Tanner Trilogy 03 - Backstreet Child

by Harry Bowling

  The Tanner family’s house in Salmon Lane was situated inside the transport yard which stood halfway along the street, wedged between a row of little houses on the left-hand side when looking down from the Jamaica Road. The houses leading on from the yard ended at a pickle factory, and facing them was an unbroken row of identical houses which reached along to a large warehouse. At the end of the turning a narrow walkway, bounded by a four-foot-high wall, ran past between the factory and warehouse and the swift-flowing River Thames. At high tide the water rose over the old banking and thick stanchions and lapped against the base of the wall, and when there was an exceptionally high tide the river threatened to flow over into the street.

  Salmon Lane was one of the many little turnings which led off from the wide, busy Jamaica Road, and there had been a transport business sited there as long as anyone cared to remember. Carrie had bought the horse transport firm from a George Buckman after selling her transport cafe in Cotton Lane. With the business had come a couple of lucrative contracts with local firms, and Carrie had worked hard and successfully to build up the concern and win further contracts, despite the general opinion that a woman would never succeed in the fiercely competitive transport business. She was now held in high regard by all who knew her and she had earned the grudging respect of her business rivals, including the Galloways, father and son, who had played such a fateful role in the Tanner family’s fortunes over the years.

  Carrie had called the business ‘Bradley’s Cartage Contractors’. It was her married name, and she had purchased the firm at a time when her husband Fred was very ill. He had known that he was not going to get better and he had given her his blessing in his own way, hoping that it would provide for her future in a way that their cafe business never could. Fred had been ten years older than she was and although she had never loved him in the way she now loved Joe Maitland, she had been a dutiful and caring wife until the day he passed away.

  Inside the yard, the Tanners’ house stood on the right, and opposite was a small office and a stable for twelve horses. The carts were stored in a large shed adjoining the house and the four Leyland lorries that Carrie had recently acquired were parked in the yard itself. The house was well maintained and neatly furnished. The upstairs bedrooms were occupied by Carrie’s mother Nellie, who slept in the back bedroom, and Carrie’s daughter Rachel, who had the bedroom overlooking the yard. Carrie and Joe slept in the downstairs bedroom which led off from the end of the passageway. Since her father had died, Carrie had seen the gradual change in her mother and she worried for her. Nellie Tanner had lately become a regular attender at the local church, and in her daylight hours, if she was not visiting her old friends in nearby Page Street, she tended to spend much time shut away in her bedroom, usually sitting by the window which looked down onto the back yards of neighbouring houses and the pickle factory yard.

  The years had been kind to Carrie. Her face was unlined and her pale blue eyes were bright and clear. Her fair hair reached down to the middle of her slim back, when it was not piled high on her head like it was now, and her figure was still shapely and slim. As she sat in front of the glowing fire, Carrie watched Joe’s handsome face twitching as he slept and she sighed contentedly. He had been her lover since the physical side of her marriage had ended.

  Joe Maitland had once owned a thriving buying and selling business, until he fell foul of a powerful enterprise that not only put him out of business but got him sent to prison as well, where he spent five years. As she gazed at the sleeping figure facing her, Carrie remembered the time when he stood at the front door, looking gaunt and tired on his return from prison. He had stayed with her at first as a paying lodger, but there had been too much darkness inside him, and she remembered with a shudder the day he walked out of the house and out of her life.

  Joe was stirring now, baring his even white teeth as he yawned, his dark, greying hair tousled. Carrie got up quickly and went to the scullery. She found it hard not to be a little frightened every time Joe woke up from an evening or afternoon nap. When he had been drinking to excess, those moments of waking had filled her with dread. He would be snappy and hard to talk to, and one day, when the drink had almost pickled his liver, he had raised his hand to her. That was when he had walked out on her.

  As she waited for the kettle to boil, Carrie bit on her lip. How close she had come to losing him for ever, she thought. He was the only man she had really loved, and who had loved her with an all-consuming passion. She loved him still, and he loved her, but now their love was different. It had grown from the desolate wreck of their earlier relationship, and they were each determined to hold on to what they now had together.

