Greg was sweating as he hagged the ends off the old oak beams, hacking off the burned timber to a smooth finish, his shoulders aching, his palms blistered. He thought he was fit in the army but now that he was working as a navvy on a bomb site, salvaging what was left of this burned-out mill, he’d found muscles he never knew he had. They were stripping down everything: stone flags, beams, metal–anything that could be sold or reused again.
Sometimes he cursed that he hadn’t taken up Charlie Afton’s offer to work in their garages but it wreaked too much of old-man Brigg’s set-up. Whatever he did from now on, he wanted to do for himself and strike out solo, but he needed cash and this job was as good a way as any to start.
All day he was up and down planks, lifting timbers and stone setts onto lorries and away. Their boss was an Irishman who took no prisoners, and tolerated no shirkers. When he took his shirt off he looked as if he could kill a man with his shoulders alone. You didn’t argue with Mr Malone.
Greg soon learned to keep his head down and his mouth shut. Reclamation was a dodgy business at times. Things disappeared overnight, and nothing was said. It was cash in hand and piecework, and left him time to do a bit of moonlighting on the side, fixing up cars and getting them back on the road after the war years; all those bricked-up chassis in garages needed fettling up now that petrol rationing was not so bad.
Greg lived life like a clenched fist. It was bad enough wasting his best years fighting battles, but now it was time to make something of himself. He couldn’t wait to start something up. Perhaps doing up bombed houses, and selling them on was a sure start on the property ladder. There was a shortage of houses, and thousands of soldiers with new wives and babies who wanted a roof over their heads. Money was to be made in property and Greg wanted to be at the head of the queue. No time for billiard halls and pubs, night school classes and the like. He was lodging in a back-to-back terrace near Kirkstall Abbey. It was rough, but clean and cheap. Greg was on a mission and deep in his heart he knew he’d make it one day. There was still that vision of his own place in the Dales and that ambition had grown from a neat villa to a mansion with a paddock and a fleet of cars. He’d be a muck-and-shovel boy until he got enough cash to get a foothold on the first rung of that rickety ladder of success. Growing hard muscle, a thick skin and tunnel vision was the only way, and nothing was going to stop his progress.
He found his billycan and sat down for a smoke and a mash of tea, bringing out Plum’s letter. She’d kept her tabs on him even though he’d not written for ages. She’d sent a letter to Afton’s Garage near Harrogate, hoping to find him there, and Charlie had passed it on. She didn’t miss a trick, that one.
The old Brooklyn biddy had passed over and he’d dropped a line for old-times’ sake, just a polite letter of condolence. But here Plum was writing to him again. Secretly Greg was pleased to know they still remembered and cared what he was up to now.
Dear Gregory,
Thank you for your letter on the death of Mrs Belfield. She has left many gaps in the district that I am trying to fill. You will be pleased to know my new venture will soon be up and running.
I am hoping to find someone to train up, with strong legs and lots of energy. You asked after the girls. Gloria works locally but Madeleine is elusive. I expect her new friends and course keep her busy.
The door is always open should you be passing this way. Please feel free to call without an appointment. We go back too far to stand on ceremony. Good luck with your new position.
Regards,
Plum Belfield
If only she could see him now, with string tied round his knees, in hob-nailed boots and a collarless shirt, covered in muck and sweat; not a pretty sight, but he didn’t care.
He smiled, thinking about the antics at Victory Tree HQ with snotty little Gloria and pony-mad Maddy–not his sort at all but when he’d made his packet he’d find his own classy bird.
Women were the last thing on his mind. He could take his pick but he’d always been choosy. Girls cost money and there was nothing to spare. His cash was going into his property fund. He’d find an old house to do up, and a decent car.
Charlie would be as good as his word in finding him a decent saloon to do up, something that made him look prosperous when the time came. Charlie was into racing, time trial rallying, and needed a good navigator and mechanic.
Greg had no time for such fun, not yet, not when there was a fortune to be made in fixing up old buildings. That was where the future lay for him. The rest could wait.
One day he’d return to Sowerthwaite, but with his tail up, and show them all this vaccy was a man of substance, a man as good as any of them. He’d not be calling until then.
He stood up, folded the letter in his pocket; time to ‘tote that load and shift that bale’, as the song went…
What am I doing here? thought Maddy. She was sitting in a disused drill hall, singing choruses to a harmonium and trying to look as if she was enjoying herself. They sat on hard benches listening to Mr Sandy Blister, who stood, Bible in hand, thumping on the pulpit that she must be born again, must rise from her seat and commit herself to Jesus or be damned to hellfire.
