Lizzie of Langley Street (28 page)

Lizzie sank down on a chair. It all felt too much, as though her brain was going to burst. ‘But why would he do that?’

Lil bit her lip. ‘Saw a business opportunity, I ’spect.’

Lizzie knew what Lil really meant. That Vinnie trampled over anything and anyone, even his own family, if there was money at the end of it. ‘We’re only guessing,’ Lizzie said
vaguely.

‘We ain’t far wrong, and you know it,’ Lil said with a sigh.

‘What about Bert?’ Lizzie asked faintly.

‘The poor sod is terrified of them women. He won’t go back whilst they’re there.’

‘But it’s his home, not theirs.’

‘It was,’ Lil said sharply.

‘Maybe I should tell the police.’

‘What good’s that gonna do if your Vinnie’s paid the rent and got a rent book? You can bet yer life he’s bunged old Symons a few extra quid to back him up, otherwise
you’d have had the old skinflint on yer doorstep a month ago.’

Lizzie tried to think, but grief kept getting in the way. She was feeling so many conflicting emotions. She was beyond tears. A terrible emptiness had taken hold of her. She knew she should
fight for the house, but she didn’t have the conviction.

‘Come on, gel, it’ll all work out,’ Lil said, patting her shoulder. ‘Bert’s welcome to kip on the mattress in the front room, like yer Pa did, till
everything’s sorted out. He’s no trouble. In fact, Doug likes the company.’

‘You sure, Lil?’

‘Wouldn’t say if I didn’t mean it, would I?’ Lil got up and put on the kettle, resorting to another cup of tea to bolster them, before telling the men.

T
he months passed slowly by and there was no news from the police. It was December once more and the nights were closing in. Hundreds of chimneys
puffed out smoke, mixing with the mist that rose from the river. A damp yellow fog spread over the houses. It was Saturday evening and Lizzie was in the storeroom with Bill.

‘Bert doing the last of them deliveries?’ Bill wheezed as he spat on the big brass scale and polished it with his elbow.

Lizzie nodded, her back beginning to ache. She was glad it was the end of the week. Tomorrow was bath night. The old tin bath was filled with kettles of hot water in front of the open fire.

‘He should be back soon. Then we’ll close up.’

‘Ain’t seen that son of mine around for a while,’ Bill muttered. He glanced at her sharply.

Lizzie hadn’t seen Frank all week. She knew he would turn up when he was hungry or needed money.

‘You all right, gel?’ Bill Flowers’ gruff voice broke into her thoughts.

She nodded, reaching for the broom.

‘You looked a bit like my Daisy, then,’ he told her. ‘She was always sweepin’ up. A good little worker, she was. You two would have got on like a house on
fire.’

It was the first time Bill had spoken intimately of his dead wife. ‘How did you manage after she died, Bill?’

He shrugged. ‘Gertie came in to ’elp, didn’t she? Give the baby his milk and keep an eye on Frank. Trouble was, Frank never took to her. He missed his mother. The doctor told
Daisy she shouldn’t have no more after Frank. But it weren’t no good telling Daisy about kids. She had it in her mind to have a clutch of ’em.’ The old man
stared into space, his lips trembling. ‘Frank was three when it happened. He somehow
thought that Danny was responsible for Daisy going.’

‘But she died in childbirth,’ Lizzie protested. ‘Danny couldn’t help that.’

‘Frank never saw it that way. Felt bitter, even as a kid. And his nature ain’t improved. You know that better than anyone.’

Lizzie knew. Frank had been a different person before their marriage, kind and caring. Why had he changed? Or had he changed? Had she just thought he was someone else?

‘Still,’ Bill changed the subject quickly, ‘this won’t get the work done. He bent to lift a sack of potatoes on to his back, a slow and painful process.

‘I wish you’d leave that to Bert,’ Lizzie said anxiously.

‘The day I can’t pick up a sack of spuds I’m finished.’ Bill humped the sack to the back of the storeroom and dropped it beside the others.

Knowing she couldn’t stop him, Lizzie finished sweeping the floor. Then she put on her coat and went to the till and rang up the day’s takings. The books on the shelf below were all
up to date. Although business was good, more money was going out than coming in. The shop was up fifty per cent up on last year. So was Frank’s spending. A fact neither she nor Bill had the
power to change.

It was half past six when Lizzie locked up. Bert and Bill went off to the pub. Lizzie hurried down to the airey, wondering if Flo was in. She had left school in August and found work as an
office clerk. Since the office was in the pickle factory it was a kind of compromise. Saturday was Flo’s half day.

When Lizzie walked in, Flo and Sydney Miller were standing in the middle of the room. They broke apart quickly.

