Ellie (51 page)

Edward let himself be comforted by her arms. He knew in days to come he would probably regret his confession, but for now she was easing the torment inside him.

‘I must go now,’ he said eventually, knowing that staying would only encourage him to spill out more.

‘I’m so ashamed, Ellie, but I guess I’ll get over it in time.’

‘You will,’ Ellie said soothingly. ‘You’re just overwrought and confused right now; a hot bath and a good night’s sleep will put you right.’

‘Bonny’s lucky having a friend like you to lean on,’ he said, standing up and smoothing down his trousers. ‘Say goodbye to her for me. I hope she feels better soon.’

Ellie stood up and impulsively hugged him tightly.

‘All three of us are in a mess,’ she murmured into his damp neck. ‘All the more reason why we should keep in touch.’

Edward took her arms and drew back from her. As he looked into her dark, compassionate eyes he realised he hadn’t comforted her for the loss of her job, or even praised her for defending her friend. Nor had he found it necessary to ask her not to divulge any of this to anyone.

‘You’re my only friend,’ he said simply. ‘I’ll write in a day or two. Maybe then I’ll be able to tell you exactly what you mean to me, Ellie.’

Ellie smiled wanly. ‘You’re my friend too and I won’t forget you. Maybe all three of us can get in another show together.’

Edward kissed her cheek, unable to find the words he wanted to say. ‘We had some good times, didn’t we?’

‘We will again too.’ Ellie smoothed his cheek. ‘Don’t dwell on the bad parts, Edward, just the good bits.’

‘I think I’ll go down to Aunt Lydia’s,’ Bonny said two days later. ‘Can you lend me some money?’

‘I can’t.’ Ellie tried to quell her mounting irritation with Bonny. It seemed that their predicament hadn’t sunk into her head yet. ‘I’ve only got the rent, that’s all. Surely you’ve got some money. You got a taxi to get your clothes yesterday!’

‘That was the last of it,’ Bonny said airily. ‘Can’t you go down and ask Ambrose for our back pay?’

Ellie rolled her eyes in exasperation. ‘Do you really expect me to do that after everything that’s happened?’ she snapped. ‘You’re impossible sometimes. Look at this place! I can’t move for all your stuff. I’ve got to go out and find a job. I can’t afford to send you off for a holiday in Sussex. Why can’t you just visit your parents?’

Bonny had two suitcases full of clothes. They filled the narrow strip between bed and wall, lids open, the contents strewn where she’d rummaged through them.

‘Because Mum will pry, as you well know,’ Bonny said sulkily. ‘Besides, Aunt Lydia might know of another job for us and I can see Jack if he gets some leave.’

Ellie could say nothing more. Bonny picked people up and dropped them when it suited her. Now it was Jack’s turn again, and she hoped he’d have the sense to hold her at arm’s length.

‘I know, I’ll pawn that ring I found at Uxbridge.’ Bonny’s face lit up with glee, completely unaware Ellie was cross. ‘I can get enough for my fare and some spare. Now where is it?’ She bent down to rummage again, creating still more chaos.

Ellie leant into the open train window and kissed Bonny’s cheek. ‘Behave yourself,’ she said wearily. ‘Don’t come back until you’re strong again. Maybe I’ll have recovered by then too.’

‘I will write to Mum and Dad,’ Bonny said in an effort to appease her. ‘Don’t you move out without letting me know where.’

The guard blew his whistle and Ellie moved back, raising her hand to blow Bonny a kiss. Sometimes she wished she’d never set eyes on Bonny, but all the same she felt a stab of sorrow at seeing her go.

The pistons moved, steam belched back down the train and the noise prevented any further words. Bonny leaned out of the window, waving until her bright hair was just a small flag in the distance and Ellie turned to go home.

Ellie heard feet coming up the stairs, but she assumed it was merely another tenant. Bonny had been gone for two days now and Ellie had spent the time looking for a job. She hadn’t found anything, not even waitressing or cleaning and this morning she’d been so dispirited she had just stayed in bed.

A knock on her door made her sit up. She thought perhaps it was the landlord. ‘Who is it?’ she called out. She had just enough for the rent, but it would leave her very short.

‘It’s only me, Ellie,’ Frances called back.

Ellie bounded out of bed. She assumed the dancer was feeling bad about not backing her up. Frances was a decent sort; maybe if Ellie hadn’t palled up with Bonny they’d be closer friends.

