The Forgotten Girl (9 page)

George reached round Suze and squeezed my fingers.

‘I'm going to take my chances with the rain,' he said. ‘See you later.'

He ducked out from under the umbrella, pulled his jacket over his head and dashed off in the direction of Carnaby Street.

I watched him go. Suze watched me.

‘Who's he?' she said.

‘Friend,' I said. ‘Photographer.'

I flexed my fingers where George had squeezed them.

‘Do you like him?'

‘He's nice,' I said, deliberately misunderstanding.

Suze shoved me. Her energy was amazing. She was never still. Even now she was bouncing on the balls of her feet like an excited child.

‘You like him,' she said. ‘Why don't you tell him?'

‘It's complicated,' I said.

Suze reached into the top of her jumper and pulled a ten-shilling note from her bra.

‘I'll buy you a coffee,' she said. ‘And you can tell me all about it.'

I didn't want to ask where she'd got the money from, but I let her buy me a coffee and we settled into the same booth at the back of the café where we'd sat yesterday.

‘So what's with George,' she said, blowing across the top of her cup to cool it down. Her skinny fingers were chapped with chilblains.

‘What's your idea?' I said.

She giggled.

‘I'll tell you if you tell me,' she said.

I shrugged.

‘I'm not that bothered,' I said, suspecting she'd not be able to resist telling me, whatever I said.

She lasted about a minute before she sighed in a dramatic way.

‘Okay, then,' she said. ‘Look I don't want to sound like an oddball, but yesterday I thought we got on really well.'

I nodded slowly, reluctant to commit to whatever she was obviously going to ask me.

‘Don't look so scared,' she said. ‘I just thought we could be friends, that's all. And you did me a good turn yesterday so now it's my turn.'

‘Go on,' I said, interested despite myself.

‘Let's work together,' she said. ‘You said you don't get any time to write at home. Bring your typewriter to mine and we can work on some stuff together.'

‘Work together?' I repeated, turning the idea over in my mind. ‘Write together?'

Suze made a face.

‘Probably not actually writing together,' she said. ‘But tossing around ideas, that sort of thing. It was fun yesterday when we were joking about running our own magazine.'

‘It was,' I agreed. ‘So we could write some articles, and see if we can get them published in Home & Hearth, or other magazines?'

‘Exactly,' said Suze, clapping her hands together. ‘I think we'll be good for each other.'

She reached over the checked tablecloth and gripped my fingers.

‘I know I'm a bit out there,' she said, giving me a sheepish grin. ‘Sometimes my ideas are a bit out there too. But I'm a good writer, Nancy. Really good. And I bet you are too.'

I made what I thought was a modest face.

‘I keep thinking we'd make a good team,' Suze went on. ‘Two heads are better than one.'

I thought about how I had to keep all my writing hidden away at home. How I never had anyone to read my stuff. How I loved my job but how I was bored to tears typing up recipes and replying to readers' letters, and how much I longed to write proper features for magazines.

I grinned at Suze.

‘Okay, then,' I said. ‘Let's do it. I'll probably have to tell my dad that I'm doing an evening class or something, not that I expect he'd care very much, and I couldn't do every night because I need to see…'

I trailed off.

‘Who do you need to see?' Suze said, raising her eyebrow. ‘George?'

‘No,' I said, miserably, thinking of Billy's swagger as he walked down the road. A man without a care in the world – for now. ‘I need to see Billy. He's my fiancé.'

Suze shrieked.

‘You're engaged!' she said. ‘Let me see the ring.'

She grabbed my bare left hand and looked first at my finger, then up at my face, confused.

‘No ring?'

‘I've got a ring,' I said, snatching my hand away. ‘But I don't wear it.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because,' I hissed. ‘I don't want anyone to know I'm engaged.'

‘You don't want George to know,' Suze said.

‘Not just George,' I said. ‘Anyone. No one at work knows about Billy. And no one at home knows about…'

Suze looked at me.

‘About?'

‘About work,' I admitted. ‘About the magazine, about what I do – none of it.'

Suze looked bewildered.