‘Hello, Mrs Flowers.’ Sydney Miller wasn’t tall, standing just an inch above Flo, but he was well built and upright. His cap was stuffed in his pocket and his brown hair was
cut neatly, short back and sides. His boots were shining, a fact that didn’t escape Lizzie’s quick eyes.

‘Hello, Sydney.’ Lizzie took off her coat, wondering what to do. She knew that, whether she liked Sydney or not, Flo was going to have her own way.

‘Sydney walked me home,’ Flo said hurriedly, going bright pink.

‘Where have you been?’

‘For a walk. Over Blackheath. We passed Rickards and waved to Ethel.’

‘So what are you doing now?’ Lizzie looked at Sydney, who didn’t seem like a ruffian. In fact, she couldn’t fault his clean trousers and jacket.

‘We thought we’d . . . er, just say hello.’ Flo still had her coat on. Sydney shuffled his feet, looking awkward.

At least Flo had brought him home, Lizzie thought. They hadn’t gone to the house in Poplar as Flo had once threatened, an outcome Lizzie had always dreaded.

‘Would Sydney like to stay to tea?’ she asked.

She didn’t have to ask twice. Flo was at her side in the kitchen, talking ten the dozen. Sydney sat by the fire, contemplating the shine on his boots.

‘Thanks, sis,’ Flo whispered, as Lizzie fried bubble and squeak from Thursday’s leftover mash. She gave Lizzie a peck on the cheek.

‘What was that for?’ Lizzie hid her amusement.

‘You know, having Sydney home.’

‘Don’t think I’m gonna do this every week.’ Lizzie fried sausages, adding an extra two to the pan for Sydney.

‘No,’ murmured Flo with a giggle. ‘I’ll do the cooking next time.’

Sydney left at eight. He thanked Lizzie for the lovely meal and grinned at Flo. The young man had surprised Lizzie. He hadn’t said much. Maybe it was because Flo nudged
him hard when he opened his mouth. But he always called her Mrs Flowers and said ta or thank you. He was eighteen, two years older than Flo, but he had a young, fresh face with a big smile
plastered permanently over it.

No one brought up the subject of the Millers’ reputation. Lizzie didn’t know if Sydney took after his six notorious brothers. But since Flo was determined to go out with him, she was
prepared to give him a chance.

‘Well, what do you think?’ Flo asked as they sat by the fire before bed.

‘What do I think about what?’ Lizzie knew what Flo wanted her to say.

‘About Sydney, of course.’

‘Has he got a job?’

Flo looked disappointed. ‘I knew you’d ask that.’

‘Well, has he?’

‘Would you like him any the less if he didn’t?’

‘So he has, then?’ Lizzie smiled.

Flo sat back in the armchair and nodded. ‘Up Billingsgate. Portering. Didn’t you smell the fish?’

Lizzie ignored that one. ‘Are you two serious?’

‘What does that mean?’ Flo cried indignantly. ‘We’re just . . . enjoying ourselves, that’s all.’

‘Not too much, I hope.’

Flo grinned. ‘You sound just like Ma.’

‘Yeah, well, I’ve got to keep my eye on you.’ Lizzie knew that Flo would have what she wanted in the end. But there had to be some rules defined.

Flo snuggled into the chair and yawned. ‘He ain’t half a laugh, is Sydney.’

‘Well, you could have fooled me. He hardly said two words tonight.’

‘Yeah, well, he was nervous, wasn’t he?’

‘What of?’ Lizzie kept her smile hidden.

‘You. He didn’t know what reception he’d get.’

‘Well, he didn’t have anything to complain about when he left, not with that full stomach.’

Flo burst into laughter. ‘Blimey, that
is
Ma talking.’

They were both laughing then and Lizzie leaned forward to poke an ember of coal back into the grate. ‘Well, time for bed,’ she sighed. For a moment a pang of loneliness went through
her. She would sleep alone without her man. Frank always collapsed on the couch when he came home, too drunk to take his clothes off. He rarely came to bed. She knew that he didn’t want to
talk to her. There had been too many bitter quarrels and, worse, fights. His answer was to use the airey as somewhere to eat and fill his wallet.

Lizzie sat back in the chair. She gazed proudly at Flo. She had turned into a lovely young woman, her health and weight regained. Her brown hair was no longer straight and lank, but shining and
fashionably waved. Flo took care with her appearance and Lizzie knew why.

‘What you lookin’ at?’ Flo asked, yawning. ‘Me hair’s all right ain’t it?’

‘You know it is.’

‘He ain’t bad, is he, Lizzie?’

