The Factory Girl Read Online Free Page A

there!’
    Her mother gave her a warning look as she returned to the kitchen to get two more plates from the oven. ‘That’s your sweet brother!’ she said, her tone sharp. ‘’Cos he’s leaving school this summer, he’s feeling ’is feet and thinks he can get away with murder. I wish you lot wouldn’t keep blaming yer dad for everything.’
    â€˜I never even mentioned Dad,’ protested Evie hotly, dropping her coat on a kitchen chair and following her mother into the back room.
    Left alone in the kitchen, Geraldine heard her mother call out one more request. ‘You sure yer don’t want some of ours divided up for yer?’
    â€˜No, Mum,’ she called back. ‘I’m getting meself a sandwich. I’m going out again in a little while.’
    In fact she was seeing Eileen Moss, who she worked with. They were going to see the films her parents had seen this afternoon. They’d sit eating peanuts as fast as they could shell them and stare at the silent drama of Gloria Swanson’s
Male and Female
and laugh at Charlie Chaplin’s slapstick comedy,
Sunnyside
, both of which Mum had said were very good.
    Though it was nice going to the pictures, she’d have rather stayed at home this evening to start on her dress, itching to see how it would turn out, but she’d promised to go with Eileen, and anyway, there were too many at home tonight no doubt wanting to know what she was doing, what she was making, and what for.
    Sunday was quieter. Dad was down the Working Men’s Club with his mates this morning and Fred was off somewhere – God knows where – with mates his own age. Wally, mad keen on football, his team Tottenham Hotspur, was on the other side of the fence this morning coaching a local boys’ club team. He’d got involved with them because having stepped in as a temporary coach a couple of months back when the previous one left, he’d noticed that the girl helping with refreshments was very attractive. He was now thinking seriously about asking her out and that meant staying on as coach until she accepted.
    Evie was at her friend’s house again down the road. Mavis was out somewhere with her Tom, probably enjoying getting all lovey-dovey. Mum was next door having a cup of tea, a biscuit and a chat with Louis Golding, a woman her own age, whose husband always seemed to be away somewhere.
    Geraldine had the house to herself. By the time they all came trooping back she’d have had the pattern she’d retained in her head cut out of newspaper, the material shaped and pinned and much of it tacked together ready for stitching.
    The garment needed lots of concentration. She started on the dress first. The panels would come later but she was skilled and quick and accurate – a girl on piecework needed to be – and the design was clear enough in her head. She reckoned on two hours for cutting out and tacking and just hoped Mum wouldn’t come back to start putting her nose in before she’d got a good way through it.
    The two hours slipped by so quickly she hardly noticed the time going; the sleeves fitted in wonderfully and hung well, the back and front panels draping just like the real silk creation in that boutique. She couldn’t help smiling every time she recalled that woman’s face, all prim and proper and stuck up and suspicious – she ought to know what was going on. She ought to know how that exclusive gown displayed in her shop was being copied in cheap material and looking every bit as expensive as the original. The only thing Geraldine had conceded was to reverse the shades, making the dress in dark blue and the panels in a lighter blue instead of the other way around as she had seen it on the manikin. If anything it was an improvement and she grinned again at the woman’s mortification if only she could see it looking even better.
    The seams were setting perfectly, pressed under