Bad Girls Good Women (15 page)

Jessie’s big, grey head lifted, but she said nothing.

Julia laughed again, just recognisably now.

‘You could, but what difference will it make in the end? I will be twenty-one one day, you can’t stop that, and even before then you don’t own me. You can’t change what you’ve just told me.’ Carefully but deliberately she detached herself from Felix. She went across to the sofa and sat down, her back against the warm paisley shawl. ‘I’m all right,’ she said to Felix and Jessie. She was smiling when she turned to Betty again.

‘It’s funny, in a way, isn’t it? Ironic, I think that’s the word. I wanted to be free, and you’ve set me free by telling me the truth.’

There was a moment of silence. Felix thought,
It isn’t as simple as that
.

Then Betty stood up. Her coat seemed bigger, too loose for her frame inside it, and her handbag looked like a dead weight over her arm.

‘You won’t come?’ she asked childishly.

‘No,’ Julia repeated. ‘I live here now.’

There was no more talk of guardianship, no suggestion of ownership. Betty’s head nodded stiffly, just once.

Watching her, Jessie tried to promise, ‘We’ll look after her for you. I’ll see she’s all right.’

Betty swung round to her, bitterness only heightened by defeat.

‘You? You and him?’ She jerked her head at Felix. ‘My Julia might just as well be on the streets.’

No one said anything then, not even Julia, even though her fists clenched in her lap. She watched her mother plod slowly to the door, fumble with the catch. There was still an instant when she could have said,
Wait
. Yet she didn’t, and afterwards she believed that she was right.

They heard Betty’s footsteps going away down the stairs.

Julia had stopped shivering. To Jessie and Felix she said almost triumphantly, ‘I told you, didn’t I? You’re my family now. You and Mattie.’

Mattie was at the front door when Betty passed her. She caught a glimpse of her face and automatically put her hand out, but Betty never wavered. Mattie watched her go, away under the plane trees with her brown hat held upright. She seemed to carry the smell of Fairmile Road with her, Air-Wick and polish and ironing.

Betty sat quite still, all the way back on the train to the local station. She crossed the High Street, quite blind, although she nodded to the people who greeted her. Everything inside her was focused on her longing to reach home. Outside the front door she groped for her key, not even noticing that the panels of the door were coated with street dust. But when the door swung open there was none of the relief of sanctuary. She saw Vernon’s mackintosh hanging from its pegs on the hallstand, and his black briefcase on the floor beside it.

Of course, it was past the time for Vernon to be at home. It was strange, she realised now, that she hadn’t thought about him all the way back.

He appeared in the living room doorway, at first only a dark shadow seen out of the corner of her eye, and then she looked full at him. He was wearing his navy-blue office suit, shiny at the cuffs and turn-ups.

‘Betty? Where have you been?’

She always had his tea on the table by half past five, always. Her eyes met his.

‘I went up to Town. To look for Julia.’

His stiff face, frowning, measuring her.

‘And did you find her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where?’

She told him, awkwardly, stumbling over the words while he frowned. ‘She won’t come back to us, Vernon. She says she won’t come home.’ She wanted to go to him and have him put his arms around her, as that black boy had done with Julia, but neither of them moved. That wasn’t part of what happened between them.

Vernon said at last, ‘Well. If she won’t, she won’t.’ He turned back into the sitting room.

Betty’s hand reached out to the pretty, orange-skirted lady who covered the telephone. Her fingers caressed the layers of net skirt, searching for comfort.

‘I’ll put the tea on,’ she whispered.

It was an evening like any of the others, except Julia’s room upstairs was empty. There was not even the expectation of her key in the lock. Vernon listened to the play on the Home Service and Betty sat in the armchair opposite him with her knitting coiled in her lap.

At ten o’clock exactly she asked him, ‘Shall I make the cocoa?’

He nodded, not even looking at her over his reading glasses. She was heating the milk, in the special pan she always used, when he came in behind her. His presence seemed incongruous in the tidy kitchen. Betty looked down into the still, white circle of milk.

‘I told her,’ she said roughly. ‘I told her about the adoption.’

He almost bumped against her, but then he stepped back again.

‘I wish you hadn’t. She’s too young yet.’

‘Vernon, she’s grown up. She’s grown up, in that place.’

