Better Days will Come. Pam Weaver
reference addressed ‘To whom it may concern’.
‘I know the woman you’ll be working for quite well,’ George assured her when he gave her the slip of paper. ‘Mrs Palmer is a nice woman. You’ll like her.’
Bonnie frowned. ‘How do you know her?’
He’d pulled her close. ‘Don’t I know just about everyone who’s anyone, silly?’
When she had surprised him at his digs after the row with her mother last night, he had taken her to his room. ‘You’ll get me thrown out onto the street,’ he’d said and she’d laughed. ‘Who cares? We’re going to live in South Africa,’ she’d said, her cornflower-blue eyes dancing with excitement.
George had drawn her down onto the bed with a kiss. Bonnie closed her eyes as she relived the moment. He was so good looking, so strong, so manly … She sighed. She hated doing this to her mother but she had to. If she’d told her mother what she and George were planning, she would have talked her out of it. Grace was a good mother but she still thought of Bonnie as ‘her little girl’. Bonnie smiled to herself. If only she knew. She certainly wasn’t her little girl any more. Since she’d met George, she had become a fully-grown woman.
When her father had been killed in the D-Day landings, Grace Rogers had been totally lost without him. The day the telegram came, she’d sat on the stairs, hardly even aware that she had two daughters to look after. Rita was the only one able to pacify her and they sat crying together. Without their father, life had become so difficult. They never had much money even though her mother worked all the hours God gave. Bonnie knew her mother would be upset to lose her wage, but it was all swings and roundabouts. There would be one less mouth to feed and Bonnie was determined she’d send a bit of money as soon as she and George were settled in South Africa. Of course, she would write to her mother long before they got there and once they were there, Grace could hardly refuse her consent to their marriage.
Bonnie stared at the name and address on the piece of paper she had been given. Mrs Palmer, 105 Honeypot Lane, Stanmore. Telephone: Stanmore 256. She couldn’t wait to see George at the station. Everything was going to be absolutely fine, she just knew it. With a smile of contentment, Bonnie leaned her head against the carriage window and closed her eyes.
Rita was puzzled. When she’d arrived home from school after choir practice, she found her mother sitting in the darkness on the stairs. Rita could tell at once that she had been crying but she didn’t seem to be aware that she was wet through and shivering with the cold.
Rita sat down beside her. ‘Mum?’
Grace stood up. ‘I’m going to get changed.’ She knew Rita was wondering what was wrong but she didn’t look back as she wearily climbed the steep stairs.
There was little warm water in the tap and the bathroom was very cold, but Grace washed herself slowly. How was she going to tell Rita? She and Bonnie were very close, so close they might almost be twins rather than two years apart. Bonnie had left no note for Rita. The girl would be heartbroken.
As she crossed the landing, a thought struck her. What if Rita already knew Bonnie was going? Maybe they’d planned it this way together. Grace felt a frisson of irritation. How dare they!
By now, she was frozen to the marrow. Pulling out some warmer clothes, Grace dressed quickly; a dry bra, her once pink petticoat, and a blue cable knit jumper over a grey skirt. She sat on the edge of the bed to roll her nylon stockings right down to the toe before putting them on her foot and easing over the heel. Her clothes were shabby, the jumper had darns on one elbow and at the side, her petticoat had odd straps because she’d used one petticoat to repair another, and her skirt, which came from a jumble sale, had been altered to fit. The one luxury she allowed herself was a decent pair of stockings. She rolled them slowly up her leg, careful not to snag them on a jagged nail, and checked her seams for straightness. Fastening the stockings to her suspenders, Grace towel-dried her hair and pulled on her wraparound apron before heading back downstairs to confront Rita.
‘Something’s happened,’ said Rita as she walked back into the kitchen. ‘What’s wrong, Mum?’
‘Your sister has left home,’ Grace said, her lips in a tight line, ‘but of course you already knew that, didn’t you?’
Rita’s jaw dropped.
‘Left home?’ Rita looked so shocked, Grace was thrown. ‘Where’s she gone?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’
‘Precisely what I said, I don’t know,’ cried her mother, her voice full of anguish. ‘I was so sure you’d know all about it.’
Rita seemed bewildered. Grace threw an enamel bowl into the stone sink with a great clatter. All the while that she had believed Rita knew about Bonnie, there was the hope that she could bully her whereabouts out of the girl. ‘Mum?’
For a few seconds, Grace stood with her back to her daughter, her hands clenching the sides of the stone sink, as if supporting the weight of her body, then she turned round. Rita was alarmed to see the tears in her eyes. Grace reached out for her but when Rita stood up, scraping her chair on the wooden floor behind her, she ran upstairs. Grace could hear her opening drawers, looking in the wardrobe and searching for the battered suitcase that they kept under the bed. As she listened, she relived every moment of her own fruitless search not half an hour ago. She opened the stair door and sat down. A moment or two later, Rita joined her and laid her head on Grace’s shoulder.
Rita chewed her bottom lip. Left home … Bonnie didn’t confide in her much these days, but Rita was sure she would have said something if she’d known she was going away. Was she ill or something?
‘Has she done something wrong, Mum?’
No answer.
‘When is she coming back?’
‘Darling, I’ve told you,’ Grace sighed. ‘I don’t know.’
Rita’s stomach fell away. She couldn’t bear it if Bonnie was gone. Sometimes Bonnie and her mother had words but neither of them held grudges. It just wasn’t their way. A sudden thought struck her. She lifted her head. ‘Shall I go and see if she’s at Sandra’s place?’
‘She’s not at Sandra’s. She’s gone to London.’
‘London?’
‘She told me in a note.’
‘What note?’
Grace stood up and they both went back into the kitchen. She showed Rita the single sheet of paper.
‘I shall never forget you and Rita … it all sounds so final,’ said Rita.
Her mother couldn’t look her in the eye. She got the saucepan out of the cupboard, put it onto the range and reached for a couple of potatoes. ‘Let’s clear the table please.’
Rita gathered her schoolbooks into a pile. Tears were already brimming over her eyes. Why go to London? It was fifty miles away. Bonnie didn’t know anyone in London, did she? Rita opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it when she saw her mother’s expression.
‘There’s nothing we can do, love,’ Grace said firmly but in a more conciliatory tone. ‘Your sister has left home. I don’t know why she’s gone but it’s her choice and we’ll just have to get on withit.’
The potatoes Grace had cut up went clattering into the pan. She covered them with water before putting them on the range. Their eyes met and a second or two later, unable to contain her grief any more, Rita burst into tears and ran upstairs.
Victoria station was alive with people. Bonnie had arrived in the rush hour. She went straight to platform 12 as agreed with George, but after waiting a long two hours, she was so desperate for the toilet, she had to leave. She wasn’t gone for more than ten minutes but he must have come and gone during that time and she’d missed him.