Survivor (16 page)

He hesitated, eyes cast down. ‘My
folks were gypsies,’ he eventually blurted out. ‘They were always on the
move. I told you I spent some time in the East End, and that’s where I started
school. I got as far as learning to read and then we were off somewhere else. I
never got more than six months in any one place. All gypsies live that way, and my
folks didn’t think it was necessary for me or my brothers to have a proper
schooling.’

Mariette had never even seen a gypsy.
All she knew about their lifestyle was from books, which made it look very romantic.
‘Did you live in a caravan?’

‘Yes. Well, at least when Dad
worked the fairgrounds or circus. Mum would be running a sideshow too. But in the
winter we’d get a couple of rooms somewhere. The only time we stayed put for
more than a few months was in the East End because Dad could get casual work in the
docks. But they didn’t like that way of life, so it was back on the
road.’

‘Are they still alive?’

‘No, they died in a road accident
a few years back. Dad was driving in a convoy of circus trucks, up on the coast road
in the north-east of England, and there was a terrible storm; the lead truck hit
someone coming the other way and they all piled into one another. Dad’s truck
and the one behind him teetered over the edge and were smashed to pieces on the
rocks below. Altogether, seven people died that night and a few more were
injured.’

‘How awful,’ Mariette
gasped.

‘Yup, it was terrible. But I
didn’t even know about it until after their funeral because I was at sea. The
last time I’d seen my folks was over a year before, and I’d had a row
with Dad about Mum. I tried to tell him that she wanted a permanent
home but, as always, he flew into a rage. He was a
vicious bully who didn’t care about anyone else’s feelings, so he
smashed me in the face and told me to bugger off. I told him then he would never see
me again.’

She could tell by the way he almost spat
this information out that he was still hurting about it. ‘I’m so
sorry,’ she said.

He gave her a glum smirk.
‘Don’t be – well, not for my dad, he had it coming to him, and worse –
it’s Mum I feel bad about, she had a miserable life with him. If she
hadn’t been with him that night, if she’d been left a widow instead, I
could’ve found her a little place and looked after her. She deserved
better.’

‘What about your
brothers?’

‘The two elder ones are just like
Dad,’ he sighed. ‘I haven’t kept in touch with them. My younger
brother, Caleb, is more like me, and I would see him if I knew where he was. But I
don’t, so that’s it really.’

‘Did you join the Merchant Navy so
you could have a different life?’

He reached out and ruffled her hair.
‘Yes, that was the plan, but I found it was the same life, only on water
instead of land. So I guess I haven’t lost the gypsy in me, or got an
education either.’

‘But you must’ve learned a
lot?’

He shrugged. ‘About people
perhaps, and geography. But I still can’t spell, or write a good
letter.’

‘You can learn those things, if
you read,’ she said. ‘Do you read?’

‘I can read a kids’ book OK,
but that’s about it.’

They stayed in the park until about
five, when it became chilly, then went to the Lyons’ Corner House in the
Strand for some tea.

It was packed
with people, and very noisy, but they managed to get a table in a corner where they
could at least hear one another speak. At first, Morgan continued to talk about the
ship and the places he’d seen, but then he suddenly changed tack.

‘Will you come back to where
I’m staying?’ he asked.

There was something in his eyes – it was
almost as if he was challenging her – and it made her feel wary.

‘I’m not so sure
that’s a good idea,’ she said.

‘Why not?’

She hesitated. How could she admit she
didn’t want to be taken to some seedy room in the East End?

‘I thought you loved me,’ he
said. ‘You’ve changed your mind, now you know I’m an ignorant
gypo, have you?’

‘Don’t be like that.’
She whispered it, because he’d raised his voice and the people on the next
table were looking round. ‘It isn’t that at all.’

‘Well, prove it then, and come
with me.’ He got up, put some money down on the table for the bill and held
out his hand for hers.

As they swept down the stairs and out
into the street, Mariette felt very nervous. ‘Don’t be fierce like this,
it’s scary,’ she said.

