East End Jubilee

by Carol Rivers

  Rose couldn’t deny there was an element of truth in this. East Enders were slow to welcome strangers into their midst, but this didn’t mean the residents of Ruby Street wouldn’t have eventually opened their homes and hearts to the Parkers. As for Rose, after the events of Coronation Day, she had truly regretted the embarrassment Olga had suffered. But would Olga believe her now if she tried to explain?

  ‘I must go,’ Olga said before Rose could speak. ‘My time in Ruby Street is over.’

  ‘You’re leaving the island?’ Rose asked in alarm. ‘Is it because you think you’ll be questioned again?’

  Olga shrugged indifferently, as though she couldn’t have cared less. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in a year . . . who knows?’

  ‘But why don’t you tell them the truth?’ Rose asked in desperation. ‘It couldn’t be any worse than what you’ve already gone through.’

  Olga looked at her calmly. ‘I am not married to a British citizen, therefore I have no legal right to remain in your country. And Germany holds nothing for me but emptiness.’ She let Matthew’s fingers drop, her eyes glazed as she stood up. ‘Goodbye, Rose.’

  ‘Wait, I’ll walk home with you.’

  ‘No, that will not be necessary.’ Hunching her narrow shoulders she smiled at Matthew. A flicker of warmth briefly filled her haggard face. ‘He is beautiful,’ she murmured softly. Then unsteadily, she walked away.

  Rose wanted to run after her, try to persuade her to stay. Just when it was possible they might mend their differences, Olga was leaving!

  Rose’s wary eyes searched the length of Ruby Street. Groups of children played in the street, although she couldn’t see Marlene, Donnie or Will, but she wasn’t surprised. Em would have kept them in or sent them in the yard to play until Rose returned. After learning of Eddie’s warnings about reprisals, Em hadn’t let them out of her sight.

  Rose glanced down the length of the road. The only vehicle in sight was a horse-drawn cart. With a faint clip clop it passed Len Silverman’s house. The old man was sitting in a chair outside his front door and when he saw her, lifted his hand in salute. She returned his wave then pushed the pram briskly to her own front door and slid the key in the lock.

  ‘It’s only me, Em,’ she called, returning the pram to the front room and lifting Matthew into her arms before entering the kitchen.

  ‘I was beginning to wonder where you were,’ Em said reproachfully, as she lifted a big saucepan from the stove and on to the draining board. Scooping the froth from the surface with a cup, she glanced at Rose. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been worried.’

  ‘I went for a walk, that’s all.’

  ‘But you know what Eddie said about—’ Em began but Rose shook her head irritably.

  ‘I can’t wrap meself up in cotton wool, Em,’ Rose argued. The last week had seemed an eternity, always taking care to close doors and go out in twos and watch the children with an eagle eye.

  ‘Did Matthew fall asleep?’

  ‘Yes, but he’s hungry again now.’

  ‘Do you want me to make up a feed? And there’s a nice bit of mashed potato I’ve made.’

  ‘I’ll give him what I have first and try the potato afterwards. Where are the kids?’

  ‘Out in the yard. Ashley Green and his two little sisters are playing with our lot. Do you want me to call them in?’

  Rose glanced out of the kitchen window. The children were playing hopscotch on the stones by the washhouse and she shook her head. ‘No, I’ve got something to tell you first.’

  Em placed the saucepan back on the stove and wiped her hands on her pinny. ‘Well sit down and take the weight off your feet. You look pale—’ She stiffened abruptly. ‘You haven’t seen the car again?’

  ‘No. It’s nothing like that.’ Matthew began to cry. Rose sat down on one of the kitchen chairs and slid out of her coat. Undoing her blouse and sliding up her bra, she pressed Matthew’s lips to her nipple. She didn’t usually breastfeed in the kitchen but she wanted Em to listen attentively.

  ‘I saw Olga today,’ Rose said at once. ‘Up Island Gardens.’

  ‘Olga Parker?’ Em repeated in surprise as she also sank down on a chair.

  ‘Yes, she looked awful. No, not just awful, quite sick in fact. I’m really worried about her.’

  ‘But she cut you dead just before Christmas.’

  ‘I know, but today she wanted to talk. And what she told me explains so much. None of it would have happened if it hadn’t been for that blessed television!’

