West End Girls: The Real Lives, Loves and Friendships of 1940s Soho and Its Working Girls (28 page)

When these kind of reshuffles took place, the ponces would start hunting around to find a policeman they could bung. Reckoning that a copper who was being bribed would tip them off about any lurking danger, they felt safer. But generally, a policeman could be bought only for a time, and a kind of justice would eventually prevail – a fact that the ponces never seemed to recognise.

One day near the end of August, Mae arrived for work late and in a poisonous mood because she’d had to travel by train.

‘It was the middle of the bleeding night,’ she told me. ‘That copper that Tony’s been bunging, he actually came to our house. I tell you, poor old Tony went white as a sheet. I mean, he’s never told him our address and you’d think it was far enough away for us to be safe. Well, the copper makes himself comfortable in the best armchair, orders a brandy as if we were the Savoy and then starts yakking on about how he’s finding it difficult to make ends meet on an inspector’s pay. “Oh,” he says. “You’re the lucky ones, you know. At least you can afford to run a car. I’m taking the wife on holiday next week. I don’t suppose I could borrow it, could I?” Well, of course, Tony’s just
got
to say yes, hasn’t he?

‘ “Oh and by the way,” he goes on as soon as he’s got the keys. “It’d be nice to have a bit of music in the old lodging house where we stay. Could I borrow your radio, too?” So we had to wave goodbye to that as well. He’s got the car, he’s got the radio, and then he looks at me and smiles as though he’s sucking a lemon. “Do you know, it would make the old lady feel like a queen if she could wear Mae’s fur coat while we’re away.” My fur coat! He dumps it in the car and then says, “Mighty nice of you. You’re not in a hurry for them back, are you?” ’

‘He might return them all,’ I said, hopefully.

‘Nah,’ said Mae. ‘That’s the last we’ll see of that lot!’ She was quite right. They were never seen again – nor was the inspector, who, it transpired, had already been transferred to another district when he’d made the visit.

While Tony had a tame policeman, he had some sense of security, in the belief that, should the Law start gunning for him, he would receive ample warning. When that dubious comfort went, his peace of mind departed too. No doubt he thought London was becoming too hot for him, and sure enough, the very day after Mae told me about the loss of the car, she arrived, full of excitement, to say that she and Tony were off to Malta for a holiday. They were catching the midnight plane in two days’ time.

‘Just imagine,’ she said, ‘a whole fortnight in the sun! When you think how much it’s going to cost him! Apart from the fares and things, look how much we lose by me not working for two weeks.’

She became almost dewy-eyed at his generosity. I congratulated her, trying my best not to let my own attitude to this supposed paragon of virtue creep into my voice. I suggested she take some time off to buy a couple of summer dresses and a bathing suit.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to get me skates on and earn some money for the holiday. Tony doesn’t want to draw too much out of the bank; he says it might not get put back. He’s sensible like that.’

She set to work with a will, determined to earn enough in the next two days to cover the entire expense of the holiday. I asked her what was going to happen about the flat, and she told me that Tony was finding a girl for it and that she hoped it would be someone I would like.

She had never been abroad before – ordinary people didn’t in those days – and during that day and the next, she worked up a terrific enthusiasm about it.

‘Lucky you caught me,’ I would hear her say on her way up with a man. ‘Another couple of days and I won’t be here. I’m going abroad.’ The man would ask where she was going; even if he didn’t, she would tell him. Each time it was somewhere different. As always, I was fascinated by her flights of fancy: on the first evening, her trip took her as far west as New York and as far east as Egypt. Impressively, when she eventually returned from her holiday and the same clients turned up again, she remembered exactly what she had told each one and was able to continue the deception with a colourful and fanciful description of her time there.

