Ironmonger's Daughter (52 page)

‘No,’ she replied quickly.

‘It’s all right. Don’t looked so shocked. Nufink ’appened,’ he said sitting down on the edge of the bed. ‘We didn’t get very far, we was both too drunk.’

Connie stood up quickly and felt the nausea returning. She grabbed her handbag from the dressing table and put her hand to her forehead. ‘I’d better get ’ome. They’ll be worried. What time is it?’

Derek glanced at his wristwatch. ‘It’s ten past nine. What about some breakfast before yer go?’

The thought of food made her stomach turn over and she shook her head. ‘No fanks, I mus’ get ’ome.’

She hurried away from the terraced house in Dover Square and almost ran the short distance to Salter Street.

As she let herself in through the side door Connie heard Dora call out. ‘That you, Con?’

The landlady of the Dolphin looked up as Connie walked into the kitchen. She was clad in a pink dressing gown and her hair was dotted with curlers. ‘We was gettin’ worried when yer never come in. You all right?’

Connie nodded and sat down in the easy chair with a sigh. ‘It was late when the party ended so I slept on the settee. I’m okay, just a bit of an ’eadache.’

Dora took the teapot from the top of the kitchen range and poured out two cups of tea. She handed one to Connie and then sat down facing her. ‘Bill an’ me was a bit worried you goin’ off wiv that Steve Barnett’s crowd, Con. They’re a no-good lot an’, from what I’ve ’eard about their parties, a young girl ain’t safe in their company.’

Connie gave Dora a wan smile. ‘It’s all right, I never got raped or anyfing. I just ’ad a lot ter drink, that’s all.’

Dora sipped her tea. ‘That’s anuvver fing me an’ Bill are worried about, Connie. Yer drink far too much fer a young girl. If yer not careful yer’ll do yerself some damage.’

Connie did not reply. Instead she sipped her tea slowly, her eyes staring down over the cup.

‘Billy Argrieves didn’t come in last night, did ’e?’ Dora asked after a lengthy pause. ‘Bill told me ’is muvver came in earlier an’ she was a bit upset.’

‘What did she ’ave ter say, Dora?’

Dora put down her empty cup and studied her feet. ‘Accordin’ to ’er, my Bill was wrong ter say ’e was gonna bar young Billy. She reckons it was that Angelo who started it all. I fink she’s right there. That crowd are a right flash lot. They fink they own the bloody pub.’

Connie sighed. ‘I ’ope it don’t stop Billy comin’ in. ’E’s got a lot better lately, an’ ’e’s chattin’ more. ’E was tellin’ me the ovver night ’e’s finkin’ o’ goin’ after a job. I ’ope ’e does. It’ll be good fer ’im.’

Dora gathered up the teacups. ‘You just be careful, Connie. Mind what I’ve said. We don’t wanna see yer come ter grief. Gawd knows yer’ve ’ad yer share already.’

Connie went up to her room and threw herself down on the bed. The sickness had eased but her head was throbbing. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the party. She recalled dancing with Angelo in the crowded room. There had been a lot of drink and she vaguely remembered him encouraging her to try something different, which tasted bitter, like liquorice. She remembered getting hot and uncomfortable soon after. The only other thing she could recall was leaving the party and crossing the street and then climbing up a dark flight of stairs. Connie turned on her side and bit on her clenched fist. Derek said that nothing had happened, she thought to herself, but he hadn’t sounded convincing. She wondered what had been in that funny-tasting drink and whether it had had anything to do with her ending up in his bed.

She thought hard about the man as she lay in the quiet room. He was attractive in a rugged sort of way and he had a sense of humour, but she could not understand why she had gone off with him to his flat. She did not feel physically attracted to the man. It must have been the drink, she concluded. Dora was right. She was drinking too much. On three occasions recently when she had been in men’s company she had allowed them to take advantage of her. The drink was breaking down her self-control and making her an easy prey. She knew that she was behaving like her mother had and the thought was a painful one. She knew that people would soon start talking. They would call her a loose woman and say that it was only natural, that she was taking after Kate. The realisation made her feel suddenly frightened.

