by Maggie Ford
She wanted to add, ‘So there!’ but she merely stood watching him splutter.
When he found his voice again, it was hoarse, querulous, almost self-pitying. ‘Just because I’m stuck here in this bleedin’ wheelchair, you think you can take advantage – that I can’t do nothing to stop you in this … bloody thing!’ His clenched fist struck the chair’s wooden arm, making it shudder. ‘You think you can walk roughshod over me. Well, my word still stands for something in this damned house. You don’t go round there any more, hear me? You, knowing what that swine did to cripple me.’
‘He didn’t cripple you,’ she rounded on him. ‘You fell.’
‘I wouldn’t of done if he hadn’t been there goadin’ me.’
Peggy turned back to her ironing, resumed it with nervous energy. ‘Well, whatever, Pam’s still your daughter … still your daughter,’ she said, her voice lifting above his effort to protest. She had him captive here. There was nowhere he could go, with her between him and the door, and she wasn’t going to move. For the first time in all her married life she had power over him although until this second she had never seen herself as his inferior. It had just been marriage, like all marriages. The woman’s role was to manage the house, feed her husband and their children on what money he gave her, and see to his comforts. The man earned the money. He called the tune. Now things had changed. Suddenly she could tell Dan what to do. She felt strangely frightened. Of course she would come when he called, continue to care for him, fit her life around him, but at this moment she too had a say in her own daughter’s welfare, against all his wishes.
She continued ironing without looking at him. ‘Now listen here, Dan Bowmaker. Pam … yes, I shall say her name. Pam is my daughter, and I’ve deserted her long enough. Now with a baby and no money coming in, her and her husband living in that squalid little hole – you’ve not seen it. I have. In our present circumstances I can’t help there, no more than her in-laws can, but I can give her my love even if you can’t.’
‘But that brat – it’s half Bryant. The sod what did for me first time and’s done for me again – put me in this wheelchair for the rest of me life. And you can forgive all that?’ His tone was incredulous. Peggy felt almost sorry for him, but she also felt strong, determined.
‘No, Dan, I don’t forgive all that. I’m just thinking of Pam and an innocent little baby. It don’t matter if you, or even me, don’t approve of what she did, going off and marrying the son of that family. Anyway, I’m not going to argue on that score. But Pam’s my daughter. I don’t care what she did, she’s still my daughter. I’m her mother. And if I can do anything for her and our … my grandchild – and her name’s Beth by the way, Elizabeth, after me – I shall do it to my last breath. So there!’
She had said it, ‘so there’, and he could do about it what he liked.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘I’m sorry miss, but there really isn’t anything.’
The blue-eyed, short-haired blonde gave Josie a wan smile through the grille of the office in which she sat, the smile conveying sympathy, fellow feeling, and a message that but for the grace of God there went she too. She had only just procured this job after five months out of work and intended to hang on to it, tooth and nail if necessary, but Josie couldn’t know that.
To Josie, the smile was one of smugness and she felt hate rise up inside her against the unsuspecting girl. You’re all right, Jack, came the thought which never materialised into words and Josie nodded glumly, offered the girl a wan smile of her own and turned away.
‘No luck,’ she said to Arthur waiting outside.
‘Me neivver.’
He had been waiting around the dock gates since seven this morning, saw the man on the other side pick a lucky few, saw the iron gates open a fraction to take them in, then close again. No one surged forward to squeeze in with the rest. To what purpose? They’d only have been ejected. There was no more work and rushing the gates couldn’t make work that didn’t exist. A few hung around, hopeful of a ship coming in at midday, though they saw not much chance of it. One and only one had come into London dock this morning, for the whole world faced the same plight: business going down, no money, no cargo, no work for men. The rest of the unlucky throng had moved silently away. It was the silence of despair, of hunger, of forlorn hope that tomorrow might, might see them get some work, if only for one day. Cloth-capped, greasy-suited, broken-shoed, they moved off, hands in pockets, heads bent, tight-lipped.
