Something vague and frightening haunted me that night. I kept dreaming of Mean Millie and how I was grown up but she was still there in the house behind a door and if I was to open that door, there she’d be, staring at me with her awful manic eyes. It was so terrifying that it made me wake with a scream. My heart was hammering away and I felt as if I couldn’t breathe, as if I was going to die. It was a horrible feeling. I sat up in bed, panting and clutching at my chest.
Morning light was filtering in through the window. It was about five thirty, too early to get up. Unable to sleep again, I lay there growing more and more uncomfortable and fidgety. In the end I gave up and went downstairs in my dressing gown, a towel draped over my arm, to have a bath. It was such a pain, having to lock the door every time I wanted to go to the loo or have a wash when I had lived in serene peace and trust these last few years.
No one was up yet in the house though the plumbing made enough racket to wake the dead. At least the Ascot boiler over the bath worked and the water was piping hot. I felt a lot better for the soak and crept back quietly to my room. Making myself a cup of tea and a piece of toast and marmalade, I took stock of my situation. It was far too early to go out job-hunting so I lay back on the bed with a good book and lost myself in another world for a little while until I dozed off. When I woke again it was seven fifteen. The sound of someone shutting a door close by woke me and I guessed Luke McGraw was going out to work. I wondered what he did for a living. Surely it must be a decent job for someone as well spoken and nice as he was?
After making another cup of tea, I sat at the little wooden dining table and debated what my next move might be. It might be an idea to go around all the newsagents seeing if there was anything on their notice boards. Or simply pop into every café and ask if they needed staff; even washing up would do to start with.
As I washed up my own dishes a little later on, there was a knock on the door. Who in Heaven’s name was calling at this time of the day? I wasn’t even properly dressed, still in my dressing gown and nightie.
‘Who is it?’ I shouted.
‘It’s the phone for Bridie O’Neill,’ said a voice that I didn’t recognise at all. Opening the door, I saw an unkempt youngish woman with a baby on her arm. She glanced swiftly about the room as she spoke, curious eyes taking in the details.
‘Didn’t recognise your name but the bloke on the phone said you lived up on the top floor. So you’d better get down there quick.’
‘Did he say who he was?’
‘No. Just said to get you. Sounded posh though.’
I followed her down the stairs and picked up the receiver, which was lying on its side by the phone.
‘Yes?’
‘Is that you, Bridie?’
‘What is it, Jim?’
‘Look, I had to ring. Someone else is after the job I told you about. I want you to have it, Bridie. If you get yourself ready, I can come and pick you up and bring you here for an interview. You don’t need the formalities, I’m sure Miss Forbes will see you on my say so.’
‘How do you know she will and who the hell is Miss Forbes anyway?’
‘She’s Sir Simeon’s secretary, of course. She interviews any new staff. I’ve known her for a little while and I feel she would be fine about seeing you and I know she’d like you. You’re a million times better than any of the half-baked girls I’ve seen working here.’
‘Jim?’
‘Yes?’
‘Haven’t I made it clear that I don’t want to work in an office, not your office or any office?’
He sighed in exasperation. ‘Bridie, you are so bloody stubborn. What does it take to make you see sense?’
‘Swearing won’t do it, that’s for sure. Sorry, Jim, but even if it kills me, I’ll wait till I find a job myself, a job I want to do.’
‘Have you had any luck so far?’
I hesitated. ‘It’s early days yet but I’ve enough to manage on so I can take a little time. I mean to go around job-hunting today. I feel lucky somehow. Something will turn up. And I mean to move out of here as soon as I can. I really don’t like this place, Jim.’
‘Well, don’t do anything rash. Let me help you find something better.’
‘Thanks. I’ll let you know next time I want to breathe,’ I said with some sarcasm. He was the stubborn one, not me. He just couldn’t get it in his head that I wanted to go it alone. Maybe he was right. It was silly of me when I was a stranger in a strange city. Friends were valuable and Jim had been wonderful but there was something in his claustrophobic interest that made me want to break away even if he offered me Buckingham Palace to live in.
