East End Jubilee (28 page)

Em turned to look at her balefully. ‘No, but sometimes I feel like I’ve lived one lifetime already and I’m on borrowed time. Sometimes it feels as if . . . as
if—’

‘As if what?’ Rose asked anxiously.

‘Nothing, nothing really,’ Em whispered and looked away.

Rose stared at Em’s profile, at the small nose and neatly pointed chin, the rather gaunt cheeks that seemed too fragile to support the huge hazel eyes above capped by thick brown eyebrows.
Her sister had suffered and it showed. ‘Em, you’ve never – well, never got
that
low have you? You wouldn’t ever do anything silly?’

Her sister looked down and after an unsettling pause, shook her head. ‘No, I wouldn’t now.’

Rose swallowed. ‘What do you mean – now?’

‘I mean I felt so ashamed when I found out about Arthur and those boys, I thought about putting me head in the oven and just drifting off. If it hadn’t been for Will, I might
have.’

‘But you had nothing to do with what Arthur did!’ Rose exclaimed in dismay. ‘You were a good wife and mother and have nothing to reproach yourself for.’

‘Haven’t I?’

‘’Course not. Arthur had everything. He wanted for nothing with you as his wife.’

‘Except sex,’ Em replied in a dull voice. ‘We had Will and that was enough for him. I don’t think he could bear to touch me afterwards.’

‘But you had no control over that, dear,’ Rose said gently. ‘You were a young girl in love, who had never been with a man before and Arthur was a man of the world, someone who
should have known better than to get married if he felt the way he did. He couldn’t suddenly have developed his appetite for young men or boys. He must have known what he was like at his age.
You weren’t responsible for the decisions he made to ruin his life – or yours.’

But Em shook her head. ‘I wish I could see it that way. I feel . . .’ She stopped, her mouth twitching again, the tic that had been subdued before now flaring up as she blinked her
eyes and searched for words.

‘You feel what, love?’

‘Ugly. Dirty,’ Em replied in a small voice as her little curlers began to tremble around her head. ‘I don’t even like people looking at me. I hate going out. I feel as if
they can see right through me. I’m really ashamed of meself.’

Rose slid her hand down into Em’s cold fingers and squeezed them tight. ‘Oh dearest, I had no idea you’ve been thinking all these morbid thoughts.’

‘I wouldn’t have burdened you,’ Em whispered hoarsely. ‘But it’s like being kids again, telling each other our secrets.’ She looked up slowly. ‘Rosy, I
know you’re trying to be positive about Eddie, but it must be awful having to lie there and go over things.’

‘I’ve told you the truth,’ Rose assured her. ‘I can fill every moment until February with knitting and sewing and after the baby comes along time will fly by. Judging by
his antics,’ she patted her bulge, ‘he’s going to keep us all on our toes.’

Em hitched an eyebrow. ‘You’re still certain it’s a boy, then?’

‘I know it,’ Rose nodded firmly. ‘Mathew.’

‘Eddie will have a son to look forward to, then.’

‘Tomorrow I’m going to write to him and bugger the censors,’ Rose sniffed determinedly. ‘I want him to know every detail about the baby even down to how he moves in me
stomach. Yes,’ Rose added contentedly, ‘even though Eddie’s not here, he’s gonna be a fount of knowledge on childbirth, right up to the time Mathew pops his little head out
between me legs. I always wanted Eddie to see Marlene and Donnie born. They looked like little red sausages wrapped in transparent silk till Dr Harding wiped them clean. They were the two best
moments of me life.’

Em was listening attentively, then gave a giggle. ‘Let’s hope the censors have got strong stomachs then – if Eddie don’t faint first, that is!’

That set the two of them laughing and as Rose gulped in breath she felt the baby respond as though he was happy too. She would do everything in her power to keep him that way. Placing Em’s
hand on her swollen belly, Rose stared into her sister’s eyes. ‘Feel him?’ she whispered and after a pause, Em nodded.

‘I think I’ll sew a blue pram cover and matching pillow set,’ she pondered, her eyes widening as the movement increased. ‘Blue and white, with a pair of football boots
embroidered in the corner.’

The baby kicked wildly as if he had understood and both girls gave a cry of delight. Rose was now even more determined to make the months until February utterly productive.

