She smiled broadly. ″How delightfully spontaneous of you,″ she laughed. ″I was just trying to figure out how to avoid spending the evening in front of the telly. Come in.″
V
ANITAʹS SHOES CLATTERED CHEERFULLY on the sidewalk as she hurried toward Samantha Winacre′s house. The sun was warm; it was already 9:30. With luck, Sammy would still be in bed. Anita was supposed to start work at nine o′clock, but she was often late, and Sammy rarely noticed.
She smoked a small cigarette as she walked, inhaling deeply, enjoying the taste of the tobacco and the fresh morning air. This morning she had washed her long fair hair, taken her mother a cup of tea, fed her newest brother with a bottle, and got the rest of the children off to school. She was not tired, for she was only eighteen ; but in ten years′ time she would look forty.
The new baby was her mother′s sixth, not counting the one that died and some miscarriages. Did the old man not know about birth control, she wondered, or didn′t he care? If he was my husband I′d make bloody sure he knew.
Gary knew all about taking precautions, but Anita wouldn′t let him have it, not yet. Sammy thought she was old-fashioned, making a fellow wait. Perhaps she was, but she found it wasn′t half so nice unless you really liked each other. Sammy talked a lot of nonsense, anyway.
Sammy′s place was a terraced house with a basement, old but quite nicely done up. Quite a lot of wealthy people had renovated old houses in this part of Islington, and the area was becoming quite posh. Anita let herself in by the front door and closed it softly behind her.
She looked at her reflection in the hall mirror. There had been no time to put on makeup today, but her round, pink face looked well without it. She never used much, unless she was going up West, of a Saturday night.
The mirror had an ad for ale engraved in the glass, like something in a Pentonville Road pub. It meant you could never see the whole of your face in it, but Sammy said it was Art Deco. More nonsense.
She looked into the kitchen first. There were some dirty dishes on the breakfast bar, and a few bottles on the floor, but nothing much. Last night had not been a party night, thank God.
She stepped out of her street shoes, took a pair of moccasins from her tote bag, and slipped them on. Then she went down to the basement.
The wide, low-ceilinged living room took up the whole depth of the house. It was Anita′s favorite room. Narrow windows high in the walls at front and back let in a little light, but most of the illumination came from a battery of spotlights trained on posters, small pieces of abstract sculpture, and vases of flowers. Expensive scatter rugs covered much of the block floor, and the room was furnished out of Habitat
Anita opened a window and tidied up quickly. She emptied ashtrays into a bin, shook the creases out of cushions, and got rid of some flowers which were past their best. She picked up two glasses from the chrome occasional table; one smelled of whisky. Samantha drank vodka. Anita wondered whether the man was still here.
She went back to the kitchen and pondered whether she had time to wash up before waking Sammy. No, she decided; Sammy had an appointment later in the morning. Still, she could probably clear the kitchen while Sammy was drinking her tea. She put the kettle on.
The girl entered the bedroom and pulled back the curtains, letting the sun pour through like water from a bursting dam. The bright light woke Samantha instantly. She lay still for a moment, waiting for the last few cobwebs of sleep to dissolve in the awareness of a new day. Then she sat up and smiled at the girl.
″Good morning, Anita.″
″Morning, Sammy.″ The girl handed Samantha a cup of tea and sat down on the edge of the bed while she sipped it. Anita′s accent had the broad twang of a cockney teenager, and her bustling, motherly manner about the house made her seem older than she was.
″I′ ve tidied downstairs and done the dusting,″ she said. ″I thought I′d leave the washing until later. Are you going out?″
ʺMmm.ʺSamantha finished her tea and put the cup down beside the bed. ″I′ve got a script conference.″ She threw the bedclothes aside and got up, crossing the room to the bathroom. She got under the shower and washed herself quickly.
When she came out Anita was making the bed. ″I got that script out for you,″ she said. ″The one you was reading the other night.″
″Oh, thanks,″ Samantha said gratefully. ″I was wondering what I′d done with it.″ With the huge bath towel wrapped around her, she went to the desk at the window and looked at the volume. ″Yes, that′s the one. What on earth shall I do without you, girl?″
Anita busied herself about the room and Samantha dried her urchin-cut hair. She put on her bra and panties and sat in front of the mirror to make up her face. Anita was not as chatty as usual this morning, and Samantha wondered why.
An idea struck her. ″Have your A-level results come yet?″
″Yeah. This morning.″
Samantha turned around. ″How did you do?″
″I passed,″ the girl said flatly.
″Good grades?″
″Grade one in English.″
″That′s terrific!″ Samantha enthused.
″Is it?″
Samantha stood up and took the girl′s hands in her own. ″What is it, Anita? Why aren′t you pleased?″
″It don′t make no difference to anything, does it? I can work in the bank for twenty pounds a week, or work in the Brassey′s factory for twenty-five pounds. I could do that without A-levels.″
″But I thought you wanted to go to college.″
Anita turned away. ʺThat was just a silly thing—a dream. I could no more go to college than fly to the moon. What′ll you wear—the white Gatsby dress?″ She opened the wardrobe door.
Samantha went back to her mirror. ʺYes,ʺ she said absently. ″Lots of girls go to college nowadays, you know.″
Anita laid the dress on the bed and put out white tights and shoes. ″You know what it′s like up my place, Sammy. The old man′s in and out of work, no fault of his own. My mum can′t earn much, and I′m the eldest, see. I̋ʹll have to stop home and work for a few years until the little ones start bringing some money home. Actually—″
Samantha put down her lipstick and looked past her own image in the mirror to the young girl who stood behind her. ″What?″
″I was hoping you might keep me on.″
Samantha said nothing for a moment. She had employed Anita as a sort of maid-cum-housekeeper during the girl′s summer holidays. The two of them got on well, and Anita had turned out to be more than efficient. But it had never occurred to Samantha that the arrangement might become permanent.
She said: ″I think you ought to go to college.″
″Fair enough,″ Anita replied. She picked up the teacup from the bedside table and went out.
Samantha put the final touches to her face and dressed in jeans and denim shirt before going downstairs. As she entered the kitchen Anita put a boiled egg and a rack of toast on the small table. Samantha sat down to eat.
Anita poured two cups of coffee and sat down opposite her. Samantha ate in silence, then pushed her plate away and dropped a saccharine tablet into the coffee. Anita took out a short filter-tipped cigarette and lit it.
″Now listen,″ Samantha said. ″If you must get a job, I′d be delighted for you to work for me. You′re a terrific help. But you mustn′t give up hope of going to college.″
″There′s no point in hoping. It′s not on.″
″I′ll tell you what I′m going to do. I′ll employ you, and pay you the same as I′m paying you now. You go to college in the term, and work for me in the holidays-and get the same money all the year round. That way I don′t lose you, you can help your mother, and you can study.″