by Mary Wood
Wanting to believe this, Flora latched on to the way Francis saw everything, and ran off with him. Excitement at the prospect of the game ahead saw her wiping her eyes as the anguish left her. Everything would be all right. Daddy would make it so.
Chapter Two
Resting her head in her hands, Pru felt her stomach rumbling. The cries from her young son, Freddy, born just nine months after she left the Rofords’ employ and now fourteen months old, tore at her heart.
The front door, leading straight into the combined kitchen and sitting room of her one-up, one-down terraced house in Stepney, opened. The stench of the many piddlepots that had been emptied into the gutter outside mingled with the smell of the smoked-salmon factory and brought bile to her throat. She could never understand why people were too lazy to empty their pots into the shared lav in the yard.
‘I’ve brought you the remains of our dinner, Prudence. I – I hope you don’t mind.’
Pru looked into the lovely face of Rifka, whose straight coal-black hair framed her face. Her smile spoke of the kindness she’d once told Pru that her namesake in the Bible – the mother of Jacob – was known for.
A lot of the folk who lived in these parts were Jews, but Pru’s near-neighbours were immigrants of various origins, and it was some of these, although lovely gentle people, who had the filthy habits that caused the constant stench of the street.
‘It’s a chickpea stew, and I’ve brought you a challah loaf, too. I made it myself.’
Tears pricked Pru’s eyes. ‘Thank you’ was all she could manage to say.
‘Let me help you. I’ll lay the table while you heat the stew.’
‘Eeh, I wish I could, lass, but I have nothing to light the stove with.’
‘Oh, Pru, I’m sorry. I – I see that you have your house up for sale. Are things that bad?’
‘Aye, they are, lass. All me money’s gone, and I can’t get a job, as I’ve no one to look after Freddy. And me Parish Relief is a pittance. They say I don’t qualify for more, with me owning me own house. So I have no choice but to sell it.’
She looked around the room. Nothing about it reflected her poverty. George Roford had paid her off with a generous sum, which would have bought her a much better house in a different area, but she’d purchased this small terraced house and had furnished it like a palace, and had kept the rest of the money for a rainy day. That day had soon come, when she’d discovered that she was pregnant with George’s child. Unable to earn enough to keep herself, let alone a child, she’d been too proud to tell him, so she’d lived on the residue of the money, hoping that it would last until her child went to school and she could go out to work.
‘Will you go back to the North?’
‘Naw. I only had me dad up there. No other relatives that I know of. He was of Irish descent and was always looking to better himself. He worked as a clerk and brought me down to London, where he’d secured a job. I were only twelve. He died a couple of years after we arrived, and I worked as a nanny from the age of fourteen.’ The lie that Pru had so often spoken now rolled off her tongue: ‘I were married young, but me husband was killed in an accident, just afore I knew as I were pregnant. I bought this house out of the insurance payment and lived on what was left, but that’s all gone . . . Look, I were wondering, do you reckon your mam would buy a few of me pieces of furniture? I’ll be sad to see them go, but selling a few pieces is all I can do for now.’
‘You could marry again, Pru. You’re still young and you’ve a pretty face, and men would go for that figure of yours. I’m surprised you haven’t had offers. My brother’s always saying that if you were Jewish, he’d marry you tomorrow.’
Pru smiled, but the smile hid the aching knowledge that what Rifka said was true. Men did want her, but only for one thing. And aye, Rifka’s brother, Abe, was one of them. He didn’t care that she wasn’t Jewish when he came knocking, declaring his love and his intention to take care of her, if she played ball. But Pru had vowed she’d never allow a man to treat her like that again – she’d travelled that road once, and look where it had got her.
Abe’s and Rifka’s father owned the successful cobbler’s at the end of the street, and they lived around the corner in one of the large semi-detached three-storey houses. But Pru had long known that Abe had his fingers in other pies. He was never short of money, and had far more than his family could provide him with. Often he would beg Pru to go for a ride with him into the country in his red car. But Pru knew better than to put herself in such a compromising position.
