East End Jubilee

by Carol Rivers

  ‘In a nice safe place,’ Fanny echoed.

  ‘Which I didn’t know about,’ Charlie complained as he hoisted himself to his feet with difficulty.

  ‘Yes you did.’ His wife tipped the bag on the counter and the boxes of Swan Vestas toppled out. ‘I’ve told you a dozen times where I keep them.’

  ‘Yeah, but he’s got a lot of things on his mind, ain’t you Charlie?’ Cissy threw a sly glance at Joan. ‘I mean, shifting all this heavy stuff around and everything, he’s on the go all day long I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘So am I, Mrs Hall, so am I,’ Joan said sharply. ‘I ain’t sitting out the back with me feet up you know.’

  ‘O’ course love,’ Fanny nodded, grabbing the matches and shovelling them in her pocket. ‘I dunno how you do it.’

  ‘It ain’t easy.’ Joan was watching where the matches went. ‘And there’s all the accounts to do as well.’

  ‘You work too bloody hard,’ Fanny commiserated, throwing a glance at Charlie. ‘Why don’t you get someone in to help?’

  ‘She’s got me, that’s why,’ Charlie growled.

  ‘You ain’t no spring chicken,’ Cissy observed. ‘You’ll do yer back in lifting heavy.’

  Rose was only half listening to the conversation. Her mind was still on the prison visit. The smell of the visiting room hadn’t gone from her nose.

  ‘That’s three and six for you, Mrs Grover, and three and eightpence for you, Mrs Hall, including the matches,’ Joan calculated, bundling their shopping into the straw baskets on the counter. She glanced at Rose apologetically. ‘Won’t be a mo, love.’

  ‘That’s all right.’

  Cissy and Fanny struggled with their purses. ‘Bung it on the slate, Joan. We’ll settle up Friday.’

  ‘There’s already five bob outstanding,’ Joan pointed out as they snapped closed the edges of their frayed shopping baskets.

  ‘Don’t we always pay up?’

  Joan didn’t reply and Charlie shuffled off.

  As Cissy turned to leave she looked at Rose. ‘We saw the bit about your old man in the newspaper. What nick’s he in?’

  Rose was on the verge of giving the nosy parker short shrift, but in a way she was relieved that Eddie’s name had finally been mentioned. ‘Brixton,’ she said and saw the look of delight spread across Cissy’s face.

  ‘I knew someone whose cousin was there,’ the old woman crowed, tugging at Fanny’s sleeve. ‘It ain’t no place to wind up either. It’s like a whopping big dungeon inside and out, ain’t it?’

  With a growing sense of dread, Rose was forced to acknowledge just how accurate Cissy was and for a few seconds more she attempted to listen politely as her elderly neighbour regaled them with the gruesome details. But eventually Rose had to ignore the tirade and turned quickly to Joan. ‘I’d like a small loaf, please.’

  But Cissy was not done. ‘Is ’e up before the beak soon? How long do you think he’ll get?’

  ‘Was that telly really stolen?’

  ‘What you gonna do if ’e goes down for a long stretch?’

  Then Fanny said her piece. ‘Them girls of yours’ll suffer. Poor little blighters. You hear of some kids who don’t know their own fathers when they’ve done their time.’

  Cissy nodded fiercely. ‘Miss all their growing up some blokes do and then parents wonder why their kids go off the rails these days.’

  Joan, with eyebrows raised, gave Rose a wink. ‘Anything else, love?’

  Rose stared at the walls and shelves, the piles of tatty boxes behind the counter and the plastic container where the perishables were kept. She felt hot and dizzy, her mind becoming a blank. Despite her earlier resolution to put on a brave face, Cissy and Fanny had done more than enough damage to her equilibrium.

  She swallowed. ‘I . . . er, want . . . some potatoes, please.’

  ‘Charlie!’ yelled Joan. ‘Bring in the spuds!’

  Rose listened for the bell to go behind her. She was feeling very dizzy. Everything seemed to be on the move, including her legs, which had gone weak at the knees.

  ‘Are you all right, love?’

  She didn’t know if she was or not. The next thing she knew everything went black. She didn’t know how long she was out, but when she opened her eyes she was sitting on a sack of potatoes. ‘Drink this slowly, gel.’ It was Charlie, holding a cup to her mouth.

