Georgia

  Sally looked round at her friend, a smirk of understanding and affection playing on her lips.

  ‘Come on, you silly mare,’ she said. ‘Get the nightie on her before the poor kid freezes. I’ve got to get back to those little buggers downstairs!’

  Georgia slept all day till nearly nine that night. Janet checked on her constantly, and gradually relief took the place of fear. There was no sign of fever. The flow of blood had turned to a trickle and she was sleeping as quietly and soundly as a baby.

  Janet was watching television around nine when she heard the door open behind her.

  ‘What on earth!’ she exclaimed.

  Georgia stood there fully dressed in her jeans and the red sweater she’d arrived in. She had her shoes on and her coat in her hand.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Janet demanded.

  ‘Home,’ Georgia said simply.

  ‘Get back into bed this minute. You ain’t going anywhere.’ Janet jumped to her feet. ‘Never heard nothing so daft.’

  ‘No, Jan,’ Georgia said softly. ‘It’s time you had your children back, you’ve done enough. I’m all right now thanks to you. But I’m not going to impose any longer.’

  ‘Impose?’ Janet roared. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Georgia said nothing, just came over to Janet and put her arms round her, leaning her head on her shoulder.

  ‘I didn’t realize till just now what you’d been risking,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so selfish sometimes. I don’t think beyond me. You’ve been so wonderful, I’ll never forget it. But your children belong here, not me.’

  ‘But –’

  Georgia lifted her head and put one finger on Janet’s lips.

  ‘I’ll tell Helen I’ve got a tummy ache and go to bed. If anything does happen then I’ll pretend it’s just a bad period. It’s safer that way. Our little secret.’

  ‘You can’t walk home!’

  ‘Of course I can,’ Georgia smiled. ‘I’ll be back at work on Monday good as new. And I’ve got you to thank for that.’

  Georgia’s colour was almost normal now, her eyelids had a faint purple tinge, but the peachy tone was back in her cheeks.

  Janet shook her head. ‘You’re a funny kid,’ she smiled reluctantly. ‘Just promise me you’ll put all this behind you now and try to forget.’

  ‘I shan’t ever forget you,’ Georgia said hugging Janet one more time. ‘Not ever.’

  Chapter 6

  The smell of damp wool and paraffin on top of the roar of her machine was making Georgia’s head ache. Three more identical dark green dresses to be finished before six and the light was so bad she could hardly keep the seam straight in front of her.

  She wriggled, trying to ease her aching back into a more comfortable position, when suddenly the electricity was cut off, plunging the workroom into silence and darkness.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Georgia spun round in her seat.

  There was enough light from the street lamps outside the window to see the other girls were no longer behind their machines. Irene was missing from the big steam press. Iris’s scissors lay gleaming on the cutting table.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Georgia called out, but the only reply was a muffled giggle from the staffroom.

  She stood up, leaving the half-finished garment still in the silent machine and took one step towards them.

  A faint, flickering yellow light, another giggle.

  ‘Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!’ Five voices burst out from the gloom.

  Now it was Georgia’s turn to giggle as Pop appeared holding a cake. Sixteen candles burning and all the girls singing at the top of their lungs.

  ‘Happy birthday, dear Georgia, happy birthday to you!’

  ‘I thought you’d all forgotten,’ Georgia’s face broke into a wide smile.

  The day had begun badly when Helen rushed out without remembering. Memories of all those other birthdays came flooding back. Celia waking her with a special breakfast, parcels and cards. A specially magical day where the birthday girl was treated like a princess.

  When she got into work and found they too hadn’t remembered, she’d resigned herself to believing that in an adult world perhaps birthdays weren’t important, and she’d been too embarrassed to mention it. Not once had she suspected they were planning something.

  ‘Forgotten?’ Janet laughed. ‘You reminded us enough times in the last week.’

  They all stood there grinning like idiots, Iris with a bottle of sparkling wine in her hands, Sally with a plate of sausage rolls and Pop flushed with excitement.

  ‘But how could you keep me in suspense all day?’ Georgia asked. She’d had to fight back tears of disappointment when she thought they’d forgotten what day it was.

