The Factory Girl (16 page)

The motor car had borne the couple off to their flat over the jeweller's shop, Geraldine's new home at least for the time being, she had said. Once settled, they'd find a nice house to live in.

The car having left, the guests turned back towards the hall to finish off the evening. Mum did not follow for a moment or two. Her gaze now came to rest on Alan, who still remained where he'd been after kissing Geraldine goodbye. Even in the half-light she could see a look on his face that made her heart spill over for him. Quietly she went to stand beside him.

‘Yer comin' back in?' she asked, and he turned as if struck but said nothing, merely shrugged.

For a moment Hilda hesitated, then continued in a quiet voice, ‘Life 'as ter go on, love. It 'as to. Come back into the 'all. It's gettin' dark. Yer'll get cold standin' out 'ere, and it don't achieve nothink, do it?'

Now he spoke, his voice low. ‘When did yer suspect?'

‘Ages ago. Couldn't be off suspecting it. It shows on every inch of yer face.'

‘She never noticed.'

‘Oh, I think she did,' Mum murmured. ‘And I think she loved you too. But 'e came along. Don't blame 'er, Alan. He's got money and she ain't known nothink but 'aving ter struggle ter make a livin' all 'er life, like we all do. It's bound ter turn any girl's 'ead. He's 'andsome, and he's got charm, bags of it. That goes a long way to makin' a girl fall in love. Ain't 'er fault.'

She began guiding him towards the now song-filled hall, but went on talking. ‘I ain't saying you ain't got charm, love. But his is different. Yours is genuine and it don't make no breezes. It's like a calm day. A girl goes along with that quite 'appily. Then comes this gale what blows 'er thoughts away, and that's it. She gets blown along and she couldn't 'elp 'erself.'

‘I 'ope he makes 'er 'appy, that's all,' he said slowly, and it was her turn to go silent as she guided him on into the hot, now rowdy little hall that smelled of beer and was filled only by their own, the posh lot having departed seconds after the happy couple had left, easing into their own vehicles and with gushing thanks for a lovely time, had sped off to their nice homes.

It was so wonderful being married. At times Geraldine could hardly believe she was, and to the most wonderful of men. At times it felt she was still being courted, he taking her here, there and everywhere: dancing, theatres, private parties where he delighted in showing her off.

‘The prettiest girl on the set,' he'd say, and made sure she had the most fashionable clothes he could afford. It seemed he could afford it with ease despite an obvious dearth of customers in his shop; he in dinner jacket or evening suit. Dad had hardly laid eyes on one much less ever worn one.

Perhaps Tony was being quietly funded by his father to be able to afford such things. She did ask at one time if that was how he could afford to keep up such finery and take her places. He had given her a sly smile and though he hadn't voiced it, she took it to mean that was where most of it must stem from. His father couldn't be all that bad after all and perhaps he in turn was keeping his occasional handouts secret from his wife, thus Geraldine decided the least said the better and did not mention it again.

Even so, they were living comfortably enough. The flat was small but one day they would move to somewhere really lovely. He still worked down in his back room, turning out bits and bobs to display in his window. These were times when she saw very little of him, and sometimes he would work well into the evening, the shop closed, but he not appearing.

She did ask on one occasion if she could look after the shop for him but he said no, very firmly. Of course she no longer worked and couldn't say she missed it. With time on her hands she still saw Eileen occasionally, at midday for a snack in some local café, making sure to dress down for her benefit so as not to look too opulent, and sometimes treating Eileen to a cup of tea and a sandwich – not going too over the top for rather than be grateful Eileen would have seen it as her being patronising and spoil their friendship which was tenuous enough lately. Eileen knew full well that her friend could more or less afford anything while she still struggled as Geraldine once had. She tried her hardest not to look too puffed up, but it didn't always work – Eileen saw things in every gesture that she hadn't intended.