Maddy looked around at the gleaming earnest faces singing and swaying with ecstasy. What a strange way to be spending a Saturday night.
It was summer now. There was Roundhay Park, Temple Newsam to visit, concerts to hear. She could walk to college, to Adel and Eccup, through Lawns-wood and out into the country for miles. She’d borrowed a bike from one of the medical students in her digs and cycled around Cookridge and as far as The Chevin ridge near Otley. Although it wasn’t the Dales it would do.
But weekends were the worst, when her college friends, Pinky and Caro, went home, and Bella disappeared to her cronies near York to prepare for her wedding. That was when loneliness hit her, the hours stretched out and the cupboard door strained to spill out all her secrets. Ruth and Thelma, those would-be missionaries, sensed her weakness and filled that gap, inviting into her circle. She was too grateful to resist at first.
There were tea and sandwiches, lots of young student types from the university in tweed jackets and grey flannels, who carried Bibles and belonged to the Scripture Union.
She’d taken their pamphlets, read the passages with Thelma’s sour breath puffing over her shoulder. She didn’t use Lifebuoy soap and sweated a lot. They were kind to invite her but she just couldn’t make sense of this strange new world. How could she be mean about these good people? For three weekends she’d sat rigid in her seat until she could feel their disappointment when she didn’t respond to the preacher’s call.
Tonight her mind was all over the place. The preacher’d said something about sin against the Holy Spirit, the one unforgivable sin. Sin…sin…sin. It was all about sin and she knew enough about that. It made her want to scream out, ‘Oh, do shut up and think about all the lovely things in this world!’ but she sat in sullen silence.
The room was full and the air felt stale, the walls seemed to be getting smaller. With Ruth on one side and Thelma on the other she was being squeezed until all the air in her lungs expired and she couldn’t breathe. There must be a way to escape this noise.
Was there no hope for a girl like her, steeped in guilt and wickedness? Her legs began to shake and her heart thudded in her chest. She couldn’t bear this a minute longer; the pressure, the heat, the smell and the droning seductive voice.
‘I’ve got to go,’ she whispered, pulling herself out of the chair. They smiled, thinking she was stepping up to the front, but she turned out the door, to freedom and fresh air, taking great gulps of air.
Thelma was at her heels. ‘The Holy Spirit has got you at last,’ she smiled.
‘No he’s not. I just felt faint. It’s stuffy in there and I don’t know why I’m sitting inside on such a glorious evening. I think I’ll go for a long walk over the Ridge and take in God’s scenery, chimneys and all. I’m sorry, but this is not for me.’
‘Don’t turn your back on the Lord,’ Thelma pleaded. ‘This is the Devil tempting you.’
‘Don’t be silly. I can’t go back in there again. I don’t believe it helps me.’
‘Me, me, me, Maddy It’s not all about you. It’s about our Lord’s sacrifice. He’s calling and you are rejecting him, crucifying him all over again.’
‘Oh, stop it. I’m not crucifying anyone. I’m trying to be honest with you. If I want to go to church there’s St Chad’s up the road not this…this shed.’
‘Maddy, the Lord doesn’t dwell in temples of stone,’ Thelma argued, her eyes bulging with concern. A soul was slipping past her grasp and she was determined not to give in without a fight.
‘Nor in temples of wood, Thelma. Thanks for your concern but I’ll find forgiveness in my own way and my own time.’
‘Ruth and I will pray for you. I fear you’re fast in Satan’s grip.’
‘No, I’m not…I’ll find my own way to faith…I must go!’
All Maddy wanted to do was escape from Thelma’s bewilderment and hurt.
Once out into the street she watched children with a skipping rope jumping up and laughing. When was the last time she had jumped for joy?
Ruth’s crowd meant well enough but their religion was not for her. It was with relief she strode northwards from Woodhouse Moor, glad to be alone with her own thoughts.
The Ridge, overlooking the city, was a wooded escarpment full of bluebells in the spring and courting couples on summer nights. Tonight Maddy felt like skipping along the path out of sheer relief. She was free at last and strangely relieved.
Amidst all the sadness and emptiness of the past few months was another growing certainty of relief. She’d been spared the shame of an unwanted pregnancy. She didn’t have to worry any more. That secret was safe, locked away, but it was all so confusing. Here she was on this lovely evening, safe and reprieved. Now she would grab life, work hard and try to make up for her mistakes as best she could. If only she didn’t feel so burdened with guilt. It lay on her like a lead cloak.
