A Step Too Far (27 page)

     ‘Won’t be me tekin’ the job on so you sets your mind to rest.’

     ‘But refusing will mean keeping you down, spending the rest of your working days on the factory floor, I shouldn’t ask you to do that.’

     ‘The choosin’ don’t be your’n.’ Isaac smiled into eyes filled with concern for him. ‘The work place be where I’m ’appiest an’ that be where I’ll stay; you don’t fret y’self, Arthur Whitman be already advised o’ that decision, and that be atwixt Hawley and Whitman.’

     Changing irons, testing the heat before setting it to a nightgown worn almost to a thread, Miriam smiled. ‘But you think he’s the man for the job?’

     ‘Stop your ferretin’!’ Isaac set aside his newspaper. ‘It were the same when you were a little ’un, kept on ’til you got what you wanted.’

     ‘But you do, don’t you?’

     Isaac felt the familiar surge of his heart. She was so like her mother; that smile, that quiet gentle way of asking, a way that could fetch the ducks off the water.

     ‘Ar.’ He nodded. ‘Ar wench, I thinks that Jacob Hawley be deservin’ o’ the job.’

     ‘
Mr Hawley is a nice man
.’

     Miriam’s next words echoed in Isaac’s mind as he left the house to take his turn at fire watch. Hawley had always been a decent chap, he deserved more than life had dished up for him; he should have had a wife who had married him for love and not solely to suit her own ends. Yet . . . ! The age-old query returned, haunting him as so many times in the past. Was Violet the only one to have availed herself of Jacob Hawley’s good nature?

She had thought several times during the course of the afternoon, ought she to make some excuse? Tell Becky and Alice not to come to the house, that she would bring the dresses to the factory for them to look at? Yet each time some inner voice had seemed to warn
that
would be the backward step. So she had let Alice’s self-invitation ride and now they were here.

     ‘It’s real good o’ you, Kate, offerin’ to give Becky a frock.’

     Forcing a smile as the girls stepped inside the hall, Katrin answered lightly, ‘Wait to see what is offered before saying thanks, you might well think the dress should have been thrown out – not just when the old king died, but with his great grandmother’s passing.’

     ‘Old Queen Victoria.’ Alice grinned impishly. ‘I think it were one o’ her frocks me mother bought last week from a jumble sale.’

     Joining in the laughter, Katrin took their coats and hung them on bright brass pegs set beside the door.

     ‘Eeh! I’ve often wondered what these houses be like inside, you know, whether the insides matched the outside.’

     It couldn’t have been made more plain had Alice asked for a tour of the house. Biting down on her chagrin, Katrin issued the invitation. Showing them briefly into sitting room and kitchen, their oohs and aahs clucking like excited hens, Katrin felt an inward smile. Whatever would Violet Hawley and her precious pride have made of having factory workers parade through the house? Girls who still carried a faint odour of slurry oil.

     ‘They do match, don’t they Alice, the inside an’ the outside?’

     ‘Match? What do you mean Becky?’

     ‘Huh!’ Alice laughed cynically, ‘You’d know right enough if you lived in Cross Street, them houses matches alright, the insides don’t ’ave room enough to swing a cat and outside be little better, houses joined in a row, their brickwork black from smoke and soot! Oh yes, Kate, you’d know the difference if you lived in one o’ them.’

     Making no reply, Katrin led the way upstairs. She bypassed her father’s bedroom using the shaded light of the landing to guide them through the darkness of her own room and drew the blackout curtains across the window, covering them in turn with the pretty chintz so beloved of her mother before switching on the bedside lamp. With another bevy of ‘oohs’ sounding behind, she turned toward the wardrobe her mother had lavished so much time and care on polishing; but then she had doted on every stick of furniture in the house as if they were the Crown Jewels. Katrin returned to the jest made downstairs. ‘Your mother bought you just one of Victoria’s cast offs, Alice, my mother bought the rest.’

     ‘I doubts that,’ Alice said quietly. ‘I remembers you from our bein’ in the babbies class and on right through to our leavin’ school. I remembers the way your mother had you turned out, you was always the best dressed kid at Saint James’.’

