The Palace of Strange Girls (25 page)

Jack Singleton tries to maintain his look of stern disapproval but it is difficult. “If you can manage to keep your fingers
off the loom drives then I might take you into the weaving shed. Then you’ll not only see the looms, you’ll be able to hear
them running too.”

“Will you take me when we get back? I’ll need to see the shed if I’m going to be a weaver, won’t I? Helen has been in the
shed—why can’t I?”

“When you’re a bit older. Children aren’t allowed in the weaving shed. It’s too noisy and too dangerous.”

“But it sounds like fun.”

“Oh, it can be fun all right. A right barrel of laughs some days.”

Beth picks up the change in her father’s tone but the meaning is lost on her.

Upstairs, Ruth and Helen have just crossed swords again over what constitutes suitable wear for a day that promises rain.
They have not managed to agree. Ruth has won the argument but the insolent look on Helen’s face makes the victory seem hollow.
Anxious to assert the fact that she is fully in charge she says as they are making their way down to the Residents’ Lounge,
“Your dad and I are going out for the afternoon tomorrow, so I want you to keep an eye on Elizabeth. We’ll be back for tea.”

“Where are you going?”

“St. Anne’s.”

“Why?”

“We’re going over to see Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd. They’re staying at the Links.”

“You’re going to see Cora? Oh, can I go too? Cora’s such good fun! Let me go. Please.”

“I need you to look after Elizabeth, and anyway, you barely know Mrs. Lloyd.”

“I do. I’ve told you. She comes into the shop every week for one thing or another and she always talks to me. She bought a
load of summer dresses last week.”

“I wonder what’s wrong with the ones she bought last month? They looked nice enough to me. Anyway you can’t go, you have to
stay here and look after Elizabeth. The Links is just for adults. You’re too young. I’ll put Elizabeth down for her afternoon
nap before we go and you can spend the afternoon reading. That way you can keep your eye on her at all times and I won’t have
to worry.”

Helen has a face like thunder when they get to the Residents’ Lounge. “What’s the matter with you?” Jack asks.

“I’m fed up!”

“You’re spoilt, more like,” Ruth chips in.

“I never get to do anything. Connie goes out every night and she’s younger than me.”

“Give over!” Jack replies. “Pull the other one! You’re nowhere near as old as Connie. There’s no call to exaggerate.”

“I’m not! I’m two months older than Connie. She may be working at the hotel but she’s still only fifteen.”

Jack is speechless, struck dumb by the revelation. Helen looks at him. She is filled with a sense of injustice and is keen
to hear his reply. But Jack is lost for words, desperate to keep his mounting sense of horror from showing all over his face.
A minute passes. At last Jack pulls himself together and volunteers, “Well, she doesn’t look it. And she shouldn’t be drinking
at that age.” And that’s not the only thing Connie shouldn’t be doing, Jack thinks. He is gripped by panic when he thinks
of the possible consequences of what he has done.

“I look younger than her, don’t I?” Helen counters, aware that she’s finally hit on a fact that her parents can’t dismiss.
When Jack fails to reply she continues, “You see, that’s proof! I look about twelve. I work in a dress shop and I’m not even
allowed to buy my own clothes. I can’t even choose what to wear when we’re away on holiday.”

Ruth, who has been buttoning Beth’s coat and pulling up her daughter’s socks, comes over to where Helen and Jack are standing
and says, “Keep your voice down, there are other people in this hotel. Do you want everyone to know our business?”

Helen ignores her mother and continues to glare at Jack. She senses that her complaints are falling on deaf ears. It’s obvious
that he isn’t listening. He is staring at the scarlet and gold carpet beneath their feet, his expression grim. She raises
her voice. “I’m not stupid, you know. I’m sixteen but I’m treated no different from Beth. I’m surprised Mum doesn’t make me
have a nap in the afternoon as well. Anyway, I won’t stand for it. I’m not going back to school in September. I’m going to
get a job here in Blackpool. Connie says I can stay with her.”

Helen notes with some satisfaction that these words have had the desired effect. Her dad seems to freeze for a moment before
looking up horrified. “You can’t do that! You can’t leave home. You’ll end up like Connie!”

Jack hesitates, struck by this hypocrisy, but he recovers quickly. “I haven’t time to talk about this now. Get your coat on,
we’re going out.”

