East End Jubilee

by Carol Rivers

  ‘Bobby,’ Will replied eagerly.

  ‘Tell him to drive carefully on the way back. He’s carrying a precious load.’ It was all he could think of to say. He didn’t know the man, but Rose had written saying he fancied Em and was a real gent. Eddie had decided that he had no option but to believe that his intentions were honourable. But as he looked up at his family, a feeling of utter powerlessness gripped him. He could do nothing to help his family in any way, shape or form. He just had to grin and bear it.

  The little group departed. Eddie watched them go. His heart felt as though a dagger pierced it as the children waved. He plastered on a big smile, waving back.

  When they’d gone, he gave a shuddering sigh. Slowly he reached to hold Rose’s hand. She gripped his fingers tightly. ‘Oh Eddie, you don’t know how much we miss you,’ she murmured and again his heart felt as though a knife was going through it.

  As usual, he applied humour to pain. ‘You’d better make the most of it. I’ll soon be under your feet again.’

  ‘You’ve never been under me feet as much as I wished you was, sometimes.’

  He would never be able to tell her how much he regretted his absenteeism. If he was back in Ruby Street right now, he’d prove to her that his family came first and foremost. ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful you are,’ he said bleakly.

  Rose lifted her hand to his cheek. ‘It was awful watching you at the Old Bailey, up in that dock, a prisoner. It didn’t seem real.’

  ‘I didn’t want you to come to court, not in your state.’

  ‘I had to, even if it was only one day.’

  ‘Are you all right after the baby?’ he asked in concern.

  She nodded. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Benny was a good sort to come to me trial.’ Eddie was emotional, close to tears. ‘Matthew’s a cracker, ain’t he?’ he said with a big effort. ‘He’s the spit of you.’ She laughed then and it even hurt him to hear her laugh. He missed the sound so much. ‘Oh God, Rose, I just want to be home and with you and the kids.’

  ‘I know.’ She sniffed, holding back the tears too.

  ‘I’m in the workshop making baskets.’ He changed the subject quickly. ‘You know, them raffia things. I’ll make you one, if you like.’

  ‘That’d be nice.’ She opened her shopping bag. ‘I brought a packet of Woodbines.’

  ‘We ain’t allowed to take anything in with us. But I’ll smoke one in a minute. Trouble is, I don’t want to stop holding your hand.’

  ‘Oh, Eddie, I don’t know what to say.’ She smiled into his eyes. Her smile was so innocent, so childlike, that again he was overwhelmed by how vulnerable his family was.

  ‘So tell me about this bloke in the brown car,’ he tried to ask lightly. ‘It ain’t like you to worry about strangers. It’s usually the neighbours that get you in a tizzy.’

  ‘I know, I’m just being silly I expect.’ She looked away from his gaze.

  ‘What did this geezer look like?’

  ‘Can’t really remember. I’m sure I’m fussing about nothing.’

  ‘When was it you first saw him?’ Her eyes flickered at the harshness of his voice.

  ‘I told you, ages ago, last year sometime.’

  Eddie leaned closer. ‘Look, love, it’s important you tell me everything.’

  She looked at him nervously. ‘Why is it so important, Eddie?’

  ‘Because it just is.’ He waited, willing her to understand the urgency in his eyes.

  ‘Oh, Eddie, I don’t want to worry you.’

  ‘You won’t. Come on, spit it out.’ His mouth was dry as a bone. He knew for certain now that he’d remember this day for the rest of his life.

  ‘It was . . . last July I saw the car. It was parked at the top of the road near the Dixons’.’

  Eddie swallowed. ‘July – are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. I was going out one morning and I noticed it because, as you know, we don’t get many cars parked in our road. It was just waiting there, as if it was waiting for someone.’

  ‘Did you get a look at the driver?’

  ‘Not that I thought about it then, but I did remember him when I saw him again the next time. You see, this was the day when . . . well, when someone broke into the house.’ He stared at her trembling lips and poor, pale face. His past life flashed before him. It was as if he had been living another life altogether, justifying his actions by telling himself he was doing it all for his family. And now that other life was coming back to haunt him.

  ‘Eddie – did you hear what I said?’

