Father Unknown

  Josie admired herself in the hall mirror. The dress was gorgeous, exactly like the ones she’d seen in fashion magazines. Patterned in a large geometric design, it was cut away on the shoulders and had a slightly flared skirt which ended three inches above her knees. She looked just like all the models in the magazines, and she wished she could wear it to school to show it off, but sadly she had to change back into her school uniform and be satisfied she could wear the dress all weekend.

  Ellen had sent her a little white shoulder bag, and Uncle Brian in Helston had enclosed a ten-pound note in his card.

  ‘Don’t spend all that money this weekend,’ Mum said, as she saw Josie tuck it into the handbag. ‘You’ll need to buy some clothes to start work in.’

  Josie didn’t reply to that, it was so like her mother to try to spoil the moment. She was going straight to Rosemary’s from school, and she’d packed a small case last night. Rather than disturb the packing by taking something out, she folded the new dress and put it into the case along with the handbag.

  ‘Are you listening to me?’ Mum said sharply. ‘And behave yourself this weekend. I don’t want to hear you’ve been hanging around on street corners.’

  ‘Okay, Mum,’ Josie sighed. ‘I’ve got to go now or I’ll miss the school bus. I’ll be home on Sunday evening. Rosemary’s dad will drop me off.’

  Later she thought it was odd that she kissed her parents goodbye, she never usually did. And even stranger too that Dad hugged her, said she looked very pretty and to have a good time in Falmouth.

  By four o’clock that afternoon, when school ended, Josie was so excited at the prospect of the weekend ahead, that she couldn’t stop giggling. It was a lovely hot day, and the good weather was forecast to remain for several days. She and Rosemary planned to spend the day on the beach tomorrow, and in the evening they were going to a dance in the church hall near where Rosemary lived.

  Rosemary got a great deal more freedom than Josie, as she was the youngest of four girls and her sisters took her out with them all over the place and bought her lots of nice clothes. As a result Rosemary was far more worldly than Josie – she’d had her dark hair cut in a short bob like Cilia Black’s and she’d been wearing mini-dresses for a few weeks now, while most of the girls in Falmouth were still wearing knee-length ones. She was a really good dancer, and had taught Josie to do the Twist, and the Shake. She smoked and drank cider, and she’d already had a few boyfriends, even admitting she’d lost her virginity back in the Easter holidays in the back seat of a car with a boy who was twenty-one.

  The two girls had often discussed going to London together when they were sixteen, and surprisingly Rosemary’s parents didn’t mind the idea. But then they were a lot less rigid in their ideas than Josie’s parents. They weren’t Cornish, and they’d moved down here from Surrey some five years ago to open a guest-house. They held the view that Cornwall didn’t have a great deal for young girls; their two eldest had already left for London where they were working in a bank.

  The girls linked arms as they left school and walked to Rosemary’s home down by the harbour. The town was full of tourists, many of them trudging back from the beach to guest-houses, laden with towels, windbreaks and buckets and spades, dragging howling small children who had spent too long in the sun. The girls giggled at the fat women in sun-dresses, their hefty arms and legs glowing with sun-burn they were hardly aware of yet. The men were even more ridiculous, with white flabby paunches bulging out of garish holiday shirts, many with knotted handkerchiefs over their heads. But funny as many of the visitors to the town were, the girls liked to see them, for they made Falmouth a busy, noisy and prosperous place for a few short weeks, and created an exciting atmosphere. The smell of hot dogs was heavy in the air, pop music wafted out of shops, and the girls knew that when they tried to buy a drink later this evening all the publicans would be too harassed to ask how old they were before serving them.

  ‘I hope I get the job in the shipping office,’ Josie said. The juvenile employment woman had been to the school earlier in the week and fixed up many of the school-leavers with job interviews.

  ‘You’re bound to,’ Rosemary said with a grin. ‘With your looks you can’t fail.’

  One of the reasons Josie had made friends with Rosemary in the last year was because she was so admiring. She was pretty too, with her elf-like features, dark hair and eyes, but she always claimed she was ordinary in comparison to Josie. She said she’d die for hair like Josie’s, and so would all the other girls who pretended to scoff at it and called her ‘Carrots’. She firmly believed Josie was going to be one of England’s top models, and her utter confidence helped Josie to believe in herself.

