Unforgettable (17 page)

Meanwhile there was furniture to be sold. Everything here was dear and familiar, but she couldn't take any of it to London. She was unsure what to do about her mother's treadle sewing-machine, which had done such good service, but she ignored the sentimental attachment she felt. It would be a heavy thing to transport to London, and she could always purchase a more modern one when she saw what space she had in the new place.

She was convinced that there was a bright and shining future ahead of her now, and a new life meant a new everything. The night when Percy Hill had come here with evil intent had besmirched the happy memories of her childhood in this house, and she would be glad to leave it behind.

* * *

It was amazing how quickly things changed when fate gave them a helping hand. Gracie considered fate had been on her side from the moment she saw the money her mother had saved for her. Even Percy Hill's attempted rape had motivated her to leave Southampton and do what she had been dithering about. The local saleroom people had taken most of the furniture away and would probably pay her a pittance for it, but that didn't matter so much as getting everything sorted out.

It had been a treat to see the look of astonishment on the neighbours' faces when the saleroom van had come trundling down the street and taken most of Gracie Brown's belongings away.

‘What's going on, Gracie?' Lizzie Jennings exclaimed, bustling into the house as beds and mattresses were being carried out. ‘Your rent's been paid up regularly, duck—'

‘I'm getting rid of things I don't need, Mrs Jennings. I only need a bed to sleep on and a chair to sit on, and I'll let you know when I'm leaving.'

The treadle machine went next, and the neighbour's eyes widened.

‘Well, now I know you mean it, Gracie. I never thought you'd part with that old faithful. Even Jennings quite likes the sound of it of a night.'

Gracie turned away, unable to bear seeing the removal men loading it on to the van.

‘I can always get another one.'

‘'Twon't be the same,' Mrs Jennings said. ‘There was a lot of love gone into that old machine—'

‘I know, and talking about it only makes it worse,' Gracie said, her voice wobbling a little.

The neighbour had got the information she came for and left Gracie alone. It was bad enough seeing all her past go out of the door and into a furniture van, without having somebody putting into words what she was trying hard not to feel.

Several weeks later the replies from the box numbers began to arrive. Two said the rooms had already been let. Two more said they weren't suitable for business premises, and the last two gave her the Wembley addresses
and asked her to call as soon as convenient. Gracie immediately phoned Mrs Warburton and asked if she could stay for a couple of nights.

‘Lord love you, Gracie, of course you can. Dolly's at work now, but I'm sure she'll be happy to share her room. You always kept that little madam in order,' she finished, half-way between a chuckle and a sniff.

Gracie smiled, not sure anyone could keep Dolly in order. She didn't particularly care to be thought the more staid one of the two, either. She was the one who was striking out on her own, not Dolly Neath. And at not quite twenty years old!

She packed a few things quickly, full of quivering excitement now, and told Mrs Jennings she would be away for a few days. There was no need to say anything more definite yet, but the neighbour was keeping a motherly eye on her now ever since the incident with Percy Hill. Gracie was touched by it, even though it was in danger of smothering her.

But once on the train for London, her spirits rose. This was an adventure of her own making, and it gave her an enormous sense of achievement, even getting this far. It also made her appreciate how much independence a little money could give you. She had
never had any to speak of before, but now she had a post office savings account, and she intended using it wisely.

Dolly was still at work when she reached the boarding-house, and as Mrs Warburton clearly thought she might be planning to move in permanently again, Gracie quickly put her right.

‘I'm here to see some people on business,' she told her grandly, hoping she wasn't giving herself too many airs.

But the landlady nodded sagely. ‘I always said you were wasted at that shirt factory. You've got the looks and manners of a young lady. Folk notice those things, and respect you for it.'

Percy Hill hadn't respected her for it, Gracie thought, then pushed him out of her mind as easily as if he was a gnat to be swatted out of existence.

Dolly wasn't so flattering. She was in a funny mood, Gracie decided, and she didn't mean funny ha-ha either. As soon as Dolly saw Gracie's things on her old bed, she stared at her suspiciously.

