The Bells of Bow

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The Bells of Bow Page 6

by Gilda O'Neill


  ‘I never used to be like this.’ Georgie said the words so softly the girls could barely hear them. ‘Not till she run off and left us for that bloke down the market.’

  ‘Don’t give me that.’ Evie’s voice quavered as she fought back the tears. ‘If it wasn’t for you, me and Babs’d still have Mum here with us now. And everything’d be … Everything’d …’ The tears won and began flowing down her cheeks. ‘Aw, just get out of me way, can’t yer.’

  Georgie moved placidly to one side as Evie stormed out of the kitchen. They heard her crash her way up the uncarpeted stairs and almost smash the bedroom door as she swung it back on its hinges.

  ‘She’ll calm down in a minute, Dad,’ said Babs softly. ‘Fancy a cup o’ tea?’

  Georgie sank down in the carver chair that stood by the stove and nodded.

  ‘I’ll see if Evie wants one.’ Babs went to the bottom of the stairs to call up to her sister. ‘Wanna cuppa, Eve?’

  Evie appeared on the tiny, unlit landing; she was wearing her hat and jacket. ‘No thanks,’ she answered tersely, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. ‘I’ve decided to go out early.’

  Babs stood to one side to let her past. ‘Don’t be too late, Evie,’ she said quietly. ‘Remember it’s work in the morning.’

  Evie waited till she had opened the street door before shouting down the passage loud enough to ensure that Georgie would hear, ‘I hardly think I’ll be working in that rotten workshop much longer, do you, Babs?’

  ‘Evie,’ Babs pleaded. ‘Keep yer noise down. Please.’

  ‘What’s the matter, Babs, worried that gossiping old cow over the road’ll hear?’

  ‘I couldn’t care less about her, I just don’t want yer getting Dad going, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, perhaps he won’t have to put up with me for much longer. ’Cos now I’m seeing Albie Denham, I don’t reckon I’ll stay a machinist in no poxy dress factory. Albie’s got class, yer see. So I’ll be leaving here soon, and I won’t be around to upset none of yer no more.’

  ‘Do us a favour and leave off, Eve,’ Babs said wearily. ‘Yer really getting on me nerves.’ She rubbed her hands over her face; she didn’t know what to do, but she knew it was pointless to try and argue with her sister. She shook her head and sighed. ‘Just leave off.’

  ‘No, you leave off, Babs.’ Evie was shouting even louder now, her fists tucked tight into her waist. ‘D’you know what’s really sad? You’ve got the chance to get on, just like me, ’cos his mate Chas really fancies yer. But yer too scared to take a chance. Just like you always are.’

  Evie stepped out into the street and slammed the door behind her with an almighty bang, making the photograph of her and Babs as identical cuddling five-year-olds jump off its nail in the hall and go crashing to the ground.

  Babs closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before bending down to clear up the broken glass. She held out the bottom of her apron and dropped the shards into it, then picked up the photograph. It hadn’t been damaged but it looked forlorn and faded without the shiny covering of glass. The clips and wooden backing were still intact so she hung the now dull picture back on the wall and then walked slowly, head down, back to the kitchen. She stood in the open doorway and looked at Georgie slumped in the chair by the hearth, his legs stuck out in front of him, flicking half-heartedly though the Sunday paper.

  ‘All right, Dad?’ she asked softly.

  Georgie folded the newspaper back on itself. ‘Full of bloody war again,’ he muttered furiously, his lips tight. ‘What’s wrong with people? Yer’d think they was looking forward to it.’

  ‘D’yer wanna go in the front room and have the wireless on?’ Babs asked over her shoulder as she wrapped the pieces of glass in an old blue sugar bag and put it in the rubbish bucket outside the back door. ‘I can do the washing up later on,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ he sighed, tossing the newspaper onto the floor. ‘You go in and listen if yer like.’

  ‘Tell yer what, I’ll turn it up so we can hear it in here, shall I?’

  ‘I said no,’

  The anger in his voice made Babs flinch. ‘Sorry, Dad, I only thought—’

  ‘It don’t matter. It’s that Evie – she’s got me right hot and bothered. Just like her bloody mother, she is.’

