in the mirror to see that her eyes looked awful. She splashed her face with cold water, ran a comb through her hair, and hoped that a dash of face powder would make her look marginally better.
In what felt like no time there was a knock on her door. Forcing a smile, Betty opened it to let Val and Paula in.
‘Oh, this is nice. It’s cosy,’ Paula said as her eyes swept the room.
‘Compared to Val’s flat, I’m afraid mine is rather old-fashioned.’
‘Well I like it,’ the young woman insisted.
‘Sit down, the pair of you, and I’ll get on with lunch. It won’t take long, but would you like something to drink first?’
‘Have you got any booze?’ Paula asked eagerly.
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
Paula looked disappointed, but Val said, ‘Anything cold will do, Betty.’
‘Yeah, for me too.’
Betty made them both a glass of orange squash and then returned to the kitchen. She could hear them chatting, the subject someone called Cheryl and plans to meet up with her the following weekend. It was strange really: she had thought Val lonely, but now friends seemed to be popping up from all over the place. Val and Paula’s friendship was strange; the pair of them seemed like an unlikely couple, and Betty was intrigued about Cheryl. Would she be another one like Paula? Was Val the type who liked to help waifs and strays?
The omelettes were met with appreciation, Paula eating every scrap. ‘Fanks for making lunch, Betty. It was great.’
‘Yes, it was delicious,’ Val agreed.
Betty smiled with pleasure as she began to stack the plates. ‘It’s all right, dear, I can manage,’ she protested as Paula took them through to the kitchen. ‘Shall I make us all a drink?’ she called.
‘It’s all right, I’ll see to it.’
‘Let her do it. She likes to muck in,’ Val advised.
Betty nodded. ‘All right, Paula, you can make the drinks and you’ll find what you need in the cupboards. I’ve got some decent coffee now so Val might like that.’
‘Yes please,’ Val called and then patted the seat beside her. ‘Come on, Betty, sit yourself down and tell me, are you feeling better?’
‘Yes, a little. Having you two for lunch has kept my mind off things, but please, let’s change the subject. I don’t want to think about Richard.’
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s just that I’m worried about you.’
Betty lowered her eyes. Was this why Val had made overtures of friendship? Did she see her as another waif and stray to take under her wing? Oh stop it, she chided herself. Val had known nothing about her when they’d met in the park and, instead of going on the defensive, wondering why Val sought her company, she should just appreciate her new kind and caring friend. ‘Thanks, Val, but I’m all right, honestly.’
Paula returned with the coffee, saying, ‘I’ve washed up, but I didn’t know where you keep your china and cutlery so I’ve left it all stacked up.’
‘There was no need to do that, but thank you,’ Betty said, and as it had with Val, her heart warmed more and more towards Paula.
They drank their coffee, and when Paula asked her about her job, Betty described her duties, along with all the wonderful antique furniture and paintings in the house.
‘It sounds nicer than working in a factory,’ Paula mused.
‘I’m on my own all day, and it can be a bit boring.’
‘I wouldn’t mind that.’
They went on to talk about Val’s job, happy in each other’s company now, but then, at four o’clock, Val said that Treacle would need a walk.
Paula rose to her feet too, and impulsively Betty hugged the girl, finding it returned as she said, ‘We must do this again.’
‘Yes, I’d like that,’ Paula said.
Betty was sorry to see Paula and Val leave and remained in her doorway when they walked downstairs – but, unaware of this, they began talking about her, their voices drifting back up to her.
‘I really like Betty, Val. Do you think she’ll want to join us?’
‘I hope so. The sooner we get started, the better,’ Val replied, but then her voice went out of range as they reached the ground floor.
Betty closed her door, finding herself intrigued. Join them? Join them in what?
Paula nervously left her flat on Monday morning, constantly glancing behind her as she hurried to the bus stop on East Hill. As usual she was dressed dowdily Before it happened, before Ian Parker had raped her, she’d been full of confidence, wearing the latest fashions, like most girls, proudly showing off her shapely legs in miniskirts. She had enjoyed a laugh, nights out, and her friends had likened her to the pop singer Lulu. Paula couldn’t sing, but had to admit that there was a slight resemblance in their build and features.
When her mother remarried and moved out of London, she’d been glad to remain in the capital, finding a little bedsit close to Clapham Junction. She liked her independence, loved being able to hop on a bus over to the King’s Road and Carnaby Street, but now the latest trends held no interest. A young man was walking towards her and Paula cringed, folding in on herself until he passed. At last she reached the bus stop to see one of the girls who worked at the factory already waiting.
‘Watcha. Did you have a nice weekend?’
Paula just nodded, feeling nothing in common with the fashionably dressed girl of similar age.
‘I went to a new shop that’s opened in Kensington High Street. Biba, it’s called and you should see it. The décor’s all black, in the 1930s’ style, with potted palms and loads of hat-stands festooned with feather boas. It was packed, especially in the communal changing room, but the clothes are fantastic. I got a great dress and wore it to the Hammersmith Palais on Saturday night.’
Paula eyes were fixed ahead, saved from answering as a bus drew up. She stood back to let the other girl get on first, relieved when she called, ‘I’m going upstairs for a ciggie.’
Paula wanted to smoke too, but unwilling to chat to the young girl she stayed downstairs, relieved to find a seat next to an older woman. Her thoughts drifted to Betty, a woman she had liked, one who had held her, comforted her when she cried. Unlike her own mother, Betty had appeared warm and caring, her sympathy genuine. It had been six months since she’d seen her mother, but that wasn’t unusual. On rare occasions she travelled to Essex to see her, but never felt welcome as her mother’s life now revolved around her new husband.
Paula had no idea who her father was, and had given up asking. From what she’d seen of her mother’s life, the men who had come and gone, she doubted if her mother even knew which one had fathered her.
When the bus pulled up at a stop a passenger got on, taking a seat in front of her. Paula took one look at the back of his head and her heart stopped. He had red hair and that was enough to bring back the nightmare. She’d been so stupid, mad to be impressed that Ian Parker had a car. When he’d asked to take her home from the dance she had jumped at the chance, and he’d seemed so nice, with green eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Ian Parker was over six feet tall and she’d felt diminutive beside him as they walked to his car, but he hadn’t driven home. Instead he’d taken her to Clapham Common, pulling up in a secluded side road. At first she hadn’t been nervous, and had in fact felt excited when he pulled her into his arms. Even when he tried it on she hadn’t panicked,