Jam and Roses

by Mary Gibson

  The man’s face was still obscured in the shadows, but the voice was familiar. There was something in it that made her trust him. She placed Jimmy into his cradling arm, and let him help her up the river stairs. At the top, by the light of a nearby gas lamp, she looked into the face of the man who had saved her and Jimmy. Half in shadow, at first she didn’t know him.

  ‘It’s Bertie Hughes, Milly.’

  She stared at him, willing her numbed mind to work. It felt as if part of her really had been swept away by the tide and she was hauling it back, second by second. Then she recognized him.

  ‘Bertie? The grocer?’

  ‘Yes. I just came down to look at the river,’ he said in explanation.

  ‘Me too.’ The lie hung in the air between them. Trembling uncontrollably, she waited for him to leave her, knowing that then she would have to face her impossible choices again.

  ‘I think you might have lost your footing... if I hadn’t come along,’ he said gently.

  She nodded, dumbly ashamed that despair could have so overcome her instinct to protect her child.

  ‘I think I must have fainted.’ Again she lied. ‘Not had a bite to eat all day, and...’ a sob caught in her throat, ‘and I lost me lodgings... and...’ She heaved in a shuddering breath which ended in tears.

  ‘Here.’ He gave her a handkerchief and began leading her away from the river, along Farncombe Street. As they passed the Bermondsey Settlement, her grip on his arm grew tighter.

  ‘You’re not taking me there, are you?’

  ‘Well, I just thought... you know Miss Green, don’t you? Perhaps she can help.’

  She pulled away. ‘No, Bertie, I can’t go there. They’ll want to take my baby. The home said I was unfit... that’s why I’ve run away from there this morning.’

  He seemed to require no further explanation and hurried them on past the Settlement. Looking up at the Gothic arched windows, spilling light across Farncombe Street, Milly knew that sooner or later she must face Florence Green’s disappointment, but not tonight.

  ‘Now, listen,’ Bertie said, shifting Jimmy on his arm and looking at Milly, ‘let me take you for a bite to eat. You’ll be able to think straight once you’ve got some food inside you.’

  They had reached the end of Farncombe Street and were about to cross Jamaica Road, where the late-night dining rooms were open all hours for night workers.

  ‘You’re very kind, Bertie, but I can’t take charity...’

  He raised an eyebrow, in that quietly amused way she remembered now, and she was forced to smile at the memory of the grocer’s slate which her mother had made such good use of over the years.

  ‘Thank you, Bertie,’ she said, ‘so long as you let me pay you back.’

  The dining rooms were brightly lit and clean, filled with wooden tables and a few booths round the walls. It was half empty, waiting for the rush of the next shift changeover. They sat in a booth towards the back, and Milly was able to lay Jimmy in the corner of the bench, wrapped in her coat. While Bertie ordered their food, Milly sank back, feeling the safest she had all day. She still felt oddly between worlds, and as Jimmy stirred, she patted him gently, trying to dismiss from her mind how she had so nearly taken him with her from this world to the next.

  She hoped Bertie wouldn’t refer to it again. He seemed to sense her reticence and while they sipped tea and waited for their food, he made conversation about his night at the Settlement. ‘I was there for a lecture. It was Dr Salter.’

  Milly nodded. ‘The doctor on the bike’, as he was known, was their MP and well liked all over Bermondsey. He’d helped found the Bermondsey Labour Party and was considered more saint than politician. Not only was he famous for not charging fees to poor families, but he’d also won many hard-fought battles for better health care and housing in the borough.

  ‘And then after the lecture, well, matter of fact, I was talking to Miss Green. Milly, she’s a kind woman. Why won’t you let her help you?’

  ‘No, no, no!’ She let her knife and fork fall, feeling as ready for flight as a cornered, wounded animal.

  ‘I’m a friend of Florence and I know she’s not the sort of woman who would condemn,’ he said, and Milly saw a flash of something in his eyes – admiration for the woman, or perhaps something more, she couldn’t tell.

  ‘She’s helped me already, and I’ve chucked it in her face. I can’t stay.’

  She bent to pick up Jimmy and leave.

