Dream On (23 page)

Ginny jumped clear as the door flew back on its hinges, the lights suddenly blazed and Dilys fell into the hall at her feet.

The combined stench of booze, stale cigarette smoke and too much expensive French perfume was stifling.

Ginny had planned to have a go at Dilys, to demand to know exactly what she thought she was up to, but she decided that could wait until later; for now, the best course of action was to humour her. Much as she wanted to bring up the subject of Susan being left alone, the last thing she wanted was for Dilys to start hollering and hooting – she had a voice on her like a foghorn in a peasouper at the best of times, never mind when she was half cut. And Susan had already had more than enough upset for one day without hearing her mother's drunken screeching.

‘Your neighbour said you'd had to pop out,' Ginny said, following Dilys as she staggered her faltering way into the sitting-room.

‘Neighbour?' asked Dilys, clinging to the sideboard for support as she twisted round to confront Ginny through puffy, red-rimmed eyes. ‘What sodding neighbour?'

‘Milly Barrington.'

‘Her, the nosy bastard.' There was real venom in Dilys's voice. ‘If she didn't have a face like the back of a trolleybus maybe she'd have a bit of a life of her own and stop sticking her oar in where it's not wanted.'

Dilys's attention, never having much in the way of a span at the best of times, wandered from her neighbour to the more immediate, and therefore more graspable, question of Ginny. ‘Did I ask you round or something?' she asked, dropping down on to the sofa.

Ginny shook her head sheepishly and perched herself on the edge of one of the armchairs. ‘No . . .' she said slowly. ‘Not exactly. See, I was just . . .'

This was ridiculous. Dilys always did this to her:
she
wasn't the one who was in the wrong, yet here she was, ready to apologise. Well, she was damned if she was going to, not this time.

‘Look, Dilys, I think you've gotta start thinking about other people.' She nearly said ‘thinking about Susan' but immediately thought better of it; the point of this wasn't to provoke a row. ‘See, while
you
might be all right – and I'm pleased for you that you are – you probably haven't noticed, but things haven't been exactly easy for most of the rest of us.'

Dilys didn't appear to be getting the point at all, so Ginny decided to elaborate – but still without actually mentioning her worries about Susan being left alone and her fears that she was a little girl growing up without knowing a mother's love.

‘Out there,' Ginny began cautiously, waving vaguely towards the window, as she stalled for time, trying to think out what she should be saying. ‘In the real world like.'

Dilys nodded towards Ginny's cigarettes and wordlessly held out her hand.

Ginny took one for herself then threw the packet and her box of matches into Dilys's lap.

Dilys lit one and settled back on the sofa to study the smoke as she blew it down her nostrils.

‘You see, Dil, the thing is, there's a lot of problems for everyone at the minute. What with the meat ration being cut again. And all the shortages and everything. And the terrible weather we had all winter, and the price of coal and coke. I mean, blimey, it's enough to get anyone down. And that's without all this stuff you hear on the wireless about what's going on with this Korea lark. I mean, that's enough to scare the pants off you, innit? Especially with these bombs they've got now. So it's obvious we all need a bit of fun.'

‘That it? You finished?' Dilys picked a strand of tobacco from her lip, examined it, then flicked it on to the half-moon-shaped hearthrug.

‘I suppose so.'

‘Well, Ginny,' she said, with a loud yawn, ‘I ain't got a sodding clue what you're on about, except that last bit, that bit about needing a bit of fun.' Resting her elbow on the arm of the sofa, she fluffed her fingers through her thick, dark, wavy hair and frowned from the effort of thinking straight. ‘So why don't
you
shut your moaning gob, go out and have a few laughs and stop coming round here and giving me sodding earache?'

Ginny gulped.
Stop coming round here.
That's what she'd said. If Dilys had meant it, then she wouldn't be able to see Susan. And Dilys could be so pig-headed; once she'd made up her mind about something there was no shifting her. Ginny had to put it right before it was too late.

‘You're right as usual, Dil,' she said, pasting on a smile. ‘I always did take things too seriously. You always said so. Tell you what, I was thinking about going over the river, to see that Festival of Britain thing. Everyone's saying how good it is. Fancy coming?'