The bell on the café door clanged. A new customer was arriving. No one was more surprised than Gloria to see Mrs Plum coming in to the Cosy Nook café for a cuppa and a smoke. For once she looked like a proper lady, not a dog woman in her old greatcoat and wellies. She was dressed in a smart fur coat and wore a headscarf over her windswept hair.
Gloria had packed in the job with the Gunns. Children were all right in small doses, but Heather had never taken to her for some reason, and the novelty of being a mother’s help had worn off. Her plan to go to Leeds was shelved so she’d taken a summer job with the Temperance Café, serving mock cream teas to cyclists and hikers who came out at the weekend, but come the autumn she’d have to think again about going to the town and maybe even Peel Street for a while. Not a cheery thought.
‘I heard you were working in here, Gloria,’ Plum said, sitting down and removing her gloves. She ordered a scone and butter. ‘Fresh, are they?’
‘This morning,’ she replied, feeling proud she’d got the knack of knocking them up with the best of them. Tray bakes, jam slices and pastry were her best efforts.
For once Gloria took extra care with the service, cleaned up the tray, no smears, fresh pot of tea, tea strainer, brew well mashed, hot water jug, and found a spoon that wasn’t chained to the sugar bowl.
She was wary around Mrs Plum these days, sensing she disapproved of her, blaming her for keeping Maddy away from the deathbed of the old woman.
If only she knew the half of it, but Gloria’s lips were sealed. She’d made a bargain and she was sticking to it. What was done was done in good faith and friendship–in ignorance maybe, but nothing would’ve changed the outcome.
‘Have you heard from Maddy?’ Mrs Plum asked as she sipped her tea. The café was quiet so Gloria tried to look busy polishing tables with a damp cloth.
‘No, she’s gone very quiet. Exams, I expect.’
‘Perhaps…I was hoping she’d be here for the holidays. There are some changes I’d hoped to discuss with her. If you hear from her, do tell her to give me a buzz.’
‘Of course, but I doubt we’ll meet up again soon.’
‘Have you two fallen out? You were always such good friends.’
‘Yes, forever friends,’ Gloria said, blushing. ‘No, no…nothing like that. Just gone our different ways, like you do. I expect she’s got lots of college mates. Sowerthwaite’s a bit of a dead end for a young lady about town.’
‘What a pity. She’s been acting strange lately. Perhaps her grandmother’s death upset her, seeing as she didn’t get there in time.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Gloria, knowing full well she’d been dumped, ditched, thrown over because she reminded Maddy of what they had done. ‘She was sick that night, you know.’ Time to put the record straight even though she felt hard done by and let down.
‘Yes, I realise that, and it was good of you to help her but that’s not what I’m here for, Gloria. I have a proposition to put to you. I know you’ve left Dr Gunn. Denise tells me you’ve been much missed there. Only I’m thinking of some changes to the Brooklyn, turning it into a guesthouse, taking in paying visitors. I’m looking for staff to train up…housekeeping, catering, that sort of domestic service, and I was wondering…’
She wants me for a skivvy, thought Gloria as she bustled around, hiding her dismay.
‘Er, what does this entail? I was thinking of returning to Leeds. It gets so quiet in the winter here.’
‘I’d be thinking of opening all year round, taking parties, ramblers and as wide a clientele as I could reach. There’s a lot of preparation work, redoing rooms…’
This was tempting. She’d get a good training with Mrs Plum but it would be hard work.
Mrs Plum smiled, sensing she might be tempted
‘I’ve always thought you hard-working and conscientious, good with people, honest, and with that extra bit of flair I’m looking for. Perhaps you’d like to think about it.’
‘Where would I stay?’ she asked. ‘The hostel’s closing now. It’s hard to find rooms here.’
‘You’d live in, of course, with your own room. It would be a full-time appointment after a trial period on both sides. I need someone to run things when I’m not around.’
Live in the Brooklyn! It was always her childhood dream to share all Maddy had taken for granted. Even if she was only a domestic there was scope here, scope to save up, to meet interesting people, a chance to observe a real lady at work, to learn how to do things properly. Who knew where that might lead one day? This was just the ticket.
‘When do I start?’
Maddy returned one weekend to the Brooklyn unannounced, only to find Plum going through the rooms like a whirling dervish, sorting out clothes, furniture, buckets of distemper lying everywhere while old Mrs Batty was turning the place upside down.
The fact that Gloria was busy stripping off old wallpaper in dungarees and turban disturbed her even more. From the laughter and joking and shared cups of tea, it was easy to see those two were as thick as porridge, slopping paint like children. They were smartening up the décor for as little cost as possible. News of Plum’s new venture came as a shock.
