The Forgotten Girl (14 page)

‘I know,' I said. ‘I want to cause a stir with ours too. That's why I thought you could help.'

The little dog barked at me and I took a step backwards.

‘I found this picture,' I said, pulling the photograph out of my bag and handing it to her. ‘I'd love to do a proper interview with you about launching Mode, too. Really I want any help you can give me.' I gave a little self-conscious giggle. ‘I'm just a bit out of my depth and I so want to make it work.'

Susannah – Suze – stared at the photograph for a second, a little smile on her lips. The dog barked again and she bent down and took off its lead. It bounded away round the side of the house and into the back garden, I assumed. A cacophony of barking came from the direction he'd run in.

‘He likes to chase the rabbits,' she said. ‘But he's so loud about it, they all scarper before he gets a chance to catch them.'

I didn't care.

‘Will you help me?' I asked. Begged, really. ‘Will you help me save Mode?'

Suze smiled her sad smile again, and shook her head.

‘I'm so sorry,' she said. ‘I can't.'

Chapter 21

1966

‘I am exhausted,' I said, slumping onto the wooden bench. ‘But I think we've really got something good.'

George sat down next to me, cradling his camera like a baby.

‘It's great,' he said.

We had spent all day working on the ‘day in the life' feature that I'd had the idea for on the rooftop at the party.

With a bit of help from Rosemary, who seemed to have taken me under her wing and had even given me a day off from the magazine to work on this article, I'd approached one of the Sunday supplements. To my surprise they'd commissioned me to write a feature based around a park bench in Soho Square. So George and I had spent the day hanging round the garden and pouncing on everyone who sat down. I'd interviewed – and George had photographed – a group of kids from the nearby primary school and their teacher, a gardener, some office workers on their lunch, two women who worked in a fabric shop close by, and finally – as the sun went down – I spoke to two men. They were obviously a couple but, not surprisingly, were guarded about their romance at first. When I said I didn't have to identify them in the piece, they spoke candidly about how they'd met, told me how much a change in the law surrounding homosexuality would mean to them, and bickered good-naturedly about their plans for the future. I was enthralled and I knew it would be the perfect end to my piece. George photographed them from behind so they could stay anonymous, with their heads close together silhouetted against a street lamp, and they went off together, promising to look out for the article.

It was properly dark now and getting chilly, even though there had been a whiff of spring in the air during the day. I shivered and pulled my coat round me a bit tighter.

George looked at me.

‘You did really well,' he said. ‘I've worked with writers a lot more experienced than you who can't chat to people as easily as you do.'

I blushed, surprised how much his words meant to me.

‘Everyone's got a story,' I muttered.

‘I reckon the editor at the paper will want more like this,' he carried on. ‘You could do park benches all over London. All over the country, even.'

I laughed.

‘I could be the park bench correspondent,' I said. ‘It would be good though. I've really enjoyed today.'

George nodded.

‘Me too,' he said. He put his hand on top of mine. ‘Me too.'

I felt the thrill in my stomach that I always felt when George touched me and reluctantly pulled my hand away. I'd not told him about Billy, though I knew I should. But we'd been working together more and spending time together, and I'd not quite got round to ‘fessing up that I had a fiancé – probably for all the wrong reasons.

‘What time do you need to be back?' George said, putting his camera into the case and starting to gather his things.

‘I should probably get a train in an hour or so,' I said. ‘But I need to pop in to see Suze first.'

‘I'll walk back with you,' he said.

We strolled slowly back towards Peter Street, chatting about the people we'd met that day. As we went to cross Dean Street, though, I tripped over an uneven paving stone and George caught me just as I was about to tumble into the road.

‘Careful,' he said. His arms were round me and I suddenly realised I didn't want him to let go.

I looked up at him. His brown hair fell across his eyes and I reached up and brushed it away. Then, not really thinking about what I was doing, I tilted my head up to his and kissed him.