  ‘None of what would have happened?’ Em asked in a guarded tone.

  ‘Olga is leaving Ruby Street.’

  ‘Leaving?’

  ‘Yes, because when the police found the telly they asked her a lot of difficult questions about her past. You see, she’s not really who she says she is and when Leslie left—’

  ‘Rosy, love,’ Em interrupted looking puzzled, ‘you’d better start from the beginning. You’ve lost me already.’

  Rose explained the whole story as patiently as she could. She began with Olga’s true identity and how her entire family were taken away to labour camps in 1944 and how since her escape, Olga had lived in fear of being discovered. Em stared at her, asking her to repeat much of what she said. ‘Was she telling you the truth do you think?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘I don’t know why she’d make it up.’

  ‘But she never talks to you – or me – or the children.’

  Rose nodded slowly. ‘I think she’s been drinking and seemed to be in a dreadful turmoil. Although I must admit I couldn’t smell alcohol on her breath, just a funny stale smell of old clothes, not at all like she used to be, so smart and done up.’

  ‘Well, if it’s true,’ Em said sadly, ‘she’s had a tragic life.’

  ‘The last straw was when Leslie walked out on her,’ Rose continued. ‘They weren’t married, just living together.’ Rose felt Matthew stir. She looked down and smiled at him. ‘I’m sorry, my sweet, I’m not taking any notice of you, am I?’

  ‘Rosy, that poor woman,’ Em murmured on a deep sigh. ‘No wonder she’s lived like a hermit.’

  ‘She looks terrible, Em. If Eddie hadn’t sold them a duff telly, this wouldn’t have happened. Apparently everyone in the street turned against her after that, or at least she thought they did.’

  ‘The trouble is,’ Em said bleakly, ‘we all worry about what other people think of us. If we didn’t, we’d save ourselves a lot of heartache.’

  Rose nodded. ‘And there was me, in exactly the same boat. But at least I have a husband and family alive and kicking. She has no one.’

  ‘What can we do to help?’ Em asked sympathetically. ‘Could we persuade her to stay on do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know. She thinks the police might come back.’

  ‘How terrible to live in fear like that.’

  ‘Perhaps we could take over some food,’ Rose said suddenly. ‘I’ll bet she’s been starving herself. She’s as thin as a rake.’

  ‘Do you think she would accept it though?’ Em said doubtfully. ‘She strikes me as someone who despises charity.’

  ‘We can try.’ Rose felt Matthew wriggle uncomfortably. He was sucking away but her nipples felt dry and uncomfortable. Suddenly he let out a yell of impatience. She tried him on the other breast, but it was no use. He began to whimper again.

  ‘If you ask me,’ Em frowned, ‘you’re drying up.’

  ‘And he’s not even three months old yet.’

  ‘I’ll make up a bottle,’ Em decided firmly. ‘All this talk of starvation makes me uneasy.’

  Rose smiled down at the wrinkled nose and open mouth now emitting a piercing scream. How lucky she was to have her son safe in her arms. How desperate Olga must have felt when they took away her baby.

  ‘Why are we taking all this food to Mrs Parker?’ Donnie asked as Rose packed the shopping bag with a fruit cake that Em had made yesterday, half a loaf and a little margarine wrapped in greaseproof paper. Will wa
s carrying a small basin covered with muslin and tied with a piece of string under which two hefty dumplings were bobbing on the surface of the stew. The two girls had wrapped an orange and a banana in a brown bag from Joan’s corner shop.

  ‘Because she hasn’t been very well,’ Rose explained simply.

  ‘She doesn’t ever talk to us,’ Marlene commented as she clutched the brown bag to her chest. ‘She said Daddy stole that television and he didn’t.’

  ‘We know the truth and that’s what matters.’ Rose glanced at Em. ‘Are you all right with Matthew?’

  Em held him in her arms. He was fast asleep, full up with baby milk. ‘Yes, but I’m not so sure now if this is a very good idea.’

  ‘Well, she’s more likely to ask us in with the children.’ Rose wasn’t entirely certain about this. But she had called once before on her own and that hadn’t worked. As a united family, perhaps Olga would be more inclined to be hospitable.

  They all followed Rose to the front door. She looked out cautiously. Only the local children played in the street and Cissy and Fanny were sitting on chairs by their front doors. There were no cars or strangers in sight.

