by Carol Rivers
Richard’s gaze slewed slowly to the house. He was home early for a Friday. In fact he’d taken the afternoon off. Not something he approved of. But the accounts office where he worked was closed for redecoration. True, the borough had allotted him a room down the hall, but it was hardly larger than a cupboard. There was no space at all for his ledgers and books. His typewriter, which he insisted he used before handing his work to the typists, was perched on a table two feet by two; his office chair was too large to install in the cupboard and had been removed, along with his effects, to a kind of communal space where there was no privacy at all. Who would believe that a London borough like Greenwich would find themselves in such disarray, just because of a few pots of paint?
Richard took another long look at the back of his detached three-bedroomed house which he was now in the process of buying. Thanks to Mother, they were living in a desirable area, with civil neighbours who worked in professional trades like himself. Blackheath was head and shoulders above Millwall and Poplar. Not that he’d ever consider moving back there. No, what a thought!
He drew his eyebrows together in distaste as he thought of his in-laws, Lil and Doug Sharpe. Mother had been right all those years ago, before his father had died, when she’d warned him that marrying Ethel Sharpe was below his standing. Mother had even upped sticks from Poplar and moved across the water to Lewisham in order to end their courtship.
‘The island breeds dockers and costermongers, Richard,’ she had warned. ‘No refinement at all.’
But had he had the sense to listen?
No, he hadn’t planned a future then. Or even given Mother’s words a second thought. He was so besotted with Ethel, he’d cycled miles on end back to the island to court her. Even now, Richard’s heart gave a little thump as he thought of Ethel in her school uniform, her blonde wavy hair bouncing over her blazer as he’d cycled beside her, too embarrassed to speak. Well, he’d only been fifteen. And what had he known about women at that tender age?
What did he know about them now? Richard asked himself as he stepped out of the shed and marched towards the house.
Only that women made very little sense at all. He’d given Ethel everything. A decent house in a law-abiding neighbourhood, a holiday in summer in Brighton or Eastbourne and a standard of living that, if Ethel had been thrifty, could have bought them a motor car too. But Ethel had no idea of money. She spent her entire wage on frivolities or spoiling herself and the children.
He should have put his foot down long ago, when she’d first applied for that menial job at Rickard’s, the haberdasher’s. He’d hoped that, as babies came along, she’d be content to bring up the family and keep house. As women should. But what had she done? Only twisted Mother’s arm into having the children while she was at work. Not that Mother ever complained. In fact, he was secretly pleased that Timothy and Rosie were being taught their ‘p’s and ‘q’s from someone whose high standards far outreached his wife’s.
Richard tugged down his suit jacket and, stiffening his spine, strode towards the back door. The flower beds needed weeding. The path sweeping. Ethel couldn’t even be bothered to spend a few hours out here! And she didn’t even have a job at the moment. What was he to make of that?
He rattled the handle, but the door was locked. He tried again and looked up at the bedroom window. There was no movement and so he took out his key and went round to the front of the house. Here the borders were neat and orderly. Ones that he’d seen to himself the weekend before, when Ethel and the children were attending that nightmare of a wedding.
Flo Allen marrying Syd Miller! The notorious Millers of all people! Oh well, like attracted like, he supposed. But there was no way he was getting involved with a lot of ruffians and law-breakers. It had been bad enough to witness the goings-on at Lizzie Allen’s wedding to Frank Flowers. Richard had been virtually strong-armed into that one. And look at the mess it turned out to be! With that moron Flowers blatantly drunk and disorderly. Making up to trollops in front of his newly-wed wife’s eyes.
Well, no more family weddings after that, Richard had assured himself. If Ethel wanted to associate with these illiterates, she did so with his express disapproval. He’d warned her then that one day she would regret getting so chummy with the Flowerses. They’d had an almighty row over it. He’d stuck to his guns though, even while Ethel had thrown some very unfair accusations his way.