  Joe grinned drowsily as he took the cup of tea from Carrie. ‘What’s the time, luv? ’Ave I bin asleep long?’ he asked.

  ‘Not long,’ she replied, glancing up at the clock.

  Joe followed her eyes. ‘Christ! I’ve slept fer hours,’ he said, stifling a yawn.

  Carrie sipped her tea. ‘I’ve just finished the books,’ she told him. ‘You was in a good sleep so I left yer.’

  ‘Is yer mum back yet?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m gettin’ a bit worried. She should’ve bin ’ome by now,’ she replied.

  ‘Shall I slip out an’ see if I can see ’er?’ he asked.

  Carrie looked up at the mantelshelf clock once more. ‘Let’s give it a few more minutes,’ she said. ‘She might’ve called in ter see one of ’er ole friends. She’s done it before.’

  Joe went out to the scullery where he splashed cold water over his face, dabbing it dry on a clean white towel. The desire to take a drink tormented him only rarely now but occasionally he found a sudden urge assailing him, and he threw icy water on his face and neck in an effort to shock it out of him. He stood in the cold, stone-floored room at the back of the house and looked through the window at the rising moon, half hidden behind a chimneypot. He wondered whether he would ever be totally free of the urge to swallow a strong drink and let it ease the feeling of want which had invaded his stomach. He dare not succumb to the desire, he knew that only too well. He owed it to Carrie, who had taken him back and given him her love once more, and to young Rachel, who had sought him out from the dark debris of humanity and led him unashamedly into the light once more.

  Joe gritted his teeth as he recalled those terrible days and nights he had shared with the tragic figures who lived and worked in the fish market beside the river. Drink-sodden, cold and hungry, he had wandered aimlessly through the dark cobbled lane one evening and found himself on Tower Hill, and there he stood listening to a preacher who was addressing a small gathering. Joe remembered how he had looked down at his raw, shaking hand when the preacher ranted, ‘If thy right hand offends thee cut it off.’ He had wanted to do just that, but he had known full well that he would cheerfully sip from the gutter, had the liquid he craved flowed there – anything to sate the agonising pain he felt then in his stomach. Now, as he stood alone in the scullery, Joe looked down at his hand and turned it over slowly. He still carried the corns and scars from pulling the fish barrows up the steep lanes but his hand did not shake any more. He could remember well the rasping pain in his chest as his breath came in gasps at the top of the wet and slimy cobbled hill, and how the drivers of the horse-carts and lorries shouted abuse at him and the rest of the up-the-hill men as they struggled with the laden barrows.

  Joe smiled to himself and took comfort. Just a few short months ago the shake had been marked. He knew that he was winning the long fight and nothing would make him slip back into that dark abyss of degradation and despair.

  ‘Joe?’

  He turned quickly, startled by Carrie’s voice, and saw her framed in the doorway. She moved towards him and he encircled her with his strong arms.

  ‘D’yer still feel it?’ she asked fearfully, her head against his chest.

  ‘It’s there at times,’ he said truthfully, ‘but it’s easy ter manage now. After all, it’s bin o
ver eighteen months since I took a drink.’

  Carrie could feel his heart beating strongly as he held her to him. ‘Never shut me out, Joe,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll always be ’ere for yer.’

  Joe eased her away gently and looked down into her anxious face. He could see the pleading look in her blue eyes as he gazed appraisingly at her. He saw her firm full lips, the line of her fair hair and her tiny ears. ‘Yer still a beautiful woman,’ he said, a smile showing on his face. ‘D’yer remember that time at my place in Tower Bridge Road when we first made love?’

  Carrie nodded. ‘I’ve never stopped lovin’ yer, Joe,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll always love yer. That’s why yer must never shut me out.’

