Eve of the Isle

by Carol Rivers

  ‘Yes, but I’ll come with you,’ Eve assured him.

  ‘My wife sleeps lightly,’ Harold said hurriedly.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Eve nodded, ‘you won’t hear a murmur from us.’

  He gave Eve a long, interested look. She felt uncomfortable under his stare and wondered why he had done them this favour. She guessed the moment he returned to his wife there would be hell to pay.

  ‘’Ere, Harold, you got something for these kids to eat?’ Peg asked as she shuffled across the floor. ‘Don’t mind about us, but these boys only had a bit of porridge and bread this morning at the Sally Army.’

  Harold visibly jumped as he stared into Peg’s close, beady eyes. ‘Uh, oh, yes, yes of course. I’ll see what I can find.’

  ‘We won’t come snooping after you,’ Peg added, giving him a gentle push to the door. ‘Don’t want to upset the apple cart do we?’

  ‘No – no, quite,’ agreed Harold. ‘Stay here and er . . . make yourselves at home.’

  The door closed and Peg stared at it. She turned slowly to Eve, raised her eyebrows and smiled. ‘Reckon he’s gonna get a strip torn off him by old Joan.’

  ‘Do we call him “Uncle”?’ said Samuel looking from Peg to Eve. ‘We ain’t got one of them.’

  ‘Yeah, why not?’ said Peg a little maliciously.

  ‘Do they have any kids?’ asked Eve curiously.

  ‘They only had one, a girl gone to Australia.’

  ‘It’s good of them to put us up,’ said Eve, genuinely grateful.

  ‘Yeah, ain’t it?’ Peg made her way to the end of the bed. ‘Come on boys, give me a hand. Let’s dig out this bed and some of them clothes from the wardrobe. Make ourselves comfortable.’

  When the bed was lowered to the floor, the boys bounced on the squeaky round springs. ‘Did someone die on this bed?’ asked Albert.

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Samuel, ‘she was Uncle Harold’s mother, so she might be a ghost.’

  Peg laughed. ‘No chance of that, Samuel. The poor old girl wouldn’t haunt here. Bet she was glad to be shot of this place.’

  ‘At least Mrs Slygo was looked after,’ commented Eve, as she opened the wardrobe door.

  ‘You can bet me sister would have done it only if she was on a promise from the old girl.’ Peg pulled out a long brown fox fur from a small round box. ‘Blimey, does this bite?’ Dangling it in front of Albert she gave a raucous laugh as he squealed. They were all too busy laughing to notice the door opening. Joan Slygo stood there, with a face as black as thunder.

  That night, Eve lay awake listening to the strange sounds of the tenement building. The pitter-patter of tiny feet was incessant. She guessed it was the pigeons who took shelter in the roof above the top floor rooms. And perhaps other kinds of furry animals that came out to scavenge at night. Before twelve there had been the usual drunken cussing and cursing from outside the window. Men returning from the pubs and attempting to find their way up the echoing stairs. At least she was warm, if not comfortable. The two boys and Peg had crammed into the bed, the springs well padded by the entire collection of Mrs Slygo senior’s voluminous coats. The fox fur acted as pillow for the twins, whilst Peg’s small body curled at the other end, her head buried in one of two feather pillows that reeked of Sloan’s liniment. The strong substance used as a muscular rub was no stranger to Peg who inhaled it with relish and fell asleep instantly.

  Eve had tried to make herself comfortable in one of the ancient armchairs. An army of moths escaped from the worn fabric but Eve wouldn’t have minded if it was a nest of snakes. She was too tired to care and wrapping her tartan shawl about her, she used an embroidered antimacassar to cover her legs. The cold seemed to penetrate her frozen limbs, despite this.

  She wondered what Harold’s mother had been like. And how had Joan coped with an invalid? She didn’t seem the nursing type. And what was the bone of contention between Peg and Joan? Peg never talked of her sister. What had happened to make them such enemies?

  Just then a small figure crawled into Eve’s lap. ‘I had a bad dream,’ complained Albert sleepily. ‘Old Father Thames was chasing me.’

  Eve hugged him tight. ‘It was just a dream, love. You’re safe here with me.’

  ‘Why don’t Aunty Joan want us?’