‘Might be somefink termorrer,’ Arthur said as he and Josie walked away from the employment office she had tried. ‘But I ain’t ’oldin’ me breff.’
Josie nodded. It had been a wild goose chase coming up to London, apart from seeing Arthur, and even that was getting harder to do, what little money she had left all going on train fares to see him.
He’d got himself a bike for two and sixpence off a mate down on his uppers and glad of the money. The bike was old, rattled, had more patches than original rubber on the inner tubes, but on this, armed with an Ever Ready puncture outfit, he’d pedal all the way to Leigh to see her once a week because coming all that way on a cranky old bike was no mean feat to be endured more often than that. Three hours’ pedalling, at least it didn’t cost him anything. But seeing him leave around three o’clock, because it grew dark so early in February, Josie’s heart went out to him. Six hours’ pedalling for two hours with her, that was proof of his love for her. Hers for him lay in the prayers she said for his safe return home, and the sacrifice of scarce cash on a return train fare once every three weeks to go and see him.
This week it had been for another hopeful search for work in London, erroneously believed to hold more work for a girl who only knew how to be a receptionist, with no typing or shorthand or clerical skills, than did Southend or Leigh itself.
Her feet ached from walking around following the few hopeful adverts in newspapers, each one having gone the minute it appeared, and trudging from private agency to employment office to company offices themselves in case a job might be going. By the end of the day she would have been willing to take anything, even in a garment factory although she was no commercial machinist.
Josie pulled her coat collar tighter about her neck and glanced up at the cold overcast sky squeezed between the grimy buildings of Leadenhall Street. What she could see of it, yellow with London smoke, looked laden with snow. A clock projecting out from an office block showed three thirty.
‘It’ll be dark by the time I get home,’ she said. ‘I’d best start off now.’
‘Yeah, yer best,’ Arthur agreed. ‘I’ll try ter get down on Sunday. If the bike ’olds out, that is.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ Unreasonable panic gripped. What if the bike, on its last legs anyway, was no longer usable?
‘Brakes,’ he said succinctly, which spoke of utter despondency. ‘Bust.’
‘Can’t you repair them?’
‘I’m ’avin’ a go. Can probably patch ’em up, but it’s a long way ter Leigh wivout proper brakes.’
‘Won’t you be able to see me on Sunday?’
‘If I can, Jo, I will. I bloody will. Even if it snows … ’He glanced up at the leaden sky. ‘I will.’
‘Oh, no, Arthur. Not if it snows hard and settles. Not with bad brakes. I wouldn’t want you to.’
They had turned towards Fenchurch Street Station, and he suddenly pulled her into a covered alley between the buildings, dim and quiet. There he kissed her long and hard, his lips cold on hers. Josie returned the kisses with a longing that seemed to come up from the soles of the high heeled shoes she wore for job-hunting to make her look smarter but which played havoc with her feet plodding from one possible vacancy to another.
‘Oh, Arthur, I wish we were rich,’ she said, breaking away finally. ‘I wish we could be …’
‘Be married,’ he finished for her as she hesitated over the word. He had never yet proposed. Talked about the number of kids he’d like when he did get married, but never
applied it to her. ‘I’d like nuffink better than ter be married. An’ one day, that’s wot I mean ter do, Jo, get married – ter you.’
It had come out in a rush, almost as though it embarrassed him, taking her utterly by surprise. His next words dumbfounded her even more.
‘Wot yer say, Jo? Would yer marry me?’
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t answer. All sorts of questions rushed through her head in those few seconds, remarkable how many questions could fill one’s head in such a minuscule amount of time: did he mean it or was it just that kiss? What would they live on, with both of them out of work? How could they afford even the cheapest of weddings? Where did he expect them to live? Not at her house? Too crowded. Not at his, a Bethnal Green tenancy with two bedrooms both being used. They couldn’t afford rent on even a one-roomed place.
