The Runaway (16 page)

Just then Deirdre came back into the kitchen, and Cathy and the twins had to stop their discussion.

Cathy wasn’t to find out any more about Denise until much later.

Miss Henley looked at the girl before her and felt an unaccustomed twinge of guilt. The thick blonde hair was knotted, her eyes had dark circles beneath them and her legs were mottled blue from the freezing floor. This in itself didn’t bother her so much as the fact that, technically, the girl should not be here. She hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

‘Well, girl? What have you to say for yourself?’

Cathy shook her head slightly. ‘Nothing, miss. I have nothing to say.’

Miss Henley could see the confusion on her face.

‘While you’re in my establishment, I will have no back-chat, no fighting and no bad language. Do you understand what I’m telling you? If you do not, I will repeat myself. If you do understand me and you break my rules, I will hang you out to dry.’ Miss Henley smiled as she said this and Cathy felt her heart sink inside her.

‘Now I will hand you over to Deirdre who will provide you with your uniform and sleeping quarters. One word of advice: be careful of the girls here. They do not suffer fools gladly. They are, for the most part, vicious young women with a tendency towards violent behaviour. I do not tolerate it but I know that it can be, shall we say, difficult for some of the girls to control themselves. This is not a warning, it’s a statement of fact. Be careful, and abide by my rules, and you will survive here. Now, is there anything you want to ask me?’

‘Why am I here? I understand this place is for offenders.’ Cathy’s voice was carefully polite. She watched the woman’s eyes cloud over, and held her breath.

‘That will all be explained to you in due course. Deirdre, take her to her sleeping quarters.’

Cathy knew she had just made an enemy, but didn’t see any way she could have avoided the situation. If what the twins said was true, she shouldn’t even be here in the first place.

Deirdre furnished her with a blue pinafore dress, which was miles too long, and three pairs of thick black stockings. Also three hankies and two pairs of knickers. (One on, one washed, as Deirdre explained.) They were large navy blue ones with grey piping. Lastly there were two vests. Her house slippers and outside shoes would be given to her in the evening when Miss Henley opened the shoe stores.

Cathy was then led through a warren of green-painted hallways until they reached the top of the house and what were once the maids’ quarters. Deirdre pushed her gently into a small room with a high dormer window and two beds.

‘You’re in with a girl called Sally Wilden. She’s a little mare too. I reckon you’ll get on like a house on fire. Sally’s trouble, and I have a feeling on me you’ll be trouble as well. I’ve looked after girls all me life. Been here ten years and know a bad ’un when I see her. A word in your shell-like: don’t push Miss Henley. She can be a bastard and you’ve already made an enemy of Barton. Watch your step, girl. Just watch your step. Take good care of yourself here because I can tell you now, no one else will.’

Cathy looked straight into the hawklike face. ‘I shouldn’t be here, this place is for offenders. I’m not an offender.’

Deirdre smiled. ‘If Barton wants you here, here is where you’ll stay. Keep your head down and your trap shut and you’ll be all right. Once you’re here, no one from outside will get near you. Believe me, I know.’

Troubled now, Cathy left her things in the room and followed Deirdre downstairs. The smell of carbolic was overpowering, underlaid with the taint of overcooked cabbage. It was a nauseating combination.

All Cathy wanted was a bath and something proper to eat. She held on to these thoughts as they walked into the classroom. About thirty pairs of eyes turned to stare at her in open curiosity and Cathy felt herself reddening with embarrassment. Deirdre left her there without a word and Cathy stood before the class and waited to be introduced.

It was a long wait. The teacher, a tall heavy-set woman, ignored her and carried on teaching the class about personal hygiene. Cathy stood watching, taking everything in, but her face betrayed nothing.

Staring around her, she studied the girls and the teacher and decided that she’d be out of this place at the first opportunity.

Cathy Connor knew she must concentrate her mind on escape, and escape alone.

At least one of these people seemed friendly and that was something to be going on with.

Keeping her face carefully impassive, she listened and watched for the next hour and a half.

Chapter Nine

No one spoke to Cathy after the lesson ended, not even the teacher, Mrs Daggers - a name that had brought a smile to all the girls’ faces when they had first heard it. Those smiles didn’t last long, however. Mrs Daggers was known as the hardest teacher there and could give as good as she got; even the legendary Denise didn’t give Mrs Daggers any trouble.