He caught hold of her two forearms and
put his face up close to hers. ‘I’ll tell you what’s really scary.
It’s finding a girl who says she loves me, and I start to think I can have a
better life with her, but the minute I tell the truth about where I’m from and
why I don’t read and write so well, she gets chilly on me.’

‘That isn’t why,’ she
protested. ‘I’m just not sure about going back to where you’re
staying.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s too soon. You might
think it’s all fine because of how
we were on the ship, but as lovely as that was, it was
very risky, and I daren’t take that risk again now.’

He shook his head in disbelief. ‘I
didn’t think you had all the prejudices other people carry around with them.
I’ve met them all in my travels – Jews, coloured people, Chinese, Indians,
even Irish are all looked down on – but gypsies are almost always top of the list of
undesirables. Now I find you are the same.’

‘I’m not prejudiced about
you being a gypsy,’ she retorted indignantly. ‘That’s a ridiculous
thing to say. What I don’t like is feeling that I’m being pushed into a
corner. I don’t want to find myself pregnant when I’m not married,
especially with a war about to start.’

‘I’d be careful,’ he
said.

Mariette shook her head in despair.
‘If you keep on like this, I just might work up a prejudice against you. But
if you must know, it isn’t only about being afraid of having a baby. I just
don’t want to go to a nasty, squalid place in Whitechapel and feel bad about
it afterwards.’

He let go of her forearms and took a
step back from her, looking a little confused. ‘Well, where do you want to go
then?’

She felt he might be hoping she’d
say a hotel, but she wasn’t going to.

‘My mother used to live somewhere
near here. In a place called Seven Dials. Could we go there? I’d really like
to see it. She lived in a pub called the Ram’s Head.’

He shrugged his shoulders and looked
none too enthusiastic. ‘If that’s what you really want. It’s
almost as squalid around there as in Whitechapel, but it’s close
by.’

As they walked along the Strand, a wide,
grand road lined with lovely shops, it seemed as if Morgan had snapped back into how
he was before his outburst. He pointed out the Savoy Hotel, telling her it was the
first hotel in London to
have electric
light, and said he’d worked in their kitchens for a few weeks before he joined
the Merchant Navy.

Mariette was still a bit wary of him,
anxious to get things back to the way they’d been earlier in the afternoon, so
she asked him questions about joining up and how soon it would be before he was in
uniform.

‘I think once you’ve passed
the medical, it’s off to a training camp immediately,’ he grinned.
‘They won’t want to give me any time for second thoughts. My guess is
that by Tuesday or Wednesday, I’ll be doing square bashing.’

Once they’d turned off the Strand
towards Covent Garden Market, the streets were markedly narrower and dingier, and
there were very few people around.

‘Saturday evening and Sunday are
the only times when it’s quiet around here,’ Morgan said. ‘During
the week, it’s bustling almost around the clock as the fruit, vegetable and
flower traders in the market open up their stalls for business in the early hours of
the morning. By nine in the morning, when the office workers arrive, the market folk
have done almost a whole day’s work.’

Mariette was rather shocked to see a
group of shabbily dressed women sifting through the rubbish left behind by the stall
holders, salvaging fruit and vegetables which weren’t entirely rotten.

‘Our ma used to send us up to do
that on a Saturday evening,’ Morgan said. ‘Down in Whitechapel, the
pickings weren’t as good as here. She used to make a stew with the vegetables
and a bit of scrag end of lamb. She’d make it last for about three
days.’

Mariette shuddered at the thought of
that, then swiftly turned her attention to the many very well-dressed people getting
out of cabs amongst all the debris of the market. ‘What are those people here
for?’ she asked.

‘The
theatres,’ Morgan said. ‘It might look rough around here now, before
it’s all been swept clean, but along with some of the best theatres there are
some very good restaurants. It’s the only place you can get a drink in the
early hours of the morning too, as they open up for the market men. You often see
toffs in there, having a couple more drinks before staggering home.’

Once they were beyond the market, the
surroundings became very squalid. There were narrow, dirty little lanes that looked
like the places Charles Dickens described in his books. Mog had often talked about
her time around here, but Mariette had always imagined it to be more colourful and
quaint; she hadn’t expected the soot-blackened buildings, filthy windows and
the stink of mould and refuse.

