Implosion, p.19
Implosion, page 19
Afterward, the Controller came up to her.
“You’re looking a little tired, Mrs. Bart.” Her attitude was formal, but not unfriendly.
“I didn’t sleep very well last night,” admitted Julia, “it was so hot.”
“Yes, it was.” The Controller’s eyes probed, and Julia could feel panic rising in her.
“Still, I’m thankful that with my cycle, I’m not six months gone in the summer.” Julia was acting for her life. “Must be absolutely ghastly.”
“Yes.” The single, flat word killed the conversation, such as it was, stone dead.
“Well, I must be getting on!” Julia strove to infuse some enthusiasm into her voice, “There’s masses to do. Masses.”
“Yes,” said the Controller, “but don’t overdo it.”
Julia left, fear and suspicion clawing at her mind.
3
The actual escape could not have gone much more easily. For the last ten minutes of the unloading, Julia watched apprehensively, her hands clenched in the pockets of her raincoat as she walked slowly up and down, ostensibly admiring a flowerbed, fighting the urge to run, and praying she would not get involved in conversation.
Then Curley went around the front of the van to get his delivery notes, moving with slow deliberation, as befitted his sixty-odd years. For obvious reasons, younger men had long been replaced. His move was her signal. She walked as slowly as her nerves would permit, across the grass, biting back the panic that threatened to paralyze her, to the shelter of a narrow space between two huts.
Once screened, she took her handbag, temporarily suspended by a belt around her waist under the raincoat, produced her nurse’s cap, and with shaking fingers, pinned it on.
This was the moment. Until now, she might have been aimlessly wandering, but the cap denoted purpose, and so close to the Home entrance, there could only be one purpose. She was committed.
As Curley emerged from the stores hut, large single spots of rain fell. He paused, looked up in surprise, the rain rapidly grew into a heavy shower. As he moved, so did Julia. With her head down, she ran the few steps toward him, and bumped against him.
“Curley!” Her throat hurt, speech was almost beyond her.
“Hallo, miss! You’re quite a stranger.”
“Yes—Curley, can you give me a lift? Don’t want to get my hairdo ruined.” Lovely, lovely rain.
“ ’Course. Hop in.”
Julia was up and in the cab in a flash. Her coat caught in the door; it was a heart-stopping moment, and she only just resisted the panicky urge to tear at it. She forced herself to open the door slowly, and pulled the coat in.
Curley plodded with nerve-tearing slowness around the front of the van. Once in, he carefully mopped his bald head. Then he got his pipe out, and with unalterable slowness, lit it.
“Sharp shower,” he observed.
Julia could not answer. She nodded as she peered through the streaming windscreen at the guard, now sheltering in the doorway of the guardroom. If only the rain would last just a little longer!
After what seemed a very long time, Curley started the engine, and the van ground slowly in low gear to the entrance. Opposite the guard, Curley stopped the van. For Julia life stood still.
“That slow enough for you, matey?”
Hunched against the far door, Julia could neither see nor hear what the guard said, and she was past all care, she could only sit, her head averted.
Curley grunted in reply to the inaudible guard, and then they were rolling. As the van began to move, Julia shut her eyes.
“Bossy bitch—if you’ll pardon the expression, miss. She reported me for exceeding five miles an hour in the camp.” He muttered something to himself, then, “Where can I drop you?”
Julia fought back the tears. This was no time to give way. She remembered one of the names she had noted, just for this situation. The knowledge of her forethought did something to raise her spirits, “Oh—d’you know Old Road?”
“That’s the one running up past that convalescent home?”
“Yes, that’s it.” She hoped.
“Go out that way, miss—which end?”
“Oh, the far end.”
Curley nodded. At that moment Julia loved him. Elderly, but reliable. His van wouldn’t break down—a fear that had haunted her from the moment they left the stores hut. She hesitated, she needed help so badly, why not make a clean breast of the whole thing to him? But the shock of Parsons’ views was still strong. If Curley was willing, she might get a lift well clear of Clacton—but if not? She decided against it.
