by Carol Rivers
‘Tell us all about it.’
Eve told them about the club and the supper and dancing, but left out Robbie and his friends. Neither did she mention the coffee on the Embankment. She had a lot on her mind when she finally went upstairs. Charlie had seemed distant when he’d brought her home.
As she lay in the dark and listened to her sons’ soft breathing, his words came rushing back. Was she keeping him at arm’s length because she couldn’t forget Raj?
Though nearly drowning had frightened her, something else had happened that night at Shadwell. She had watched Charlie bending over her, trying to revive her. As though she had stood in a place between life and death, just waiting . . .
‘Mum?’ a little voice whispered.
Eve sat up in bed. The sweat was pouring off her. Had she been dreaming?
She threw off the covers and drew the curtain. Samuel was sitting up in bed.
‘Did I wake you?’ she asked in concern.
‘No. Was it nice where you went?’
She put her arms round him. ‘I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.’
‘Aunty Joan and Peg told us stories. We was late to bed and didn’t say our prayers. Will we have to tell Father Flynn in confession?’
‘No, that’s not a sin.’
‘Sister Mary says it is.’
‘Sister Mary doesn’t know everything.’
He snuggled close. ‘Are we still having a party?’
‘Of course we are.’
‘Is Charlie coming?’
‘I don’t know. He has to play football.’
‘I wish we could go.’
‘Another time perhaps.’ She kissed his forehead. ‘Now, it’s late and we mustn’t wake Albert.’ She gently tucked him under the clothes.
Eve drew the curtain and climbed into bed.
As always she thought of Raj and wondered what life would have been like had he lived.
Chapter Twenty
Eve studied the table in the kitchen, laden with good things to eat. Everyone had brought something. Two large plates of handmade pies from Maude and a chocolate covered sponge. A large bowl of steaming borsch from Joseph and a plate of buttered rolls. A big jelly wobbled in a dish beside a large square cake covered in white icing that Joan and Peg had baked. Archie and Queenie had brought her fruit and vegetables in a basket tied up with a large red ribbon. Percy produced a bottle of ginger beer and a large bunch of green grapes from under his long coat. She had placed these by the apples and oranges that were called clementines, only ever seen in this house on Christmas Day. A vase of Queenie’s red roses stood in a milk jug on the windowsill, their ruby heads surrounded by shiny green leaves.
‘Enjoying yer party?’ Peg asked as she came into the kitchen. Eve saw that she had tied back her grey bush of hair especially for the occasion. She was wearing a skirt and jumper that had no holes or stain marks.
‘Thanks, Peg. Twenty-seven feels a bit old.’
‘Wait till you get to my age. You’re just a spring chicken.’
Eve frowned. ‘Where’s Joan?’
‘In the front room with everyone else. I’ve told Maude and Jimmy that she ain’t allowed to drink.’
Eve laughed. ‘We’ve only got lemonade or ginger beer.’
‘Yes, but Eric’s put bottles of ale in the yard. Knowing Peg she can smell it a mile off.’
Eve knew that Peg was even more suspicious after what happened at the Sally Army. Joan knew it and used it to torment her.
‘Don’t trust her, see?’ said Peg in a whisper. ‘Reckon she’d still end up in the boozer given half the chance. Not that it matters ter me if she drinks herself to death. But I don’t want old randy ’Arry to have the satisfaction of hearing he broke us up.’
Peg went to the sink and busied herself with the dishes. But Eve knew that Peg wouldn’t admit to the fact that she cared deeply for her sister. Through tantrums, delirium tremens and arguments she had been at Joan’s side.
Eve went to the front room and clapped her hands. ‘Food’s ready. Help yourselves.’ Everyone made a dash for the kitchen. Joseph stood by his bowl like a sentry and Eve gave him a spoon to help everyone to a portion. As the noise of the gathering mounted, Eve glanced at the clock hoping that Charlie would come.
When the candle on the cake was alight, everyone sang ‘Happy Birthday’. Eric and his sons and Jimmy boomed out the verses whilst the children tried to blow out the candle. Joan was gulping a large glass of ginger beer, a generous allowance from Peg. Queenie began to sing a chorus of a popular song called ‘Ain’t She Sweet?’ and Archie accompanied her with a set of spoons, slapping them on his thigh. Percy began to dance in his long coat, his toothless smile wide under his cap.
