I remember that last evening when the Perfumed Lady left the cafe and went back to her own life. It was a Sunday, the street outside was quiet and I had had my bath. I was in my nightie and we had all gathered for our nightly episode of The Wind in the Willows.
It was a bit snug in my room for all of us, but we managed. I was curled up in a corner of my bed, tight against the wall, so that there was room for the Perfumed Lady to sit beside me; I liked to look at the pictures as she read. Uncle Bert was perched on the end of the bed and Auntie Maggie had possession of the only chair.
The window was open and a light breeze occasionally lifted the curtains. I liked my summer curtains, which had clusters of pink roses tied with blue bows dotted about on a white background. I liked my winter ones too, which were old and made of a soft, faded pink velvet heavy enough to keep out the bitter draughts. They were nice to stroke; you could make patterns with your fingers by brushing the pile this way and that. I loved the summer ones best, though, because I chose them and because I liked to try and count the posies. I always fell asleep before I had managed to count them all.
Anyway, we were all in my room listening to the soft, well-educated tones of the Perfumed Lady as she read to us. She got to the very last page of the big green book, read the bit about how fond Mr Badger was of children and then snapped the covers shut with an air of finality. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall with the book in her hands. She sighed.
‘Well, that’s the end of that. Now we’ve finished it, it’s about time I got back to my own place and earned some money.’ She sat up, all brisk and businesslike. ‘I think I’ll get going tomorrow. So, Rosa, you had better come to say goodbye to me before you go to school in the morning as I shan’t be here when you get back.’
Now, I had lined up all sorts of questions about the book, such as ‘What does ‘‘base libel’’ mean, and ‘‘valuation’’ and ‘‘assessors’’?’ There were loads of tricky words like these in The Wind in the Willows, and I had found that when I asked about them I was always taken seriously, unlike my requests for glasses of water. I could squeeze a good few extra minutes before lights out if I played my cards right and asked the right sort of questions.
However, her startling announcement drove all other thoughts from my head. I had got used to her being around. I liked the smell of her and I liked our trips out and about. I sat bolt upright in bed and looked first to Auntie Maggie for confirmation. She gave me a sad little smile and a small nod. I checked Uncle Bert, who looked solemn. Then I flung my arms around the Perfumed Lady’s neck and asked in a small voice if she really had to go. Couldn’t she stay with us and work in the cafe, I asked.
Of course, I had already realized that this was not an option because it was obvious that the grown-ups had already discussed things and the decision had been made. To be absolutely truthful, I couldn’t imagine her behind the counter, up to her elbows in greasy washing-up water, or getting up early enough in the morning to serve the breakfasts. But it was worth a try. I was going to miss her.
She gave me a hug and kissed the top of my head, then disentangled herself from my skinny arms and left the room in a hurry.
Auntie Maggie heaved herself to her feet and came over to me. She cuddled and stroked me, and murmured that I wasn’t to worry, that I’d see my mum again, that she would still take me places, that it had all been settled, that she would come to visit often. Eventually, I allowed myself to be comforted enough to feel sleepy and I was tucked up and kissed goodnight. Auntie Maggie and Uncle Bert filed out of my room, closing the door quietly behind them.
The next morning, I went into her room to say goodbye but she was still dozy. She managed a drowsy ‘Cheerio. See you soon. Be a good girl,’ and then I had to go to school. Sure enough, she’d packed and left by the time I got home. The only evidence that she had ever been there was a waste-paper basket full of bits of make-up-smeared cotton wool, a half-full bottle of flame-red nail polish called ‘Jezebel’, some magazines and my precious store of books.
The Perfumed Lady left on that Monday and it wasn’t long before our life at the cafe returned to its well-ordered pattern. I’m ashamed to say that for all my fuss of the night before, the familiar routine closed over the gap that she left in no time at all and you couldn’t even see the seam. Auntie Maggie and Uncle Bert would keep the customers well supplied with grub, beverages and gossip. Madame Zelda, Paulette and Luigi were in every day, usually several times, and were my favourite regulars. Sharky came in when he decided he needed solid refreshment for a change, or some information as to the whereabouts of ‘esteemed clients’ of the more slippery kind. Ronnie from the market had his dinner with us on weekdays, while someone minded his stall. Auntie Maggie used to tease him, saying we paid good money for his veg and then the bleeder came and ate it all. He would counter by telling her that this hardly mattered as he was still paying through the nose for it, wasn’t he?
School was OK too. Kathy and I had become quite friendly after our fight and a small group of us hung around together. Lessons had taken on a new interest because we were rapidly approaching the Coronation. We were busy boning up on all things to do with our monarchy. The bits about the crown and the crown jewels were fun, and we heard about Elizabeth I, how we were the ‘New Elizabethans’ and how we were about to enter a ‘Golden Age’. Elizabeth II’s lineage was explored and we discovered how she came to be Queen. The abdication of her uncle, Edward VIII, was skipped over pretty quickly and our teacher, Miss Small, tried to move hastily on to the reign of Elizabeth’s father. The story of Edward VIII’s affair with a married woman, who, what’s more, had been divorced, was not considered suitable for our young ears but of course I didn’t realize this and began to wave my hand about. I had information and was determined to pass it on. I’d heard the grown-ups at home talking about it and there was no holding me.
‘Yes, Rosa, what is it?’
‘It’s Edward VIII, miss. He was having it off with that Simpson woman, my auntie Maggie said so. Terrible it was. She was a divorced woman, miss, and still married to Mr Simpson. He was her second husband, I think, or maybe her third. Anyway, she’d had more than her share, my auntie Maggie says. She was still married to this Simpson bloke when she got off with the King, miss, only he was the Prince of Wales then of course. Madame Zelda says that the Queen’s mum never really forgave them for landing her old man in it and him with that awful stutter too, miss, that’s what she says.’
I was just about to launch into how they’d been sent to live abroad and were not allowed back in England when Miss Small managed to attract my attention.
‘I’m sure that is all very interesting, Rosa, although your turn of phrase could do with a little work, I feel. Let us move away from Edward VIII and get back to the Queen’s father, shall we?’
‘Oh, miss,’ my classmates, who loved a good scandal, wailed in disappointment. What Miss Small failed to understand, coming from Hampshire as she did, was that it took more than illicit sex and divorce to shock Soho children or even to surprise them. Let’s face it, it was the stuff of our everyday life. Some of our mothers sold sex for a living and others had a lively trade in being professional co-respondents. One or two of us even had divorced parents. So stories of such things concerning royalty only made them more human to us.
So, with all these distractions, I barely missed my mum after the first day or so. It was probably just as well. I think I’d already realized that she was not someone you could rely on, otherwise I wouldn’t have been so frightened at the thought that she could take me away. Don’t get me wrong, I liked her all right. It was just that I’d cottoned on that she couldn’t stand the weight of being needed. She had to travel light.