The Girl In the Pink Raincoat by Arlene Hughes
Published: 12th July 2018
Publisher: Head of Zeus
Available in Hardback and on Kindle
Blurb
When a factory girl and a Jewish businessman fall in love it seems that the whole world is against them.
Manchester, 1939. On the eve of war Gracie Earnshaw is working in Rosenberg's Raincoat factory – a job she hates – but her life is about to be turned upside down when she falls in love with Jacob, the boss’s charismatic nephew.
Through Jacob, with his ambitions to be a writer, Gracie glimpses another world: theatre, music and prejudice. But their forbidden romance is cut short when Jacob is arrested and tragedy unfolds.
Gracie struggles with heartbreak, danger and old family secrets, but the love of her first sweetheart comes back to her in an unexpected way giving her the chance of a new life and happiness.
Extract
The more Gracie thought about it, the more annoyed she became. The
evening with Jacob had been lovely, but at the end he had spoiled it by rushing
off, just because Billy made one of his silly jokes − and that was exactly what
she would say to him when she got the chance.
She clocked in on time on Monday morning and went
to change into her overall. She had just come into the cloakroom when someone
was saying, ‘Bloody nuisance having to carry it everywhere with you.’
‘But handy to keep your lipstick in,’ said someone
else. It was then Gracie noticed that on every peg around the room there hung a
cardboard box.
‘Oh, Hell’s bells,’ she shouted. ‘I’ve forgotten
my gas mask.’
‘You’d better go home and get it,’ they told her.
‘What – and lose an hour’s pay? I don’t think so.’
When they went through to the factory floor, Maria
didn’t waste any time in questioning Gracie as they set up their machines. ‘So
how was your date with, em… What was his name again?’
Gracie smiled. ‘You’ll not catch me out like
that.’ She began to thread her machine.
‘Well, tell me all about it – the whole
story.’
Gracie pulled the thread through the needle
and, without looking up, she said, ‘It was nice. We went to a jazz club, had
some lemonade and a couple of dances. That’s all.’
‘That’s all? But what about after that? Did he
walk you home? Did he kiss you?’ Maria pouted and made a kissing sound.
Gracie took an unstitched sleeve from the pile
and lined up the seam. ‘Yes and yes.’
Maria’s eyes opened wide. ‘And how was
it?’
‘It was nice,’ said Gracie,
matter-of-factly.
‘Is that it? Nice? I thought you’d have lots
to tell me.’
Gracie shrugged her shoulders, pressed the
pedal on her machine and it roared into life.
As the morning wore on she kept a lookout for
Jacob, but he didn’t appear and neither did Mr Rosenberg. ‘Why are there no
bosses around this morning?’ she asked Maria, at tea break.
‘I heard they’re out drumming up business,’
said Maria. ‘There’s talk of clothes rationing and there’ll probably be a rush
to buy before it’s introduced. They’ll want to step up production to sell as
many as they can before then. The commercial traveller is going all over
Lancashire and Cheshire. Mr Rosenberg is down at the cloth wholesaler’s placing
an order.’
‘And what about Mr Jacob, where’s he?’ asked
Gracie.
Maria looked around before leaning over to
her. ‘He was supposed to be in charge, but then he had to go to London. I heard
Ma Rosenberg say it was family business.’
Gracie was so disappointed that Jacob had gone
away. At Heaton Park he’d said he had worked in London. What if he’d gone back
there to work? She might never see him again.
‘Are you all right?’ said Maria.
Despite the turmoil in her head she gave her
brightest smile and kept her voice light. ‘Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I
be?’
The morning wore on and, without any
supervision, the production slowed. There was a fair amount of chatting, coming
and going to the lavatory and nipping into the yard for a crafty fag, but
nobody took more advantage of all three than Charlie and his mate Ernie. At
dinnertime in the yard Gracie told the story of the evacuees leaving home,
describing how, when they’d lined up, they’d sung ‘the saddest song you’ve ever
heard’ as they marched away.
‘Aw, bless them,’ said Hilda. ‘I tell you, if I
could get my hands on that Hitler fella, I’d give him what for!’
‘Good on ye, Hilda,’ shouted Charlie. ‘You’d
only have to sit on him and he’d surrender.’
For a large woman, Hilda was quick on her feet
and she crossed the yard before he had stopped laughing at the extent of his
wit. However, the punishment she would have meted out to him instead of Hitler
never happened because at that moment one of the welders appeared with a gas
mask box in one hand and a large pair of pink knickers in the other.
‘Who the ’ell’s been at my gas mask? I had
five Park Drive in it! All they’ve left me is a pair of bloomers.’
Hilda’s face turned the colour of her
knickers. ‘Them’s mine!’ She moved even quicker to retrieve them than she had
to threaten Charlie moments before.
