Lizzie of Langley Street (21 page)

Frank shrugged. ‘We’ll give our order. They won’t wait all day.’

‘Your usual, Mr Flowers?’ asked the waitress with a smile.

‘Yeah, thank you, Rose. And the same for the young lady. Oh, and two lemonades please. And, er . . . we’re expecting someone only he ain’t shown up yet.’

Rose gave Lizzie a quick glance. ‘I’ll put your orders through anyway.’

‘She’s very pretty.’ Lizzie wondered if Rose was one of the conquests that Reg Barnes had alluded to at the Christmas party when he had called Frank a Casanova?

‘Is she? Can’t say as I’d noticed.’

The two tall glasses of lemonade arrived, a thin slice of lemon floating on the fizzy tops. ‘To us!’ Frank lifted his glass and chinked it against hers.

Rose brought their meals. Succulent lamb chops with gravy running over them, crisp brown baked potatoes and mint sauce served in a little glass dish with a silver spoon. Frank served her a
portion. Her knife slipped through the tender meat like butter; she had never tasted anything so delicious. In no time at all she had eaten every scrap.

Frank glanced at her plate. ‘Pretty good for someone with a small appetite.’

She giggled. ‘I can’t believe I’ve eaten all that.’

‘And you ain’t finished yet.’ Frank nodded to the puddings that Rose brought to the table. The pie and custard disappeared as quickly as the chops. After their empty dishes
were removed, Lizzie gasped. ‘I forgot. Mr Cole ain’t turned up!’

‘No, he ain’t, has he?’ Frank frowned. ‘All I can say is, I’m sorry I dragged you up here. It’s a bit embarrassing, actually.’

‘If Mr Cole can’t be bothered to turn up on time for an appointment like this,’ she said as they stared at the door, ‘I wouldn’t like to depend on his delivery
service.’

Frank looked at her for a long while before replying. Arching one eyebrow he nodded slowly. ‘You got a point there, gel. You ain’t even met the bloke and you’ve sussed him out
already.’

‘Oh, I shouldn’t have said that.’ Lizzie wished she’d kept quiet.

‘Yes you should,’ Frank said at once. ‘He’s stood us up, ain’t he?’ Frank glanced at her quickly. ‘That’s not to say I ain’t enjoyed every
minute of yer company.’

Lizzie blushed. They were silent for a moment, then Frank got up and went to the till to pay. When he came back, he pulled out her chair and she stood up.

‘Sorry you come for nothin’,’ he said gruffly.

They stood outside on the pavement and Frank rubbed his chin. ‘Tell you what, let’s take a walk back up to Saint Paul’s – should see a few nice carriages on a day like
this. Then we can catch a bus from Cannon Street to the convalescent home. Take Flo that big bunch of flowers.’

‘Well . . . I don’t know . . .’

‘A bit of exercise to walk off our dinner won’t go amiss.’

She didn’t argue. She wanted to see Flo. Going across the city now would mean she wouldn’t have to get a bus later. They turned the corner of Shoe Lane and Frank pointed up at Saint
Paul’s. ‘Looks like a picture postcard, don’t it? A real work of art.’

Lizzie nodded, enthralled. ‘Miss Evans taught us there’s six hundred steps to the Whispering Gallery.’ She laughed. ‘After them lamb chops I dunno if I’d even get
up the first few.’

‘Blimey, you wouldn’t catch me trying it,’ Frank chuckled. ‘Come on, let’s get them flowers for Flo.’

She chose chrysanthemums, lilies and sweet Williams from a stall on Cannon Street. Frank insisted on paying for them.

‘This is the new K type,’ Frank told her as they jumped on the bus and sat down. ‘The driver sits behind that shield over the engine. Gives him a bit of protection. Pretty
smart contraptions ain’t they?’

Lizzie felt as though she was on holiday, though as she’d never had one she could only guess at what that felt like. She gazed out at the bustling streets. ‘Oh, Frank, I love London.
I reckon we live in the best city in the world.’

‘It would take something to beat it,’ Frank agreed, sliding his arm along the back of the seat. ‘I wouldn’t give you a shilling for the likes of Sydney.’

For a moment Lizzie continued to look out of the window, then slowly she turned to stare at him. ‘Sydney? What made you say Sydney?’

Frank blinked his fair lashes. ‘Did I say Sydney?’

‘Yes . . . you did. Have you heard from Danny?’ Her heart started to beat very fast.

‘No, course not. Sydney just tripped off me tongue. Dunno what I said that for.’ Frank drew his arm from the back of the seat and loosened his tie. ‘I said it ’cos it was
the first place I thought of, seeing as how our Danny’s there, or so we hope.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose me little brother’s on me mind, not hearing from him. Blimey, gel,
don’t you think I’d tell you if I’d heard? In fact, I’d bet me last bob that it would be you he’d write to first, not me or the old man. After all, you are his girl,
aren’t you?’

