Georgia (6 page)

Once she’d said goodbye to Christine outside the school gates, she took off her blazer and beret and put them in her satchel. She rolled up her shirt sleeves and crossed the road.

She saw the four third-years cutting across the playing field. The way they scurried along, heads bent close together, made her sure they were planning to ambush her. Flinging her satchel over her shoulder she ran round the corner past the spot of yesterday’s incident and paused, weighing up the area.

The wide grass verge between the pavement and the road was ideal for a soft landing, the trees good for cover. Her heart was thumping with fright, but she hid her satchel behind one tree, herself behind another, and waited.

‘She must have run like the bleedin’ wind.’

Georgia suppressed a nervous giggle as one of the girls’ surprised voice reached her. She didn’t dare look out until they were right by her.

‘Either that or she’s hiding in some gateway till we’ve passed.’ She recognized the coarse voice as Bev’s, the blonde bully. ‘I’ll give her an extra pasting for that, the scheming black bastard,’ she added maliciously.

Georgia managed a peep from behind the trunk. Three of the girls checked each garden. The girl with the greasy hair hung back slightly, as if her heart wasn’t really in it. The other two were either side of Bev, copying her actions as though they had no minds of their own. One was quite attractive in a sulky, voluptuous way, with dark, long hair. The fourth girl in the group was mousey blonde, smaller than her friends with sharp features and a brace on her teeth.

Georgia waited until they were less than five feet from her, took a deep breath, screwed up her fists and stepped out in front of them.

‘Looking for me?’ she said, balancing on her toes.

‘Yes, you little shit,’ Bev was clearly taken by surprise, she blinked furiously, the late afternoon sun in her eyes.

‘Planning to hit me again?’ Georgia tried to keep her voice low and seemingly unruffled.

The four girls looked at one another in surprise.

‘That’s fine with me as long as it’s fair,’ Georgia said. ‘One of you against me, the others mustn’t join in.’

‘You cheeky little bitch,’ Bev spat at her. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’

‘I don’t think I’m anyone,’ Georgia said stoutly, moving lightly on her toes like a boxer. ‘I know perfectly well who I am. Georgia Anderson.’

The girl with greasy hair laughed nervously and was already moving back, away from the others.

In groups of twos and threes, other girls were turning the corner. A buzz of excitement went up, calling for others to hurry and in moments a large circle was forming round them.

Georgia was afraid now. There was nothing to stop all these girls ganging up on her. She would have to act tough to get their approval.

‘Well, which one of you is going to give me the pasting?’ Georgia said, looking directly at each of the ringleaders. This time the dark, attractive girl fell back. Her face growing a little pale.

Georgia focused her attention on the mousey blonde.

‘You is it?’ she said arrogantly, ‘Or do you want to back out too?’

The girl had a look of panic in her pale eyes. She glanced round at the other two girls, who merely shrugged their shoulders, and fell back with them.

Bev stood alone now, a slight tic in her cheek as though nervous. She was big and heavy, but she didn’t look quite so confident now she knew she had no backup.

The crowd was tense, everyone waiting to see if this new kid was really foolish enough to fight.

‘Looks like you and me then,’ Georgia smiled charmingly, fixing her big, dark eyes on Bev’s small, mean ones.

‘You cocky little cow,’ Bev sprang heavily at her.

Georgia waited until she was almost upon her then jumped lightly to one side. Bev stubbed her toe on the edging to the grass verge and nearly fell on her face. A roar of approval went up from the crowd and Georgia turned slightly to grin at them.

Bev recovered quickly and turned to catch Georgia again. Once again Georgia dodged. Bev’s hand came out to grab her hair, but her fingers couldn’t grasp the tight braids. Quick as a flash, Georgia pulled up her knee and jammed it up into Bev’s stomach, kicking out at her shins as she moved back.

‘Get her, Bev,’ the small blonde shouted. She was poised on her toes, clenching and unclenching her fists with blood lust in her eyes.

Bev was winded. Her face flushed like a tomato. She lunged heavily at Georgia again. This time Georgia put her foot out, caught her legs and tripped her up. Bev crashed down on to the pavement, flat on her face. Georgia stepped forward to screams of delight from the other girls.

Leaning over and catching the girl by her hair, she twisted Bev’s head up and round to look at her.

