Pam Weaver - Better Days will Come

Grace stood up. ‘I’m going to get changed.’ She knew Rita was wondering what was wrong but she didn’t look back as she wearily climbed the steep stairs.

There was little warm water in the tap and the bathroom was very cold, but Grace washed herself slowly. How was she going to tell Rita? She and Bonnie were very close, so close they might almost be twins rather than two years apart. Bonnie had left no note for Rita. The girl would be heartbroken.

As she crossed the landing, a thought struck her. What if Rita already knew Bonnie was going? Maybe they’d planned it this way together. Grace felt a frisson of irritation. How dare they!

By now, she was frozen to the marrow. Pulling out some warmer clothes, Grace dressed quickly; a dry bra, her once pink petticoat, and a blue cable knit jumper over a grey skirt. She sat on the edge of the bed to roll her nylon stockings right down to the toe before putting them on her foot and easing over the heel. Her clothes were shabby, the jumper had darns on one elbow and at the side, her petticoat had odd straps because she’d used one petticoat to repair another, and her skirt, which came from a jumble sale, had been altered to fit. The one luxury she allowed herself was a decent pair of stockings. She rolled them slowly up her leg, careful not to snag them on a jagged nail, and checked her seams for straightness. Fastening the stockings to her suspenders, Grace towel-dried her hair and pulled on her wraparound apron before heading back downstairs to confront Rita.

‘Something’s happened,’ said Rita as she walked back into the kitchen. ‘What’s wrong, Mum?’

‘Your sister has left home,’ Grace said, her lips in a tight line, ‘but of course you already knew that, didn’t you?’

Rita’s jaw dropped.

‘Left home?’ Rita looked so shocked, Grace was thrown. ‘Where’s she gone?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’

‘Precisely what I said, I don’t know,’ cried her mother, her voice full of anguish. ‘I was so sure you’d know all about it.’

Rita seemed bewildered. Grace threw an enamel bowl into the stone sink with a great clatter. All the while that she had believed Rita knew about Bonnie, there was the hope that she could bully her whereabouts out of the girl. ‘Mum?’

For a few seconds, Grace stood with her back to her daughter, her hands clenching the sides of the stone sink, as if supporting the weight of her body, then she turned round. Rita was alarmed to see the tears in her eyes. Grace reached out for her but when Rita stood up, scraping her chair on the wooden floor behind her, she ran upstairs. Grace could hear her opening drawers, looking in the wardrobe and searching for the battered suitcase that they kept under the bed. As she listened, she relived every moment of her own fruitless search not half an hour ago. She opened the stair door and sat down. A moment or two later, Rita joined her and laid her head on Grace’s shoulder.

Rita chewed her bottom lip. Left home … Bonnie didn’t confide in her much these days, but Rita was sure she would have said something if she’d known she was going away. Was she ill or something?

‘Has she done something wrong, Mum?’

No answer.

‘When is she coming back?’

‘Darling, I’ve told you,’ Grace sighed. ‘I don’t know.’

Rita’s stomach fell away. She couldn’t bear it if Bonnie was gone. Sometimes Bonnie and her mother had words but neither of them held grudges. It just wasn’t their way. A sudden thought struck her. She lifted her head. ‘Shall I go and see if she’s at Sandra’s place?’

‘She’s not at Sandra’s. She’s gone to London.’

‘London?’

‘She told me in a note.’

‘What note?’

Grace stood up and they both went back into the kitchen. She showed Rita the single sheet of paper.

‘I shall never forget you and Rita … it all sounds so final,’ said Rita.

Her mother couldn’t look her in the eye. She got the saucepan out of the cupboard, put it onto the range and reached for a couple of potatoes. ‘Let’s clear the table please.’

Rita gathered her schoolbooks into a pile. Tears were already brimming over her eyes. Why go to London? It was fifty miles away. Bonnie didn’t know anyone in London, did she? Rita opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it when she saw her mother’s expression.

‘There’s nothing we can do, love,’ Grace said firmly but in a more conciliatory tone. ‘Your sister has left home. I don’t know why she’s gone but it’s her choice and we’ll just have to get on withit.’

The potatoes Grace had cut up went clattering into the pan. She covered them with water before putting them on the range. Their eyes met and a second or two later, unable to contain her grief any more, Rita burst into tears and ran upstairs.

Victoria station was alive with people. Bonnie had arrived in the rush hour. She went straight to platform 12 as agreed with George, but after waiting a long two hours, she was so desperate for the toilet, she had to leave. She wasn’t gone for more than ten minutes but he must have come and gone during that time and she’d missed him. Why didn’t he wait? Where could he have gone? She didn’t know what to do, but she was afraid to move from their agreed meeting place in case she’d got it wrong and he was simply late. As time wore on, it grew colder. The station was getting quieter. She began to feel more conspicuous now that the evening rush hour was drawing to a close, and a lot more anxious. Oh, George, where are you? She scoured the heads of the male passengers, willing George’s trilby hat to come bobbing towards her, but it was hopeless. A few passengers who had obviously been to the theatre or some other posh frock do milled around, talking in loud plummy voices. Bonnie bit back her tears and shivered. She wished she and George could have travelled together but she hadn’t expected Miss Bridewell to let her go early. She’d worked her notice so that she could get the week’s pay owing to her and some of her holiday money. The extra money would come in handy if the job in Stanmore didn’t work out for some reason.

‘I’ve got on to a mate who can put us up,’ he’d told her. ‘Save a bit of money that way. He’s not on the telephone so I’ll go up and make the arrangements beforehand. I’ll meet you at platform 12.’

She saw a party of cleaners emerge from a small storeroom and begin to sweep the concourse and then she noticed a man approaching. Bonnie looked around anxiously. Why was he coming her way? She didn’t know him.

‘Excuse me, Miss,’ he said raising his hat. ‘I couldn’t help noticing you standing there. Has your friend been delayed?’

Bonnie didn’t answer but she felt her face heating up and her heart beat a little faster. Oh, George, she thought, where are you? Please come now …

‘If you’re looking for a place to stay,’ he continued, ‘I know where a respectable girl like you can get a room at a cheap price.’

Bonnie looked at him for the first time. He was smartly dressed in a suit and tie. He looked clean and presentable. He looked like the sort of man she could take home to her mother but she didn’t know him from Adam and she had read of the terrible things that could happen to young girls on their own in London in Uncle Charlie Hanson’s News of the World . She turned her head, pretending not to have heard him.

‘Forgive me,’ he smiled pleasantly. ‘I only ask because I can see you look concerned. I don’t normally approach young women like this.’

Bonnie began to tremble. Oh, where are you, George …

‘Could I perhaps offer you a cup of tea in the tea bar?’ He was very persistent but that was what the News of the World said they were like. Men like him duped girls into going with them and corrupted them into a life of prostitution.