Better Days Will Come (6 page)

‘Can I help you with that?’ Rita smiled.

‘Thank you, dear,’ said the woman. ‘I live at number 187. What’s your friend’s name?’

‘George,’ said Rita, taking the bag. ‘I don’t know his last name.’

‘What does he look like?’

‘He’s good looking,’ said Rita. ‘A bit like Charles Boyer.’

The woman chuckled. ‘I think I’d remember if I’d seen him. Has he lived here long?’

Rita shrugged. ‘He’s got digs on the first floor,’ she said, remembering something Bonnie once said.

‘If he’s in digs, he’ll be with Mrs Kerr. She’s the only one around here who takes in lodgers. Number 109.’ They’d reached the woman’s gate and Rita handed her bag back. ‘Thank you, dear. Number 109. I hope you find your friend.’

Rita’s heart was in her mouth as she walked back and knocked at the door of number 109. The small front garden was very clean and tidy, the path swept, and the name on the wall beside the door said
Maranatha
. Mrs Kerr was a small woman with round black-rimmed glasses. Her hair was completely covered in a dark brown hairnet and she wore a wraparound floral apron.

‘Mrs Kerr? I’ve come about George,’ said Rita, completely forgetting her carefully rehearsed speech.

‘About time too,’ said Mrs Kerr. She showed her into a small sitting room next to the front door. ‘I must say I’m a bit surprised that he’s sent a schoolgirl. Why didn’t he come back for them himself ?’

Rita stared at her with a blank expression. ‘Sorry?’

‘His things,’ Mrs Kerr said. ‘That is what you’re here about, isn’t it? He packed his case and left it in the hall that morning. “I’ll be back for it later”, he said. You tell him I waited up until half past ten but he never showed up. I’ll get it for you now.’

She went back out to the hall and opened the cupboard under the stairs.

‘Did George say where he was going?’ asked Rita.

‘I thought you knew where he was,’ said Mrs Kerr, coming back with a suitcase in her hand and a raincoat over her arm. ‘I don’t know where he is. He never told me. All I know is he paid his rent, gave me back the rent book and that was that. What are you going to do with his things if you don’t know where he is?’

Rita chewed her bottom lip and stared at the floor with a frown.

Mrs Kerr looked at her suspiciously. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘There’s no hanky panky going on between you and him is there?’

‘I’ve never met George,’ Rita confessed. ‘He used to go out with my sister.’

‘Oh,’ said Mrs Kerr. ‘Used to go out, did you say? Well, it’s best not to interfere, dear. If he doesn’t want to go out with her any more, there’s bound to be a reason.’

‘My sister went to London, very suddenly,’ said Rita. ‘I was hoping George, Mr … er …’

‘Matthews,’ said Mrs Kerr.

‘Mr Matthews might know where she is,’ Rita went on.

‘Well,’ said Mrs Kerr. ‘This is a mystery, isn’t it, but I can’t imagine that they’d be together.’

Rita raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘Well, he’s hardly likely to have gone all the way up to London without taking his things, is he?’

Rita was forced to agree. ‘My mother is very worried.’

‘I’m sure she is,’ said Mrs Kerr, making a big show of putting the case and the raincoat back under the stairs, ‘but I can’t help you. Now if you’ll excuse me …’

Back out on the street, Rita walked with a heavy heart towards South Farm Road and the crossing. Where could she go from here? She had been so sure she would find George and speak to him in person. If Bonnie wasn’t with George, where on earth could she be? And why was George missing as well?

It was while she was waiting for the crossing gates to go up that Rita spotted an advertisement on the wall. Hubbard’s … Of course, Hubbard’s. Why didn’t she think of it before? That was where Bonnie worked. She must have confided in one of her work colleagues. Full of resolve, once the gates were wound back in place, Rita quickened her step. She had no money for the bus fare but she was good at running and it wouldn’t take long to get to town.

Richard’s well-aimed kick at the leg of the settee had, in the split second she had reached for her handbag, landed in Bonnie’s nether regions. His shoes were of the outdoor type and very hard. The pain was indescribable. When Bonnie cried out, pandemonium followed. Richard was sent to his room, the sound of his heavy footsteps and wailing tears fading into the distance finally silenced altogether behind a slammed door. Lady Brayfield and her maid did their best for Bonnie who, speechless with pain, could only roll around the settee and wish she was dead. They eventually calmed her and covered her with a blanket.