     Katrin effected a tight swallow before replying. ‘My parents did not have other children to feed and clothe.’

     ‘That must ’ave been as much a heartache for them as it was for you.’

     Katrin almost laughed aloud. Becky’s answer had held true sympathy. But then they were both so easily deceived. They swallowed lies like cats swallowing cream, they had believed that lie as they would believe those yet to come. She had been contemplating the next, the one which would say she had no idea how Nora Bates had found out about those Saturday night jaunts to Wolverhampton, about Alice Butler and Becky Turner dancing with foreign men at that Civic Ballroom.

     It would be so easy. A word said a little too loudly in the works’ canteen or the ladies’ toilets, a word taken back to the workshop and repeated within earshot of Nosy Nora, that would see it spread like chaff on the wind, reaching Mary Turner in less time than it took to tell. Yes, it would be easy. A dress in her hand, Katrin paused on the thought. Angry as that would make Becky’s mother, would it be revenge enough? Talk of Becky Turner’s liaison would last only until the next juicy bit of gossip hit the collective tongue, then it would be over and forgotten. Katrin’s fingers tightened. Easy, but not satisfying for Katrin Hawley!

     ‘Eh Kate, you don’t know how lucky you be havin’ such a lovely home,’ Alice was enthusing again. ‘You’ve so many nice things – and a room all to y’self. Lord, what wouldn’t I give to ’ave a bedroom all to meself!’

     Katrin’s sad smile highlighted her lie. ‘You have brothers and sisters, that is what I call lucky. What wouldn’t I give to have a sister to share this room.’

     ‘Be careful what you wishes, Katrin!’ Alice retorted ironically. ‘You could ’ave been like me, saddled wi’ too many brothers and sisters, I’d swap any one of mine for a tanner!’

     ‘Sixpence!’ Becky laughed. ‘You don’t do things on the cheap, d’you?’

     ‘A girl has to keep up appearances!’

     The quip struck a chord with Katrin. Keeping up appearances was exactly what she was assisting Becky Turner in doing.

     It had been during the lunch break. Talk of Jim Slater had waned as both girls lost interest and she, herself, had made no attempt to revive the topic, letting it appear that she had laid that business to rest.

     ‘
It would be this week Mrs Haywood has to be taken poorly. Doreen says it means her lookin’ after the kids, so that knocks my Saturday night on the head unless I can find somebody else willing to trade shifts with me; if I can’t . . .’
she had shrugged ruefully, ‘
. . . then I just won’t be able to make it to Wolverhampton. I didn’t really want to go on Saturday anyway.
’

     It had been patently obvious from the way Becky’s glance had dropped to the thick pottery mug twisting in her hands that what she had said was untrue. Her back toward the girls, Katrin’s inner smile deepened. Instinct kicked in. For the keen student of jitterbug, for the girl so smitten with her American dance partner to say she really didn’t want to attend the looked-forward-to Saturday evening dance, then something was wrong.

     It had not taken long to emerge. This coming Saturday was to be a special evening. Some of the men were moving on to different units and others in the camp had decided to give them a special send off and Earl had said he so much wanted Becky to be there.

     ‘
So then, why do you not want to go?
’

     Her enquiry had sounded innocent enough but there had been none of that virtue beneath the asking. Becky had tried to hide her embarrassment but her cheeks had blushed a deep shade of pink. It had been left to Alice to explain. ‘
It’s her frock, her’s worn it every time we’ve gone to that dance hall. Like meself, Becky has to take a back seat where clothes be concerned, it takes all the money and all the coupons to keep the little ’uns clothed, and well . . . with this bein’ a special do, Becky don’t want to be seen wearin’ the same old frock.
’

     ‘
Ain’t just a special do for the men that’s leavin’.
’ Becky had tried to keep disappointment at bay but tears had glistened in her eyes. ‘
Earl said there were somethin’ he wanted to ask me, somethin’ he said he’d wanted to ask for some time but had needed to get permission from his C.O. first
.’