‘Don’t be like that, I’m only trying to help!’ he snapped back. I could sense the anger rising in him but when he spoke it was with an effort at his usual charm. ‘Look, I worry about you, Bridie; you can be so trusting and innocent. London can be a dangerous place.’
‘I’m getting less and less trusting by the minute. Look Jim, this call’s costing you the earth. You’ll run out of change.’
‘I’m on the office phone; it’s okay.’
That didn’t strike me as very okay but I let it pass.
‘I’m going to go out right away and look for work,’ I said. ‘It’s nearly nine-thirty now and time I was on the go instead of nattering to you. You wouldn’t believe I was up at six. I’ve done absolutely nothing.’
I wondered whether to tell him of my strange feeling of the night before, my intuition that someone had entered my room. He would think me crazy if I said it felt as if Millie had been there.
‘You’re off now, are you? I suppose you’ll be out all day. Do you want me to pop over later in the evening? I leave the office at five. Do you want to meet me then?’
‘Oh, all right.’ I gave in, worn down as always by his insistence on doing me good. ‘I’ll meet you later. Call after six.’
‘I will,’ he promised, ‘and don’t worry about anything. It will all work out, wait and see.’
I smiled as I put down the phone. He meant well, but he was getting to be a real nuisance. I turned round to find old Dixie Dean standing behind me and almost screamed with fright.
‘Have you been listening to my phone call!’ I yelled, infuriated and shocked. He backed away a little and put out a hand as if to ward me off.
‘Bleedin’ ’ell, don’t take on like that. I was just poppin’ out me door to see what the wevver was like, that’s all. Wot you bleedin’ gettin’ worked up about? Can’t a bloke see what the wevver’s like wivout some banshee Irishwoman yellin’ at ’im?’
‘Listen,’ I said, my eyes flashing with anger, ‘I may have an Irish name and Irish blood and I’m proud of the fact. It’s better than your mouldering, mangy Cockney blood. But I’ve never been to Ireland in my life so stop going on about it. You know nothing about me, you nasty, creepy old man.’
Dixie muttered angrily but said no more and went back into his room, slamming the door after him.
‘Good for you, gel,’ said a voice and I saw the woman who had come to tell me about the call standing on the landing above me. ‘He’s a right nosey old sod, he is. He was listening in, he always does. Needed a good telling off – I loved it,’ she added with a snigger. Smiling at me in a friendly manner she disappeared back into her own quarters as the baby within lifted up its voice in sudden lament.
It seemed everyone round here was into each other’s business but then I was used to that from living in the keeper’s cottages. That had been a closed little community too. I shrugged and told myself to stop being over-sensitive.
Returning to my room, I got ready for battle. Dressing quickly and seizing my handbag, I took off as at once. Time was being wasted by Jim and his calls and silly old men with nothing to do but be a nuisance to their neighbours.
It was a long, tiring and fruitless day. I tried various cafés and even pubs to see if they would take me on. I was eighteen but they said I looked too young and naïve for pub work so I knew they’d never let me serve behind the bar. I offered to wash up or do the eggs and chips or even cleaning but they all shook their heads.
‘No experience,’ they said.
‘Yes, I have. I’ve looked after a house since I was a kid. I’ve loads of experience and can cook really well.’
‘Yeah, that’s all very well but you’ve no experience of pub work. It’s a rough area round here. Lots of drunks and Irish layabouts. You don’t look like you can cope. Sorry, love.’
‘I could just stay in the kitchen. No one will worry me there.’
An amused laugh, ‘Wouldn’t bet on that either.’
The cafés all had their quota of staff and moaned that they were just about managing to keep going as it was. Sorry, they couldn’t take on any more people. Goodbye.
Nobody seemed to want me. Nothing in the world would induce me to go back to the Labour Exchange and see what was on offer there. That impersonal, bureaucratic place and its rough clientele gave me the horrors. Maybe they were right. I hadn’t hardened to this new world enough yet. I felt like a tender plant that needed time to adjust to the big cold world beyond the greenhouse.
