The Street (28 page)

‘You look nice, Al.’ Fran had come up from downstairs. She stood on the threshold, admiring her niece in her pretty best clothes.

‘Going to a dance with a feller, ain’t she? Fine carry on after all wot Geoff done for her.’

‘He did it for us all,’ Alice stated quietly. ‘And well you know it.’

‘No harm in it, Til, is there, for her to go out and enjoy herself fer once?’ Fran looked awkward. ‘Wish I was going out to a dance.’ She slunk dejectedly down into a chair at the table but gave Alice an encouraging smile.

Since Jimmy’s death Fran seemed to be a different woman. Initially the terrible shock of what happened that night had laid her very low. Then, just as she seemed to rally enough to appreciate the vital benefits of a life without a sadistic, bullying husband, the visit from Twitch and Franks had sent her again into a decline, confidence plummeting. But that had been a long while ago now. Tilly and Fran, in one of their rare intense talks about that night, had come to the conclusion the headless body in the river had not been identified as Jimmy’s. The police would have returned to Campbell Road by now if it had. Fran was officially his next of kin even though they’d separated. If the constabulary hadn’t managed to find out from Nellie what had become of Jimmy it seemed right to assume they would consider him a missing person. It was wartime and unexplained things happened. A lot of men had joined up and been killed or reported missing. People had perished in air raids . . . not all of them recognisable or accounted for.

Bobbie and Stevie had happily accepted an explanation that their father might have gone to fight the Hun as he hadn’t been seen for a while. They rarely asked about him and had, as had their mother, blossomed in his absence. Fran had gained steadily in confidence and got herself a job soldering in the factory in Isledon Road where Alice had worked.

‘Any chance of a job at yours yet?’ Fran asked Alice. She had enquired a few times whether Turner’s were taking on. The money there was better and she was getting ambitious.

‘Keeping me ears ‘n’ eyes open for you,’ Alice replied. ‘Soon as I hear anything I’ll let you know.’

‘Beth needs a job too,’ Tilly ordered bluntly with a quelling look for Fran. ‘And I don’t mean as a tea gel neither.’

‘She’s too young for nights, Mum.’

‘I know that. Just get her a foot in the door on a daytime shift. The rest’ll follow in due course.’

‘Won’t be late home,’ Alice promised by way of farewell. Quickly she caught up her coat and went out.

‘You don’t want to be late neither!’ Tilly’s bawled threat followed Alice down the stairs.

Alice knew that her mother didn’t like her going out spending even a little bit of money. She was now earning very well at Turner’s and making the largest contribution to the kitty. With regular night shifts she could earn as much as two pound ten shillings a week. Her mother demanded two pounds for housekeeping despite the fact that Alice rarely ate at home and didn’t want the old clothes her mother tried to fob her off with from the rag shop or from Billy the Totter. The amount her mother demanded she hand over was a constant cause of friction between them because a lot of the housekeeping pot went on booze. As much as she hated seeing so much of her hard-earned wages tipped down her mother’s and Aunt Fran’s throats – Tilly liked to have a drinking chum both at the Duke and at home – Alice felt less able to summon the energy to tackle her mother over it. She knew that the terrible circumstances of her uncle’s death, and the revelation of the secret surrounding her birth, had increased her mother’s need to seek comfort in the bottle.

Alice now had her own inner demons to subdue. Lurking constantly at the back of her mind was the hideous worry that Jimmy might have fathered her. Time and again she had taken Jack’s photograph from the piano and stared into the mirror with it pressed to the side of her face. Sometimes she could find similarities that made foolish her fears; at other times she was sure not one of his features resembled hers. She didn’t want to blame her mother. She’d first-hand knowledge of what a violent brute Jimmy Wild had been. But niggling at her was the thought that perhaps Tilly might have been drunk when she’d needed to be sober on that awful occasion too . . .

Alice hadn’t wanted Joshua coming to Campbell Road and being disgusted by the squalid place in which she lived. She had impressed on Annie that she’d meet her and their escorts at her place in Playford Road. But standing on the corner of Paddington Street were three people she recognised.

Joshua smiled warmly on seeing her. He had been lounging against the wall, head down, dragging on a cigarette while he waited for her. Now he stepped on the dog end on his way towards her. Annie and Paul O’Connor started off up the road towards the bus station and Alice and Joshua fell into step behind.

‘Thought we agreed to meet outside yours,’ Alice called sharply to Annie.

