Better Days will Come. Pam Weaver
to the pictures.
Bonnie was what people called a striking woman whereas Rita was regarded as the pretty one. She had long artistic fingers like her mother and dimples on her cheeks like her father. Her dark hair had a hint of bronze in it and it shone. For school she pinned it away from her face but out of school she wore it like the film star Joan Greenwood.
Although she didn’t have a boyfriend herself, Rita understood the unwritten rule between women that you shouldn’t interfere where a man was concerned. She’d kept her distance when George entered Bonnie’s life. She said nothing to her mother because she knew Bonnie was keeping this one under wraps. For some reason, Bonnie didn’t want Mum to know about him.
‘He’s a lot older than me,’ she’d confided in Rita one Sunday afternoon. ‘Mum will stop us seeing each other if I tell her.’
‘What’s he like?’ Rita wanted to know.
Her sister’s expression became dreamy. ‘He’s the most wonderful man on earth,’ she’d sighed. ‘He looks like Charles Boyer.’ Bonnie’s soppy expression changed as she saw her sister’s face and she added defensively, ‘Well, just a bit …’
‘On a dark night, with his hat down and his coat collar up?’ Rita quipped.
Bonnie pushed her arm playfully. ‘No, really.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘George.’
‘George who?’
‘You ask too many questions,’ Bonnie had frowned. ‘We’ve both got a half day on Wednesday afternoon and we want to go to Brighton. Will you cover for me or not?’
‘I suppose,’ Rita pouted, ‘but what if Mum finds out?’
‘The only way she’ll find out is if you tell her,’ Bonnie insisted. ‘Tell Mum because it’s half term, you and I are going to see if they’ve made a start on clearing the barbed wire from the beach at Goring.’
Out of loyalty and love, Rita had lied to her mother with impunity, covering for what Bonnie and George were doing more than once.
She’d reached the bend in Pavilion Road but nothing seemed familiar. George’s digs must be around here somewhere. She looked over the hedge of number 131.
‘Lost something, love?’
Rita nearly jumped out of her skin as a woman carrying two heavy shopping bags came up behind her. ‘I’m looking for a friend’s house.’
The woman put one of her bags down and flexed her whitened fingers.
‘Can I help you with that?’ Rita smiled.
‘Thank you, dear,’ said the woman. ‘I live at number 187. What’s your friend’s name?’
‘George,’ said Rita, taking the bag. ‘I don’t know his last name.’
‘What does he look like?’
‘He’s good looking,’ said Rita. ‘A bit like Charles Boyer.’
The woman chuckled. ‘I think I’d remember if I’d seen him. Has he lived here long?’
Rita shrugged. ‘He’s got digs on the first floor,’ she said, remembering something Bonnie once said.
‘If he’s in digs, he’ll be with Mrs Kerr. She’s the only one around here who takes in lodgers. Number 109.’ They’d reached the woman’s gate and Rita handed her bag back. ‘Thank you, dear. Number 109. I hope you find your friend.’
Rita’s heart was in her mouth as she walked back and knocked at the door of number 109. The small front garden was very clean and tidy, the path swept, and the name on the wall beside the door said Maranatha. Mrs Kerr was a small woman with round black-rimmed glasses. Her hair was completely covered in a dark brown hairnet and she wore a wraparound floral apron.
‘Mrs Kerr? I’ve come about George,’ said Rita, completely forgetting her carefully rehearsed speech.
‘About time too,’ said Mrs Kerr. She showed her into a small sitting room next to the front door. ‘I must say I’m a bit surprised that he’s sent a schoolgirl. Why didn’t he come back for them himself?’
Rita stared at her with a blank expression. ‘Sorry?’
‘His things,’ Mrs Kerr said. ‘That is what you’re here about, isn’t it? He packed his case and left it in the hall that morning. “I’ll be back for it later”, he said. You tell him I waited up until half past ten but he never showed up. I’ll get it for you now.’
She went back out to the hall and opened the cupboard under the stairs.
‘Did George say where he was going?’ asked Rita.
‘I thought you knew where he was,’ said Mrs Kerr, coming back with a suitcase in her hand and a raincoat over her arm. ‘I don’t know where he is. He never told me. All I know is he paid his rent, gave me back the rent book and that was that. What are you going to do with his things if you don’t know where he is?’
Rita chewed her bottom lip and stared at the floor with a frown.
Mrs Kerr looked at her suspiciously. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘There’s no hanky panky going on between you and him is there?’
‘I’ve never met George,’ Rita confessed. ‘He used to go out with my sister.’
‘Oh,’ said Mrs Kerr. ‘Used to go out, did you say? Well, it’s best not to interfere, dear. If he doesn’t want to go out with her any more, there’s bound to be a reason.’
‘My sister went to London, very suddenly,’ said Rita. ‘I was hoping George, Mr … er …’
‘Matthews,’ said Mrs Kerr.
‘Mr Matthews might know where she is,’ Rita went on.
‘Well,’ said Mrs Kerr. ‘This is a mystery, isn’t it, but I can’t imagine that they’d be together.’
Rita raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘Well, he’s hardly likely to have gone all the way up to London without taking his things, is he?’
Rita was forced to agree. ‘My mother is very worried.’
‘I’m sure she is,’ said Mrs Kerr, making a big show of putting the case and the raincoat back under the stairs, ‘but I can’t help you. Now if you’ll excuse me …’
Back out on the street, Rita walked with a heavy heart towards South Farm Road and the crossing. Where could she go from here? She had been so sure she would find George and speak to him in person. If Bonnie wasn’t with George, where on earth could she be? And why was George missing as well?
It was while she was waiting for the crossing gates to go up that Rita spotted an advertisement on the wall. Hubbard’s … Of course, Hubbard’s. Why didn’t she think of it before? That was where Bonnie worked. She must have confided in one of her work colleagues. Full of resolve, once the gates were wound back in place, Rita quickened her step. She had no money for the bus fare but she was good at running and it wouldn’t take long to get to town.
Richard’s well-aimed kick at the leg of the settee had, in the split second she had reached for her handbag, landed in Bonnie’s nether regions. His shoes were of the outdoor type and very hard. The pain was indescribable. When Bonnie cried out, pandemonium followed. Richard was sent to his room, the sound of his heavy footsteps and wailing tears fading into the distance finally silenced altogether behind a slammed door. Lady Brayfield and her maid did their best for Bonnie who, speechless with pain, could only roll around the settee and wish she was dead. They eventually calmed her and covered her with a blanket.
A doctor summoned from Harley Street arrived shortly afterwards and Lady Brayfield left the room while he examined her. His breath smelled of whisky but he poked