  He nodded slowly and found the courage from somewhere. ‘They found the money, didn’t they?’ he said flatly.

  Astonishment filled her eyes. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘It’s what they were looking for. It’s what they came after.’

  She grasped his hands. ‘Eddie, what’s going on? Who are these people?’

  ‘Bastards, love, that’s who.’

  She was frightened now. ‘You know them?’

  He wished with all his heart he didn’t. He would trade his right arm now for a truth-sized slice of ignorance. He wished above all he was Eddie Weaver, street trader, small fry, making a pittance but enough to get by. Just as he had been five years ago when he’d been in his element flogging a few bits of cheap junk to his punters and bringing home the profit.

  Those days were long gone, Eddie realized woefully. He would never have them back. Not after what he was going to tell Rose. He looked into his wife’s eyes and wondered where he should begin.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rose was wondering where to go next. It was the Easter holidays and she had left the children with Em and taken Matthew out in his pram. He’d been awake off and on all night, unable to settle. Rose knew it was only a matter of time before her milk dried up.

  To soothe him she had pushed the pram from Ruby Street into Westferry Road, not stopping at the road works on the corner of Gavrick Street as he appeared to be dropping off. She’d wriggled the big pram wheels over the lumpy, broken pavement and emerged unscathed on the other side and for the next half hour had continued to push, trying to recall, as she had done a hundred times in the past week, what Eddie had said on their last meeting.

  It hadn’t helped much having to tell Anita, Benny and Em who’d all asked her enough questions to fill an encyclopaedia. She had been forced to reveal the news that Eddie was what was known in street parlance as a floater, someone who worked the streets on behalf of the bookies, collecting and placing illegal bets. But Eddie had instructed her to tell them immediately she got home. He had really put the wind up her as she had listened to his unbelievable tale.

  Unfortunately, the tale turned out to be the truth. She was still reeling from it. Not only was Eddie in debt to a notorious loan shark but he feared the theft of the shoebox was a consequence of his debt. What was worse, he was convinced the danger wasn’t over. Her blood had turned cold as she listened to him warning her to tell the Mendozas and Em and the children to always be on their guard in case of reprisals.

  ‘Rose – Rose Weaver!’

  Rose jumped, wondering who had called her. She found herself standing outside Hawkin’s and Tipson’s ropeworks. Two women stood inside the gates. One was tall and imposing, the other short and slender. Gwen House, the canteen supervisor from Kirkwood’s, had a big smile on her round face as she arrived breathlessly beside the pram.

  ‘Hello Rose, love. Oh, I’m so glad I’ve seen you.’ She clamped a red, hardworking hand on Rose’s arm. ‘Hold on, I’ll just wave goodbye to our Suzie.’ Swivelling on her heel, Gwen made the thumbs up sign. The girl smiled under her white turban, drew up the rope-cutting knife that was tied to a string around her waist and slid it in her pocket. With that she disappeared back into the ropeworks.

  ‘I hate those bloody knives they have to carry,’ Gwen said exasperatedly. ‘But they’re necessary I suppose. I’ve heard of quite horrible accidents happening when the rope kinks. Any amount of fingers an
d thumbs have been lost. I don’t see the attraction in the place meself, but our Suzie seems to like it.’

  ‘Is Suzie related to you?’ Rose asked politely. The last thing she felt like doing was talking, but she hadn’t seen Gwen since she’d left Kirkwood’s last year.

  ‘She’s my sister’s girl,’ Gwen explained. ‘It’s her tea break and I just managed to catch her.’ The buxom supervisor gazed under the hood. Matthew was fast asleep. ‘Oh, he’s a darling, Rose!’

  ‘Yes, most of the time.’ Rose was relieved Matthew had finally fallen asleep and looked like an angel snuggled under the cover. ‘How are you, Gwen?’

  ‘Fine, thanks, love. More to the point how are you? We wondered if you was all right. I always meant to pop round your house but you know how it is. I’ve been on overtime since Christmas. We’re ever so busy.’

  ‘That’s nice to hear.’

  ‘We miss you.’