Never mind, Bridie, I told myself. I’ll walk about every day till I find a place. Someone will want me. I won’t give in to Millie. I had meant to say Jim and felt my heart miss a beat when Millie’s name came back to mind. Millie was dead and gone. I’d seen her buried, hadn’t I?. Did I believe in ghosts – I wasn’t sure. Somehow, I believed in Millie’s ghost. She wasn’t the sort to lie quietly, vampires never did. And she had been a vampire, sucking my energy and spirit from me day by day. Was she still at it from beyond the grave? Had she bitten her son and transformed him too?
He wasn’t a vampire though, was he? He had charm, of that there was no doubt. Sometimes I felt a little afraid of him but had no idea why. I put these difficult thoughts aside. I was hungry, that was my problem, nothing else. No wonder I was hallucinating. I’d only had a piece of toast all day and now my insides were trying to chew themselves up. I pictured a nice pile of potatoes and fried eggs and bacon and hastened back to what I laughingly must term as ‘home’.
I spent the afternoon reading but, getting restless, I went downstairs to the little garden and surveyed it. It wouldn’t take too much work to clear it up and make it better. There was a little circle of paving slabs in the centre and I pictured a sundial on it. Then maybe some flowers in the corner by the fence, not the buddleia and hydrangea corner, nothing else would grow there. A little seat would look nice too.
Walking down to Preston’s corner shop, a marvellous emporium where one seemed able to buy almost anything, I purchased a small trowel-and-fork set and returned to the garden where I began to dig out weeds with a will. It was a pleasant and enjoyable task – simple tasks always made me content and I felt the happiest I’d been since arriving in London. I even sang to myself a little. Looking up, I saw Dixie Dean staring at me from his window and waved to him cheerily with my trowel. He scowled back and disappeared from sight but I didn’t care about him. I had found something good to do and I would do it for my own sake.
After an hour’s work, I surveyed the plot and it already looked better. I formed a little compost heap of weeds near the buddleia; they would soon rot down. I decided to leave in the rosebay; it looked so colourful and pretty. Why call it a weed? It was beautiful when in bloom.
The back door opened and the lady with the baby came through and stood looking at my work. She had the baby in her arms and it looked a pink-cheeked, cheery little thing, its eyes wide open with astonishment at being in the outside world. The woman herself looked about thirty, care-worn and tired but pleasant enough. Her hair was pulled back by a rubber band into a stringy ponytail and her clothes were scruffy and worn but the baby was clean and well-dressed. That showed she cared for something other than herself.
‘This looks nice,’ she said approvingly. ‘Time someone did somethin’ like this. And you’ve only bin here a minute or two. Good for you, gel. It’s always up to us. Them bleedin’ men never get off their backsides to do anythin’ useful. My bloke certainly won’t. I’ve said to him, make a bit of space down there so I can put Lonny out in the garden – but he never stirs an inch.’
‘Well, I like doing it,’ I said, ‘and I’m going to save up and get a little garden seat and a sundial and make it really nice. Then you can put Lonny out here and sit and watch him and put your feet up a bit.’
‘Oh, that’s likely, I’m sure! I ain’t got time for that. I’ve got to go to work three days a week so his lordship can sit on his backside and collect the dole. He’s supposed to be laid off sick but there’s nothin’ wrong with him, just bone idle. So, no sittin’ about for me. But the idea’s nice.’
‘What work d’you do?’
‘Cleanin’. In the local pub.’
I wondered which was considered as the local pub as there seemed to be one on every corner but asked no more. Cleaning for others was definitely not something I fancied unless desperate.
‘My name’s Betty. What’s yours?’
‘Bridget. Everyone calls me Bridie.’
‘Glad you’re here, Bridie,’ Betty said, ‘but take care. You look a good kid and it’s tough round here. We have to keep an eye out for one another, us girls.’
I had a good wash down in my little sink after all that hard work and got ready to see Jim. I wasn’t sure if he planned to take me out again so I dressed less formally in a creamy cheesecloth blouse and a skirt with a floral print that was not as severe as my morning outfit.
After six there was a knock on the door.
‘It’s open,’ I called.
Jim entered swiftly, shutting the door behind him. ‘You should always keep it locked,’ he reprimanded me. ‘You’re in London now. Anyone could walk in.’
This comment reminded me of the feeling that someone had come in and again I wanted to speak of it but hesitated. It sounded so silly now and I knew I must have imagined it.