Dilys opened her eyes wide and puffed in astonishment. ‘You trying to have a laugh? No thanks. I've got better things to do with me time than hanging around poxy concert halls.'

‘But there's a lot more to see than that. There's—'

‘You ain't got a clue, Gin.' She belched loudly. ‘You understand nothing. My feller likes me always to be here.' She stabbed her finger towards the floor. ‘Ready and waiting. Available like. And I ain't gonna go upsetting a bloke what keeps me so nice, now am I? I mean, look at this place. It's a little palace.' She took in the messy, but well-furnished room, with a sweep of her arm. ‘So if he wants to go out, I'm here, all done up, ready to hook my arm through his and make him proud of me.'

Ginny leapt in: ‘You know I'll always come round to mind the little ‘un, don't you, Dil? I know how hard it must be, to be on your own with a kiddie.'

Dilys curled her lip in an unattractive snarl. ‘Aw yeah? And how would you know what it's like to have a kid? You threw away your chance of being a mother. Round Jeannie Thompson's. Remember?'

Ginny lowered her chin. She took a deep breath to swallow away the pain, then said in a low monotone. ‘I could take Susan to the Festival if you like. I bet she'd love the Pleasure Gardens.'

Dilys didn't answer, instead she rose shakily to her feet and stumbled across the room, her tight dress and her unsteady gait accentuating her sensuous curves. ‘Fancy a drink? I've got a few bottles in the kitchen.'

Biting back what she wanted to say, Ginny said quietly, ‘Just a small one. Ta.'

Dilys paused in the doorway and twisted round to face Ginny. ‘Me boyfriend gets the booze for me,' she said, then added with a flash of her eyebrows and her voice heavy with innuendo, ‘he gets me all sorts.'

She wobbled out of the room, intending to go to the kitchen but somehow, losing her train of thought, she wound up in the lavatory.

She pulled down her expensive imported silk knickers and sat down on the wooden seat – the novelty of having a warm, indoor, fully-plumbed-in bathroom forgotten already – and thought about Ginny's offer to look after Susan while she went out.

As far as Dilys was concerned, the more chances she had to be shot of the demanding little madam, the better; she was always wanting something. A drink, or food, or clean clothes. It drove Dilys to distraction. She was four and a half years old and was still as much of a nuisance as she'd been when she was a baby. But, despite her drunken state, Dilys could still focus on why she had to resist the temptation of having someone looking after the kid for her: Susan was getting older, she was seeing things. Noticing things. Asking questions. Dilys couldn't risk her blowing the gaff. She'd already had to threaten her not to open her whining gob to Ted about being left at home by herself, and to say that nice Auntie Milly was coming round to sit with her. What he'd have to say if he knew Susan was alone, or worse still, that she was being left alone with Ginny, Dilys could only imagine. He'd warned her enough times: if Ginny was there, Dilys had to be there too, to mind what the kid said, because he'd told her, if Susan ever let on to Ginny about him always being round at the prefab . . .

Dilys pulled the chain and sighed. If it was up to her, she would have told Ginny about her and Ted
herself
, and let her stick that in her pipe and smoke it, but she knew Ted wouldn't have it. He still wanted her around the place to look after Nellie. And if she ever did find out about Ted and her, Dilys reckoned that even a right mug like Ginny would be off like a shot.

Because that's all she was, a bloody mug. Ted didn't even bother to give her any money any more, let alone presents like he used to. She worked her fingers to the bone in that shitty factory all day, then ran round after a mother-in-law who couldn't give a toss about her. Dilys wouldn't put up with that sort of bollocks from anyone. Well, from anyone but Ted. He was different, he was worth it. He treated her all right – most of the time – but she knew just how far she could go with him; and what she'd get if she started upsetting things.

She stood up, smoothed down her skirt, belched once again, then started giggling. Living in Bailey Street with Nellie wasn't exactly the life that that dozy mare Ginny had dreamed about when they were a pair of wide-eyed, open-mouthed kids sitting in the front row of the pictures. Some flipping Scarlett O'Hara she'd turned out to be!