Other times she went over to see Mavis or Mum, or sometimes popped in to see an aunt or two, but again there was a certain something in the air she couldn't quite put her finger on. Much more pleasant was meeting Fenella in the West End, and there she found a different air, as though the woman was making an effort to come down to her level. Apart from a faint sense of resentment Geraldine realised that it was exactly the way she was probably striking others. It was a painful eye-opener and she vowed to try to be a little more natural with them.

She remembered that first time two weeks after her wedding, how excited she'd been to receive that telegram from Fenella to meet her in the Ritz in Piccadilly for coffee that Tuesday and a bit of shopping afterwards. She had asked Tony and he'd been all for it. ‘It'll stimulate better interests,' he'd said, ‘better than sticking around here with your old friends. You need to leave them behind.' He'd given her money to buy a few things while up there and she'd forgotten to be annoyed at the way he'd said that.

He was doing his best it seemed to stimulate her better interests.

Towards the end of November he'd taken her to a party at a large Kensington flat and the size of the rooms had taken her breath away. He seemed to be making friends with all sorts of society people, perhaps through his line of business, she supposed, though he said little about it. He'd warned her to watch how she spoke and when she had asked if she didn't speak well enough, he'd said, ‘You speak marvellously, darling, considering how you were when I first met you. Just keep your ears open for the things they say, the small talk. You want to pick it up for when we are really rich and go to more places.'

‘Oh, are we going to be really rich?' she'd bantered, and his earnest expression had melted into a grin.

‘I promise you, one day we'll be filthy rich!'

The dress he'd bought her for that party had been stunning. A pinky-beige, silky and backless, the height of fashion these last weeks of 1920, so daring that she'd been almost scared to wear it, feeling practically naked – no bra, those straight bits of material designed to flatten the breast in a manner acceptable to young people of fashion.

But wear it she did, to his satisfaction, and after a while she got used to the feel of the air on her bare back, more concerned in picking up the jargon of the day so as to please him with it later. It was after they got home that he showed her a piece in a copy of
Punch
which he always had delivered. ‘Have a laugh at that,' he said, and she read what the wit had written:

She had giggled and he had burst out laughing and life was so carefree.

Now it was Christmas and she'd have to dress down to spend it with her parents. No point making them even more estranged from her than they had grown to be these last couple of months. To them she was apparently parading around mixing with what they saw as high society, seeing herself as part of it. The last thing she wanted was having them think she was putting on airs and graces in front of them. Better to be discreet.

‘Do we have to go?' was Tony's first reaction when she said she must spend Christmas with them.

It had developed into the first quarrel of their marriage, she instantly huffy where normally she forgave him his speaking out of turn because her smallest frown would have him rushing out to buy her flowers so as to make up for upsetting her, and how could anyone be angry with someone making peace with flowers? Anger instantly soothed, she'd love him even more.

Accusing him of not trying hard enough, of being stand-offish and talking down to them, her anger hadn't been directed at him so much as an offshoot of anger at her parents. It hurt that despite the apparent armistice at her wedding, their attitude towards Tony hadn't changed one bit since his offer to help her father. Taking his generosity the wrong way, they wouldn't face the humility of saying that they had been wrong. After all, one can take personal pride only so far and it touched her as being grossly unfair.

Even Tony's parents, who'd made her feel utterly awful when she'd met them as well as not attending the wedding, seemed to have accepted her if only by making sure their son wasn't short of funds, she in turn benefiting from it. It had to be that funding that was helping him clothe her so finely, and himself too, as he could never have done it on what was coming in from his shop. It had to be his father's doing even though she never saw money arrive with the post. Probably being paid straight into a bank account. Tony never said, but of course that was his prerogative and so long as he was looking after her the way he was doing, she had no intention of prying. She was happy and content. But this evening she felt far from content.

This particular quarrel over her parents had escalated, ending with him flinging himself out of the room to go downstairs to his workroom. He often spent a couple of hours there after closing up, but not in anger before.