The Romans named their most beautiful goddess Venus. She was not born but emerged from the sea in a shell. This triangular
shell is named after the goddess and is decorated with multicolored concentric rings. Score 10 points for an emerging Venus.

R
ain or shine, there’s always something to do in Blackpool. The amusement arcades, cinemas and Winter Gardens raise a cheer
even when the resort is windswept and rainy. Rough weather is a godsend. It prevents holidaymakers from spending cheap, lazy
days on the beach. When it rains everyone makes for shelter. Damp holidaymakers congregate in the Olympia to play the slot
machines or queue for tickets at the Tower Circus. Money changes hands. It might be like Noah’s flood outside but still Blackpool
is booming and all is well with the world.

Ruth Singleton is in no mood to partake of the holiday atmosphere today. She is so fed up after the argument with Helen and
the disappointments of last night that she doesn’t even remind the girls not to breathe when they pass the black-and-white-striped
lighthouse that disguises the town’s sewer ventilator. When it is apparent that the rain has set in for the morning the Singleton
family retreat to one of the promenade shelters; Jack to nurse his hangover and come to terms with this morning’s shock revelation,
Ruth to read her copy of
Woman and Home
, and the girls to kick their heels and watch the rain. By dinner time the whole family look dispirited. Jack folds up his
newspaper and says, “Come on! Buck up! I fancy fish and chips for dinner. My treat. Come on, Helen. You can help me carry
them back.”

Helen doesn’t look enthusiastic but Beth pipes up, “Let me, Daddy! I want to go. Can I help carry them back?”

“No, you can’t,” Ruth says. “You stay here with me. You’ll only get wet and catch a chill.”

“I don’t want to walk all the way into the center,” Helen moans.

“Come on, pet,” Jack continues. “It’s only just a bit further along the prom. We’ll be back in less than an hour if the queue’s
not too bad.”

Helen sighs heavily and stands up. She buttons up her coat, adjusts her ponytail and combs her fingers through her fringe
before picking up her handbag and venturing out of the shelter. Jack leans over the promenade railings and waits for his eldest
daughter to catch up. Down below, the rainswept beach is deserted; even the donkeys are sheltering under the pier along with
a smattering of disconsolate holidaymakers. For a moment Jack is reminded of the empty beach at Souda Bay where he and Eleni
used to sunbathe and swim. In his memory she is turning her heart-shaped face towards him, chin tilted up, eyes closed against
the glare. “You’ll come back? When it’s all over, I mean. You’ll come back and find me?” Jack’s eyes sting. He shakes his
head and wrenches himself from the memory as a reluctant Helen catches him up.

There are still quite a few people on the promenade, heads down and hurrying through the rain. Jack and Helen settle into
an easy pace. Jack forces his mind back into the present. “Come on, chick. Buck up! We’re supposed to be having a good time.”

“Well, I’m not,” Helen replies. “I could have earned a load of money at Blanche’s this week. It’s boring sitting on the beach
every day. I’m not allowed to do anything here. And I just know that all my friends from school are away having a good time.
I couldn’t get a word out of Connie this morning.”

“Maybe she was busy.”

“She was at Yates’s wine bar last night. I bet she had a really good time. She must have done because she’s got a new boyfriend.”

“How do you know?” Jack asks, forcing himself to stay calm.

“Me and Beth saw her bringing somebody back to where she lives. In the staff quarters, I mean.”

“Ah,” Jack manages.

“I thought it might be Alan Clegg, but it didn’t look like him. This bloke had a different jacket on.”

Jack forces himself to carry on moving his legs back and forth; walking slowly; keeping calm. But when Helen opens her mouth
again he interrupts her, afraid of what she’ll say next. “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier this morning. The
exam results will be out next month. You might change your mind when you see how well you’ve done. It would be a shame to
end up working for Blanche when you could earn a lot more with a couple of A-Levels. If you stay at school you could keep
your Saturday job, keep all the money you earn, spend it how you want. I’ll square it with your mother.” Seeing Helen hesitate,
he adds, “And I think you deserve a treat for finishing your exams, don’t you? Here, go and buy yourself a new blouse or something.
Whatever you like.”

Jack pulls out his wallet and gives Helen a couple of notes. She is speechless for a moment, fixed to the spot while the couples
in plastic macs drift around her. “What? Now? Can I get myself a blouse now? And a proper underskirt too?”

