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Chapter Three

‘You should’ve seen her,’ said Hazel later that evening. She sat up straight against the faded velvet banquette. ‘Standin’ there saying she wasn’t to blame. Honestly, you’ve no idea what it’s like livin’ with her, puttin’ up with her day in day out.’

‘We’re going to be fine,’ said Neville, trying to calm Hazel down. He’d dressed up for his night out, in his most stylish shirt and jacket. He was a good-looking young man with thick dark hair and laughter in his eyes. He didn’t mind that he was shorter than Hazel – most men were. ‘We’ve been through all this. I’ll get some extra shifts. Nobody likes the night shift, they’re always asking us to sign on for extra hours then. Pay’s better an’ all. You’ll have your big day.’ His eyes shone at the idea of the most gorgeous woman in Battersea walking down the aisle to marry him. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe his luck. The moment he saw Hazel he knew she was the one for him and now she’d agreed to be his wife. Life didn’t get any better than this.

‘I know.’ Hazel made an effort to calm down. Neville loved her, and that was what mattered. He was the best-looking man she knew and even better, his family were new to the area so didn’t know what sort of childhood she’d had. She shivered at the memories of hand-me-downs, always being short of food, always cold, her mother permanently pinched from worry about the rent and whether they’d be evicted. All the kids she’d been at school with knew about it and would have teased her more if they’d dared, but she’d always had a fierce temper and nobody tried it twice. The worst thing was when one of the girls in her class recognised Hazel wearing one of her own dresses that had been given away as jumble. Hazel had had to put up with weeks of snide comments, bringing home the truth that while her classmates weren’t well-off, she was the lowest of the low. She dreaded it when these scenes from the past forced themselves into her mind and the feelings of shame came rushing back. She hated this; she liked to be in control of events and the recollections of that childhood when she’d been ashamed so often threatened to overwhelm her. She remembered how it was only when she’d started to grow up and fill out a bit that the jibes stopped. Suddenly everyone wanted to get to know her – or at least the boys did. But Hazel wasn’t stupid. She knew she’d be better off waiting for the right one and didn’t allow any of the others to take liberties. Now she’d found him, and she was going to put the misery of her past behind her. Neville was exactly what she’d been waiting for.

She took a sip of her sherry as she glanced around. ‘Are you sure this is all right, me being seen out in a pub? I don’t look like a tart in here, do I?’

‘You never look like a tart,’ Neville said. ‘You look like a proper lady. And that’s what a lady would drink. Why, don’t you like it?’

‘Not sure.’ Hazel thought it tasted like woodchips soaked in sugar but wasn’t going to say so. She knew Linda had sherry at home, and she was doing all right for herself, so this is what she would have to learn to like. She’d always refused to go into a public bar, but this was a secluded little snug. She couldn’t have sat at home after what had happened, and Neville’s family were lovely but there were a lot of them in a house not much bigger than her own. As well as his parents, he had a sister almost the same age as him and a younger brother who never shut up, and who shared Neville’s cramped bedroom. When she and Neville got married she had every intention of ending up somewhere better than either of their families. She wasn’t exactly sure how they’d do it but she had every hope that they’d get away and improve their lot. He’d promised her he’d give her anything she wanted and she trusted him to mean it. Somehow they would find a way to make it happen. Just because they were young and only starting out didn’t mean they’d live like their parents on Ennis Street for the rest of their lives.

‘Can’t beat a pint of beer,’ smiled Neville. ‘But when I start my overtime, I’ll cut down. That way we’ll save even more. You’re going to look like a princess.’

‘Really?’ Hazel suddenly felt like crying. He was so good to her.

‘My princess. You’ll knock ’em dead, you’ll be so beautiful, and I’ll be the proudest man in Battersea. Just you wait and see.’

‘Oh Neville, we’re going to be so happy.’ Hazel couldn’t help a sob. The events of the day had been too much, but soon she’d be married to this man who loved her and spoilt her, and she was going to have the sort of life she’d always dreamed of. The future was bright, and nobody was going to take that away from her.

Despite her aches and pains, Cora loved her job at the corner shop. It was the best she’d ever had. She could sit down behind the counter when they weren’t busy and best of all she got to hear every piece of gossip before anyone else. Her boss was delighted to have such a reliable employee and pretty well let her run the place as she thought fit.