  Silently, Babs reached over and took her darning mushroom and a grey woollen sock down from the crowded mantelpiece. She sat down at the table and started mending the hole in its heel. She was going to suggest that they might take their chairs and go and sit out in the street instead, but she thought better of it considering his frame of mind and knowing that he was still recovering from one of his boozy lunchtime sessions in the pub.

  Georgie carried on speaking, although he seemed hardly aware of Babs sitting there sewing. He wasn’t really addressing his daughter at all. ‘I’ve always said it,’ his words dripped venom, ‘there’s needy and there’s greedy, and then there’s the no-good sods like your no-good mother and that fancy no-good feller of hers. Just like that no-good bastard Albie Denham and the rest of his stinking family.’

  Babs sat quietly darning, trying to lose herself in the rhythm of working the grey thread back and forth while Georgie ranted and raved about life’s injustices. Gradually his bellowing subsided and was replaced by loud alcohol-induced snores as he lay back in the chair, his mouth open, a line of drool dribbling onto his unshaven chin.

  When she was sure he was sound asleep, Babs put the mended sock in her apron pocket ready to match up later with its partner in her Dad’s tallboy and stood up. She put the darning mushroom back on the mantelpiece then picked up the newspaper, folded it neatly and put it on the table close to Georgie’s chair.

  ‘Right,’ she said to herself. ‘No point sitting about. Someone’s gotta do it.’

  She boiled some fresh water and finished the washing up. Then, when she had put all the dishes away, had wiped round the sink and draining board and was satisfied that the kitchen was tidy, she sat down at the table to have a look at the paper. Neither she nor her twin usually bothered much with the papers, and the news on the wireless always made them groan; as far as they were concerned the only thing worth listening to was the dance band programmes. But what with all the talk about Germany, she decided maybe she would have a little look this evening, just to see what all the fuss was about.

  She spread the paper out on the table and slowly turned the pages. Dad was right, she thought, it was full of talk of war; she really hadn’t realised how serious it all was. Why hadn’t she? she wondered. There’d been plenty of talk, of course, but she’d dismissed most of it as scaremongering only worthy of the likes of the more gossipy of the elderly neighbours. But perhaps it was time she did start taking it seriously. Almost everything in the paper seemed to be about gas attacks and air raids. And the pictures, nearly every one was of men in uniform.

  Babs swallowed hard as she looked closely at the grainy black and white photographs; some of the men were so young, not much older than Micky Clarke by the look of them, just like the boys from the streets around Grove Road who’d all rushed to join up, most of them boys that she and Evie had been out with at one time or another. Maybe Evie was right as well, she thought. Maybe it did make sense just to go out and enjoy yourself, no matter what. Say there was no tomorrow, what would it matter then if she went out with Chas, or even Albie Denham himself? What was the point in behaving yourself if the whole bloody country was going to be blown to bits or gassed to death?

  Now even more depressed than she’d been after rowing with Evie, Babs closed the paper and went over to refill the kettle. That was always the answer, she laughed humourlessly to herself. ‘Have a cup o’ tea – that’ll save you from Hitler’s bombs.’

  Babs made a full pot and poured two cups.

  ‘There’s a cup o’ tea for yer there, Dad,’ she said touching him on the arm. She soon wished she’d let him go without; almost the moment he opened his eyes he was back to moaning about the
Denhams.

  ‘I don’t know what’s got into her,’ he complained. ‘What’s she wanna get herself hiked up with that moody bastard for?’

  ‘He might not be moody, Dad. Yer don’t know for sure.’

  ‘What, coming from that family? I know I ain’t been much of a dad, but I have got some feelings, and I’m worried about Evie, Babs. Right worried.’

  She crouched down by his chair. ‘Listen to me, Dad. Evie’s always been a bit wild, we both have at times. But she ain’t daft. She knows how to look after herself. Anyway, she’s only having a good time. What’s the matter with that?’

  ‘I suppose yer think yer mother was only having a good time and all.’

  Babs stood up. She went over to the sink and grabbed its cold, hard stone edge. Keeping her head bowed and her back to Georgie she said quietly, ‘That was spiteful, Dad. There was no need to say that.’