In the sitting-room, Ginny heard the lavatory cistern flush and, a few minutes later, she watched Dilys return with two glasses and an almost full bottle of port.

‘Well, what d'you think?' Ginny asked pleasantly.

‘Eh?'

‘About me taking Susan to the Festival.'

Dilys shook her head. ‘No. I don't think so.'

The look of disappointment on Ginny's face actually made Dilys feel a bit sorry for her. Ginny really didn't have much of a life now, not if all she had to excite her was the thought of taking a kid out for the day.

And to think Dilys had once actually been jealous of her and her pretty blonde looks. Now she was as dingy and as badly dressed as all the other idiots who didn't know how to get hold of a bit of gear, or who had no one interested enough to buy it for them.

‘Why don't you ask Nellie to go with you?' she asked, more out of pity than as a genuine suggestion, as she handed Ginny the glasses and poured them both a full measure of the dark ruby wine.

Ginny stared up at Dilys as though she'd gone stark raving mad. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Dil? I'd rather go with old Florrie's bulldog, and you know how that bugger stinks.'

Dilys threw back her head and burst into loud, drunken laughter.

Despite her earlier anger, Ginny couldn't help joining in with her. In fact her whole body shook with great sobs and gulps of laughter. It was as though she was releasing herself from all her pain, from all her loneliness and from her unspoken fear that life was rapidly passing her by.

Dilys, her moment of guilt about her supposed friend's plight forgotten as suddenly as it had arrived, smirked as Ginny wiped the tears of almost hysterical laughter from her eyes.

She chucked Ginny roughly under the chin. ‘We don't have to worry about you, do we, Gin? You can go on your own. I mean, you should be used to it by now.'

Ginny turned her head; she didn't want Dilys to see the now bitter tears spilling down her cheeks.

They were right, Ginny decided: the Festival of Britain, with its pavilions and halls sparkling and gleaming on the South Bank site, where, just a short time before, a mass of Blitz-blown rubble had stuck out like an ugly scar, was indeed a miracle of achievement. A genuine, there-it-was-in-front-of-your-face miracle. Dreams really did come true.

Despite her disappointment at not having been allowed to bring Susan, Ginny was completely caught up in the wonders surrounding her. She felt just like Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz;
as though she had left behind the black-and-white existence of the past and had entered the future, a world of glorious Technicolor. Never before had she seen anything like it.

She walked around the Festival, amongst the bustling crowds, her every sense aroused. Even the jostling was part of the fun. She smiled at other people's happy chatter, joined in with their gasps of astonishment and echoed their exclamations of delight. She marvelled with them at the Dome of Discovery; shared their appreciative laughter every time she heard the same old joke that the amazing Skylon symbol hovering high in the air was ‘like Britain, because it had no visible means of support'; and even felt a genuine, if surrogate, pleasure as she watched dewy-eyed couples dancing in the open air as though they were part of a film made in a far sunnier place than England.

Although she had no partner to dance with, Ginny didn't feel so alone any longer, she was part of something big and important. It felt like being a child caught up in the wonder of Christmas and towards the end of her day at the Festival she determined that somehow, no matter what it took, she would persuade Dilys to let her bring Susan along to see it all. She had to share this with her.

Then, as she was taking one last look at her favourite part of the whole Festival, she heard someone say something so shocking, it threatened to bring it all tumbling down around her. She felt as though she'd been smacked full in the face with a wet kipper.

There she was, in the pavilion designed to show ‘contemporary living created by and for the British family of today' – contemporary! that was the style she wanted, what a wonderful word! – admiring the fantastic kitchen that made even Dilys's smart little prefab look dowdy, when she overheard the most astonishing conversation.

‘Honestly, Shirley, will you just look at it,' sighed a tall, slim, elegant woman who, despite the warm May afternoon was wearing a luxuriously thick fur wrap draped around the shoulders of her beautifully cut emerald-green shantung two-piece costume. ‘They should be ashamed of themselves, trying to fool people into thinking that these goods are something special.'

‘Well, Leila,' her similarly elegant, though slightly less glamorous, companion sighed back in an equally bored tone, ‘I suppose some people aren't used to the finer things of life.'