The kitchen garden was raked and weeded through. Brooklyn Hall was to be a registered guesthouse and Gloria had been given the biggest bedroom on the third floor with a sitting room off the side. She looked like the cat that got the cream.
Suddenly Maddy felt left out and superfluous. Was this Plum’s way of saying she could manage the house, make a living and cock a snook at Uncle Gerry–and punish her for not being around?
Everyone was busy and enthusiastic. She hadn’t the heart to be mean, but wasn’t Brooklyn her home? Hadn’t Grandma left it to her one day? Oughtn’t she to be consulted? But who could blame them? She’d not been home for ages.
If only Plum had asked her opinion, she’d have offered to do the bookkeeping when they took in their first guests but it was much too much of a mess to be ready for the autumn deadline.
‘Autumn in the Dales,’ read the brochure. ‘Enjoy the peace and tranquillity of quiet country lanes, warm log fires. Bring your ration cards and we will supply appetising breakfasts and evening meals for your pleasure.’
Grace was going to cook. Plum was the host and Gloria was in charge of domestic services and laundry. In other words, she was a glorified skivvy in overalls, but her friend was acting as if she owned the place, swanning around, showing her all their improvements.
‘Of course we’d like sinks in every room but there is a toilet and bathroom on each floor.’ The cheek of her, as if she didn’t know that already, Maddy sniffed.
The dogs were banished to the washing out house and that damp doggy smell was replaced with the scent of fresh paint and varnish. That in turn would be replaced by beeswax polish and fresh-cut flowers. It all looked very inviting, but not to her.
She felt like Billy No Mates stuck in a corner. Grandma would be hovering in fury as they’d stripped her bedroom of all its dark brocade and put back the shutters and voile curtains to let in the light. The parsley-coloured walls were newly papered with a border around the picture rail. Maddy was miffed at all the changes and desperately trying not to show it. This wasn’t her home any more. It didn’t even smell like the Brooklyn.
‘Isn’t it gorgeous?’ said Gloria. ‘We’ve worked so hard to smarten it up. Your aunt’s done a great job.’
‘It’s OK,’ Maddy replied, reluctant to give them any praise.
‘Is that all you can say?’ Gloria snapped back. ‘We thought you’d be thrilled.’
‘We’…‘we’–there were too many ‘we’s for her liking. ‘It’s just not how I imagined it would be.’
‘The trouble with you is that you’ve stayed away so long. You’ve forgotten how drab and dirty it all was. Look at my hands–I’ll never get them smooth again.’
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘So I gathered, too busy to drop me a line. What did I do wrong?’
‘Nothing…let’s talk about something else,’ Maddy said, feeling her cheeks flush. ‘Don’t go on about it!’
‘Hold on, I’ve said nowt. What’s the matter with you? You’ve sulked all afternoon.’
‘No I haven’t!’
‘Suit yerself…I’m not bothered. I’ve too much to do here. By the way, guess who’s living in Leeds?’
‘Go on, enlighten me.’
‘None other than Greg Byrne. He’s working on a building site so if some lad gives you a wolf whistle, you never know, it might be him. He wrote to your aunt. I’m going to write and see if we can all meet up again.’
‘Please yourself. I wouldn’t know him from Adam. He won’t want to see us.’
‘Who trod on your toes, missy? You had a lucky escape and no mistake; don’t be so mardy.’
Maddy stormed off and went to say her goodbyes. There was just time to get the afternoon train back to Leeds. It was evident that she wasn’t needed here. Sitting in the carriage, she felt ashamed of feeling so jealous, so out of sorts and so unkind to Gloria. She owed her friend her new life. What would have happened if Glory hadn’t stood by her side? What was the matter with her these days? She was jumpy and tetchy, sleep was broken and full of nasty dreams. She didn’t like herself much for running out on them, but going back was a mistake, churning up all those old feelings of panic.
Leaving the station in a stroppy mood, stomping out of City Square, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself now. It was raining as usual. There was time to trawl the shops to see if there was anything to spend her few coupons on. She needed cheering up and fast. Time to look to see if there were any new shoes in the stores or pretty fabrics, find something in a pretty colour to soothe her tired eyes.
She sauntered towards Marshfields, which was Bella’s stamping ground; the bridal department with its rich silks and satins, ball gowns and evening wear bedecked with sequins, lace, braids and ribbons. She fingered them all lovingly, the materials soft and silky in her palms, smoothing her own ruffled feathers.
The assistant eyed her up. ‘Modom is looking for something?’
‘Not really. They’re all so beautiful,’ she sighed. ‘But too expensive for a student.’
‘You’d like to try them on, yes?’
