Lizzie of Langley Street (31 page)

‘Why don’t you go out in the yard?’ Lil said, jabbing the knife at the back door. ‘There’s Ethel’s old pram in the shed. Lay her in it and rock
her.’

Babs gave Lil a frown. ‘I’ve got a headache. I need to stretch me legs.’

‘She’s probably hungry,’ Lizzie said as she lay Polly against her shoulder and patted her back. ‘Do you want me to feed her?’

Babs shrugged. ‘If you want. See you later, then.’

Lil and Lizzie watched Babs sway down the passage, grab her coat from the coatstand and go out the front door. It closed again with a bang. Lizzie knew Lil was bursting to speak her mind. She
knew exactly what Lil would say about Babs. Earlier on she had called her ‘a moody cow’ – but, as Lizzie rocked the baby gently, Lil bit her lip and resumed chopping the
fruit.

‘She’s as good as gold now,’ Lil muttered under her breath. ‘Knows when she’s well off, that baby does.’

Lizzie smiled to herself. She knew Lil would have liked to get to the bottom of Polly’s conception and the reason why Babs had suddenly decided to return to the fold, but Lizzie was
certain that things were turning out for the best. Even if Babs wasn’t a natural mother, she would learn to love little Polly. Who couldn’t love the dear little mite? And Lizzie was
quite prepared to make up for the lack of affection meanwhile. Between her and Flo, little Polly was showered with attention at home. And when Bert, Bill and Gertie chipped in, Polly was positively
adored.

‘Right,’ said Lil, wiping her hands on her pinny. She lifted the big glass bowl in her rough red hands. ‘Doug, get yer poker ready. The punch is coming!’

Holding the baby carefully against her, Lizzie followed Lil into the front room. The heat from the fire nearly knocked her over, as did the noise. The tradition was to place the punch bowl in
the hearth, heat the poker and plunge it into the punch.

This year, Doug was ready in advance. He was holding the poker aloft, glowing red from the heat of the fire, his round face beaming. Everyone held their breath. Lil lowered the glass bowl in
front of the fire on to the shiny green tiles. When she stepped back, no one said a word, they just waited.

Lizzie propped the baby up in her arms. This was the first Christmas of her young life. These were the rough, kind people of the Isle of Dogs who made up Polly’s world. Even though she was
not yet a month old, Lizzie wanted her to see all that was going on.

Doug thrust the poker into the punch. The liquid sizzled like a witch’s cauldron, froth bubbling over the surface. Everyone clapped and cheered. Lizzie clasped Polly tightly, giving her a
hug. Polly stared back at her as if she understood, her dark blue eyes sparkling in the light of the fire. As bright and twinkling as the lights radiating from the stones on Lizzie’s Dearest
ring.

Bert drove them home at ten o’clock. A sky full of stars lit up the dark streets. Flo and Sydney snuggled against each other in the back of the cart. Polly was sound
asleep in her cocoon of blankets, safe in Lizzie’s arms.

Babs hadn’t returned to Lil’s. All the way home, Lizzie wondered what she had been up to. Where had she been all that time? And with whom?

‘It was a lovely do,’ Flo said from the other side of the cart as she snuggled against Sydney. ‘That punch went to me head.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ said Sydney with a big grin.

‘Well, as long as it ain’t gone to yer hands,’ Flo giggled and they all laughed as she slapped Sydney’s hands playfully.

Lizzie knew that Sydney was blushing, even in the dark. She had changed her opinion of Sydney Miller. She just hoped he would stay on the straight and narrow for Flo’s sake. She could see
them getting hitched one day.

‘You lot all right in the back?’ Bert shouted over his shoulder.

‘Lovely,’ the three of them yelled back and started laughing again.

Little Polly remained asleep. She was soothed by the movement of the cart. Though the sacking from the potatoes was rough and prickly, it kept them warm. Lizzie thought of the night long ago
when Flo had scarlet fever and Frank had driven her to the hospital. He had seemed so kind and considerate. A different person. But then perhaps she had been different too. Perhaps Frank’s
jealousy was not unfounded. She had loved Danny dearly. It was a love that had changed her life and sometimes she still couldn’t believe that Danny had broken his promise to her.

Under the light of the moon and the stars, Lizzie knew she was becoming maudlin. She didn’t allow herself to think of Danny very often. It was a luxury she afforded herself only rarely. A
guilty one, because she was still Frank’s wife, no matter how he had behaved.

The baby stirred under the blankets. Lizzie hugged her tightly. They would soon be home. It had been a lovely Christmas, the best in years. She just hoped that when they got in Babs would be in
a good mood and cuddle Polly for a while. Polly needed to hear her mother’s voice – the most important voice in her young life.