Arthur was already speaking for her. ‘We’d ’ave ter wait some time, I know,’ as if she had already consented; taking it for granted that she had. ‘I wanna give yer a good life, Jo. Not some rotten squalid little ’ole, but somfink really nice. Maybe fings’ll change in year or two – the country get itself ter rights again, and I get proper reg’lar work again. Then I’ll ’ave money ter ask yer again … if yer’ll wait for me.’
The last sounded so sad, it wrenched Josie’s heart. She found herself crying, ‘Arthur, I’ll wait till the world catches fire. I’ll wait forever.’
‘Yer mean that?’
‘Every word, Arthur.’ Her voice was trembling. She felt like breaking into tears; felt him clutch at her, draw her near, hold her tight against him.
They stood in the dim alley, holding each other fiercely. Against his chest, Josie murmured, ‘I’m going to have to go, darling, unless I want to miss my train.’
‘Yeah,’ he said softly and kissed her. ‘Yer best go. An’ I’ll see yer Sunday, brakes or no brakes. Snow or no snow.’
‘I don’t want you to come if it turns dangerous. Please don’t take any chances. For my sake.’
But she knew that if he did turn up, pedalling through the elements to reach her, the love she would give to him would exceed anything they had so far indulged in. If he turned up, she would seal this promise she and he had just made, seal it properly for the first time ever.
Peggy, popping in to see Pam as usual after her Friday shopping, came up the stairs that seemed to get longer every time she visited puffing under the load of vegetables, a bit of meat, cooking fat and marge, sugar and tea; milk and bread, thank the Lord, were delivered to the doorstep, and fish got from the fishermen coming off their boats. She was met at the door to the top flat by Pam who had heard her coming, each step slower as it rose higher.
Peggy got easily tired these days. Felt her age as she liked to say, but it wasn’t age, it was Dan. He was a burden on her, four months at home and she was feeling it. Shopping in a hurry to make up the time she spent with Pam didn’t do her any favours either. She still felt guilty about her visits for all she’d defiantly said ‘so what’ to him.
‘Lord, that is a load to carry. Good job the rest of the way’s downhill or I’d be on my knees time get home.’
‘Mum, guess what?’
She hadn’t noticed Pam beaming. Now she did. ‘Guess what, what?’
‘George has got himself a job. A proper job. A foreman in a builder’s yard. Long term. Could be forever.’
‘How on earth did he come by that?’ Peggy put down her two bags. She wouldn’t be staying that long, just a quick cuppa and a cheerio kiss. Pam already had the pot filled, anticipating the time of arrival.
‘He just walked into the yard. He can’t believe his luck. There was no one else there looking for work. The boss was there and the men working. George just went in, asked if there was any work, and the boss asked had he ever worked as a foreman? George said yes, of course. He’s not daft, George, he’s watched foremen in his other jobs, what they did, how they did it. So of course he said yes. He just kept his fingers crossed and prayed. The chap didn’t even ask for credentials or anything. He said he’d been informed half an hour before that his foreman had had a heart attack and died that very morning. He was about to look for someone else but he had a job to get done quickly, materials and things to get, and he couldn’t do it all himself because he’d sacked several men lately because the work had fallen off. Now this work had come up and with his foreman just dead, he was in a quandary. Can you believe it?’
Peggy hardly could. There was still some grace in the world, still a God somewhere looking after people like Pam and George.
She went to the cot where little Beth was playing safely with a few spoons Pam had put in there for her. She was clashing them together, obliging her mother to shout her news over the top of the noise.
Peggy lifted the child up into her arms, kissing her little face. It smelled of Sunlight soap. Her little cheeks were scarlet from the soap’s harshness. Peggy hoped Pam didn’t scrub too hard – a light touch of such soap was enough for tender baby skin.
‘She’s really bonny,’ Peggy remarked, taking in the natural scent of Beth’s skin, burying her nose into the fine fair hair to catch even more of it.
‘I try to give her as good food as I can, Mum.’
Probably going without yourself to do it, Peggy thought sadly. Pam had put two cups of steaming tea on the table. ‘How’s Dad?’