Following the girls from the room, Cathy walked slowly towards the dining room. One girl dropped behind and whispered, ‘It’s teatime. Eat as much as you can get hold of. We get a cup of cocoa after this and that’s it till the morning.’

Cathy smiled her thanks, and they entered the dining room, where she stood behind the girl in the long crocodile waiting to be served. It was then that she met Denise.

The girl was fat, unusually so, with a pretty Oriental face. Her hands and feet seemed too small for her swollen body and her eyes were a greeny-blue instead of the brown that might have been expected. She had an air of joviality about her and Cathy smiled as the other girl spoke to her for the first time.

‘Who are you then?’ The voice was pure South London and Cathy answered confidently.

‘Cathy Connor. I’m from Bethnal Green.’

Denise smiled. ‘You’re not a Northerner then?’

Cathy said in a hard voice: ‘I hope not. Ain’t I got enough troubles?’

The Southern girls laughed and Denise grinned. ‘You’ll do, I suppose. What you in for?’

Cathy was shrewd. She’d had to be to live with Madge all these years, so she dropped her voice and said, ‘I’ll tell you later, when we ain’t got an audience.’

Denise stared her down for a moment. She was in a quandary now. The girl was here for a good one or she wouldn’t be so cocky. That meant Denise would want her on her team. Most girls shouted their case from the second they got through the door. This one was asking for privacy, something the others had surrendered years ago. Against her better judgement, Denise decided to be lenient this once.

‘Fair enough. Come and sit with me and we’ll discuss it.’ This way she would find out and not lose any face. The new girl intrigued her and she wanted to know what was what before she made up her mind about her.

Cathy nodded, and as they served themselves with Spam, bread and mustard pickle, all the girls watched.

Sitting opposite Denise at a long table, Cathy waited patiently for the other girl to talk.

‘I’m Denise Wong,’ she said finally. ‘You probably guessed I’m a half chat by me face. I run this place in me own way. Miss Henley relies on me, see. Without me there would be anarchy. She accepts this and we have a good working relationship. She’s a stupid old bitch and I know that. I do a lot of her dirty work for her, so she treats me with respect. Everyone does. I’m in for demanding money with menaces and prostitution. Now you know my life story, tell me yours.’

Cathy took a bite of her food and pondered how much to tell Denise. She decided on the truth.

‘I murdered a bloke, me mum’s pimp. I stabbed him. Me mum’s put her hand up for me like, to save my arse. Some old bitch called Barton took me out of nick and here I am. But I ain’t been charged with nothing.’

Denise grinned. ‘You will be. Barton’s a slag. Same story with Sally. Barton had her here and all she did was mouth off a bit. Barton’s usual is to say you attacked someone and that you can’t appear in court because you’re off your trolley. They deal with it in your absence and you get sentenced. We have a joke here, that this school is so good you have to be sent here by a judge. The thing is, you’ll need to find out what your sentence is and when you’re liable for a release date. I can do that for you. For a price, of course.’

That seemed fair enough. ‘What’s the price?’ Cathy asked.

‘I want you on my team. I run this shithole and I need all the help I can get. This place was once a home for unmarried mothers. Now it’s a secure unit for girls - or gels, as the social workers call us. I’m the strong arm of the place. What I say goes. Can you cope with that? If not, say so now and I won’t waste me fucking time. I’ll batter you straight away and get it over with.’

Cathy knew the girl was not talking for effect.

‘Suits me all right,’ she said calmly. ‘I just need to see how the land lies. I have to know what’s happening with me mum and others. Me bloke is probably wondering where I am too. We had a bit of a disagreement - I need to see him to sort it out.’

Denise nodded sympathetically. ‘You’ll be all right. Now go and get some more food. Tell Ugly on the counter I said to load you up properly. Other than a hot drink later, this is it for the night. Food is a bastard here - you never seem to get enough. The cold’s bad enough, but hungry
and
cold are the pits. I hear you’ve already had a touch of the quiet room. That’s nothing. Tie down is the bastard. That’s Mr Hodges’s department, and I’m warning you now, girl, watch that old fucker! He’s a dirty old git. Straying hands and tongue. Keep away from him.’

‘What’s tie down?’ Cathy was frightened despite herself.

