The Factory Girl (17 page)

She must go and see Mavis to see if she could help. Unemployment had become alarming, over a million out of work and three-quarters of a million on short time; men queuing for hours for the unemployment benefit the Government had promised to put up from fifteen to eighteen shillings a week as soon as they could get the bill through Parliament amending the Unemployment Insurance Act; and even if they did, how could a man hope to support his family properly on eighteen shillings?

The King's speech had put it down to worldwide restriction of trade but all people could see was that it was they who were suffering. One could see them trudging away from some promise of a job because a hundred others had gone for the same one and perhaps only a couple were needed, coming away with faces tense with disappointment and what they could see looming ahead; strings of men dawdled along the kerbsides, cardboard boxes of whatever bits and bobs they could find to hawk hanging by a couple of bits of string from their necks as they tried to sell enough for a crust of bread for themselves and their families; more and more children in rags and without shoes – it was so pitiful to see.

The last thing she wanted was for Mavis's Tom to fall as low as that. Three years since the Armistice, people had expected the country to begin to enjoy growing prosperity. Instead it was slipping into even deeper depths than anyone could have imagined, and no sign of an end to it.

‘Tom's lucky to still be in the docks,' she said lamely.

‘Lucky?' echoed Mum, draining the teacup she was holding. ‘You call 'im lucky? It's a pittance 'e earns, and 'im with a wife and kiddy ter feed.'

Geraldine couldn't feel as fair-minded, Mum making excuses for a man who had no gumption to try to get on.

‘If he had some go in him, he might have got where Wally is now, working for a decent company. He hasn't even got himself in with a gang. Nobody wants 'im because he's always moaning. Wally told me, says no one in the docks likes 'im. So why don't he buck his ideas up. Cheer up a bit and put his shoulder to the wheel a bit more instead of going on about how badly life's treating 'im.'

Mum got up and took the empty teacups to the sink, not asking if she wanted hers refilled, and with no light hand put them in the galvanised washing-up bowl with enough force to crack something.

‘Look, I don't want ter talk about 'im,' she said, but Geraldine was in her stride.

‘Dad got him into the docks and after that it was up to 'im, but he's done nothink. Wally's got himself into a top gang now at the docks, and he's with a proper firm and getting regular work. If he can do it, why can't Tom?'

Wally was putting money away for his wedding next year. He and Clara had got engaged in February though with no ring as yet. He had said she'd have it as soon as he saved a bit more money and she had seemed happy with that.

‘And Fred's doing marvelously at his newspaper office,' Geraldine went on. ‘He's gone from being an office boy running around at everyone's beck and call to working in the Wire Room. He was hounded from pillar to post but he did it with a grin and a nice attitude, and now look at him, in a job that brings in much better pay.'

‘And doin' shift work,' reminded her mother, waylaid from her earlier point. She was refilling the kettle to put it back on the gas hob. ‘What's the good of promotion if he's comin' 'ome all hours and 'im only just sixteen.'

‘Well, I think he got that job because of his cheerful attitude,' insisted Geraldine.

Her mother turned from emptying the teapot for another cuppa to look at her. ‘And what about yer dad? He's always done 'is job with a smile – at least before 'e 'ad this trouble of his, but now 'e's more out of work than in.'

That was true. Geraldine felt for her father. He was having terrible difficulties and it was lucky that Wally and Fred were bringing in money, Evie to a lesser extent, or Mum would have been reduced to taking in washing or something equally paltry and humiliating. But what about when Wally got married and there was only Fred and Evie left to support the family? Dad wasn't getting any younger, and what with his illness, it was stopping him getting the plum jobs he used to, with complaints that he would frequently have to leave his work to rush off to the lav.

Mum would make up pads for him to wear at work – Geraldine had seen them sometimes when she visited, a small pile of flat, oblong things made from an old sheet, stacked on a chair, Mum having omitted to put them out of sight before her arrival. The humiliation of his affliction didn't help her temper or Dad's. But stubborn as a mule, he still refused to see a doctor, saying he'd aired his privacy to him once and wasn't prepared to get the same stupid advice again. His stubbornness must have irked Mum sometimes, but what she thought about it she kept to herself.