  Eve reflected on the moment when Joan had entered the bedroom and found them playing with the old fur. Peg had laughed at her sister’s infuriated expression. Joan had demanded they keep the noise down and banged the door behind her. Peg had made a face and set the boys off again. Once more, Eve had felt a pang of sympathy for Joan. Her home was not her own any longer. They were strangers to her. And now they were here, Peg seemed determined to settle old scores.

  Eve stroked Albert’s curly head and kissed his brow. ‘Aunty Joan doesn’t really know us.’

  ‘Will she like us better when she does?’

  Eve hoped they wouldn’t be here long enough to find out. ‘Who couldn’t love two adorable little scamps like you?’

  Albert snuggled closer. ‘Uncle Harold ain’t bad,’ he murmured, yawning loudly. ‘He gave us a nice bit of bread pudding.’

  The carefully quartered cubes of bread pudding had vanished along with the tea. But Eve had hoped for a hot meal for the twins, if not herself and Peg. She guessed that Harold hadn’t the courage to give them more.

  What would happen in the morning? It was Monday, and Harold would probably be going to work. Would Joan chuck them out on the street as soon as he left?

  Eve woke with a start. There was no familiar chintz curtain beside her and she was curled in an armchair. Where was she? Rivulets of moisture ran down the unfamiliar window, pooling on the sill. Then she remembered. Pushing herself from the chair she glanced at the bed where three small bodies were top and tailed. Eve recalled stumbling there in the middle of the night, lowering Albert from her arms into the warmth of the coats. She had tucked him in and he hadn’t woken. Now they all slept soundly.

  Eve pulled her shawl around her and replaced the antimacassar in the wardrobe. She listened for sounds and heard a faint shuffling. Opening the door quietly she peered into the dark passage. A door opened and Harold emerged. He saw her and turned to close the bedroom door quietly behind him. Treading lightly towards her, he whispered, ‘This way to the kitchen.’

  Eve followed. The kitchen was small, without table or chairs. To the right was a larder, a wooden drainer and sink. The stove stood beside a workmanlike mangle under the window. The dirty glass let in the dawn’s light, showing railings beyond that skirted all the outside balconies. There was washing already out on some of the lines strung in succession from door to door. Against the whiteness, the smoky black brick of the tenement looked grimy and depressing.

  ‘Joan sleeps late,’ Harold warned her with a nervous smile. ‘I’m off to work.’

  ‘Where’s that?’ enquired Eve.

  ‘The Commercial Road,’ replied Harold, pulling himself up another inch. ‘Gentlemen’s good quality attire, you know, a professional establishment of widespread repute.’

  ‘Oh,’ Eve nodded. ‘Very nice.’

  ‘By the way, I heard on the radio this morning that much of the city has been flooded. Over your way most of the streets have been affected.’

  ‘But we must go home.’ Eve shivered as they stood in the cold kitchen.

  ‘I know, my dear.’ Harold moved closer. Eve could smell the grease he used on his thin, flattened hair and bristly moustache. ‘My sympathies are with you. But I fear you may have to wait.’

  ‘Joan won’t like that,’ said Eve worriedly.

  Harold smiled thoughtfully, showing browned, uneven teeth under the abundance of facial hair. ‘I could put a good word in for you.’

  Eve pulled her shawl tighter around her. She didn’t like the look in Harold’s puffy eyes.

  ‘I’ll speak to her tonight.’ Harold lay his damp, plump hand on her arm as he put his face close. ‘I have no objection to you being here . . . none at all, in fact it’s . . . r
efreshing to have such pleasant company . . .’ His thin eyebrows rose above a sickly smile and Eve wanted to recoil as he breathed over her. He gripped her tighter. ‘I’m sure if you tried, you could win my wife over. A cup of tea in bed and a little breakfast? A few kind words?’ His hand ran up and down her arm. His eyes shone as he pushed against her.

  Eve turned her face, the hairs on her neck standing up. She wanted to run out of the kitchen, but he was holding on to her. His other hand rose. ‘You have such pretty hair . . .’

  Before Eve could react, a little voice made them both jump. ‘Mum, I want a wee.’

  Eve said a prayer of thanks as she moved quickly to Albert, pulling him into her arms. ‘Let’s go and wake Samuel, then all go together.’

  Harold reached for his coat and said briefly, ‘Good day to you.’