  Rose led the way over to Olga’s. ‘It ain’t shut,’ Marlene said as Rose was about to knock.

  Em gave a little gasp. ‘She never leaves her door open. She must have had too much to drink like you said, Rosy.’

  ‘I’ll give it a push.’ Rose gently pressed the door. It slowly swung open. They all gazed inside.

  ‘It smells funny,’ Marlene murmured.

  ‘Like something’s gone off,’ Em said as they stepped inside and stood on the lino. The hall was empty and the kitchen deserted. The door to the front room was closed. Rose shouted Olga’s name.

  ‘Perhaps she’s gone out,’ Em said in a hopeful voice.

  ‘Let’s make sure.’ They all crowded round as Rose opened the door. Another musty smell greeted them. ‘The curtains are drawn,’ Rose said, peering into the dark.

  ‘Well, she never opens them, does she?’

  Rose remembered how packed the room had been on Coronation Day and how tense the atmosphere was with excitement. She also recalled Olga’s vain attempts at hospitality, which had ended in disaster for all concerned. The space where the television had stood was now filled by a footstool. The couch was in exactly the same place opposite the hearth and the big, upholstered fireside chair that everyone assumed was Leslie’s rested against the wall. The room was cold as if it hadn’t seen a fire in months, which was probably true, Rose thought as she stared at the abandoned fireplace. There were no ashes, no remnants of coke or wood in the empty scuttle. There was even a cobweb growing over the grate.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ Em whispered anxiously. ‘I feel like we’re spying.’

  ‘She might be resting upstairs,’ Rose shrugged.

  ‘Then why didn’t she wake up when you called?’

  ‘Mum?’ Donnie clasped Rose’s hand. ‘I don’t like it in here.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ said Will and Marlene together.

  ‘Stay here and I’ll run upstairs before we leave.’ Rose gave everyone a reassuring smile. ‘If Mrs Parker’s asleep, we’ll put the food in the kitchen.’

  Rose went into the hall and climbed the stairs. She didn’t know what she feared the worst: Olga suddenly appearing, looking aggrieved because they had entered her house without an invitation; or Olga much the worse for wear in one of the bedrooms. All the terraced houses in Ruby Street were built to the same specifications, two up, two down. Rose found herself wondering how much the stair carpet had cost. It was good quality with solid brass stair runners. The Parkers had lived in number thirty-nine for two years. Before that, an older couple had rented the property. Mr Benson, an ex army man, died of pneumonia and his disabled wife had gone to live with one of their children. Rose knew the landlord lived in the West End. Had Olga kept up with the rent?

  The small bedroom contained a single bed covered with a purple eiderdown. The colour reminded Rose of Olga’s shabby purple coat. Was purple Olga’s favourite colour? Beside the bed was a modern looking chest of drawers and small wardrobe. The window that overlooked the back garden was, curiously, uncurtained, decorated only with a gauzy net. Rose closed the door quietly.

  She trod carefully over the patterned runner to the front bedroom, more convinced than ever that Olga had fallen into a drink-induced sleep. When she had returned from the park she must have gone straight to bed and not noticed the front door was unlatched.

  Rose gave a loud knock. ‘Olga, it’s me, Rose.’

  There was no reply. She opened the door. This room was also in darkness, but a sour, unpleasant odour filled the air. Rose narrowed her eyes to the gloom. A figure lay on the bed, a silent, still figure that caused Rose to retreat momentarily. Quickly recovering she hurried round to the window and pulled back the heavy curtains. Two sets of brass runners jangled noisily, but Olga didn’t stir. She lay on her side wearing only a thin dress. Her eyes were closed and her mouth open.

  Rose approached the slumbering figure cautiously, as if she might suddenly come awake and demand to know what Rose was doing there. Timidly, she reached out and touched her. Rose jumped. Her skin was so cold!

  ‘Olga, wake up!’ Rose shook her shoulders, gently at first, then firmly. When she saw the vomit on the pillow and sheet, her heart gave a lurch. The next minute she was running down the stairs.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Em’s eyes stared fearfully up at her.

  ‘She’s unconscious. Run along to Joan’s and ask her to telephone Dr Cox. Tell him it’s an emergency.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Em whispered hoarsely.