But she didn’t voice all this in her answer. ‘I’m not much of a catch, having a young ’un, Rifka. I’ll be reet, once me house sells. There’s plenty of immigrants looking for these properties – not to mention landlords.’
‘I’ll miss you, Prudence, and I’m sorry for your plight. I’ll pop back home and get our Eilam to bring you a barrowful of wood and coal from our shed.’
‘Naw, you mustn’t do that. We can eat the stew cold.’
Without heeding this, Rifka left.
Breaking a noggin off the delicious-looking plaited loaf, Pru lifted Freddy and gave it to him. His crying had stopped when Rifka entered, but his face showed signs of his snot being wiped with his tears on the back of his hand.
Taking Freddy to the sink, Pru wet the corner of her pinny and, ignoring his loud protests, cleaned him up, before holding him close. ‘Eat your bread, me little lad. Things’ll get better. I promise.’
Freddy had just gone off to sleep when a loud banging on her door made Pru jump. ‘Eeh, there’s no need to break me door down . . .’ About to say ‘Eilam’, Pru was stopped in her tracks by the sight of a postman standing there with a letter. Only bills ever arrived on her doorstep, never letters.
Eilam followed close on the postman’s heels. ‘Where do you want this, Pru? Oh, and me ma said to tell you that she’s not a charity, so don’t expect this again. It was our Rifka that persuaded her. Now she’s been sent to her room, for promising you stuff. Ma says she wants her dish back as well, and that our Rifka had no right bringing the leftovers to you, as she could have made a pie with them for tomorrow. Oh, and your offer of some of your bits for sale: Ma said you can send her something now, as payment for the stew and the fuel.’
‘Eeh, lad, get in off the street and keep your voice down. I’d send you back with this and not accept it, but I’m desperate, for me lad’s sake. Tell your mam I’m sorry, and give me love to Rifka and tell her that I’ll understand if she don’t want to visit again. Now, fill the coal-scuttle with the coal, and lay the logs on the hearth.’
Looking around, Pru’s eyes rested on the nursing chair. She loved that chair and had had good use out of it, when seeing to Freddy, but it was a fine piece, intricately carved, and might attract Mrs Manning to want to buy more of her furniture.
‘Here, load this on your barrow for your mam, there’s a good lad. And if I had a penny, I’d give it to thee.’
‘That don’t matter. Look, I’ll tell you what: when my parents are out, I’ll bring you something, if Rifka can’t. We’ll work together, as we’re sorry for your plight, Missus.’
Shutting the door on Eilam, Pru smiled. Then she shook her head at how many different personalities there were in the Manning family. From Abe to his mother, to Rifka and Eilam and even their father, they were all different in nature, although Eilam, a cheeky minx who would throw a stone at you if you weren’t looking, showed signs of developing Rifka’s kind nature.
It was an hour later, with the fire banked down with slack to keep it burning longer, that Pru sat down and took the letter out of the pocket in her pinny. Her curiosity rose, as she didn’t recognize the writing on the envelope. Then her heart lifted with hope as she looked at the childlike scrawl of the letter inside. Flora? Oh, let it be from Flora!
Pru had written many times to Flora at the school she had accompanied her to, but had never received an answer.
Dear Nanny Pru,
Thank you for yo
ur letters. I love receiving them. I haven’t been allowed to reply, as I am only allowed to write letters to Mummy and Daddy. But today my friend, Millicent, and I have been given extra free time for being good.
Millicent is my best friend. She is three years older than me. She is a monitor and it is her job to look after the new starters. She looked after me when I arrived, and still does, even though she doesn’t have to any longer. She knows all about you, and how you cared for me because Mummy doesn’t love me. She is very clever. She plays the violin, and we write music and musical plays together.
I hope you can understand my letter. Now that I’m seven, I am learning joined-up writing . . .
‘Eeh, lass, I knaw, I knaw . . .’
And I have started to learn languages too, as Daddy said I must. If I become a famous pianist, I will have to travel to concerts all over Europe. I love these lessons, and my tutor says I am a very good learner. Then he said that I might be a ling-something, only I can’t spell it. I like French best, it sounds nicer than German does . . .