A doctor summoned from Harley Street arrived shortly afterwards and Lady Brayfield left the room while he examined her. His breath smelled of whisky but he poked and prodded as he asked some very embarrassing questions. When he had finished, he concluded that she was ‘fit as a flea’ and only needed a period of recovery.

After he’d gone, although the pain had lessened, Bonnie lay on the settee listening to the murmur of voices outside in the corridor. Serves you right, she told herself miserably. You never should have come here in the first place.

She heard the front door slam and a few minutes later, Lady Brayfield returned. Bonnie moved as if to get up but LadyBrayfield held up her hand and sat in the chair opposite. ‘How long have you been pregnant?’ Her voice was gentle but her mouth was set in a tight line.

Bonnie’s face burned with shame and embarrassment. Here it comes, she thought. The lecture … the moment when she said
think of the shame and disgrace you’ve brought on your family
, and
what about your reputation
, etc, etc. Bonnie had never had ‘the lecture’ herself but she remembered the way everybody had treated her neighbour Mary Reed when she got pregnant by a Canadian soldier during the war. ‘Keep the baby?’ Mary’s mother had screamed when Mary told her. ‘Don’t be stupid. Who is going to marry you with another man’s baby?’

In the end, poor Mary had been forced to give her baby up for adoption.

Lady Brayfield looked at her steadily. ‘How on earth did you expect to keep it a secret?’

Bonnie swallowed the lump in her throat. It was no use. Obviously the doctor had told Lady Brayfield of her condition. ‘I thought that if I worked really hard, by the time you found out, you might let me stay a bit longer.’

A silence trickled between them.

‘At least you’re honest,’ Lady Brayfield said finally.

‘I’m not very far gone,’ said Bonnie in small voice. ‘And the agency said it was a temporary post. I thought if I earned a little money I could …’ Embarrassment welled up inside her. It was time to go. She pushed the blanket aside.

‘You’ve been told to rest, Miss Rogers,’ Lady Brayfield said firmly. The tone of her voice was authoritative but not unkind. ‘Let us discuss the matter.’ She paused. ‘I take it that you have been deserted?’

Something rose up inside Bonnie to defend George but how could she? She’d been to the station every day for more than a week and she’d made sure plenty of people saw her looking for him, but of course he hadn’t turned up. Time and again she’d asked at the station master’s office but he’d left no message either. She had written to Pavilion Road but that was six days ago and as yet she hadn’t had a reply. She knew she wasn’t the first girl he’d slept with. How could she be? George was older than her and experienced in his lovemaking. She’d been an utter fool. How many other girls had given themselves to men only to find themselves left with the consequences? The story was as old as the hills … But she couldn’t possibly say all that, so she just nodded miserably.

‘Could you not go back to your mother?’

Bonnie’s eyes widened. ‘I can’t. My mother is a widow …’

Lady Brayfield nodded. ‘How many months are you?’

Bonnie’s voice was small. ‘Four.’ Was it really only four months since she and George had lain in bed together dreaming big dreams? He was determined to go abroad. They’d even toyed with the idea of going to the Congo.

‘The principal food crops are cassava, bananas, and root crops,’ George had told her after he’d read a few books from the library. ‘Hot and humid. The central part has rain all year long.’

‘Sounds wonderful,’ she’d cooed.

‘No it doesn’t,’ he’d laughed, and then he’d kissed her again. Bonnie could feel her eyes smarting.

Lady Brayfield pushed herself deeper into her chair. ‘I have a proposal, Miss Rogers. We shall say nothing of this to Dora or to Cook.’

Bonnie frowned. Dora must be the name of the maid who opened the door and presumably it was Cook she could hear singing in the kitchen.

‘Richard is very contrite after his outburst,’ Lady Brayfield went on. ‘He’s not a bad boy. It’s not the first time he has told me he doesn’t want to live with his father, albeit he has never been violent before. My daughter, Richard’s mother, is in a nursing home. She’s had a nervous breakdown and needs complete rest. I only want to do what is right for the child.’

She rose to her feet and stood facing the window. Whatever she was about to say, Bonnie had already warmed to her.