‘We’re meeting up with some of my friends at a pub in Hampstead,’ Jim said cheerily. He was always full of beans and wanting to be on the go. I don’t know where he got the energy from. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘I had a nice big lunch,’ I said, ‘but I’m ravenous again. I did lots of work in the garden, come and see.’
‘I will, I will. Get ready then and we’ll stop off and find somewhere to have a meal.’
‘Don’t I look alright like this?’
He looked me over for a few moments then smiled, ‘You do. You look lovely. I’m proud of you, you know. You could look stunning in a sack.’
‘Get on! You’re such a charmer.’
‘I mean it.’ ‘Jim, you say nice things to all the girls.’ ‘Not all the girls,’ he said and looked as if he was about to say more but I changed the subject.
‘Okay, I’m ready then. Now come and see what I’ve done in the garden.’
I took him down to see my efforts and told him of my vision of how the garden would look in the future. My enthusiasm amused him and he patted me on the back.
‘You’ve worked damn hard,’ he said in admiration. ‘You’re a marvel. Definitely deserve that dinner.’
As always, I caught a flash of old Dixie Dean, standing well back from the window now but observing us nonetheless. Best to ignore him, I thought. Just a nosy old man, as Betty had said.
‘What is it?’ asked Jim, sensing something.
‘Just that old fellow,’ I sighed. ‘He’s always watching me but I think he watches everyone. Hasn’t anything else to do, I suppose.’
Jim stared angrily at the window.
‘He’d better be careful. If he bothers you, let me know and I’ll speak to him, scare the life out of him. I can even get him evicted if I want, I’ve only to speak to Mrs Townsend.’
‘No, no!’ I was horrified at the idea. ‘He’s done nothing wrong. You can’t evict him, he has nowhere else to go. What reason would this woman have to evict him even if she listened to you?’
‘She’d listen all right, if I spoke to Alice.’
‘Alice is her daughter, you said?’
‘Mmm.’
And your girlfriend maybe. How you like to use people just like your mother. Set them against one another.
We had a pleasant little meal in De Marco’s where Queenie was still on duty. She seemed to work all hours of the day and night, always cheerful and on the go. As the man at the Labour Exchange had said, her memory was prodigious; she never wrote anything down but recalled names, tables, orders to perfection. A very impressive lady.
‘I hope I’ll be as good as Queenie, one day,’ I murmured to Jim. Our meal was brought to us by one of the new waitresses while Queenie presided from a distance making sure all was well. This evening, Mr De Marco himself graced us with an appearance and served behind the little bar, dispensing drinks with a cheerful Italian grin and occasionally bursting into fluid song, which amused me but seemed to annoy Jim.
‘Stupid man,’ he muttered, ‘why doesn’t he go back to Italy and his gondolas.’
‘It’s nice, Jim. He’s cheerful. That’s nice, isn’t it? I like to sing when I’m cheerful too.’
Jim looked at me and smiled suddenly.
‘Yes, I remember,’ he said. ‘You used to do the ironing and sing all the pop songs. I used to enjoy listening to you. You were better than the radio.’
‘Was I?’ I felt rather flattered by this compliment.
‘But it’s different with him,’ Jim added looking over at the owner, his eyes critical and hard again, ‘De Marco’s a restaurateur. He should maintain a little dignity.’
I looked at the little, oily-haired man behind his bar, whistling cheerfully as he polished glasses and poured out wine. ‘I see no lack of dignity. He seems a nice man and Queenie is just amazing. Yes, I’d enjoy working here. I hope one of these girls leaves. I’d be tons better than her any day.’
‘If I get my way, you’ll never be in this position,’ said Jim looking sulky. ‘I can’t for the world imagine why you’d even consider such an idea.’
‘Because I want to run my own restaurant one day,’ was my firm reply, ‘or maybe a little boarding house by the seaside. I need to learn, Jim, and there’s only one way. Start at the beginning.’
‘I acknowledge that. I too will have to start at the beginning. But my aim is higher than yours, Bridie. I intend to be a barrister, to have a profession. You, my dear, are selling yourself short.’