  She sipped the cold water. ‘What happened?’

  ‘You fainted, ducks, and no wonder with them troublemakers squawking like two constipated parrots. I’ve sent ’em on their way.’ The elderly man hovered over her. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Better, thanks.’

  ‘Charlie, wave this newspaper in her face.’ Joan put her arm around her shoulders and eased her forward. ‘Take it easy, ducks.’

  ‘I don’t know what came over me.’

  Joan grabbed the paper from her husband. ‘Wave it like a fan, you silly sod, not a bloody bargepole.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ Rose smiled weakly.

  ‘It was that daft pair,’ Charlie accused again, nodding to the door. ‘They’re bloody menaces.’

  ‘Don’t take what they say to heart,’ Joan advised gently. ‘You’ll get one or two round here who need a lesson in manners. But in the main, folk have good hearts in this neighbourhood.’

  Rose nodded. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  ‘They catch you unawares, that’s the trouble,’ Joan murmured in a kindly fashion. ‘I remember feeling just the same when our Dave ran off with that Mrs Watkins from Manington Road. Charlie and me had to harden up a bit with all the gossip going on.’

  Rose looked up at the smooth round face staring down at her. ‘That must have been awful.’

  ‘It was five years ago now but seems like yesterday. And all the rotten things they said about Dave when he’d gone, still stabbing him in the back even though he wasn’t around to defend himself. But as I say, the majority of people are kind souls round here and knew he was a good boy at heart, but for a while he could have been a mass murderer for what the few said about him.’ Joan’s eyes watered. ‘You still blame yourself, you know, even if your kid is twenty-five and old enough to know better, like our Dave was. But he fell in love with a married woman and that was that.’ Joan heaved another sigh. ‘So you see, young lady, you must look to the future and leave the past behind.’

  Rose stood up shakily. ‘Yes, I’m trying.’

  Charlie kept his hand under her arm. ‘Do you want me to walk you home?’

  ‘No, I’ll manage, thanks.’

  Joan handed her the loaf and a few potatoes heaped in a bag. ‘They’re on the house, love.’

  Rose protested, but Charlie opened the door. ‘Give them kids something nice to eat for dinner.’

  When she got home she was sweating and still felt very peculiar. She placed the potatoes and bread in the larder and sat in the front room, hauling in breath.

  Everyone knew about Eddie now, since they’d all read the Evening Gazette and gossip was inevitable. Rose didn’t want to blame Eddie, especially as he had seen the error of his ways. As Joan had said, the past is over and done with, the future is what counts. But Rose had to admit to herself she still felt annoyed and, to an extent, deceived. Was her reaction because of the money? He had maintained she’d never wanted to know about his business affairs and he had a point. But there could have been a dreadful catastrophe if the police had lifted those floorboards. If Eddie had been falsely accused of assault what would they have dreamed up over the five hundred pounds?

  Later, she peeled the potatoes ready for dinner, then dusted. Afterwards she had a step to polish. And polish it she would.

  She had just applied a coat of Red Cardinal to the front step when a pair of brown shoes appeared beside it. They were shiny and well heeled and she looked up slowly, noting the carefully pressed trousers of the smart dark suit. The clean-shaven face above was unfamiliar to Rose. She climbed to her feet.

  He smiled. ‘My name is Bobby Morton. I wonder
ed if you would like to read one of these?’ He held out a sheet of paper.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The fact is I’ve taken a shop in Amethyst Way and thought I’d come round and introduce myself.’

  ‘So you’re not a tally man, then?’

  He took a few moments for this to sink in, then laughed. ‘Do I look like one?’

  ‘You can never tell these days.’

  He smiled pleasantly. ‘All I want to do is talk about my shop and put the word out that I’ve opened.’

  ‘Is it the one that was boarded up?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, you know it?’

  ‘I take the kids to the newsagents sometimes to buy sweets.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’ll stop by on your next visit and have a look round.’

  Rose glanced suspiciously at the pile of papers in his hand. ‘What are you selling?’

  ‘I’m an electrician and starting off in a small way by doing repairs. But I hope to stock things soon like vacuum cleaners, washing machines and televisions. The big stores like Gamages are selling them like hot cakes. Especially televisions which have really caught on now.’