‘Not so fast,’ said the welder, and he held
the knickers up in the air.
Hilda attempted a few jumps to retrieve them
but he was too tall for her. ‘What you doin’ with my gas mask?’ she
demanded.
‘It isn’t yours. It’s mine. I left me fags in
it.’
‘No, it’s not, it’s mine and I left me spare
knickers in it. See, there’s my name on the bottom.’
There were shouts from some of the men: ‘Go
on, Hilda, show him your bottom!’
The welder glared at them and turned on Hilda.
‘It were on my peg.’
‘No, it weren’t, it were on mine!’
By this time, everyone was laughing, none more
so than Charlie and Ernie, and then the penny dropped.
‘You buggers!’ shouted Hilda. ‘All that
sloping off this morning when you were supposed to be working. How many other
gas masks have you switched?’
‘Stop moaning, woman,’ said Charlie. ‘It’ll
take at least half an hour to sort them all and that’s half an hour we don’t
have to work.’
*
As the week passed, there was still no sign of Jacob. Gracie
went from longing to see him to wanting never to set eyes on him again. One
minute she completely understood that he had gone to London on family business,
the next she was certain he had left Manchester in a hurry because he didn’t
want to see her. It was just the same as when he had rushed away from her on
Sunday night, only now he’d gone all the way to London!
In the early hours of Friday morning the good
weather broke. Thunder and lightning rolled in and rain rattled the
windowpanes. By the time Gracie got up for work, her mother had lit the gas
oven to warm the kitchen while they got washed.
‘The tea’s brewed and there’s bread and the
last of the bramble jam you can have,’ said Sarah.
‘It’s coming down in stair rods – I’ll get
soaked,’ said Gracie.
‘What did you expect? It was bound to break
sooner or later,’ said Sarah.
When Gracie arrived at the factory, looking
like a drowned rat, she was surprised to see the workers standing around in the
machine room. Not just machinists, but welders, cutters, Hoffman pressers,
packers… even the office staff.
‘There’s a meeting called. Mr Rosenberg wants
to speak to everyone,’ Maria told her.
‘Are we in trouble?’ asked Gracie.
‘I don’t think so. I saw him come in earlier
and he looked a bit puffed up, you know, like when he’s managed to get thirteen
raincoats out of a bolt of cloth meant for twelve.’
There was a bit of a stir at the far end of
the room near the offices and Mr Rosenberg appeared with his wife beside him.
He held up his hand and the room fell silent. ‘I want to speak to you today
about some changes to the business. Over the past week we have managed to
secure some important contracts and as a result Rosenberg Raincoats will be
expanding. We will be manufacturing a new design that will be in shops not just
in Lancashire but in London too.’ He paused, a smug look on his face, as if he
expected a round of applause, but there was none. He hurried on: ‘But that’s
not all. The big news is that, alongside the fashion wear, we have been
commissioned to supply heavy-duty waterproof clothing to the military. Mr Jacob
has been in London working hard to secure this government contract and I’ll ask
him now to explain what it will mean for all of us.’
Gracie couldn’t believe it. Jacob was back.
She hadn’t noticed him standing with the cutters, and now he was about to
address them all. How smart he looked, every inch a businessman, one who went
all the way to London to meet with the government. How clever he was. And she
longed to tell them that he had held her in his arms and kissed her.
He began by saying he had assured the Ministry
of War that his employees were both hard-working and skilled. ‘I told them that
Manchester has been the home of raincoat manufacturing for at least fifty
years. Our designs and production levels are second to none. We have already
acquired the empty premises next door, and over the next few weeks it will be
fitted out with new machines to deal with the heavy garments for the military.
We will also be taking on extra staff.’
Someone called, ‘Happen the company will do
right well out of this war work.’ It was Charlie. ‘What about the workers?’ he
said. ‘What’s in it for them?’
Before Jacob could answer, Mr Rosenberg
intervened: ‘We’ve always looked after our employees. You will continue to be
paid a decent wage and I’m sure there will be plenty of overtime for those who
want it.’
Charlie tried to come back at him, but Mr
Rosenberg held up his hand. ‘It’s early days. Our priority is to get production
up and running and that’s expensive. Now, let’s get back to work,
everyone.’
At the tea break, there was plenty of talk
about the new contracts. A few like Charlie complained that it would mean
working harder for no more money, but most were proud to do something for the
war effort. Hilda summed it up when she said, ‘There’s plenty of them at
Trafford Park building tanks and the like, but now we’re part of this war
effort and, to my way of thinking, keeping soldiers dry is just as
important.’