  ‘You must hurry, all of you. Go as quickly as you can. Mrs Parker is very ill.’

  With that, she packed them out of the door, only remembering afterwards that Em was still carrying Matthew. But it wasn’t far to go, just to the end of the street. Rose ran back up the stairs. She didn’t know what to do, but she knew she had to do something. Taking Olga’s thin arms, she shook her and patted her cheeks.

  ‘Olga! Wake up!’ she cried again, but it was no use. Rose flew to the bathroom and grabbed a flannel soaked in cold water. She twisted it over Olga’s forehead and let the water run down her face. She couldn’t smell any alcohol. So why couldn’t she rouse her? Had Olga tried something else far more dangerous to ease the pain of her existence? Rose stared down at the emaciated shadow that bore no resemblance to the woman who had looked so smart and sophisticated on Coronation Day.

  ‘Don’t give up, Anne,’ Rose whispered, using her real name and hoping for a miracle. ‘Life is still worth living, no matter what.’

  But by the time Dr Cox arrived, Olga was parchment white and the flicker of pulse in her wrist was faint.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘What are you going to tell the doctor?’ Em whispered as she stood with Rose in the evening sunlight. The ambulance carrying Olga’s inert form had driven noisily away, leaving a hushed crowd waiting in the street.

  ‘As little as possible,’ Rose answered wearily. ‘If Olga . . .’ she corrected herself quickly, ‘when she gets better, she can tell them as much or as little as she wants. But for now her secret’s safe with me.’

  ‘Do you think she – you know – tried to do away with herself?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rose replied honestly. ‘I couldn’t smell drink, although she was behaving very oddly.’

  The crowd remained silent as Dr Cox emerged from Olga’s house, closing the door firmly behind him. Rose, who was now carrying Matthew, walked over. She had grown to respect the young doctor despite his lack of bedside manner. He’d arrived within minutes of Joan Wright’s telephone call and ushered them all from the house. Rose had been relieved to leave the oppressive, dismal atmosphere.

  ‘How is she?’ Rose asked as she approached him.

  ‘Very poorly. Who is her next of kin?’

  ‘Her husband, I suppose, Leslie Parker,’ Rose said, giving nothing away.

&nbs
p; ‘And where can he be found?’

  ‘Somewhere up in the City, I think. He works in an office but I don’t know where.’

  Dr Cox regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You spoke to Mrs Parker today?’

  ‘Yes, we sat in the park for a while but she didn’t seem like her usual self. So later this afternoon we paid her a visit. The door was open and we went in. It was then I found her upstairs and we called for you.’ Rose hesitated. ‘I thought she might have been drinking, to be honest.’

  A pair of pale, but very astute eyes blinked behind unflattering round-framed spectacles. He shook his head as he replied. ‘No, I don’t believe alcohol is responsible for her condition.’ He seemed to be weighing up what else he should tell her and she guessed he came down on the side of caution as he added, ‘All I can tell you is, if you hadn’t taken the trouble to call this afternoon, Mrs Parker’s chances of survival would be even slimmer than they are now.’ He opened the door of his Morris Minor and climbed in. ‘I should have some news in the morning,’ he added brusquely.

  When he’d driven away Rose turned back to find everyone watching her. Matthew whined and she transferred his weight to her other arm wondering what she was going to say. Half of the street had turned out, amongst them the Mendozas, Mike and Heather Price, the Greens, Cissy and Fanny, the Patels, Len Silverman, the Dixons and Dora Lovell.

  ‘How is she?’ Anita was the first to speak.

  ‘Not so good, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Did he say what’s wrong?’

  Rose shook her head. ‘No. He’ll know more tomorrow.’

  ‘She ain’t been seen around for weeks,’ Cissy yelled, pushing her way forward. ‘The word is her old man’s done a bunk with a bit of skirt. Got fed up with her tantrums no doubt,’ she added sourly. ‘You could hear them rowing half a mile away.’

  ‘What way is that to speak of your neighbour who is so ill?’ Len Silverman demanded in an emotional tone.

  Cissy tapped the side of her bulbous nose. ‘I keeps me ears and eyes open, don’t I?’

  ‘Of that I have no doubt,’ he muttered, his old eyes fixing disdainfully on his neighbour.