Christmas Day was over. Rose had happily broken all Em’s rules and survived. She had abandoned her sick bed and negotiated the stairs, very slowly, with Marlene, Donnie
and Will in close attendance. If she couldn’t have Eddie, she’d stated determinedly, she could have the next best thing. Christmas dinner. And she was going to eat it in the kitchen
with the rest of the family.

It was the first time she had ever eaten at the kitchen table in her dressing gown and slippers. The turkey, stuffing, potatoes and mince pies were a surprise package from the Mendozas and the
Weavers and Trims made short work of it. Although Rose missed Eddie, she felt blissfully happy in the bosom of her family.

‘Happy Christmas, darlings!’ Rose toasted with her glass of water and the kids drank lemonade.

‘Happy Christmas Mummy, happy Christmas Auntie Em!’

Rose thought that Donnie, Will and Marlene looked like characters from a Dickensian scene. The room was warm from Em’s cooking and condensation ran down the window. The children’s
faces were pink with excitement and all wore their best clothes. Rose knew they couldn’t wait to unwrap their small presents in the front room. She had knitted three red and white stockings
and Em had hung them up last night. Apples, oranges, pears, toffee apples and sweets were all wrapped in greaseproof paper along with little novelties from the market. This morning the children
were desperate to unwrap them.

‘Can we go and look?’ Marlene asked as she blew out her cheeks. ‘I’ve eaten everything on me plate, even the cabbage.’

‘What about your pudding?’ Rose asked.

‘Can I let me dinner go down first?’

She turned to Will and Donnie. ‘What about you two?’

They both looked at each other. ‘Can we open our presents?’ they asked.

Rose laughed. ‘Go on then, and we’ll have the pudding later.’

‘It’s not quite finished steaming either,’ Em said as the children ran off and began to clear the plates away. ‘I must take the scones out of the oven too.’

‘When are they for?’ Rose asked curiously, guessing the answer.

‘Tomorrow, I suppose,’ Em replied nonchalantly.

Rose watched her sister open the oven. ‘What a nice treat.’

‘But a nuisance,’ Em complained as she placed the tray of plump scones on the hob. ‘We could have listened to the wireless tomorrow afternoon if no one was coming.’

Taking the no one to be Bobby Morton, Rose smiled ruefully. ‘We did that all day yesterday, that and stuffing ourselves with mince pies and playing games with the kids. It will be nice to
entertain a guest for once.’

‘We had Anita and Benny and the boys over,’ Em sniffed as she took care to test the scones.

‘I know but they’re like family.’

‘Exactly. We hardly know
him
.’

‘Oh Em,’ Rose sighed. ‘The poor man is lonely. He doesn’t have any family to speak of.’

‘Well he should have,’ Em argued, slicing the scones energetically. ‘It’s not right living by himself at his age. He must be in his mid-thirties, wouldn’t you
say?’

‘Not too old to start a family,’ Rose said softly. ‘And he’s definitely not married. I asked when he last called. He’s got a brother somewhere, but his parents died
when he was young. His father in an accident and his mother from TB.’

Em turned to frown at her. ‘Well, I’m sorry for him, of course, but pity doesn’t blind me.’

Rose sighed. ‘You sound bitter when you talk like that, Em. He’s bent over backwards to be nice, calling round to see if we’re both okay.’

Em waved the jam spoon in the air and sniffed. ‘Yes, and what for? He just wants to get his feet under the table in my opinion.’

Rose burst into laughter and the baby kicked as if enjoying the fun.

‘What’s so funny?’ Her sister dropped the spoon and placed her hands on her hips.

‘Nothing,’ Rose smothered her amusement. ‘It’s just that the only table we’ve got is this one.’ She gestured to the cramped, crockery-covered top that was
spilling with dirty plates.

Em cast her eyes down and smiled. In seconds they were both laughing so much that tears streamed down their cheeks.

Rose was listening to
Woman’s Hour
as she sat comfortably on the couch in the front room and gave Matthew Edward Weaver his afternoon feed. She couldn’t
imagine life without him now and wondered if she had really existed before his birth. A birth that had been so swift that when Dr Cox had arrived on a bitter February evening he’d only just
had enough time to remove his coat before Rose delivered her baby at a scale-tipping nine pounds and two ounces. Despite Rose’s slender proportions and the fact the infant was ten days
premature, he had slipped like a fish into the world with a lusty cry and a mass of dark hair.

