Memories of You (18 page)

Am I superstitious? Should I have travelled to London on Friday the thirteenth? Well, I did, and I'm here, and to prove it to myself, if no one else, I am actually writing it down in my diary.

The journey from Newcastle to King's Cross took nearly six hours and I was the only passenger who remained in the compartment for the whole journey. Other people came and went and it was fun imagining why they were travelling, where they were going and whether their journeys were happy or sad.

Eva had made some sandwiches for me and a couple of times I bought myself a cup of tea on the train. From where I was standing in the tea bar I could see through to the dining car where people were sitting at tables having proper meals. Imagine that! The tables were set beautifully with white cloths and jugs of water; the meals looked good but the knives and the forks and the glasses rattled as the train went over the points. Over the points . . . I think that's the term.

Some of the other travellers were quite chatty but I didn't really want to talk. I was thinking of London and what it would be like. Of course it's our capital city and the King and the Queen live there in Buckingham Palace, but according to my lessons at school London is also the hub of our great Empire. Bustling, busy, important, and yet all I could think about was fog!

Surely everybody in the civilized world knows about the London fog. At least they do if they read novels and go to the pictures. What was I expecting? To arrive in a shrouded city with footsteps echoing on the cobblestones, where Sherlock Holmes could be seen hurrying back to his lodgings in Baker Street or, terrifyingly, Jack the Ripper might materialize before my very eyes?

One of the last films my mother and I saw together was called The Lodger. Ivor Novello was in it. A murderer is on the loose in London and Daisy, a beautiful blonde fashion model, finds that her parents have taken in a new tenant who leaves the house at night and keeps his cupboard locked. Daisy's sweetheart is a policeman who becomes convinced that the lodger is the man they are after. But Daisy is not so sure . . .

What a laugh we had on the way home that night, Mother and I linking arms and hurrying nervously through the streets and clinging on to each other and pretending to be frightened every time we heard footsteps! We went to the fish and chip shop and bought enough chips and batter to make it up to the small fry that they hadn't been allowed to come with us.

Just before the train reached King's Cross it slowed down and went through a series of tunnels. The other passengers in my compartment leapt up and took their luggage from the overhead rack and hurried out into the corridor. Everybody, it seemed, wanted to leave the train first. I got my case but then I sat down again. Suddenly I was struck by the enormity of what I had done. I had left the city where I had lived since I was born and decided to make a new life for myself. Well, at least, not completely new. Wherever I went and whatever happened to me, I knew that I would never give up hope of being reunited with my brothers and sister one day and salvaging what I could of the precious years we had spent together.

Dorothy Sutton was waiting for me on the platform. She came forward as soon as I stepped off the train. She had seen all the passengers hurrying by, the scramble for porters and the queues for taxis, and had begun to wonder if I had missed the train or changed my mind.

‘Helen Norton?' she asked challengingly as she approached me.

‘Yes.'

I stared at a young woman dressed in the height of fashion. Her belted coat had a little false cloak at the top of each sleeve and her cloche hat had no brim at all. Margery had told me that her daughter spent all her money on clothes and that she looked like a proper lady. Well, she did, but at that moment she was a very cross lady.

‘I had to buy a platform ticket,' she said. ‘I couldn't turn round and go home without making sure. So that's a penny you owe me.'

‘I'm sorry.'

She looked me up and down and her expression changed. ‘My Gawd, what has Mam sent me?' she said. ‘You look like a school kid.'

‘I'm sixteen.'

‘Well, you don't dress sixteen, do you?'

‘I suppose not.'

She's right. I don't. My old school coat is the only coat I have and my shoes were bought for comfort rather than fashion.

Dorothy shrugged and put on a long-suffering look. ‘I told Mam that I'd be happy to have a girl from home to share my digs. I didn't say I was prepared to look after a kid.'

All the time she was talking train doors were slamming, people were shouting and steam was hissing up from the gap between the wheels and the platform. To my horror I thought I was going to cry, but suddenly Dorothy grinned.

‘Although come to think of it, I might enjoy that.'

‘What?' I asked, bewildered by her change of mood as well as her words.

‘Looking after you. Showing you the ropes. Passing on my valuable knowledge and experience. Well, we can't stand here gassing all night; I'd better get you back to the diggings. Can you manage that?' she asked, giving my case a cursory glance, and turned to hurry away without waiting for my answer. ‘I'll buy your ticket, you can settle up with me later.'

My first ride on the underground! Going down the moving staircase everyone else looked so casual, chatting, looking bored, looking cross, anything but impressed that they were being carried down into the underworld! I was scared on the platform and wished that Dorothy wouldn't stand so near the edge. Then there was a rumbling sound, a rush of warm air and the train hurtled into the station. There were no seats and I almost became separated from Dorothy as people pushed and shoved and got on and off the train at different stations. But my reluctant new friend took charge and brought me safely to Kilburn and what she called ‘the diggings'. And here I am writing it all down before I forget a moment of it.

I am alone. Dorothy had a date with Mr Barker, her gentleman friend, so she showed me the room that was to be my own, the tiny kitchen, the bathroom we share with the flat downstairs, and told me to get an early night as she would be taking me into work with her early tomorrow to the restaurant in Soho to see if Stefano would take me on.

Tomorrow . . . I can't sleep for thinking about it.