command,’ she said in a deep throaty whisper as she wiggled out of the door.

‘Who’s Georgia?’ Andreous asked, dark eyes alight with the prospect of a new girl to ogle.

‘She’s young, beautiful and I want you to just listen,’ Pop said severely.

The machines all stopped seconds later. For a brief second it was silent, then a buzz of conversation started from the next room.

Pop waited, resting his head on both hands, his elbows on the desk.

Georgia started to sing, softly at first, but as she got into it so it became louder.

It was ‘White Christmas’, so corny and old hat Pop thought Andreous would walk out laughing.

‘She usually goes in for more spirited stuff,’ Pop said.

‘Shush,’ His friend silenced him and opened the office door so he could hear better.

Her voice rang round the old building, filling each corner with sweetness. Perfectly in tune without any accompaniment, each word crystal clear. Andreous sat looking at the floor, his ears pricked up.

‘Well I’ll be damned,’ Andreous looked stunned as the song ended.

Pop felt a surge of excitement as Georgia burst into the ‘Christmas Alphabet’. He stood up, pushed open the small hatch on the wall that allowed him to watch the girls while they worked and beckoned to his friend.

Andreous peered in, Pop looking over his shoulder. Georgia was dancing round the workroom as she sang, a crown of tinsel on her dark curls, Christmas baubles hung on her ears. She wore a skimpy white blouse tucked into her jeans, slender brown arms waving in time to the song.

Andreous turned and grinned at his friend.

‘She’s gorgeous, now suppose you come clean.’

It took a little persuasion to overcome Andreous’s conviction he wasn’t being an old fool falling for a young pretty girl, still more to convince him Georgia could sing in front of a real audience. But all the time they talked, Georgia sang next door, gently nudging the club owner into seeing his idea was practical.

Pop wasn’t an excitable man, yet his heart thumped as he waited while Georgia opened her other presents.

The envelope was in his hand, in it one of the hand-embossed invitation cards telling her that she was appearing at the Acropolis club on Sunday 15th April.

‘Happy Birthday, Georgia.’ He stepped forward as she sat surrounded by bits of wrapping paper, envelopes and cards. ‘It’s the sort of present which isn’t for just today, but maybe forever.’

‘Mysterious,’ she laughed, taking the envelope and opening it. ‘Is it a treasure hunt and this is the first clue?’

‘Sort of.’

She read the card then looked up at him, her smooth brow wrinkled into a frown. ‘I’m sorry I’m not with it. Am I invited to this do?’

‘Yes,’ he nodded gravely.

‘To go with you as your guest?’

‘Kind of.’

‘And are the other girls coming too?’

‘I hope they will.’

‘Well, thank you,’ she said, clearly puzzled. ‘That will be lovely.’

‘Did you see who is appearing that night?’ He held his breath as he waited for her response.

‘Georgia James,’ she smiled, but it was clear she hadn’t cottoned on. ‘Someone with the same name as me?’

‘No,’ he could hardly contain himself. ‘It’s you who is appearing there. It’s your chance to show an invited audience what you can do.’

She sat quite still. The other girls looked at one another in astonishment, not sure they had heard it right either.

‘You mean I can sing in this club, with a piano and all?’

‘A quartet,’ he laughed. ‘And you have to go along and practise a few times with them first, so they know what songs you do best.’

‘So who will be there?’

‘All Andreous’s best customers.’

‘How did you arrange this,’ she said, her face pale but with the beginning of a volcano in her eyes.

‘Andreous heard you sing. That’s all you need to know.’

‘And he didn’t think I was a joke?’

‘I didn’t hear him laugh,’ Pop said, a lump coming in to his throat as he saw her mouth curl into a wide, joyful smile. ‘It’s my hope this will change everything for you.’

‘Oh, Pop,’ Georgia hurtled into his arms. ‘That’s the most wonderful, exciting birthday present. I can’t believe it.’

Somehow this sweet man had picked up on her dream, without her even realizing she had one. She’d talked of being an actress, a dancer, almost forgetting singing came as naturally to her as breathing.

All around her the other girls were laughing and joking, eating cake, drinking the wine. Each and every present had been carefully planned. But this one was so very special. As Pop said, ‘Not just for now, but maybe forever.’

‘I can’t say what I feel,’ she whispered, winding her arms around his neck.

‘You don’t have to, sweetie,’ his voice was gruff with emotion. ‘Just make it work for you on the night.’

‘Mum’s left the office,’ Georgia blurted out to Janet the next morning. ‘I mean she’s gone for good and no one knows where.’

Even last night, with the party going on around her, Georgia had been dying to phone Celia. She had imagined the scenario, the shock, the surprise, even tears. Never once had she considered Celia might leave her job.

‘Now calm down,’ Janet got up and put her arms round Georgia. ‘Is it that surprising she left?’

‘But what do I do now?’ Georgia’s mouth drooped petulantly like a small child’s.

‘You know where Peter lives,’ Janet raised one eyebrow. ‘Go on over there. He’s bound to know where she is!’

