by June Tate
Lily settled at a table near the door. Best thing, she thought, just in case she had to make a hasty retreat. She pulled her legs under the chair to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing shoes.
The tea tasted wonderful, not like the gnat’s pee they usually had at home, where Mavis was forced to eke out their meagre supply. This was strong and hot. She munched on her bread slowly, although she had wanted to devour it, she was so ravenous. How long could she make it last, she wondered.
When the door opened, Lily automatically drew her feet further beneath the seat. Looking up, she was surprised at the figure walking past her. This was no workman. He was of medium height, powerfully built, with black sleek hair and wearing a suit of the finest material. He gave her an interested glance and then went to speak to the owner.
They exchanged a few words and the stranger nodded towards Lily. ‘Who’s the girl?’
Bert shrugged. ‘Don’t know. She come in off the street.’ With a smile he said, ‘Spunky kid – demanded I serve her.’
They spoke for a while, then the stranger began to walk towards the door. ‘I’ll get that to you soon, OK?’
‘Fine,’ Bert nodded.
The man stopped beside Lily. ‘Good morning. You’re out early.’
She looked at him beneath long silky eyelashes. ‘Yes. Best time of the day, I always think.’
Studying him in greater detail, she guessed he must be in his early thirties. His fine head of black hair receded at both temples. His olive skin was smooth, his dark eyebrows thick above dark-brown eyes. His nose was slightly hooked. He was heavy in stature, but carried himself with a definite air. There was something menacing about him, yet at the same time there was a certain magnetism. When he smiled, as he did now, he looked almost handsome.
‘Nice young girl like you should be home, tucked up in a warm bed, not wandering around the streets.’
‘I’m not wandering,’ was her sharp denial.
Looking at his watch, the man frowned. ‘I have to go, but if you want a job, come and see me. I’ve got a nice little room with a comfortable bed just waiting for you. Good food too.’ He put his hand out to stroke her hair. She pulled away. Looking at her shabby attire he added, ‘And nice clothes.’
Lily was beginning to feel uneasy. ‘You don’t know me, so why would you put yourself out to give me a job? What’s in it for you?’
He was amused. ‘Let’s just say I like the look of you. You’re a bright girl, nice-looking – and I could help you.’
‘No thanks,’ she answered spiritedly. ‘I can take care of myself.’
He grinned. ‘Can you now? I run the Club Valletta, in Bernard Street. Come and see me. Ask for Vittorio.’ Opening the door, he left.
Lily was relieved at his exit, but puzzled as well. No one offers a girl such things for nothing, she thought. And anyway, who was he? As she was mulling over the conversation, Bert came across to her.
‘Listen to me, sunshine. You keep away from The Maltese.’
‘Who?’
‘Vittorio Teglia. Everyone calls him The Maltese.’
‘Why?’
‘Because his family come from Malta, an island in the Mediterranean. He’s a dangerous man to know. I’m giving you some fatherly advice, ducks. Don’t you have anything to do with him.’
A shiver went down Lily’s spine.
The cafe began to get busy, and she slipped out through the door. The park no longer seemed a dangerous place in the daylight. She made her way to an empty bench, well away from the one used by Maria, and watched the street come alive.
The noisy rattle of trams began to shake the air. The road became full of dockers on their bicycles, packed together like a flock of birds, first swaying one way then the other, following the curve of the road. She marvelled that no one fell off. Fruit-sellers were busy setting up stalls for the day. Newsboys called out the latest headlines: ‘Lloyd George sends the Black and Tans to Ireland!’ A middle-aged woman pushed her flower-laden cart on her way to the National Provincial Bank, where she’d had a daily pitch for years. Lily recognised her and waved.
A throaty roar from a liner echoed as the RMS Olympic tested its engines ready to sail to New York. Its four red and black funnels belched out thick dark smoke.
Still suffering from hunger pangs, Lily made her way to Kingsland market, cocking an ear to the banter which passed between the stall-holders getting ready for the day. One woman, setting out some cabbages, clutched two against her breast. ‘Nice pair you’ve got there, gel,’ called the man on the next stall.
