Marilyn, and the others,’ Mattie told her, half truthfully. Marilyn was only nine, and Phil, the youngest sister, was two years younger. Two boys, Ricky and Sam, came between Mattie and Marilyn. The eldest sister, Rozzie, was married to a mechanic and had a baby of her own. She lived on the estate too, but Rozzie kept clear of the house when Ted was likely to be at home.
‘The boys are all right,’ Mattie said, ‘but I don’t want to leave Phil and Marilyn there with him.’
Guilt folded around her again. Even if what her father had done had not been, somehow, all her own fault, Mattie was certain that she shouldn’t have abandoned her younger sisters to him. She had never seen Ted look at them in the way that he looked at her, but she couldn’t be sure that he didn’t touch them. Or if hadn’t done, that he might not now she was gone. Rozzie had never suspected, had she? In her shame, Mattie had kept her secret until she couldn’t hold on to it any longer, but it was unthinkable that Marilyn might have to suffer in the same way … Mattie rolled her head, looking up at the stained walls of her shelter. What could she do to help them, from here?
‘I know what we’ll do,’ Julia said firmly. ‘We’ll ring the Council and tell them what’s happened. There are people there who are supposed to see about kids, you know. They’ll look after them until …’ she was thinking quickly, improvising ‘… until we can have them with us, if you like. We could all live together, couldn’t we?’
Mattie smiled, in spite of herself. ‘Here?’
‘Don’t be stupid. When we’re well off. It might take a year, or something, but we’ll do it. Why shouldn’t we?’
A year seemed like a lifetime, then. When anything might happen.
‘I can’t tell anyone,’ Mattie whispered. ‘It was hard enough to tell you.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Julia said fiercely. Mattie and Julia hadn’t spent much time at one another’s homes, but Julia had seen enough of Ted Banner to imagine the rest. Sometimes he was fulsomely friendly. At other times, the times when the veins at his temples stood out in ridges and his eyes shrank to little red spots, she thought that he was terrifying. ‘You don’t have to say who you are. Just telephone, anonymously. I’ll do it, if you like. We’ve just got to make sure that someone looks after them, because it can’t be you any more. Perhaps they could go to Rozzie. As soon as we can, we’ll get a really big flat. One with two or three bedrooms, plenty of room. We can play records as loud as we want, invite whoever we want in. The girls will love it. They’ll be safe with us, Mattie.’
Mattie nodded, grateful for Julia’s generosity, letting herself accept the fantasy for now, for tonight at least. She lay still again, listening to Julia’s murmured talk. The plans grew more elaborate, as Julia spun the dreams to comfort herself as well as Mattie.
Cramped in the doorway, listening to her, Mattie drifted to sleep again.
Julia listened to her regular breathing. At first she was relieved that Mattie wasn’t frightened any more, but without the need to reassure her, her own bravado ebbed away. The dim street lamp seemed only to emphasise the terrifying darkness of the alley, and the darkness seemed endless. At last she began to waver in and out of an uncomfortable dream-ridden half-sleep. The dreams were vivid, and horrible, and when she jerked awake again the alley seemed to belong to them, rather than to reality. And then, far from being eerily deserted, a slow tide of hunched figures began to wander through it. To begin with she was sure that they were dream-figures, but then she understood that they were too real and she shrank backwards against Mattie for a shred of protection.
The alley had become a kind of thoroughfare for the derelicts and tramps of the Embankment. They drifted past the doorway, muttering or singing or cursing. Some of them peered at the girls and whispered or shouted at them; others went past, oblivious of everything but their own obsessions.
To Julia, the tide of them seemed a grotesque parody of the Oxford Street shoppers in sunny daylight. This is waiting for all of us, she thought, the dream world half claiming her again. Darkness and despair. And then, out of nowhere, the thought came to her, is this what Betty is so frightened of? She was quite sure of her mother’s fear, whereas in her childhood she had been puzzled by the nameless force that seemed to control her. Darkness. And then, like a chant repeated over and over inside her head, I won’t let it get me. Not me.
She slept, and then woke again. She thought that the night would go on for ever and then, quite suddenly, it was dawn. The spreading of dirty grey light was like a blessing.
Julia sat upright, relief easing her muscles. Leaning against the wall, with Mattie still asleep beside her, she watched the light grown stronger and stronger. In half an hour it was broad daylight once more.
Her strength flowed back again. With the return of light, she felt that the world belonged to her, and that she could take it, and make what she wanted from it. They had survived the night, and the little victory made her triumphant. She shook Mattie’s shoulder, and Mattie yawned herself into consciousness again.
‘Look,’ Julia said, ‘it’s daytime. Isn’t it beautiful?’
Mattie stretched, and grumbled, and let Julia drag her to her feet. They collected their belongings and stuffed them into the suitcases, then made their way on up the alley. Neither of them looked back at the doorway.
Before they reached the corner they heard doors banging, and a metallic rumble, almost like thunder. At once there was a babble of voices, and the sound of shuffling feet. The girls turned the corner and saw what was happening. Huge metal bins had been wheeled out of the hotel kitchens to wait for emptying. A dozen or so old men were clustering around them, picking out the scraps of food.
‘That’s what he meant about breakfast,’ Mattie said.
‘What?’
‘The old tramp, last night. Breakfast is served round the corner.’
‘Not for me, thanks.’
They stood watching the derelicts for a moment, remembering the night’s fears. Warmed and restored by the daylight, Julia felt an ache of pity for the filthy, hungry old men as they scraped up the food relics and stowed them in their tattered pockets. They weren’t dark, terrifying figures waiting for her to join them. They weren’t waiting for anything, except their sad breakfast.
‘Let’s find somewhere to wash,’ Mattie said.
They crossed the road and walked by on the opposite side. Just like the couple in the alley last night, Julia remembered. By crossing the road she had moved from the night world back into the other. Relief and a renewed sense of her own power flowed through her, warmer than the early morning sunlight.
‘I can’t wait to get clean again,’ Julia exulted. ‘Water and soap, how heavenly.’
Mattie eyed her. ‘You’re more like your mother than you think,’ she teased. ‘You can’t bear a bit of muck.’
The public lavatories near Trafalgar Square didn’t open until seven o’clock. They waited beside the green-painted railings, amongst the scavenging pigeons. The attendant who came to unlock the doors stared at them disapprovingly, but the girls were too busy even to notice. They ran cold, clear water out of the polished brass taps while she mopped around their feet. They drank their fill and then washed themselves with Julia’s Pears soap. It smelt oddly of Fairmile Road. Julia tried to dip her head into the basin to wash her hair, but the attendant darted out of her cubbyhole.
‘You can’t do that in ’ere. You’ll ’ave to go to the warm baths in Marshall Street for that.’
The girls made faces when she turned away, and then collapsed into giggles. Their high spirits were almost fully restored.
They made do with washing as much of themselves as they could undress under the attendant’s sour gaze, and picking the least crumpled of Julia’s clothes out of the cases. Then they perched in front of the mirror and defiantly made up their faces, with lots of mascara and eyeliner to hide the shadows