Nobody’s Girl

The face of Derek Lewis swam into her mind so, taking up her pad again, Pearl began to sketch. In the orphanage, picked on and helpless against the teasing, she had quickly realised that she needed someone to look out for her – someone to hide behind. She had chosen an older girl, one who, like her, was a loner, and it had worked.

Of course, eventually the girl went into foster care, and Pearl was left alone again. It was the first time she’d faced such a traumatic parting, but Pearl had leaned another hard lesson. To survive she couldn’t get attached to anyone. If she hardened her heart, she couldn’t get hurt.

From then on, through the years, she found other girls to hide behind, girls who would stand up for her, but though they didn’t know it, her feelings remained detached.

As Derek’s pug-nosed face took shape on her sketch pad, Pearl smiled. He had already offered her some sort of protection, volunteering to make sure that the other costermongers laid off the teasing. Of course she had protested, but a warm feeling now spread through her body. Yes, Derek Lewis was someone she could hide behind, and it would be a good idea to make him a friend.

Chapter Four

As he cashed up the till, Bernard Dolby’s mouth was set in a scowl, his thoughts on his son instead of the task at hand. Kevin had walked through the dining room earlier, going upstairs without a word. The lazy git should get another job, but after leaving the engineering factory three months ago, wasting years of training, he wasn’t making much of an effort to find other employment.

The young tyke had avoided National Service by becoming an apprentice, deferring his call-up until he was twenty-one. Then he’d avoided it again by failing the medical, much to Dolly’s delight. Asthma. Huh, in Bernie’s opinion a bit of physical training would have sorted that out, turning Kevin into a man instead of a mummy’s boy.

Dolly wouldn’t hear a word against her precious son and had mollycoddled him from childhood. He’s your son too, a small voice said at the back of Bernie’s mind, and once again he scowled. Yes, Kevin was his son, but other than his conception, he’d had no hand in the boy’s upbringing since Kevin was a toddler. If he so much as raised his voice to Kevin, Dolly went mad.

Bernie hunched his shoulders. It was his own fault, he knew that, but for a quiet life he always gave in to Dolly. His wife had a temper, one that he feared, and he’d felt the lash of her hand from almost the first day of their marriage.

Yes, he’d married her, but she was three months gone with Kevin and he hadn’t been given a choice. When Dolly’s father had marched round from the house next door, his pregnant daughter in tow, Bernie’s own parents had forced him to the registry office.

It had been drink, of course – a party that got out of hand – and somehow, though he had no recollection of it, he’d taken Dolly amongst a pile of coats left by the guests in an upstairs bedroom.

‘Have you finished cashing up?’ Dolly asked as she came through from the kitchen.

‘Yeah,’ he said, entering part of the takings in the cash book.

‘Well,’ she said pointedly, holding out her hand.

Bernie gave her some notes and she clasped them avidly. ‘I’m going upstairs. I think Kevin is upset about something.’

‘I’ll wait for Nora to turn up and then I’m off to the bank to pay in the rest of the takings.’

Dolly hurried upstairs and, putting the bags of coins and notes into a small sack, Bernie waited impatiently for their cleaner. Nora was a nice woman, but slow-witted. She’d been cleaning the café for the past twelve months and was surprisingly good at the job, the best they’d had. He smiled now as she came in, a headscarf tied turban-style around her head as usual.

‘Hello, love.’

‘Hello, Mr Dolby,’ she said, her round face breaking into a smile.

‘I’m off to the bank. If you need anything, my wife is upstairs.’

‘Righto,’ and without preamble she went to fetch the broom, bucket and mop. Nora might be slow, but she was thorough, and Bernie knew that the floor and the kitchen would be sparkling by the time she’d finished.

As he stepped outside, Bernie took in a great gulp of air, feeling as though he’d been released from his chain. His eyes roamed the market. It was quiet, many of the stallholders packing up for the day, and he envied them, envied their camaraderie, and their freedom.

Shortly after Kevin was born, Dolly’s gran died, leaving her the café. Dolly had been working for her gran since she left school, and with her mother roped in to look after Kevin, she had carried on. Like a fool Bernie had agreed to work with her, but soon realised his mistake. She ruled absolutely, dismissing any suggestions he made and keeping a firm hand on the purse strings.