She was putting a spoonful of tea into the teapot she'd warmed with water from the partially boiling kettle. ‘It ain't yer dad's fault, 'im bein' in and out of work, no more'n it's Tom's. It's the times we're livin' in.'

‘Dad should see a doctor again,' put in Geraldine, only to have her mother round on her.

‘That ain't nothink ter do with you. It'll be the same old thing – go to 'ospital? What work there might of been for 'im won't be there when he comes out. And is your rich 'usband still willin' ter put 'is 'and in 'is pocket ter keep us while yer dad's in there and coming out to no work? He's got you as 'is wife now. All 'e did it for then was to keep you fancying 'im.'

‘That's not fair, Mum, and you know it. He offered his help with the best of intentions.'

‘Oh, we know that!' came the retort, Mum still of the same opinion that all he'd done it for was to keep on the right side of the girl he was courting. Geraldine pushed the resultant resentment from her.

‘Why can't you accept his offers? He wants to help, and he can. It's as if you'd sooner bite off your nose to spite your face so you can hold up your head and say you don't take charity. It's silly, Mum. Dad's ill, he needs to be treated. No one knows what he's got. It could be a tumour or somethink. It could be something really bad.'

‘If it was bad, he'd of known it by now. He'd of collapsed and 'ad to be taken off to 'ospital whether 'e wanted to or not.'

‘And be out of work anyway. So what's the difference?'

Geraldine stopped suddenly. She hadn't intended to come round here for an argument. She'd come to tell Mum her good news, and now it was all spoiled.

She allowed the ensuing silence to stretch out for a moment or two, just to settle things down while her mother poured boiling water into the teapot. Then, taking heart that no more contention seemed forthcoming, she got up from the table and began washing and drying the cups her mother had left in the sink.

‘Mum,' she began, her back turned to her. ‘Me and Tony's going to 'ave a baby. That's what I came round here for, to tell yer.'

She felt the ever-present veil of hostility fall away from her mother as though wafted away by a wind. ‘You ain't, are yer? Oh, Gel, I'm so pleased for yer.' The voice was animated. ‘When?'

Geraldine turned, her eyes glowing. ‘I went to the doctor yesterday. He said I'm eight weeks.

‘'Ow long 'ave yer known?'

‘I had a feeling about it two weeks ago.'

‘'Ave yer told your Tony yet?'

‘Not yet. I wanted to see the doctor first, just to make sure. I thought I'd tell you first.'

She couldn't have done a better thing. Seconds later Mum's arms had encircled her. Mum who seldom demonstrated her feelings to anyone was holding her tight enough to smother her, she still with a saucer in one hand and the tea cloth in the other.

It felt wonderful. Mum who had been so chilly towards her throughout Christmas and had been ever since, two months now; who had made her displeasure felt in no uncertain terms when Geraldine hadn't come there to see 1921 in, but instead had made excuses and gone off to a party with Tony to celebrate it; now Mum had forgiven all.

‘You must tell 'im straight away,' she said, loosing her hold and moving back, embarrassed by her uninhibited demonstration.

‘I'm doing that tonight, Mum,' Geraldine said as she put the cups and saucers on the table ready for Mum to pour the fresh tea.

‘It must have been after that New Year's party we went to. We both came home a bit tipsy, didn't we? It was a wonderful evening. And we made such wonderful love, didn't we? It must have happened then. Oh, darling, I'm so happy!'

‘And I am too, delighted.' It had taken him quite a few minutes to recover from the surprise she'd given him as he sat back on the sofa, she leaning against him. Looking up into his face, Geraldine saw a thoughtful look rather than the ecstatic one she had expected to linger. She frowned.

‘You are happy really, aren't you?'

He grinned down at her. ‘Of course I am. It's just … Well, it's going to be strange, being a father.'

‘I suppose it will be,' she mused, full of contentment.