He wasn’t gloating now, but his warning to her had been proved right. Last Sunday afternoon, the day after the Miller wedding, Doug Sharpe had driven Ethel and the children home. Ethel had hardly been able to meet his eyes when she stepped out of the car. And Richard knew why. Predictably, the aftermath had been riotous! He’d got it all out of Rosie in the end. Drunken singing and dancing – and no doubt debauching – into the early hours of Sunday. What was in Ethel’s mind to expose herself and their children to such behaviour?
Richard felt a wave of anger wash over him. He’d just about managed to keep a lid on his temper when Doug had informed him that Ethel had been poorly. Well, of course she had, associating with that rabble! She’d been coerced into drinking too much, no doubt, and paid the price for it.
Richard let himself in and stood in the hallway, listening for sounds.
‘Ethel!’ he shouted. ‘I’m home.’
He went into the kitchen and then the front room. The couch cushions were askew. Rosie had left her cardigan on the chair. No doubt in a rush to get out of the house for school this morning. And the breakfast bowls in the kitchen were still piled in the sink. Ethel couldn’t even be bothered to wash them up.
‘Ethel?’ he yelled again, becoming angrier by the minute. Returning to the hall, he leaped the stairs to the landing and stood silently once more.
He dashed into the bedrooms, all three of them empty. Then he hurried downstairs again.
Not a sound. The house was deserted. Well, this time he was not having it. He was going to cycle over to the Sharpes’ and confront Ethel. This was not the first time he’d come home to an empty house. When he’d demanded an explanation, Ethel had told him she was out shopping. But he knew exactly where she was. At No. 84 Langley Street, gossiping the day away with her mother. Either that, or in company with Lizzie Flowers, who he thought possessed the morals of an alley cat.
A fine way for his wife to carry on!
Forgetting to put on his trouser clips, Richard dragged his bike from the shed. This kind of behaviour was totally unacceptable, he told himself as he pedalled furiously towards Greenwich and the underground tunnel which would take him to the island. He was going to lay the law down today. Tell Lil Sharpe to keep her nose out of his family’s business. Ethel was his wife and she should start behaving like one. She wasn’t a child any longer. To be fawned over and spoilt by parents who had undoubtedly not been able to sever the apron strings.
She was Mrs Ethel Ryde. And, come hell or high water, he was going to insist that she started behaving like it!
Chapter Forty-One
Lizzie stared out of the storeroom’s dirty window. It was Friday and almost a week since she’d last seen Danny. On Sunday afternoon he’d collected Tom and driven them away in the car. She had tried to take comfort from the news that all had gone according to plan the night before. But Danny’s face was tense and his eyes wouldn’t quite meet hers. She knew that disposing of a body and keeping that secret was weighing on his mind.
‘We’ll let the dust settle,’ he’d said briefly. ‘Just go about your business here. The body might wash up in the next few days. Or, if we’re lucky, not for some while. If you need me, send Bert. Make sure Fowler or Elmo are here at all times. Keep your eyes peeled in case Savage shows up.’
Now, at the end of the week, there had been no sign of trouble. She was trying to act as normal. Each day she had scoured the newspapers. There had been nothing about a found body. But every tinkle of the shop bell had jarred her nerves. She couldn’t stop looking up and down the road. She didn’t really know what for.
But she was impelled to do it.
Bert had been unusually quiet. She had tried to ask him about that night. But he’d only confirmed what Danny had said. Now, as the morning trade began, Lizzie tried to revive her spirits. She would tell Fowler to clean these dirty windows. And Bert could pay serious attention to the dirty floor.
Walking into the shop, Lizzie saw a pale face coming towards her. ‘Ethel? What are you doing here?’
‘I had to come,’ she whispered as Lizzie drew her to one side. ‘I’ve been going round the bend at home, not knowing anything.’
‘We can’t talk here.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘Frank’s upstairs, so we can’t go there, either.’
Ethel nodded, looking guilty. ‘I shouldn’t have come.’
‘Listen, we’ll drive to the market. I buy all the leftovers on Fridays. Go and sit in the van parked outside in the road. I’ll only be a few minutes.’