  ‘I told them they had to,’ Pop’s sallow face was grotesque, lit only by the candles beneath it. He put the cake down on a machine and motioned for the lights to be put back on. ‘I threatened them with the sack if they let on before five.’

  ‘Well, you mean old thing,’ Georgia thumped him playfully in the chest. ‘It’s okay to have birthdays as long as they don’t interfere with production?’

  ‘Come on,’ Janet said, hands on hips, eyes gleaming. She had made an unusual effort with her appearance today, and now Georgia understood why. Her blonde hair was smooth for once, tied back at the nape of her neck with a ribbon, and she was wearing a black sheath dress with a white lace collar. ‘One big blow, and don’t forget to wish.’

  It was this rag-bag group of people who had helped her to forget the trauma of last year. Pop with his funny Greek accent, Iris’s tall tales, Irene’s strange moods, Myrtle’s quiet shyness, and the continual vulgar banter between Janet and Sally. But as they grouped around her, their faces full of affection, Georgia wanted to cry with happiness.

  Taking a deep breath, she blew the candles out. The same old wish that came to her night after night. But now she was sixteen surely it would come true?

  ‘There’s more too,’ Sally grinned, her mouth red and pouting. ‘But we promised Helen we’d wait for her.’

  As she spoke Georgia heard the familiar clonking sound of Helen’s boots on the bare wood of the stairs.

  ‘She’s coming!’

  Helen paused for breath in the doorway, one hand on her side as if severely winded. Two bright pink spots of excitement on her cheeks, wearing the same old russet coat she’d worn the first time Georgia met her.

  ‘Happy birthday,’ she said, crossing the room to kiss Georgia and putting a large parcel in her lap. ‘I wanted to give it to you this morning, but Janet and Sal said it would ruin their surprise.’

  Georgia tore the wrapping off like a child.

  It was a big, red baggy sweater, just like one Georgia had seen in Oxford Street weeks earlier. She looked up gleefully at Helen.

  ‘You copied it, you clever darling!’

  Helen blushed a becoming rose pink, her green eyes downcast with embarrassment.

  ‘They didn’t like me asking to get it out of the window,’ she said in a small voice. She was never at ease with large groups of people, if Janet hadn’t insisted she came to the workroom and joined in she would have waited for Georgia in their room. ‘They weren’t pleased when I didn’t want to buy it.’

  The other girls waited expectantly. Pop with an amused smirk on his lips leant on one of the sewing machines watching silently.

  Georgia pulled it over her shirt. It was the latest style, so huge it looked big enough for two, hanging right down over her bottom, the shawl neckline framing her face, the warm red complimenting her dark skin.

  ‘It’s wooonderful!’ she whooped, jumping around the room, lifting her dark curls and admiring herself in an old cracked mirror. ‘I’m going to live and die in it.’ She leapt back to Helen and hugged her. ‘You are the best friend in the world. How did you knit it without me seeing you?’

  ‘Down in the library. At work in the evenings. Sometimes I even did a bit when you were
asleep. It wasn’t easy.’

  Georgia could only hug the collar round her face and smile. It was the planned secrecy, the long hours of selfless work that made it such a special gift. A touch of the magic Celia used to weave.

  ‘Come on, open mine,’ Sally cried, almost drowned by the others who offered their presents too.

  Pop stood back and smiled.

  He liked to see his girls happy like this together. He didn’t mind one bit that work was halted, or that soon the already untidy workshop would be strewn with wrapping paper, empty glasses and cake crumbs. He had a feeling that quite soon he would be losing Georgia. His workshop wouldn’t be the same without her, but a bright young thing like her wouldn’t want to sweat over a sewing machine for ever.

  She had changed so much in the year she’d been with him. She’d filled out a little, grown another inch and he’d seen her change from a fearful child to a delightful woman. Georgia was never still. She filled his workroom with chatter and movement. Again and again he had to ask her to get on with her work, but it was like asking the sun not to shine. And shine she did. The ready smile, the clowning, the eagerness to know anything and everything.