‘Had enough yet?’ she said almost casually, as she saw a trace of blood coming from an angry red mark on the girl’s forehead.

This was the danger point. If the other girls leapt in now they could beat her to a pulp.

Bev struggled to get up. Georgia waited until she was on all fours, then swiftly kicked her up the backside, sending her crashing to the pavement.

The other three girls had backed right away now, clearly terrified of being involved.

The circle of spectators moved in closer.

‘Wack her, little’un,’ someone shouted. ‘It’s about time someone stood up to her.’

Georgia sat astride Bev’s back, holding the girl firmly by the hair.

‘Hurts doesn’t it?’ she asked, teeth gritted. ‘It hurts black girls too, or did you think we feel nothing?’

‘Get off,’ Bev called out, her voice shaky as if on the point of tears. ‘We was only teasing you.’

‘And I’m only teasing you,’ Georgia pushed her head back down to touch the pavement. ‘But I’ll stop if you apologize and tell me you’ll leave me alone in future.’

‘Fuck off,’ Bev shouted, wriggling and trying to turn under Georgia. An unpleasant smell of sweat wafted up to Georgia.

‘That is very rude,’ Georgia said, grinning round at her audience. ‘You smell of B.O. too. Looks like I’ll have to give you another taste.’ She pulled sharply on the girl’s hair, then crashed her head down again to the pavement.

This time Bev was sobbing.

‘You’ll apologize?’ Georgia looked around at the crowd. ‘In front of witnesses?’

‘Yes,’ the word came out like a groan.

‘Right. Repeat after me. Bev is a bully. She is also a fat, smelly slut.’

‘Bev is a bully,’ the girl whimpered.

‘Louder,’ Georgia tightened her grip again.

‘Bev is a bully,’ the girl said.

‘Go on!’

‘She is also a fat, smelly slut.’

‘Very good. I will never, or allow my friends …’

‘I will never, or allow my friends,’ Bev was crying freely now.

‘To bully, or frighten anyone, especially black girls.’

Georgia waited until Bev had finished. Still sitting on Bev’s back she looked across at the other three girls who cowered against the wall.

‘That goes for you three too,’ she said, lowering her voice to one of menace as she’d been taught in drama classes. ‘I’ll be watching.’

Calmly she got up, crossed over to the tree to collect her satchel, slipped her blazer out, and swaggered off towards the bus stop.

She allowed herself only one glance back.

Bev stood alone, crying and dabbing at her forehead. Her friends had vanished, the rest of the girls were standing talking in small groups.

Once on the bus she could not stop shaking. She had been lucky, if Bev hadn’t been like a charging rhinoceros she would have noticed that it wasn’t physical strength that beat her, but preparation and speed. If Bev or another bully caught her unawares the next time she might be the loser.

*

‘Is everything all right Georgia?’ Celia came up to her bedroom after tea as Georgia was doing her homework. ‘You didn’t seem yourself yesterday or today. Is there something you want to tell me?’

‘No, Mummy,’ Georgia looked up and smiled. ‘I was just worried about all this homework. I don’t know whether I’ll have time for dancing and singing now.’

Celia sat down on the bed.

‘You’ll make time.’ She picked up the teddy bear she’d given Georgia on her first day in the house and looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Come on, the truth. I know something happened at school. Has someone bullied you?’

Georgia hadn’t expected much the day she left St Joseph’s in Celia’s car. There was no picture in her mind of a house, or the kind of life she would lead with Mr and Mrs Anderson. She remembered the moment when the car stopped, the huge expanse of snow-covered heath on one side of the road, and the grey stone houses on the other.

‘This is ours,’ Celia had taken her hand again and led her up to a red front door. It seemed tiny after the convent door, little panes of coloured glass and the porch with old blue and white tiles. She had hardly noticed Mr Anderson, all she had seen and felt was warmth and comfort. Soft carpet under her feet, a big fire in the grate and the piano standing by the window.

Those first few weeks had been so exciting. New kinds of wonderful food, clothes that were brand new and toys that were all for her. Later there had been the dancing and singing lessons to give her new heights of happiness. But above all else it had been having a mother, someone who cared about her, listened and talked to her as if she was someone special.

‘There was just a little trouble yesterday,’ she admitted. She knew her mother too well, she wouldn’t give up until she got to the truth. ‘But everything’s okay now.’