Lizzie gave Bert and Fowler their instructions. Then she went upstairs to Frank. He was sitting, fully dressed, in the armchair, reading yesterday’s newspaper. Beside him was the walking stick. He never went anywhere without it.
‘You managed a shave, then?’
He nodded. ‘And I made meself a Rosie. All the gas is off.’
As he was walking around now, Lizzie allowed him to make a drink. ‘I’m going out in the van.’
‘What if we get a visit?’
Lizzie knew Frank was obsessed with Savage’s return. He feared being unable to defend himself.
‘I told you the boys are downstairs.’
‘I wish I had me gun.’
‘Look what you did with one last time. And we’re all suffering the consequences.’
‘Would you rather your friends were dead?’
‘No, course not. But it might not have come down to that.’
Frank stared silently up at her with his pale blue eyes. He had put on a clean shirt and collar and tie. Was he getting better slowly? Would he be ready to leave soon?
‘I’ll be back this afternoon.’
‘Where’re you going?’
Lizzie took her bag and slipped it over her shoulder. ‘To Cox Street market, but don’t keep asking me what I’m doing, Frank. You make me nervous.’
‘Sorry.’ He picked the paper up from his knees.
Lizzie hurried downstairs, past Bert and Fowler and the queue of customers lining up on the pavement. She acknowledged them all in her usual friendly way; business had never been so good. The thought nagged at her that she needed to plough back the money they were making into the new shop. But she couldn’t concentrate on that now.
‘Thanks,’ Ethel said as Lizzie climbed in beside her. ‘Sorry to be a nuisance.’
Lizzie started the van. It rattled noisily. ‘I was coming over to yours anyway.’ She drove down Ebondale Street and turned the corner. A fresh whiff of morning air blew in through the window, bringing Lizzie back to the moment. ‘Did you tell your mum about the— ?’
‘No.’
‘You’ll have to soon.’
‘I’m not showing yet.’ Ethel stared at Lizzie. ‘So is it – he – gone?’
‘If you mean Albert, yes.’
‘It’s worse when you know a name.’
‘Listen, Ethel. You have to put it all out of your mind.’
Ethel gave out a pitiful whine. ‘If only!’
Lizzie managed to drive through the morning traffic without getting held up by the inevitable queues to the docks that began around noon. She parked in the alley that led up to the traders’ stalls and pointed to the opening through a narrow brick tunnel. ‘I’ll just pick up my stuff. I won’t be long if I can find one of the young lads to help me.’
‘Don’t worry about asking them. I’ll help you.’
‘You’re in no state to go heaving boxes.’ Lizzie looked down at Ethel’s stomach.
‘I’ll take the lighter ones.’ Ethel was already climbing out of the van. It was as if she didn’t want to be left on her own with her thoughts. And Lizzie could understand why.
Finally they had all the fruit and vegetables stowed in the back of the van. Lizzie felt better for the company of the traders and she knew Ethel did too. From where they were parked they could hear the welcome noise of the market, voices echoing through the alley. They could see the red-and-white-striped awnings and the crowds of people listening to the patter of the stallholders.
‘It was nice to see all your friends,’ Ethel said quietly.
‘Yes, life goes on as normal.’
‘Will it ever be normal for us?’ Ethel asked. ‘How long will we have to wait for something to happen?’ She looked depressed again.
‘Nothing might ever happen. Not if the body doesn’t turn up.’
‘Meanwhile we have to wait.’ Ethel pushed her fair hair from her eyes. ‘Last night I had a nightmare again. This time I was shot. I was afraid the bullet went in the baby.’
‘Oh Ethel, that’s awful. No wonder you look pale this morning.’
‘It was like the dream was trying to tell me something.’
‘You’re not going to be shot, Ethel.’
‘I know. But all the same . . .’ Ethel’s voice tailed off. She slumped back against the seat. ‘I’m fed up with listening to meself.’ She tried to smile. ‘Let’s talk about you. Have you seen Flo yet?’
‘No, I haven’t called round.’
‘So you don’t know if their honeymoon went all right?’
‘Danny said he dropped them off at their hotel near Marble Arch. It must have cost quite a bit.’