‘Now then, you cheeky monkey. One more word from you, I’ll squeeze your tomatoes.’
‘Best offer I’ve had this week,’ he replied with a laugh.
‘Going to see the new Douglas Fairbanks picture this week, Nell?’ called another. ‘It’s on at the Gaiety.’
‘Yeah, not half. He could swash my buckle any time.’
A watery sun made its appearance, and in her own way Lily felt happy wandering around. Thoughts of the night to come were pushed to the back of her mind. She watched carefully as the traders sorted the bad fruit from the good, noting the wooden boxes containing the discarded pieces. She smiled to herself as she watched them serve their customers from the fruit at the back of the display, giving short measure with dexterity.
Waiting until the market was busy and the traders occupied with customers, she filched some rotten apples and a couple of bananas, stuffing them into her pockets. Nonchalantly, she moved away to eat her fill, then went back to replenish her store – leaving before she was discovered.
Next she made her way towards Canal Walk, commonly known as The Ditches. It was a narrow pedestrian-only street that sloped down slightly each side with a ditch running down the middle for the excess rain to drain away. There were one-roomed shops on either side: pubs, eating-houses, and butchers’ shops with their goods displayed – legs of lamb hanging from hooks, and dead poultry with skinny necks. There was a pawnbroker, a bespoke tailor and a jeweller, but it was Mrs Cohen’s second-hand clothing shop that was Lily’s chosen destination.
The ragged canopy was pulled down and dresses, coats, and men’s suits hung from the rusted iron struts. Sweaters and hats in boxes were on display – but it was the pile of shoes that held Lily’s interest.
She carefully sorted through them, trying on one pair after another, discarding those that were unsuitable. She couldn’t find a pair her size and settled for another, just one size too big. She looked furtively around. Mrs Cohen was inside the shop; the street was busy. She was just about to walk away, when a voice said, ‘Oh, no you don’t.’
Her heart beating with fright, she turned. Behind her stood a policeman.
‘I’ve been watching you, young lady.’ He looked sternly at her.
With trembling lip, Lily asked, ‘Why?’
‘You were just going to walk away with those shoes.’
Bravely she faced him. ‘How dare you accuse me of stealing! I was only trying them on.’
‘Now don’t tell lies, young lady. I’ve been lied to by the best and I know a thief when I see one.’
‘Look – look!’ she said angrily, sticking out a foot. ‘They don’t even fit. Why would I want a pair of shoes that don’t fit?’
‘You were just about to leave, wearing them.’
‘I beg your pardon.’ Lily bristled. ‘Here I am still in front of the shop. I haven’t gone anywhere. Now if I was down there,’ she pointed further down the street, ‘that would be a different kettle of fish.’
At that point, Mrs Cohen came bustling out of her shop. ‘What’s going on?’
Lily knew Mrs Cohen by sight. She always dressed in good clothes, if a tad shabby, but she was known for the hats she wore. Today it was a splendid effort in brown straw with a wide brim and an exotic feather draped around the crown.
Clasping Lily by the shoulder, the policeman said, ‘I just caught this girl about to walk away from here wearing a pair of your shoes.’
‘It’s all right, officer. I told her to have a good sort through.’
Lily thought she was going to faint with relief.
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ blustered the policeman.
Mrs Cohen nodded and beckoned to Lily to enter her shop.
As she stood in the inner sanctum, Lily’s legs trembled. She was speechless. Why had this woman saved her from being arrested – and having done so, what would she do to her now?
Rachel Cohen stared at the girl. She knew who she was. Hadn’t she seen her many a time outside the pub waiting to get money from her drunken father? And she’d witnessed the brutal way he’d hit her before sending her on her way – empty-handed.
With a grim expression she asked Lily, ‘Well? And what have you to say for yourself?’
‘He was right, missus. I was about to walk off.’
‘At least you’re honest about it,’ said Mrs Cohen with some surprise. ‘Why do you want a pair of shoes?’
Lily flushed with embarrassment. ‘Because I don’t have any. I did have a pair, but I lost them.’
‘How on earth can you lose a pair of shoes?’
‘My dad threw me out of the house and I dropped one. It was too uncomfortable with just one, so I dumped it.’