  They watched him bustle along the passage and out the front door. She dreaded to think what would have happened if Albert hadn’t appeared. She couldn’t have cried out. Joan might have heard. The atmosphere was bad enough between the two sisters without making it worse.

  Eve woke Samuel, leaving Peg to sleep. In the grey light of dawn she could see the lavatory was filthy. The roaches were busy scuttling around the walls and the smell of urine was overpowering. At least at home, Eve thought, they had a decent toilet. But in Bambury Buildings, no one troubled to clean up or leave squares of newspaper on the string.

  ‘I don’t like it here,’ said Albert as they returned along the balcony.

  ‘When can we go home?’ asked Samuel.

  ‘Soon,’ said Eve, and knowing what she did about Harold now, she couldn’t wait for the time to come.

  When they returned to the passage, Eve stood in silence with the boys. They looked up at her.

  ‘Aunty Joan ain’t awake yet.’

  ‘Uncle Harold said we should make her a nice cup of tea.’ She would take Harold’s advice about making herself useful.

  ‘Is there anything to eat?’ asked Albert.

  Eve squeezed his hand in hers and nodded. ‘We’ll have a look.’

  But the truth was, Eve was reluctant to wake Joan as she was certain to be told to clear off.

  Eve slowly pushed open the door of the room Harold had come out of. She had left the two boys in the kitchen with Peg, drinking weak tea and eating bread and dripping. She couldn’t let them go hungry and had helped herself to the bread and dripping in the larder which had been surprisingly well stocked. There had been a shin bone with beef on it, probably left from yesterday’s dinner, a wedge of cheese under a gauze cover, several eggs, a large loaf and a china pot of dripping. There was a shelf overflowing with vegetables and the rest of the bread pudding in an enamel baking tin. But she had not touched any of this; she hoped Joan would understand how hungry the boys were.

  Eve pulled the curtains. The room smelt musty and sweet. She made her way to one of the twin beds positioned far apart. Harold’s bed was neatly made, but Joan was fast asleep in hers. Eve lowered the cup and saucer to the bedside cabinet.

  The snoring was loud. Eve stood back, unwilling to wake her. Then suddenly Joan started. She threw back the clothes.

  ‘What are you doing in me bedroom?’

  Eve pointed to the cup. ‘I’ve made you tea.’

  Joan leaned up on one elbow, pushing back her frizzy hair from her face. She looked tired and worn without make-up. ‘I thought you’d be gone.’

  ‘It’s early yet.’

  ‘Well, you know where the front door is.’

  Eve felt a lurch of her stomach. ‘Joan, Harold said he heard our roads are still flooded.’

  ‘Well, you ain’t staying here. Now bugger off, I’ve got a flaming great headache and want to sleep.’

  Eve stood there, uncertain what to do. When Joan pulled the sheet over her head, she quietly left. Harold had said it was possible to influence his wife but Eve was doubtful.

  She just wished she knew what was going on in the outside world, so at least she’d know how long they’d have to stay here.

  Suddenly there was a hammering on the front door. Eve jumped and Peg, Samuel and Albert all rushed from the kitchen.

  ‘Who is it?’ demanded Peg, squinting through the small pane of opaque glass.

  ‘Officers of the law,’ came the reply.

  ‘They might have come to tell us we can go home!’ Eve opened the door immediately. Two policemen stood there.

  ‘You’re the bottle and stopper from yesterday!’ exclaimed Peg to the younger man.

  ‘Mrs Kumar?’

  Eve nodded.

  ‘I am Sergeant Moody and this is P.C. Merritt. I understand from a Miss Wilkins at the Salvation Army that you was brought here from Isle Street?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘I would like you to accompany us to Wapping police station in order to assist us with our enquiries.’

  Eve was startled. ‘What enquiries? I thought you’d come to tell us about our cottage.’

  ‘I don’t know nothing about that,’ barked the policeman. ‘Our records show that a man named Raj Kumar disappeared aboard the Star of Bengal five years ago.’

  Eve’s stomach tightened. ‘Yes . . . yes, he was my husband.’

  The policeman looked her up and down. ‘A body was washed up in the flood yesterday. A lascar, with evidence on him to show he crewed for the same ship.’

  Eve felt sick, and as the policeman opened his mouth to continue, she slowly buckled at the knees.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Through the fogginess in her head Eve heard the sound of Joan’s angry demand.