While he was busy negotiating a roundabout, she quickly took off her nurse’s cap and stuffed it in her pocket. The rain was lighter now, and she allowed herself to accept the overwhelming fact that she had got out of the Home. She could not regard herself out of immediate danger until she was clear of Clacton, or for that matter, Colchester.
No one was likely to notice her absence from supper. The meal was served between six thirty and eight thirty, people were coming and going all the time between those hours. Breakfast was no hazard, either. Julia only had coffee, and that she invariably made for herself in her chalet. The alarm would be raised when she failed to appear for a Home Harmony meeting at nine thirty. That gave her fifteen hours to get clear.
The AA Road Book had shown that London was sixty-nine miles away. With luck she’d be there before she was even missed. If she got some money, she should make it. If not she would thumb a lift anywhere, so long as it was beyond Colchester. Money was the next problem.
“This do you, miss?” Curley pulled into the curb, and stopped.
“Yes, yes—fine! Thank you so much, Curley, you’re an angel.”
Curley never knew just how sincere she was.
“Think nothing of it, miss. Pleasure’s mine.”
Julia stood and waved as the van moved off, leaving her with an added sense of loneliness. For the first time in years she had been alone with a man outside the Home environment. He had been kind, and very polite. For a fleeting second Julia thought of this old man. She would dearly have loved to give him an ounce of the disgusting shag he smoked.
The rain had stopped now. Julia stood, undecided. The street was very quiet, all the shops were shut. She wished she had asked Curley where he was going, might have given her an idea about direction. She was fairly certain his depot was not in Clacton, in which case he must surely be going toward Colchester. She turned in the direction he had gone—and saw two figures in the gray-green of the MOHS.
Immediately she turned and walked as slowly as her nerves would allow, back down Old Road. At a road junction she spotted a public convenience, and made for it.
There was no attendant, and Julia let herself into a WC. She stood there, behind the door, her legs trembling uncontrollably, for nearly ten long minutes. Nothing happened, and common sense asserted itself. If the MOHS women had spotted her, they would not have hung around.
She pulled herself together, put on the headscarf, arranging it to conceal as much of her face as possible, and unbolted the door. A car roared past, then silence. She walked over to the washbasins, and looked anxiously at herself in the mirror.
For a brief second fear gripped her anew at the sound of footsteps, but it was the sloppy clacking of sandals on the tiled floor; no MOHS woman wore anything but brogues.
A girl, eighteen or nineteen, came in. She hardly glanced at Julia before disappearing into a WC. Julia’s mind raced; the brief glance in the mirror was not much, but enough. This couldn’t be a guard, no guard slouched like that. A shop girl or an early holidaymaker.
Julia’s heart thumped. She had to make a start somewhere. She took out her lipstick and compact and slowly, very slowly, began to apply lipstick.
Eventually the girl came out. Julia’s prayer was answered; she came over to the washbasins.
“Sorry,” said Julia as offhandedly as she could. “I seem to have the only piece of soap.”
“Thanks,” said the girl, and lapsed into stony silence.
Julia, unnecessarily powdering her face, went on, “I suppose they just forget. Not that I’m able to criticize—I’ve left my purse in a shop somewhere, can’t remember which, and now they’re all shut.”
“Oh yes.” The girl was massively uninterested.
“Yes,” said Julia, trying desperately to strike the right note. “And now—I just don’t know how I’m going to get home!” God, how true that was!
“Awful,” agreed the girl absently, now drying her hands.
“The silly thing is, the only thing I’ve bought is a bottle of scent—and that won’t be much good for my husband’s supper.”
“You’re married then?” For the first time, the girl showed a flicker of interest.
“Yes.” It seemed an odd question, and immediately Julia’s guard was up. “Why?”
“Dunno. Jest wondered. Still, I suppose you’re old enough to have been married years an’ years.” The way she said it, it was indeed a very long time ago. It also seemed to answer her own question. She was about to leave.