A few years later, when war had been declared, he’d gone eagerly to join up, only to be declared unfit with a heart murmur he didn’t know he had. He’d looked forward to getting away from Dolly, her violence and the café. Instead he’d seen his friends going off to fight, and several were killed in action. He’d eventually volunteered to be an air-raid warden, but in truth it wasn’t out of patriotism – it was for the same reason as he’d tried to enlist in the army: to get away from Dolly for a while.

Of course the bloody café had survived the air raids and, despite rationing, they had made a living. Nowadays the place was a little gold mine, but what did he see of it? Huh, just the pocket money that his wife gave him.

‘What’s up, Bernie? Has Dolly been giving you what for again?’

Yes, that’s how they saw him, Bernie thought: as a downtrodden and henpecked husband. He forced a smile, turning to face the costermonger.

‘Well, you know Dolly.’

‘Not as well as you, mate, thank God. Do you fancy a game of darts tonight?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ As he walked away, Bernie knew that as he threw each dart he would picture his wife’s face etched on the board.

‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’ Dolly asked when she saw her son slumped in a chair.

‘Nothing, Mum.’

She sat on the arm of the chair, stroking his hair. ‘Don’t give me that. I can see you’re upset about something.’

Kevin pushed her hand away. ‘Leave it, Mum.’

‘Don’t be silly, son. If you’re upset about something, maybe I can help.’

‘If I tell you what’s wrong, it won’t do any good.’

‘Tell me anyway.’

‘My friends are going to Brighton on Sunday, but I can’t go with them.’

‘Why not?’

‘’Cos they’re all driving down by car, and can you see me keeping up on my scooter?’

‘Surely one of them could give you a lift?’

‘Yeah, I suppose so, but you don’t know how it feels to be the odd one out. From now on I’ll have to scrounge a lift every time we go somewhere.’

Dolly stood up, exhaling loudly. ‘Kevin, I know how much you want to buy that car, but it’s an awful lot of money, son.’

‘See, I knew you’d say that! I told you to leave it, but you insisted I tell you! What good has it done?’ he cried, bending forward then as though gasping for air. After forcing a wheezing sound and hearing his mother murmuring worriedly, he straightened. ‘It’s that bloody scooter and the dust I inhale that causes these attacks, but forget it, Mum. You can’t afford to buy me the car so that’s that.’ And on that note Kevin reared from the chair, stomping to his bedroom, the door slamming behind him.

Dolly paced back and forth but then, casting a glance behind her, she went into her bedroom and to the dressing table. Tucked in the bottom drawer, from under her underwear she took out her cash box. This was her hidden hoard, money the tax man had no knowledge of, and carefully added to over the years. Taking the notes that Bernie had given her and the key, she opened it, her eyes mentally assessing the contents. Why not? she thought. They weren’t hard up, and if riding that scooter was making Kevin ill, he’d have to have a car.

‘Here you are, love,’ Dolly said, knocking before going into Kevin’s room. Her son had become a stickler for privacy, but it was probably normal at his age.

‘Thanks,’ Kevin cried, jumping up and throwing his arms around her. ‘You’re the best mum in the world.’

Dolly smiled, and touched his face. ‘And you’re the best son.’

‘I’d better get a move on before he sells the car to someone else.’

Kevin released his mother, leaving the room without a backward glance, his face alive with excitement. Good old Mum, she had coughed up, as he knew she would. The radio he’d nicked and stashed in the bottom of his wardrobe wouldn’t have raised more than a pittance, but now he had all the cash he needed.

He rushed through the dining room, totally ignoring Nora as she vigorously swept the floor. In the yard he hopped on his scooter and in no time he was at Larry Mason’s house, relieved to see the Vauxhall parked outside.

‘Is the car still for sale?’ he asked, hiding his anxiety when the man came to the door.

‘Yeah, do you want to have another look at it?’

‘I’ve just been to see a Morris, but I can’t make up my mind between the two. Mind you, the Morris is cheaper.’

‘Huh, you can’t compare a Morris to a Vauxhall Wyvern.’

‘Maybe not, but I ain’t made of money.’

‘Come on, I’ll take you for a spin. It might help you to make up your mind.’