‘What's going on? Are you still keeping secrets from me?'

‘Why do you say such daft things? Are you keeping secrets from me?'

‘I don't have any secrets.'

‘Well, neither do I.'

They were almost at loggerheads the minute they'd seen each other, but it was none of her doing that Dolly seemed irritable and ready to pick a quarrel.

‘What's up?' Gracie said at last. ‘Have you and Jim fallen out?'

Dolly glared at her. ‘Me and Jim are all right, same as you and your sailor-boy, I presume.'

‘Don't you want to know why I'm here?' Gracie asked next, refusing to comment on Davey Watkins.

Dolly shrugged. ‘I know you'll tell me in the end.'

She was being mean and hateful, deflating all Gracie's excitement. But since she didn't know anything about it yet, it was easy to overlook it.

‘I've come to look at some rooms to rent in Wembley. And before you ask how I can afford it, I've been saving my earnings in the post office and my mother left me some money. Besides that, there's another reason why I have to get away from Southampton. A more unpleasant reason.'

It all came out in a rush. She hadn't meant to mention Percy Hill at all, but now she had started she knew Dolly wouldn't leave it alone. The astonished look on Dolly's face
when she had mentioned renting rooms in Wembley and then the even more astonishing fact that Gracie's mother had left her a bit of money, was quickly replaced by concern.

‘What's happened? Has Davey Watkins let you down?'

‘It's nothing to do with him. Let's just say the landlord tried to get a bit too friendly, if you get my meaning.'

‘Blimey, Gracie, you don't mean he tried it on!'

‘Yes I do, and I don't want to talk about it.'

‘Gawd, no wonder you're all hot and bothered. What's he like? Not one of your movie star heroes, I take it?'

Gracie lashed out angrily. ‘For pity's sake, Dolly, he tried to rape me, but for your information he's a loathsome fat pig, and fifty if he's a day. Now shut up about it. Do you want to come and look at these rooms with me tomorrow or not?'

Tomorrow was Saturday. Many sweatshops stayed open six days a week but Ed Lawson liked his weekends at home and wouldn't let his girls work there unattended, so that meant free days for all of them.

Dolly was still gaping at her. ‘Big enough for two, is it?'

‘I
told
you I have to do this alone—'

‘All
right
! You don't half jump down
peoples throats lately, Gracie!'

So would you if you'd had to fight off a bastard like Percy Hill
.

* * *

The trains to Wembley were still packed with people going to the Empire Exhibition, but the street they were looking for had a row of small shops and businesses. People would come here for shopping, but when Gracie found the rented address, one look at the sign over the downstairs business decided her.

‘What's wrong with this?' Dolly asked, seeing her face.

‘I'm not living above a butcher's shop,' Gracie said flatly. ‘Can you imagine a good class of people bringing work for me and having the smell of dead meat in their noses? It would get into the materials and ruin me before I even started.'

‘A good class of people!' Dolly mimicked. ‘Are you sure you ain't getting above yourself, gel?'

‘I'm being sensible,' Gracie snapped, ‘but if you're not going to take me seriously I'll carry on by myself.'

‘Oh, all right. So where next? I don't feel like traipsing around all day.'

Gracie consulted her small street-map. ‘It's
not far. What's up with you, anyway? You used to walk for miles.'

‘It's nothing. Let's find the place and then we can go and find a Lyons and have something to eat.'

‘You should have had breakfast at Warby's like I did.'

‘Couldn't face it. I've given up breakfast, anyway.'

‘Afraid of getting fat, are you?' Gracie said with a grin.

‘Something like that, beanpole.'

Gracie's enthusiasm was waning fast. She had had such high hopes of finding a place instantly, and after the first four replies had been no good, she had expected to choose the best one between these last two. But working above a butcher's shop was definitely out, and even Dolly had retched at the smell of blood wafting towards them, so now there was only one possibility left. And if that didn't turn out to be suitable …

‘Oh!' she said softly, as they finally found the last street. It could be more accurately described as a tree-lined avenue with a small selection of shops.