  ‘All right, Milly, I’ll say no more,’ he said, gesturing for her to stay. ‘Please, don’t go, carry on with your supper.’

  She sank back. She had to eat. She was sick with hunger and fatigue, and she knew she would need all her strength for the next day’s work at Hay’s Wharf. With a jolt, she realized she was planning for tomorrow, and a sudden wave of gratitude washed over her that she and Jimmy still had a future. Bertie filled the awkwardness with more talk about Dr Salter’s lecture.

  ‘He wants to build a solarium in Bermondsey, can you imagine?’

  Milly could not, and she admitted to not knowing what a solarium was.

  ‘It’s like a sun clinic,’ Bertie went on, in undisguised admiration. ‘Bermondsey children needn’t suffer from rickets ever again,’ he said. ‘They would just go to the solarium for an artificial dose of sunshine!’

  She thought of the many bandy-legged toddlers in Dockhead and had to agree it would be a marvellous thing to see them straight-limbed, though she privately thought it would be far better if they could just have the chance to grow up in the country, where the real sun could do its job for free.

  ‘I tell you what, Milly, he’s someone worth voting for.’

  ‘Well, I can’t vote for no one. I’m nowhere near thirty, I’ve got no home of my own and I’m not married, am I?’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ She saw a faint blush rise from his neck, and regretted the devilry that had made her burst his enthusiasm. She wasn’t sure if he was kicking himself for drawing attention to her homelessness or her unmarried state, or for the ultimate insult that at eighteen she looked ten years older, but he covered it well.

  ‘Anyway, I think women should have the same rights to vote as men. But when you can vote, Dr Salter’s your man. He’s even going to make Bermondsey beautiful. Says he’ll make the council plant trees in every street!’

  ‘Oh, now that would be something to see!’ Milly’s eyes shone with genuine enthusiasm, and Bertie, tucking into his sausage and mash, seemed relieved to have made her smile.

  When they’d both finished eating and were drinking second cups of tea, Bertie asked, ‘So how did you come to lose your lodgings?’

  ‘The landlord thought I was fair game, tried to break into my room.’

  Bertie looked away, she supposed in embarrassment, and called for the bill. When he looked back at her, his expression was unreadable. He said simply, ‘Do you want to stay with me tonight?’

  Milly dropped the cup down on the saucer, causing the proprietor to fear for his china from the look he shot them. Was there no man she could take at face value?

  ‘I knew it!’ she said, despair swallowed up in indignation. ‘You blokes are all the same. Just ’cause I was caught out,’ she nodded towards Jimmy, ‘don’t mean I’m a whore that’ll go with any old Tom, Dick or Harry, and I’ll have you know, sausage and mash don’t buy me!’ She stood up, trying to shuffle past him out of the booth, when he infuriated her even more by shaking his head with a small chuckle.

  ‘God in heaven, strike me dumb.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ She glared at him, still trying to push past him, out of the booth.

  The smile faded and he became serious. ‘You’re right, you’ve not been given much reason to trust any feller, but the fact is I’ve got a spare room and you need somewhere to stay. I’m not after anything else.’

  He moved aside, allowing her to leave if she wished. Weariness and some instinct made her pause. Could she trust him? His actions at the river had revealed a kind man,
surely not one who would take advantage of her weakness? She nodded her head and he stood up to pay the bill, then she followed him out into the chilly summer’s night.

  They didn’t have far to walk. Bertie lived only ten minutes away, in a small terraced house in Storks Road, one of the better streets in Bermondsey. Milly was surprised, but relieved, to find that he no longer lived over his uncle’s grocery shop in Dockhead. It would be hard enough convincing her mother that going home with a man she hardly knew was a good idea, without the neighbours running to tell her first. They turned into Storks Road, on the corner of which stood the Stork Picture Palace, silent now, unlit and shuttered. His house was a little further down the street; it had a round-arched front door, and arched windows to match. As they stepped inside the dark entrance hall, Milly immediately calculated that Bertie had twice the living space of all the Bunclerks put together. He led her past the downstairs front parlour, and pointed out the back kitchen and scullery. After lighting the gas mantles on the stairs, he showed her up to one of the spare bedrooms. It was by now almost midnight and her legs could barely carry her any further. She staggered into the room. Though Bertie was thoughtfully pointing out the empty wardrobe for her things, she only had eyes for the comfortable-looking double bed.