Kevin hid a smile. He knew he was going to buy the Wyvern, but there was no need to let Larry know that. He wasn’t ready to part with two hundred quid and intended to haggle.

‘It runs like a dream,’ the man said as they drove along Falcon Road.

‘The engine sounds all right, but I think I’ll go for the Morris. It’s fifty quid cheaper and I ain’t got money to burn.’

‘How about I knock off twenty-five quid? It’s still a better car, and I can’t go any lower.’

Kevin pursed his lips, pretending to consider the offer, and then said, ‘All right, Larry. I’ll take it off your hands.’

In another hour Kevin was on his way to see some important contacts, his heart thumping. They’d have to take him seriously now. They needed a car, and he had one. And without it, the job would be impossible.

Chapter Five

On Saturday, Pearl took her first week’s wages, pleased to find an extra ten shillings. With tips she had made two pounds, thirteen and sixpence. A guinea would have to go to her landlord, but now that she didn’t have to buy much food, art classes were definitely on.

She hugged herself with excitement. Art classes! She could actually go to art classes! Her mind slid back to the orphanage and the one teacher she had liked. Miss Rosen had come to the orphanage during Pearl’s final year, and she’d been inspirational, encouraging her to look at objects in a new way.

‘See the texture of the bricks,’ she would say, ‘feel them, and there’s the sky, Pearl. It isn’t just one shade of blue with clouds like puffs of cotton wool. Look closely – there are far more colours.’

And she had looked, and she had learned, but not enough, not nearly enough. Only three months after Miss Rosen arrived came Pearl’s release, and she was one of the first to leave that year. And that’s how she saw it: release – as though she had spent her whole life up to that moment in prison. Miss Rosen was the only teacher she missed, but she would never forget her art lessons.

Before leaving she’d been told they had found her a job in a laundry, and a place in a hostel, both of which she hated from the first day. The work in the laundry sickened her, making her stomach turn. Her job was to sort out linen from great bags, and check that the laundry mark was in place before sending it on to the washroom. The sheets, from a local psychiatric hospital and an old folk’s home, were often covered in blood, vomit or excrement. She had tried to distance her mind, but it was impossible, and then, after months and months, there came the final straw. A sheet she pulled out was so covered in filth that she had bent double, vomiting on the cold stone floor.

With little money saved, she had left both the job and the hostel. She moved to an area a long way from the orphanage, alighting from the train at Clapham Junction station. Maybe it was luck, maybe she had a guardian angel, but almost immediately she’d seen a card in a newsagent’s window offering a cheap room to let. After asking directions she had made her way to Battersea High Street, enthralled by the busy, bustling market. She had taken the room, and then when almost down to her last penny, providence stepped in again when she found the job in the café.

Pearl jumped as she heard a sudden knock on her door and opened it to see her landlord.

‘Your rent’s due, Miss Button,’ Nobby Clark said.

‘Yes, I’ll get it for you,’ she agreed, hiding her distaste. Her landlord was a greasy-looking young man, with dark, slicked-back hair and a small moustache. But it was his eyes that she hated most; button black and hard, they made her shiver.

He marked the rent book, handed it back, and Pearl was glad to close the door on him. For the rest of the evening she sketched. She attempted Kevin Dolby, but couldn’t get his handsome face right. With a sigh she scrunched the paper into a ball before throwing it in the bin. God, Kevin was so good-looking. Despite knowing that he would never be interested in her, she still felt her heart skip a beat every time she saw him.

At ten thirty Pearl climbed into bed and was just drifting off to sleep when she heard noises coming from the empty shop below. She sat up nervously. Men’s voices, the scraping of what sounded like chairs, a soft laugh. She strained her ears, but the voices were indistinct, muffled. Who was down there?

Pearl wished there were other tenants, someone she could run to, but hers was the only room occupied.

Laughter again, loud this time, and Pearl relaxed a little. Perhaps it was her landlord showing someone the premises, but at this time of night? Despite her trepidation, curiosity had Pearl rising to her feet and, slipping on a thin cotton dressing gown, she padded softly downstairs.

The internal door creaked as she opened it a little, and for a moment she froze, but then the handle was snatched from her hand as it was flung wide by her landlord.

Nobby Clark glared angrily, pushing her rapidly back into the hall and slamming the door shut behind him. ‘Have you heard the saying that curiosity killed the cat?’