  ‘Do you?’ Rose was surprised. She didn’t think she’d made much of an impression at Kirkwood’s, although she had enjoyed her brief time there. The work had been hard and she always seemed to have her hands in water up to the elbows but she’d made a friend of Gwen, a very fair supervisor.

  ‘Yes, you were a reliable worker, Rose. I’d have you back at the drop of a hat. Did you know the girl who you stood in for has left? Without any notice too. That’s why I was speaking to Suzie. I wondered if she’d like the job, but she doesn’t fancy working in a hot kitchen.’

  Rose glanced down at her sleeping infant. ‘Well, I’m sorry you lost your girl but Matthew’s only ten weeks old. I couldn’t leave him yet. Not till he’s on the bottle at least.’

  ‘I expect you miss the money though?’ Gwen asked hopefully.

  Rose nodded. ‘Yes, to be honest we do.’

  ‘Well, you know where to come when you’re ready, love.’

  Rose smiled gratefully. ‘I will.’

  The large lady opened her bag and dived into it. She trickled some coins under the cover of the pram. ‘That’s for Matthew. Sorry I never sent a card or called round. Get him something nice from Kirkwood’s.’

  ‘Thanks, Gwen. I will.’

  ‘How’s your old man doing?’

  Rose gave a swift shrug. ‘As well as can be expected.’ She hoped Gwen wouldn’t ask any more questions. She didn’t.

  ‘Take care of yourself, girl.’

  Rose watched her old supervisor walk off with long, purposeful strides. Despite her forbidding appearance, she was salt of the earth and Rose was flattered she’d wanted her back in the canteen. It might not be long before she accepted, considering Matthew’s appetite that Rose couldn’t satisfy. Em had offered to look after him, and after Eddie’s revelations, Rose knew there was no way she would ever be a lady of leisure again. But a full-time job at Kirkwood’s would safeguard their future.

  What would Eddie do when he came home? Rose asked herself yet again. His floating days were over, she’d already made him promise her that. He wouldn’t find a job so easily now he had a criminal record. And since he’d always maintained he wasn’t cut out for factory life and had had enough of the docks, what else was left? She wondered if he would return to street trading as he had done before Marlene came along. Would she ever trust him to keep on the straight and narrow?

  A river breeze lifted off the water as Rose pushed the pram through the gates of Island Gardens. Nutty odours of wood, tar and oil swept over from the docks, mixing with the chemicals from the factories. With your eyes closed you could identify where you stood – in the workhorse heart of a great big city.

  The river seemed such a mighty force, she mused as she stood by the park railing and looked across the water to Greenwich. Sometimes wild and turgid, sometimes calm and inviting, it stretched left and right as far as the eye could see. Directly opposite, on the south bank, lay the smooth green lawns of the Naval College dwarfed by the Observatory’s gleaming dome. A faint spring mist gathered lazily over the land, an innocent mist that would result in warmth and not fog.

  A soft grumble of wakefulness came from Matthew. Rose pulled back the cover. Matthew smiled up at her knowingly.

  ‘Hello, pet. Are you awake?’ She knew it was probably wind, but his smile was infectious. She laughed. ‘Shall we sit for a while in the sun?’

  Rose sat on a bench where a few late daffodils still survived the children’s attentions. She would bring Will, Donnie, Marlene and the baby here in two days’ time, Good Friday. They never tired of the park and would play for hours with the other children.

  Matthew blew bubbles as he lay in her arms. His little hands came up to curl around her fingers. Rose had rolled back the sleeves of his white romper suit, which had once been Donnie’s and then Marlene’s. His olive skin and light grey eyes were the spit of Eddie.

  ‘So this is your baby?’

  Rose looked up. It was a few seconds before she recognized the gaunt, drawn features of Olga Parker.

  ‘Is it a boy?’

  Rose nodded slowly. Olga’s bleached blonde hair had vanished. Dull brown, greasy locks replaced her former smart hairstyle. Her purple wool coat was far too large, a coat that had once looked so fashionable. Rose noted that her neighbour had made an attempt at make-up though her efforts were a far cry from the elegant, carefully applied pan stick and mascara that Olga had once favoured. A red, uneven streak of lipstick clashed with the purple and her close-set eyes were absent of expression altogether.

  ‘What is his name?’