This morning she’d made sure the paperboys left on time for their rounds with all the right newspapers and magazines, and was about to start on the ledger. If she didn’t keep it up to date, it took ages to add everything up at the end of the day, and she wanted to get home as soon as possible. She didn’t want any more fights breaking out between Hazel and Alison. Hazel had admitted she’d been overwrought, what with wanting all the help she could get to pay for the perfect wedding, but Cora knew it could all flare up again if she wasn’t there to keep the peace. For the hundredth time she cursed Alison under her breath for losing that factory job.

The bell over the door rang as Winnie Jewell came in, followed by a sharp gust of freezing wind.

‘Shut that!’ Cora exclaimed. ‘That’s coming straight from the Arctic, that is.’

‘At least you’re warm in here,’ shivered Winnie, rubbing her chapped hands. ‘What’ve you got round that counter, a heater? I can smell the paraffin from here.’

‘You need it, I can tell you.’ Cora was in no mood to take nonsense from the woman. ‘What can I do for you? Got your delivery all right, did you?’

‘I fancied something a bit extra,’ said Winnie. She patted her plaid headscarf. ‘Now our Vera’s at home in the daytime I thought I’d get her a Radio Times so she can have a bit of a treat, listen to programmes in the afternoon. Not that she’ll be doing that for long. She got herself a new job yesterday, up Arding and Hobbs. She starts next week. Cleaner place than that old factory and a better class of people.’ She stopped. ‘No offence, of course.’

‘None taken.’ Cora would bide her time and get the woman back for that one. Even if Alison left a lot to be desired, Winnie Jewell was hardly a cut above the rest. As for her daughter Vera, she wondered if Arding and Hobbs knew what they were in for.

‘Here you go.’ She reached across and took a Radio Times from the pile.

‘Thanks.’ Winnie began to flick through the pages. ‘Might as well take a look here where it’s warm. Vera’s favourite is “The Goon Show” but I think it’s a load of old nonsense. Here we are, there’s one this week. Don’t know what she sees in it but it makes her laugh.’

‘I have to agree with you there,’ said Cora. ‘Nothing but smut and stupid noises. You’d think the BBC had better things to put on. Not that my girls have much time to listen to such things.’

‘Oh?’ said Winnie. ‘I’d have thought your Alison would have all the time in the world these days.’

Cora hated it when anyone caught her out. ‘No, because we’re all going to be working every spare hour God sends to make sure our Hazel has a perfect wedding.’ She enjoyed the look of surprise on the other woman’s face. News must not have got round yet. ‘Yes, Hazel has got engaged to Neville Parrot, and we’re very happy for them.’

‘Oh, he’s a nice-looking bloke,’ said Winnie with approval. ‘Polite too. She’s a lucky girl.’

‘And he’s a very lucky lad,’ said Cora instantly. ‘Our Hazel could have had her pick, but it’s young love, and who am I to stand in their way.’

The two women fell silent for a moment. Then Winnie remembered something. ‘Where’s she getting her dress?’

‘We haven’t decided yet,’ Cora replied. She wasn’t about to start discussing the finances of the big day, or the fact that the dress would have to be home-made with material from the market.

‘Well, you know that shop that does wedding dresses and evening wear down towards Wandsworth?’ Winnie asked. ‘Always got a lovely frock in the window? Well, they’re a girl short and Vera was going to see them about it, but then she got the job at Arding and Hobbs. That’s much closer of course. But would Alison be interested?’

‘She might,’ said Cora, trying not to seem too keen. ‘I’ll tell her about it. That’s if she hasn’t found something already, of course.’

‘Of course,’ said Winnie, playing along. ‘Well, better not keep you. I’ll be off.’ She struggled to open the door against the freezing gale.

Cora sighed as the door slammed shut. Winnie could be irritating and she had a massive blind spot when it came to her wayward daughter but it was good of her to mention the job vacancy. She would definitely make sure Alison went to see about it tomorrow. Even if it was very different to what the girl was used to, it couldn’t be that hard. She might even get a staff discount. Now that would be very useful. Smiling with anticipation, Cora pulled the big ledger back towards her.

Next day Alison trudged down the hill towards Wandsworth, wondering if this was a good idea. She hadn’t had much choice. Her mother had come home full of Winnie’s suggestion and what a good thing it would be if she got the job at the dress shop. Hazel had leapt on it immediately, delighted at the idea of such elegant clothes at bargain prices.

‘But you don’t know that,’ Alison had protested. ‘They might not agree. They’d probably still be too expensive. And I haven’t even got the job yet.’

