Lily of Love Lane (24 page)

They walked to the lockers where they collected their bags. Hattie locked the big door of the workshop and the two girls skipped down the stone steps to the bright afternoon outside.

‘Let’s stop at the market on the way home. I’ll buy you a coffee,’ said Hattie as they walked to the bus stop.

‘All right, but I mustn’t be long,’ Lily agreed reluctantly. She had a lot to do at home whilst her mum had a rest.

‘How is your dad these days?’ Hattie asked curiously.

‘He don’t get about much.’ Lily didn’t like to say that he stayed in bed a lot, refusing to get up all day sometimes. She didn’t think it was good for him to be
waited on hand and foot, but her mother had got into the habit. He relied greatly on the medicines, which he said stopped his cough and eased the pains in his back.

When they reached the bus stop, Hattie looked at her watch. ‘We’re just in time for the early one. Now, don’t forget, we have a church rehearsal this evening.’

‘No, I haven’t forgotten.’

‘We’ll collect you at seven, all right?’

‘Yes, I’ll be ready.’

‘Ben said he might take us out in the lorry to a country pub after. It’s only for a quick drink. You can tell your mum you’ll be back for ten.’

Lily smiled at Hattie’s attempt to reassure her that the outing would be informal. If the weather was nice in the evenings the four of them sometimes went for a drive in the lorry.
Everyone bought their own drinks, the cost of which Lily had to take out of the few shillings she kept from her wage. It seemed a sin to spend it on something that went down her throat and
disappeared. But she didn’t want to appear a bad sport to her friends and have nothing.

The sun shone as they hailed the bus coming towards them. As it arrived, Lily took a last deep breath of fresh air. Even the fumes from the traffic were better than the polluted gases of the
factory.

The market was busy as Lily listened to the familiar cries of the traders. ‘Apples a pound, pears!’ from Ted Shiner and ‘As good as new,’ from Vera
Froud as she held up a bright red skirt. Lily missed the market, but she would never forget the dreadful winter of her unemployment.

As they walked to Reube’s stall, the traders called out to them. ‘That old man of yours gonna make an honest woman of you?’ Vera Froud yelled to Hattie as she stood in her
gabardine mac and boots.

‘He ain’t my old man yet, Vera,’ Hattie returned mischievously. ‘I’m still footloose and fancy free.’

‘Make the most of your freedom, ducks. You’ll miss it when you’ve got half a dozen kids in tow.’

‘How are you, gel?’ Ted Shiner called to Lily. ‘How’s that rotten job of yours?’

Lily laughed. ‘It’s not that bad.’

‘You should come back to the market. If that ugly bugger over there don’t want you, come and work for me.’

Lily laughed again as Reube gave Ted a rude sign. She knew that although Ted wasn’t joking, he could never match the factory wage.

‘Don’t forget me wedding present,’ cried Hattie. ‘I don’t want any of your mouldy old fruit either.’

‘Fussy cow, ain’t she?’ Ted grinned. ‘See you at the church then, gel.’

Reube finished serving a customer, dropping the pennies in the tin that still stood under the counter. ‘To what do I owe the honour of these two lovely ladies calling?’

‘Got anything nice?’ Lily asked, turning over what looked like an assortment of junk. She had noticed now that Reube’s stock was just bits and pieces.

‘Nah. No one wants quality now.’

‘We used to have some good stuff.’

‘That was the good old days.’

Lily felt a little sad to see that Reube had allowed his stock to deplete. She knew that he had put all his savings into pleasing Hattie.

‘Oh, don’t worry about him,’ dismissed Hattie waving her hand. ‘I’ll buy us a coffee.’

Lily sat by the coffee stall and gazed across to the corner where once the Blackshirts had stood, shouting their heads off. Since Oswald Mosley had fallen out of favour with Labour, he had
fallen from grace. Ordinary people were worried about another war starting. Fascism was regarded as dangerous and the police had been given orders to actively curtail any demonstrations.

Suddenly Lily’s heart missed a beat as her gaze fell on the figure of a tall gentleman. His broad shoulders were covered in a light-coloured jacket and on his head he wore a good quality
trilby hat.

She couldn’t take her eyes away and almost stopped breathing. His attention was taken by a pretty young woman standing beside him. Lily clutched her fingers together. Could he be Charles?
He was the same height. If only she could see his face!

