Georgia
About the Book
From the seedy backstreets of London’s Soho in the 60s to the tough, sexy world of international rock-stardom in the 70s, Georgia sees it all…
When nine-year-old orphan Georgia James is unexpectedly fostered by the kindly Celia and her bank manager husband she can hardly believe her luck. But then – on her fifteenth birthday – she suffers the cruellest betrayal of all at the hands of her foster father and is forced to run away, leaving everything she loves behind her.
Penniless, sleeping rough, Georgia is soon introduced to the sleazy Soho world of brassy strippers, sweat shops, camaraderie and hardship. Fired by a fierce ambition, blessed with an extraordinary voice, her long struggle for fame and fortune begins. But even when she reaches the top she finds that the scars of the past can open up to ruin her…
Lesley Pearse was born in Rochester, Kent, but has lived in Bristol for over twenty-five years. She has three daughters and a grandson. She is the bestselling author of nineteen novels, including
Ellie, Georgia, Tara, Camellia
and
Charity
, all five of which are published by Arrow. She is one of the UK’s best loved novelists with fans across the globe and sales of over three million copies of her books to date.
Also by Lesley Pearse
Tara*
Charity*
Ellie*
Camellia*
Rosie
Charlie
Never Look Back
Trust Me
Father Unknown
Till We Meet Again
Remember Me
Secrets
A Lesser Evil
Hope
Faith
Gypsy
Stolen
Belle
* Also available in Arrow Books
Contents
Cover
About the Book
About the Author
Also by Lesley Pearse
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781409043942
Published by Arrow Books 2011
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Copyright © Lesley Pearse 1993
Lesley Pearse has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
Quotation in chapter 25 from
The Prophet
by Kahlil Gibran
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
First published in Great Britain in 1993 by William Heinemann
First published in Great Britain in paperback in 1993 by Mandarin Paperbacks
First published in paperback by Arrow Books in 1998
Arrow Books
Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road
London SW1V 2SA
Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at:
www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm
The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9780099557456
To my girls, Lucy, Sammy and Jo; without your love and support I couldn’t have written it.
A big thank you too for the real Georgia who was friend, confidante and inspiration.
Chapter 1
Grove Park, South London, February 1954
Clanking keys and a ponderous step woke Georgia. Her ear was so finely tuned she knew which nun was coming, even her exact position.
It was Sister Agnes. Some of the nuns moved up the stairs in one fluid movement, some panted and huffed, pausing to rest halfway, but Sister Agnes despite her bulk and age ploughed on steadily to the top, her breath wheezing faintly.
She had reached the top now, passing the long, narrow, barred window, on her way to ring the early morning bell.
Georgia sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. A murky grey light showed up twelve iron beds, six to each side of the large room. Small mounds in each, still fast asleep.
The heavy footsteps moved away from her dormitory, down towards where the bell hung on the wall just outside the big girls’ room. Another pair of feet were coming down the stairs from the floor above, this time light and bouncy, almost running as they went on down further. That would be Sister Theresa on her way to make Mother Superior’s early morning tea.
A whimper made Georgia’s head turn to the bed on her left. As the child stirred, so an unmistakable acrid smell of urine wafted across to her nostrils.
‘Pamela!’ she hissed. ‘Aggie will be in here any minute, run for the bathroom. I’ll try and cover for you.’
The bell rang out in the uncarpeted corridor, drowning Pamela’s reply and as the last echo reverberated round the convent, so heavy feet thudded towards them.
Pamela’s first cry had been one of dismay to find she was wet, but her second was one of terror. Instead of shooting out of her bed, and running like a hare out of harm’s way, she just cowered, small arms over her head, waiting for the beating she knew would soon come.
Georgia knew to protect Pamela she had to create a diversion. Tossing back her covers she leapt into the air.
Sister Agnes paused momentarily in the doorway in time to see Georgia’s trial bounce, landing feet apart, hands clutching her pyjama trousers.
‘Get down this minute!’ she shouted. The child looked like a chimney-sweep. As thin as a stick in oversized striped pyjamas, her crop of black curls standing out like a wire brush.
One hand flew up to hold down the starched wimple, the other lifted her habit clear of the floor.
‘How dare you?’ her voice rasped as she swept down the room indignantly.
Georgia merely grinned at her, a yellow-brown face cut in two with the flash of white teeth. Another small bounce quickly followed by a stronger one, and she had flipped herself over and landed on her feet again, just yards from the exasperated nun. She had perfected this somersault only days earlier in the playroom, where she had launched herself from an old couch on to cushions in front of an enthusiastic audience. But landing on cold, hard lino had jarred her legs and back and she toppled back against the bed rail.
‘Morning, Sister Agnes,’ she panted, hauling the baggy trousers back to her waist. ‘Did you see how good it was?’
Sister Agnes was the oldest nun in the convent. Humourless, mean-spirited and cruel. Black hairs sprouted from her white flabby chin, a hooked nose with a jiggling wart next to it vying for attention, and sharp piggy eyes that could spot a misdemeanour almost through a wooden door.
‘This is a dormitory, not a gymnasium,’ she sniffed. ‘You are nine, it’s high time you set a good example to the younger girls.’
Instinctively the old nun knew Georgia was trying to distract her, and insolent interference was something she wouldn’t tolerate. Georgia infuriated her. Not only was she scrawny with huge eyes that dominated her yellowy face, but also endless punishments and beatings couldn’t wipe her ear-to-ear grin away. Despite her skinniness and her mixed blood she had managed to become the leader of the younger girls and worse still she was encouraging them all in acts of disobedience.
‘I’ll deal with you later,’ Sister Agnes swept the dormitory with her sharp eyes. Small girls jumping into their navy blue knickers, eyes avoiding her. ‘What’s been going on in here?’
‘There was a noise,’ Georgia sidled away from the Sister, rolling her eyes round the room in pretended alarm. ‘I think a bird’s got in again.’
It was all she could think of on the spur of the moment. Only last summer a pigeon had found its way in and to the children’s amusement Sister nearly had hysterics. The way she had sped from the room as the bird flapped around her veil was something they still giggled about.
‘We heard it too,’ a chorus of agreement came from three of Georgia’s closest allies. As they struggled into grey skirts and jumpers, they nodded at one another, waving their hands as if to indicate the flight path.