‘What a nice surprise. I didn’t expect to see anyone from the show again,’ Ellie said as she opened the door, pulling a cardigan over her nightdress. ‘I was lying in bed feeling sorry for myself.’

Frances came in and sat down on the unmade bed. She looked pretty, her black, curly hair loose on her shoulders, wearing a pink frock.

‘We’re all so sorry about what happened,’ she said, looking a little uneasy, as if expecting Ellie to snap at her. ‘Ambrose was awful to you, and we should’ve supported you.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Ellie said. It was enough that Frances had come now. ‘I’ll make some tea and you can tell me all the gossip.’

While the kettle boiled on the stove out on the landing, Frances gave her a run-down of events. ‘Ambrose is still being horrible,’ she said. ‘Did you know Edward left too? All the girls think there was something going on between them.’

Ellie said nothing. For Edward’s sake it was better to pretend she hadn’t seen him. ‘How are you managing without me?’ she asked.

‘Sally’s doing the
Quaker Girl
number, but she isn’t as good as you. Ambrose is auditioning people for some act to replace the sketch, and for another couple of dancers. Where’s Bonny? Is she still ill?’

‘Gone to her aunt’s in Sussex,’ Ellie said. ‘I’ve been looking for another job.’

‘That’s really what I came about,’ Frances said. ‘I heard of something, if you’re interested.’

Over tea, Frances explained that her parents had come up to London last night to see the show.

‘Mum’s younger brother puts on shows all along the east coast,’ she said. ‘Apparently he’s finding it hard to get performers. He asked Mum if I was free, or if I knew of anyone. I thought of you and Bonny immediately.’

Ellie cheered up immediately. ‘Oh Frances.’ She grinned broadly. ‘I’ll do anything! What sort of show?’

‘It’s not in the same league as a West End show,’ Frances warned her. ‘Just a seaside revue, you can’t expect it to be very slick or polished. From what Mum said I think most of the cast are old, or just girls straight out of school.’

‘I don’t care, it’s work,’ Ellie said excitedly. ‘Just as long as I get paid enough to live.’

‘Telephone my uncle tonight.’ Frances opened her handbag and took out a scrap of paper. ‘His name is Archie Biggs. I’ll phone him first to tell him how good you are. I expect he’ll want you to start almost immediately, he’ll get you digs. He’ll probably even pay your fare down there.’

‘Would he take on Bonny too?’ Ellie wasn’t totally sure it was a good idea to include her friend – after all she was nothing but trouble – but she was missing her.

‘He’s bound to.’ Frances smiled warmly. ‘I bet he’d take Edward as well, if you know where he is.’

Ellie had a feeling Frances had her taped. She blushed and averted her eyes.

‘It’s okay.’ Frances put one hand on Ellie’s arm. ‘I shan’t pass any of this on to Ambrose. He’s still breathing fire about all three of you. This is my little way of getting a bit of revenge.’

‘Thank you Frances.’ Ellie smiled. ‘And give the other girls my love. I miss them.’

‘We miss you too,’ Frances said reflectively. ‘Jimbo went mad at Ambrose when he found out you’d left, we all heard them rowing. Keep your head down for a while, remember you signed a contract with him and he might make things difficult for you. But I must go now, we’ve got yet another rehearsal this morning. I almost wish I’d walked out with you.’

Ellie felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Leaving London for the seaside would be as good as a holiday. There would be no painful reminders of Charley, and maybe in a town that wasn’t littered with bomb-sites she could begin to forget all the hardships and tragedy the war had brought her.

Chapter Nineteen

The old man’s phlegmy cough made Ellie wince. She closed the heavy book, put her notepad in her bag and got up from the library table.

She had a great many fond memories of Bethnal Green Library. It had been a warm, cosy sanctuary on many a cold day when she was a child. She could remember coming here as young as four with her mother to choose picture books. In later years she had spent whole Saturday mornings tucked into a corner by a radiator, transported into a world where girls had large tuck-boxes sent to their posh boarding-schools for midnight feasts, where they rode ponies and spent summer holidays having amazing adventures.

The library had grown shabbier. Once the wood floor was varnished, so shiny it looked wet, the paintwork and brass on the doors gleamed, and there were flowers on the counter. The floor was dull now, all trace of varnish gone, and a smell of disinfectant had replaced polish. There seemed to be fewer books, and all of the popular fiction was dog-eared from continuous borrowing during the war. The wooden armchairs didn’t appear so large, although the seats were as slippery as she remembered. But Ellie was certain that the grey-haired, sharp-nosed lady on the desk was the same one who had pounced on children who sniffed or dared speak above a whisper.