  ‘I can’t spell that well, and I’m lousy at arithmetic,’ Josie said doubtfully. She wanted the junior’s job at the shipping office because lots of men and boys worked there. It also had a starting wage of seven pounds a week, when she’d be lucky to get five pounds anywhere else.

  ‘Juniors don’t do much more than make the tea and run messages,’ Rosemary said as if she was an expert. ‘You aren’t going to be there when the time comes for them to expect you to do more. So don’t worry about it.’

  They were at the gate of Rosemary’s house now, and as always when Josie saw it, she felt a tug of pure envy. It might be like the rest of the Victorian terrace from the outside, three steps up to the garden, and a tall, narrow house with a bay window. But the illuminated sign in the garden saying ‘Buona Vista Guest-house’ made it special. Josie loved the guest-rooms with their pink candlewick bedspreads and flowery wallpaper, the bathroom with the lady in a crinoline dress which hid the spare toilet roll, and the fluffy mats, even one on the toilet seat itself. There were pictures of puppies and kittens on the walls, Spanish dancer dolls in the dining-room, and a lamp in the guest sitting-room which was like a huge pineapple. When it was turned on it glowed a beautiful orangey-pink. To Josie the house symbolized the sophistication of London.

  Rosemary and her sister’s bedroom was right up in the attic; her other two sisters had to stay in the guest-rooms when they came home from London. Josie liked the way the Parks family lived in the back room of the guest-house, next to the kitchen. It was always warm and cosy, even if a bit cluttered with people and furniture, so very different from the austerity of her own home.

  Yet strangely enough Mr and Mrs Parks treated her as if she came from a much grander house than theirs. They said the word ‘farm’ with reverence, and frequently directed their paying guests to the walk along the cliffs to Mawnan Smith. Rosemary had often told her that they boasted their daughter’s best friend lived along there.

  Josie never told them how ramshackle the house was, or that they didn’t have television or a washing-machine. Sometimes she thought she’d die of embarrassment if Mrs Parks, with her dyed black bouffant hair and elegant clothes, were to meet her mother.

  ‘I’m just going to say we’re going along to the coffee bar tonight,’ Rosemary whispered before they went inside. ‘I drank too much cider last weekend and I was sick, so Mum’s been a bit funny about letting me out since. But she thinks you’re really sensible, so she won’t say anything in front of you.’

  Josie wished she could admit she’d never drunk anything more than a Snowball, and that was in Helston a year ago. Her father liked his beer and cider too, but he drank at the pub, they never had any in the house. Her mother would have a blue fit if she knew her daughter was intending to drink anything but orange juice.

  There was beefburgers, chips and beans for tea. It had to be eaten quickly because Mrs Parks had eight guests coming in for an evening meal and she wanted the girls out of the way. Josie saw her filling little glass goblets with lettuce and prawns, adding a cherry and a slice of lemon to each one, and she vowed to herself that one day she’d prepare glamorous things like that for guests in her own house.

  It was half past seven when the girls made their way into the town. Josie was wearing her new dress, her curly hair held b
ack from her face with a black velvet Alice band she’d borrowed from Rosemary. Rosemary had a new dress too, very similar to Josie’s, but red and white. She had backcombed her hair so much she looked about three inches taller, and she was wearing false eyelashes too. Josie had tried to wear some as well, but they made her eyes sore, so she’d settled for thick black eyeliner and mascara instead. They both looked at least eighteen, and as Rosemary had stolen some vodka from her parents’ drink cabinet earlier, they were already a little tiddly. Josie hadn’t liked the taste very much, and she’d drowned it with lemonade, but she liked the warm, happy effect it was having on her.

  All the pubs near the harbour were packed, and by half past ten Rosemary was very drunk. Josie had only had two more vodkas – once she felt herself getting a bit too silly, she stuck to lemonade only They hadn’t bought a single drink themselves, boys kept buying them for them. They’d stay flirting with them for a while, then pretend to go to the toilet and move on to another pub to check out the boys in there.

  When they got back to The Lord Nelson on the quay for the second time, Josie spotted two men standing by the water’s edge and pointed them out to her friend.