‘Yeah, we did,’ Annie answered, unconcerned. ‘But as you was a bit late we walked round to save time.’ She swung about and walked backwards, a grin on her face. ‘We’ve been asked to take tea with Mr and Mrs Chaplin before we go off to the dance. Nice, eh?’

Alice shot a startled look up at Joshua’s profile. ‘Is that right? Are we going first to yours for tea?’

‘Only if you want to. It was my mum’s idea.’ An apologetic look shaped Joshua’s features. ‘I wanted to invite you myself,’ he said quietly. ‘I didn’t get a chance to mention it, though.’

It was the first time Alice had seen him look a bit annoyed about something. She took pity on him. ‘A word of warning,’ she said conspiratorially. ‘Annie can’t keep anything to herself.’

‘Would you like to come for tea at ours?’ Joshua asked.

‘Yes . . . thank you,’ she answered politely.

As they strolled on Alice was sure Joshua was glancing about at the grimy tenement houses and the ragged children hopping on and off the kerbs. It was probably his first experience of such a slum. A group of youths were playing dice on the opposite pavement in between regarding them with sullen hostility.

‘It’s a dump, ain’t it?’ Alice sounded defiant, as though she’d sooner mention it herself than have him do so. ‘And that little lot are staring at you ’cos they don’t like strangers round here.’

Joshua shrugged. ‘Once I’ve been back a few times perhaps they won’t think me a stranger round here.’

‘Think you’ll get invited back, do you?’ Alice said, still sounding defensive. She couldn’t curb her frustration that he now knew she lived in a hovel. ‘You think it’s a dump, don’t you?’

‘I’m not interested in the houses,’ Joshua said mildly. ‘I’m interested in someone who lives in one of them.’

Alice sent a fierce blue gaze up at him. ‘Well, I ain’t going to be here too much longer. I’m saving up . . . moving out . . . just as soon as I can.’

‘Funny that,’ Josh replied. ‘Just before I came out tonight, I said more or less the same thing to my mum and dad.’ He stuck his hands deep into his pockets. ‘I told them that just as soon as this war’s done, I’m getting my own place. Reckon it’s time.’

‘How’d they take that?’

Joshua slanted her a quizzical look. ‘Oh . . . they don’t mind. Probably be glad to see the back of me. Got a brother and sister still at home too, you see. It’s a bit cramped.’

‘Me mum won’t be glad if I go,’ Alice sighed. ‘She likes me wages too much to want to see the back of them. Don’t know how I’ll tell her when the time comes.’

‘I’ll tell her for you if you like,’ Joshua suggested quite seriously.

That provoked such a hearty, spontaneous laugh from Alice that the couple in front swung about in the hope of sharing the joke. ‘You’ll need to put your tin hat on when you do!’ she finally said, wiping her eyes.

‘As bad as that, eh?’ Joshua grinned, unfazed by the hint that Mrs Keiver was a right dragon.

‘Worse than you could ever know,’ Alice murmured, turning her head. Her amusement had withered and she’d sounded quite depressed.

‘Hello, stranger.’ Tilly opened her door wider and looked Jeannie up and down. ‘Still doin’ alright then, I see,’ she slurred with an admiring look at Jeannie’s expensive outfit. ‘Come in. Want one?’ Tilly held out a bottle of whiskey. She’d been drinking since Alice left for the dance and Fran went back downstairs to get the boys their suppers. She was pleased to have an unexpected drinking pal.

Jeannie accepted with a smile and a nod.

Tilly was already tipsy but she was still canny enough to be seeking reasons for this odd visit. ‘Nice to see you, Jeannie, but I reckon you’re here ’cos something’s on yer mind. That business with Sarah Whitton, is it?’

‘Nah!’ Jeannie chuckled. ‘Just come by to say goodbye. I’m goin’ away.’ She sat down at the table.

Tilly shoved a half-filled glass towards her guest. ‘Gone sour for you with Johnny Blake, has it?’

‘Sort of.’

‘You don’t sound that put out,’ Tilly said in surprise. A fellow like Johnny Blake would sound like a godsend to most of the women who lived in The Bunk.

‘It’s me wants to move on.’ Jeannie sipped from her drink. ‘He said I can go back any time. He’d take me in tomorrow. He’s a good bloke in that respect. But I want to get Peter away from him,’ she said quietly. ‘He might be good for me but he ain’t good for him.’

‘Alice told me about your son being shell-shocked,’ Tilly said and grimaced her sympathy. ‘Very sorry to hear it, I was. And your other lad . . . the one reported missing?’

Jeannie shook her head, eyes glistening with tears.