The day before she was due to leave, I noted that she didn’t appear to have any clothes ready to take with her, and even if she had, she hadn’t got a case to put them in. Also, her blonde hair had a brunette parting half an inch wide. I asked if she didn’t think she ought to do something about it. She told me she would be bleaching her roots when she got home that night. She wasn’t catching the plane until midnight the following day; there was masses of time and I wasn’t to get in a flap about it. The following day – the day of departure – she was still flaunting her brunette parting. I was aghast.

‘Mae. You didn’t do your hair.’

‘I know, I know. Don’t worry. I’ve brought the bleach with me.’ She fished around in a carrier bag and pulled out a bag with some white powder in it and a bottle half full of peroxide. ‘I’ll take it with me and I’ll do it when I get there.’

By eight o’clock that night, despite frequent admonitions from me, there had still been no signs of preparation, and I was going practically frantic on Mae’s behalf.

‘Mae, you haven’t even got a case yet.’

‘All right, all right,’ she groaned. ‘You do carry on. Tell you what, I’ll go and see if I can borrow one now. Will that please you?’

She gave me a comforting pat on the head and a reassuring smile before departing on her quest. She was gone for half an hour, and when she came back, she was bearing in triumph a battered relic of goodness knows how many moonlight flits and trips to Margate.

‘See. I got one,’ she crowed as she dumped it on the bed.

Having a suitcase seemed significant to her, and after staring at it for a little while, she declared that she supposed she’d better start putting things in it.

She began with the items that needed no thinking about – the bleach and peroxide – then she reached into her carrier bag and produced a hair-dryer, which she also dropped into the case. After that, she paused and thought for a bit.

‘Make-up,’ she announced briskly and opened the dressing-table drawer she kept it in. She rooted about and threw one or two items into the case, but seemed unable to take any positive line about how much or what type she would need. She ended up by pulling the drawer right out and tipping its entire contents into the case.

‘Ah, perfume!’ she said, after some reflection. With that, she swept in half a dozen bottles off the dressing table. Then she looked round at me, smiling brightly. ‘We’re coming on, aren’t we?’ she said. ‘Now, I’ll want some clothes.’

She fished in her carrier bag again and came out with a handful of dirty briefs.

‘Didn’t have time to wash them, so I’ll do them when I get there. Oh, and a bra; must have a bra. There’s one in this drawer somewhere – if I can find it. It’s my favourite one.’

Like a mole, she burrowed her way into the tightly packed garments, throwing items of clothing all over the floor behind her.

‘Ah, here it is,’ she cried jubilantly, pulling out a screwed-up string of lace. ‘And that’s why I haven’t been wearing it lately – the strap’s broken. Be a dear and mend it, will you? No, don’t bother. I’ll do it when I get there.’

She finished off her packing by ferreting out a few jumpers, a couple of skirts, a grimy blouse and her favourite suit, which badly needed cleaning.

‘I’ll get it done when I get there. Oh, better take another pair of shoes.’

She sorted through the jumble of shoes and abandoned chastity cages at the bottom of the wardrobe.

‘Do take your nice garden-party dress,’ I said, getting it out and starting to fold it. ‘You can iron it when you get there,’ I added, by now thoroughly brainwashed.

She turned and looked at me quizzically, then grinned. ‘S’right,’ she said, and gave me an affectionate clump on the side of the head.

It was now about half past nine, two and a half hours till her flight.

She looked at her watch. ‘I’ve just got time for a couple of more geezers,’ she said, ‘and then I’ll be off.’

Luckily, one of the geezers was already sitting patiently in the waiting room.

‘Let’s be having you,’ she yelled, but when he told her that he wanted a long session in captivity, she bundled him out.

Half an hour and three geezers later, the lid of the suitcase was closed for the last time, but not before a few more items had been added.

She eyed the dogs’ mink lying in the corner. ‘Good thing they’ve been sleeping on that,’ she said. ‘It’s the only fur coat I’ve got left now.’ She picked it up and shook it; out flew two or three of Mimi’s knotted rubbers. ‘Ooh, look! Buried treasure!’ she giggled.