The woman looked thoughtful. ‘And where are you staying now?’
‘With my aunt in Union Street,’ she lied.
‘Got a job, have you?’
Lily shook her head.
Mrs Cohen pursed her lips. ‘Want one, do you?’
Eyes wide in surprise, Lily said quickly, ‘Yes, I do.’
‘I need help here. The shop could do with cleaning and there’s a lot of clothes to be sorted. My son is away buying and I have to keep an eye on the shop, else someone will pinch my stuff.’
A guilty flush rose in Lily’s cheeks. ‘I’ll work hard for you, honest.’
‘Then we’d better find you a pair of shoes that fit.’
‘Oh thank you, Mrs Cohen. You are so kind.’ Her gratitude bubbled forth.
‘I’m not giving you them, girl. You’ll pay me so much a week out of your wages.’
Suitably rebuked Lily said, ‘Yes, yes, of course.’
‘One thing you will learn in life, my dear, is that no one does anything for nothing. You just remember that. There’s always a price to pay.’
Inside the shop, Lily looked around in astonishment. Clothes hung everywhere. One rack was full of ladies’ evening dresses. She’d never seen anything so beautiful. The fragile materials were covered in sequins and coloured bugle beads. Such elegance, she thought admiringly. Day dresses, costumes and men’s suits hung nearby. Wonderful creations tumbled out of hat boxes. But it was towards the large tubs full of unsorted clothes that she was led.
‘I want you to go through this lot with a fine-tooth comb. Sort the good stuff, and any that is worn and torn you throw over there, into the empty box. All right?’
‘Yes, I understand, missus. Don’t you worry, I’ll be very thorough.’
‘If you aren’t, then you won’t work for me. I don’t pay good hard cash for nothing.’
Sorting through the clothes in the dark enclave of the shop, Lily was content. She was off the street and felt safe and secure, for the time being anyway. She was meticulous in her search. After all, if she was earning, she could eat. I wonder when she’ll pay me, she pondered.
At lunch-time, Mrs Cohen made a cup of tea and called to Lily: ‘Come here, girl.’ She handed Lily a mug of the hot steaming liquid and a bagel filled with salt beef. Lily had never enjoyed anything so much.
They sat together on a couple of old straight-backed chairs. Rachel Cohen arched her back, placing her hand against it. ‘Getting stiff in my old age,’ she muttered. ‘If my son Manny worked a bit harder, it would help.’
‘How old’s your son?’ Lily asked.
Rachel pulled a face. ‘Thirty and not married. I try to find him nice Jewish girls, but either he doesn’t like them or they don’t want him. What’s a poor widow woman to do? I want grandchildren.’ She bit angrily into her bagel. ‘And you, Lily, what do you want out of life?’
Sitting back against the chair, Lily stretched out her feet to admire her shoes. ‘I don’t want ever to be poor again.’ She looked dreamily into space. ‘I want a nice man to marry me, I want to live in a nice house – I want to be respectable.’
Looking over her horn-rimmed spectacles, the Jewess smiled. ‘Well, we all have dreams, girl. I hope you get yours one day.’
‘I will, Mrs Cohen. I don’t know how, but I will.’
The determination on the girl’s face moved Rachel. What chance has she got? she wondered. Not much. She was a pretty girl, with her lovely eyes. But living round here didn’t offer a great deal, and she doubted that Lily would ever fulfil her aspirations.
When the shop closed Lily asked, ‘When do I get paid?’
‘At the end of the week.’
Her heart sank. She was working, but she still didn’t have money, only the twopence left after buying her breakfast. She had some mouldy fruit left over, but that was all.
The smell from the fish and chip shop was too much. ‘Two penn’orth of chips and some scraps please,’ she asked. The scraps – the pieces of batter that came off the fish as it cooked – were crispy and succulent. It would help to quell her hunger.
The cool wind had dropped and it was a balmy spring evening as Lily strolled along the Esplanade, eating her chips. Not a bad birthday, she mused. I got myself a job and a pair of shoes. Now all she needed was a roof over her head. She couldn’t go back to the hotel. The night porter was sure to keep an eye out for her and she certainly wasn’t going to sleep in the park. Looking across at the Royal Pier, she thought that was as good a place as any. There was no shelter, but it was quiet, away from the pubs.