Gracie listened with only half an ear to the
talk and concentrated on looking out for Jacob. He had gone straight to the
office after the meeting, and as time went on she became desperate to speak to
him. Just before dinnertime he emerged and walked the length of the machine
room, his face blank, and, although she willed him to look at her, he never
once glanced in her direction. He didn’t normally leave by the back door
and, for a moment, she wondered if he meant her to follow him. It would be
risky, they might be seen, but how else could he get the chance to speak to
her?
‘Are you all right?’ said Maria.
‘What?’
‘You look like you’ve downed tools, but
there’s another ten minutes till dinner.’
Gracie wasn’t listening. ‘I’ll be back in a
minute.’ There was no one in the corridor outside the machine room. The door to
the cloakrooms was open, but no one was inside. Out into the yard she went,
just in time to see Jacob leave by the back gate. She was about to run after
him, but the memory of how he had turned away from her on Sunday night stopped
her. It was clear he had no intention of speaking to her and her hopes of
another date with him were dashed.
*
‘Are you going out with your mystery boyfriend again this
weekend?’ asked Maria, as they left work.
‘I don’t think so. I haven’t heard from
him.’
‘Never mind. Plenty more fish in the
sea.’
‘Maybe there are, but they’re all slimy
sprats,’ said Gracie, and turned to go. ‘Ta-rah, see you Monday.’
‘Hang on,’ Maria called after her. ‘There’s
something caught in your gas mask. It looks like it’s been opened. Did you have
something in it?’
‘Not likely after Charlie’s antics,’ said
Gracie, She pulled out the piece of paper. ‘It’s a note. It says “Meet me
outside Victoria station at eleven o’clock Sunday morning.”’
‘Who’s it from?’
Gracie turned the paper over. ‘It doesn’t
say.’
‘It’ll be Charlie playing tricks again,’ said
Maria.
‘I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s always
asking me out.’ Gracie managed a smile. ‘Any road, it doesn’t matter who it’s
from. I don’t expect to be summoned like that by a fella who can’t even be
bothered to put his name to it. It could be Charlie or anyone else. Either way,
I won’t be there.’
*
That evening after they had washed the pots, Gracie and Sarah
sat in the back kitchen reading their library books as usual when Gracie
suddenly remembered there had been a letter for her mother on the mat when she
arrived home. ‘I forgot all about it. I just put it behind the clock.’
Sarah’s heart sank at the sight of Jean’s
handwriting.
‘Who’s it from, Mam?’
Sarah didn’t answer, just opened the envelope
and removed the single sheet of writing paper. She scanned it, returned it to
the envelope and, with a flick of her wrist, threw it into the fire.
Gracie jumped up. ‘What did you do that for?’
Instinctively she tried to rescue it from the flames.
‘Leave it!’ shouted Sarah.
‘But who’s it from?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does! Look at you, you’re shaking. Is it
bad news?’
Sarah covered her face with her hands and
tried to push away the feelings of hurt and resentment that threatened to
overwhelm her after all these years.
Gracie knelt beside her. ‘Will you not tell
me?’
Sarah removed her hands. There were no tears,
just anger in her eyes. ‘It’s from someone I knew years ago in Belfast – a
neighbour. We wrote to each other for a while after I left Ireland, but then we
lost touch. She’s only writing now because she thought she had to share
some bad news, but she needn’t have bothered.’
‘Bad news?’ said Gracie. ‘What’s
happened?’
‘My father died.’
‘Oh, Mam, I’m so sorry,’ said Gracie.
‘Don’t be. I haven’t seen him or heard from
him in twenty years. Sure, you know that.’
‘But he’s your dad and my granddad.’
Sarah looked away.
‘You’ve never talked about him, have you?’
said Gracie. ‘Not even when I was small and asked you what he was like.’
Sarah felt the old hatred rise, like bile, in
her throat as she remembered her father dragging her by the hair and throwing
her out into the street with just the clothes she stood up in, yelling names
after her that wounded like knives. She would never tell anyone about that, least
of all her daughter. But, on the other hand, she wouldn’t pretend that her
father was a good man. Maybe it was time Gracie knew something about her
grandfather.
‘You want to know what he was like? Well, I’ll
tell you. He was a hard man, so he was. No compassion at all, ruled the house
with a rod of iron and drove my mother to an early grave. By the time I was
your age I was desperate to leave. One Friday I collected my pay after work
and, instead of going home, I went to the docks and bought a boat ticket to
England. I’ve never been back.’
‘I thought you came to England because you
couldn’t find work, then met Dad and fell in love with him. That was why you
never went back, wasn’t it?’
Sarah gazed into her daughter’s concerned face
and the anger seeped away. ‘Yes, that was it and then, best of all, I had you.
My little Lancashire lass, your dad used to call you.’
‘Will you not go over for the funeral?’
‘There’s no point. The man’s dead and, anyway, I can’t afford to lose
two or three days’ pay.’