‘Rubbish! If someone didn’t run places like this, do the cooking, the accountancy and all the rest, we wouldn’t be sitting here having this delicious meal now, would we? Where would you be then, Mr Barrister? You’d have to cook for yourself, heaven forbid! Let’s be honest. In your line of work you will only exist because of other people’s mistakes and tragedies, trying to get them out of the trouble they’ve as like as not created for themselves. What’s so much more wonderful in that? Why should that be considered superior to feeding and caring for others?’
‘I shall be helping the course of justice,’ he said, looking cross, ‘a noble pursuit.’
‘Hmmm. And I shall be helping the course of rest and pleasure. If more people enjoyed themselves and relaxed over life there might be no need for people like you at all.’
He looked angry but did not pursue the theme any longer and we finished our meal in silence. Sometimes he had no sense of humour at all.
After our meal, we went on to a pub in Hampstead, near the posh house where Mrs Townsend lived. Jim made a point of driving down to the Vale of Health to show me the tall terraced villas there.
‘There’s a big garden at the back,’ he said. ‘It’s got huge rooms and goes up four floors. That’s just one of her houses,’ he said. ‘She owns houses and flats in France and all over the place. Do you know that D.H. Lawrence used to live round the corner in Byron Villas? He was here with his wife Frieda. Lots of famous people lived here. It’s worth a bomb, this place. And, of course Keats lived in John Street. I’ll take you to see his house someday, if you’d like.’’
It was a surprise to see such a different area of London with its attractive well-kept houses in quiet, wide, tree-lined streets. The vast, sweeping grasslands of the Heath were a mere walking distance away and then there was the charming village-like atmosphere of Hampstead itself. It was hard to believe that the Great Metropolis had encroached this far and swallowed this lovely place in its gigantic maws.
‘It makes me think of Little Nell in The Old Curiosity Shop,’ I mused, ‘and how she and her father sat up on Hampstead Heath and could see London in the distance.’
‘Yes, that’s right. In Dickens’ time it was a mere village from which one could view St. Paul’s Cathedral and the smoke of London from Parliament Hill,’ said Jim, ‘but it’s managed to retain its charm. It’s another of those places I’d like to live in but can’t afford just yet. But I will.’
We entered the saloon bar of the The Olde Bull and Bush of music hall fame. I looked around with some trepidation. I seldom went to public houses back home. The village ones were sleepy little places where only the drone of local conversation and the clunk of beer tankards on the bar accompanied by, ‘nuther o’ them, please landlord!’ was to be heard; a request accompanied by the whistle of darts and the clatter of dominoes and skittles. Here the air was thick with smoke. Not a pewter tankard in sight but beer glasses for the men, fancy cocktails for the ladies and ashtrays clogged with dog ends and half-smoked cigarettes. The atmosphere pulsated with noisy activity as friends greeted one another or dashed back and forth to the bar to order fresh drinks. Glasses clinking and the sound of nasal vowels replaced the soft pleasing burr of countryfolk speech.
Jim introduced me to some of his student friends. They were pleasant enough young men and women but I knew I could never get on with them. They were all clever, witty, urbane and talked and drank a lot. To my mind they talked nonsense. It was all about earning lots of money, cars, property, who was going out with whom. Gossip mostly. In their company I felt shy and tongue-tied as if I was stupid and had little to say to any of them. Yet I felt in my heart I really knew and understood a lot more about real life and the things that truly mattered.
I sat sipping a gin and orange. It seemed the height of sophistication to me and after a couple of these, found the effect was mellowing. I began to relax a little and watch everyone with amused interest. A mousy-haired, unremarkable looking young man dressed in blue jeans and an open shirt came up to me after a while, smiled and offered to get me another gin. It didn’t seem a good idea, unused as I was to drink and I said so.
‘Come on, another won’t hurt, my dear. I gather you’re James’s little sister, fresh from the countryside.’
The manner in which he said this sounded mocking but his smile was genuine and he seemed pleasant enough.
‘Oh yes, I’m James’s little sister.’
‘Sorry, kid, didn’t mean to sound patronising,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’m Tom Shanklin. And your name … ?’
‘Bridie O’Neill.’
He looked puzzled. ‘Ah, you’re married?’
