A Sister's Shame (6 page)

How would he ever be able to bring Marie back here, he wondered as he ran down the stone steps to the street. As he strode towards Sphinx Street, he thought of his plans to buy his own gaff, a
piece of turf to call his own. Not somewhere the landlord called the tune and could kick him out at any minute. No, it was a chipper little terrace on the island he wanted. With a painted front
door, a white step and a decent back garden. Well, a yard would do, but he wasn’t going to share the lav with the rest of the street. On that fact, he would not be moved!

Bing knew he wanted to have something solid behind him. He’d saved hard since starting work in the docks and his Post Office account was healthy. One day he would be able to give his wife
all she wanted. Would that wife be Marie?

He could think of no other. She was beautiful and bright and her smile always lit up his heart. She was also a really decent girl, a family girl who, like him, had grown up with values of home
and hearth, as his mother would say. Still, he didn’t even know if she really liked him. Had she agreed on the spur of the moment to see him because he had been too pushy?

‘Time you did some serious planning,’ he told himself, straightening his shoulders. ‘And don’t blot your copybook this morning.’ If he messed this walk up, he
wasn’t likely to get another chance.

The thought scared him. He’d never felt this way before: all fingers and thumbs and hot around the collar. It was a unique experience. He just hoped it wouldn’t be the
only
experience he had of taking out the girl of his dreams.

Marie rushed to the door. She had looked from the front window and seen Bing’s tall figure coming down the street. Calling goodbye to her family, she hurried out. She was
afraid Ada or Hector would invite him in, and they’d be there talking for hours.

Before that happened, she wanted to get to know a bit more about Bing. What did they have in common? Did he ever stop joking? What were his dreams in life? Up till now, it was just a few minutes
of flirting on the way home from work.

At least if she was out this morning, she wouldn’t have to listen to Vesta going on about Teddy. Her sister hadn’t stopped singing his praises since the moment they’d woken
up!

When she opened the front door, both Bing and Nina Brass stood on the step.

Nina smiled. ‘Did you have a good time last night?’

‘Yes, thank you. It was lovely.’

Nina looked very pretty, dressed in a long, belted summer frock and a small beret-type hat.

Nina stepped past Marie into the hall. ‘Nice to meet you, Bing.’

‘You too, Nina.’

‘Bye, Marie.’ Nina hurried up the stairs.

‘It didn’t take you long to introduce yourself to the neighbours,’ Marie said as she closed the door behind her.

‘Now, now,’ he teased as they went down the steps. ‘I don’t want you getting jealous.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself.’ Marie tossed her head. ‘Why would I be jealous?’ Though secretly she was annoyed to find herself wondering if he liked Nina.

‘Right, shall we go?’ Bing said quickly. ‘Before you change your mind.’

‘I thought about it,’ she nodded, ‘but decided to get seeing you over and done with.’

‘Blimey, the girl don’t mince her words,’ Bing muttered, holding out his arm. ‘Now, as we’re racing along as if our lives depended on it, I’d suggest you put
your hand over this and hold tight.’

Marie curled her hand over his arm. She took a slight breath. It felt very solid and strong.

‘Am I allowed to say you look nice?’ Bing asked as they went.

‘If it’s true.’

‘In that case, I’ll say it.’

Marie grinned, pleased she’d decided to look her best. Nina always looked lovely with her long blonde hair and smart clothes. But the dress Marie had chosen to wear was not particularly
smart, as it was quite old. However, the colour was a soft dove grey, and it had a pretty white collar and white cuffs on the sleeves. The full skirt swirled around her legs and accentuated her
small waist. Purchased cheaply at the market, it had ironed up well and seen at least three summers. She’d thought about wearing white gloves too, like Nina did, but for a walk that seemed a
bit overdone.

Marie glanced at Bing. He was wearing a good suit and discreetly patterned tie. And unlike last night, when his golden mop of hair had been plastered down with hair oil, it now stood up on end,
back to its old self.

For a moment, she felt a little dizzy.

He must have felt her looking at him and he turned to frown at her. She realized how brown his eyes were. They had a gentleness under the mischief. What kind of man was he really?

More to the point, Marie thought, with a little start, did she really want to find out?