Kissing George was very different from kissing Billy. Billy's kisses were dry and cautious, and left me wondering what all the fuss was about. But as George and I stood there, on the kerb, wound round each other, I understood. My heart pounded in my chest and my legs felt weak.

‘Let's go out,' George said eventually, smiling down at me. ‘Let me take you out.'

‘Yes please,' I said, not caring about how tricky that would be with my dad and Billy, and everything really.

Hand in hand we walked back towards Suze's place so I could leave my notes there. I knocked firmly on the wooden panel that covered the door and George kissed me again.

‘I'll let you know when I've developed the pics,' he said. ‘I'll bring them round to Mode.'

‘Okay,' I said, unable to stop smiling. ‘I'll see you then.'

Hands in his pockets, he wandered off. I watched him go, grinning.

‘What's up with you?' Suze had finally unlocked the door and was standing, hands on hips, on the step like I imagined some dads did when their daughters stayed out too late.

‘Up?' I said, sailing past her and up the stairs. ‘There's nothing up with me.'

Suze locked the door behind me and followed me into the lounge, looking at me suspiciously.

‘You spend all day with George and now you come back with your head in the clouds?' she said. ‘What happened?'

I threw my notebook onto my side of our shared desk, then twirled round and threw myself onto the sofa.

‘I kissed him,' I announced.

Suze jumped up and down and clapped her hands.

‘Finally,' she said. ‘Did he kiss you back?'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘Of course he kissed me back.'

‘Was it nice?'

‘It was wonderful.'

Suze shoved my legs off the sofa and sat down next to me.

‘It's all coming together,' she said. ‘Our lives are beginning.'

Normally I laughed at Suze's over-dramatic declarations, but today I had to admit she had a point.

‘Today went really well,' I said.

‘I know,' she said, making a kissing face. ‘You told me.'

I laughed.

‘No, I meant the interviews,' I said. ‘It's going to be a great article. Did you finish your piece for Viva?'

Suze nodded. She'd managed to make some brilliant contacts – people she'd met at another one of her endless parties, as far as I could tell. She knew a receptionist at a recording studio, a runner at a production company, lots of secretaries at BBC Television Centre – and she'd talked her way into Viva magazine. The editor – a man called Marcus who I found terrifying and who Suze said was a ‘pussycat' – had asked her to write a series of pieces about up-and-coming bands, films, TV shows – anything that people would be talking about in the months to come. Suze was in her element. Her first piece was in the new issue of Viva and she'd been writing another about a gangster film that was coming out at the end of the year. She'd even interviewed the lead actor – a guy called Roy – who was, she assured me, going to be a big star.

Meanwhile, I'd also been getting lots of commissions alongside my regular work at Mode and Rosemary had been giving me more writing too. I was secretly hoping I'd be promoted to writer soon and she'd employ someone else to type up recipes and order envelopes.

My savings book – my running away fund – was looking very healthy and Suze and I talked a lot about getting a flat together. I knew it was what I wanted to do, but the thought of telling my dad I was moving out made me tremble.

‘So are you going to tell him?' Suze asked now.

‘George?' I said, suddenly feeling miserable as I considered telling him that I was engaged to another man. ‘I should, I know. I have to be honest.'

Suze shook her head as though I was being very slow.

‘Not George,' she said, carefully. ‘Tell Billy. Tell Billy you've met someone else and you can't marry him. Or just tell him you can't marry him, it doesn't matter why.'

I stared at her.

‘Dad would be furious,' I said. But even as I said it, I wondered if it was true. It depended on how much Dad had drunk and if he listened when I told him. Either way, though, it wouldn't be great. Either he'd be angry and probably give me a smack to show me what he thought, or he'd be silent and uninterested and prove just how little he cared.

‘He might throw me out,' I added. ‘Or make it impossible for me to stay.'

Suze shrugged.

‘So live here,' she said. ‘It wouldn't be for long. We've almost got enough money for a flat anyway.'

I felt a rush of excitement and fear.

‘Okay,' I said. ‘I'll do it.'

