Dancing the Charleston Read online

  ‘Well done, Aunty! But listen—’

  ‘He wants me to make older girls’ garments too. He’ll give me a couple of Harrods’ own seamstresses to do all the basics – seams and hems and whatnots – while I design each dress and do all the smocking and embroidery and fancy work myself. And, best of all, he’ll add a pound to my wages, Mona. A whole pound! It’ll make such a difference. I’ll be able to afford all sorts of treats for us. Who’s got a clever old aunty then?’

  ‘I have! And who’s got a clever little niece?’ I said as we went downstairs to the kitchen.

  ‘I have too,’ said Aunty, opening the oven to light it. ‘I bought a Harrods mutton pie for my tea – half price to staff because it’s been around for a few days, though it’s still perfectly good to eat and a really good size. I’ll warm it up and we’ll share it.’

  ‘Aunty, do listen! I might be going to the girls’ high school in Hailbury after the summer!’

  She banged the oven door shut and whipped round to look at me. ‘What was that?’

  ‘The high school! We had a new school inspector today – Mr White – and he’s ever so lovely, not a bit fierce. He set us older ones an essay, and he said mine was an imaginative masterpiece!’

  ‘He never!’

  ‘He did – he said all sorts of nice things, and thinks I’m very avant garde,’ I boasted.

  ‘What’s that when it’s at home?’

  ‘Ever so modern. It’s like Mr Benjamin’s art and furniture. I think it’s French,’ I said airily.

  Aunty looked at me as if I was actually talking French. ‘Well I never,’ she said weakly.

  ‘So he says I should take the scholarship examination – tomorrow, in Hailbury.’

  ‘But you’ve not been entered for it, have you?’ Aunty asked.

  ‘He says he’ll make sure that my name is on the list. I have to be there at ten o’clock.’

  ‘Oh Lord! I can’t think straight! How many others are going to sit it?’

  ‘I’m the only one from our school.’

  ‘The only one! I knew you were bright, but I didn’t think your school work was that good! I thought you were near the bottom in arithmetic,’ said Aunty.

  ‘Yes, but Mr White does different sorts of lessons from Miss Nelson. Modern stuff,’ I explained.

  ‘Avant-whatsits?’ said Aunty. ‘Well, Mona, I’m very proud of you.’

  ‘So can I go on the bus tomorrow? I’ve just got to take a pen and a pencil with me— Oh, and my birth certificate.’

  Aunty stared. ‘Birth certificate?’ she said. ‘What do they want that for?’

  ‘Oh, to check I’m really me and I’m ten. What’s the matter, Aunty? I have got a birth certificate, haven’t I?’

  ‘Yes, of course you have, somewhere or other. But hold on – let’s think this through. It’s all very well this Mr White saying you’re the bees’ knees, but he doesn’t really know you, does he? I don’t want you getting over-excited about going to the high school and then not passing. That wouldn’t do at all, would it? Maybe you’re better off not bothering with this examination. I don’t want you upset.’

  I blinked at Aunty. Why had she suddenly changed her tune?

  ‘I won’t be upset,’ I said, trying to reassure her. ‘I’d just like to have a go, that’s all. Mr White thinks I’ll pass with flying colours.’

  ‘Well, this Mr White isn’t God Almighty, is he? And, anyway, even if you do pass, I’m not sure the high school is the right place for you, Mona. Do you really want to take the bus all the way there and all the way back every single day? You’ll get exhausted. And what would we do about the fancy uniform? That’ll cost a pretty penny. How are we going to afford it?’

  ‘But you’ve just told me you’ll be earning more at Harrods! And I could run errands for folk on Saturdays. And we could use Lady Somerset’s money!’ I finished triumphantly.

  ‘You’re not touching that, not till you’re grown up. You’ll need it then, you mark my words. Life’s very hard for young women nowadays. I’m not having you starving in a garret,’ said Aunty.

  ‘But if I go to the high school and pass matriculation, I’ll be able to get all kinds of jobs. I could have a proper career, Aunty! I wouldn’t have to work for other people all the time like you.’ The words came flying out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  Aunty’s head jerked as if I’d slapped her.

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that! I mean, you do wonderful work, you’re the best dressmaker ever – it’s just—’

  ‘That’s enough, Mona. I can see this Mr White has turned your head already. Well, you’re not sitting this examination and that’s that. Now set the table for tea. There’s a lovely crust on the mutton pie, better than I could ever manage.’

  I stared at Aunty. She was trampling on all my hopes and dreams and talking about the wretched pie-crust as if it was of equal importance!

  ‘I can’t believe you could be so mean! What’s the matter with you? I could understand Maggie being nasty. She’s just jealous. Surely you’re not jealous too, because you didn’t have the chance to go to high school when you were young!’ I shouted.

  Aunty went white. ‘How dare you speak to me like that! Go to your room this instant. And you’re not getting any supper until you apologize.’

  ‘I don’t want any of your horrid mutton pie, so see if I care,’ I yelled, and stamped off to my room.

  I threw myself on the bed and had a good cry. After a while I fell asleep, fully dressed. I didn’t wake up until Aunty came in much later, on her way to bed.

  ‘Mona?’ Her voice sounded thick, as if she’d been crying too.

  I buried my head in the pillow.

  ‘Mona, you’re crumpling your dress, you silly girl,’ said Aunty. ‘Get undressed properly. Are you ready to say sorry now?’

  ‘I’m not the slightest bit sorry,’ I mumbled into the pillow.

  Aunty sighed miserably and went out again.

  I pulled off my clothes, put on my nightgown and got under the sheets. I wasn’t at all sleepy now. I tossed and turned, still raging at Aunty and fretting about the examination tomorrow. Then I dozed a little, dreaming about Mr White. He was shaking his head sorrowfully and turning away from me.

  I woke up very early, still burning with indignation. Then I suddenly jumped out of bed. I didn’t care what Aunty said. I’d go to Hailbury by myself – if I could only find the bus fare …

  I pulled on yesterday’s dress, creased as it was, because I didn’t want to risk waking Aunty by clinking coat hangers on my clothes rail. I knew my socks were grubby, but it couldn’t be helped. I silently brushed and plaited my hair, wishing I had a quick and easy bob like Desiree. Then I clutched my pencil case and crept downstairs, carefully avoiding the steps that creaked.

  Sixpence was curled up in her basket in the kitchen, but she leaped up when she saw me, clearly hoping it was morning already. I gave her a little milk, and then nursed her on my knee until she started dozing.

  The mutton pie was untouched, its pie crust pristine. I felt a little twinge of guilt – Aunty had been looking forward to it so much. She’d been so happy about her wages. Still, she shouldn’t have dashed all my chances of happiness.

  I gently popped Sixpence back in her bed and looked at Aunty’s purse, which was lying on the table beside the pie. It was half open, almost invitingly. I took a handful of coins and dropped them into my pocket quickly, as if they were red hot. I felt bad enough for yelling at Aunty. It was even worse to steal her money. But I couldn’t help it. I’d never have this chance again.

  Now I just had to find this birth certificate. I didn’t even know if I would recognize it, but I knew where to look. Aunty had a large cash box hidden behind the good embroidered tablecloth in the sideboard. She didn’t keep cash in it, because we had none going spare. It was where she kept all our precious things.

  I drew it out carefully, set it on the table beside the pie and turned the little gold key in the lock.