‘I didn’t know Syd earned a lot.’
‘He didn’t use to as a porter, but it was regular money.’ Lizzie thought of the watch on Walter’s arm. She still didn’t know what to do about it. And she couldn’t put more troubles on Ethel’s shoulders.
‘Oh well, I’m sure they had a good time.’ Ethel smiled. ‘I wouldn’t mind a couple of nights up West in a classy hotel.’
Lizzie grinned. ‘Me neither.’
Ethel said suddenly, ‘Lizzie, I need a favour.’
‘What?’
‘I’m going to tell Cal it’s all over.’
Lizzie gave a soft gasp. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
Lizzie knew this decision was a heartbreaker for Ethel, either way.
‘But I’m weak,’ Ethel continued. ‘If I’m alone, he’ll change my mind. But if you’re there, he won’t be able to say anything. Will you drive me to the garage?’
‘What, now?’
‘Have you got time?’
‘Yes, but are you really sure this is what you want?’
Ethel nodded firmly. ‘The kids break up soon. Richard, for the first time ever, said he’d arrange a holiday this year. It wouldn’t be easy to get away over the summer even if I wanted to.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘I’m going to try to make my marriage work.’
They sat in silence, each with their own thoughts. Lizzie looked at her friend, then sighed. ‘All right, we’ll drive over now.’
‘Thanks.’ Ethel fiddled with her fingers in her lap. ‘You’ll stay with me, won’t you?’
‘If that’s what you want.’
Lizzie wondered, as she reversed out of the alley, just how strong Ethel’s resolution would be when she came face to face with Cal.
Chapter Forty-Two
Richard stared at the long-haired individual wearing a leather apron, and shovelling potatoes from a sack into a woman’s open shopping bag. Inside the shop was another man, similarly dressed in working clothes and a dirty cloth cap. Richard studied him closely. Then, with a jolt of recognition, he realized he was looking at Bert Allen, brother to Lizzie Flowers. Time certainly hadn’t improved his coarsened features, nor his labouring gait, as he hauled a sack on his shoulders and carried it outside to the pavement.
Richard held fast to his bicycle, deciding to keep his distance. He couldn’t see the Flowers woman – or
his wife – as his gaze travelled up to the windows above the shop. Could they be there? he wondered. He seemed to remember Ethel mentioning the living quarters above the shop and an airey below. One of those cold, dark basements that were notoriously damp.
Was this where his wife spent her time? he asked himself incredulously. It was unbelievable that she should prefer squalor to the clean and decent middle-class home he had provided for her.
His eyes travelled to the noisy young children playing in the street. Urchins by the looks of them, shabbily dressed and some even without shoes! There wasn’t a clean shirt between them and their language was appalling.
Richard smelled something unpleasant. He looked back at the shop as the breeze blew softly in his direction. The long-haired man walked round to a wooden crate on the pavement. He began to strip leaves from the cauliflowers, most of which, Richard noted, were brown and soggy. This problem was solved by a knife shaved over their surfaces. The smell of rot they emitted was overpowering.
Richard pushed his bike a few feet along, craning his neck up to the windows. Was Ethel up there? If so, how was he to attract her attention?
A horse-drawn wagon came clattering up the road. Richard was forced to move aside once more. He positioned himself by the gas lamp opposite, turning his attention to his bicycle clip on his left ankle so that he wouldn’t be noticed.
He shuddered at the smell of overripe vegetables. He flinched at the noise and bustle on the street. Appalling, thought Richard. The East End held no attraction for him. He couldn’t see how it did for Ethel either. His mother’s words sprang to mind. ‘The island breeds dockers and costermongers.’ And she had never been more right than now.
‘You look as if yer just lost a quid and found a tanner,’ a deep voice said and Richard nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t realized that a figure had approached. He was shocked to find himself looking up into the lantern jaw of Bert Allen.
‘What?’ Richard stammered, clutching his bike as if it was a life raft in a rough sea.
‘Richard, ain’t it? Ethel’s other half? Saw you at Flo’s wedding.’