Millicent doesn’t board, so she sneaked this paper in for me and, as she can mimic her mummy’s writing, as she did on the envelope of this letter, she is going to take it and put it in the pile of letters that are always waiting to be posted at her home. I hope you receive it, and we are not found out.
I so want to see you, Nanny Pru. I miss you very much. And now Millicent has an idea. She says that she can write to my daddy, using her mother’s writing paper and in her mother’s handwriting, and will ask if I can stay for one week of my holiday. She says her parents are going away for a few weeks, and she will be at home with her nanny and the servants, so she can go to her daddy’s office in the evening and check the post, and pick out Daddy’s reply and let me know what he says. I have given her one of Daddy’s letters so that she knows the handwriting. If the answer is yes, then I can come to stay with you, and no one will know. Don’t you think that Millicent is so clever to come up with this plan?
I am to go to Aunt Amelia’s, from when I break up on 17th July until 4th August, when I can go home for a week and then back to Aunt Amelia’s until I return to school. Daddy says that Mummy will be away the week I am home. This means that she still doesn’t love me, Nanny Pru. So please say yes, please, please, Nanny Pru.
If you do, you will need to pick me up on the 17th, and then help me get to Aunt Amelia’s a week later. Please, Nanny Pru.
If I can’t write again, Millicent will write to you and make the arrangements with you.
I love you, Nanny Pru. Please write soon.
Yours, Flora x
The tears, which Pru had stemmed, flowed freely. How could she bring the child here? Even if she could afford to fetch Flora, and keep her and deliver her to her aunt’s? It was impossible. Oh, but I so want to. Eeh, me poor Flora, unloved and looked upon as a reminder of her father’s sins.
Freddy stirred at that moment. Pru lifted him. ‘By, lad, you’re a reminder of that same man’s sins, but I love you, and allus will. We’ll find a way – we will. There’s two months afore Flora would come to visit. I’ll sort sommat by then. I’ll tell her “yes”, shall I? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like to meet your half-sister.’
Freddy gurgled, then stretched his hand out towards the stew.
‘Aye, lad. There’s enough there for three days for thee, and with the bread an’ all, you’ll be reet.’
Her own stomach churned in protest at this, but she ignored it. She could manage on water. In three days’ time the Parish Relief would give her another handout and she would spend it on a sack of tatties and a few bones from the butcher, and that would keep them going for a while.
Freddy was sleeping soundly when, later that night, the one candle Pru had left fluttered and died, casting her into darkness. Dare she light the gas mantle? She knew there was just enough in the meter to sustain it for a while, but what if Freddy woke in the night? He’d be terrified if she couldn’t illuminate the room.
The flicker of a flame in the grate penetrated the blackness and gave some comfort. Putting down her copy of Little Women, a book she’d read over and over again but never tired of, she felt the loss of the only thing that could transport her to a world where she didn’t feel the pain of her loneliness and hunger. At least, in reading the book, she hadn’t got to the part where Beth dies. That would have opened a floodgate that she’d never be able to stop.
Her mantel clock struck the hour of nine. Sighing, Pru stood up. Best go to bed and try to sleep; the morning will bring its own troubles. Tomorrow she would go to the secondhand shop and ask Mr Gorth, the owner, to come and look at her bits and pieces and give her a price. She’d laid them all out earlier. A washbasin and jug, made of bone china and beautifully painted with a paisley blue-and-white pattern. A pile of pristine white, hand-embroidered antimacassars, and a tray and some tablecloths. Her good thick winter curtains, which were made of velvet and a deep blue. She’d only recently taken them down and laundered them, replacing them with her summer yellow cotton curtains. Then there was a vase. It, too, was bone china. Pru loved the willow pattern adorning it, showing scenes from China. Why did I buy such expensive things? Eeh, lass, you got too far above your station. George had done that to her. His declaration of love for her – his need of her – had made her think she was as good as the next person.
Pru decided not to go down that road of thought. She’d been a fool, and now she was paying for it. She’d have to get on with things as they were. There was no going back.