Eltham High Street looked different, cleaner, brighter than she remembered. No drunks or tramps, spivs or tarts like Soho. Just middle-aged ladies with shopping baskets, younger women with prams and pushchairs and men driving Fords. Even the gang of youths who stood outside Olive’s coffee bar watching the girls go by looked harmless. Suit jackets over carefully pressed jeans, hair cut in the same college-boy style favoured by office workers.

Georgia checked her appearance in a shop window as one of the boys whistled at her. Her red double-breasted coat came from a jumble sale but Helen had taken in the waist and shortened it for her. Although it was a little old-fashioned she knew it suited her. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders and she had new, pointed patent-leather shoes.

As she approached Haig Road she wanted to run. It was beginning to rain and she had no umbrella.

Peter’s house looked exactly the way it had when she rode passed it on her bike that first summer soon after she’d met him. A bit frowsy, litter in the bare front garden. The gate was hanging off its hinges, the front door still unpainted.

She knocked on the door, holding her breath with excitement, screwing up her eyes as she willed Peter to answer.

But instead it was a tall thin woman, a blue nylon overall over her clothes, a duster in her hand.

‘Is Peter in?’ Georgia smiled at the woman. She had expected Peter’s mother to be shorter and fat.

‘No,’ she said sharply, her face tightening, her mouth a thin suspicious line.

‘Oh,’ Georgia felt her heart lurch, instinctively knowing she should have written rather than called. ‘I’m an old friend. Georgia.’

‘He’s gone away,’ Mrs Radcliffe stiffened visibly, already trying to close the door as if that was an end to their conversation.

‘Please,’ Georgia moved closer, her bright smile wiped out by the hostility, her eyes pleading now. ‘Can I come in and talk?’

‘What is there to talk about,’ the woman looked at her with dead, cold eyes. ‘He’s at university. He’s forgotten about you and he doesn’t need any reminders.’

The woman’s sharp words cut through her like a knife. There was no resemblance to Peter. Pale washed-out brown eyes, white skin with tiny, red broken veins, thin lips and a sharp, pointed nose. Even her hair was colourless. Never golden blonde like Peter’s, just dreary light brown, fading to grey at her temples.

‘But let me explain,’ Georgia pleaded. ‘I can’t find out where my mother is. You do know what happened don’t you?’

‘I know only one thing,’ the woman’s thin face loomed up close to Georgia’s, small eyes full of spite. ‘You ran off leaving my boy so upset he could barely take his exams. He’s got over that now. He’s happy with a nice girlfriend. Go away and leave him in peace.’

‘Is he staying here for the holidays?’ Georgia was getting desperate now. Not for one moment had she expected this.

‘No, he’s with his girl.’ Once again the door started to close.

Georgia moved forward and held the door. ‘I don’t want to bother him if he’s got a girlfriend,’ she blurted out, tears coming to her eyes. ‘But he might know where my mother is.’

‘He doesn’t,’ she snapped, pushing Georgia’s hand off the door. ‘He hasn’t seen her since you left. Why should he? You left him high and dry without a word. Got him into all that trouble with the police. Mud sticks you know, and you did nothing to clear his name.’

‘But –’ Georgia felt sick. She hadn’t even considered Peter might be blamed in some way.

‘There’s no “buts”,’ Mrs Radcliffe folded her arms across her bony chest, her narrow lips set in a straight uncompromising line. ‘He’s forgotten you. Now push off.’

It was that same kind of frosty prejudice she’d met when she first left home.

‘Please give him my address,’ Georgia pleaded. ‘Tell him I don’t want anything but to find Mum.’

She thought then she had brought the woman round, she hesitated for a second, letting her arms drop to her sides.

‘All right,’ she said grudgingly. ‘But don’t expect miracles. He’s got enough on his plate.’

Georgia took out a notepad from her bag, quickly scribbled her address and passed it over.

‘Berwick Street,’ Mrs Radcliffe looked at it, then at Georgia suspiciously. ‘Soho?’

‘Yes. I share a flat with a friend.’

She sniffed, and put it in her pocket.

‘Thank you,’ Georgia could feel her face burning with shame. She knew what the woman was thinking and it hurt so badly she wanted to die.

The door was closed before she even got to the gate. Georgia stood for a moment staring up at the house, her eyes filling with tears.

She could see a few books on an upstairs window-sill. Was that his room where she’d imagined him sleeping? Why couldn’t his mother have been the fat, comfortable, jolly person she expected, opening up her arms in welcome?

So he was staying with his girlfriend! He had a new life and it didn’t include her. Peter’s world was closed to her, as firmly as his mother had shut that door.

The rain grew heavier, but Georgia hardly noticed it as she trailed down Shooters Hill Road towards Blackheath.

This morning she had been so full of joyful expectation and now it was all gone. Celia had left her job. Peter had been blamed. Instead of solving all their problems by running away, it looked as though she added to them. Celia had told her many times about hysterical teenagers who claimed rape to cover up for staying out late, or going willingly with a man. Was that what they believed of her?

The moment she saw the old house she knew Celia had long since left. The lawn in front of the house had been paved over and the railing removed. Apart from two forsythia bushes, there was nothing left of the garden. Now there was merely space for two cars, and every window sported net curtains.