Bad Girls Good Women

The song was ‘Ma, He’s Making Eyes at Me’.

Mattie’s singing voice was unremarkable, but the enthusiasm of her delivery made up for that. She went through the volume range from whisper to shout, with a supporting repertoire of winks and smiles. The performance was absurd, but her confidence and a hint of real talent carried it off for her.

The last line of the song, delivered at full-throated roar, was ‘Mama, he’s kissing me!’ In the crescendo of chords that followed as her pianist tried for her share of the limelight, Mattie pursed her red lips and blew a lingering kiss at the girls and teachers.

There was a terrible silence.

‘It was Julia,’ Mattie remembered, ‘who jumped on to her chair and clapped her hands until they nearly fell off. It was after that that we made friends.’

‘And slid down together all the way to here.’

They looked so young, and fresh, and pleased with their loucheness, even to Johnny who was hardly any older, that he laughed and draped his arms around their necks and kissed them.

‘C’mon, you two. I can’t handle you both. Let’s have another drink. By the way, who won the talent contest?’

They stared at him, and then dissolved into giggles. ‘A girl with pigtails and glasses. Who recited Walter de la Mare.’

Later, they weren’t sure how much later, they saw Jessie being helped to her feet, supported by two waiters from their favourite Italian restaurant. Julia was ready to run forward to help her, thinking that she must be overcome by heat or vodka, and then she saw that Jessie was beaming with pride. She held up her hand.

‘Albert’s asked me to sing. I couldn’t say no, could I?’

There was an instant storm of cheers. Freddie Bishop wriggled forward and cupped his hands to his mouth yet again.

Jessie sang.

She loved all the old songs, of course, ‘We’ll Meet Again’, and ‘Tipperary’, and ‘Pack Up Your Troubles’. Everyone, all the people crowded in the smoky rooms, sang with her. Felix saw the rekindled light in her face, and he knew that in her heart she was back in her club bar, with the curtains tightly drawn, and her friends and customers around the piano. He looked across the room, and his eyes met Julia’s.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered to her through the singing, and she dipped her dark head at him.

Jessie held up her huge, pale arms. ‘I’ve got two new friends,’ she called out, ‘who made this party for me, with my Felix. Come over here, both of you, and sing with me.’ She beckoned to Julia and Mattie. When they reached her Julia whispered, ‘I can’t sing. Mattie’ll do my bit for me. Jessie, do you know “Ma, He’s Making Eyes at Me?” ’

‘Of course I know it,’ Jessie roared.

They sang it together, the two of them, as if they had been rehearsing it for years. Julia saw that Mattie had grown into the ripeness that she had caricatured at Blick Road. The eyes of every man in the room were fixed on her. Of everyone except Felix, because Felix was looking at Julia. Julia didn’t feel even a tremor of jealousy. She closed her eyes, and let the ridiculous song bridge the years back to Blick Road school. She loved Mattie. This was her family now, she thought, prophetically. Mattie, and Jessie, and Felix.

‘Mama, he’s kissing me!’

There was no terrible silence this time. There were whistles and shouts and applause. Near Felix a small, thin man with a little thin moustache was clapping too.

‘That girl packs quite a punch,’ he murmured, to no one in particular. ‘She can’t sing, but she must have plenty of other talents. What can I find for her to do?’

Two important things happened that evening, although at the time they seemed hardly more important than the other snatches of talk, promises and pleas and evasions, that rose with the plumes of cigarette smoke.

Mr Mogridge’s friend eased Felix into a corner. He had looked carefully around the flat, and now he said, ‘Did this place up yourself, didn’t you? Tommy Bull told me. Made quite a nice job of it, I must say. Listen, I’ve got a proposition. I’ve got some flats, I want ’em done up and furnished for letting. Quality letting, mind. Tasteful, but nothing too fancy. Like this place. Do you want to take the job on for me? I pay well.’

Felix studied the man. He didn’t like him any better than he liked Mr Mogridge or Mr Bull, and when the man said quality letting he knew that he meant No Blacks or Irish, like the signs in the landladies’ windows. Then he thought about the life studio, and the art school exercises languishing in his portfolio.

‘All right,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll take the job on for you.’