When Bert drew the cart up in Ebondale Street, they all climbed out. Their breath curled up in the night air like smoke. It wasn’t as cold as it was damp. Lizzie was eager to get Polly
inside.

‘I’ll stable the ’orse and give him something to eat,’ Bert told them as they stood at the top of the steps leading down to the airey. He hugged Lizzie and the baby, then
Flo. After seeing to Benji, he had to make the long walk back to Langley Street. He jumped back up on the cart and clucked Benji on.

‘Go on home, then,’ Flo said to Sydney, elbowing him hard in the ribs. ‘The party’s come to an end in case you haven’t noticed.’

Lizzie knew that Flo was embarrassed.

‘Goodnight, Sydney.’ Lizzie started to make her way down the dark steps. She knew Flo wanted to be kissed goodnight.

‘Er, ’night Mrs Flowers,’ Sydney called in a strangled voice.

‘Won’t be a minute,’ Flo yelled.

Lizzie smiled to herself. Young love!

She had tied a key on a string for Babs and it hung behind the letterbox. With the baby in the crook of her left arm, she reached in and drew the string out. Turning the key in the lock, she
walked into a dark room.

At once, Lizzie knew Babs wasn’t home. Her heart gave a little kick. Where was she? Making her way over to the perambulator, just visible in the darkness, she lay Polly inside it. Next she
lit the two oil lamps and light filled the room.

Everything was just as it had been when they had left that morning. Suddenly Flo came flying in. She was about to speak when she saw the look on Lizzie’s face. Her expression of pleasure
from the kiss she had just received from Sydney quickly faded.

‘Blimey, where is everyone?’ Flo spluttered, walking slowly forward.

‘Babs ain’t here.’ Lizzie looked in the kitchen and came out again.

Still with their coats on, Lizzie and Flo walked down the dark passage, the oil lamp in Lizzie’s hands, light and shadow fluttering around them.

At the bedroom door they stopped. ‘Can’t hear a thing,’ Flo whispered. ‘Let’s go inside.’

Lizzie knew before they went in that the room was empty. It was cold and still. But then Lizzie noticed something else. There was nothing in it, no clothes strewn over the chairs or shoes on the
floor. Babs’ few possessions, most of them donated to her by Lizzie and Flo, were always scattered untidily everywhere.

Now they were gone.

Lizzie stood still, her heart sinking. Lil’s words went through her mind again. ‘A leopard doesn’t change its spots. . .’

‘Look, what’s this?’ Flo walked over to the dressing table. She picked up a torn piece of paper and read aloud. ‘Have found somewhere to live. Will be back for the baby
soon. Babs.’

It was then that Lizzie knew what fear was. It travelled like a spear through her body as her mind raced ahead. Where had Babs gone? Who was she with? What was she doing? And most frightening of
all, when would she return for Polly?

1931

‘T
ake a deep breath, blow out all the candles and make a wish.’

‘Will it come true, Auntie Lizzie?’

‘One day it will.’

‘When I’m grown up?’

‘P’raps.’

‘I want it to come true now.’

Brushing Polly’s dark curls from her face, Lizzie laughed. ‘That’s a bit of a tall order.’

‘Will you help me blow them out if I haven’t got enough puff?’

‘Everyone will.’

The airey was full of laughter, smoke and happy faces. Though 1931 had been hard for the nation, Lizzie was content. She gazed at her five-year-old niece, dressed in her pale pink party frock,
her long curly black hair tumbling over her shoulders. A thrill of pride went through her. Lizzie, at twenty-six, was grateful for the little girl whom she looked upon as her daughter. Today was
Polly’s birthday party. Officially the day before, the twelfth of December, the celebrations had been moved to Sunday, when the shop was closed.

Lil’s pink and white iced sponge was decorated with five tiny pink candles. ‘Blow!’ everyone cried. Polly blew, extinguishing four. Her small heart-shaped face fell.

Lil laughed. ‘Aw, never mind, love. Make yer wish anyway. I’ll light ’em all again and we can have another go.’

Polly’s bright blue eyes were puzzled. ‘Shall I say what my wish is after I’ve wished it, Auntie Lil?’

‘No, keep it all to youself, ducks. Don’t tell a soul.’

‘But if I don’t say what it is, who’s gonna know what I want?’

Before Lil could answer, the front door opened. Flo, late home from the factory, came flying in. Her short brown hair was strewn over her face and she was puffing hard. ‘Happy birthday,
monkey. May all your wishes come true!’ She scooped Polly into her arms.