He was silent for a while, then murmured, ‘I don't know how we're going to manage in this place, just two rooms and a kitchen, once it arrives.'

This was what she'd wanted to hear. ‘We'll have to move somewhere larger, won't we?'

‘I suppose so. But it will mean my not being above the shop any more. It could make things awkward.'

‘In what way?' She was confused when he seemed to give her a strange look as though he'd said something he shouldn't.

‘Nothing special. I've come to be known here. Goodwill. Also it'll mean my being away from home rather than merely being downstairs. You'll miss me.'

She was prepared to suffer that to get her dream of a lovely home. For over five months she'd put up with cramped living, trying to put away the disappointment of not immediately living in style.

Not allowed to help him in the shop, banned from his workroom, she spent all her time visiting during the day. True he took her out a lot, but it was daytime that dragged with nothing to do. She would think about going to work and at times even found she missed it, yet at the same time thanked her lucky stars that she didn't have to drag herself out of bed at seven in the morning to be there, slogging away all day at a sewing machine.

She no longer made her own clothes. Doing so might have helped pass the time but there was no longer any need, all her clothes were store-bought now. The sewing machine was still at Mum's and would certainly have been of no use here. All the home-made clothes had been got rid of. The only one left was the blue dress that had been instrumental in her meeting Tony. Now scandalously out of date, why she'd hung on to it, she wasn't sure. Sentimentality? Or did it go deeper, some underlying wish to look at it from time to time and be reminded not to get too high and mighty? For somewhere inside her lurked a vague fear of losing touch with those she loved. Many times she shrugged off the notion as stupid, but it always came back, an almost superstitious belief that if the blue dress were to be thrown out, with it would go a lot of things that needed to be clung on to. Obviously it was daytime boredom that made her think such odd thoughts, compelling her to get out of the flat and visit as often as she could, at times probably wearing out her welcome, but what else was there?

‘I'm so bored,' she told Fenella.

She and his sister had become good friends. Meeting every Tuesday morning for coffee and cakes in some nice restaurant and shopping together afterwards had become a small ritual. These meetings had helped some way towards compensating for the continuing frigidness of his parents.

‘They are so utterly unprogressive, darling,' Fenella had said, the straight, thin nose wrinkling in derogation of them when Geraldine mentioned their attitude towards her. ‘I hardly ever bother to visit. They are so tiresome.'

Geraldine had watched the dainty way the girl selected a Genoese fancy from the silver cake stand to take a tiny delicate bite of the small cake and made a note to do it exactly the same way in future.

‘Never be bored, my dear,' Fenella had said. ‘There's so much to do in life. Join a club, darling, any club, a tennis club, make lots of friends.'

‘I can't play tennis.'

‘Then
learn
, darling! You'll soon pick it up. And I will show you how to play bridge or perhaps canasta – it's all the rage. But surely my brother does take you out sometimes, doesn't he?'

‘Oh yes,' she'd said hastily. ‘We're always out. It's the day that's so boring. That flat is so small – you can't swing a cat around in it.'

She broke off as Fenella gave out a tinkling laugh. ‘Oh, my dear, I love that – can't swing a cat around.' Still smiling she went on, ‘But now you're pregnant, you really cannot live any longer in that poky little place. You must tell him, my dear, you must.'

This is what she had told him and where previously he would have looked dubious, insisting that he needed to live on the premises, everything had changed. Snuggled next to him on the sofa, she saw herself in a nice house in a nice part of London, even though he still showed some reluctance about moving too far away.

‘So long as it isn't too far from here,' he said.

A thought came to her and she sat up. ‘We don't do all that well here with so much poverty, so many out of work. I know you love doing what you do, but we could find other premises in an area where people can still afford things like jewellery? Perhaps you could even start buying in supplies instead of making it yourself. I know how much you like making your own jewellery but you could sell that on the side. We might grow and grow and even end up in the West End and become—'

‘Hold on!' He gave a laugh and she could practically see his mind working. ‘All this takes money. I don't have that kind of money.'