  ‘They’re the ones we have to go for,’ she said firmly. ‘Just look at them, they’re dreamboats.’

  The men were in their mid-twenties, both wearing light coloured jackets, smart trousers and open-necked shirts. Even to two such naive girls they were clearly not ordinary holidaymakers or locals, they were too well dressed and classy looking for that. The taller of the two was blond, the other had brown hair and, although long by Cornish standards, well past their ears, it wasn’t straggly, or in the Beatles style which most young men seemed to copy.

  ‘They might be in a pop group,’ Rosemary said hopefully. She was squinting at them drunkenly, and Josie hoped she wasn’t going to blow it by being silly. ‘They won’t like us, they look like Londoners.’

  ‘So much the better,’ Josie said tartly. ‘And they will like us, as long as you don’t start giggling.’

  The alcohol had made Josie feel brave, and knowing time was running out and the pubs would shut soon, she didn’t think twice but walked right up to the two men, Rosemary trailing behind.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, giving them her most winning smile. ‘We haven’t seen you here before. Are you on holiday?’

  ‘No, we’re down here on business,’ the brown-haired one replied, and smiled as if he was really glad she’d spoken to them. ‘We were just saying what a nice place Falmouth is. We could be in the South of France, it’s so warm tonight.’

  He had no accent and his deep voice was like that of a news-reader on the radio.

  ‘I’m Josie, this is my friend Rosemary.’ Josie tried not to sound too Cornish for she thought it might put them off. ‘Are you going to tell us your names?’

  ‘I’m Will, he’s Colin,’ the brown-haired man said. ‘Is there anywhere round here to go when the pub shuts, a night-club?’

  Josie looked round at Rosemary for help, but she was just standing there looking at the men with blank eyes. Josie guessed she was too drunk to be of any help. Stuck for an answer, she decided to go for the truth. ‘Sorry, but I don’t know. I live a way out of Falmouth, I don’t come in here that often in the evenings.’

  Will smiled at Josie and she instantly knew that her honest answer had given her an edge over the other girls.

  ‘So you’re a country girl?’ he said, and moved a step nearer to her. ‘What do country girls do on a date?’

  She wasn’t going to be honest enough to tell him she’d never had a real date, that her only romance had been at fourteen with a Mod from Helston who bought her fish and chips and took her for rides on his scooter.

  ‘On a warm night like this a walk can be nice,’ she said, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

  There was a kind of moan from Rosemary, and as Josie turned to look she was staggering towards the quayside, hand over her mouth, about to be sick.

  ‘Oh no,’ Josie gasped in horror. ‘Not that!’

  Funnily enough both men laughed, and Will patted Josie’s shoulder. ‘I don’t think she’s up to a walk in the moonlight.’

  Josie didn’t think she’d ever been so embarrassed. Apart from the terrible impression her friend must be making on the two men, there were scores of people outside on the quay. Her shame grew as Rosemary made loud retching noises. If she’d been able to get home she would have made a run for it.

  ‘You look mortified,’ Will said, and touched her bare arm. ‘I can’t count the number of times one of my friends has done that to me, or the number of times I’ve been the one puking. It doesn’t matter, Josie, it’s just one of those things.’

  Shamefaced, Josie hung her head. ‘I suppose I’d better get her home,’ she said in little more than a whisper. ‘I just wish you hadn’t had to see it.’

  ‘Which way do you have to go?’ he asked.

  ‘Down along the harbour. Her parents own a guesthouse,’ she said.

  ‘Well, we’ll walk with you, won’t we, Colin?’ Will said. ‘Can’t leave a couple of damsels in distress, can we?’

  Josie got the distinct impression that Colin would sooner have jumped in the harbour than walk home with a drunken girl, for his smile was forced, but he gallantly went into the pub, got a large glass of water and took it over to Rosemary, making her swill her mouth out, and then drink the rest. As he came back with her he suggested they get her a cup of coffee.

  Rosemary seemed quite recovered after a few minutes’ walk, and Will bought each of them a takeaway cup of coffee from the fish and chip shop further down the High Street.