“I can’t see any harm if there’s enough change left.”

For a moment it looks as if Helen is going to burst with excitement. She points to the nearby Co-op. “I’ll go in there. That’s
where Connie got her top.”

Jack opens his mouth but manages to smother his objections. “OK,” he says. “I’ll walk on up the road to the chip shop and
wait for you there.”

Helen flies into the Co-op and, ignoring the lift, takes the marble stairs two at a time until she reaches ladies’ wear on
the third floor. The whole floor is filled with forbidden fruits. Drip-dry nylon blouses, pencil skirts in Tricel, rayon dresses
and Terylene trousers. Helen is momentarily overwhelmed. Blanche doesn’t carry anywhere near this much stock. Within moments
Helen has been spotted and a smartly dressed shop assistant bears down on her. The woman’s demeanor is enough to frighten
off the casual shopper but Helen stands firm. She knows precisely what she wants. She wants a black top with scarlet piping
just like Connie’s. But they’ve sold out. There’s only pink with white piping left. The assistant guides Helen to the changing
rooms and stands sentry outside the curtained cubicle. Once Helen has got changed she realizes that, although it may be pink
instead of black, the top is satisfyingly tight when she pulls it on. The deep neckline clings to the very edge of her shoulders
before curving round the top of her breasts. Helen has to slip her bra straps off her shoulders to avoid them showing.

“Is this the right size?” Helen asks the assistant when she emerges from the cubicle.

The older woman gives her a professional glance and says yes, any bigger and the top will drop off her shoulders. Helen knows
that her mother will be outraged. Ruth has an aversion to tight clothes and this, allied to her habit of buying blouses and
skirts with one, or preferably two, years’ growing space has ensured that Helen has spent her childhood and adolescence turning
back cuffs and hitching up waistlines that droop and settle on her hips.

Helen subtracts the cost of the top from the notes in her hand and reckons that there’s still enough left for a full-blown
layered net underskirt. The saleswoman measures Helen’s waist and disappears. When she reappears it is with a net underskirt
so generously gathered that it springs up over her face as she carries it into the changing rooms. The white net layers shine
and sparkle under the light. They are edged with white ribbon and there is a pink rosebud and bow at the waist. Helen pulls
the underskirt up under her skirt and settles it at her waist. She is transformed, turned from schoolgirl to prima ballerina.
Helen shifts from foot to foot with excitement. Glancing out of the window it seems that the weather has changed to match
her mood. The rain has stopped and the streets are bathed in sunshine. She refuses the saleswoman’s offer to wrap her purchases
and only asks for a carrier bag for her old blouse. It is a new Helen who steps out of the shop. Her cotton skirt billows
out from her waist, the new net underskirt is just visible beneath the hem, the satin ribbon edging skimming her calves. Her
face, neck and shoulders gleam white against the pink top as she hurries through the rainy streets to find her father.

Jack has bumped into Dougie outside the fish and chip shop. It’s one o’clock and Dougie has already sunk a couple of whiskies
to dry himself out. Dougie is keen to hear the news. “How did you get on last night, Jack? What’s Tom Bell after?”

“Someone to replace him as area rep when he goes up to headquarters in London.”

“Are you taking it?”

“I don’t know. I’d set out with the idea that I’d accept whatever the Union could offer, but now I’m not sure. I don’t reckon
Fosters will last—not unless they modernize. Nylon wasn’t supposed to last five minutes but look at the market now.”

“Whichever way you look at it you’ll earn more money as a manager than you’ll ever do with the Union. Stands to reason.”

“I don’t know about that—it more or less evens itself out on a day-to-day basis. But there again there’ll be a manager bonus
if we have a good year.”

“Have you told Ruth?”

“I just said I hadn’t made up my mind. She still kicked up merry hell this morning. Started trying to tell me about my responsibilities
to her and the girls. As if I needed telling. She was all for me going with the Union, but only because she doesn’t know about
the manager’s job at Prospect.”

“Have you still not told her? Why the hell not?”

“Because Ruth is only concerned with the short-term future. She wants a semi. She wants it now, no matter what the cost. She
doesn’t care about anything that doesn’t directly involve the family. She doesn’t understand that every time a mill goes under
it weakens the overall strength of the whole industry, never mind that it puts hundreds of weavers out of work with no redundancy
and precious little dole. That sort of thing doesn’t even register on her radar.”