Susan

by Lena Kennedy

Genres: Historical Fiction; Sagas

Synopsis

She thought she'd escaped her past . . . Susan is a London slum child. Constricted by the rigid rules of the East End orphanage she is brought up in, she escapes to dazzling streets of Soho where she is adopted by a group of prostitutes. Soon enough, she too is earning her living 'on the game'. When Billy 'Apples' Rafferty, a Cockney villain with a heart of gold, becomes her protector, Sue swears to give up her racy life. But when Billy is sent to prison, she soon breaks her promise and her earthy beauty makes her one of Soho's most popular hostesses. When a lucky encounter secures Susan a respectable job as a manageress of a small hotel in Devon, things finally seem to be going her way. But then her past catches up with her . . . **************** What readers are saying about SUSAN 'This book has everything . . . Thank you, Lena Kennedy, for a great read' - 5 STARS 'I could not put it down, it was such a good read!' - 5 STARS 'Great as always' - 5 STARS 'Lena Kennedy at her best' - 5 STARS 'Loved it from start to finish' - 5 STARS

Release date: April 25, 2013

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 208

Sample

Prologue

With a yawn, Sue stretched out her long slim shape over the pink silk divan. Lifting one of her legs high into the air, she casually surveyed the jewelled slipper balanced precariously on the end of her painted toes.

Sue was an extremely beautiful woman in her early thirties. At first glance you might think that her face and figure were flawless but if you looked closely you would just be able to see a faint scar, which a highly skilled surgeon had all but erased, running down her cheek from her eye to her mouth. And in those wide dark eyes, behind the seductive gaze, you might see a sadness hidden away from the rest of the world. Or you might see an occasional bitter twist of her pink lips. But on the whole, she looked like a woman who enjoyed her work and who was in control of her life. Certainly the luxuriously furnished flat was an indication of her success.

Suddenly the door opened and a tiny, wizened woman came into the room. Her strange hooded eyes were so deep set that it was impossible to tell what colour they were. She was neat and tidy in a black dress and natty white apron with a little piece of fancy lace on top of her frizzy hair. And when she opened her mouth in a perfectly straight line, she exposed little black stumps which might once have been teeth.

Sue stared at the maid through a veil of false eyelashes. ‘Shut the shop, Gladys,’ she said. ‘Take the phone off the hook. I don’t want no more clients today.’

Gladys’ wide mouth gaped in astonishment. ‘But you’ve got two more to come, Sue.’

Sue shrugged. ‘I don’t want them today,’ she declared. ‘You’ll have to send them away. I’m quitting for the day – I’ve got things on my mind.’

This seemed to please Gladys tremendously. She clasped her hands together and looked eagerly at Sue. ‘Are we going to have a chat?’ she asked.

‘You know we are, you crafty old devil,’ replied Sue. ‘Go and get the nosh and a bottle. You and I will talk over old times.’

Soon the velvet drapes were drawn across the tall windows. Sue still lay on the pink divan but was freshly bathed and dressed in a frilly housecoat. On the rug beside her crouched Gladys looking like an excited child. The remains of their satisfying meal lay on the table by the wall.

‘I can still hear my damned old stepmother’s voice,’ said Sue. ‘It still comes to me, clear as a bell: ‘You’ll come to a bad end, you will’, she mimicked in the high-pitched voice. ‘Bad end!’ she said scornfully. ‘Look at all this!’ She swept her arm around to indicate the lusciousness of the room. ‘I hardly call this a bad end.’

The gnome-like figure at her feet nodded in agreement. Gladys’ brown cheeks were flushed red from the effects of the strong sherry they had shared. ‘Go on, Sue,’ she giggled. ‘Talk about those days when we was poor orphans at St Augustine’s.’

With a serene smile on her lips, Sue closed her eyes and let her mind drift back in time to unfold the story of a little girl who never had a chance . . .

1

A Bad Start

Sue’s thoughts drifted back to the earliest days of her childhood, when she played barefooted in the slum back streets, and pushed a shabby old pram full of babies to the park during the school holidays. She vividly recalled the squabbles and fights with the other kids, and particularly the bigger boys who swore every other word, told filthy jokes and exposed themselves behind the bushes, beckoning the girls to come and have a look at them. Yes, she could remember all that very well. But most of all she could remember a particular day, which came back to her now like a bad dream, when the police came charging through the house after her lively Cockney father who tried desperately to escape from them by scrambling over the roof tops. Young Sue had watched the chase in bewilderment but then she knew that an accident had followed, because of the commotion – the crowds milling about, the white ambulance that came and went and, most of all, her little mother screaming hysterically. No one bothered to explain to that skinny little girl what had happened, but she, quietly minding her twin brothers in the kitchen, knew that it was something bad.