Wide-eyed, Pearl looked back at the man, but her throat was too constricted with nerves to answer.

‘What did you see? Answer me, you silly cow! I said, what did you see?’

‘N … nothing,’ she managed to gasp.

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Y … yes,’ she stammered, finding her voice at last. ‘I … I heard noises and thought it might be burglars.’

‘What – in an empty shop?’

‘I … I didn’t think.’

‘That’s obvious. Now listen, and listen well. What goes on in my shop is none of your business and in future keep your nose out.’

‘Yes, Mr Clark.’

He stepped back a pace, took a cigarette out of a packet and lit it, blowing smoke into the air as his shrewd eyes bored into hers. ‘Get back upstairs,’ he snapped.

Pearl scampered away, her heart thumping. When she reached her bedsit she hurriedly shut the door, leaning against it as she drew in great gulps of air. She had seen something. Before Nobby Clark shut the door she’d had a brief glimpse of three men sitting around a table, and piled beside them were stacks of cartons. She had seen the markings. Cigarettes – they were cartons of cigarettes.

‘Did she see anything?’ Kevin Dolby asked anxiously.

‘Nah, she didn’t have a chance.’

‘Christ, you should’ve locked the internal door.’

‘I know that!’

‘Are you sure she didn’t see anything?’

‘I’ve told you, ain’t I? Now shut up and I’ll give Vince a ring. If you’d had the sense to buy a van we’d have a lot more stuff to offer him. I’m not sure he’ll be interested in this little hoard.’

Kevin glared at Nobby. Bloody hell, they wouldn’t have any transport if it wasn’t for him, and there was no way he was going to be seen driving a flippin’ van. The Vauxhall gave him a bit of kudos and he enjoyed the envy he saw in his mates’ eyes.

Nobby returned from making the call, a satisfied smile on his face. ‘Yeah, Vince is gonna take them, but he wants delivery now.’

‘Christ, it’ll take us over an hour to get to Streatham and back.’

‘Look, the sooner we get shot of the stuff, the sooner we’ll get our dosh, and it’s better than stashing it here overnight.’

‘I’m not happy about using my car again.’

‘We can hardly get a bus.’

Kevin hung his head. That bloody girl had unnerved him. She had almost walked in on them and if she’d seen the stash, what then? Pearl worked for his mother, for Christ’s sake – she knew his face!

‘Come on, Kevin,’ Dick Smedley said as he picked up one of the cartons. ‘Let’s get a move on.’

Kevin pinched his bottom lip between his fingers, but then nodded. Pearl bloody Button hadn’t seen anything, so why was he worrying? The warehouse job had been easy, and they’d got clean away. All right, it wasn’t a big haul, but even so, they were on a nice little earner. For once he wouldn’t have to cadge money from his mother. He’d have plenty to spend on his favourite hobby. If you could call it a hobby, he thought with a smile. Soho beckoned … the girls … the things they let him do.

When Kevin reached Soho, walking the narrow streets, neon lights announced the clubs. Kevin frowned. It had been a hard lesson, money leaving his pocket like water, for drinks that cost an arm and a leg, but he knew better now and wouldn’t frequent those dives again. It had taken a few trips, but he’d finally found what he was looking for. Now he turned down an alley, his excitement beginning to mount. When he reached the last door on the left it bore no indication of the delights inside, but he just hoped that Eva was available.

She was, and following her into the bedroom he licked his lips in anticipation. Eva knew just what to do and stood waiting, but as he stepped forward she held up a hand in warning.

‘No bruises this time or I won’t entertain you again.’

His eyes narrowed. She was out of role and he didn’t like it, his erection dying. He wanted her submissive, frightened. ‘All right, I’ll be careful.’

She switched into the act, her eyes becoming wide with fear. That was better, the trigger he needed, and now he walked towards her again.

‘No, please!’ she begged.

He grabbed Eva, ripping the clothes from her body before throwing her on the bed. He wanted to pummel her, punch her, but had to hold back, yet even so, her cries of mock pain drove him to ecstasy.

It was quick, too bloody quick, and annoyed, Kevin threw money onto the bed. If he got his needs regularly, maybe he’d be able to last longer, but at least he had a few bob now and would be back. Without saying a word to Eva he left.