‘Someone slapped you! I knew it,’ Celia stiffened, dropping the teddy bear in her hands. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Mum, I’m a big girl now,’ Georgia laughed. ‘I can stand up for myself. I talked to the girl today, it’s over.’

‘What was it about?’

‘My posh voice, if you must know.’ Georgia wasn’t exactly lying, but she thought her mother could take that better than the issue of colour. She grinned cheekily. ‘Maybe I’d best go back to talking like what I used to.’

‘Don’t you dare!’ Celia smiled. ‘After all the coaching I’ve given you!’

Chapter 3

December 1959

Georgia hurried to the church. The grass on the heath was thick with frost and the moon hung over the church spire as if endeavouring to impale itself. It was the last practice for the anthem the choir was going to sing at midnight mass on Christmas Eve.

She wore a grey duffel coat over a polo-necked white sweater and jeans, hair tied up in a pony-tail with a white ribbon, a long red scarf knotted round her neck.

Peter was waiting on the church steps. Just the sight of him made her heart beat a little faster. He was so beautiful, gold blond hair gleaming under the porch lamp, his peachy skin as clear as her own. She could hardly wait to get up close and see those forget-me-not blue eyes and his wide, soft lips.

‘I thought you weren’t coming.’ His face broke into a relieved smile as she turned on to the church path.

‘I got held up,’ she said breathlessly.

Four months had passed since they’d met at a youth club debate, and since then there hadn’t been one day when she hadn’t thought about him. Was it possible to want someone so badly and not have the longing returned?

‘Mr Grey’s having kittens,’ he grinned, his soft lips parting to show perfect white teeth. ‘We’d better go in.’

As Georgia stepped into the church she closed her eyes for a second and inhaled deeply. She loved churches. The incense, the candles, all the rich embroidery on the altar cloths, the smell of polish and flowers. Religion didn’t come into it. To her it was a wonderful theatre, the choir part of a show they put on each weekend.

Flinging her coat on a pew she slipped into the choir stalls, grinning sheepishly at the others. Eight women, six men and eight scruffy little boys. On Christmas Eve they would be transformed with starched ruffles and red cassocks, but for now they were just ordinary people who liked to sing just like her.

The choir master tapped his stick on a pew.

‘I’m glad you could make it Georgia,’ Mr Grey’s deep baritone was at odds with his stooped elderly body. His sarcasm unusual for such a gentle man. He wore a new Fair Isle cardigan in heathery shades, his pipe hanging out of one of the pockets. ‘Now take it slowly. It’s not a pop song, but a beautiful piece of music. I want the people in the back rows to hear you. Head up, chest out.’

It was the first time anyone in the choir had been chosen to sing a solo. She knew it was a great honour and she wanted it to be perfect.

She took a deep breath as the organ wheezed into life. The introduction filled the church with sound and Peter winked at her.

Her voice reached each corner. Pure and clear, every word annunciated in the way Mr Grey had taught her.

The choir joined her. Sopranos soaring above her contralto, the tenors and bass giving it richness and warmth.

‘Very good,’ Mr Grey shuffled forward up the step. He held his back as if it hurt, but his old face was alight with pleasure. ‘If you sing it like that on Christmas Eve I should think Father O’Brady will get enough in the collection for his new roof. We’ll do it once more, then a quick run through the carols, then you can all go early.’

‘You were very good tonight,’ Peter walked out through the church door with her. ‘I love to hear you sing.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled up at him, wondering if tonight she could find the words to ask him to her party.

He was always waiting for her. He walked home with her from choir practice, talked about anything and everything, yet he had never attempted to take it further.

‘Do you have to go straight home?’

His question took her by surprise. Peter was looking at his feet, he sounded as unsure of himself as she felt. ‘I mean, could we go for a walk?’

‘Where?’ she asked, not caring where it was as long as he was with her. She felt a flush creeping up her neck. Her teeth began to chatter more from anxiety than cold.

‘Over to the boating pond?’

The heath yawned in front of them. A big, empty dark space that was all theirs. A huge Christmas tree at the church steps lit up the darkness with tiny green, red, yellow and blue sparks of colour. The frosty grass scrunched beneath their feet and as they moved away from the light, so their shadows disappeared.