  He hadn’t known she could sing until one day in early April when he walked up the stairs to hear her in full flight.

  ‘Summertime’ that was the song, and she sang it in a way that brought a lump to his throat.

  It was lunchtime. She twirled an umbrella as though it were a parasol, a length of fabric wrapped round her. Another piece around her hair like a turban.

  Sally, darkly seductive, lounged on a bale of cloth, a cigarette hanging from her scarlet lips. Janet perched on a machine, eyes shining with delight, her messy blonde head nodding in time to the beat. Iris painting her nails, glanced up now and then, not anxious to really be part of it. Irene grinned foolishly, her front teeth missing, standing hands on hips, wearing ridiculous men’s trousers. And finally, quiet little Myrtle, eyes downcast, hands in her lap at her machine, drinking in every last word.

  None of them were aware of him until she finished.

  ‘Sorry, Pop,’ Georgia giggled, slapping her hand over her mouth.

  ‘I hope you intend to press that length after you take it off,’ he said dourly.

  Later he wondered why he hadn’t told her how much he enjoyed it.

  But she didn’t need encouragement. She sang again, day after day, like a little canary in a cage.

  The market men ribbed him all the time as spring turned to summer and the windows were wide open.

  ‘Training nightingales up there are we? When do you become her agent and get your ten per cent?’

  Pop watched as the girls gave Georgia little presents. A lamp for her room, a picture, a brightly-coloured scarf, earrings and a bracelet. He listened to her shrieks of glee, that gave equal pleasure to the giver.

  He too had agonized for weeks over what he should give her. It couldn’t be too expensive as the other girls would see it as favouritism. But he wanted her to know how much he appreciated her help.

  Without this funny little girl his wife wouldn’t be wearing a new fur coat now, and it had all started from Georgia’s bossiness!

  ‘These dresses are horrible,’ she had said one day back in May, eyeing up the row of finished garments ready for the market stall. They were blue, grey, brown and beige with neat white collars, ordinary dresses for women who wanted plain everyday clothes at rock bottom prices. ‘Why on earth don’t you make things for younger women? Pretty ones?’

  ‘Design me one then,’ he challenged her, fully expecting her to back down.

  ‘All right, I will,’ she said, drawing a rough sketch of a scoop-necked, full-skirted dress. ‘Use that gingham,’ she insisted pointing to a bale of cheap cotton meant for kitchen curtains. ‘Put broderie anglaise round the hem and they’ll be like Brigitte Bardot dresses.’

  He had humoured her by making six. But it wasn’t until she tried a pink one on with a wide belt that pulled her waist into a handspan and added a can-can petticoat that he became convinced. Perhaps it was only her brown skin and tiny waist that made it look chic and expensive, but it was worth a try.

  ‘Now get down there.’ He shoved the rest of them into her arms, pointing down towards his stall in the market. ‘Sell those for me today and I’ll believe you.’

  Her face and figure were enough to get her noticed, yet she had that bouncy enthusiasm for life that set her apart from other young girls. In less than an hour the dresses were gone, sold to little office girls who hoped they’d look as good as Georgia did in hers. Thanks to Georgia’s idea he’d had the best summer season ever and he had money put by for his expansion programme.

  It was silly to think a young girl could change his life, but she had. She’d made him think big, want to reach out and grab things, just the way she did.

  He was going to get a proper workshop. Employ a designer and sell his clothes everywhere. Georgia was right, the future lay with youngsters, not the staid old ladies he’d once catered for.

  It was just before Christmas when the idea of Georgia’s birthday present came to him. The workshop was festooned with paperchains. Cotton wool snow stuck to every window, doors decorated with large Santa Claus’s, all made by Georgia out of old fabric.

  Janet ushered Andreous, an old friend, into his office, bringing three glasses with her.

  ‘Thought you’d want a seasonal drink,’ she said, hands on hips, a sprig of mistletoe in her untidy hair. She winked at Andreous.

  Andreous owned the Acropolis club in Greek Street and like most women, Janet fancied him.

