East End Jubilee (21 page)

A quarter of an hour later she opened the washhouse door very gingerly. The warm summer’s morning was a delight to behold and Rose wished dearly she could summon up some enthusiasm for
life. She hoped Em wouldn’t fuss.

‘You look dreadful,’ Em said as Rose walked into the kitchen.

‘I feel better now. Where’s Will?’

‘He’s out in the street with Ashley Green, a little boy from number forty-two. He’s off school with a swollen ankle but he seems to be walking around all right.’

Rose nodded approvingly. ‘Ashley is Sharon and Derek Green’s eldest. He has two sisters who sometimes play with the girls.’

‘Yes, they got to know each other that first day we came. He’s a nice kid.’

‘I’ll just sit down a minute.’

‘What is it, do you think?’ Em’s fingers were already busy with the teapot, pulling a cosy over its lid and patting its fat round sides. ‘A tummy upset?’

Rose nodded. ‘I expect so.’

‘A nice cup of tea will soon put you right.’

‘No, I don’t think so, dear. Perhaps later.’ She really did feel wretched.

‘It’s something for you to go off your cuppa.’

‘I’m sure I’ll feel better soon.’

Em sat down beside her. There was a smell of Sunlight creeping through the house as all the smalls were spread neatly over the clothes’ horse, some of them still giving the occasional
drip. Several of the girls’ vests and knickers and a liberty bodice of Em’s that despite being snow white looked as if it harked back to the war years, half hidden as it was by one of
Will’s white shirts. All hand-washed and rinsed. Poor Em. Arthur, despite his flaws, had installed a washing machine in the kitchen of the Eastbourne house.

Rose decided if she had that four hundred and thirty-five pounds still sitting under the floorboards she might very well pay Bobby Morton a visit. Investing in one of his new-fangled appliances
would ease her conscience considerably as far as Em was concerned. But since there was no shoebox, there would be no washing machine.

‘Should you go to the doctor?’ Em was staring worriedly into Rose’s white face. ‘Let him check you out.’

‘I’m fine,’ Rose protested wearily. ‘I’ve been taking Milk of Magnesia in the hope it would settle me.’

Em looked doubtful. ‘Well, I know Mum favoured it for her stomach, but it can be very constipating.’

Rose nodded, guessing what was coming next.

‘You may have inherited her problem,’ Em suggested as Rose knew she would. ‘In which case, the sooner you discover what’s wrong, the quicker you’ll know how to
treat it.’

They both looked at one another. Rose gave in. ‘Perhaps I’ll go along to surgery later.’

‘That’s a good girl.’ Em smiled softly and Rose felt affection flow through her as she always did when Em asserted her motherly role. Being six years older, Em had always
fussed like a mother hen, although Rose knew herself to be quite capable when the need arose.

Their bond had strengthened throughout the war and when marriage and babies had come their way they had still kept close, even when Arthur whisked Em off to Eastbourne at the end of 1945. Their
weekly letters had substituted for the physical contact they both enjoyed. That was, until now, with the biggest shock being Em’s neglect to invite them to Arthur’s funeral.

It was an hour later when Rose was just beginning to feel better and actually felt like drinking a cup of tea, that Anita appeared at the front door. ‘Look what I’ve got,’ she
cried breathlessly. ‘It’s me lucky day!’

Rose stared at the shiny brown bottle clasped tightly in her hand. ‘What is it?’

‘Cream sherry, of course. And a bloody good one, too.’

‘Where did you get it?’

‘Mrs H gave it to me. It’s her birthday and all her relatives descended as a surprise, like. She had so much booze in the house she made me put this in me saddlebag. I’ve got
birthday cake too and the rest of the day off ’cos they’re all celebrating and it wasn’t any use cleaning. She still gave me full pay, mind.’

‘That was nice of her.’

‘Yeah, well she knows when she’s well off, if I say it meself,’ Anita remarked dryly. ‘Grab this, will you, and I’ll get the cake.’

Anita planted the bottle in her hand and hurried off. She was still wearing her cycle clip around her ankle, her brown trousers billowing out round her thighs like water wings. Soon she was back
with a cake tin, the Queen’s head embellished gaudily on the lid. ‘Where’s Em?’ she wanted to know as they went into the kitchen.

‘Putting out the smalls. She’s been at it again.’

‘Well, call her in. We’re all gonna celebrate another piece of news with a glass of plonk and a slice of Swan Lake. I’m bursting to tell you.’