  ‘Mum nearly fainted, Aunty Joan.’ Samuel held Eve’s hand tightly. ‘It’s about our dad.’

  Eve struggled to stand straight assisted by the young policeman who seemed to be holding her up.

  ‘What time of day do you call this, waking people up at the crack of dawn?’ Joan continued relentlessly as she glared at the policemen.

  ‘We are here on official business, madam. I am Sergeant Moody—’

  ‘I don’t care who you are,’ interrupted Joan, holding her head and groaning. ‘I want you out right this moment. Tongues will never stop wagging if they see you lot. Coppers ain’t welcome round this way, so ’oppit.’

  Sergeant Moody pulled back his shoulders. ‘A death has to be investigated, madam.’

  ‘Are you telling me you think this person is my husband?’ Eve interrupted hastily.

  ‘We don’t know who it is,’ said P.C. Merritt, speaking for the first time. ‘It’s unlikely that you will be able to help us, but since the case has been left open we are obliged to follow it up.’

  ‘You’d better go, girl,’ said Peg, placing her hands on the boys’ shoulders. ‘I’ll look after the nippers for you.’

  ‘This ain’t a nursery!’ spluttered Joan going red in the face.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’ll try not to be long,’ Eve apologized.

  Sergeant Moody laid a heavy hand on Eve’s shoulder. ‘The car is downstairs.’

  Before Eve could say more, she was being marched down the four flights of stone steps by her escort. The Blakeys on the policemen’s boots echoed into the air as they hurried to the waiting car. It was a sound she would never forget.

  Eve sat in the rear of the vehicle, her mind in turmoil. This dead person couldn’t be Raj; it was impossible. After five years she had accepted that he was dead even though no authority had ever told her for certain.

  Despite her thoughts, she was suddenly aware of all the storm damage. Gutters were blocked and overflowing; rotting fruit and vegetables, bricks and glass had been washed up in the road and people were chucking water out of their front doors.

  It was much worse than she had imagined. She wanted to ask about it, but the two policemen were silent. Sergeant Moody drove fast through the puddles and splashed the pedestrians. A few fists went up and Eve could understand why the police were disliked in the East End. If they called at your house it was either to bring bad news or arres
t you. They were always on the side of justice, supposedly, but the ordinary man didn’t experience much of that. But P.C. Merritt hadn’t seemed so bad. He was young though, and hadn’t yet become hard-bitten like many of his profession.

  When they arrived at Wapping morgue, the two policemen climbed out.

  P.C. Merritt opened her door. ‘This way, Mrs Kumar,’ he said in a polite voice.

  She felt her legs tremble as they walked inside.

  ‘I’ll complete the paperwork,’ said Sergeant Moody, nodding to the office. ‘P.C. Merritt will accompany you to the identification room.’

  P.C. Merritt looked down at Eve. ‘It’s just along here.’

  She felt a wave of nausea as they walked down a long corridor smelling unpleasantly of disinfectant and another underlying smell that she knew was death.

  ‘Would you like to sit down for a moment?’ he asked as they came to a halt.

  ‘No I’d prefer to get it over.’

  They walked into a long, cold room. Eve’s head swam. What if it was Raj?

  A man in overalls was mopping the stone floor. He quickly disappeared and an attendant came to stand by a table with a white sheet draped across it.

  P.C. Merritt removed his helmet. He said softly, ‘Are you ready?’

  Eve nodded.

  ‘You can pull it back now,’ instructed the policeman.

  She felt a dropping sensation as she gazed upon the face of a young black man. The water had swollen his body and bloated his features. He had close-cropped hair and a large nose, but in no way did he resemble her beautiful Raj. Eve couldn’t stop herself from sinking against the young constable.

  He supported her gently. ‘Is it your husband?’

  ‘No,’ she mumbled.

  The sheet was replaced and he led her away.

  ‘I’m sorry you had to go through that,’ said P.C. Merritt, seating her on a hard chair in the corridor. ‘I’ll get you some water.’

  Eve hadn’t been prepared for this, and she wasn’t sure which was worse; thinking the dead man may have been Raj or that Raj may have been alive all this time and she hadn’t known it. But he would have contacted her if he was alive. Of course he was dead. Nothing else would stop Raj from returning to his family.