‘Don’t be such a killjoy,’ Hazel had flared. ‘Don’t you want me to look smart? I could get a wedding dress and a going-away outfit.’

‘Going-away outfit?’ This was the first Cora had heard of it. ‘Going away where? And why do you need a special outfit for it? You’ve got a perfectly good coat already.’

‘Oh Mum, that won’t be any good.’ Hazel pulled a face. ‘Everyone has a special suit to go away in. And of course Neville will take me somewhere, he just ain’t said where yet. I couldn’t possibly wear my coat. It’s not even new. I need something smarter. Did you see what Linda had on the other day? That was new this winter, and she didn’t even have anything special to wear it for.’

‘That’s because her Terry earns a decent wage,’ snapped Cora. ‘I keep telling you, but you don’t listen. When you get to Linda’s station in life, you can have all these luxuries. The rest of us have to get by as best we can.’

Alison cringed as she remembered how Hazel had flounced out, leaving her to deal with Cora, who of course said it was all her fault. So now the pressure really was on her not only to get the job, but to get a big discount as well. Anything less would leave her mother disappointed and her sister furious.

The hill down to Wandsworth was longer than she remembered. Maybe she should have taken a bus but until she knew when her next wage packet would be in, Alison didn’t want to spend anything more than she had to. She didn’t want to be accused of sponging off the household. At least she didn’t have to worry about the schoolboys around here, as it wasn’t likely she’d run into anyone she knew. She thought some people were looking at her oddly but couldn’t be sure as she avoided meeting their eyes. As usual, she withdrew into her shell, making no contact with anybody – the only way she felt safe. There was no point in going looking for trouble, especially when it seemed to find her so often.

By the time she reached the dress shop, she had blisters on both feet. She stood outside, mesmerised by the frock in the front window. She’d never seen anything like it. A slim mannequin was placed against a background of deep purple velvet, which made the silvery whiteness of the frock even more special. It had a full skirt and the bodice was embroidered with tiny white stars, only visible when she looked very closely. Glancing down at her own dull skirt poking out beneath her gabardine raincoat, she felt drabber than ever.

Gathering her courage, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The place smelt of flowers. Alison turned around and noticed a big display of roses arranged in a cut-glass vase.

‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’ said a voice, and an extremely elegant woman came out of the back room, brushing an imaginary piece of lint from her dark sleeve. ‘Can I help you?’

Alison was at a loss for words. She tried to picture herself in the woman’s place, with eyebrows so finely drawn and hair sprayed into neat waves.

The woman tried again. ‘Can I help you?’

Alison wished the floor would open up and swallow her. Finally she said, ‘It’s about the job.’

‘The job?’

‘My mum was told you had a job going.’

‘Does she want to work in this establishment?’

‘No,’ Alison said. ‘It’s me. I need a job.’

The woman’s expression didn’t change but she looked her up and down, very slowly. The silence seemed to go on forever. Finally she said: ‘You?’

Alison nodded, blushing.

‘Have you any experience at this sort of thing? Are you familiar with this quality of product?’

‘No … not really,’ Alison stumbled, ‘but you see, my sister’s getting married, and she wants a wedding dress and we thought …’

‘I see,’ said the woman. She brushed her sleeve again, quite deliberately. ‘Well, I’m not sure that you’d be suitable. I don’t think you’re quite what my customers expect when they come for a fitting.’

Alison wasn’t sure what to make of that. ‘Why? What do you mean?’

The woman sighed. ‘We sell only the finest formal wear. Our customers expect to be assisted by someone who exhibits everything that is associated with such products – elegance, finesse. To be blunt, when I look at you, that is not what I see.’

Alison felt like running out there and then but forced herself to stand her ground. ‘I can get different clothes.’

‘No, no, no,’ said the woman. ‘Or rather, yes, that would help, but it’s what you do with what you wear as much as how you wear it. What would be the point of giving you a couture jacket? You’d never notice the shape of it if you stand like that all the time.’

‘I know I’m too tall,’ Alison began, ‘but I can’t help …’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ cut in the woman. ‘Your height is an asset. Many would love to be as tall as you. But when you round your shoulders and stare at your feet all the time you ruin the whole effect. You must project style and poise. Style and poise.’

Alison looked at her as if she was speaking another language.

‘So you see, my dear,’ said the woman, moving towards the door, ‘until you understand what I’m talking about, and I can see that you don’t, this is not the place for you. I must detain you no longer. I wish you luck in your search for more suitable employment.’ With that, she ushered Alison back onto the freezing pavement and shut the door firmly behind her.