  ‘Yer right, I’m sorry.’ Georgie ran his hand through his thick, greying, though still glossy dark brown hair and down over his unshaven chin. ‘I’m a bit out o’ sorts, that’s all, girl.’

  ‘Yeah. Course.’ Babs went to say something, then hesitated. She stood silently for a minute. ‘Well,’ she said briskly, the moment past, ‘I’ll be going up now. I’ve gotta put me hair in pins for work in the morning.’ She turned to face him. ‘Don’t fall asleep in the chair again, will yer? Yer’ll give yerself a bad back.’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ he said smiling weakly. ‘Yer a good kid for worrying about yer old dad.’

  Babs smiled back at him, her own effort even fainter than his.

  Georgie grasped the arms of the chair and stood up. ‘I thought I might have a walk down the Drum for a quick half before I get meself up to bed.’

  ‘I ain’t got no money for yer, Dad,’ Babs said quickly, knowing that she had her bus fare for the week, the shopping money for food and very little else.

  ‘Don’t need none,’ said Georgie, inspecting his unshaven chin in the overmantel. ‘Jim and Nellie said to pop down and clear the tables for ’em. They’ll see me all right for a drink or two.’

  With her hair set in pins ready for the morning, and with her dad and sister both out, Babs couldn’t think what to do next. She didn’t feel like reading any more of the paper and there was nothing on the wireless worth listening to. The house was still and silent.

  She flopped down on the bed and lay listening to the sounds coming from the street below. Even though it would soon be dark there was still the happy laughter and shouting of children playing outside, making the most of the warm, late summer evening, while their mothers sat on their stone window ledges or on chairs they had fetched from their kitchens, exchanging the news and gossip of the day. The lively noises coming from outside made the silence inside the house seem even more depressing. Half-heartedly she levered herself up onto her elbows, deciding whether she could summon up the energy to get dressed again and go down to join her neighbours; but she couldn’t be bothered. She couldn’t even be bothered to turn on the lamp. She just flopped back down onto the pillows, pulled the eiderdown over her legs and lay there in the gradually darkening room trying to remember when she had last been entirely alone.

  Her thoughts wandered and soon nagging worries about what Evie was getting herself into with Albie Denham crept back into her mind. But, Babs kept reminding herself, why should she be bothered what Evie was up to? She’d gone through all that earlier and look at the trouble it had caused. And Evie was seventeen after all, Babs tried to reason to herself, definitely not a kid. She could look after herself.

  Still Babs couldn’t sleep. No matter how she tried to convince herself otherwise, she finally had to admit that it wasn’t only the idea of Evie getting involved with a crook that bothered her – after all, there were plenty in the East End who got by in all sorts of ways. No, what she really didn’t like, what she really hated, was the idea of being without her twin. The gnawing pain deep inside her felt as though half of her very being had been ripped away. It had always been her and Evie together, the Bell twins, that was how it was.

  Her thoughts drifted and she remembered how she and Evie had shared the back bedroom and then, on the very night their mother had left them, how they had moved into the front. A terrible sadness came over her as she heard the sound of their parents’ rowing filling her head and her dad begging her mum to stay.

  She stared up at the ceiling, not moving as tears trickled down her cheeks and ran down into her ears. Would she be like Georgie? Would she fall apart if Evie left her?

  She must have eventually dropped off to sleep, because the next thing she knew was being woken by the sound of sparrows squabbling in the gutter outside the bedroom window and the sky bright with sunshine. She blinked the sleep away from her eyes and reached for the alarm clock on the side. Nearly half past seven – she’d forgotten to wind it.

  She threw back the eiderdown and swung her legs onto the chilly, lino-covered floor.

  ‘Get a move on, Eve,’ she said automatically. Turning to look over her shoulder to her sister’s side of the bed, she added her usual brisk words of encouragement, ‘Come on, we’re gonna be late if yer—’

  The words froze on her lips. Evie wasn’t there.