‘I can’t afford them.’ Trust her to land a pushy saleswoman.
‘This would look lovely on you…try this on. I’d like to see for myself how it looks.’ The blood-red gown was shoved in her hand, she was told to strip in the cabine and then the vendeuse buttoned it up, throwing a sequined bolero over her shoulders.
‘Let’s just brush your hair up off your neck, like this,’ she insisted, and Maddy was beginning to feel trapped and uncertain. She’d only come in to have a look round.
‘Perfect…Now walk this way. You live in Leeds?’
‘Yes,’ muttered Maddy. ‘West Park. I’m at college.’
‘Excellent. Wait one moment.’ She closed the curtain and when she opened it again, a man and a woman in black were eyeing her with interest.
‘Don’t you think?’ whispered the vendeuse. ‘What’s your name, dear?’
‘Madeleine Belfield.’ Now she was really in trouble. They were eyeing her up like a piece of steak.
‘Ah, La Madeleine. Beautiful, yes.’
Then to her surprise everyone clapped and she blushed as the other customers stared at her. They were making a big mistake if they thought she was going to buy this dress. ‘Please, I can’t buy this,’ she said, trying to look firm.
‘But we are all getting the pleasure of seeing how this gown should be worn on a lovely young woman with the perfect figure. See, our customers are gathering to admire you, looking and wondering if they too will look like this in it.’
Sure enough a clutch of women hovered and smiled. Then she caught sight of herself in the wall mirror. Who was this elegant stranger with sloping shoulders, slim-hipped and flushed in the cheek with such a long neck? How strange, she was stopping the traffic through the department.
‘Now we will have you in the gold.’
Another quick change, this time into a slim figure-hugging jacket in gold and black with a bouffant skirt. A pair of court shoes was shoved onto her bare feet and she posed and nearly fell over as she towered over the proceedings.
‘Brava!’ The vendeuse clapped her hands, nodding to the man in the suit, and he nodded back.
Maddy tried on three more outfits and paraded round like a dressage horse, then changed back quickly into her tweed suit.
‘Mr Percival will see you in his office,’ said the lady in the black frock with the phoney French accent. What had she done now?
She knocked on his door, wondering what was going to happen next. The whole afternoon had been so bizarre.
‘Come in, Miss Madeleine. You were very brave to go with Madame Delys’s little whim. She has an eye for talent and you have it in spadefuls, young lady. Tell me about yourself.’
Maddy gave him a bare outline of her life to date.
‘And your family?’ She told him about her parents.
‘Ah, the Bellaires. I remember them well on the wireless: such a pity for them to be lost and you so young. And you have their presence: tall, graceful, very arresting to the eye. We could use you…’
For what? she mused. Who on earth was he talking about? Surely not herself? Her puzzled look made him explain.
‘We like to have floor walkers, mannequins to show off to special customers, models for parades and events, tall girls who carry clothes well and know how to walk. You will do perfectly.’
‘But I’m at college,’ she explained.
‘Naturally, but not every day. We can use you on Saturdays, perhaps in the vacations to cover for other models at first.’
‘But I have no experience,’ she said, still not taking all this in.
‘We will take care of all that–how to walk and sit and pose. That can be taught, but a clotheshorse has to be born, shoulders, ankles, neck, face and height. These can’t be altered, only disguised. Our customers are just from the street, with flaws and lumps. When they see you gliding around in that “Scarlet Passion” number, they see themselves transformed. You carry the dream of what they might be.’
Maddy didn’t know what to make of this offer. She’d never thought of modelling gowns for a living. It was the sort of thing Bella’s friends did in their spare time for charity and magazines. She was going to be a secretary to an important businessman one day, not a tailor’s walking dummy, but some of those dresses were rather beautiful.
‘Let me give you some advice. Finish your course, by all means–you can be a secretary all your life, but a mannequin is for a short time only. Alas a few years, then other girls will come and take your place. Why not enjoy the chance of a career here? It will take you out of Yorkshire and beyond. Why not give it a try?’
The man in the pin-striped suit with razor-sharp creases and slicked-back hair smiled a warm smile. ‘Think about this offer. It’s genuine.’
Why not? Maddy breezed out of the department store with both feet off the ground. Why ever not? This bit of news would give them all at the Brooklyn something to splash on the walls, and the Misses Meyers too. Bella would be envious, Ruth and Thelma appalled, Caro and Pinky nonplussed. Their hearts were stuck in muck and sheep; they wouldn’t care either way. But Madeleine Belfield, a mannequin?
Skinny mallink, boss-eyed Maddy? Who’d ’a thowt it! She laughed all the way back to her digs.