Threads of Silk by Roberta Grieve Page A

‘up West’ had been a success, although Ellie suspected her mother had enjoyed it more than she had.
    Looking in the mirror, Ellie hardly recognized herself. Her hair was shorter now, expertly cut to frame her heart-shaped face, with soft chestnut waves. Dressed up in the long gowns with a little make-up and costume jewellery, no one would question that she was old enough to be working in a sophisticated nightclub. But she still felt more comfortable in her old tartan skirt and maroon school jumper.
    Ellie sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. The chores were all done and Dad had gone out. She could get her art things out and do some drawing or painting. But the thought only made her sad. She had put all her sketch pads, paints and pencils in a box on top of the wardrobe, together with the portfolio she’d been compiling for the college scholarship. What was the point of bothering? Maybe Dad and Auntie Vi were right – it was just a childish hobby. Deep down, she wasn’t really convinced – but it helped to tell herself so.
    She stood up abruptly. She’d go down to the market and talk to Sid. They didn’t need any vegetables – she’d already done the shopping that morning. But she needed to see a cheerful face – and if anyone could cheer her up, Sid could.

     
    As always, the comforting familiarity of the market lifted Ellie’s mood as soon as she turned the corner. The raucous shouts of the stallholders, together with the salty whiff from Ernie’s whelk stall and the warm blast of air laden with a rich meaty aroma as she passed Al’s pie shop, always spelt home to Ellie.
    As she threaded her way through the crowds towards Sid’s stall, waving and calling a greeting to the other market traders, it dawned on her how much she would miss these familiar faces if ever she left this part of London. And with the thought came the realization that, if she’d won the scholarship and gone away to art college, she would have been forced to leave this all behind. She’d been so fixed on her ambitions that she hadn’t really thought what it would mean. There was no way she could pursue a career in art here in her native East End. Of course, the job in Tommy Green’s new club was up West, but at least she’d be coming home each day and her free time would be spent among friends and family. Maybe it was all for the best after all.
    Her mood changed when she got home and Mum started talking about Harry again. ‘It’ll be nice to see him again, won’t it, love?’ she said.
    Ellie nodded, unable to speak. In her dreams she’d almost convinced herself that Harry’s marriage had been a mistake and that when he returned to England he would leave Gerda behind. But of course, he couldn’t do that. Gerda was having a baby and Harry wouldn’t desert his own child. She forced a smile. No one must ever guess how she felt. Her love for Harry was a secret she would bury deep within herself. Despite her youth, she knew that she would never love anyone else like this. Mary glanced at the letter tucked behind the clock and patted Ellie’s shoulder. There had been a time when she had been quite worried about her daughter’s attachment to her foster brother, but she thought she’d got over it. Not that there was really anything wrong with it – they weren’t related, after all. But she’d been inclined to agree with Aunt Vi that such obsessive devotion wasn’t healthy. Still, young girls did develop crushes on the most unlikely people.
    Maybe now that Harry was married and his wife expecting, she would start thinking of him as a brother again, and enjoy the thought of being an auntie to his baby. And perhaps she’d start going out with friends of her own age and make the most of being young and carefree.
    With a sigh, Mary realized that that probably wouldn’t happen either, now that Ellie was starting work for Tommy Green. How she wished she’d been assertive enough to stand up to Bert when he suggested it. She told