She hung it over her arm as I picked up the disreputable suitcase and we departed.

‘The new girl’s name is Phyllis,’ she said, as we hurried down the stairs. ‘I don’t know what she’s like – Tony got her. I expect she’ll be all right.’

I was left on the pavement, feeling desolate. I realised what a bulwark against my loneliness Mae had become. Being with her was like swimming through breakers, with time only to splutter to the surface and gasp for breath before the next one hit. Irritating though she sometimes was, she possessed a gaiety and optimism that was gradually changing my own rather sombre nature into something much brighter.

Oh well, I thought, as I turned to make my way home. She’ll only be away for two weeks. Then I smiled to myself as I pictured her entrance at the airport: Mae could never just walk into a place like other mortals.

Suddenly I was struck by a thought that made me stop in my tracks and grin insanely. Malta! Why, I was as gullible as the rest! It was just as likely that Mae was now on her way to Blackpool !

Twenty-Seven

When Phyllis arrived the following day, my heart sank.

She was about forty, large, solid and matronly, with a bosom like a bolster – and she was grandiose with it. Her attire would have done credit to the chairwoman of the parochial church council but was considerably less suitable for prostitution. She wore an ugly brown tweed suit of uncompromising cut, with a tailored blouse, thick brown brogues and a brown porkpie hat. She carried a large brown Gladstone bag. Her hair, her eyes and her thick lisle stockings were brown too. Only the blouse offered a slight gesture to whimsy – it was pale fawn.

She sailed in like a duchess, giving me a curt nod as she passed the kitchen en route to the bedroom. I followed her slowly, trying to recover from the shock of her appearance.

Lady Phyllis seated herself primly on the dressing table stool and, depositing her handbag carefully beside her, proceeded to survey the room with an expression of sour distaste written plainly on her face. I had arrived extra early, to clear away the debris of Mae’s chaotic packing and to clean the place, but even so, I felt suddenly defensive and embarrassed by the shabby tawdriness of everything. Robbed of Mae’s presence and under this imposing woman’s sharp scrutiny, the furniture, curtains and even the little table lamps looked drab and cheap.

Eventually, her gaze, still full of aversion, anchored itself on me and dwelt there joylessly.

‘You must be Barbara – the maid,’ she decided at last, without a trace of enthusiasm. Her voice had a slight cockney twang, not quite concealed by her carefully cultivated accent.

I answered in as friendly a way as I could muster, but she wasn’t having any of it and, still eyeing me with disfavour, told me she was ready for a cup of tea.

The first time she came back with a man, I waited outside the bedroom door for the money to be passed to me, but in vain. Phyllis had never worked from a hustling flat before and, consequently, had never had a maid. I thought I’d better give her a few tactful hints and tips.

‘It would be much safer to let me look after the money, you know,’ I said, as gently as I could.

She looked at me with cold suspicion. ‘I keep it in my handbag and that has a lock on it. I keep the key round my neck.’

‘Well let me take charge of your handbag, then,’ I persisted. ‘It really isn’t wise to keep it with you.’

‘I
prefer
to keep it with me,’ she said firmly. She had decided I was showing far more interest in her cash than an honest person should. Thereafter, the handbag never left her side, even when she went to the toilet.

She didn’t show any vestige of friendliness during her whole stay. Amazingly, she did quite well. Mae’s regulars weren’t all that keen, but the men Phyllis brought back were obviously intrigued by her buxom respectability. She even got quite a few regulars of her own.

The catastrophe I had feared happened towards the end of her second week. There was the sound of footsteps crashing past the kitchen door as a client charged out of the bedroom and raced down the stairs. This was accompanied by Phyllis’s screams, intermingled with words that no respectable lady would have known. The handbag had gone.

On her remaining two days, she took the gamble of giving me her money to look after. When she finally left, she paused on her way out and, as though to the manor born, said, ‘Well, goodbye, Barbara. You have done quite well.’