She nodded sadly, hope quickly turning to despair. She felt suddenly empty, as if all the joy had gone out of the day. For one moment she had thought Frank may have heard something –
anything – about Danny.

‘Hey, come on, cheer up.’ Frank nudged her. ‘He’ll be writing to you soon. It can’t be much longer now.’

She managed a smile. Then, looking out of the window, she blinked back the tears. It wouldn’t do to let Frank see her upset. After all, he was trying to cheer her up. She didn’t want
to seem ungrateful.

The old Victorian manor house loomed out of the trees. Grange Mount was used as a convalescent home for patients discharged from hospital but still recovering from infectious
diseases. The corridors were dark and gloomy, the dormitories austere. Lizzie always tried to make her visits bright. Last time she had come she’d brought a cover for Flo’s bed.
Comprising odd pieces of material stitched together to form a quilt of many colours, she had hemmed it round in blue stitching.

In Flo’s dormitory there were six beds, three on each side of the room. Flo was reading a book on one of them as Lizzie entered.

She looked up. ‘Oh, Lizzie, you’ve come!’

Lizzie went to hug her. ‘Course I’ve come. Don’t I always?’

‘Yes, but I always think you might not.’

‘That’s daft.’ Lizzie held Flo away to inspect her. She had lost all her puppy fat and her cheeks were pinched, but her lank brown hair had grown and had a nice shine to
it.

‘Do you think they’ll let me out soon?’ Flo asked miserably.

Lizzie sat on the bed. ‘The doctor said you’re nearly better. It won’t be long before you’re home.’ She didn’t want to raise Flo’s hopes. The matron had
been very non-committal when asked about Flo’s release date.

‘They ain’t said nothing to me.’ Flo looked belligerent and Lizzie smiled. That was more like the old Flo.

‘Dr Tap has told me I’ve got to feed you up when you come home. And you’ll have to take yer medicine.’

‘But we ain’t got no money for medicine.’

‘We’ll manage,’ Lizzie assured her. ‘I’m working five days a week at the shop now. Trade’s really picked up. Next time you even so much as sneeze, day or
night, I’m going to send Bert round for old Tap.’

They laughed, sending a happy echo around the drab room. ‘I don’t think Dr Tap would like seeing Bert in the middle of the night,’ giggled Flo. ‘Bert would scare
’im to death.’

‘’Specially in his long johns.’ Lizzie wiped the tears from her eyes. It was so good to laugh again.

‘Where’s that little girl you made friends with?’ Lizzie glanced at the next bed. There was no pillow, only a blanket draped over it.

‘Louise?’ Flo bit down on her lip. ‘One night they came and took her away. The nurses and doctors were wearing them ’orrible white clothes. They all looked like
ghosts.’

Lizzie remembered what the sister had said at the hospital about seeing ‘ghosts’. Her mind went back to Flo lying in that narrow bed, with the fever raging through her. She realized
now that she was one of the lucky ones that the ‘ghosts’ had never spirited away.

‘Let’s go in the garden.’ Lizzie changed the subject quickly. ‘I’ve brought someone with me who wants to see you.’

‘Is it Bert?’ Flo asked excitedly as she pulled on her coat.

‘No . . . no, it ain’t Bert. It’s Frank. He’s got a present for you.’

‘Oh.’ Flo looked away.

‘Ain’t you pleased?’

‘Why has he come to visit me?’

‘’Cos he likes you, that’s why.’

‘How can he like me, if he don’t know me?’

‘But he does know you. He always gives me the grapes – he’s been very kind.’ Lizzie linked her arm through Flo’s ‘He’s bought you a big bunch of flowers
to cheer you up.’

At the door, Flo stopped, tears in her eyes. ‘I can’t wait to come home.’

‘It won’t be long now.’

‘Can we go down Island Gardens again? Like we used to when we were kids.’

Lizzie laughed. ‘Course we can.’

‘And buy sherbet dips and play on the swings?’

They were laughing and crying together now. Lizzie hugged her, closing her eyes. ‘Oh, Flo. I’ve missed you.’ When she pulled away, she sniffed back the tears.
‘We’re a daft pair, ain’t we?’

They held hands as they walked along the corridor, singing, ‘All of our troubles and cares of the day, like silver bubbles drifting away. Just a cosy nest, sweet and Heaven blessed, like a
bluebird’s nest in Sleepy Valley.’

‘W
hen’s young Flo coming home?’ Vi Catcher asked in a curious voice.

