Free The Factory Girl by Maggie Ford Page B

about.’
    â€˜There’s always a first time. You just see this ain’t it, oo-ever ’e is.’ Geraldine didn’t reply. Her main worry was passing Mum in the kitchen and having to deal with her comments and questions.
    Her only answer to Mum’s startled enquiry as she rushed for the back door and the strong smell of carbolic as she opened it to the yard, was, ‘I’ll be ’ome by eleven, Mum!’
    It was a good job this late April Saturday had decided to be warm and she could dispense with her outdoor jacket, tatty thing that it was, and not spoil the look of her lovely dress. At least she had a nice neck-wrap, spending out three shillings and eleven pence from her hard-earned pay on a blue feather necklet to suffice for evening wear. It made her look more dressed.
    Anthony met her outside his shop. She had felt a bit conspicuous walking through the streets to meet him, sure all eyes turned to her as she passed, their owners musing on what she was up to all dressed up like she was, maybe on the game. Uncomfortable though it felt, she couldn’t have asked him to call for her. Not that he didn’t know what this area was like – he worked in it, but a young man didn’t come calling until he’d been out with a girl several times. Even more people would have wondered at the expensively dressed young man and his transport and put two and two together.
    As she had guessed, he did have transport, a motor taxicab, already waiting, so certain he was of her being on time. For a second or two she felt rankled that he was so sure of her, but moments later felt quite special that he should think she would be, and felt even more so as he helped her into the taxicab.
    It was the first time she’d ever been in a motor vehicle other than a tram or omnibus and it was grand sitting beside him watching the shops go by without other people sharing the same view as her.
    He hadn’t greeted her with a kiss as she had somewhat feared he would, but had taken her hand saying how nice she looked and his eyes reflected that comment. Now, as she watched the world speed by from the taxicab window she said in her nicest manner, ‘I am wearing the right sort of clothes for the dress circle, aren’t I?’
    His hand moved to cover hers in a reassuring pressure. ‘You look very nice, lovely, the bee’s knees as they say.’
    â€˜I hope you like revues,’ she said tentatively. She hadn’t asked him.
    â€˜Fine,’ he said. ‘Though usually I see the occasional play. But with no one to accompany me, it isn’t the same. Maybe I can take you another time?’
    He was implying that he would want to see her again and Geraldine’s heart did a little skip. Tonight she must make certain to conduct herself with decorum so that he wouldn’t be disappointed in her. And who knows where this would all end. To think that only a few weeks ago she’d only dreamed of being on his arm going to the theatre.
    Mum was scrutinising her. ‘So where was it yer went Saturday night with this new bloke of yours?’
    All through Sunday Mum had been aching to know more about her evening, full of hope that her next eldest daughter might soon find a young man and in a year or so follow her sister down the aisle, although so far Geraldine had been able to parry her questions. But she couldn’t go on evading her forever. Mum was persistent if nothing else.
    â€˜The Hippodrome,’ she finally conceded over her breakfast on Monday.
    â€˜The one in Poplar?’
    â€˜The one in the West End.’
    â€˜Oh-h-h – posh!’ Mum’s mouth described a downward curve in a mixture of gentle derision and approval. ‘Got money ter take yer up West End theatres ’as ’e? Wondered why you was all togged up Saturday. What’s ’is name, this bloke? Do we know ’im?’
    Geraldine picked up the bit of toast Mum had done her for