  ‘Tell me what you two are doing in Falmouth,’ Josie asked. Her embarrassment was fading now, and she hoped she’d be able to pluck up courage and ask them to join her and Rosemary on the beach the following day.

  ‘Colin works for a shipping company in London,’ Will said. Colin was in front of them now, holding Rosemary’s hand and laughing about something with her. ‘He had to check out an insurance claim, I just came with him for the ride.’

  ‘Well, what do you do?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m a designer,’ he said.

  Josie’s ears pricked up at that. ‘A fashion designer?’

  Will laughed. ‘No, I design shop and hotel interiors mostly. Why, do you want to be a fashion designer?’

  Josie giggled. ‘Not me, I can’t draw a straight line. But I intend to be a fashion model.’

  He stopped her short under a lamp-post, putting his hand on her chin and moving her head this way and that. ‘Umm,’ he said eventually. ‘I think you could be.’

  ‘I will be,’ she said with a toss of her head. ‘I’m going up to London next year to start.’

  ‘Why wait a year?’ he said. ‘It’s all happening now in London. A pretty girl like you could easily get a job in one of the new boutiques. Get a portfolio together, do the round of the agencies. I’m sure someone would take you on.’

  Josie had no idea what a portfolio was, but she wasn’t going to show her ignorance. ‘You really think so?’ She beamed at him.

  ‘I think you stand a better chance than most girls,’ he said.

  They sat on the harbour wall drinking their coffee, smoking and chatting for some time. The men were staying at the Royal Hotel, and the casual way they spoke of it was evidence they were used to staying in expensive hotels. Will said he lived in a part of London called Bays-water, and he laughed when Josie asked if it was on the river. He said if she ever came to London he’d show her the sights.

  A little later they walked on home to Rosemary’s house and it was Josie who asked if they wanted to come to the beach with them the following day.

  ‘That would be very nice,’ Will said, putting his arm around Josie and squeezing her to him. ‘We had planned to stay until the evening and drive home once the roads are clear. A day on the beach with you two would be lovely.’

  ‘They’re a bit posh!’ Rosemary said in a whisper as they made
their way up the stairs to her room. ‘They didn’t even try to snog us.’

  Josie thought that made it all the better, to her it was a sign they were gentlemen. But she wasn’t going to make her friend start giggling by saying that. ‘I expect it was because of you throwing up,’ she said. ‘Would you kiss anyone after that?’

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ Rosemary said once they were up in her room. ‘One minute I was all right, the next everything was spinning. I reckon it was those beefburgers Mum gave us for tea.’

  Josie said nothing. All she wanted to do was get into bed and dream about Will. If he did turn up at Swanpool beach tomorrow as they’d arranged, she was going to make sure he wanted her enough by the end of the day to invite her up to London.

  Chapter Nine

  By four the following afternoon Josie had decided that she was going to London that night with Will and Colin. They didn’t know yet, and neither did Rosemary, but Josie had it all planned in her head and she had counter-arguments ready for anyone who might oppose her.

  Will and Colin were already at Swanpool beach when the girls arrived, a clear sign to Josie that they fancied them. She felt smugly certain that by the end of the day Will would be smitten with her, for the beach was the perfect place to show off all her best features.

  Since she was a small child Josie had adored the sea and the feeling of freedom wearing so few clothes. She and Ellen often swam naked down at the little cove by the farm. By the time she was twelve and her breasts began to develop, nearly all of Josie’s friends became self-conscious about their bodies. But not her. She felt only delight for it meant she was finally becoming a woman.

  There were a few moments of anguish, mainly when she looked at her mother’s flabby, shapeless body, and feared hers might become like that. But luckily it seemed that she, like Ellen, had inherited Pengelly traits, for they were both slim and shapely, with long legs.

  Another reason Josie felt comfortable on a beach was because she could shed the unfashionable clothes that marked her out as a poor farmer’s daughter. In a swim-suit she could compete, and win on all levels. Even her curly hair, which she so often wished could be straight, was an asset on the beach, for girls’ hair she so often admired at school looked like seaweed once it was wet. Hers went into pretty ringlets. And she wasn’t burdened with the normal curse of red-heads, skin that became red and freckly in the sun. Both she and Ellen had always turned a golden-brown painlessly.