The following day, her grief-stricken mother had collapsed down on the bare floor-boards, gasping and clutching her swollen belly. ‘Get the midwife, Sue!’ she cried.

On long thin legs Sue had run down the street to fetch the old crone who returned with her, shuffling in old carpet slippers and carrying a large straw shopping bag.

Later that day, the ambulance came to the street once again, and her mother, covered with a red blanket, disappeared to hospital. For some hours afterwards, the neighbours stood about gossiping; some wept.

So then it was goodbye to the drab slum house with its dirty linen and faded wallpaper. How often since, she wondered, had her heart ached for that squalid room, where she used to sit up in bed surrounded by her grubby brothers and sisters, and share a sticky piece of nougat with them while she told them fairy tales? But it was no more. The back street home was replaced by a hard white bed, painted walls and three substantial meals a day, with a prayer before and after.

Nine years old, with her dark hair hanging on two long pigtails, Sue had stared insolently at the matron of the children’s home, and carefully sized up the situation. Her cheeks had been so well scrubbed that they tingled, and rebellion seethed in her young breast. Let them start, she thought angrily; she was ready for them. They had taken the twins away from her earlier, without even letting her see them. Tears welled up in her eyes but she forced them back. She was not going to cry, she would not let them see how much they had hurt her. She hated these Nosey Parkers, and they were not going to keep her in this rotten school, she vowed, no matter how hard they tried.

‘She’s quite intelligent,’ explained Miss Woodcote, the welfare officer, to the matron. ‘It’s a pity she came from such a bad home, with the father in and out of prison.’

‘Well, we get all kinds here,’ the matron replied placidly. ‘She’ll soon settle down.’

Sue spent three years at Barham House. She absconded twice and was brought back by the police on both occasions. How she hated the place! It never changed. Every day was dreary and monotonous. They did the same things at the same times in the same places. They are the same old food, read the same old books and played with the same old jigsaw puzzles. Sue grew big and very tall, and her dark eyes became angry and brooding. It was not that anyone was unkind to her, it was just that she was starved of affection when her young heart was crying out to be loved and to give love.

Nearly twelve and her figure had begun to fill out. She had long, perfectly formed legs, and her small breasts were like spring buds as they pushed shape into the sack-like gingham dress she had to wear. Her dresses always had the same faded light-blue checks. Sometimes they were too long, sometimes they were too short but always they were too tight around the bust for Sue. But Sue had seldom seen herself in a full-length mirror, and was quite unconcerned about her shape. When she walked, she leaned forwards slightly and took long, boyish strides. And her face always had a surly, hang-dog expression.

‘Sue has settled nicely,’ remarked Miss Woodcote on one of her infrequent visits.

‘Yes,’ replied the new young matron. ‘The staff all agree that she has changed considerably since I came.’ She beamed.

Miss Woodcote sipped her tea in an absent-minded manner. ‘I’m pleased to get a good report of Sue. She was a big problem here at first.’

‘She likes to see you,’ said Matron. ‘No one else has ever visited her.’

‘I’m afraid that this is my last visit,’ replied Miss Woodcote. ‘I’m leaving the service, and going to Africa on mission work, something I have always fancied.’

‘How nice,’ replied Matron, ‘but Sue will really miss you.’ She paused. ‘I must say, she is very handy with the small children.’

‘That’s just as well,’ replied Miss Woodcote. ‘If she hadn’t settled down here it would have been reform school for her, after the trouble she has caused.’ She placed her tea cup carefully on the table beside her. ‘A slight hazard has cropped up concerning Sue,’ she said. ‘Her father will shortly be paroled. He is a very embittered man and permanently crippled by the fall he had while being arrested.’

Matron nodded and sighed. ‘Oh dear,’ she said, ‘what troubles lie ahead for Sue, then? If her father claims her, I’ll be forced to let her go.’

‘Yes,’ replied Miss Woodcote, ‘and most of our hard work will have been for nothing.’ She picked up her gloves. ‘I have to admit that I won’t be sorry to leave the welfare service. Will you say goodbye to Sue for me? I don’t think I can face it.’