Rose was thankful Anita hadn’t called an hour earlier for even the thought of sherry or cake made her feel queasy. But she could see Anita was really excited and wanted to hear whatever it
was that had put her into such a good mood. Rose went to the kitchen door and looked out. Em was carefully pegging a sheet on the line next to two pillowcases and a white tablecloth she had never
seen before.

‘Em, Anita’s called.’

‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’

‘She’ll wash this bloody house away if she’s not careful,’ Anita grinned as she rubbed her red, worn hands together. ‘Your line’s full to bursting every time
I look at it.’

‘Don’t make me feel worse,’ Rose acknowledged glumly. ‘I just can’t stop her. I’ve tried everything.’

‘Not this you haven’t,’ Anita remarked as she leered at the bottle then began to search the china cupboard for glasses.

‘But Neet, Em doesn’t drink.’

‘Well she does now.’ Three large, cheap glass tumblers appeared on the table.

‘And I’m not all that keen to—’

Anita looked up and frowned at her. ‘What’s wrong? You aren’t abstaining too, are you?’

‘No, well, it’s just that . . .’ Rose stopped short. She had been careful to hide her little problem from Anita who would have wheeled her along to the doctor at a
second’s notice. Never one to tolerate sickness without a good cause, her friend was a firm believer in the miracle of the National Health and all its many benefits.

‘Come on, just a thimbleful. It won’t kill you.’

Rose gave in. Perhaps when Anita wasn’t looking she could tip it down the sink, a pity because it was probably very expensive. ‘Just a tiny one then.’

Em came in from the backyard, rolling down her cardigan sleeves. ‘Hello, love,’ she smiled at Anita. ‘My goodness. What have you got there?’ She stared at the three
generous measures of rich amber sherry that Anita had poured.

‘Sit yourself down and I’ll tell you.’

Cautiously Rose and Em sat at the kitchen table.

Anita lifted her glass. ‘Here’s to – well – what shall we toast?’

Rose was trying hard not to inhale the strong alcohol fumes as she lifted her drink.

‘I don’t usually,’ Em said weakly. ‘Arthur was teetotal.’

‘Well, good luck to him I say,’ Anita replied tartly clinking their glasses with fervour and licking her lips. ‘He had his reasons no doubt, but he ain’t here to object,
God rest his soul. I’m sure one little sip will do you a power of good.’ Anita added with a serious expression, ‘And provide you with enough oomph to do another three lines of
washing.’

Rose was tempted to smile at the picture they made. The three of them sitting round the kitchen table at eleven o’clock in the morning about to knock back Mr H’s cream sherry. Anita
still wearing her trousers and bicycle clips, Em in her turban and thick woolly cardigan, and she, Rose, looking like death warmed up no doubt. ‘Well, put like that,’ Em caved in giving
another of her little headshakes and sighs as she raised her eyebrows briefly.

‘Let’s be selfish,’ Anita said suddenly. ‘Let’s drink to us, the three of us. The blokes can take a back seat for once.’

Rose nodded. ‘Yes, why not?’

Em gave a little mew of assent.

‘To us! Women of our times!’ Anita roared and kicked back the sherry in one, gulping noisily. Rose watched in fascination as her friend closed her eyes and let the alcohol burn down
her throat, an empty glass still poised at her lips. ‘Blimey, I enjoyed that,’ she gasped.

‘Me too,’ Rose said faintly, licking her lips.

‘The bee’s knees,’ Anita sighed loudly, in a world of her own.

‘It is rather nice,’ came a little voice, and Rose looked across the table to see her sister sipping daintily from her glass. ‘I can’t say as though I’ve tasted
anything like this before. I had a gin and lime once at one of Arthur’s town hall dos. He didn’t know I’d been given it – he didn’t approve of me drinking.’ She
giggled.

‘Well here’s your opportunity to develop a taste for the good stuff,’ Anita said as she lifted the bottle and took aim at her glass.

Em giggled again. ‘It looks like cold tea.’

‘Yeah,’ grinned Anita glancing at Rose. ‘My father-in-law has already sussed that one out.’

Suddenly all three of them were laughing. In fact they were laughing so much that Rose actually wondered if she should try a little sip, but the nausea was finally receding and she wanted to
keep it that way. She also realized that Anita was merry enough not to notice how much she was drinking from her glass and was clapping Em on the back as though they’d been drinking partners
for years.

Not that Em seemed to mind. In fact, her sister’s glass was now empty and she made only a half-hearted protest to Anita topping it up. ‘I really shouldn’t.’

‘Go on, treat yourself,’ Anita grinned. ‘What about you, Rose?’

‘In a minute I will.’