  Rose thrust the leaflet back. ‘I don’t want any, thank you – especially a television!’

  ‘Well, take the leaflet. It won’t bite.’

  ‘No,’ Rose refused emphatically. ‘I’m not interested.’

  ‘But why?’ The young man frowned. ‘Did you know that it’s possible to buy a television on hire purchase these days? After the initial deposit of ten pounds, the weekly repayments are only one and sixpence. And for all the enjoyment the family would reap, you’d consider the purchase well worthwhile.’

  ‘Look, I don’t want to be rude,’ Rose said coolly, ‘but the answer’s no.’

  ‘And I thought you looked the friendly sort,’ he sighed dismally.

  ‘Well, you thought wrong. And as I have two young children and a house to run, I’m very busy—’

  ‘Yes, I can see that, and I’m sorry to intrude,’ he apologized in a sincere tone. ‘But you see, I really believe in everyone having a bite of the apple, not just a privileged few. A woman shoulders the lion’s share of household chores. Washing, ironing, cleaning and sweeping. It’s about time, don’t you think, she had assistance?’ He fanned the paper gently in the air. ‘Just read one of these in your spare time.’

  ‘I haven’t got any,’ Rose said grudgingly, though she admired him for his persistence. In a vague way he reminded her of Eddie. He was nothing like him to look at, as blond as Eddie was dark with deep-set blue eyes that held none of Eddie’s natural humour, but he was trying hard to sell against impossible odds.

  To her surprise he nodded fiercely. ‘You couldn’t have said a truer word. Time is of the essence for busy housewives.’

  She had to smile. ‘Don’t you ever give up?’

  ‘Not when I think I can help.’

  ‘You haven’t helped me so far,’ she replied with a straight face. ‘You’ve just stopped me polishing my step.’

  He looked down, then moved back. ‘Ah, yes the step. Well, Mrs—?’

  ‘Weaver,’ Rose provided letting go of the door and placing her hands on her hips. ‘Now you’re going to tell me you’ve got a miracle machine up your sleeve for polishing steps?’

  He laughed then, a wide smile creasing across his face. ‘I’d be a millionaire by now if I could claim that distinction. But I do have something else to offer. It’s called elbow grease, plain and simple.’ And, before she could protest, he got down on his haunches, dropping his leaflets down by the wall and grabbing her duster. ‘I used to do this for my mother every Sunday morning,’ he told her as he polished briskly. ‘Only our step was white and she insisted on Dad and me and me sisters stepping over it whenever we came in or went out, not on it. When we forgot we’d get a right rollicking. Now, for the final touch.’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket and spat on it, then rubbed the stone very hard.

  ‘Don’t! You’ll stain it!’ Rose cried out in alarm.

  ‘A few years ago that might have been true, Mrs Weaver. But not now. This handkerchief would come up like new in a washing machine.’ His blue eyes were twinkling. ‘In fact this has given me an idea. All those steps along there need polishing, right? And what with? Dusters, yes? Now what’s the best way to clean a filthy duster?’

  ‘To buy one of your washing machines no doubt,’ Rose answered dryly.

  ‘See your duster there, I’ll take it away and clean it for you. Ten to one you won’t recognize it again.’

  Rose shook her head slowly. ‘No thanks, I’ll keep me duster and you keep your washing machine, but I give you ten out of ten for trying.’

  ‘Oh well, some you win some you lose,’ he concluded happily to himself, and she watched in amusement as he returned his concentration to her step. ‘Not a bad job if I say so myself,’ he nodded with a last flourish.

  ‘You’d better not put that hanky back in your pocket. It’s filthy and so are your hands.’

  He waved them comically in the air. ‘Oh, that’ll soon come off.’

  ‘Not without soap and water it won’t.’ She couldn’t help laughing as he rose to his feet inspecting the bright red stains on his fingers and making a face.

  ‘Ah well, it’s nice to have a laugh,’ he chuckled as he picked up his leaflets and left red finger-marks all over them. ‘And you’ve got a lovely smile. Really smashing.’