  Seeing her stumble as she went to place Jimmy on the counterpane, Bertie said, ‘You look done in. I’ll let you get some sleep.’

  She nodded, and with mumbled thanks closed the door behind him, falling back against it in relief that, soon, she could lie down. She waited till he closed the door of his own bedroom, then turned the lock firmly in her own. She trusted him, but she no longer trusted herself, her instincts having failed her so miserably before. Moving Jimmy to one side, she undressed and slipped into the deliciously clean sheets. It was a feather mattress! She let herself sink into the soft yielding pile; it was like nestling into a warm cloud. Banishing all thoughts of the future, Milly gave herself up to the balm of sleep.

  She woke only once in the night, sitting bolt upright at Jimmy’s cry. Eyes closed and still half asleep, she fed him, then fell again into an untroubled sleep. At five o’clock, she woke to a soft knocking on her door. She jumped up and opened it a crack, peering out at Bertie, already dressed in shirtsleeves and waistcoat.

  ‘I’ve brought you some hot water,’ he said, passing her a china jug and basin. ‘Let me know if you need anything for the baby.’ She thanked him and as he walked away, he said, without looking back, ‘Bacon’s on for breakfast. I leave at six.’

  He didn’t sound as jovial or relaxed as he had the previous night. She wondered if he might be regretting his offer of a room. After all, he was a middle-class respectable tradesman, friend of council men, friend of Florence Green. His reputation could only suffer by association with the likes of her, a factory girl with a bastard child. It wasn’t something the local parish council would approve of. Still, she remembered his genuine concern last night, the way he had thought of Jimmy first, carrying him in the crook of his arm away from the river, away from the danger she had put him in. She decided that this morning he was just trying to strike the right note, neither too familiar nor too formal. The awkwardness of having her staying in his house must be as acute for him as it was for her. She would take her cue from him. She came down to the kitchen, and was touched that he’d laid her a place. He put a steaming cup of tea in front of her and a bacon sandwich. She imagined what her mother would have to say about the doorsteps he’d cut, but she wasn’t complaining. She was ravenous and any attempt to be ladylike was confounded by the wedges of bread stuffed full of bacon.

  ‘What time do you have to be at Hay’s Wharf?’ he asked, for she’d told him about her temporary employment.

  ‘Eight o’clock,’ she answered, with her mouth half full, ‘but I’m taking Jimmy to Mum’s first.’

  ‘Do you want to walk down to Dockhead with me?’

  Was he really that innocent? Didn’t he realize it would be all round Arnold’s Place before dinner time, that Milly Colman hadn’t been back five minutes and she’d got herself a fancy man to keep her? But she had a good enough excuse.

  ‘I can’t turn up too early at Mum’s. I don’t want the old man knowing she’s looking after my baby.’ It was the truth. ‘I don’t know what he’d do to her, if he found out, but Jimmy needs to go somewhere while I’m working.’

  Bertie stirred his tea thoughtfully. ‘Doesn’t the Settlement run a crèche?’

  ‘I’ll have to earn a bit before I can pay for that. But anyway, I can’t go near that place with my baby – they’ll put the welfare on me. And while we’re at it, I know you’re friends, but I’d rather you didn’t talk about me to Miss Green.’

  ‘No, I’m not going to do that.’ His blue eyes clouded a little. ‘I’m not the type to talk about people’s business.’ He stood up and started clearing the plates, but she took them from him. ‘Here, let me do that.’

  Milly hadn’t got used to the sight of a man so at home in the kitchen, or the novelty of being served breakfast by one. As she took the plates, she tried to remember if she’d ever seen the old man even make a cup of tea, let alone a bacon sandwich.

  ‘I do feel ungrateful, Bertie. I know it wasn’t Miss Green’s fault the matron at Edenvale was such an old cow!’ she mused as she filled the stone sink with hot water. ‘And I really shouldn’t have given Mr Dowell such a wallop at the station.’ Bertie had followed her into the scullery, and she looked round just in time to see him raising one of those flyaway eyebrows.