‘No.’
‘How come you’re an O’Neill then and not Bosworth?’
It was none of his business and I felt like saying so but managed to hold myself in check. He was just being friendly. Probably not the least bit interested really, just making small talk.
‘I’m adopted. O’Neill was my father’s name.’
‘Oh. I see.’ He didn’t really. His interest had moved down to the curves of my bosom where his eyes lingered for a few moments. I wanted to cross my arms over my chest and wished I had brought a cardigan with me. It was horrible to have men stare like this. I wasn’t used to it and it felt ill-mannered and invasive.
‘So,’ his eyes moved back to mine and he stared at me thoughtfully as if weighing me up, ‘so you’re all alone in the big wicked city then, Bridie O’Neill?’ He stooped and peered into my face. ‘Green-eyed Bridie?’
‘Isn’t everyone?’
‘Clever remark,’ he said approvingly, ‘very clever. Yes, we are all alone when it comes to it. I think these people are all my friends …’ his eyes roamed disparagingly around the set of flushed, excited faces at the bar. ‘I think I’ve got friends – but who are one’s friends? This lot would stab me in the back at any moment if it suited them.’
‘I hope not. I hope someone is your true friend.’
‘Huh!’ he laughed cynically. ‘I doubt it. And where you came from, do you have friends?’
I thought of Ryan, Joe and Sheila. ‘I do. They’re still there, still my friends …’ my voice trailed off and I lowered my eyes to hide the sudden uprush of tears.
‘But you’re here. And missing them. So why are you here? Why are any of us here? I had good friends back in Northampton, where I come from. But I haven’t seen them in years and doubt they even remember me. Nor would I want to remember them. You grow away from people. You’ll be just the same. You’ll turn into a sophisticated, permanently sozzled Londoner and wonder why the hell you ever bothered with the stupid bumpkins you left at home. Parents included.’
‘I won’t forget anyone!’ I said indignantly, ‘I’m not like that.’
‘Aren’t you? None of us are to start with. I was just as wimpish and pathetic as you are now, homesick and all that rot, when I left home for Cambridge. Then I came to work in London and bless me. Forgot my roots as happily as you like. Now I wouldn’t go back for the world.’
‘But you admit you’re lonely.’
‘Did I say that?’ He smiled suddenly and leant towards me, whispering in my ear in a conspiratorial manner, his eyes shifting swiftly to one side and back again as if afraid of being overheard. ‘Well, I won’t be if you come along with me now, pretty green-eyed Bridie. Fancy coming back to my flat with me? I’ll teach you all about London ways.’
I stared at him and his leering face and shuddered. ‘I’d sooner go home with a rattlesnake,’ I blurted out.
To my surprise he gave a great laugh. ‘Playing hard to get, eh? Oh, how I love ’em like that.’
At this moment Jim came over and I turned to him with relief.
‘Keep your hands off my little sister, Tom Shanklin.’
Jim’s voice was jocular but his eyes were hard and nasty. I was relieved that he was ready to protect me. London was indeed a dangerous place for the unwary and innocent. I was about to ask if Jim if could take me home but Tom stood up, grinned and offered to get more drinks all round.
‘Glad to see you’re keeping an eye on your sister, Jim. She’s a cute, fiery little number. Just my type. Love redheads – they’re hot stuff, baby.’
‘Stupid fool,’ said Jim as Tom sauntered over to the bar to get the drinks. ‘Ignore him, Bridie. He’s all talk and hot air. Was he bothering you? I could see you looked uncomfortable.’
‘Thanks, Jim. You rescued me. He was getting suggestive.’
‘The hell he was,’ muttered Jim. ‘I’ll sort him out one of these days. Still,’ he turned and waved his hand around the bar, ‘on the whole, they’re a bright, amusing bunch and useful too. They’ve all got posh daddies and I need friends with connections like that.’
I smiled without enthusiasm. I didn’t give a hang about Jim and his connections. In fact, I disliked them thoroughly. Suddenly I wanted to go home. My real home. I yearned to be out of this smoky, noisy public house and in the free fresh air but even if I stepped outside it would be into a street full of cars and people. For a moment, I pictured waves crashing up to the seashore and heard the mournful wailing of the gulls on high and it wrenched me inside.