  ‘Matthew.’ Olga was talking to her! She hadn’t seen her since long before Christmas and then her hostile neighbour had hurried along Ruby Street without a glance. Rose had sent her a Christmas card but had never received one in return.

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘He was born on the fifth of February.’ Rose shifted along the bench, leaving enough space for Olga to sit down. She was surprised when her neighbour did. ‘Do you often come down the park?’ Rose asked uncertainly.

  Olga threaded her hands into the sleeves of her coat and shook her head. Her large nose and high forehead looked very prominent after the loss of so much weight. Two emaciated cheekbones carved a valley to her jaw and emphasized her long scraggy neck.

  ‘How are you now?’ Rose enquired after an uncomfortable silence. She didn’t care for the strange manner in which Olga was behaving as every now and then she blinked at Matthew with her sad eyes.

  ‘I always wanted a family,’ Olga replied, as though she hadn’t heard Rose’s question.

  ‘You mean you wanted children?’ Rose hoped Olga wasn’t going to take offence at her question and think she was prying. Their last meeting, when she had tried her best to be neighbourly, had resulted in a loudly banged door.

  Olga reached out with white, bony fingers and stroked Matthew’s thick cap of dark hair. ‘I did have a son once, a long time ago. In fact I had a family, just like you. My husband was a doctor,’ she said with a sudden rush of pride. ‘And Siegfried was just three when—’ She seemed to lose track of what she was saying as she ran her hand lightly over Matthew’s delicate pink fingers. ‘My mother, Clara, was a German Jew,’ she began again, ‘my father a Polish Protestant. My real name is Anne Sarah Nimitz. I was born in Dortmund, Northern Germany.’

  Rose had always felt that Olga’s life had been tragic and now she wasn’t surprised at what she was hearing. It seemed almost inevitable that Olga should pour out her heart, even though Olga had never forgiven her for the humiliation of Coronation Day.

  ‘I was twenty-six,’ Olga continued, ‘when my mother, husband and son were taken from our home by the Nazis and sent to a labour camp. I alone escaped capture as I was away at the time, visiting a sick friend. I never saw any of them again.’

  Rose felt her flesh creep. ‘What happened to them?’

  The flickering eyes lowered. ‘I learned that Siegfried died of a fever soon after he was taken. He was a frail, delicate child—’ She paused, her voice devoid of all expression. ‘My husband was executed
for refusing to cooperate as a doctor, in other words he would not agree to participate in torture. No one was able to tell me what happened to my mother.’

  Rose couldn’t imagine what it must be like to lose a family in such a way. A child’s death was terrible enough, but added to the loss of a husband and mother under such terrifying circumstances, was enough to send anyone insane.

  ‘For the next year I survived in a cellar,’ Olga murmured, ‘until I was smuggled to Spain and provided with false papers. When the war was over, I came to England.’

  Rose said hesitantly, ‘Was there no one left in Germany?’

  ‘No,’ Olga replied simply. ‘Only memories.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this, Olga?’ Rose asked sadly.

  ‘Because there is no one left to tell.’

  ‘But you’ve got Leslie,’ Rose said encouragingly. ‘After all the unhappiness, you made a new life.’

  ‘A wasted life,’ Olga said with sudden bitterness. ‘Three years ago, when we met, I added a little chutzpah to his life, perhaps.’ She smiled coldly. ‘He did not question the lies I concocted about my past. But when the police arrived and discovered the stolen television they asked me many difficult questions. I was forced to produce my papers.’ Olga took in a breath as her body shuddered. ‘I desired only to belong to somewhere, to someone. I had lived many lies to preserve this skin. But now this skin no longer seems worth the effort.’ Her thin lips twisted. ‘I confessed to Leslie and, because he thought my troubles would incriminate him, he left me.’

  ‘But, he’s still your husband—’

  ‘We never married,’ Olga shrugged. ‘This was also a lie.’

  ‘Olga, I’m so sorry,’ Rose said heavily, searching for words of consolation. ‘I didn’t know—’

  ‘Even if you had known,’ Olga broke in, ‘would it have made any difference to the way you regarded me? I would never have been accepted here, no matter how hard I tried to become one of you.’