Lil was waiting for Reg Barnes to trim the fat from the mince. She intended to cook it for Doug tonight, with a few fried onions. She hoped Reg wouldn’t take long. If she got talking to Vi
she’d be standing here till dusk. ‘Sometime today,’ she told Vi, who was next in line at the meat stall. It was Wednesday at Cox Street market and trade was brisk.

‘They ain’t sending her home on a bus are they?’

‘Course not. The ladies up Hailing House offered to fetch her in their motor car.’

‘Only right they should an’ all. A blooming great vehicle like that just standing idle waiting for—’

‘Yeah, it was a nice gesture,’ Lil said before Vi got into her stride. ‘That’ll do nicely Reg,’ she called hurriedly to the butcher. ‘Doug don’t mind a
bit of fat here and there.’

‘I been meaning to call,’ Vi continued, ‘but I don’t want to intrude.’

‘There ain’t much Lizzie can’t cope with,’ Lil said briskly, wishing Reg would get a move on. He was trimming the meat and gassing with the customers at the same time.
‘Needless to say she’s over the moon about Flo.’

‘She was lucky, that little ’un, she could ’ave had an ’emorrhage. Wonder if Reg has got any more of that mince going cheap.’ Vi glanced at Lil. ‘You still
got to eat, ain’t you, no matter what happens.’

Lil nodded. ‘You’d better catch his eye quick.’

But Vi was not to be rushed. ‘Unlucky house, number eighty-two. I’ve had my share of misfortune, but what with Tom losing his legs, then Kate going and that Vinnie turning out such a
bug—’

Lil swung round, her dark eyes flashing. ‘Well, you could look at it like that,’ she told Vi crisply, ‘or you could say the Allens were past the worst. At least Tom came home
from the bloody war and Flo beat the fever. And if I know Lizzie, she won’t let the grass grow under her feet when it comes to keeping the family together!’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Vi agreed hurriedly. ‘I just meant they had a bit of bad luck, that’s all.’

‘Well, looks like it’s changed to good now,’ Lil added tartly as she turned back to Reg Barnes and reached over for the parcel of meat wrapped in newspaper.

Reg winked at Lil. He raised his thick dark eyebrows at Vi. ‘Now what can I do for you, young lady?’

‘None of yer lip, you cheeky sod. I want what she had only cheaper. And trim off the fat. I like mine lean.’

‘Cows don’t fall off trees, you know,’ called the butcher, passing Lil her change.

‘No, they fall straight into your bloody lap!’ shouted Vi, and the women round the stall all laughed.

‘Well, I’d better be on me way,’ said Lil quickly. ‘I’ll tell Lizzie you asked after her.’

‘You do that. And tell her if she wants anything—’

‘I’ll tell her. And watch him with that mince,’ Lil grinned. ‘You never know what comes out of that mincer.’

‘Only the best for you ladies,’ shouted Reg, enjoying the joke. ‘Cross me ’eart and ’ope to fly.’

‘It’s not you ’eart you’ll want crossing,’ bawled Vi. ‘It’ll be that big greasy palm of yours that you keeps shoving under our noses!’

Lil hurried off, pushing the meat deep into her shopping bag. She could still hear Vi’s voice bellowing out. Vi was all right, but feed her a titbit and it would be headlines by tea
time.

Lil made her way across to the fish stall.

‘Yer looking glam as usual,’ cried Boston, twirling his handlebar moustache under his straw boater. ‘Must be the quality of all me fish that keeps you looking so blooming
healthy.’

‘It ain’t yer fish, you saucy bugger,’ smiled Lil. ‘Got me heads and tails?’

Boston reached under the stall and brought out a package. ‘That cat of yours must catch rats the size of elephants on what you gives it to eat.’

‘As long it don’t start bringing elephants to the back door, I ain’t complaining.’ Lil tucked the parcel on top of the meat. ‘While I’m here I might as well
have a bit of rock salmon for tomorrow. I’m gonna do me neighbour a nice fish pie for supper.’

‘You mean Lizzie?’ Boston asked quietly.

‘Yeah,’ Lil nodded. ‘Flo’s comin’ home today.’

‘The fever well and truly cleared up has it?’

‘Well, the kid wouldn’t be coming home if it wasn’t, would she? Now concentrate on what you’re cutting up on that slate of yours. I don’t want no bones.’

The fishmonger grinned. ‘Trust me, gel.’

‘That’s what they all say,’ smirked Lil. ‘I’d trust you just as far as I could throw you, cock.’

Lil liked shopping at the market. All right, none of the traders were saints. Everyone knew that Reg Barnes had a bit on the side and Elfie Goldblum would flog you brass for gold if he could get
away with it. Fat Freda had been known to slip you the wrong change – to her advantage, of course – and Boston Brown’s fish hadn’t always come straight from Billingsgate.
But they were a good laugh and took all the insults with a smile.