Thus Sue’s only friend from the outside world was preparing to abandon her. Miss Woodcote had been the one who brought sweets and talked to her about that little back street called home. At first Sue had been waiting anxiously in the corridor for her, but then she had gone outside to listen to the women’s conversation at the half-open window. Now she had heard enough. Sullenly, she hugged her long arms tight about her. Tucked under the faded cardigan, her nails bit viciously into her skin. She kicked her heels against the wall and her dark eyes squinted. ‘Beasts!’ she muttered. ‘Mean, evil beasts!’ She seethed at the fact that they were making plans and talking about her like that after all the work she had done for them, each morning sitting the little kids on pots which she then had the dirty job of emptying. Blast them! Who wanted to see the old man anyway? Hadn’t he been the cause of her getting shut up in here in the first place?

Several girls wandered past, talking and giggling with each other. As Sue stared scornfully at them, her angry scowl centred on one child in particular, a dainty, pretty girl with long flaxen curls. ‘That stuck-up Lily Davies, I’ll give her a bashing,’ muttered Sue. And without warning, she pounced, grabbing those silken tresses and viciously punching the other child. The two girls rolled over and over on the green lawn scratching and biting between shrill screaming. Other children ran quickly to the house. ‘Miss! Miss!’ they called. ‘Come quick, Sue’s hurting Lily Davies again.’

A few minutes later, Sue stood defiantly before the shocked matron. And as Miss Woodcote’s car left the drive, Sue was marched off for punishment.

At the age of thirteen, Sue was still living at Barham House. The head girl in a posh private school could not hold more sway than did Sue in this house for under-privileged children. After the departure of Miss Woodcote and the affair of Lily Davies, the sweet but firm matron, whose pink-and-white complexion could get extremely mottled in agitation, spoke kindly to this confused child and seemed to inspire her confidence. ‘Promise me, dear,’ she begged, ‘you will never eavesdrop again. If there is anything that you want to know, come to me and we will discuss it together.’

Untouched, Sue had weighed her up. She was soft this one, she reflected. It wouldn’t be hard to kid her. And with this thought, she appeared to give in gracefully.

Matron was sadly understaffed at the home. Sue was a strong girl, so it made good sense to give her some responsibility which would keep her occupied and out of trouble. ‘I’ll make you a monitor, Sue,’ coaxed Matron. ‘But you must promise that you will never again be violent as you were to Lily Davies.’

‘Never liked her,’ Sue replied flatly, sucking on the boiled sweet that Matron had given her.

‘Well, Lily’s gone home now, so that’s the end of that,’ sighed Matron, ‘but please try and control your temper, Sue, or it will be the undoing of you.’

At night, Sue was dormitory monitor, mornings, she was baby minder and in between she was Matron’s pet. Naughty children were smacked or fussed as required. With her dark eyes always on the alert, Sue kept order and made herself very useful. She grew big and strong and very capable. That last year at Barham House proved to be the happiest of her youth. In spite of the monotony, the dreary, unchanging meals and long prayers, the baby washing and ironing, it had become part of her life. At last, Sue was completely institutionalized.

One sunny afternoon, as Sue sat in a window-seat munching an apple and gazing towards the main gate, the ramshackle taxi from the station pulled up in the drive. There was something vaguely familiar about the man who got out. He walked slowly as if in pain, and grasped a walking-stick to support him. Behind him emerged a plump peroxide blonde.

As she ate her apple, Sue surveyed them dreamily. She was quite unconcerned. They are probably some kid’s parents coming to take her home, she decided, and she dismissed them from her mind.

Not long after, Matron hurried down the corridor with a flushed and anxious face. ‘Sue!’ she called, ‘I’d like to talk to you.’

Casually, Sue got up from her seat and went into Matron’s office. Just inside the door the cripple who had arrived in the taxi came towards her, hands outstretched. ‘Sue! My dear little Sue!’ he cried.

Sue looked down in horror at this shrivelled little man whom she recognized now as her own father. But he was not the tall good-looking father she had always remembered; instead, he was an aged and wrinkled wreck of a man. Matron put a steady arm about her as she backed away. ‘These are your parents, Sue,’ she explained gently. ‘They’ve come to visit you.’