Eve felt very happy. It had been a wonderful birthday. But it would have been even better if Charlie had been there.
Charlie was cycling to the recreation ground at the King Edward Park in Shadwell. He was playing in a match that had been arranged with the Trafalgar Road boilermakers and found it slightly unnerving to be back in the area he’d last visited when looking for Eve. Then it had been a warm May day and the kids had been running about on the green grass enjoying the sunshine. Today it was a brisk October Sunday and the plane trees were almost leafless, their branches like spears piercing the blue sky. The supporters of the two clubs were beginning to arrive, well wrapped up in warm coats and scarves.
He was looking forward to thrashing the opposition, and being able to tell Samuel and Albert and his nephews and nieces that his team had won. Charlie steered the bike towards the pavilion and stood it outside in the stand. Throwing his kit bag over his shoulder, he leapt the wide wooden steps, eager to join his team. Despite both sides being squeezed like sardines in the changing room, there was a friendly buzz inside. Dave Wilkins, the police team’s trainer and general factotum, was giving a pep talk. Robbie, though, didn’t appear to be listening. He was deep in conversation with his opposite number.
‘No fraternizing before the match,’ Charlie laughed, causing the other player to walk off.
‘What?’ Robbie looked flustered.
‘It was just a joke.’
Quickly Robbie regained his composure. Slapping Charlie on the back, he murmured, ‘Didn’t think you’d make it today, old boy.’
‘Why’s that?’ Charlie hung his kit on the peg and began to change.
‘Thought you’d be too caught up with your pretty lady.’
‘We went to the Embankment for coffee and I returned Eve at a decent hour.’
Robbie laughed. ‘Oh, is that all? Well, you missed all the fun as Johnny got us into a rather daring little club in Soho. Dropped the girls off early then played a few hands of poker.’
Charlie was once again relieved to have escaped Robbie’s idea of fun.
Dave Wilkins appeared beside them. ‘Now lads, are you two ready to give these boilermakers a run for their money?’
‘We certainly are,’ said Robbie, pulling on his shirt and threading his long fingers through his blond hair.
‘Don’t forget, same formation as last season.’
‘Sure, Dave,’ Charlie nodded eagerly, ‘just leave it to us.’
‘I’m counting on you now.’
When their boots were tied and everyone was ready, Charlie followed Robbie to the pitch. He felt a thrill of expectancy in the pit of his stomach as he warmed up.
The first ten minutes of play were exhilarating. Charlie smashed a pass across to Robbie and the ball was in the back of the net in an eye blink. But twenty minutes later, the going was slower. Robbie’s footwork seemed to be sluggish, whilst Charlie worked hard to pass the ball. At half time, Dave told them all to stop being lazy buggers, but the second half began with a score from the boilermakers. Ignoring the sinking sensation in his stomach, Charlie began to run until his lungs ached, trying to be everywhere at once. Suddenly he saw his opportunity and took possession of the ball, he sent it across but Robbie drifted into sight too late and the ball disappe
ared into the crowd. A disappointed cry came from the police team’s supporters.
The ref looked at his watch. Charlie seized his last opportunity. The ball landed at his feet and he began to dribble it, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. In and out he went, from left to right; this goal had his name written all over it. Suddenly his legs were brought from under him, and the wind was knocked out of him. A splinter of agonizing pain shot through his knee. Lying there for a moment, with the smell of the turf in his nose, he closed his eyes, praying that no damage had been done. When he tried to move his leg, the pain was still there and he groaned aloud. As his teammates formed a group round him, he knew it was all over.
‘Bad luck, old son,’ said Robbie as the ref came over to see what had happened. ‘Anyway there’s only a minute or two more.’
Charlie knew it was bad luck indeed. The tackle had been a vicious one. And he had been so close to scoring.
The next thing he knew he was being helped into the pavilion by Dave Wilkins.