  He put his arm round her shoulder and led her back into the warm parlour. ‘I s’pose I’d better go look fer that muvver o’ yours,’ he sighed.

  Chapter Two

  Nellie Tanner had enjoyed the service, and when it was over she took a roundabout route back home via Page Street. The night air felt cold on her face but the thick coat with the fur collar which Carrie had bought her last winter kept her body warm, and she felt that the extended walk would do her good. The little backstreet was quiet as she turned into it from Jamaica Road. Ahead she could see the gates shining under the corner gaslight and the little house where her children had all been born. At the elbow of the turning, Nellie stopped and stared along both stretches of road. Apart from a couple up ahead, caught in the glare of the far gaslight and walking arm in arm away from her, the street seemed uncannily devoid of life.

  Nellie puckered her thin lips as she stared over at the house next to the padlocked gates, and as though from far away, getting gradually louder, she heard the clatter of horses’ hooves. She could see children swinging from a rope hanging from the gaslamp and she heard their laughter. William was standing by the gate beckoning to her. How handsome he looked. Behind him she could see George Galloway. He was half smiling, half leering at her and Nellie’s eyes narrowed. Hatred for the man who had almost ruined her and William burned fiercely in her breast and she gritted her teeth. She looked away and fixed her gaze on the little house with its whitened front doorstep. Was that Charlie standing there by the front door? Yes, it was. He looked smart in his uniform, and there was James too, his arm round his younger brother. William was pointing to the boys, trying to draw her attention to them. ‘It’s all right, Will, I’ve seen’em,’ Nellie called out to him. Her husband had vanished among the shadows now but Nellie’s eyes were on the two young men. ‘Where’s young Danny?’ she called out to them. ‘Yer know yer promised me yer was gonna keep an eye on ’im. I’ll give yer what for if yer disobey me.’

  James was moving off, away from his brother, and there was a smile on his pale face. Charles was beckoning him back but James raised an arm and with a fleeting wave disappeared from his mother’s sight.

  ‘Danny, Danny,’ Nellie called out. ‘C’mon in, it’s gettin’ late.’

  ‘It’s all right, Ma. Danny’s at the gym,’ Charles said reassuringly.

  ‘Go an’ get ’im this very minute, d’yer ’ear me, Charlie?’ she called out. ‘Yer know I can’t abide the boy fightin’.’

  ‘But, Ma.’

  ‘If yer stand there arguin’ I’ll take the strap ter yer. Now get’im this minute.’

  The night mist was beginning to drift in from the river and it was turning colder. Nellie shivered and pulled the fur collar of her coat up round her ears. The street was empty again but she could hear noises. Everyone was coming out from the houses. Sadie Sullivan was carrying a rolling pin and Maisie Dougal had her knitting with her. Florrie Axford was there too, her gaunt face set firmly. Nellie could see the women lining up across the street. They had brought their own chairs out and Maudie was singing ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’. ‘It’s all right, Nellie, jus’ leave it ter yer ole friends,’ someone called to her.

  The mist was thickening and Nellie strained her eyes. They had gone now, all except Aggie Temple. She was bent double, a brush and pan held in her hands as she swept the dust from her doorstep. It was deathly quiet, and Nellie leaned against the corner lamppost, her heart beginning to pound and her breath coming in short gasps. For a while she stayed there until the pounding of her heart grew calmer. As she started to walk on, a lorry thundered along the turning and she saw Aggie Temple get up from her knees at her front door and curse after it, shaking her clenched fist at the trail of dust. ‘Yer can’t keep yer step clean fer five minutes wiv those bleedin’ lorries,’ she grumbled.

  ‘’Ow’s the ole man?’ Nellie called out to her.

  Aggie shook her head. ‘It’s ’is back. Bin out fer weeks wiv it,’ she replied.

  ‘It’s the cold,’ Nellie told her, but Aggie had gone.

  She felt the pressure of a hand on her arm. ‘Well, yer better get indoors an’ get yer feet in front o’ the fire,’ Joe Maitland told her.