‘We ain’t come on no visit,’ the blonde woman’s loud grating voice broke in. ‘We’ve come to take ’er ’ome.’

‘Take me home?’ gasped Sue. ‘I live here. Anyway,’ she added, giving an aggressive stare at the woman, ‘who’s she?’

‘She’s your new mother, Sue,’ her father wheezed.

‘I’m not going,’ she declared obstinately, tossing back her head. ‘I’m all right here.’

‘But we’ve made a nice comfortable ’ome for yer,’ her father begged. ‘I want to make up for all the years you’ve ’ad to spend in this place.’

Matron had become slightly annoyed. She straightened her back even more than usual. ‘I hope you have the necessary papers to take her away,’ she said tersely. ‘I will not let Sue go without the correct authorization.’

‘Let’s get it over,’ said Sue’s new stepmother, Lil, briskly. ‘Here are the papers.’ She thrust them in front of Matron. ‘We can’t afford to make this journey twice.’

In a flash, Sue made for the door. Matron did not try to stop her. She wanted time to try and reason with this dogmatic woman and her sick-looking husband. But it was hopeless. They were determined. ‘Sue’s a big girl, her father is sick and needs her,’ insisted Lil. ‘We’ll take her home today. Get her things ready. We’ll wait.’

Unable to do more, Matron packed Sue’s few belongings in a plastic bag, consoling the girl with promises that she would do her best to get her back. Matron then accompanied them to the station to say goodbye. There were tears in her eyes. She had come to love this wayward child, and so the parting between them was not easy.

Wearing a long tweed coat, and a red ribbon in her hair, Sue sat in the corner of the train compartment scowling at her stepmother who nagged continuously. ‘Think yourself lucky, my girl,’ she said. ‘There’s plenty in that place would like to have a good home.’

Her father spoke seldom, but his face twisted constantly in pain. Sue sat motionless, her dark eyes gleaming such hatred that Lil began to get worried. She had not minded taking on an invalid husband, but she had not bargained for his difficult daughter as well. As the two surveyed each other, Sue wondered what had induced this cold, common woman to marry the hunched-up shell her father was. No doubt a fair nest-egg – the proceeds of the robbery that had destroyed his home and family – had been the bait.

Lil’s home was in Camden Town. It was a small flat in a depressed area where a quarter of the population were immigrants. Sue’s first impressions of her new home were lace curtains, paper roses, a plastic mat outside the door and the smell of furniture polish. And the moment she entered she felt depressed. When she met Lil’s son, Tommy, a goofy, bespectacled boy of about twelve who stared mockingly at her old-fashioned coat and the red ribbon bow on her hair, she disliked him on sight, and felt even gloomier. How was she going to survive here?

Sue tried desperately hard to acclimatize herself to her new family but she found that she hated Lil and Tommy increasingly each day, particularly since they did not bother to hide their own feelings about her. To her father she was kind and considerate. She took off his shoes for him at night and put them back on in the morning. With his dead weight on her arm, she escorted him to the paper shop every morning and to Mass on Sundays. While in prison, her father had taken up again with his religion, and since the onset of his illness, he had spent many hours on his knees with his rosary beads. Now Sue would kneel stolidly beside him in the church. The stained-glass windows and flickering candles cast golden light on the beautiful statues around them, and the atmosphere was one of peace and tranquillity. But none of this made any impression on Sue. Her mind would tick over as she made plans to escape from the domestic web she was caught in.

At her new school she was a problem. Sue had received very little education at Barham House. All the years of baby-minding and washing, added to the fact that she was word blind, made her unable to compete with children of her own age. So in the overcrowded secondary modern school where she had been sent, she was the tallest girl and the biggest dunce. It was not long before she had earned herself the nickname of ‘Soppy Sue’ from the other pupils because she was so slow to learn anything. Friendless and bored, Sue would sit at the back of the class casting malevolent glances about her at anyone who dared look at her. The teaching staff also disliked her, for she was always violent and every break-time there was invariably a fight to break up which involved Soppy Sue.

Life had become a little better at home. Lil worked all day in a factory. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays were bingo nights when she would go out straight from work. On Tuesdays she would gather up a big bag of washing and dash out of the flat on the pretext of going down to the launderette. Then she would return after ten o’clock, always smelling of port wine. On Thursdays she did stay at home in the evenings. With her platinum hair-do bound up in a turban and her large frame covered with a sp. . .