Denise shrugged. ‘You’ll find out. It’s pointless me explaining it, it’s different for everyone. That’s his favourite pastime. Hodges is the official head of this place, but he lets old Mother Henley run it for him. Fuck knows what he does with himself most of the time because we don’t see him for weeks on end, then he turns up and there’s murders. You’ll soon get used to it all. You’ll have to. I can honestly say I’m sorry for you, though, girl. It’s bad enough when you’ve been sent here official like. Did you stab the bloke because he was after you?’

Cathy shook her head. ‘He was beating me mum up.’

‘And your mum’s took the fuck for you?’

Cathy nodded.

‘What a touch! I don’t even know who my mum is.’ This was said with complete honesty and no trace of self-pity.

‘Well, mine’s no angel but she’s me mum, you know?’ Cathy smiled gently.

‘You done the business yet?’ Cathy looked puzzled and Denise laughed loudly. ‘You had a bit of the other?’

Cathy went bright red and nodded.

Denise laughed once more, bringing all eyes to them. ‘Go and get your grub. You’re funny, Connor. I think me and you will get along nicely.’

When the girl serving the food got the nod from Denise, she furnished Cathy with a large slice of fruit cake and a cup of tea with milk and sugar. She also told Cathy that she could have as much bread and Spam as she wanted.

Taking her stacked plate back to the table, Cathy tried to work out in her own head what she was going to do, and more importantly, how she was going to get away from this place. That was the most important thing.

Getting out and getting back to Eamonn.

 

At that moment Eamonn was with two heavies in a cafe on the Commercial Road. They were waiting for a man to deliver some money and they were early. Drinking coffee and eating bacon sandwiches, they chatted idly.

‘That was a blow for you, though, Eamonn, the girl getting taken off like that, eh?’ This from Big Joe McCarthy. Joe was second-generation Irish, and like Eamonn wanted better than his father had had.

Eamonn stared at him levelly, and kept his voice carefully casual. ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘I heard the girl did it and the mother’s carrying the can. Got that one from one of Susan P’s girls. They say the little ’un was nearly sent down over it and Gates forced the mother to take the blame. Nice little thing and all, that Cathy. Pretty as a picture and twice as lifelike, as my old mum used to say.’

Eamonn looked at the older heavy. Paddy Clark was in his forties and the picture of a thug for hire, but he was a nice bloke with daughters of his own and a little wife whom he loved dearly.

‘Cathy’s all right.’

Eamonn’s voice was harsh now and the men knew he wanted the subject dropped. Going up to the counter, he ordered more coffee, and Big Joe McCarthy said snidely, ‘She was his girl. You’d think he’d be moving heaven and earth to help her, wouldn’t you?’

The older man nodded. ‘He’s a cold one all right.’

Eamonn knew exactly what they were saying and it suited him. Far better they believe he was a selfish, heartless bastard than realise the truth: that without Cathy he felt confused, powerless as a child against the misery of this loss. There was only one way to drown out the pain: become the toughest, most ruthless enforcer the East End had ever seen.

The door opened, letting in chilly air, and the man they were waiting for breezed over to their table.

‘He’s tucked us up. I phoned in and we’re to go after him.’ He looked at Eamonn. ‘The boss said you knew what to do?’

Eamonn nodded. ‘Get yourself a coffee and we’ll away and look for the bastard. He’s had his last warning. He won’t see the sun come up the morrow.’ The men were all quiet as they digested this bit of information and Eamonn Junior enjoyed the atmosphere he had created.

Life was good, except for the fact that he missed his girl. But once she was back, everything would return to normal. Whatever normal was.

He smiled to himself, thinking of Cathy beneath him, of himself riding her. She was sweet, in all ways she was sweet, and he was looking forward to seeing her again.

 

The institution that housed the girls had been built in the 1890s and had once been the home of an affluent local businessman. It had subsequently been named Blake’s Folly, because after he’d built it for her, Blake’s wife had died in childbirth and the impossibly large house had been no good to him. He had succumbed to illness some years later and his family had closed down the house. It had been left unoccupied for many years. Eventually it had become a home for young women in difficult situations, as unmarried mothers were then described, until it had been made into a secure unit-cum-school for children unable to serve the appropriate legal penalty for their crimes because of their age or mental capacity.