Her friend smiled magnanimously. ‘All right,’ she nodded, raising her glass once more. ‘Lift ’em up, lassies.’

They all did.

‘To Mrs H!’

‘To Mrs H,’ they all chorused.

‘Right,’ Anita said a minute later as she sloshed her drink over the edge of the glass. ‘Here’s to . . . here’s to . . .’ A little frown etched itself on her
forehead. ‘Bugger me, I’ve forgotten what.’

They were all in fits again as Anita attempted to think of the reason for her celebration. Then suddenly a look of absolute bliss crossed her face. ‘Ladies, raise your glasses to the
Mendoza family who are leaving this bloody street for a fortnight’s holiday next month. God bless you, Billy Butlin!’

‘Oh Neet!’ Rose cried. ‘You really are going, then?’

‘You bet your life we are. I used Mrs H’s phone to confirm the booking this morning. We’re off to Skegness in four weeks, three days’ time.’

‘That’s wonderful, dear,’ Rose said breathlessly.

‘Bloody wonderful, ain’t it? Cheers.’ She tipped the last of her drink down her throat and did a little whoop of delight.

Rose decided to put on the kettle. ‘I’ll make a cuppa.’ When she turned round she stopped dead. Anita was staring at Em who was sitting there with tears rolling down her
cheeks.

‘What’s the matter, gel?’ Anita asked boozily as she peered into Em’s face. ‘Was it something I said?’

‘Not really. It’s just that—’

‘Have another drink.’ Anita fumbled with the bottle and dropped more of it on the table than in the glass. ‘Bloody hell, I’m pissed.’

Rose took her hanky from her sleeve. ‘Here, love, give your nose a good blow.’

Em took the hanky and gave a trumpet. ‘It was the mention of Butlin’s, you see. Arthur always promised he’d take me and Will there one day.’

Anita sat back with a sigh. ‘Trust me to put me foot in it.’

‘I believed, foolishly I suppose, that he meant it.’ To Rose’s astonishment, her sister drank the remains of her sherry then said rapidly, ‘Arthur and me didn’t
share the same bed.’

Anita hiccuped. ‘You have been missing out then.’

‘Yes,’ Em replied vacantly.

Anita dragged one leg over the other, rolling her eyes at Rose. ‘He was all there was he, in that department?’

Rose was even more astonished when Em, appearing quite unoffended, replied, ‘Oh yes, but not how you mean.’ She held out her glass. ‘Could I have another sherry,
please?’

‘Em, I don’t think you should,’ Rose advised but Anita waved aside her objection.

‘Why not? She’s enjoying herself, ain’t you, Em?’

Noticeably flushed Em nodded. ‘I do feel a bit better, actually.’

‘You was telling us about Arthur,’ Anita prompted as she poured two stiff measures of the amber liquid.

‘I’ve never told anyone this but it doesn’t seem quite so awful today. I don’t know why.’ Em picked up her glass and gulped. Then slowly she drew a long breath.
‘I thought Arthur was . . .’

A moment passed and Rose watched in breathless suspense as her sister began the usual procedure of trying to form words on the subject of her departed spouse. She had never got past this stage,
a strange, silent panting that inevitably led to silence, but now Em’s lips were soft and mobile and her tongue flicked out to wet them. ‘I thought Arthur was having an affair,’
she gasped at last.

‘An affair?’ both Rose and Anita echoed together.

Em nodded, her eyes very bright. ‘Even if he had been with another woman, I could have forgiven him that, even tolerated it as I blame myself for not being very clever in that
area.’

Rose nearly fainted. Em had never talked like this before, in fact Rose had always been rather reluctant to delve into that part of her sister’s life, instinctively knowing she would be
embarrassed.

‘Sex is overrated if you ask me,’ Anita responded, completely unfazed. ‘Not sex itself, but ways of doing it, if you see what I mean. Each to his own I say. What’s one
man’s meat is another man’s poison, ain’t it?’

‘Do you really believe that, Anita?’ Em asked in surprise.

‘Yes, too bloody true I do.’

‘That’s very generous of you. But, dear, I never truly understood that side of things. You see, Arthur being older—’

Rose and Anita waited as once more Em sought to explain her thoughts. After what seemed an eternity she said very softly, ‘Arthur had certain tastes. He couldn’t . . . he
wasn’t . . . he was—’

Anita sighed in exasperation. ‘Blimey, gel, spit it out.’

Em swallowed. ‘He didn’t like women. He liked men.’

Anita snorted. ‘Well, bugger me.’

Em nodded. ‘Yes, that too.’