A girl entered the saloon bar and looked around. When she caught sight of Jim, her face brightened and she came sauntering over. She was very blonde, very pretty and wore a very short skirt that revealed long slender legs.
‘Oh, hell, Alice is here!’ groaned Jim and rose as she came over. ‘I thought she was on bloody holiday.’
The girl flung her arms around his neck. ‘Jim, darling, I haven’t seen you in ages!’
‘Whoa, Alice, mind my drink, old girl.’
‘Oh, to hell with your drink! Haven’t you got a kiss for your Alice?’
‘Our little Alice,’ grinned Jim, ‘always got a kiss for her. Haven’t we all?’
So this was the ubiquitous Alice whose mother owned the tenement I shared with the other unfortunates. I watched her with interest. She was so modern and fashionable. Her lips were painted a luscious dripping shiny pink, her long oval nails the same colour and her hair was a suspicious shade of gleaming platinum blonde. Compared to this film star vision, I felt dowdy and countrified in my cheesecloth blouse with only a little powder and lipstick – and even that was the cheapest available from the counter at Woolworths.
‘And where’s Mummy now?’ asked Jim as she settled herself on his knee without giving me as much as a glance or a ‘hello’.
‘Oh, she’s away in Nice with her latest boyfriend. She didn’t want her little baby girl along, now did she? She’s scared he’d take a fancy to me instead if I went too. He’s half her age, the silly cow.’
‘He’ll have to meet you someday, Alice, then what’ll happen?’
She smiled suggestively. ‘Ah, what d’you suppose? But Mummy will kid herself he adores only her. She’s such an idiot over men.’
Jim laughed, ‘Runs in the family then.’
Alice didn’t seem to notice the insult. She draped herself over Jim and then noticed me gaping at her.
‘What are you staring at?’ she asked, her face and voice hard and aggressive all of a sudden.
‘Alice, could you sit over there and behave,’ said Jim trying to disentangle those clinging arms from his neck. ‘This, my dear, is my sweet little sister, Bridie, just arrived in London. And Bridie, this is Alice,’ said Jim turning to me now that he had managed to set the pouting, clinging Alice down on a seat.
‘Your sister?’
‘Indeed. I told you she was coming.’
‘I don’t remember,’ said Alice and surveyed me once more with some suspicion that slowly turned to a faint astonishment. In her eyes I looked the country bumpkin and she relaxed. I was obviously not worth considering.
‘So where are you from?’
‘Bournemouth.’
‘Oh. The seaside. So why have you come to London then … seaside is nice, isn’t it?’
‘Not when you have no work,’ I replied.
‘And what work would that be?’ Her voice was dismissive as if she thought a bumpkin like myself couldn’t possible be fit for anything of interest.
‘Bridie’s going to work in Grantham’s office,’ said Jim smoothly. ‘All in good time.’
I frowned at him and Alice laughed. ‘Well, she doesn’t look too keen on the idea. Is she living at your place then?’
‘No, I’m not!’ I snapped.
Alice widened her eyes. ‘All right. You don’t have to bite my head off, only asking.’
‘Just shut up, Alice,’ Jim said. ‘It’s no business of yours what Bridie’s doing.’
‘Charming. Well, you and your little sister can do what you please.’
At this point, Tom returned with the drinks, which he set out on the table.
‘Seems she’s not really your sister, after all,’ remarked Tom who had been listening for a few moments with an air of detached amusement.
‘What d’you mean?’ asked Alice, her eyes darting around our faces.
‘Because she’s adopted.’
Jim stared at him. ‘How d’you know that?’
‘I told him,’ I sighed.
‘So she’s not your sister, really.’ Alice turned to survey me with intense care. I felt myself turning pink under all this scrutiny. I could see she was jealous and angry and felt the hostility pouring at me from those pale blue eyes. Jim, however, laughed as if he was enjoying the scenario and leaning towards me, kissed me lightly on the mouth. I drew back, startled and glared at him. Tom laughed too and Alice glowered.
I’d had enough of it all. Rising, I picked up my purse and walked off towards the door and into the cool, fresh night air.