It was too early to stake her claim to Southampton’s Royal Pier, however, so Lily strolled around the old walls and up the steps towards St Michael’s Square. She wandered past Tudor House and made her way to St Michael’s Church. The evening sun shone on the stained-glass window and the tall spire towered against the skyline. The heavy door was slightly open and she ventured inside.
She was immediately aware of a sense of peace and quiet. A pungent scent of incense hung in the air. Standing at the top of the aisle, she looked in wonderment at the tall ceilings, the graceful arches and, in the distance, the large gold-coloured cross standing on the altar.
Sitting in a pew, she felt a strange calm as she surveyed the surroundings. It was the first time she’d ever entered a church and she found it an awesome experience. This was the house of God. She knew that from the scriptures of her schooldays. God was never spoken of in the confines of her own home.
Would He want her here? she wondered. After all, hadn’t she committed a wicked sin with her father? Perhaps she should go – but she wanted so badly to stay. If only someone could tell her what she should do.
As if in answer to her thoughts, a quiet voice beside her said, ‘Good evening. I’ve not seen you here before.’
A middle-aged man dressed in a long black cassock stood beside her. His hair was greying at the temples and he had kind eyes. At Lily’s look of anxiety he said, ‘I’m John Page, the vicar.’
‘Is it all right for me to sit here?’ Lily asked uncertainly.
‘Of course, my dear. All are welcome in God’s house.’
Frowning, she said, ‘Even those who have sinned?’
‘Especially those who have sinned. If you’re worried about it, why don’t you pray and ask Him?’
‘I don’t know how.’
With a gentle smile he said, ‘Just talk to Him. That’s all a prayer really is. A conversation between you and God.’
Lily wa
sn’t convinced. ‘But someone might hear what I say.’
‘Then think your conversation in your head. Then it will be for God alone. I’ll leave you to it.’
She watched him walk towards the altar. He bowed, crossed himself and disappeared through a doorway at the side. She was alone.
Kneeling on the worn hassock, she put her hands together. ‘The vicar said it was all right to talk to You. I’m sorry that I have sinned, but You know it wasn’t my doing. I couldn’t help it.’ She paused as the thoughts tumbled through her brain. ‘I’d like to ask You something. If You’re really God, why didn’t you stop my father?’ There was no sound to be heard. I suppose God only talks to saints, she thought and, with a wry grin, muttered, ‘Well, that definitely lets me out … I’ve got a job,’ she continued, ‘but I don’t get paid till the end of the week. Please take care of me. I’m a good girl really. Thank You. Amen.’
That night, Lily slept outside the Royal Pier. She wasn’t molested or disturbed, but during the night it rained heavily. When she awoke, she was soaked to the skin.
Wringing out the water from her skirt, she looked up at the sky, shivering with cold and shook her fist. ‘I said take care of me, not bloody drown me!’
Chapter Two
Lily kept her head down as she walked along The Ditches. She knew she looked a fright. Her shoes squelched with each step and tears of indignation pricked her eyes. Muttering angrily she said, ‘Bloody funny kind of God you are. What’s Mrs Cohen going to say when she sees me?’
Her concern was justified, for when she arrived at the shop, her new employer was appalled. Looking askance at Lily, Mrs Cohen raged, ‘And what do you mean, coming to work like that? You look like the wreck of the Hesperus.’
‘I can’t help it,’ Lily cried. ‘At least I came, and I’m early.’ She began to shiver.
Rachel hustled her inside the shop. Throwing a towel across to her she said, ‘Get out of them wet things and towel yourself down afore you catch pneumonia.’ She started sorting through some clothes. Seeing Lily hesitate, she snapped, ‘For heaven’s sake, girl, go on. I won’t look. After all, you ain’t got no different from me, ’cept yours is in better condition.’ She cackled at her own joke. ‘Here.’ She threw a skirt and jumper at Lily, and a pair of knickers. ‘It’s not for free, you’ll …’