‘My son-in-law is an ambitious man,’ Lady Brayfield continued with her back to Bonnie. ‘He is very strict, which is probably why Richard does not want to go to Africa. Now I’m beginning to wonder if that’s why my daughter …’

Her voice trailed off but she stayed by the window, her back ramrod straight. A couple of times her hand went to her face but she didn’t turn around. Eventually, and with a beautifully composed expression, she turned back to Bonnie. ‘I was very impressed with the way you conducted yourself when Richard … er … did what he did. You didn’t retaliate or swear at him.’ She paused. ‘That took tremendous self-control, Miss Rogers. You have excellent references and Richard needs a young person, someone with drive and energy. His time is mostly taken up with prep school but at the weekends, and with the Christmas holidays coming up, he needs to be amused. Quite frankly, Miss Rogers, I am too old for party games.’

Bonnie sat up. She should say something and say it now. How much energy would she have once the baby started to show?

‘After this incident, perhaps it wouldn’t be in the boy’s best interest to send him to live with his father,’ Lady Brayfield went on. ‘Not yet, anyway. That being the case, I propose that you come here until after Christmas. I really cannot be without someone right now. Quite frankly, Miss Rogers, I need help. Would you be willing to come for a short period? It would give me time to find another girl for the New Year.’

Bonnie’s jaw dropped. ‘I won’t let you down, Lady Brayfield,’ she whispered.

‘Clearly your referees had no idea you were pregnant,’ she continued, ‘so I am taking a gamble that you are not promiscuous.’

Bonnie had never heard the word before but the meaning wasn’t lost. ‘I made a stupid mistake,’ she mumbled.

Lady Brayfield went to her handbag. ‘Then we shall leave it there and not talk about it again. Agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ said Bonnie looking up with a half smile.

‘I shall pay you £2 a week, all found. Is that agreeable?’

Bonnie’s eyes widened. This was more than she could ever have hoped for. ‘Yes, yes thank you.’

Lady Brayfield handed Bonnie a pound note. ‘I have to take Richard to the dentist this afternoon and he is waiting outside to apologise for his disgraceful behaviour. When you are fully recovered, fetch your things and Dora will help you settle in. This should cover your taxi fare. You can start tomorrow.’

With that, she swept out of the room. Bonnie could have kissed her. What an amazing woman. The place where Richard had kicked her was still painful but it was almost worth it to land on her feet in this way. She looked around the room. What a wonderful place to work. It was so warm in this house. No draughty corridors, no sitting huddled around a meagre coal fire for warmth. Of course she knew her newly found comfort wouldn’t last, but for the moment, she had been handed a lifeline. A couple or three weeks here and she could put a little more money in the post office. Lady Brayfield had given her more than a job. She had given her hope.

Every day seemed like a week to Grace. She was on ‘Packing’ in the factory. The sweaters came off the production line and were put into boxes. It was the job of her and her colleagues to steam any creases out and fold the sweaters neatly, three in a box lined with tissue paper. They worked at a table, in pairs, facing each other.

The new factory was a lot more modern than the old one. In the morning, they played
Housewives’ Choice
over the radio and at lunchtime they heard
Workers’ Playtime
in the canteen. The people around her hummed and sang as they worked but Grace wasn’t really listening. Her thoughts were where they had been for the past ten days – with Bonnie. She had waited a whole week and then she had pawned the brooch she had inherited from Michael’s mother. She had always intended to give it to the daughter who got married first. She would have given it to her before they set out for the church on her wedding day but there was no time for sentiment now. She had to find Bonnie.

She’d gone to the pawnbroker along the High Street. It was a dingy little shop, dark and cluttered, and she’d taken the fifteen shillings he’d offered without quibbling. It was probably worth a lot more than that, but there was no time to argue. All she had wanted was to get on the train first thing on Saturday morning.

She’d scoured the concourse at Victoria station and stopped tens of people to ask if they had seen Bonnie. She was met with blank stares, nervous frowns, some hostile reactions and a few sympathetic conversations but nobody remembered seeing her daughter.

‘There was one young woman,’ the station master had told her, ‘but she was looking for her husband.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ Grace had asked.

The station master had leaned towards her as he made a circular movement with his finger next to his forehead. ‘I think she was probably some poor sod who couldn’t get over the death of her old man,’ he said confidentially. ‘We get them all the time. Sometimes a relative will come for them but, worst case scenario, they jump under a train.’