It was one o’clock in the morning when he drove down the side entrance, parking in the large yard at the back of the café. He was quiet as he made his way upstairs, but despite that, his mother appeared in her bedroom doorway.

‘Kevin, where on earth have you been? I’ve been worried sick.’

‘Don’t start, Mum. I got held up, that’s all.’

‘Held up. Where?’

‘Er … the car had a flat tyre.’

‘But surely it didn’t take long to change it?’

‘For Christ’s sake, leave it out, will you! I ain’t a kid, you know,’ Kevin shouted as he stomped off to his bedroom.

Only a few minutes later he heard raised voices. His mother was berating his father again, taking her angst out on the old man. He despised him, despised his weakness. What sort of a man let a woman rule him – hit him – belittle him? Why didn’t his father stand up to her?

As a kid he’d thought it normal, but as he got older it became apparent that in other households it was the man who ruled, not the woman.

His home was different and he hated it, hated seeing the way his father kowtowed to his mother. With this hate came fear. Was he the same? Was he less than a man, like his father?

Yes, his first trip to Soho had introduced him to sex, but it hadn’t really taken away his fear. The tart was paid to do as he asked; paid to be submissive.

In between trips to Soho he’d taken a few girls out, usually the obvious types, and had played the big man. Yet deep down he was still nervous, especially if they showed a bit of spunk and stood up to him. When that happened he dropped them like hot potatoes, and so girls came and went, giving him the reputation of a ladies’ man, one that he enjoyed.

His mother’s voice rang out again and, hearing it, Kevin’s determination was renewed. Not for him someone like his mother. Not for him a woman with a forceful personality. If the day ever came, and he doubted it, that he got married, he would make sure his wife was a pretty little thing. Someone meek and mild, who would have no chance of dominating him.

Chapter Six

‘I’m home, Gran!’ Derek Lewis called as he stepped into the small terraced house. It was Monday and he’d been delayed, but now hurried upstairs. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said.

Derek gazed down at his beloved gran, and frowned worriedly. She still looked frail, despite the doctor saying she had only a touch of bronchitis. Connie Lewis was a tiny woman, grey-haired and thin, but she was wiry and rarely ill. ‘Sorry I’m late but I had a bit of stock to pick up. Have you had your medicine?’

‘Yes, and stop looking so worried. I think I’ll be well enough to come downstairs tomorrow.’

‘We’ll see.’

‘We won’t. If I have to stare at these four bloody walls for much longer, I’ll go batty.’

‘All right, keep your hair on. I’m off to make us something to eat. What do you fancy?’

‘Something light. Perhaps a boiled egg, with bread and butter.’

‘You need more that that. How about a pork chop with mashed potatoes?’

‘No, thanks, but you have a chop. Is it your night for the gym?’

‘Yes, but I don’t want to leave you if you still feel rough.’

‘I told you, I feel fine, and a fraud for laying here.’

‘Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?’

‘Gawd, Derek, will you stop treating me like a bleedin’ invalid? I ain’t ready for the knacker’s yard yet.’

There was a spark in her eyes now and Derek grinned. When his mother had been killed during the war, he’d come to live with his gran. At the time he’d been ten years old, a lost and frightened little boy, but she had taken him under her wing, showering more love on him than he’d ever received from his flighty mother.

He’d questioned Gran about his father, but she fobbed him off so many times that he’d given up asking. It was only as an adult that he found out why. On his birth certificate, the space for listing the father’s name was blank.

Derek bent forward, planting a kiss on his gran’s papery cheek. ‘I’m off to put your egg on.’

‘It wouldn’t suit you, love.’

‘Very funny, and if you’re cracking jokes you must be feeling better.’

‘I am, and put plenty of butter on me bread.’

As Derek went downstairs he found his thoughts turning to the café and the new waitress. Pearl looked such a frail little thing, too frail to be working for Dolly Dolby. When she fainted and he’d carried her to the kitchen, she was as light as a bird, her huge eyes full of fear as she looked at him. Well, she had no need to fear him. In fact, he was determined to look out for the girl.

In no time his gran’s egg was ready, and having spread the butter thickly on the bread, he carried the tray, complete with a cup of tea, upstairs. ‘There, get that down you.’