Slowly he moved away from the stall. Lily swallowed. He was coming towards her. Then as he looked up, his face became clear. Lily released a long sigh.

It was a trick of light that made him look like Charles. He was a young man of about twenty, with fair features and light coloured eyes. He passed by, smiling attentively at the young woman on
his arm.

Lily watched them go. Her shoulders slowly slumped as bitter disappointment filled her. If only she had accepted Charles’ offer when she’d had the chance! She might have been like
that young girl, so prettily dressed and happy . . .

Did Charles ever think of her? she wondered. Did he recall the evening they had spent on the Embankment and the Sunday morning at Petticoat Lane?

Did his thoughts, even for a second, go to her, as hers did so often to him? As Lily watched the couple disappear into the crowds, she knew she would never know.

Noah Kelly sat high on the cart, beside his old friend, the coalie, Charlie Brent. He could feel the rumble of the wheels stir his bones as they passed from the East India Dock
Road towards Limehouse.

Close to the river, Charlie reined in the big dray and jumped down. A chuckle of amusement escaped his black lips as he reached up to help his passenger.

‘I never thought I’d see the day when Noah Kelly couldn’t hop down from a cart without assistance.’

‘Oh shut your gob, you cheeky bugger,’ Noah growled as he gripped the extended hand. ‘What do you expect for a man of my age?’

‘You ain’t lost your power of speech though, me old friend.’

Noah grinned, despite his rheumatics, as he dropped unsteadily to his feet. ‘Thanks to the good Lord, I’m still equipped with a tongue to defend meself.’

‘You should get yourself a good stick,’ commented his friend lightly. ‘A nice willow. Strong enough to take yer weight. Though there ain’t that much of you these
days.’

‘I’ll be on me last legs when I do that. Whilst I can put one foot in front of me, I’ll use me two pins.’

‘What brings you over this way so regular?’ Charlie enquired curiously. ‘Limehouse is a tidy step from Love Lane.’

‘Mind yer own business,’ Noah responded, making his companion chuckle once more. ‘What time are you due back this way?’

‘As usual, you want another free ride?’

‘Well, I sure ain’t gonna pay you.’

‘Damn cheek you have, old man.’

Noah looked at his friend, a man half a dozen years younger than himself and still active. He was a lucky blighter. Noah envied him his blackened cart and the strong horse that pulled it. As the
smell of the animal blew into his nose, he remembered past times. If only he was still sitting up on the cart now and driving his beast, with Lily beside him. If only he was fit and able and two
decades younger, he would provide for her but life had taken away his strength and now every breath he took was an effort.

‘I’ll return at four,’ said his friend. ‘You know me rules, I ain’t waiting about if you’re not here.’

‘I’ll be on this spot, don’t you worry.’

‘Then, take care.’ The coalie hesitated, his eyes showing concern for the elderly man who looked as delicate as a cobweb. ‘You’re a daft old man, you know that? Coming
over this way so often yer pushing yer luck with the Yellows. A bloke half your age don’t want to be wandering round these parts even in daylight.’

‘I can take care of meself.’ Noah Kelly turned and, pulling down his cap and buttoning up the collar of his overcoat, walked unsteadily towards the river.

He was relieved to hear the clip clop of the horse’s hooves as the cart left. For a moment there he had thought his friend would follow him. Despite the insults they traded, he had known
Charlie for all of his life. The kid had been born in the Flocks’ house, his mother expiring as she birthed him. His old man had run off and the boy put into a home up Essex way. It
hadn’t stopped him returning fifteen years later to work for a bargee, humping the great sacks of coke on his back. Noah recalled how when the boy had bought himself his first cart, they
would stop to discuss the day’s business, then nip smartly down to shovel up the dung. Those were good times; the best.

He made his way gingerly past the old warehouses on the waterfront and eventually turned into Stowe Street. The sun’s rays illuminated the cobbles and the leaning, tumbling buildings on
either side. It was a clear day and he stopped to remove his pince-nez, swat them with a rag, and rebalance them again.

The mission he had undertaken for Bob Bright four years ago had caused him to make this journey many times since. Perhaps he should never have begun it, but Bob Bright was a good man at heart.
He had ailed though, and grasped desperately at any little relief.

