Hettie of Hope Street. Annie Groves
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with them dead and their families already burdened with the pain of their grief? He had no wish to add to it by telling them that they had brought the deaths on themselves by breaking the rules.
Far worse, though, had been Jim’s funeral. He and Jim had been friends for almost half of John’s life. It had been Jim who had tolerated his questions and curiosity when, as a young boy, he had hung around him and the other men with their flying machines, coaxing Jim to tell him everything he knew about them. Jim had been the best of men and the best of friends, and John knew he would never forgive himself for what had happened to him.
As soon as Gideon and Ellie returned from the Lakes, John intended to tell them he was leaving the area. He knew Gideon and Ellie understood why he had insisted Hettie was not to be told about what had happened, and that he had not wanted to spoil her debut with his own dreadful news. She had probably not even missed him anyway, he decided bitterly, not with all the admirers she no doubt had now, paying her compliments and wanting to walk out with her. Hettie was young. She wanted fun and laughter, and they were the last things he felt like right now.
In fact, he felt as though he had the cares of the world on his shoulders. Even if he had had the money to do so, at this moment he had neither the heart nor the stomach for starting again and building another flying school here.
He couldn’t stay here because if he did there would never be a day when he didn’t look across to the charred ruin and know that, if he hadn’t selfishly agreed to go and listen to Hettie singing, because he had been so desperate to see her, four foolish young men and his best friend would still be alive.
The blame wasn’t Hettie’s – how could it be? – but it was his for putting his desire to see her before his duty.
The letter he had just finished writing was a request to Alfred asking if the job he had mentioned to him was still open. The sooner he was away from this place and its painful memories the better.
‘Gawd, ’Ettie, yer look like you’ve been bawling yer eyes out, what’s up?’
Hettie had hoped that she would have the attic room to herself as she returned to the boarding house, but she had forgotten that Mavis had had a fall-out with the producer and was currently understudying, which meant she was refusing to go to the theatre for rehearsals.
‘It’s nothing,’ she mumbled.
‘Nothing? Give over, come on, what’s to do? Old man Buchanan hasn’t been trying it on wiv yer, has he?’
Hettie promptly burst into tears and within less than five minutes Mavis had dragged the whole sorry story out of her.
‘Ee, he’s a right nasty piece of work, doing that to yer. Only that’s the way it is in this business! But keeping yer wages back, so as to get yer to give ’im what he wants…That’s right mean, that is. Ee ’Ettie, yer didn’t let him have his way wiv yer, did yer?’
‘No.’ Hettie told her vehemently as she shuddered at the very thought of the man.
‘Well that’s all right then, lass. Now dry them tears and I’ll tell yer what yer have to do.’
Obediently Hettie did as she was instructed whilst Mavis settled herself comfortably on her bed and lit up a cigarette, in flagrant breach of one of Mrs Marshall’s most stringent rules.
‘Now listen to me, the next time he tries anyfink like that on yer, yer ’as ter to tell him that you’re going straight to Mrs B to tell ’er what he’s doing.’
Hettie gazed at her in disbelief. ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that.’
‘Yer won’t have to,’ Mavis assured her with a grin. ‘All yer have to do is say it like yer mean it, that will put the s…the fear of God right up him,’ she amended hastily.
‘But what about my wages?’ Hettie asked her miserably.
‘Aye, well I fink yer can kiss goodbye to them, ’Ettie. His missus might call him ter order for messin’ wiv yer, but she won’t be willing to hand over yer money. Tight arsed old bat. Oh, and ’ere’s another tip for yer. Allus carry an ’at pin wiv yer…’
Hettie’s forehead crinkled in confusion.
‘Yer sticks it into any fella who gets too frisky wiv yer,’ Mavis explained patiently. ‘Works every time, especially if yer sticks it into his best friend.’
Hettie’s confusion deepened. ‘But why would sticking it into his friend help if he’s the one…’
When Mavis burst into raucous laughter, Hettie gave her a pink-cheeked look of enquiry.
‘Oh, ’Ettie. Gawd but yer wet behind the ears, aren’t yer. A man’s best friend is his old man.’
When Hettie still looked confused, Mavis heaved a large sigh and said, ‘’Ettie, afore you came here how much exactly did yer ma tell yer about the birds and the bees?’
Hettie’s face grew even hotter. ‘I know where babies come from, if that’s what you mean,’ she said quellingly.
But if she had expected to stop Mavis from laughing she was disappointed because instead Mavis laughed even harder, pausing eventually to wipe the tears of mirth from her eyes and to splutter, ‘Aye, but do yer know how they gets there in the first place?’
When Hettie continued to blush Mavis told her in a more kindly voice, ‘Well, his best friend, or his old man, is what a chap puts into yer…well, yer privates. It’s down there his privates are, like. He’s got his old man and his balls, and we’ve got our privates and they fit together like they was made for one another. Which they was, of course,’ she announced matter of factly.
‘First time he does it, he teks yer virginity,’ she continued, ‘and that can ’urt a fair bit if he’s a bit rough, like, but after that it can feel good like as well,’ Mavis revealed fairly. ‘Specially if yer sweet on him, like. Anyway, it’s his old man that gives yer what babies come from. So that’s why if yer lets one of ’em have his way with yer, yer have to be careful to mek sure he doesn’t leave it inside yer.’
Hettie had been nodding her head vigorously throughout this explanation but the truth was that she wasn’t very much the wiser. What she did know, however, was that the thought of any man, but most of all Mr Buchanan, attempting to put his ‘best friend’ into her ‘privates’ was one she found thoroughly disgusting.
Later on, when the other girls had returned, Mavis insisted on telling them all what had befallen Hettie.
‘Poor little kid,’ Lizzie sympathised with her. ‘He wants it chopping off, he does. So what are yer going to do if they don’t give yer yer wages, then, ’Ettie?’
‘I don’t know,’ Hettie admitted.
She had had time now to rethink her first frightened impulse to tell her mother what had happened. She knew that Ellie’s reaction would be to insist she came home, and that wasn’t really what she wanted to do. Besides, the other girls had laughed her out of her fear now and made the whole situation somehow seem so much less frightening. And, of course, she felt so very grown up having been admitted to that world where she knew all about the kind of things that young girls did not know about.
‘Well, if you do want to earn a bit extra money, Hettie, Jack at the chop house was saying that he was desperate for someone to help clear the tables and wash up,’ Babs told her. ‘I’all have a word with him for you, if you like. It won’t be much money and it will be hard work, mind,’ she cautioned as Hettie’s face immediately lit up.
‘I don’t mind that,’ Hettie assured her. In fact, she wouldn’t mind anything so long as it helped to made up her lost wages and meant that she didn’t have to worry about the prospect of Mr Buchanan pushing his ‘best friend’ into her.
‘I’ll have a word with him for you, then,’ Babs promised her, adding quietly so that only Hettie could hear, ‘And as for what Mavis has been telling you,