She sat up on the bed, her heart beating rapidly and looked around the room. Her eye caught sight of the little gold locket lying on the dressing table. For a while she stared at it, and then she went over and picked it up. Her eyes filled with tears of self-pity as she squeezed the trinket in her clenched hand. Helen seemed to be mocking her from beyond the grave and it made her angry that her aunt had waited until she was on her death bed before deciding to give her the locket. She must have known all along who Bonny was. Why else would she have concealed the whereabouts of the thing? Connie prised open the trinket and stared again at the tiny inscription. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and reaffirmed her vow that no matter what happened, no matter how long it took, she would find out about her father, and why he had walked out on his family all that time ago. It was a challenge she would never give up; it would be a quest which would sustain her, whatever lay ahead.

 

Billy Argrieves walked out into the Old Kent Road and made his way to the Bricklayers Arms. It was a fresh spring morning and the traffic was heavy as he reached the junction. He stood at the tram stop and waited in the queue for a number sixty-eight to arrive. His stomach was turning over at the thought of going to the labour exchange, but he knew that it was something he had to do. The alternative would be another medical to establish his amount of disability and what sort of pension the army would grant him. Billy was aware that his body wounds had healed completely and the assessment would be made solely on his emotional state. He could tell the doctors about the headaches and the nightmares which still plagued him, and the terror he felt just talking to other people. He could tell them how difficult it was to walk into a pub on his own, or even just go out of the house, and they might be sympathetic towards him. He would then be given a small pension and spend the rest of his life moping around the house and sinking further into depression. The local people would see him as some sort of idle layabout and take the rise out of him even more. They would not care that he was a war casualty, he would just be an idiot to them who they could mock and throw scorn at.

The noise of the tram interrupted Billy’s thoughts as it drew up at the stop. He jumped aboard and climbed the steep flight of stairs to the upper deck. He realised that he had always ridden on the top deck of a tram. The rocking and swaying seemed more pronounced and he could see more from up there. He handed over his fare and watched as the miserable conductor clipped a ticket in the machine strapped around his middle. Billy was grateful for the man’s silence. He knew that tram conductors were well known for their line of small talk and banter and he did not want to get involved in any sort of discussion. The tram shuddered as it progressed slowly past the stalls in Tower Bridge Road and Billy leaned back in his seat.

What sort of a job would they offer him? he wondered. It would probably be factory work, for he had no trade. Maybe they would offer him some sort of outdoor job. That would be better, he thought. Being cooped up inside did not appeal to him very much. In any case, he must get something. He would then be able to go into the pub and buy Connie a drink. She might even like to go out with him if she knew he had a job. The tram squealed to a stop outside the bomb-damaged vinegar factory and Billy felt the hurt and anger welling up inside of him as he thought of his last visit to the Dolphin. Connie must be thinking he was a trouble-maker who couldn’t hold his drink. Even if he got a job and plucked up the courage to ask her out she would probably refuse. It was obvious she liked those smartly dressed people, like the crowd who started the trouble the other night. They were flash boys with money to burn and the dark-haired one must have impressed Connie for her to have left the pub with him like she did.

The tram swung around into Tooley Street and picked up speed. Billy closed his eyes and pictured her. Her hair was shining and she smiled at him. He saw her white even teeth and her pale-blue eyes which seemed to sparkle. He could see her clearly as she moved about the bar and he opened his eyes suddenly. He promised himself that if he got a job he’d get a suit and a new shirt. He could buy a pair of those shiny black shoes he used to wear and a new tie. He would have to try to ignore the taunts when he went into the pub though. Maybe if he smartened himself up the flash boys would leave him alone and Connie might be impressed enough to go out with him.

The thought of asking her out made him swallow hard. He would never be able to pluck up the courage. She would probably only laugh at him. As his thoughts raced Billy felt himself getting hot and uncomfortable. He fought to rid himself of the recurring vision and a cold sweat began to break out on his forehead. The plane was coming towards him, flying low, its wings spread out like a diving eagle reaching down for its prey. Gun flashes blinded him as bullets splattered into the sand and he clawed at the wet grit in an attempt to escape. He felt the bullet hit him and the burning pain in his back. Billy clenched his fists and breathed deeply as he tried to escape from the nightmarish images. He heard the conductor’s voice coming from a long way off.

‘Next stop the Tunnel.’