‘Put me down, Auntie Flo. I’m just making me wish,’ Polly giggled.

Lizzie felt very happy, watching her friends and family. Her green eyes were sparkling, her long black hair drawn back into an elegant clasp and fixed at the nape of her neck. She wore a new
beige wool crêpe dress with a V-shaped neckline. The dropped waist and accordion pleats were very fashionable. It was the first dress she had ever bought new and she loved it.

All the guests were spruced up. Lil wore a smart black and white two piece suit. Doug had put on a stiff collar and a silk waistcoat. Bert wore a clean pair of trousers and a set of red braces.
Vi Catcher, sitting in the chair beside Fat Freda, sported a new hat with a feather in it. Freda, as usual, made no concession to the occasion. She wore with pride her market overall, a large
flowered garment with voluminous pockets.

‘Blimey, I ain’t got enough wind to blow out me matches lately, let alone all them candles,’ puffed Boston Brown as he bent over the table, pursing his lips and pressing his
handlebar moustaches out of the way.

‘No, but you’ve still got enough breath to flog that cheap fish of yours to all me customers,’ Reg Barnes replied. ‘I keep telling them they’ll end up looking like
’addocks if they don’t eat a bit of beef.’

‘You two should worry.’ Elfie Goldblum looked up at the two tall men either side of him. ‘You should be selling jewellery when the nation is nearly bankrupt!’

‘Go on with you,’ Fat Freda called from her chair. ‘You got all yer pound notes ’idden under yer carpet, Elfie.’

‘I wish I had a carpet, my dear. I don’t know such a luxury.’

‘It’s that MacDonald’s fault!’ cried Reg. ‘He don’t know what he’s doing. Says we’ve got ourselves in a blooming fix. But who’s to blame,
that’s what I wanna know? Not the ordinary bloke on the street, it ain’t. We work bloody hard for a pittance and if I had half the chance I’d tell him so.’

‘A chance you’ll never have, my friend,’ said Elfie darkly.

‘It’ll mean another coalition if you ask me,’ mumbled Doug. ‘None of them up in Whitehall knows whether they’re on their heads or their heels.’

‘You ain’t wrong there,’ nodded the fishmonger. They’re putting up taxes again – wringing the last penny out of us, just like the other lot did after the
war.’

‘What are you blokes going on about?’ cried Lil, hands on hips. ‘This ain’t a bloody union meeting. Now all of you, let’s help our Pol to blow out them
candles.’

Lil lit the candles once more. There was a lot of huffing and puffing. All the candles flickered out and Polly was showered with hugs and kisses.

Lizzie smiled at Ethel, who had just brought in a plate of sandwiches from the kitchen. Ethel was dressed in a light grey dress, her fair hair styled short and smart. She was still very
attractive, but seemed quieter now. Lizzie put it down to living with the humourless Richard all these years.

‘Your two enjoying themselves, are they?’ Lizzie asked, glancing at Ethel.

Rosie and Timmy were now thirteen and fourteen. They were happy kids and took after Ethel, or how she used to be. Full of life and laughter.

Ethel nodded. ‘You don’t have to ask do you? They love coming here.’

‘You should bring them more often.’

‘Wish I could.’ She looked up from under her lashes and sighed. ‘We have to visit Richard’s mum and pay homage on Saturdays.’

Lizzie couldn’t help giggling at the mental picture of the whole family kneeling at Mrs Ryde’s feet. ‘Still as bad is she?’

‘On a scale of one to ten, I’d say twelve. Next thing is she’ll be wearing a tiara and one of them fur capes.’

The two girls laughed together, but Lizzie knew Ethel’s mother-in-law took a lot of tolerating. ‘Is trade still brisk?’ Ethel asked, changing the subject as she always did when
it came to Richard’s snobby family.

‘Not bad. We’re turning over, that’s the main thing. What about Rickards?’

Ethel frowned. ‘Well, the Depression’s hit us, no doubt about that. I reckon we should sell cheaper and take a cut on the profits. Encourage new trade.’

‘Why don’t you suggest it?’ Lizzie asked at once. She agreed with Ethel. They had had to bring their prices right down in the shop.

Ethel raised her eyes. ‘You know what Rickards are like – real stick in the muds. They’ve sacked two of the warehouse staff rather than trim the profits. It was a good job you
never came to us, Lizzie.’

‘Yeah, I s’pose it was.’ Lizzie might have regretted her decision to marry Frank, but she loved the shop. It was the best thing that had ever happened to her.