     Permission of a Commanding Officer! Katrin’s instinct had deepened by several degrees, but none of it had shown in her reply.

     ‘
But if Earl has something he wants to ask, something he has already implied to be of importance, won’t it be hurtful to him if you don’t turn up?
’

     ‘
Not near as hurtful as a smack in the face
,’ Alice had replied, ‘
and that’s how it’ll feel supposin’ Earl don’t say anythin’ and Becky feels he won’t once he sees her in that frock her’s worn every time they’ve met, her fears he’ll not want her after realisin’ just how rich her family ain’t.
’

     ‘
But surely if he loves Becky, lack of money will have no influence?
’

     Becky had retorted. ‘
And I love him, I love him too much to humiliate him in front of his friends, probably in front of that C.O. he talked of; I won’t ’ave him shamed by my wearin’ a frock that has more years to it than me mother has.
’

     A deep primeval feeling surged its message through Katrin’s veins. This moment must not be ignored!

     She had leaned across the table, touching a hand to the red-faced Becky. ‘
Please
,’ she had murmured, ‘
please don’t take this the wrong way, it is not meant as a slight in any way, but I have several dresses I’m about to send to the Welfare Centre, perhaps . . . well, perhaps one of them  . . .
’

     The rest had been submerged beneath the blare of a klaxon recalling both girls to work but as they had left the table Alice had called back, ‘
We’ll come up to your place tonight if that’s okay.
’

     ‘I’ll be keepin’ up appearances and no mistake.’ Becky’s comment recalled Katrin to the present. ‘Come next month I’ll be livin’ in a big house, it’ll have its own garden and even a pool you can swim in, Earl says  . . .’

     ‘Earl says a lot o’ things!’ Alice snapped. ‘I’ve told you, Becky Turner, you wants to be very careful where that one be concerned, y’ shouldn’t take every word he says as gospel!’

     Becky snapped back, ‘An’ I’ve told you, Alice Butler, you don’t know Earl the way I do!’

     ‘Yes, you ’ave told me, so now p’raps you’ll tell me what it is I be missin’, what is it I don’t know about Earl Feldman?’

     ‘You don’t know how gentle he can be, how tender he was when we  . . .’

     Alice was not about to relent. ‘How tender when you what?’

     Glancing over her shoulder, seeing the bloom of pink becoming a high tide of scarlet, the lowered eyes and twisting fingers, Katrin put her own question. Was Becky Turner playing the game she herself intended to play with Arthur Whitman, given half a chance? Had Becky Turner already succeeded? If so, then she might well be leaving for America next month as she claimed. Where then would be Katrin Hawley’s long-desired revenge?

     Katrin carried the dresses to the bed, placing them beside Becky.

     ‘These are what I had sorted to go to the Welfare Centre.’ She forced a smile. ‘But remember, I said they are far from new so don’t feel you have to accept any of them.’

     ‘Eh Kate, you must be crackers to even think of givin’ stuff like this away!’ Alice had bounded across the room, her busy hands lifting one garment after another.

     ‘It would be more foolish to leave them hanging in the wardrobe when perhaps someone might find them useful.’

     ‘Well, Becky and me knows you’ve never gone short of clothes but  . . .’

     ‘I will not be wearing any of those again.’ Katrin cut away Alice’s protest.

     ‘Ohh!’

     Becky’s sigh of admiration took their glances to the wardrobe, its open door admitting a glow which shimmered over sapphire silk chiffon.

     ‘Kate.’ Alice breathed appreciation. ‘That’s beautiful, the colour, the shine  . . .’

     ‘It is the last dress my mother bought for me.’ Katrin swallowed hard on the lie. ‘She too loved the colour, she said it would be perfect for celebrating the end of the war.’

     Eyes soft as the silk she stared at, Becky’s reply came from a scene only she was imagining. ‘Or a wedding,’ she murmured rapturously, ‘a bride would look lovely in that.’

The two girls left the house, the dresses along with them, and Katrin returned to her room.