‘But your job is brilliant,' she said. ‘Why don't you want to talk about it?'

I made a face.

‘Things at home are… tricky,' I said. ‘My mum died when I was little and Dad's, well, he really only pays attention to me when I annoy him.'

Suze nodded.

‘Go on.'

‘I've not told him about my job because it's just not worth the grief he'd give me.'

‘Handy with his fists, is he?'

I felt a flush of embarrassment.

‘Once or twice,' I admitted. ‘Well, bit more than that really. More when he's drunk. Or angry at the world.'

I'd never told anyone what Dad was really like. I forced my gaze upwards to meet Suze's and was relieved to see no pity in her eyes, just understanding.

‘So where does he think you go every day?' she asked, raising a narrow eyebrow.

‘He thinks I work in insurance and he thinks I'm only doing it until I get married – or until I go and work for him in his shop.'

‘Shit,' said Suze. ‘That's a tangled web.'

‘Isn't it,' I said, wryly.

‘So when's the wedding?'

I winced.

‘We've not set a date yet,' I said. ‘But I'm thinking… never.'

‘Ouch,' said Suze. ‘What are you going to do?'

I looked up at the ceiling.

‘No idea,' I said. ‘Marry Billy, leave work and have some babies?'

Suze shuddered.

‘No,' she said.

‘Break Billy's heart, make my dad furious and end up on the streets?'

‘Sometimes,' said Suze, her elfin face serious, ‘the streets are better than the alternative. You just have to be brave and take a risk.'

We looked at each other for a minute. I felt a sort of connection to her, even though we'd really only just met.

I nodded.

‘You're right,' I said, wondering what had happened to her. ‘I have to take a risk.'

I smiled weakly.

‘Let's do it. I'll bring my typewriter to yours and we can get busy. Who knows, if we sell enough articles we'll be able to afford to rent a flat.'

Suze bounced up and down in her seat.

‘Oh I'd love that,' she said. ‘Imagine the fun we'll have.'

And the funny thing was, I could imagine it. I really could.

Chapter 14

So we put our plan into action. I sowed the seeds at home that evening.

‘There's a course I'm hoping to do,' I said to Dad as I sliced carrots for dinner. ‘It's book-keeping and it's aimed at small businesses. It's perfect for the shop.'

Dad was reading the Standard at the kitchen table, cup of tea at his elbow. I was pleased he'd not started drinking as soon as he came home, like he sometimes did. It would help me if he could follow the conversation without flying off the handle.

‘I do the books,' he said, not looking up.

‘Oh I know,' I said, sweeping the carrots into the mince. ‘But one day you might want me to take over. Or I can help Billy at the garage. It's a useful skill to have.'

Dad looked a bit distant for a moment and rubbed his temples. He swigged his tea and made a face, but I didn't offer to get him a beer from the fridge. Not yet.

‘I suppose,' he said, eventually. ‘Where's the course?'

‘Oh it's at work,' I said. ‘All paid for. The only trouble is it's an evening class. Twice a week, after work.'

‘All paid for?' Dad said.

‘Yes,' I said. I turned away from him and stirred the meat so he couldn't see my face. I was getting pretty good at lying but that didn't mean I enjoyed it.

‘All right,' he said.

‘All right?' I repeated. But he didn't reply.

Assuming that meant he had engaged as much as he was going to, I turned the heat down under the meat.

‘Dinner will be half an hour,' I said.

Dad snorted.

‘I need to go into work on Saturday to register for this course then,' I carried on casually. ‘And afterwards I'm meeting a friend to go to the pictures. Girl from work,' I added. ‘Suze.'

I'd learned long ago that the best lies had an element of truth.

‘She's doing the course too.'

Dad nodded and I thought that was it. But later when we were eating, he looked at me and said, ‘What does Billy say?'

‘About what?'

‘This course of yours.'

Hoping to distract him, I got up and went to the fridge. I pulled out a can of beer, opened it and handed it to Dad with a glass.

‘He thinks it will be useful for when he's running the garage.'