  ‘God strike me dumb, if I ever get on the wrong side of you!’ he muttered as he turned to go.

  Her mother answered the knock, her face grey and pinched, dark circles beneath her eyes. She crossed herself, ‘Oh Jesus, Milly, I’ve been out of me mind with worry. Fancy running off like that. Where did you stay last night?’

  Milly felt a pang of guilt. She’d barely given her mother a thought since rushing out of the house the previous night.

  ‘At a friend’s. I told you I’d find somewhere. You mustn’t worry about me, Mum.’

  Her mother took Jimmy and laid him in the blanket-lined drawer.

  ‘Which friend? Not the Bunclerks, they can’t swing a cat.’ A look of suspicion crossed her mother’s face. ‘You’ve never been round Mrs Donovan’s?’

  Elsie had come in from washing in the scullery and was now making faces at Jimmy, trying to coax a smile. Amy sidled up to the drawer, and with a mischievous half-smile on her face, said, ‘Old Ma Donovan wouldn’t have her anyway. I heard her telling Mrs Knight she didn’t want nothing to do with Pat’s whore or her bastard.’

  Milly plucked Amy by the back of her pinafore dress and held her up like a troublesome kitten. ‘Who asked you to stick your nose in?’

  But Amy was not to be intimidated. She thrust her face even closer to Milly’s and shouted, ‘It’s true, that’s what she said!’

  ‘I don’t care if it’s true or not. Don’t you ever talk like that in front of my Jimmy, d’you hear me?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Amy said sulkily as Milly dropped her. ‘He can’t understand.’

  ‘No, but one day he will, and there’ll be plenty of people saying that sort of stuff, without his family joining in.’

  Elsie had scarcely seemed aware of the confrontation, but now she looked up from Jimmy and said gravely, ‘Of course babies can understand everything. I can remember Milly singing to me in my pram.’

  Milly was taken aback that Elsie should have remembered the days when she had taught her adored little sister every nursery rhyme she knew. But of course, she reasoned, there were all sorts of family stories, repeated so often they seemed like real memories.

  Amy was sniffling now and looking to her mother for support.

  ‘Don’t look at me for help. You should learn to keep your trap shut,’ her mother said in exasperation. ‘Just think before you open your mouth in future.’

  Then with a look of pure adulation, she turned to gaze at her golden
-haired grandchild. At least Jimmy had found another champion in the world, Milly thought. But still her mother pressed her.

  ‘Well then, where did you stay?’

  ‘I stayed with Bertie Hughes.’

  Her mother’s face took on a puzzled expression, then hardened. ‘What, that toffee-nosed grocer? Well, that takes the cake.’

  ‘He’s not toffee-nosed! His uncle is, but Bertie’s different.’

  ‘Well, different or not, he’s still moneyed, and you know what they’ll be saying round here, don’t you?’

  ‘I do, and I couldn’t give a monkey’s, ’cause I’m staying at his house tonight as well.’

  Before he’d left for the shop, Bertie had offered her another night’s lodging. He’d made the offer so casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But though it would be a lifeline for her, she knew it could send him into a social wilderness.

  ‘Are you sure you want every vicious-tongued tart in Dockhead talking about you and your jam girl?’ she’d challenged him. It was no good pretending they were on an equal footing. He’d simply shrugged and insisted he took no notice of gossip. Now, remembering his casual air, she thought him a braver man than his mildness suggested. He would have to face the women’s whispering and sharp looks all day, as they came in and out of the shop.

  She arranged for her mother to bring Jimmy to Hay’s Wharf mid-morning so that she could feed him, and handed her the few clean nappies she had. The rest were steeping in a bucket of soda in Bertie’s scullery. She could only imagine the bachelor’s surprise, when he got home later that night. A bucket of dirty nappies would test his genuineness like nothing else she could imagine.

  As she was about to close the front door behind her, she felt Amy tugging at her coat.

  ‘Milly, take this.’ Her sister held out a small, engraved gold cross on a fine chain. ‘Mum says Jimmy’s crying ’cause he needs bottles and milk. Pawn this and buy him some.’

  ‘Amy, I can’t, not your cross!’