‘Does this suit you, your highness?' Dolly said with a grin, recovered from the effect the smell of animal blood had had on her.

‘It's probably too good to be true. The rent
will be out of my range, and it'll be above an undertaker's or something,' Gracie answered, betraying the fact that from the outside it looked simply perfect.

‘Blimey, more dead meat,' Dolly said brutally, ‘but you'll never know until you find out. What's the number?'

They found it half-way down the street. The ground floor was a discreet little shoe-shop, and the window displays were elegant and fashionable. Gracie pushed open the door, her hands trembling, anticipating the worst, but praying for the best as she told the elderly man behind the counter she had come to see Mr Foster.

‘You're speaking to him,' the man said. ‘And you must be Miss Brown. Come through to the back room while we have a chat with my wife.'

The gods were definitely smiling on Gracie Brown, she thought later. The Fosters lived at the extended rear of the premises, and didn't use the upstairs rooms as Mrs Foster was lame and could no longer manage the stairs.

‘We want someone else living in the house, to keep the rooms aired and occupied,' she was told, when they had been given tea and biscuits, and had had a thorough discussion with the couple. ‘We're prepared to charge a nominal rent for the right tenant. A young
business person is ideal, and you said in your letter that you are a professional seamstress, Miss Brown, and will work at home, which suits us admirably. I'll show you the rooms, and then we can discuss it further.'

Dolly was still sniggering over Gracie's describing herself as a professional seamstress by the time Mr Foster left them alone to inspect the rooms. There was one bedroom with a window overlooking a garden, a sitting-room, a small boxroom, and a bathroom. There was a separate entrance to the upstairs apartment, so no one had to go through the shop to reach it.

‘Blimey, gel, have you fallen on your feet! Providing he don't charge the earth, o' course, despite what he said.'

‘I don't care what it costs. It's perfect,' Gracie breathed, already seeing herself installed here with her own bits and pieces and the new sewing-machine she was going to buy. ‘I want it, and I have to have it.'

‘Sounds more like a feller than a place to live,' Dolly said with a grin.

‘You would say that, but I just want to make a success of what I do, however small it is, and to do it by my own efforts.'

‘I never knew you was so ambitious, Gracie,' Dolly said in a slightly more strangled voice.

‘Neither did I, until now.'

Gracie was completely charmed by the prospect of living here. She and Dolly wandered through the rooms separately. They were already furnished, and the Foster couple were well enough off to have carpets on the floor instead of the lino Gracie was used to. It was a real touch of class, she thought happily, and if that was being snobbish, she didn't care.

In her mind she was already adding personal touches; the framed photo of her mum and dad's wedding; the poster of Valentino from one of her movie-star magazines that would hide a dark patch on the bedroom wall; the crochet doylies her mum had made that would go on the sideboard; the little boxroom that would make an ideal working area …

She became aware of strange noises coming from the bathroom, and wondered briefly if the plumbing wasn't all that it should be. Perhaps nothing was this perfect after all. The door was not quite closed, and she looked around for Dolly to ask what she thought. When she couldn't find her she had a sudden suspicion, and pushed open the bathroom door.

Dolly was bending over the lavatory, heaving and spluttering into the pan. Her face
was bone-white as she pulled the chain quickly, but not before Gracie realized she had just been very sick.

‘Good Lord, Dolly, what's wrong?' she said in alarm.

Dolly wiped her streaming eyes with shaking hands.

‘Ain't you worked it out yet, Gracie? Even you can't be that dumb!'

All Gracie could hear was her friend's rasping breath, and all she could see was her frightened face, as shock hit her like a blow between the eyes. How
could
Dolly have been so stupid? And presumably with coalman Jim and his black fingernails. She gave an involuntary shudder.

‘I know what you think of me,' Dolly said shrilly, ‘and don't think it's not what I ain't been calling myself ever since I suspected.'