The Dressmaker - Beryl Bainbridge [14]
‘Well, I think we better. I haven’t brought the key …’
‘And Auntie Nellie will be waiting up,’ said Rita, finishing the sentence for her, thanking Mrs Mander very much for a lovely party, not looking at the young man, going out into the hall. Mrs Mander gave Marge a serviette full of ham for Nellie and a pickled onion – to placate her, though she didn’t say so.
‘Tarrah, Valerie!’ called Rita up the stairs. ‘Thank you very much for having me.’
It was warm in the street, dark and sheltered. From two roads away the sound of a tram.
‘It’s not that late, then,’ said Margo wonderingly.
‘You look a fair sight,’ said Nellie, eyeing Margo’s washed-out face and the lipstick smeared at the corners of her mouth.
Mrs Lyons’ costume, inside out and lined with grey taffeta, shimmered on the padded torso of the dressmaking dummy.
‘Did you enjoy yourself, love?’ asked Jack, of Rita.
‘Yes, thank you.’ And she was off upstairs to bed, not even bothering to wipe her face or clean her teeth.
‘What happened?’ asked Nellie. ‘Who was there?’
‘We played games,’ Margo told her.
‘Games?’
‘You know, party games. Hide and seek – and dancing—’
‘Hide and seek?’
‘Upstairs in the wardrobes.’ She fidgeted on her chair, aware that she had told a part but not the whole. ‘I’m tired, Nellie. I’ll tell you in the morning.’
‘You’ll tell us now,’ retorted Nellie firmly. ‘It seems to have been a rum do. What about the sing-song?’
‘They had none of the neighbours in,’ said Margo.
‘Who played the piano?’
‘We didn’t have a sing-song. There were just Yanks from the camp and friends of Valerie’s.’
‘Did Mrs Evans do “Bless This House”?’
‘I told you, none of the neighbours were asked.’ She tried hard to keep the irritation out of her voice. ‘Mrs Mander saved you some ham.’
She reached in her handbag and brought out the serviette parcel.
‘Very nice of her, I’m sure,’ said Nellie, unwrapping it. ‘Jack and I had rubber egg and boiled tomatoes.’
There was something troubling Margo, something she wanted to verbalise if she could only find the words. She wanted to get it out because it put her in a good light, made her seem responsible and right-thinking. But how to phrase it? She began: ‘I wonder if it’s normal for Rita to be so …’ and couldn’t go on.
Nellie said sharply: ‘To be what?’
Margo pondered. ‘So – quiet.’
It wasn’t right. Jack looked at her without expression.
‘I mean, she doesn’t let on much, on the surface, how she’s feeling.’
‘Get away!’ said Nellie, remembering the afternoon Jack had told Marge to give up Mr Aveyard. They all remembered it, even Margo whose thoughts were confused. Jack had driven with Rita in the van to meet Marge coming out of work at Belmont Road Hospital. She was a long time, and like all men kept waiting he was in quite a paddy when she finally got into the car. Blurting it out with no finesse, telling her he and Nellie had decided she must give Mr Aveyard the push. Marge said she didn’t see why she should, and he said women of her age got foolish notions; and that made her weep. And the child, leaning her elbows on the front seats, stared at both their faces: Jack white because he was thwarted, and Marge with the tears dripping down her cheeks. At the lights on Priory Road she had leapt out of her seat and run headlong down the street. Jack had followed in the van, bellowing at her out of the window: ‘You daft baggage! Learn sense, woman!’ ‘I love him,’ screeched Marge, mad with rebellion. ‘I won’t give him up, I won’t!’ And an old woman wrapped in a black knitted shawl, with a baby’s hand like a brooch clawing at the front of her bosom, stopped and turned to look. Jack jumped out on to the pavement and caught up with Marge, struggled with her, tried to drag her back to the car. Twisting away from him, she ran like a girl down the side street, her hair coming out from under her hat and her heels flying. Jack thought he heard a baby crying as he passed the old woman all in black, but when he climbed into the car it was Rita. When they returned to Bingley Road, Nellie