They reached the park and sat on a bench overlooking the pond. The sun had brought everyone out. Already the day was hot enough to cause a heat haze over the water. Children
paddled and played whilst their parents looked on, taking the opportunity to talk and relax. The smells coming up from the river hung in the still air: a concoction of unseasoned wood and
tar-paint, the oil and chemicals of the factories, the exotic perfumes brought in from the East and the spices and fruits from countries all over the world.

‘So what do you and me dad talk about at the pub?’ Marie asked as Bing stretched out his long legs.

‘You and your sister, of course.’

She grinned. ‘Oh?’

‘He says nobody can sing and dance as good as his girls. And he should know. After all, he was a performer himself.’

‘Yes, but that was a long time ago.’

‘Don’t matter,’ Bing shrugged. ‘He could be big again one day. It ain’t your age that matters, it’s what you’ve got inside you.’

Marie looked into Bing’s big, kind eyes. ‘Do you want to be famous one day?’

He stared at her in surprise, then laughed. ‘Not on your nelly. I work in the pub so I can save for me nest egg. True, the pay’s not good but the tips are. After a few ales and a
good singsong, you’d be surprised what the blokes throw in my glass.’

Marie looked puzzled. ‘What sort of nest egg? Do you want to travel and see the world?’

‘Done that in the Navy,’ he said easily.

‘Then what?’ Marie asked curiously.

‘You’ll be disappointed.’ He looked at her as if he was thinking whether he should say. ‘I’m ready to settle down,’ he said at last. ‘Get a place of my
own. Somewhere I can knock about a few walls; do up the garden and grow me own vegetables, like my dad does.’

Marie was disappointed. She imagined there was a bit more glamour to his life; after all, he did play the piano and sing to an audience, even though it was only in the pub. ‘I hope all
your hard work will bring you what you deserve,’ she answered, trying not to show her true feelings.

He gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Blimey, you should be a politician.’

‘Sorry,’ she said, blushing.

After this, there was an awkward silence. Then Marie suggested they continue their walk. If Bing had another, more ambitious side to him, he wasn’t admitting to it.

‘How long have you been playing the piano?’ she asked as they strolled.

‘Since I was able to climb on the piano stool. Dad plays the ukulele and Mum the joanna. I suppose it was natural for me to have a musical bent.’

‘You could play or sing professionally if you wanted,’ she suggested, feeling a bit more interested.

But he shook his head. ‘Not me. I’m happy as I am. I love the Marx Brothers and I crack their jokes, but I can’t really tell ’em the way they do. I can copy the old
crooner and get away with it, but only to the blokes in the boozer who don’t know any better. It’s all just a bit of fun to me. And if I can make some cash on the side, that’s
great. I ain’t looking for fame and fortune as often it comes at a price.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, it ain’t a natural life, is it? You’re away from home and don’t see your family much. Just like your dad. Soon as he met your mum and they had kids, he
couldn’t live two lives. It’s one or the other, ain’t it? And, as I said, I ain’t got the talent.’

As they walked into Island Gardens, past the entrance to the foot tunnel to Greenwich, Marie paused at the fence. She had decided to set Bing a challenge. ‘Will you sing a song for
me?’

‘Why?’ He looked startled.

‘Last night I thought Teddy was dreadful. And he has the nerve to go on the stage. I’m sure you could do better.’

‘I could be much worse.’

She smiled. ‘Will you sing something?’

He thought about this, then laughed. ‘What have I got to lose? But remember, I belt out songs at a pub, on an old joanna.’

‘Can you sing the same song as Teddy did? It is one of Bing Crosby’s.’

‘“I’m Through With Love”?’ He grinned. ‘I’ll give it a go.’

Marie nodded. ‘This is your chance to impress me.’

For a few seconds there was a lot of throat clearing and patting of pockets. He pulled up his tie and looked around. Was he trying to think of an excuse not to do as she asked?

Marie had a sinking sensation. What if he was really awful? She liked him, but would she quickly go off him? Listening to Teddy last night had made her realize how quickly someone can fall in
your estimation. The women had swooned over Teddy, but not because of his voice. It was his looks that had drawn the gasps. As for talent? He had none.

‘Here we go, then,’ Bing warned her.