The man with the thin moustache went over to Mattie when the storm following her song had died down. He took a card out of his wallet and handed it to her. Mattie read the name, Francis Willoughby, and the title, Manager, Headline Repertory Companies.

‘I’ve got three companies on the road at the moment,’ he said grandly. ‘I need a girl Friday to help me out in our London offices. All aspects of theatre work, on the administration side. You interested?’

‘Yes,’ Mattie whispered. She reached out for the card as if it was the Holy Grail.

‘Give me a tinkle, then.’ The man peeled his lips back in a smile.

Jessie fell into her sudden sleep not long after that, and the crowds began to trickle away.

Julia stood with Johnny’s arms around her. She wasn’t sure that she could hold herself up without his support. His mouth felt very hot on her neck, and he was excited. She could feel him pushing against her. Over his shoulder, she saw Felix. He bent down to pick up an empty glass, and then he walked away.

This wasn’t what she had planned for tonight, Julia realised. It shouldn’t be like this. But she was too tired now, and too drunk, to change anything.

‘Come on, darling,’ Johnny begged her.

‘No. I can’t. Tomorrow.’

‘Okay.’ He sighed. ‘Not tonight. But tomorrow, or sooner. You can’t keep me gasping for you like this, baby. Look. It’s bad for me.’

Julia shut her eyes.

Johnny picked her up and carried her to her bed. He laid her down and pulled the covers over her, kimono and all, and left her there.

Julia opened her eyes once more and saw that she was safe, although Felix wasn’t there. The room was spinning around her but she shut her eyes again anyway, and plunged down into the revolving tunnel of sleep.

Four (#u8add3495-316b-5c45-aa1e-1c95b6ce887a)

It was the party that made Julia feel, now I do belong here. It was gratifying to have been part of a success that was still talked about in the Rocket and Blue Heaven. Out of a new, buoyant sense of security she wrote to Betty and Vernon.

The letter said no more than I’m here, with Mattie, and I’m all right. Betty would be worried, and even in the confusion of her feelings about her mother Julia didn’t want her to be anxious for no reason. She put the address of the flat at the top of the letter because it sounded so fixed, a long way from Fairmile Road.

Betty saw the envelope at once, lying on the rug behind the front door with a church newsletter and a bill addressed to Vernon. Her hands were shaking as she picked it up. She held on to it, crumpling it a little, while she fetched her glasses and the Brighton souvenir letter opener.

Betty read Julia’s brief message, and re-read it, and then sat down abruptly on the upright chair beside the telephone.

She remembered that she had done exactly the same thing when she had read the first note, the few words that Julia had scribbled before she disappeared. It had made no sense then, and she had turned the envelope over in her fingers. The gum on the flap was still damp and she saw her daughter licking it to seal in her goodbye, with her dark hair loose about her face.

‘No,’ Betty had said aloud into the quiet of the house. ‘Oh, no. Julia, where are you?’ The words echoed back at her. Betty had dropped the note and run up the stairs. In Julia’s pretty, schoolgirl bedroom the drawers and cupboards were half empty. The neat cardigans and pinafore dresses that Betty had bought for her were still there, and the strange, defiant clothes that they had quarrelled about were all gone.

Betty stood in the silent room, trying to understand what had happened. It was as if her Julia, the pretty, clever schoolgirl, was still there in the house, with all her clothes and the white furry lamb that always sat on her candlewick counterpane. It was someone else, a stranger who she didn’t know or understand, who had run away from her.

‘Julia!’

Betty turned and ran frantically through the house. A series of pictures danced in front of her eyes, faster and faster, like a slide show running out of control. Her first sight of Julia, a bundle of blankets put into her arms. Julia’s first steps, wobbling across the hearthrug towards her. Picnics, and an outing to the sea. Julia making her first cake, frowning solemnly over the mixing bowl. Then Julia in her new grammar school uniform, when Vernon had said, ‘She’ll be someone, Betty. She’s got a head on her shoulders.’

And then, darker pictures slipping between the sunlit ones, there was another Julia who looked at Betty as if she hated her. Betty saw more and more of that Julia, a sullen, silent interloper in her skirts that were too short and too tight, her pretty face shadowed by too much make-up.

‘Julia!’