Dad nodded, then turned his attention back to his dinner. And it was done.

Billy had actually been chuffed to bits, making me feel waves of guilt that I was actually going to be spending my evenings writing articles, furthering my own career and not his.

‘Get a grip,' Suze said in disgust when I told her how I was feeling as we walked to her squat that Saturday. ‘You've got to stop worrying about what everyone else thinks and start looking after yourself.'

‘You think?' I said. I shifted my heavy typewriter case to the other hand. I'd told Dad that it had a fault that needed mending and I would drop it into the shop on my way to the station. ‘I can't help wondering if it's not worrying about what everyone else thinks that's got me into this mess.'

Suze waved away my concerns with a flick of her wrist.

‘Rubbish,' she said. ‘If there's one thing I've learned, it's that you can't rely on anyone but yourself.'

She grinned at me.

‘You've got to look out for number one.'

She opened the door of the squat and I followed her inside, glad to put my heavy typewriter down.

‘Suze,' I said. ‘What happened to you?'

‘I cleared half the desk,' she said, ignoring my question. ‘And Bert off the fruit stall found me another chair.'

She showed me her desk, which she'd pulled out from the wall. She'd put the two chairs on opposite sides, diagonally across from each other. Her typewriter was on one side and she picked up mine and put it on the other.

‘There's loads of space,' she said. ‘We can chat if we want, or zone out if we need to concentrate.'

I felt weirdly close to tears.

‘This is amazing,' I said. ‘Thank you.'

Suze gave me a funny, wonky sort of smile.

‘Someone once told me that when things aren't going well for you, you should do something to help someone else,' she said. ‘I thought this would be good for both of us.'

I nodded, not wanting to speak in case I cried.

‘So what do you think?' she said.

I swallowed.

‘I think,' I said, unclipping my typewriter case. ‘That we should get to work.'

We typed together in companionable silence all afternoon. I was working on a piece that had been swirling round in my head for weeks – a personal take on why I didn't want to get married. It was a bit too out there for Home & Hearth but I thought I might show Rosemary once it was finished and see if she had any suggestions about which magazine might print it. Suze was writing an article about which pop stars she thought would be best in bed. It was cheeky, slightly shocking (at least to my suburban mindset) and really, really funny. She occasionally read bits out to me and I would giggle at her clever turn of phrase. I was relieved to discover she was indeed a good writer – I had been a bit concerned she'd turn out to be lacking, which would have been embarrassing and awkward.

Finally, as it was growing dark outside, I stood up and pulled my final version of my article out of my typewriter.

‘I need to go,' I said. ‘It's getting late.'

Suze was hunched over her piece of paper, reading it through.

‘Stay,' she said. ‘There's a party tonight. Stay and let's go to the party.'

‘Really?' I said, doubtfully. ‘I'll have to tell Dad.'

Suze shrugged.

‘So tell him,' she said. ‘What can he do? You're an adult.'

So I did. I phoned Dad, told him I was going to a party and Suze said I could stay at hers. I lied a little bit and said Suze had a landlady who'd said it was fine. Just to make it all sound more respectable than it really was.

Dad grunted. He hated talking on the phone.

‘I'll be back early enough to help with the papers,' I said. Sundays were a busy day at the shop.

‘Make sure you are,' he said.

Pleased to have got away with it so easily, I came out of the phone box and grinned at Suze.

‘Done,' I said. ‘I'm all yours.'

Then, arm in arm, we walked down Wardour Street.

‘Let's go for a drink first,' said Suze, steering me into a pub on the corner. ‘The party won't get going for hours.'

I wasn't used to going to pubs. Billy sometimes took me for a drink, but I had never been into a pub without him.

Suze winked at the barmaid and she grinned.

‘All right love,' she said. ‘Vodka and lime?'

Suze nodded.

‘Two,' I said. ‘Is there anyone you don't know?'

Suze laughed. She picked up both our drinks and went off to find a table, leaving me to pay.

Annoyed with her, I handed over the money, took my change, then weaved through the customers to find her. I sat down on a velour stool and took a slurp of my vodka.