“Look,” said Julia quickly and untruthfully. “you’re a smart good-looking girl who could use it—suppose I sell you the scent, very cheaply. Then I’ll get home, and you’ll get a real snip.” She took the bottle out of her bag, and stood it, in all its glittering glory, on the dirty shelf, against a background of spotty mirror and a venereal disease poster.
“Coo,” said the girl, looking closely, “Patu. Is that a good one?”
Julia assured her it was, pointed out that the seal was unbroken, and continued, “It used to be advertised as the most expensive perfume in the world.” She let that sink in, then added. “Real French perfume.”
“Coo!” said the girl again. “Howja get it?”
Julia tried a cunning smile. “Never you mind. You youngsters don’t know everything, you know.”
“How much was it?”
For sure the girl was hooked. Julia guessed wildly, “Six guineas.”
“Six! For a little bottle like that! I kin get a big, big bottle of ‘Heavenly Bliss’ for seventeen and six!”
“Maybe, but it’s not like this stuff.” She laid it on thick. “You’re a sophisticated type. This is a rare, sophisticated perfume. Just suit you. Tell you what. You can have it for three pounds.” The smile was now designed to be knowing, enticing. “Your young man will go mad!”
“My young man! That’s a laugh!” The girl looked at her a little contemptuously, “You don’t have much idea, do you? Still, at your age, an’ married an’ all that … anyway, I ain’t got three quid.”
Julia kept the smile going somehow, but just then she could have killed the girl—for several reasons. Some of Julia’s hard-won assurance left her, desperation asserted itself. “How much have you got?”
The girl fumbled in her handbag. At last she answered. “Seventeen bob, an’ I can’t afford all that. I’ve got to git back—give yer twelve.”
Julia felt sick. She couldn’t go through all that again, and the next one might not be as safe as this dreary, stupid little bitch.
“That’s giving it away!”
The girl fingered the fine gilt top of the flask. She sighed. “Well, I’ll make it fifteen bob, an’ a packet of fags. That’ll only leave me two bob for me fare. Carn’t even git me Real-Life Love mag.”
It had the ring of truth. At least it would get her beyond Colchester.
“All right.” Julia held out her hand, trying to keep it from shaking. Slowly the girl counted the money out, and handed over the cigarettes, which Julia had forgotten.
“Well, I must be off.” Julia shut her bag, and moved to the entrance. The girl, too, was nearly forgotten.
“Ere!”
If she wanted her money back …
“Yes?”
The girl was hesitant. “What did you say I was, sofy somethink?”
“Oh—sophisticated. Smart, with-it.”
“Coo!”
Outside there was no sign of the MOHS, and not many other people, either. Julia walked briskly, her head slightly down whenever anyone passed her. This must be the road out of the place, it must be.
A quarter of a mile up Old Road, this problem was settled by a road sign. The left-hand fork was for Colchester—and London.
Julia slowed down slightly in the London Road. The compulsion to keep moving was very strong, yet she knew this was no answer. Thumbing a lift was too dangerous here, too many Home staff must live around this area. Again, the answer presented itself. Ahead was a bus stop, and a small knot of people indicated that one should be along soon. She joined the ragged queue, and when another woman came and stood behind her, she felt able to relax slightly. There was no one in the queue she knew, and she was reasonably well screened from passersby.
There was no immediate pressure, and she was able to take stock. It was a pleasant evening, the sun was still warm, but Julia felt chill. She was soaked with sweat, and the light breeze made her shiver. Seawards, clouds were beginning to bank up, not a good augury for the night to come, but Julia was not disposed to think beyond her next step, getting to the relative safety of Colchester.
Ten minutes later the bus arrived. The destination board showed that Colchester was the terminus.