  ‘’Ello, Joe. What yer doin’ out on a night like this?’ Nellie asked him.

  ‘I’ve come lookin’ fer you, Mum. Carrie’s bin worried about yer. D’yer know it’s nearly nine o’clock?’

  Nellie slipped her arm through his. ‘It’s all right, Joe. I was just takin’ a stroll down the old street. Yer know somefink? There was a time when I could tell yer the name of everybody in this turnin’. I knew all the people an’ all their troubles. I’ve seen ’em come an’ I’ve seen ’em go. D’yer know somefink else? I knew the names of all the kids in this street once upon a time.’

  ‘I know, Ma,’ Joe said in a kind voice. ‘Now let’s get yer’ome before yer catch cold.’

  Nellie blinked once or twice as though trying to compose herself and suddenly she swayed forward. Joe quickly put his arm round her waist to steady her and after a moment she looked up into his eyes. ‘I must ’ave lost meself fer a while,’ she said slowly. ‘Where are we, Joe?’

  ‘Memory Lane, luv. C’mon now, ’old on tight ter me arm,’ he told her.

  In the small front bedroom overlooking the yard, Rachel stood peeping through the drawn curtains. She had heard the wicket gate creak open and she frowned as she watched Joe help her grandmother through the opening and escort her to the front door. She heard her mother’s enquiring voice and mumbled words from Joe, then the door banged shut and it was quiet again.

  Rachel resumed her position in front of the dressing table and studied her face. The spot just to the side of her full lips irritated her and she put a dab of foundation cream on it in an effort to hide it. Every month the spot seemed to flare up. Rachel pulled a face at herself. ‘Tonight of all nights I wanted to look my best when Derek comes round and instead I look terrible,’ she groaned to herself as she picked up the hairbrush and proceeded to run it through her long flaxen hair. It was important that she looked her best for her special date with the young man who had attracted the attention of most of the young women at the Methodist youth club at Dockhead. Derek worked in a shipping office in the City and all the young girls thought he was very handsome. His quiet way and good manners were in contrast to most of the other young lads who frequented the place, and his sense of humour often had the young ladies giggling as they sat together in the club’s canteen. Rachel had tended to avoid him at first due to her natural reserve, and Derek had been prompted to get to know the one young woman in the club who showed little interest in him. They had been dating for some time now and he had approached her earlier that week and asked her to go to the jazz club with him on Sunday evening.

  Rachel was not too keen on jazz, from what she had heard on the wireless, but she was excited to be asked out to the club by the young man and felt that it could be an exciting evening. Derek had mentioned some of the more famous jazz musicians and he seemed to know a lot about the music, although he told her he did not play an instrument himself. She was worried about what her mother might have to say, however. Derek laughed when she told him of her fears. ‘It’s a pub off the Old Kent Road where jazz musicians get tergevver on Sunday evenin’s. Th
e music’s really good an’ lots o’ young people go. Everybody enjoys ’emselves,’ he told her enthusiastically.

  At first Carrie had been worried about her daughter going to a pub with the young man but Rachel had found an ally in Joe, who said that he used to go to certain pubs where jazz was played and it was all very civilised.

  Finally, when her hair was shining and secured in front of both ears with small bone clips, she studied her face once more, turning her head first one way and then the other. With a sigh she tucked her tight-fitting white blouse further into her black woollen skirt and reached for her coat.

  Carrie glanced up and smiled at her daughter as she came into the parlour. ‘You look really nice. I told yer that blouse o’ mine would go wiv that skirt,’ she said, leaning back in her chair as she appraised her.

  Joe grinned at Rachel and nodded in agreement as Carrie glanced at him, but Nellie continued to stare into the fire as she sipped her tea. Rachel gave her mother a quick puzzled look but Carrie shook her head quickly to stop her saying anything. ‘Now I don’t want yer out too late, young lady,’ she said firmly as Rachel reached down to slip on her shoes.