‘Has Johnny been mean to Peter ’cos he’s not right?’ Tilly asked with gruff gentleness. She could tell Jeannie would rather not speak about her other, lost son.

‘He’s been kind to him . . . too kind,’ Jeannie said. ‘Treats him like he would his own son.’

‘That ain’t bad, surely?’

‘Yeah, it is when you’re in the kind of business Johnny’s in. Peter’s getting better slowly; Johnny’s been promising to bring him into the business and Peter’s lappin’ it up. Ain’t what I want. All feuds and rivalry and gang wars, ain’t it? Nature o’ the work.’ Jeannie took a large swallow of whiskey. ‘Peter’s all I’ve got now. I ain’t losing him to some South London thug who wants to make a name for himself with his boss. I don’t want Peter facing no more danger. He’s just about survived one war; that’s enough for him, I reckon.’ Jeannie stood up, preparing to leave. ‘Me husband’s family’s from Scotland. We used to take holidays there when the boys were little. Peter’s forgot a lot, but not that. He speaks fondly of his grandma still. Weren’t her fault her son turned out to be a nasty bastard. Gordon’s enlisted anyhow so no danger of running into him. So that’s where we’re going.’

‘Not stoppin’ fer another?’ Tilly waved the bottle.

Jeannie shook her head. ‘Thanks all the same but I’m getting off. You take care of yourself, Tilly.’ Jeannie looked at the bottle, tightly clutched, then at Tilly’s glassy gaze. ‘Ain’t gonna find the answer in that, Tilly,’ she said softly. ‘I know. I’ve had a fuckin’ good look in more whiskey bottles than I can count. Ain’t there.’

Tilly looked at the whiskey in her fist. ‘Hard to give up on hopin’, though, ain’t it, when you live round here?’ She shoved unsteadily to her feet. ‘Take care o’ yourself, and hope it goes right fer you both.’

‘You take care too, Tilly.’ The hand that rested on Tilly’s shoulder suddenly pulled her into an embrace that Tilly returned in full measure. They broke apart suddenly and Tilly immediately went to sit back down.

Just before Jeannie left she said, ‘Oh, tell Alice for me that I got what I wanted for the statue. She’ll know what I mean.’

Alice stood on the threshold to the small, neat dining room, her eyes immediately lured to the table. Upon its surface lay a crisp snow-white cloth and a veritable feast. As wonderful as the food looked it was the atmosphere of cosy tranquillity that had entranced her. For so many years she had dreamed of escaping from the clamour and decay of The Bunk to live in a place such as this. It was by no means a posh house; it was small and set in a terrace. The furnishings were not new or elaborate. But to Alice it was as fine as any palace.

‘Glad you come now, ain’t yer?’ Annie grinned at her friend.

Alice felt her face heating at her friend’s crude comment. At that moment she could have slapped Annie simply for cutting short her quiet appreciation of her surroundings.

‘Let me introduce you to my mum.’ Josh took her lightly by the elbow and drew her into the room.

A fair-haired woman had risen from her chair by the fireside. She immediately gave the newcomers a friendly, welcoming smile. Mr Chaplin came in through a door that Alice assumed led to the kitchen as he was bearing a large teapot.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘You lot timed that to perfection. All ready and waiting for you.’ He set the teapot down on the table.

‘Mum,’ Josh said, ‘This is Alice . . . Alice Keiver.’

Mrs Chaplin took Alice firmly by the hand. ‘So pleased to meet you, Alice. I’ve heard a lot about you. My husband tells me you’re a good hard worker at Turner’s.’

Alice smiled, tried to think of something to say but she still felt awkward and overwhelmed. ‘How d’you do,’ she blurted and briskly shook her hostess by the hand.

‘Now, do tuck in, all of you,’ Mrs Chaplin instructed the assembled company. She took a stack of china plates that had been resting on a corner of the table and handed them out.

Alice took one automatically with murmured thanks. She watched as Annie went immediately to the table and began to fill her plate with sandwiches, small cakes and pastries. The red jelly, soaring out of the centre of the spread, quivered as Annie’s darting hand knocked its dish.

Josh poured two cups of tea then pulled out a chair for Alice to sit next to him at the table. He pushed one of the filled cups towards her.

‘Tuck in,’ he quietly encouraged her. He moved a plate of sandwiches and cakes within her reach. ‘Don’t want to be late for the dance.’

Daintily Alice took one sandwich and one cake and placed them on her plate. ‘Thanks,’ she gruffly muttered. ‘This is very nice,’ she added and raised her blue eyes to Josh’s steady grey gaze.