As Noah neared the dismal shack, his heart pounded. He’d followed this path when he was young. The memories tumbled back of the woman, then a great beauty. Her hair had been as black as a
raven, eyes like black almonds. His heart had missed a beat every time he’d tied Samson to the post and gone inside with all the daring and passion of youth.

But now his mission was for his brother-in-law and Noah shivered as he tried to catch his breath. No noise, just the river and its journeymen and the scent of the ebbing tide and a deeper more
pungent smell, that forced his old heart even faster.

Ramshackle and decayed, the little houses leaned this way and that. Some missing altogether where the river had washed them away. He stood quietly, assessing the slum, the crossed struts of wood
barring entry or exit. He walked towards it, as though it might disappear in a blink. Then raising his clenched fist he knocked three times in slow succession. He said, without being asked,
‘It’s me.’

Receiving no reply, he pushed and the hinges rattled. Even this noise aroused him still, a promise of what and who was inside. The door creaked open. A bent figure paused in the shadows. And all
around him the stench of the den, creeping into his lungs.

‘Woman, is it you?’

The bent figure halted. An oil lantern glowed on a table. He walked towards it, watching the roaches skim and scuttle. He heard the door creak behind him and turned sharply. The big Lascar had
dropped the bar down.

Noah paid little attention to the Indian seaman who stood a head and shoulders above him. It was the woman who interested him.

‘Want smokey, Kelly-Kelly?’ she enquired. Her once black hair hung limp and grey, woven into a plait. The emerald silk of her robe shone lustrously in the light.

‘Up from the bowels of the earth, are you again, Mai Chi?’ he demanded, a catch in his voice.

‘Mai got plenty for Kelly-Kelly.’

He nodded slowly. ‘Aye, that I know.’

The small, bent figure moved sharply back into the shadows. ‘Follow Mai, Kelly-Kelly.’

She beckoned and he followed. Down into the room below, taking each step with care as the rotten wood creaked and groaned beneath his weight. When he reached ground, he saw nothing. The woman
touched his arm. He shuddered once more. Then followed again, to the single light of a candle.

Ben drove the lorry through Whitechapel to Shadwell, enjoying the summer’s day. It was late afternoon and he had finished early, intending to pause at the Quarry for
refreshment. The tavern would be closed, but Ernie would take him to the back room and join him for a smoke and swift ale. He would be home before six and still have time to wash and brush up
before supper.

At seven he and Reube were off to the church and Ben smiled to himself. He didn’t care much for the religious formalities, but afterwards he was taking them all for a drive. Reube and
Hattie could sit in the back, on a blanket. With the canvas roof removed they could look up at the stars, enjoy a bit of romance. It would be an excuse to be alone with Lil.

Whistling happily, he turned towards Limehouse. The late traffic was noisy, held up by a slow-moving cart. Absorbed by his thoughts, he slowed the lorry. Where would he take them tonight?
Perhaps up Bromley way, through a nice bit of green, to watch the dusk blow over the trees and melt softly into their path. He knew a tavern off the Manor Road, the Black Cat. It had a garden and
benches where they could enjoy a drink.

The traffic moved slowly along, until the bus in front of him turned off. The cart that had slowed things down was a coal cart. It was piled high with empty sacks and at once Ben recognized the
two figures that sat above the big horse. Noah Kelly and Charlie Brent. This was not the first time he’d seen them on his return from the city. For a short while, Ben followed at a distance,
his eyes steady on the cart.

Slowly it began to roll off. Ben watched it turn towards the island, whilst heading the lorry to his last port of call, a tobacconist’s in Poplar.

As he drew up at the shop and parked outside, Ben considered the puzzle of Lily’s uncle. Limehouse was not a salubrious place to visit by any stretch of the imagination. The Chinese ran
the district, the Yellows as they were known. Ben scratched his chin thoughtfully.

Limehouse . . . not a place even the island coalie would have business in. What interest could Noah Kelly have there?

Lily had sung and laughed so much as they travelled home from the Black Cat, that her sides ached. As she sat beside Ben in the cab, they could hear Reube and Hattie’s
voices drifting in from the back through the open windows. They were singing ‘Walkin’ My Baby Back Home’ as they snuggled on the blanket thrown over the lorry’s floor,
affording them a view of the star-filled night and a beautiful silver moon.