  ‘Who’s the third glass for?’ Pop asked, amused by her direct approach.

  ‘For me,’ she said, plonking a kiss on his forehead.

  Pop and Andreous were like brothers, the same olive skin and dark sad eyes. But women failed to notice Andreous’s thinning hair and paunch. His charm and a certain mischievous, sensuous look had ladies doting on him.

  Pop rolled his eyes at his friend who laughed uproariously, patting Janet on her ample backside.

  ‘You can have a drink if you strip for us,’ Andreous said, leering at her breasts which almost popped out of her low-cut black blouse.

  ‘I don’t want to get you too excited,’ Janet put on a motherly expression and patted his cheeks. ‘One glimpse of my luscious body sends old men’s blood pressure sky ’igh.’

  ‘Off with you,’ Pop said, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘Andreous is here on business.’

  He poured her a little brandy however and pushed it across his desk at her.

  The idea popped into his head out of nowhere. Andreous had a club, he employed musicians and singers. Why not give it a try?

  ‘Get Georgia to sing for us!’

  She downed the drink in one gulp, and bent to kiss Andreous lightly on the lips.

  ‘Your wish is my command,’ she said in a deep throaty whisper as she wiggled out of the door.

  ‘Who’s Georgia?’ Andreous asked, dark eyes alight with the prospect of a new girl to ogle.

  ‘She’s young, beautiful and I want you to just listen,’ Pop said severely.

  The machines all stopped seconds later. For a brief second it was silent, then a buzz of conversation started from the next room.

  Pop waited, resting his head on both hands, his elbows on the desk.

  Georgia started to sing, softly at first, but as she got into it so it became louder.

  It was ‘White Christmas’, so corny and old hat Pop thought Andreous would walk out laughing.

  ‘She usually goes in for more spirited stuff,’ Pop said.

  ‘Shush,’ His friend silenced him and opened the office door so he could hear better.

  Her voice rang round the old building, filling each corner with sweetness. Perfectly in tune without any accompaniment, each word crystal clear. Andreous sat looking at the floor, his ears pricked up.

  ‘Well I’ll be damned,’ Andreous looked stunned as the song ended.

  P
op felt a surge of excitement as Georgia burst into the ‘Christmas Alphabet’. He stood up, pushed open the small hatch on the wall that allowed him to watch the girls while they worked and beckoned to his friend.

  Andreous peered in, Pop looking over his shoulder. Georgia was dancing round the workroom as she sang, a crown of tinsel on her dark curls, Christmas baubles hung on her ears. She wore a skimpy white blouse tucked into her jeans, slender brown arms waving in time to the song.

  Andreous turned and grinned at his friend.

  ‘She’s gorgeous, now suppose you come clean.’

  It took a little persuasion to overcome Andreous’s conviction he wasn’t being an old fool falling for a young pretty girl, still more to convince him Georgia could sing in front of a real audience. But all the time they talked, Georgia sang next door, gently nudging the club owner into seeing his idea was practical.

  Pop wasn’t an excitable man, yet his heart thumped as he waited while Georgia opened her other presents.

  The envelope was in his hand, in it one of the hand-embossed invitation cards telling her that she was appearing at the Acropolis club on Sunday 15th April.

  ‘Happy Birthday, Georgia.’ He stepped forward as she sat surrounded by bits of wrapping paper, envelopes and cards. ‘It’s the sort of present which isn’t for just today, but maybe forever.’

  ‘Mysterious,’ she laughed, taking the envelope and opening it. ‘Is it a treasure hunt and this is the first clue?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  She read the card then looked up at him, her smooth brow wrinkled into a frown. ‘I’m sorry I’m not with it. Am I invited to this do?’

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded gravely.

  ‘To go with you as your guest?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘And are the other girls coming too?’

  ‘I hope they will.’

  ‘Well, thank you,’ she said, clearly puzzled. ‘That will be lovely.’

  ‘Did you see who is appearing that night?’ He held his breath as he waited for her response.

  ‘Georgia James,’ she smiled, but it was clear she hadn’t cottoned on. ‘Someone with the same name as me?’