‘Good, I hope you enjoy it,’ he answered softly. ‘Because I’d like you to come for tea again before I get sent back.’

Geoff sank down in the trench with his back against the sucking mud and his boots disappearing into a bog. He could feel the cold sludge seeping into his socks and was glad. When sensation was gone so might be his toes. He hung his head, tried to block out the sound of moaning calls from the wounded on no-man’s land.

Earlier that week the Germans had broken through the Allied lines in several places and the result was a grotesque landscape of twisted bodies scattered as far as the eye could see. Things had since calmed down and both sides had again dug in. But a daring raid to try and take out a deadly accurate German sniper had brought new Allied casualties.

‘Keep yer nut down,’ Vinnie gutturally ordered.

Geoff had been peeping over the top of the trench into the mustard-coloured dusk, his squinting vision darting to locate twitching uniformed figures. He crouched down again beside his comrade. ‘Can’t stand it, I tell yer,’ he hissed. ‘Can see arms and legs moving; hear ’em wailing. Can’t stay here and do nothing!’

‘We can all hear ’em,’ Vinnie muttered roughly. ‘There ain’t no point in us going to help and coppin’ a bullet too off that bastard. Be no bleedin’ use to them then, will we?’

Geoff knew what Vinnie was saying was true. But wounded comrades were close by; a few of them just yards away. Some might have minor wounds yet they would bleed to death if left too long. The stretcher-bearers must wait for the cover of full darkness before making their move. German snipers had already cruelly despatched several brave souls who’d made a heroic dash to recover their wounded pals. Even after dark it would be far from safe. The Germans would try to foil a rescue mission by sending up star shells and flares to illuminate the grisly scene.

‘Fuckin’ Fritz!’ Vinnie gritted through his teeth. His eyes were screwed shut and he clapped his hands over his ears as a particularly awful scream rent the air. It was followed by an eerie, echoing silence. A boyish voice started to call for his mother then the sound of his anguish was drowned out as a shell whined overhead. Instinctively Geoff and Vinnie ducked but the fellows further along the trench took the brunt of that one. Energetic yelling filled the air and acrid smoke billowed their way. A group of men were shuffling through the sludge towards them, away from the damaged part of the trench.

Geoff and Vinnie struggled up and, grabbing their gas masks and a stretcher between them, they waded through the mud towards the newly injured, the wretched souls momentarily abandoned on no-man’s land.

Now things were less frantic – and please God stayed that way, so many weary soldiers were heard to mutter – Geoff and Vinnie and several colleagues were being relieved. They were going into the village to be billeted and rested up for a few days. As they struggled on through the slime towards the injured Geoff concentrated on the comforts that were only twenty-four hours away. A hot bath and a good long sleep were almost his. Suddenly he felt his eyes sting with tears and felt silly and childish for being overwhelmed by the prospect of something good coming his way. Fiercely he sniffed and blinked and urged Vinnie to a faster pace along the trench.

‘Keiver?’ The medical orderly was unknown to Geoff. He hadn’t seen him at the aid post before. The fellow searched up and down his list. ‘Ah . . . Jack Keiver, Royal Fusiliers . . . yes, he’s gone.’

Geoff grinned at the fellow. ‘Lucky bleeder’ll be home soon.’

The orderly frowned. ‘Don’t think so. Discharged as fit to return to duty,’ he read from his clipboard. ‘A lot of those borderline cases were passed fit when Fritz started acting up again. Everybody needed, see.’

Geoff’s smile froze on his lips. ‘Yeah, know that, don’t I. But not him. Doc said he was going down the line. Said he didn’t want him keelin’ over. That’s what he said.’ Geoff sounded quite belligerently insistent.

The orderly shrugged but looked sympathetic. ‘New doctor’s seen him, I expect. Old lot have all been relieved.’ He looked at Geoff’s easy attire. ‘Same as you. You’re off on rest leave, aren’t you?’

Geoff nodded. His face was grim with disbelief. When he’d been relieved of duty he hadn’t set off towards the village with his colleagues. He’d come straight here to the aid post to see if Jack had yet started his journey towards home. He’d been expecting to hear the welcome news that Jack had been taken by motor ambulance towards the railway line that ferried casualties towards the coast.

‘Sorry there’s no good news for you, mate,’ the orderly said kindly. ‘Friend of yours, is he?’

Geoff swallowed the bitter disappointment that seemed to trap speech in his throat. ‘Yeah . . .’ he finally answered. ‘A good friend.’