Ellie had forgotten that the library was a haven on a wet day for the old, the sick and for tramps who on fine days sat out in ‘Barmy Park’. Now they sat dozing over newspapers and magazines, their damp clothes steaming, coughing and spluttering, the odours from their unwashed bodies creating a thick, pungent fug.

‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ the grey-haired lady whispered as Ellie came past her desk. She wasn’t often faced with requests for
Burke’s Peerage
and she was curious as to why the black-haired, pretty girl should be so assiduously copying something from it.

‘Yes, thank you,’ Ellie replied, tempted to show what she’d found to the woman and ask her opinion on what some of the abbreviations meant, but afraid she would be asked why she wanted to know. ‘I might come back again another day when it isn’t quite so crowded.’

After Frances had left, Ellie had been so excited at the prospect of joining another show, and the real possibility of leaving London and all its painful memories behind, that she’d been unable to stay indoors and wait until evening to telephone Mr Biggs, even though the grey sky looked as if it promised rain.

She caught the bus to Whitechapel in a moment of nostalgia, wanting to look again at all her old childhood haunts, perhaps even to see some faces she remembered.

But the Blitz had altered everything. Gaps in rows of shops, the space between them still piled high with rubble and dumped rubbish, large beams shoring up adjoining buildings. Even the shops remaining were nothing like those she remembered. Where was the one which stocked fancy wedding dresses? Or Uncle Solly’s, the pawnbrokers, whose windows were a glimpse into Aladdin’s cave, stuffed with everything from ice-skates to gentlemen’s hip flasks. Had Solly died, or merely taken his booty to another less dangerous area? Had people managed to get back their best table-cloths, their sets of false teeth or their wedding rings?

The shops she did recognise were smaller and sadder than the picture she’d kept in her head. Norah’s Woolshop had a partially boarded-up window and merely three or four skeins of wool grouped around some ancient-looking knitting patterns. Lasker’s, the baker’s, had only bread and a few currant buns, not the mouth-watering display of fancies, meat pies and sausage rolls she had once drooled over on her way home from school.

Once in the back streets, it was hard to get her bearings. Complete terraces were gone, and the increased daylight and space confused her. Only the first four houses in Alder Street were still habitable. Another four were shored up, windows boarded over; then came a huge gap where her home and its neighbours had been. Weeds grew waist-high over rubble, and a group of shabbily dressed children were making a camp with some sheets of corrugated iron. Ellie guessed the spot they had chosen was once the back yard of number 18.

‘I used to live here,’ she called out as she clambered over to the children. She hoped to find they were younger brothers and sisters of her old playmates. ‘Do any of you know what happened to Edna and Wilf Ross? They lived downstairs to me.’

The children’s response was disappointing. In Ellie’s time in Alder Street a friendly question from a stranger would have created instant interest and a great deal of unsolicited information and cheek. But these children merely halted their play and stared at her with cold, suspicious eyes.

‘Never ’eard of ’em.’ One gangly ten-year-old boy with closely cropped hair took a couple of steps towards her, his expression suggesting he thought it was more likely she was a truancy officer than someone with a genuine enquiry.

It began to rain then. The children scuttled off and Ellie went back to Whitechapel Road, then turned into the back streets towards Bethnal Green. As she walked, her raincoat becoming sodden, the sights grew more and more depressing. Demolition men seemed to be working everywhere, thick grey dust covering the weeds that sprouted up through debris, the gutters turning to small streams because the drains were blocked. Some of the badly damaged houses were still inhabited, cardboard and rags shoved into broken windows, tarpaulins spread over roofs. The children Ellie saw looked healthier than their counterparts before the war – food rationing for these kids meant a far better diet than their parents had ever had. But there seemed to be an air of despondency now, which this area, for all its deprivations, had never shown before.

Perhaps she was being sentimental, but where was the vibrancy, the bustle? A few men huddled in a group, smoking under the shelter of a church porch, but there was no laughter. They were all shabbily dressed, greasy cloth caps pulled down over grey, sullen faces. Not one of them turned to look at her, much less whistle or smile. A queue of women waited outside a butcher’s shop, their turban-style headscarves and pinnies already wet through. They were silent, all eyes locked into the interior of the shop, as if afraid any distraction would prevent them from getting their fair rations.