A Daughter’s Disgrace. Kitty Neale

you any experience at this sort of thing? Are you familiar with this quality of product?’

      ‘No … not really,’ Alison stumbled, ‘but you see, my sister’s getting married, and she wants a wedding dress and we thought …’

      ‘I see,’ said the woman. She brushed her sleeve again, quite deliberately. ‘Well, I’m not sure that you’d be suitable. I don’t think you’re quite what my customers expect when they come for a fitting.’

      Alison wasn’t sure what to make of that. ‘Why? What do you mean?’

      The woman sighed. ‘We sell only the finest formal wear. Our customers expect to be assisted by someone who exhibits everything that is associated with such products – elegance, finesse. To be blunt, when I look at you, that is not what I see.’

      Alison felt like running out there and then but forced herself to stand her ground. ‘I can get different clothes.’

      ‘No, no, no,’ said the woman. ‘Or rather, yes, that would help, but it’s what you do with what you wear as much as how you wear it. What would be the point of giving you a couture jacket? You’d never notice the shape of it if you stand like that all the time.’

      ‘I know I’m too tall,’ Alison began, ‘but I can’t help …’

      ‘That’s not what I meant,’ cut in the woman. ‘Your height is an asset. Many would love to be as tall as you. But when you round your shoulders and stare at your feet all the time you ruin the whole effect. You must project style and poise. Style and poise.’

      Alison looked at her as if she was speaking another language.

      ‘So you see, my dear,’ said the woman, moving towards the door, ‘until you understand what I’m talking about, and I can see that you don’t, this is not the place for you. I must detain you no longer. I wish you luck in your search for more suitable employment.’ With that, she ushered Alison back onto the freezing pavement and shut the door firmly behind her.

      Alison was totally humiliated. It was one thing to be insulted by her family, the local children and the men at the factory. That was bad, but she was used to it. This felt different. She couldn’t help her height. She couldn’t help having ugly, worn-out clothes. Staring ahead up the hill, she knew she’d have no choice but to drag herself back up to the top, in the useless shoes that weren’t made for walking, and which had been a waste of time.

      Close to despair, Alison knew that she should see if any other places around here had cards in the window advertising jobs, as she wasn’t down Wandsworth way very often, but she’d lost the will to search. She knew she couldn’t go straight home – even if Cora was still at work, her mother would be bound to hear from someone that her youngest had been in all afternoon and then there’d be a huge row and she’d be accused of not trying. Her mother and sister had a point – she was as useless as they said, and without the kind women at the factory nobody was going to make her believe otherwise. She couldn’t go to a café – she dared not spend the money for a cup of tea or a bun. There was nothing for it but to walk the chilly streets until it grew dark, and then she would have to face Hazel’s anger when she told her there’d be no cut-price wedding dress after all.

      ‘Drink up, Nev!’

      The news had got out about his engagement and all his mates from the paint factory who weren’t on the late shift had insisted on taking Neville to the pub to celebrate.

      ‘Commiserate, more like,’ said Dennis Banks, one of the older ones, who loved to tell them all about his success with different women every weekend. Neville grinned. He didn’t believe half the tales – some of them sounded physically impossible. But he wasn’t going to turn down the offer of a free pint.

      ‘Yeah, what d’you want to get yourself shackled for so young?’ demanded Nobby. Nobby was prematurely bald and had slightly bulging eyes, so Neville reckoned he hadn’t had too many chances of being shackled himself.

      ‘Nobby, ain’t you seen her?’ said Bill Stevens. ‘You should be so lucky. She’s a real looker, is Nev’s bird. Oh, she’ll tire him out, she will. He’ll be a shadow of his former self. But he’ll be happy with it. Won’t you, Nev?’

      ‘Never happier,’ beamed Neville. It was true. He’d had two and a half pints, he was engaged to the most beautiful woman in Battersea, and here were all his mates, wishing him well. They were in the smoky public bar, and things were just beginning to get raucous, but he didn’t mind. He felt as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

      ‘Do you know what to do on the big night?’ Dennis went on. ‘Shall I give you some tips? I got lots of those …’

      ‘Yeah, like don’t let your sister go down a dark alley with Dennis,’ interrupted Bill, setting down his glass on the worn wooden counter. ‘Another, young Nev?’

      ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Nev ignored all the nudging and tried to focus on the pint before him as all the lights from the bar and brass from the surrounds seemed to be shining extra brightly. He wasn’t really worried about his wedding night, even though he hadn’t had much experience. His mates assumed because he was a good-looking bloke that he’d had plenty of women but it wasn’t true. He’d been cooped up sharing a bedroom with his younger brother for most of his life and there hadn’t exactly been many opportunities to break away, and God alone knew there wasn’t a spare inch of space at Hazel’s house. Even though she had a room to herself there was no chance of a bit of slap and tickle with her mother and sister living in such close quarters. Still, he loved her and she loved him, so what could go wrong? He certainly wasn’t going to be asking Dennis for tips.

      ‘Not in a hurry to get married, are you?’ Nobby asked. ‘No big rush, is there? You ain’t expecting the patter of tiny feet?’

      ‘Get away, Nobby.’ Nev pretended to be offended. ‘My Hazel’s a respectable girl. There won’t be no hurried wedding for her. She wants the best. And I’m going to give it to her.’

      ‘Oh, we’d all give it to her,’ Bill laughed. Some of the others joined in, especially those who appreciated Hazel’s finer points.

      ‘That’s enough, boys,’ said Frank Dalby, their foreman. ‘Leave the lad to have his drink. No call for insulting the lady. Time enough for insults when you’re married, and I should know.’

      Frank’s wife was famous for giving as good as she got, but nobody really had a bad word to say about Marian Dalby, who had been known to bake fruit cakes for her husband to take in to the lads on late shift, in case they got hungry as the hours of the night wore on. Nev thought that if his marriage was as happy as Frank’s then he’d have no cause for complaint. Even so, he couldn’t quite see Hazel cooking for his workmates.

      But that didn’t matter. Here was Dennis giving him a new pint, there were all his friends raising their glasses to him, and Hazel was going to be his wife. Neville Parrot was on top of the world.

       Chapter Four

      Hazel was on her lunch break from the café where she worked. She wasn’t really hungry, as she’d had a huge bacon sandwich after the breakfast rush had died down. ‘Can’t have you wasting away before your big day,’ her boss had said. Not much danger of that, thought Hazel. Still, she knew Neville liked her curves, and it was up to her to make the most of them.

      Now she found herself wandering towards the street market, which was busy with shoppers out for a bargain. Housewives crowded round the food stalls, some with small children. One boy, whose socks were falling down, reached for an apple and his mother immediately smacked him on the ear. ‘I’ve told you before,’ she shouted. ‘Put that down now.’

      Hazel shook her head and walked on. She hadn’t had many apples as a kid, or at least not ones to eat as a treat when they were out shopping. Cora made apple crumble, eking out