Alison was totally humiliated. It was one thing to be insulted by her family, the local children and the men at the factory. That was bad, but she was used to it. This felt different. She couldn’t help her height. She couldn’t help having ugly, worn-out clothes. Staring ahead up the hill, she knew she’d have no choice but to drag herself back up to the top, in the useless shoes that weren’t made for walking, and which had been a waste of time.

Close to despair, Alison knew that she should see if any other places around here had cards in the window advertising jobs, as she wasn’t down Wandsworth way very often, but she’d lost the will to search. She knew she couldn’t go straight home – even if Cora was still at work, her mother would be bound to hear from someone that her youngest had been in all afternoon and then there’d be a huge row and she’d be accused of not trying. Her mother and sister had a point – she was as useless as they said, and without the kind women at the factory nobody was going to make her believe otherwise. She couldn’t go to a café – she dared not spend the money for a cup of tea or a bun. There was nothing for it but to walk the chilly streets until it grew dark, and then she would have to face Hazel’s anger when she told her there’d be no cut-price wedding dress after all.

‘Drink up, Nev!’

The news had got out about his engagement and all his mates from the paint factory who weren’t on the late shift had insisted on taking Neville to the pub to celebrate.

‘Commiserate, more like,’ said Dennis Banks, one of the older ones, who loved to tell them all about his success with different women every weekend. Neville grinned. He didn’t believe half the tales – some of them sounded physically impossible. But he wasn’t going to turn down the offer of a free pint.

‘Yeah, what d’you want to get yourself shackled for so young?’ demanded Nobby. Nobby was prematurely bald and had slightly bulging eyes, so Neville reckoned he hadn’t had too many chances of being shackled himself.

‘Nobby, ain’t you seen her?’ said Bill Stevens. ‘You should be so lucky. She’s a real looker, is Nev’s bird. Oh, she’ll tire him out, she will. He’ll be a shadow of his former self. But he’ll be happy with it. Won’t you, Nev?’

‘Never happier,’ beamed Neville. It was true. He’d had two and a half pints, he was engaged to the most beautiful woman in Battersea, and here were all his mates, wishing him well. They were in the smoky public bar, and things were just beginning to get raucous, but he didn’t mind. He felt as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

‘Do you know what to do on the big night?’ Dennis went on. ‘Shall I give you some tips? I got lots of those …’

‘Yeah, like don’t let your sister go down a dark alley with Dennis,’ interrupted Bill, setting down his glass on the worn wooden counter. ‘Another, young Nev?’

‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Nev ignored all the nudging and tried to focus on the pint before him as all the lights from the bar and brass from the surrounds seemed to be shining extra brightly. He wasn’t really worried about his wedding night, even though he hadn’t had much experience. His mates assumed because he was a good-looking bloke that he’d had plenty of women but it wasn’t true. He’d been cooped up sharing a bedroom with his younger brother for most of his life and there hadn’t exactly been many opportunities to break away, and God alone knew there wasn’t a spare inch of space at Hazel’s house. Even though she had a room to herself there was no chance of a bit of slap and tickle with her mother and sister living in such close quarters. Still, he loved her and she loved him, so what could go wrong? He certainly wasn’t going to be asking Dennis for tips.

‘Not in a hurry to get married, are you?’ Nobby asked. ‘No big rush, is there? You ain’t expecting the patter of tiny feet?’

‘Get away, Nobby.’ Nev pretended to be offended. ‘My Hazel’s a respectable girl. There won’t be no hurried wedding for her. She wants the best. And I’m going to give it to her.’

‘Oh, we’d all give it to her,’ Bill laughed. Some of the others joined in, especially those who appreciated Hazel’s finer points.

‘That’s enough, boys,’ said Frank Dalby, their foreman. ‘Leave the lad to have his drink. No call for insulting the lady. Time enough for insults when you’re married, and I should know.’

Frank’s wife was famous for giving as good as she got, but nobody really had a bad word to say about Marian Dalby, who had been known to bake fruit cakes for her husband to take in to the lads on late shift, in case they got hungry as the hours of the night wore on. Nev thought that if his marriage was as happy as Frank’s then he’d have no cause for complaint. Even so, he couldn’t quite see Hazel cooking for his workmates.

But that didn’t matter. Here was Dennis giving him a new pint, there were all his friends raising their glasses to him, and Hazel was going to be his wife. Neville Parrot was on top of the world.