‘There you are, the Ram’s
Head,’ Morgan said, pointing out a public house on the other side of what
appeared to be one of the slightly better streets in the neighbourhood. ‘Shall
we go in and have a drink?’

Mariette didn’t reply immediately
because she was suddenly remembering Mog’s story about how she came to be
living there. The house where she had been housekeeper to Annie, Belle’s
mother, had been burned to the ground. They were rescued by Garth Franklin and Jimmy
Reilly and taken to live with them at this pub. A few years later, when Belle
returned from Paris, she married Jimmy and Mog married Garth before moving away to
the other side of London.

The Ram’s Head was what
she’d come to recognize as a traditional old English pub. It had bow windows,
with panes of bottle glass, and a low door that meant tall people had to stoop to
get in, but it was desperately in need of some paint and general care.

Mog had described the upstairs of the
pub as being like a ‘midden’ when she first moved in. If the ragged
curtains
at the upstairs windows were
anything to go by, it was still a slum.

‘Well, shall we go in? Or
not?’ Morgan said.

She really didn’t want to, but was
afraid that admitting her feelings might make Morgan think she was a snob. ‘Of
course we’ll go in,’ she replied, trying very hard to look eager.
‘I can’t wait to write home and tell them I’ve been to see
it.’

It was still too early in the evening
for the pub to be very busy – there were only about twenty or so people in, mostly
men still in their working clothes – and to Mariette’s relief it was
surprisingly well kept. The stone floor was scrubbed, the tables were polished and
the mirrors behind the bar gleamed. She assumed the portly man behind the bar,
wearing a striped waistcoat and sporting a handlebar moustache, was the landlord,
and the older of the two barmaids must be his wife. The younger one was a bottle
blonde, wearing a low-cut red dress with lipstick to match. She was very
flirtatious, fluttering her eyelashes and tossing her hair as she poured pints.

Morgan ordered a pint for himself and a
port and lemon for Mariette, and they sat down near the fireplace.

She had told Morgan a little about her
mother and Mog whilst on the ship. Now she reminded him that they had been married
to uncle and nephew, and that both men died of Spanish flu right at the end of the
last war.

‘Mog said people were a bit scared
of Garth when he owned this place,’ she added. ‘It’s very strange
to know this was the pub she cleaned, and where she fell in love with her
husband.’

‘A lot of villains used to hang
around here back then,’ Morgan said. ‘And there were dozens of brothels
in the area too. Your Garth would’ve needed to be tough to keep the punters in
line. Didn’t you say he sold the pub and moved away to Blackheath?’

Mariette nodded.

‘We used
to go with the fair to Blackheath for the August bank holiday every year,’ he
said with a smile. ‘Mum used to love it there: she’d take us to
Greenwich Park to see the deer and we’d watch the rich people’s kids
sailing toy boats on the pond. I only ever remember it being warm and sunny
there.’

‘Mum and Mog had to learn to be
“ladies” there; Mum’s customers in her hat shop were all snooty.
They don’t say too much about it because Jimmy lost an arm and a leg in the
war, and I think everything must have turned sour for them.’

‘They were brave to emigrate to
New Zealand after their husbands died,’ Morgan said admiringly. ‘So
where did your mother meet your father?’

‘It was in Paris, before the war.
Noah was there too, and they all became good friends, but Mum came back here and
married Jimmy. Years later, through Noah, Dad found out what had happened and where
she was, and he came out to New Zealand to find her. And they lived happily ever
after.’

Morgan smiled. ‘Sounds very
romantic. My poor mum had no choice of who she married, her family arranged it. I
never knew the half of what she’d had to put up with until I was about
fourteen.’

They stayed in the Ram’s Head for
a couple of hours talking, but Morgan seemed different from the man he’d been
on the ship. Every time she mentioned something she’d done with Rose, or
somewhere she’d visited with the family, he came up with something about the
poverty and deprivation in his childhood.

It was as if he was jealous of her, but
that seemed ridiculous. Surely any man who claimed to love her would be glad she was
being so well looked after in London?