‘I’ll get some cold water to take the swelling down,’ he said and moments later returned with a bucket. Sponging Charlie’s knee, he frowned. ‘Can you bend it?’
Charlie tentatively tried and winced. ‘Yes, I’ll live.’
‘You’ve had trouble with your knee before?’
‘It put me out of professional football.’
Dave shrugged. ‘Don’t feel too badly. Every player has an Achilles heel.’
Charlie laughed. ‘It’s me knee, Dave.’
‘Look, I’ll be back in a minute. Keep sponging.’
Left alone, Charlie made a few tentative steps forward. He could hear a sudden cheer from the Trafalgar Road supporters. They had won.
Hobbling back to his kit he managed to towel himself off and dress. Lacing his shoes was difficult, but he managed.
‘How’s the knee?’ Dave asked as the team trooped in, all with long faces.
‘It’ll be all right.’
‘Don’t think you’ve done any permanent damage. Good try, son, if you’d pulled it off we might have won.’
Charlie was annoyed with himself for not anticipating the tackle though it had come from behind. The ref hadn’t penalized anyone. He was also annoyed with Robbie as he was parading around the changing room with a big smile, brushing off the fact they’d been spectacularly defeated.
‘You won’t be doing any cycling today.’ Dave nodded to the bike stand. ‘I’ll put your bike in the cupboard. It’ll be safe enough here for a couple of days until you’re ready to collect it. Your pal will give you a lift in his car. Saw him roll up in a damn great monster.’
Charlie looked at Robbie who grinned. ‘Now, Dave, don’t insult my new beauty.’
Before Charlie could speak, Robbie picked up their kit and threw the two bags over his shoulder. ‘Come along then, Charlie boy, I know a nice little place on the other side of town. We can stop for a quick one. That knee of yours needs a liquid soothing.’
Charlie hobbled out of the pavilion, gritting his teeth against the pain.
When they got to the road he stopped at the large motor car parked there. ‘That belongs to Johnny Puxley, doesn’t it?’
‘Not any more. I won it off him last night. I was bloody lucky too, as I lost serious money before Lady Luck shone down on me.’
‘You won his car?’
Robbie laughed as he opened the door. ‘Come on, jump in, or rather, lower yourself gently.’ As Robbie took his place at the wheel, he smiled. ‘Don’t you ever feel like retiring that two-wheeled toy of yours and sporting out on a motor?’
Charlie frowned. ‘What, on a copper’s wage?’
‘Things might be arranged.’
Charlie wondered if he’d heard right. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
Robbie looked briefly at him. ‘We’ll have a chat later.’
Charlie was still puzzling over this when he caught a heart-sinking glance of the Drunken Sailor. ‘Stop a minute!’
Robbie put his foot hard on the brake. He peered out of the window. ‘You can’t want to drink here!’
Charlie narrowed his eyes at the saloon doors which were thrown wide open. A decent looking middle-aged woman was sweeping the steps. He wound down the window as the car stopped. ‘Are you open for business?’
‘We’re always open for business, sweetheart.’
‘Are you the landlady?’
‘That’s me, Elsie ’Oskins. That there is me husband, Ted.’ She nodded to a small man inside the pub who was washing the tables.
Charlie frowned. ‘I haven’t seen you here before.’
‘That’s because we’ve just taken over. What a dump it was an’ all.’
Charlie nodded. ‘Yes I know.’
‘You drink here?’
‘I did once.’
‘Well, I think you’ll enjoy a more comfortable tipple this time round.’
Charlie turned to Robbie. ‘I’ll take you up on that drink now.’
‘A bit of a dump isn’t it?’ Robbie looked doubtful.
It was Charlie’s turn to smile. ‘Afraid of getting your flannels dirty?’ Charlie struggled with the door and gingerly lowered his foot to the ground. The pain in his knee gave him a jolt but he managed to hobble his way inside.
‘So when was you here last?’ asked Ted Hoskins as he poured a frothy ale for Charlie and a whisky for Robbie.
‘When the Tarkay was last in.’ Charlie watched for a reaction but the man showed none. Unlike the previous landlord, he was well dressed, with a waistcoat and a hairstyle and moustache that reminded Charlie of a friendly barber.