Peggy placed Beth back into her cot and picking up her cup sat down with it, her face already going tight. ‘Driving me up the wall.’
‘Don’t Connie help, or Josie?’
‘Of course they do,’ Peggy felt her back go up. ‘They all do, in their way. But he wears me down. He’s so demanding and he’s never happy. Well, who would be in that predicament? It’s just that he wants to do more than it’s possible for him to do, and when he can’t he just flies into a temper with everyone. He keeps talking about having splints put on his legs and getting crutches, but just watching him trying to get into bed or out of it, I know it’s too early, if it ever does happen at all. As I see it, only a miracle can get him back on his feet. He can’t feel his legs at all, you know.’
She took a sip of her tea. Pam had forgotten to put the sugar in, but she didn’t remind her. Pam would probably need that spoonful at some time or another. The packet was three-quarters empty and she guessed it was all she had until George came home with his first week’s pay packet. Hopefully they might live better from now on, but it was risky to count chickens before they hatched. For all Pam’s high hopes, he could lose this job as quick as he got it. It only needed his lack of knowledge as a foreman to be exposed by one error and he would be out on his ear, a skilled foreman taken on in his place. There were dozens, hundreds ready to jump into his shoes just as he had into those of a dead man. It sounded awful but it was how things were.
‘I’m going to have to go after this,’ Peggy said, sipping the hot tea. She never did have a cast iron stomach and her tea was usually half cold at home by the time she ever got to it. She was used to it that way.
At least she had a few more minutes finishing it to exchange a little more chat: how Pam was coping; how Beth was progressing; telling Pam in return about her latest letter from India – ‘I bet the postman thinks we’re real quality getting letters from India. He often gives me a funny look. She sends you her love by the way and I tell her all about you’; how Connie was still plodding off to church every Sunday morning – ‘I worry for that girl, you know, she just refuses to get over Ben, it makes my heart go out to her and makes me angry too.’
In the final few moments left she crammed in a bit about Danny and Lily. Danny was still hedging about a day for their marriage – ‘he’s talking about next year now. I sometimes wonder if he really wants to get married, wants the responsibility, you know how he always liked the girls, liked being fancy-free.’
Josie she had hardly left herself time to talk about. Josie, though still out of work and March was already here, was all right. No housekeeping came in from her. ‘Well, you can’t tak
e anything off her like that. We manage. Danny’s not doing too bad. At least Billingsgate came up trumps this winter, kept us out of Poor Street, and he’s working hard. With spring just around the corner, we just hope we get a good bit of holiday trade for Easter. Keep our fingers crossed. Right, I must be off.’ She drained her cup, glanced at the battered old alarm clock on the shelf and got up. ‘See you next week, dear.’
Going over to bestow a lingering kiss on her grandchild’s soft cheek and giving Pam a quick kiss, she gathered up her hat, coat shopping and handbag.
She was behind the door, putting on her coat, when a firm knock sounded. ‘Now who can that be?’ Pam asked with a smile. Peggy smiled back.
‘Whoever it is,’ she said as she pulled on her brown woolly hat, ‘I’m on my way.’
Peggy prepared herself to murmur apology for having to depart the moment whoever it was – a friend of Pam’s probably – turned up. Instead, she uttered a startled gasp when she came face to face with Milly Bryant. For a second the two women stared at each other, neither able to believe who she saw confronting her.
‘What’re you doing here?’ Peggy’s face flamed, her fury flying towards the other woman whose features had also turned instantly red and bloated.
‘I might ask the some about you.’
‘I came to see my daughter …’
‘Daughter – huh! That’s a laugh. The so-called mother who turns her own daughter out on to the streets, didn’t care a bugger where she went or how she could cope. I’d say I’ve more right to be here than you. At least we’ve tried to help her.’
‘Help yourselves, you mean. Always been able to do that, ain’t you? Now, if you don’t mind, out of my way.’
Peggy made to push past the wife of her husband’s hated enemy, but the woman’s tall angular frame barred her way. ‘Hang on a minute. What d’you mean, help ourselves?’