  4

  Lou, a freckle-faced, pink-cheeked young woman of about eighteen, looked up at the calendar on the factory wall. ‘First of September.’ She sounded relieved as she shouted the date to Babs over the sounds of the workshop. ‘Thank gawd it’s Friday at last,’ she added as she whizzed a strip of folded floral material under the foot of her sewing machine and then tossed the resulting sleeve onto a growing pile by the side of her chair, ready for another machinist to fix to the blouses. ‘I wish we could get a bit more of this piecework, Babs.’ She snapped the foot closed over another folded length of cloth. ‘Yer know, I just can’t seem to get by from one pay day to the next lately without having to have a sub off me mum. And she’s getting right cheesed off with it, I can tell yer. Still, I promised her I’d help when I get in tonight – to sort out the blackout curtains and taping over the windows and that. Bloody waste o’ time, if you ask me. You done your’n yet?’ Lou bent forward to bite through the thread of yet another completed sleeve, turning her ginger curl-framed face towards Babs as she did so. ‘Oi! You listening to me, Babs?’

  Babs nodded.

  ‘Well, I only hope you are. The wardens are gonna make sure we’re all keeping the blackout from tonight, remember. Pathetic.’ Lou smiled happily to herself. ‘Still, at least it means I’m in Mum’s good books for saying I’d help her; not that I intend doing very much, mind. Not after working here all day, I don’t.’

  Lou continued to chatter away ten to the dozen while Babs sat silently working at the machine next to hers. Lou did not appear to be overly concerned that her friend was so much quieter than usual. But the machinist who sat on Lou’s other side – Ginny, a tall, thin-lipped gossip in her mid-twenties – seemed only too interested in Babs’s unusually subdued manner.

  ‘I see that Evie Bell ain’t in again yet,’ Ginny hissed slyly to Joan, the slow, fat, easily led girl of fifteen who sat next to her. ‘Since she bleached that hair of hers last weekend she’s been late every single morning. Now, let me guess why.’

  Joan giggled lewdly. ‘I dunno, Ginny. Why do you reckon?’

  ‘’Cos she’s no better than she ought to be, that’s why,’ Ginny muttered back. ‘Exactly like her mother, see.’

  Not being a practised gossip like Ginny, Joan made the mistake of talking about other people’s business in far too loud a voice for her own good. ‘What’s the matter with Evie and her mother then, Gin?’ she asked, agog at the possibilities. She gasped: ‘Here, they ain’t a pair of old brasses or nothing, are they?’

  Lou’s eyes widened as Babs stopped her machine dead, threw back her chair and strode along the bench to where the unfortunate Joan now sat shaking in her seat.

  ‘What did you say about me sister and me mum?’ demanded Babs. ‘I don’
t think I could have heard yer right.’

  Ginny, whose machine was now the only one in the workshop still going, kept her head down, apparently engrossed in the Peter Pan collar she was making. Even Maria, a quiet, second-generation Italian girl who always kept herself to herself and concentrated on her job of hand-finishing the garments, had stopped working and was now staring at the sight of Babs advancing on Joan with a pair of pinking shears in one hand and a heavy wooden yard stick in the other.

  ‘I never meant nothing, Babs.’ Joan tried backing away, desperately looking to Ginny for support.

  ‘Well, if yer never meant nothing why d’yer say it?’

  ‘What yer gonna do with that yard stick and them pinking shears, Babs? Measure her up for a wavy haircut? She needs something to liven her up, big-mouthed little mare. Just look at her. She’s as plain as a plum pudding with no currants.’

  Babs knew the voice immediately; it was as familiar to her as her own. She looked round to see Evie standing in the doorway of the workshop, hands on hips, grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘Morning, everyone,’ she chirped, hanging her jacket and hat on the stand by the time clock. ‘Don’t s’pose it was you clocked me in, was it, Ginny?’ she asked sarcastically as she settled herself in the vacant seat at the end of the workbench. Up until Tuesday, the seat had been Lou’s, but when Evie had been so late in on Monday after staying out all night with Albie and had had her pay docked for her trouble, she had persuaded Lou to swap places and let her sit closest to the door. Now she could sneak in if she was late again, as she had been on every morning since and as she fully intended being on many other mornings.

  ‘Course she didn’t clock you in. I did,’ Babs glared at Evie as she settled herself back down next to her at the workbench. ‘So what was the matter with you this time? I couldn’t wake yer this morning, no matter what. Even with the cup o’ tea I went to all the trouble of bringing up to yer. And I suppose that’s still on the floor by the bed and all.’

 

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