  Rose knew it was pure flattery, but she took pity on him. ‘You’d better come in and wash those hands before you leave. You can’t walk up the road like that. The kitchen’s through there. I’m leaving this door wide open, mind.’

  ‘To let in the breeze no doubt,’ he said dumping his leaflets on the ground and entering the hall.

  ‘No, to let you out again. So be on your best behaviour. The soap’s under the sink, behind the curtain.’

  ‘Where?’

  Reluctantly she went after him. ‘Behind this curtain here.’

  ‘All right, I’ll find it.’

  ‘No you won’t, you’re a man.’

  They looked at one another. Suddenly they were both laughing.

  ‘Yes, that does put me at a disadvantage,’ he agreed, the smile lingering on his lips as she stared into his eyes. A disturbing little flutter in her stomach caused her to breathe sharply in. They stood quietly then, in the silence of the kitchen, the bar of soap still in her hand. Rose felt a warm wave of pleasure flow over her as he looked at her, the blue of his pupils turning to slate. Then suddenly she realized she was standing there like a fool and her pleasure turned to embarrassment. ‘Here,’ she said abruptly, ‘take it.’

  He reached out and the tips of his fingers drew lightly across her skin. She snatched her hand away as if she’d been scalded.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m harmless,’ he said quickly. ‘You can boot me out as soon as I’m clean.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I will.’ Rose turned and folded a towel that was hanging over the back of a chair. She felt distinctly strange and kept her face averted as Bobby Morton splashed his hands vigorously under the cold water.

  A minute later he was drying them on the towel she had just taken so much care to fold. ‘You know, you could fit a washing machine in nicely under there.’ He nodded to the draining board.

  Rose rolled her eyes once more. ‘I told you, I’m not interested.’

  ‘Can I ask why are you so opposed to washing machines?’ he asked curiously, handing her back the towel. This time she kept her fingers well out of reach.

  ‘I’m not. It’s televisions I don’t like.’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘I don’t like televisions,’ Rose repeated, wondering why she was having so much difficulty with an ordinary sort of conversation. Was it because her instincts told her that Bobby Morton wasn’t exactly an ordinary kind of visitor?

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he answered, with a perplexed look on his face. ‘As I said, they’re very popular now. Especially with f
amilies.’

  ‘Not this family they’re not,’ she snapped. ‘Now, if you’re finished?’ Without waiting for a reply she marched along the hall, pulling the front door open. ‘Don’t forget your leaflets, either.’

  Still looking baffled, her visitor walked past her. He piled his leaflets into his arms, then stood erect. ‘Well, thank you for being so hospitable.’ His long fair lashes reminded Rose of a big, friendly puppy just waiting to be acknowledged. ‘And I know what you’re thinking, that all I’m after is a sale, and maybe that was true – initially. But you’ve been kind enough to give me your time—’ He stopped and added shyly, ‘and your lovely smile. To be honest, I haven’t even managed to get one lead. So, well, just – thank you.’

  Rose felt awful now. She had been rather rude and he looked so dejected. He was thanking her for a smile – which cost nothing except the effort. The truth was, if he’d been an old man, trying to earn a few pennies towards his retirement, she might even have offered him a cup of tea. ‘All right, I believe you,’ she conceded, ‘though thousands wouldn’t. By the way, what do you mean by a “a lead”?’

  ‘It’s where someone says they’re interested in one of your appliances,’ he explained eagerly. ‘Then you say, would you like a demonstration? They say how much is a demonstration and I say, no cost at all. Then they say they’ll ask their husbands and before they change their mind I ask what time’s convenient to call again? It’s all a lead-up, you see, to a sale.’

  Rose laughed. ‘Well, I’m afraid you’re going away empty-handed from here. Despite me shining step I still don’t want to buy anything. You know, you might have done better with mops and brooms.’

  ‘Yes, possibly,’ he nodded. ‘But I had this dream, you see. When I was in the desert with sand right up to me eyeballs, I promised myself if I ever survived Rommel’s lot, I’d do something special with me life, not fritter it away. So when I was demobbed I trained with the electricity company and Bob’s your uncle, I discovered me calling.’

  ‘You were in the desert?’ she asked in astonishment.

  ‘Yes. North Africa.’

  ‘It was rotten out there.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it was hot,’ he joked lightly.