Lizzie smiled. ‘If you say so. But you two – behave youselves. You’re only young.’

‘I know,’ grinned Flo, rising to her feet and yawning again. ‘As soon as I get as old as you I reckon I’ll ’ave had all me fun.’

Lizzie snorted. ‘You cheeky blighter!’ Flo was taller than her now. She couldn’t clip her round the ear anymore.

‘Night, then.’ Flo bent and kissed her cheek. She ran down the passage giggling. Lizzie knew that for the next ten minutes Flo would be painstakingly winding papers around her hair
to curl it, attempting to look like Mary Pickford, her favourite film star.

Lizzie cleared away in the kitchen. Then she undressed and washed, pouring warm water from the jug into the bedroom bowl. When all was done, she brushed her long black hair. Drawing it on to her
left shoulder to plait, she looked into the mirror. Two large green eyes stared wistfully back at her from under the ebony tumble of hair. Was Pa’s body ever going to be found? Would they
ever know what happened to him?

Lizzie shuddered. She had tried to share her worries with Flo, but Flo refused to talk about Pa. She was only sixteen. Lizzie knew she wanted to block the bad memory out and she didn’t
blame her.

Lizzie slipped on her nightgown and went to lock the front door. Before she reached it, she heard noises outside. It couldn’t be Flo. She would be asleep by now. The voices got louder,
laughing and singing. Her heart started to race. She hadn’t locked the door yet. She reached out, was almost there . . .

It swung open. Frank, Vinnie and Babs all staggered in. Frank had his arm round Vinnie’s shoulders. They were laughing and falling over themselves.

‘Well, look who it ain’t,’ Babs screeched, her voice high and piercing. Her eyes were puffy and her red hair was so frizzy it looked like a mop. Lizzie stared at her
sister’s swollen stomach.

‘What do you want?’ Lizzie faltered, hiding her shock.

Babs laughed loudly. ‘Now that ain’t much of a welcome, staring at us like we was strangers! There was I, thinking you and me could have a couple of drinks and chat over old
times.’ She paused, her red painted mouth quivering. ‘You know what I think? I think you should show a little more hospitality to yer family, that’s what I think.’

Lizzie’s heart sank. ‘Do you know what time it is?’

Babs shrugged, unconcerned. ‘So what? There ain’t no hurry.’

Lizzie went to the passage door and closed it. She didn’t want Flo to hear all the commotion.

‘Where’s me little sister?’ demanded Babs as though reading her mind.

‘Asleep, of course.’ Lizzie was panic stricken. She didn’t want Flo to see Babs or Vinnie in this state. Why had Frank brought them here? Babs shouldn’t be drinking like
that with a child in her belly.

‘You act like you’re her mother,’ Babs sneered. Her old coat and thin dress were stained; she looked as though she hadn’t washed in months.

‘This isn’t the time—’ Lizzie began, but Vinnie butted in, his sly face in a snarl.

‘Bleedin’ cheek, telling us what to do. Frank, get yer old girl into order,’ he yelled, falling into the armchair by the fire.

Frank staggered towards Lizzie. She tried to back away; the fumes on his breath make her feel sick. He looked dreadful. Unshaven and dirty, like Babs. She felt she was looking at a stranger.

‘What you going to do, then?’ he demanded, grasping a beer bottle that Babs thrust into his hand. He drank noisily from it, dragging his sleeve across his mouth.

Babs cackled loudly. ‘’Ere, lover boy, your missus ain’t half got an opinion of herself. Always did have, the stuck up little cow. Ma never had chance to notice us. It was
always Lizzie this, Lizzie that. A right little goody two shoes she was.’

Frank swayed, his bloodshot eyes trying to focus.

‘She says she ain’t gonna let me see Flo, and I’m ’er sister,’ Babs continued in a cajoling tone. ‘Who does she think she is?’

Frank grabbed Lizzie’s wrist and dragged her towards him. ‘Want to come to bed, eh?’ he muttered, his foul breath in her face. ‘No, course you don’t. Oh, no, all
these years and you’ve been pleased to see the back of me. Well, maybe I should make you do your wifely duty tonight. Now what do you say to that?’ When she didn’t reply, he
yelled, ‘Did you hear that, Vin? Not a word. Not a bloody word!’

‘Always told you she was a cool one,’ Vinnie muttered.

Frank let the bottle fall to the floor as he pulled her against him. She moved her head but he grabbed hold of her chin, jerking it round. ‘We’ll see about that.’

Lizzie lifted her eyes. She gazed calmly into her husband’s face. There was nothing Frank could do to her that he hadn’t done before. She wasn’t going to let him see she was
afraid now.