Normally she wasn't allowed in his workshop. ‘Too dangerous,' he'd say, and on one occasion had added, ‘and it upsets my concentration.' His expression as he said it had conveyed exactly what he was getting at, that when they'd been courting there'd been a couple of times when he'd hardly been able to control himself with her in that room.

This time, however, she was going to have to go down there, say how wrong she'd been to flare up like that. It wasn't his fault. After all, the way his parents had treated her that one time, she never wanted to go near them again, so why should he feel different about hers? She had to apologise. He would forgive her instantly, probably down tools and guide her back upstairs and into their bedroom.

There came a little shiver of anticipation at that prospect as she went along the darkened passageway. Gently she tried the workroom door. It was unlocked.

Calling his name softly, she came on in, her nostrils immediately filled with the smell of solder and hot metal, her roaming gaze taking in the usual muddle on the workbench, the curled slivers of metal all over the floor. But what pulled her up sharp was the sight of someone else in the room besides Tony – someone she'd never seen before.

She saw Tony start guiltily, his face angry seeing her standing there. ‘What the hell are you doing down here?'

She was shocked into stammering, ‘I – I came down to – to …' She tried again, this time with more certainty. ‘I didn't mean to interrupt. I didn't know you had someone here.'

Her words died away, and so did Tony's angry stare. In fact he now gave her a smile, a somewhat sickly one. ‘I'm sorry, darling, this is an old friend of mine, popped in to see me.'

Dutifully, she nodded. It was an odd sort of friend – unkempt, not too well shaven, grime under the fingernails, teeth none too clean as he revealed them in a response to her nod. He wore a shabby cloth cap, a grubby red choker, and the edges of his coat and cuffs of his sleeves were threadbare.

‘My dear,' said Tony as she continued to stare. He never called her my dear; usually darling, or my sweet. ‘My dear, go back upstairs. I've a little business to do. I'll be up in a few minutes. Go on now.'

Without a word she turned and hurried back the way she had come, mystified by the caller Tony had introduced as an old friend, not even giving his name. Possibly it was a down-and-out buddy from the trenches in France. There were so many of the poor devils trying hard to scratch a living, even begging half-eaten sandwiches off the people just slightly better off than they. She gave a quiet chuckle. Of course! Tony was ever generous, took pity of such people, had no doubt helped out many such old mates down on their luck. But they shouldn't come knocking on his back door. She would have to warn him against being too generous. But cautiously, for again that was his business and she could be in error in spoiling a good heart. So long as he didn't get too carried away.

Mavis was having a hard time of it with her Tom in and out of work.

‘It's his own fault,' said Geraldine to her mother when she visited her, but Mum pressed her lips together in disagreement.

‘It's the times we're livin' in,' she said, rigid in her opinions and ready to stand up to anyone when it came to speaking her mind. ‘People like you don't understand.'

‘What do you mean, people like me?'

‘Well, you ain't got no fear of your 'usband being slung out of 'is job, bein' unemployed and 'aving ter tramp the streets looking fer work what ain't there.'

‘He could go out of business,' said Geraldine hotly. ‘If things got bad he could lose everything for lack of customers. We rely on people's custom, and if they stop buying because they've got no money, then we've 'ad it too. We'd be as down as Mavis is. We ain't got no guarantee, y'know.' Her posh accent as Mum liked to call it often slipped when she was with her family, made her feel more comfortable and less prone to ridicule. ‘As it is, Tony's struggling. That shop brings in next to nothink.'

Mum gave a small explosion of contempt. ‘Well, yer could of fooled me! You in yer nice frocks and yer fancy 'ats and shoes, and good food on the table, yer've no idea what yer sister's going through.'

Geraldine looked at her dumbly. Perhaps she didn't. A small shudder shook her body. There but for the grace of God … If she had married anyone else but Tony, she could be in the same boat now as her sister. Yet it could still happen and it would be all the worse for having known better things.