Marie waited. When at last he began to sing, her mouth fell slowly open. Her heart thumped in her chest. She couldn’t move and didn’t want to. Bing’s voice was like cream, a
deep baritone, sliding into the quiet morning air. Perhaps he did sing in Bing Crosby’s style but with a uniqueness all of his own. The words felt as though they were made for her. She
didn’t want him to stop. When he did, she stood in silence. The magic of the moment lingered in the air, sending shivers down her spine.

He searched her gaze, then laughed awkwardly. ‘I warned you it might be worse.’

‘It wasn’t.’ Marie tried to catch her breath. ‘It was beautiful.’

‘You’re trying not to hurt my feelings.’

‘No, it’s the truth. You have a wonderful voice.’

‘I just copy, that’s all.’

‘You sounded like Bobby Brown to me.’

He looked embarrassed. ‘Come on, time’s getting on. Grab my arm and I’ll walk you home.’

Marie was quiet most of the way. Her thoughts were spinning in her head. She could still hear his pitch-perfect notes as clear as any she’d ever heard on the radio. He just didn’t
seem to know how good he was.

‘Can I see you again?’ he asked as they came to Sphinx Street. ‘Same walk, next Saturday afternoon?’

‘Me and Vesta practise on Saturdays.’ It was a white lie, as lately they hadn’t done very much at all.

‘Just for an hour?’

‘You are persistent.’

‘And good-looking!’

Marie laughed. ‘All right.’

Would she regret it, she wondered, as they said goodbye. One half of her wanted to see him again, the other was against it. She realized now how much she liked him. Yet, if she did, wasn’t
that a good thing? It was if she wanted more than just friendship, something that might turn out to last. But only yesterday she had told Ada that settling down was definitely what she didn’t
want. Marie felt scared. She didn’t want to fall in love, even though, just for a short while, Bing had turned all her ideas on their heads.

‘I warned you not to encourage him,’ said Vesta the next day as they sat in the works canteen. ‘He’ll turn out to be one of those hangers-on you
can’t get rid of.’

‘I tried to say no.’

‘Obviously not hard enough.’

‘He is a nice person.’

‘Have it your way.’ Vesta grimaced as she drank the weak tea from an enamel mug. ‘This tastes like dishwater.’

It had been a busy Monday morning in the cutting-room. The sheets of leather were heavy and dusty and though the men were required to shape the big pieces, the women still had to work with the
smaller ones. Now it was twelve thirty and they were having their break.

‘He does have a good voice,’ Marie added, returning to the subject of Bing.

Vesta sighed as she examined the dirt on her hands. Before Marie could continue, she pushed away the mug in disgust. ‘I’m beginning to hate this place! Look at us all. We are just
numbers to the bosses, and clock in and out as though we were nothing more than machines. You and I are expected to do the same work as the men for less pay. Marie, I promise you, I’d rather
die young than spend my life working in a place like this.’

‘Don’t talk like that.’

‘Why not? It’s true. Just look at me hands, they’re ruined!’

Marie felt the rough surface of her own hands. They were prone to blisters from the repetitive work of making the eyelets, toe puffs and stiffeners on the boots and shoes. Her skin would only be
eased by spreading on Vaseline when she got home. Not only was it back-breaking work, but the dust went down your throat and often affected the lungs.

Marie listened to the noisy chatter of the people around her. The women weren’t bad, but liked to gossip. She and Vesta said very little about their dream to any of the girls. They would
be laughed at and told to get off their high horses. In the factory it was a case of head down and keep going. Vesta was right. They were treated like machines and had to dress identically in brown
overalls, ugly hair-nets, and heavy boots that made their feet sweat and smell terrible. Everyone longed to take off the cumbersome leather aprons they were forced to wear in the cutting room. Mr
Morton, the manager, was all right. He was a fair man and well respected, but no one ever saw him except at the works do at Christmas.

With only half an hour to eat in the stifling heat of the canteen, and ten minutes to go to the lavatory, the long afternoon lay ahead of them.

‘So you’ve made up your mind to go out with him on Saturday?’ Vesta asked. ‘When we should be practising.’

‘You usually say you’re too tired,’ Marie pointed out as she drank the last of her tea.

‘I don’t want to spend my life bashing leather.’

‘Well then, we’ll learn some new songs when we go home.’