What a wonderful week that had been, Rose reflected as her thoughts drifted back six weeks to the night of 5th February, 1954.

‘He looks like a coconut,’ Marlene had decided as the two girls sat on either side of the big double bed. ‘Like you see at the fair.’

‘You looked just the same when you were born,’ Donnie had argued in defence of her newly arrived brother.

Marlene stared woefully at Rose who was feeding her baby for the first time but she had soon become entranced, holding the starfish hand that boasted miniature nails. Will, however, had made a
quick exit after commenting that he couldn’t wait for Matthew to grow up and play out in the yard.

Anita and Benny had called at ten-thirty, an hour after Dr Cox and the midwife had left. ‘I’m broody, Benny,’ Anita murmured, her eyes misting over as she stood next to her
husband, gazing spellbound at the baby. ‘But I suppose it’s too late now?’

‘Too right it’s too late,’ Benny had agreed, but Rose had seen the longing in his eyes as he’d bent over the little boy and curled back the shawl around his tiny feet.
‘He’s a cracker, Rose. Look at them plates of meat. They’re good solid articles they are.’

‘Our Dave and Alan sent these in.’ Anita laid a dog-eared album on the dressing table. ‘It’s their collection of football cards. They want the babe to have it. By the
time he’s old enough to play, he’ll be able to flog the cards and buy a good set of boots.’

Rose had been overwhelmed with joy that night and despite feeling utterly exhausted had let the girls sit with her until everyone was gone. Em had settled them eventually and taken the baby
downstairs in a Moses basket she’d found under the stairs on the pretext of giving Rose a chance to rest. Rose knew that Em would probably stay up half the night just watching him.

Two days later she’d written to Eddie and told him every bit of news describing the baby down to the last detail. He had replied, overjoyed, from a new prison in Sussex, where offenders
not classed as potential escapees were housed. For the first time his letter had sounded like the Eddie she remembered. He told her how much he loved them all and how the time would go quickly now
their son had arrived. He asked her to write again soon.

Suddenly Rose came back to the present as a rather breathless female voice began to recall the events of 1953. She realized
Woman’s Hour
was over and this programme was a trip down
memory lane. The commentator spoke of the Queen’s Coronation and then the conquering of Mount Everest by Edmund Hillary, a handsome New Zealander accompanied by his Sherpa guide, Tensing. She
then went on to describe the charismatic and popular American senator, John F. Kennedy who had married his beautiful bride, Jacqueline Bouvier. Rose listened as Matthew fed contentedly. She had
spent much longer today feeding him and cuddling him. He seemed to listen to all that she told him and even seemed to like the wireless noise.

A pleasant melody filled the room, the theme tune to a film called
Genevieve
, about a veteran motor car and the London to Brighton run. Although Rose hadn’t seen it, the film had
captured the nation’s heart last year. There was also the birth of a new series on the radio called
The Goon Show
, a crazy comedy which had converted Rose and thousands of other
listeners to a brand new form of humour.

Rose was hoping that all these wonderful events would register in her tiny baby’s brain. She sat down at the same time each day to breastfeed him, introducing him to
Listen With
Mother
and
Woman’s Hour
, just as she had done with the girls. Matthew’s almost black eyes stared up at her like tiny ebony beads set in his still rather red face and two
little dimples appeared on his cheeks as a windy smile formed around his mouth. Rose gently lifted him on to her shoulder.

Rose was blissfully happy. Every time she sat down to feed Matthew, she felt closer to Eddie. A wonderful contentment filled her. She loved just holding him close, even in the middle of the
night.
Especially
in the middle of the night, when everyone else was asleep and she had him entirely to herself.

The kitchen door banged and Matthew jumped. He gave a little cry and Rose patted his back, smiling.

‘You’ll have to get used to loud noises in this house, my darling,’ she chuckled. ‘It’s like Piccadilly Circus sometimes.’

In just nine months, their lives had changed dramatically, Rose thought as she held Matthew back to her breast for the last few minutes of his feed. The family had expanded and though the rooms
always seemed full of noise and chatter, Rose never minded. She had always wanted a big family and now she had it.

‘Rosy? Fancy a cuppa?’ Em bustled in, her cheeks red and her hazel eyes wide. She was wearing an apron and held an empty wicker laundry basket in her hands.

‘That’d be nice. Look Em, he’s lost that reddy colour and his skin’s going quite peachy.’