It was a tense moment, getting aboard. There might have been someone from the Home on it already, but there was not. With her head well down, Julia made her way up to a front seat. That way, no one would have to pass her as they got off, and there was no chance of being recognized. Still shivering slightly, she sat back and tried to concentrate on her next move. Her thoughts were interrupted by the conductor, an old man, even older than Curley. The fare to Colchester was nine shillings. She was horrified, it was much more than she had expected. That left six and ninepence, and there would be over fifty miles still to go. Silently she cursed the impecunious girl back in Clacton.
It was after seven o’clock when she got off in Colchester. She had already decided that she would not risk hanging around the town center, her one attempt at trade had not filled her with confidence, and she had no idea how she could set about selling her engagement ring, especially at that time of day. She got her bearings from the road signs, and set off on the road to London. It would have to be a lift.
The road seemed endless, there were few cars and practically no lorries. Back in the bus she had decided that cars were too dangerous, it had to be a lorry. She trudged on. Ahead she could see that there was some sort of major road junction, and that raised her hopes.
And then it began to rain; at first lightly, pleasantly, laying the dust. But soon it was a steady downpour, and Julia sheltered momentarily under a tree, and realized just how tired she was. She did not know it, but she had walked three miles from the middle of Colchester. But she did know that her feet hurt and that she was badly out of practice. Heavy accumulated splashes from the tree drove her on, the rain behind her, beat against her legs. As she reached the junction she saw, a little farther on, and on the same side, a huddle of huts, dominated by a large, brightly lit sign. “Bert’s Drive-Inn.”
4
Seen in the advancing dusk, through the heavy rain, the pink neon-lit windows were very attractive to Julia. Reaction had set in; she was tired, very thirsty, even a little hungry. Six and nine-pence would not get her very far toward London. A further attraction was a row of lorries parked on the uneven gravel at the side.
A large blackboard trestle sign bore the words “Fish ’n Chips 5/-.” That was enough for Julia.
Bert’s was a riot of sound. The radio fought a fluctuating battle with the clatter of plates, shouted witticisms and laughter. Steam curled slowly from the kitchen hatch, to mix with cigarette smoke in the café, and the strong, long-standing smell proclaimed that fish and chips was an old favorite. Apart from a large, red-faced and perspiring blonde behind the high counter, there were no women.
She walked hesitantly up to the counter. One or two men glanced curiously at her, but that was all. Manners in a lorry drivers’ café are not those of the West End. They are a lot better.
“Yes, ducks?” The blonde, mopping the bright yellow plastic counter, gave her a quick appraising stare.
“May I have some fish and chips, and a cup of tea, please?” She tried to sound matter of fact, but the strain was telling, and her voice quavered. If the woman had said a single kind word at that moment, Julia would have burst into tears.
“Yes, dear. You sit down over there,” she nodded her impossibly golden head at an empty table. “I’ll bring it over.” She turned and shouted something incomprehensible into the steamy hell behind her.
Julia sat quite still in her chair, her coat still tightly buttoned, although she was no longer feeling cold.
The blonde arrived with the fish and chips, a large cup of tea, and an even larger plate of bread and butter. Julia stared at the latter in alarm.
“Oh no. I can’t aff—that is, I don’t want anything extra.”
The blonde, towering above her, gave Julia an indefinable look, compounded of compassion, contempt and something else. “S’all right, dear. It’s all in. Fish and chips, bread and butter, cup a tea-five bob.”
“Yes.” Julia reached for her bag.
“No rush,” said the blonde, picking up her tray. “You might want some more tea. That’s ninepence a cup,” she added with elaborate carelessness.
Julia ate the lot, and felt much better. The future, while in no way rosy, did not look quite so bleak, so insupportable. She decided she would spend another ninepence on tea. That would only leave a shilling, but this could be the place to get a lift.
She took her cup up to the counter, and feeling stronger, made no secret of her financial state. “I can just about afford a second cup,” she smiled at the blonde, who did not smile back, as she silently poured the tea from a large brown enameled teapot. She pushed the cup across the counter, and spoke flatly, and without emotion, her eyes anywhere but on Julia.