‘A boat is it?’
‘Yes, do you know of her?’
‘Don’t know anything yet, mate, as we’ve only been here since August. We’re building up the business after the fire.’
Charlie sat up on the stool. ‘What fire?’
‘The one in the back room.’
‘What happened?’
‘There was a lot of lascars that used to smoke in there. The police reckoned it was them that started it on their ’ubble-bubble pipes. And the landlord died trying to put it out.’
‘Died?’ Charlie repeated in astonishment.
‘Yeah, poor bugger. Fried alive he was. Must’ve been an ’orrible death.’
Charlie had heard nothing of this nor read anything in the papers and he said as much to Ted.
‘This is Shadwell, chum,’ Ted replied dourly. ‘It’s all foreigners round ’ere, ain’t it? The coppers don’t want to waste their time on investigatin’. And the landlord didn’t ’ave no family. This place has been runnin’ on a wing and a prayer for the last few years. But me wife and meself, well, we reckon we can do somethin’ with it. We was south of the river before in Deptford, as rough as wot this is, and we turned our gaff into a nice little earner.’ He pushed the two drinks towards Charlie. ‘Anyway, enjoy yer tipples, friend, and I ’ope you’ll both come again as you’re the sort of customer me and the missus is lookin’ for.’ He took his cloth and walked over to serve another customer.
‘What was all that about?’ asked Robbie, who had, until now, been silent.
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’
‘Wouldn’t I?’ Robbie pushed his empty glass forward. ‘I’m all ears.’
Charlie hesitated but finally called Elsie who quickly refilled the tumbler. Charlie paid her, then rather uncertainly began to tell the tale of the Tarkay and Eve’s visit to the Drunken Sailor to look for Singh.
By the time he had finished, his friend was looking surprised. ‘You’re telling me the girl you were with last night is the flower-seller you took to the morgue?’
Charlie didn’t much care for Robbie’s tone. ‘Eve Kumar, yes.’
‘And she tried to look for this Singh fellow and then was attacked and nearly drowned? Sounds rather farfetched to me.’
‘I told you it was hard to believe.’
Robbie slung the last of his whisky to the back of his throat. �
�I believe you, of course, but if she’s cooled off about the whole thing, aren’t you wasting your time?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘And, anyway, you are making assumptions.’
‘Two sailors from the Star of Bengal have died in mysterious circumstances. Singh is the connection to the Drunken Sailor. Now the landlord is dead.’
Robbie shook his head with a wry smile. ‘Charlie, you’re turning into quite the little detective.’
‘The Tarkay returns after Christmas,’ Charlie said in a low voice. ‘Singh could be on it.’
At this, Robbie chuckled. ‘Old man, why don’t you just settle for a little fun in life? I’m sure you could have any amount with your flower-seller.’
Charlie felt insulted. He was seeing Robbie in a very different light these days and he wished he hadn’t confided in him.
Robbie swayed on the stool as he looked into Charlie’s eyes. ‘If I was you, I’d have another crack at Bunty. Her family is very well heeled. I understand they have a great old pile in Scotland somewhere.’
‘Well, thank God I’m not you, Robbie.’ Charlie stood up.
‘Oh, come on, Charlie boy, stop being such a prig.’
‘Robbie, I think you’ve had enough to drink.’
Robbie threw back his head, laughing. ‘Let’s have one more for the road!’
Charlie looked round at the watching faces. ‘Come on, Robbie,’ he said quietly, ‘remember you’re a copper.’
His friend gave a snort. ‘Sorry, old man, but that is a bit of a joke.’
‘What do you mean?’ Again Charlie was puzzled.
‘I could tell you a thing or two about coppers. There are some rotten apples in the barrel and—’
‘Robbie, shut up.’ Charlie gripped his friend’s arm and almost dragged him out. Outside in the fresh air, Charlie took a deep breath, trying to ignore the pain in his knee as he pushed Robbie into the passenger seat.
‘What the hell—’ Robbie began as Charlie clumsily climbed in and started the car.
‘You’re in no fit state to drive, Robbie.’