‘What did she say? How did she take it?’

The milk rose swiftly, and Betty lifted it off the heat.

‘I think she laughed. She said … she said it set her free.’

She couldn’t understand that. Perhaps Vernon would understand it. But all he said, after a long pause, and so quietly that she could hardly hear him, was ‘Perhaps it’s for the best. In the end.’

Betty carried the cups back into the living room and they drank their cocoa in silence. When her cup was empty she said, ‘I’ll go on up.’

Vernon usually followed her, after locking the doors and winding the clock on the mantelpiece. But tonight he sat for a long time in his armchair in the quiet house, staring ahead of him at the lavender and yellow flowers that ran in garlands down the wallpaper.

Betty lay under the eiderdown upstairs with the tears wet and stinging on her cheeks.

It was Jessie who told Mattie what had happened. Julia listened with her head bent, picking at the fringe of the shawl. At the end she broke in, saying fiercely, ‘I’m sorry about what my … about what she said to you and Felix. That’s the way she is. Anyone who doesn’t live like she does is condemned. She did it to Mattie …’

Jessie said gently, ‘There’s no need to be sorry, my duck. And she is your mother. She raised you all those years, whoever had the birth of you.’

Mattie didn’t say much. She was shocked, but a part of her wasn’t even surprised. She put her arms round Julia’s shoulders and hugged her, and then she grinned lopsidedly at Jessie and Felix.

‘Here we are, the two of us. What do you think?’

‘I don’t think anything,’ Jessie declared. ‘I know you belong here, that’s all. You can stay as long as you feel like it. Felix?’

He had gone back to his place by the window, looking down on the square. ‘Of course they can stay,’ he answered.

They had given Julia a glass of vodka and orange and she drank it in a gulp, and then looked round at the three of them.

‘What shall we do?’ she demanded.

‘I’ve just told you,’ Jessie said. ‘Stay here with us.’

Julia’s face softened. ‘Thank you for that. But I meant now, tonight.’ There was a pressure on her chest, tightening, like something threatening to burst out of her. And she felt a weird, wild gaiety. When the others stared at her she laughed, a little too loudly.

‘I want to go out somewhere. Have some fun.’

Jessie hesitated, and then she nodded. She reached down beside her chair for her huge, cracked leather handbag and then peered inside it. From one of the powdery recesses she produced a five-pound note and waved it at Felix.

‘She’s right. No point moping here. Take them both out and buy them dinner. Go on with you.’

Felix took charge. ‘Get dressed, both of you. Something decent. We’ll go to Leoni’s.’

‘Good boy,’ Jessie said approvingly.

When they were ready, they tried to persuade Jessie to come with them.

‘We need you,’ Mattie said, ‘if we’re going to have a posh dinner. Julia and me won’t know which knife to use.’

‘Felix will tell you. He’s good at all that.’

Jessie seemed more firmly lodged in her chair than ever. She was afraid of the long flight of stairs outside her door, and the streets beyond them, but she tried not to let them see it.

‘I’d rather stay here in peace, you know. Fill me up, Mat, will you?’

‘But you belong with us.’ Julia knelt down in front of her, and Jessie saw her feverishly bright eyes.

‘I know I do, duck. And here I am. Now go and have your dinner, and don’t make too much bloody noise when you come back.’

On the way to Dean Street, passing through streets that had become familiar, even homely, Julia felt herself spinning, as if her feet might lose contact with the paving stones. The pressure inside her intensified until she had to run, her arms and legs pumping up and down. Mattie and Felix were breathless behind her, and their feet thudded faster and faster, like drumbeats.

Felix reached out and grabbed her wrist and she swung outwards, her full skirt ballooning up around her legs.

‘What are you running away from?’ he demanded.

‘I’m not running away. Towards something.’

‘What?’

‘Oh, Felix. I don’t know. Freedom.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ Mattie shouted, catching Julia’s mood.

‘What will you do with it, all this freedom?’

Julia had a momentary sense of space. Dark, windy emptiness, dropping away all around her. She was perched on a tiny foothold, all alone. She reached out and put her arms around Mattie and they swayed together, laughing at Felix.

‘Gobble it all up,’ Julia said triumphantly.