As she felt her way towards the front door, she thought she’d step outside for a moment, see if there was anyone to chat to. She’d put up with the smell, if she could have a bit of company. Rowena often sat on her step till late at night, singing soul-songs from her homeland of Jamaica and occasionally laughing out loud in an infectious way. She always cheered Pru.
But tonight the street was silent. The rain of an hour ago had washed the gutters free of the stench, leaving fresh air for Pru to breathe in deeply. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
But the silence was broken by the sound of a car, and her heart beat faster. Abe’s advances had become more frequent; he was getting impatient and more forceful. Despite everything, he had woken in her a longing for what George had given her – feelings that often visited Pru and begged for release.
She went back inside, but as she went to turn the key in the lock, her feelings burned with an intensity she couldn’t deny. When she heard a knock at her door, she couldn’t help herself, but let Abe in.
His large frame filled the doorway, blocking the small amount of light coming in from the street. His voice held a husky note as he enquired as to why she was in the dark. Her explanation saw him handing her some coins. ‘Feed the meter and get some lights on, girl. I want to see you.’
Her body trembled as she did as Abe bid. Fear now replaced the longings she’d felt. Don’t let him try owt, please!
Light flooded the room as the gas mantle jumped into life. Abe stood behind her. As she turned, he pulled her towards him. His need was there, pressing against her. She could hardly breathe.
‘You know what I’ve come for. Oh, Pru . . . Pru . . .’ His hand kneaded her breast. His dark eyes smouldered in his swarthy, handsome face, and his thick lips invited her.
‘Abe, no. No. Don’t, I – I can’t.’
‘There is no “can’t”. Not now, Pru. You know you want it. I love you, Pru. I want you. I must have you. I’ll take care of you, Pru, I promise. There’ll be no kid – I’ll not make you pregnant. And there’ll be no more poverty.’
‘If you loved me, you would take me out of poverty without the blackmail of me having to lie with you, to pay for it. I’m not a prostitute.’
‘But I can’t marry you, Pru; you’ve said in the past that you won’t convert, so that’s not possible. I can’t just hand out money and gifts to you – I need something in return. I have to have you, Pru. You love me, Pru, you know you do. Say
it, darling; say it.’
For her sins, Pru knew she did feel a strong attraction to Abe, and submitting to him would mean the end of all she had to put up with; but it also disgusted her that she had to, and that she had once before fallen for such patter. She was better than that. Pulling away from him, the word ‘No!’ spat from her. ‘How can I love you, when you haven’t an ounce of respect for me? You want to buy me, not love me. Well, I ain’t for sale!’
Abe’s face changed. Pru’s fear intensified. His slap sent her reeling. ‘So, you want to do this the hard way, eh?’
The Abe she had suspected to exist came to the fore and showed his true colours as she stared at him, towering over her, undoing his flies. Swallowing the scream that rose to her throat, for fear of waking Freddy, Pru kicked out. Her foot caught Abe’s shin. He doubled over in pain. She scrambled to her feet and ran for the door, but he was too fast for her. His large hands caught her cardigan. Her body was catapulted back into his.
A sense of hopelessness drowned her spirit, as her clothes were torn from her and she was forced towards the hearth and thrown down onto the rug. Unable to catch her breath, she felt pain searing through her, as Abe knelt across her chest and placed one knee on each arm while he undid the rest of the buttons of his flies. ‘Please don’t, Abe. Please.’
He hesitated. His breathless voice pleaded, ‘Then do this with me willingly. Let me have you, Pru. I told you I love you. Don’t make me force you.’
‘No! Get out, do you hear me – get out!’
His fist landed between her breasts, taking away her breath. Already weak with hunger, she couldn’t fight him off, and she felt a wetness on her thigh as he guided himself into her. Disgust made her feel sick.
Abe’s thrusts were deep and violent, and his hands held her arms in a bruising grip. Droplets of his sweat fell onto her face. Sobs shook her body as repulsion overcame her, at the pleasure he was giving her. She didn’t want to enjoy it. She wanted it over. Help me, God help me.