Chapter 22

I thought about what Suze had said all the way home on the train. I knew I couldn't carry on living this crazy double life. I was lying to Billy, and to George, and to Dad, and it was a terrible way to behave. I had to decide what I wanted – whether it was suburbia and marriage and a family with Billy, or my career and possibly a relationship with George. And I had to decide quite soon.

Billy was waiting for me outside the house, sitting on the garden wall, still in his mucky overalls from the garage.

‘Didn't expect to see you,' I said.

‘Just popped round,' he said. ‘I was surprised you were at work so late.'

I looked at my watch.

‘It's half eight,' I said. ‘Dad not in?'

Billy shook his head.

‘I knocked but he's not there,' he said. ‘Must be down at the George.'

I groaned. Dad had probably come home after he'd shut the shop, discovered I wasn't there and his dinner wasn't on the table, so he'd gone out again. Now he'd be drunk when he came home. I'd have to make sure I was out of his way.

I pulled my keys out of my bag and opened the front door. Billy followed me inside and I tried to hide my irritation.

‘I've got a lot to do, Bill,' I said. ‘Dad needs dinner.'

He gave me a little half-smile.

‘I wanted to see you, Nance,' he said. ‘I've barely seen you for days.'

I felt guilty and cross at the same time.

‘Sorry,' I said. ‘I'm just busy, that's all.'

Billy put his arms round me and I froze, thinking about George.

‘You won't have to work so hard when we get married,' he said. ‘I'll look after you.'

I pushed him away gently.

‘You can start now,' I said, making a joke to hide how uncomfortable I felt. ‘There are potatoes that need peeling, but wash your hands first. Do you want to stay for dinner?'

Billy nodded.

‘Your dad might be back soon,' he said carefully. I'd never told Bill about Dad's sudden angry moments, and he'd never asked, but I sometimes wondered if he knew how I got my bruises.

‘He might be,' I said.

Billy rinsed his hands under the kitchen tap, scrubbing his fingernails with a kind of self-conscious concentration.

‘Get an early night, won't you?' he said, fake-casually. ‘Get upstairs as soon as I've gone.'

I didn't look at him. Just squeezed his arm so he knew I was grateful. He was a good man. He was. And once I'd thought he would be my salvation. But now I knew we wouldn't make each other happy. I'd not be the wife he wanted – or deserved – and I would be resentful and glum, knowing there was much more waiting for me elsewhere.

I pulled some leftover stew out of the fridge and dumped it in a pan to warm through. Billy whistled as he peeled the potatoes and I put them on to boil. Then he sat down at the kitchen table.

‘Put the kettle on, Nancy,' he said. ‘This is nice, ain't it? Us being here, together. It's like a little taster of how it'll be when we're married.'

I filled the kettle and switched it on, trying not to think that he was right. This was a glimpse of what my life could be like. Billy home from work, sitting at the table in his dirty overalls, asking me to make him tea, while I cooked. Despite myself, I shuddered as I got the teapot down from a cupboard.

‘Goose walk over your grave?' Billy laughed.

I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out.

‘Nancy?' he said. ‘Are you okay? You're being a bit strange. What's going on?'

‘Nothing,' I said in a bright voice, gripping the teapot. ‘Just work, you know. And wedding plans. Nothing much.'

‘You're at work a lot,' Billy said, almost accusingly. ‘More than you said you would be.'

‘It's just busy right now,' I said truthfully. ‘I'm getting more responsibility and things are going very well. They like me there, Bill. I'm good at what I do.'

Billy leaned back in his chair and regarded me.

‘Oh la-di-da,' he said. ‘Don't you be getting bigheaded.'.

His expression changed a bit. Became more serious.

‘And don't let your dad hear you talking like that. He's expecting you to work in the shop, isn't he? This job is all well and good, but you've got other things to think about.'

I made a face.

‘What if I don't want to work in the shop?' I said, surprising myself.

Billy gave me a fierce look.

‘Is that what this is all about?' he said. ‘You think you're above it all do you? Better than your dad and me. Now you're working in London?'