At first Leoni’s seemed forbidding, with its long, white-starched tablecloths and faded decor. It was full of people, all seemingly much older and richer than themselves. But when a table was found for them in the centre of the room, the other diners looked up as they sailed past in the wake of the head waiter. The three of them held their heads up. They knew, somehow, that tonight they were worth looking at. A spark had ignited them.

‘I’ll order for you,’ Felix said. He studied the big white menu, and spoke rapid French to the waiter.

‘How do you know French?’ the girls demanded, impressed in spite of themselves.

‘I only know menu French. And please and thank you. I taught myself.’

‘Teach us,’ Julia demanded. ‘I want to learn everything.’

He smiled at her. ‘I know you do.’ Her eagerness pleased him, and at the same time, in a different recess of himself, it frightened him.

When their plates came, Mattie and Julia stared disbelievingly into the bubbling interiors of the big, amber and gold striped shells nestled in their special dishes.

‘They’re snails,’ Mattie whispered.

‘They certainly are,’ Felix agreed. .’And you will eat them. You can’t let me down now. Look, like this.’ He fitted the little silver clamp around one of his shells and winkled the snail out. It dripped hot, buttery sauce. When the snail was gone Felix tipped the juice out of the shell and mopped it up with bread from the piled-up basket.

‘I’m so hungry’,’ Julia said suddenly. ‘I’ve never been so hungry.’

Copying Felix, she extracted a snail. She opened her mouth and it slid down her throat. She blinked, and realised that it was delicious.

They devoured their snails, and emptied the bread basket. The waiters were fatherly, bringing more bread and beaming their approval, all except one who was young and hovered around Mattie’s chair.

After the escargots – ‘Escargots,’ repeated Julia – came tournedos Rossini. The thick wedges of steak with pâté and toasted bread were rich and utterly satisfying. Wine was brought in a wicker cradle, the neck of the bottle wrapped in a white napkin. Felix tasted the drop that the wine waiter poured into his glass and nodded.

‘This is Beaune,’ he told them.

The pudding was a puff of choux pastry oozing with dark chocolate. Mattie loved all sweet things and she chased the last fragments of hers around her plate, groaning with pleasure.

‘Oh, how I love food and wine.’ Looking across the table at Felix and Julia, she was suddenly struck by their likeness. Julia’s skin was white and Felix’s was milky coffee, but their faces had the same high cheekbones and strong mouths. And their expressions were the same. Appraising. Touched with arrogance, but ready to dissolve into laughter as well. ‘And I love you two,’ she whispered.

They both heard it.
You
too. Julia’s hand was lying loosely on the white cloth. Felix had raised his own hand, intending to cover her fingers, draw them towards him.
Now
, he thought.
It has to be now
.

But he felt the waiter behind him, leaning forwards to murmur in this hear, ‘Excusez-moi, monsieur.’

They heard ice clinking, and a frosty silver bucket materialised beside their table. In the bucket was a bottle of champagne.

Through the droplets misting the clear glass they could see the wine. Pink champagne.

‘I didn’t order …’ Felix murmured, unusually disconcerted. ‘No, monsieur. The gentleman over there ordered it. He asked me to present his compliments.’

They turned their heads, in unison.

‘Who’s that?’ Julia breathed.

Joshua Flood and Harry Gilbert always met for a drink or dinner whenever Josh passed through London. Harry was an ex-RAF pilot, ten years older than Josh. The two men had met when Harry and his air charter company pilots were flying eighteen hours a day, lifting supplies to Berlin, and Josh was a skinny American teenager who was hanging around the airfield looking for work, any work, that had anything to do with flying. Harry had given him a job loading and unloading crates, and Josh stuck to it. Harry Gilbert gave the boy his first flying lesson, and they went out and got drunk together on the day Josh got his pilot’s licence. It was an unlikely relationship, between the upper-class Englishman and the much younger American who, by his own admission, ‘came from Nowhere, Colorado, but was going plenty of places’, but it had persisted. They enjoyed one another’s company, and they were drawn together by their mutual enthusiasm for aircraft, skiing and women.

They had amused themselves over dinner at Leoni’s that evening by speculating on the threesome at the centre table. It was Mattie who had first drawn their attention.

‘Look at that hair.’