The tram shuddered to a stop and the white-faced young man jumped down. He walked briskly along Brunel Road, hoping his exertion would banish the dark thoughts that clouded his mind, and he was breathing heavily when he reached the labour exchange.

 

The week’s work had started as usual for the head barrel-washer at Hayden’s pickle factory. In the yard there was a line of empty, smelly hogsheads, and as he sat down on an upturned box and squeezed into his rubber boots Toby was feeling a little apprehensive. The sudden confrontation with the escaped prisoner in the shelter had been a shock to say the least, even if they had got on afterwards. But Marie had received a letter from the man, asking if she would consider taking him on as a lodger. It was that bloody interfering uncle of hers, Toby thought. Marie had told him about Dennis Foreman’s new identity and said there was nothing to worry about, but what about that bleedin’ copper? He was on the lookout for any new face in the area. Supposing he spotted Dennis and saw through his disguise? It would mean prison for the whole family. Marie would be sorry. She wouldn’t be able to nag those warders in Holloway. Then there was Lillian. She might take a shine to the lodger and find out who he really was. Lil was a good girl but she was apt to be talkative at times, Toby had to admit. Maybe he should put his foot down and firmly tell Marie he would not allow her to take in lodgers. That wouldn’t do any good, he reflected. Marie never took any notice of what he said. He might just as well be the lodger himself, for all the respect they showed him. It wasn’t as if he was still totting. He had a respectable steady job and he brought home his unopened wage packet every week. Some men wouldn’t stand for it. Some men would have upped and left long ago.

The factory manager was staring down from his office window. ‘What’s he doing? Is he on strike or something?’ he said aloud. ‘The bloody clown’s been sitting there with his hands under his chin for the last ten minutes.’ He leaned out of the window and cupped a hand around his mouth. ‘Oi you!’ he called out.

‘Who me?’ Toby said, getting up from the box.

‘Yes, you. Are you going to start work, or do you expect those barrels to get up and take a shower!?’

‘I’m jus’ gettin’ started, sir. Right away, sir,’ Toby replied, swearing under his breath.

The manager shut the window and Toby tied on his rubber apron which reached down to the floor. ‘Bloody ole goat,’ he mumbled aloud. ‘I’d like ter nail ’im up in one of those dirty barrels an’ roll the bleeder off Tower Bridge.’

By the time Iris Turner brought out his mug of tea at eleven o’clock Toby had made good progress. At least half of the barrels were cleaned and turned upside down to drain.

‘There yer are, luv,’ Iris said, giving him a beaming smile.

Toby grinned back and sat down on the box again. Iris stood over him and watched closely as he unwrapped his cheese sandwich, her large eyes unblinking and her full bottom lip hanging loose. Iris was a large middle-aged woman who had spent most of her adult life taking care of her ailing mother. When the old lady died Iris realised that she had left it a bit late to get married and, until Toby came on the scene, she was content to spend her time caring for her cats and going once a week to the women’s meeting held at the local church. Things had suddenly changed for Iris. She felt sorry for the inoffensive little character and for the way he was spoken to by the yard manager. All Iris’s mothering instincts came to the fore in the presence of Toby and it had become one of her little pleasures to take him his morning tea. Iris had realised with some surprise that strange feelings were manifesting themselves within her. She had even dreamed about Toby one night, and from then on she had decided to make a play for him. She soon found out by a tactful approach that he was married to a dominating woman who, according to the little man, frequently cracked the whip. Iris’s womanly feelings blossomed whenever she saw him and at every opportunity she was on hand to give him comfort and to make him aware that she would be a good catch, should he decide to leave the virago.

While Toby munched on his sandwich Iris took out a small package from her apron pocket and unwrapped it.

‘Would you care for a slice of Spanish onion, Toby? It’s nice with cheese.’

Toby took the slice of onion and slipped it in his sandwich. He was not too fond of Spanish onions, and he knew that Marie would no doubt have something to say about his breath when he got home that night. Nevertheless, he did not want to upset Iris. She had been nice to him, and those large jars of pickles she smuggled out from the dispatch department were proving to be profitable. Toby was also aware of her interest in him and he felt flattered. He had started using brilliantine on his thinning hair each morning, to the disgust of Marie. ‘It makes yer bonce look like a polished apple. Anybody’d fink yer was workin’ in a bleedin’ office,’ she moaned.