Finally she answered, ‘No, not Italian—’
‘Is her old fella a wog?’ Kieran Scott asked as he pushed to the front.
There was such a scandalised intake of breath from everyone else Babs thought one of them would do serious damage to the child. But he was only voicing, in his very crude way, what some of them were too afraid to ask.
‘You little bleeder,’ Cheryl growled. ‘There’s plenty of soap in here to wash your filthy mouth out.’
Kieran’s eyes grew wide, obviously not having a clue what he’d said wrong.
Babs put a restraining hand on her neighbour’s arm. Then she turned a gentle gaze on the lad she’d taken under her wing. ‘That’s a very bad word and I would be grateful if you never said it again.’
Kieran looked shamefaced as he shuffled his feet. ‘Oh, sorry, Babs.’
She raised her voice slightly for everyone’s benefit. ‘Dee’s father is a coloured man. His family are from the West Indies. That’s where my girl gets her lovely skin colour from. I’m tying the knot next week.’
A sizzle of excitement swept the room.
‘With the father?’ someone asked.
‘No.’ Babs felt shy all of a sudden. ‘My fella Stanley.’ She showed off her engagement ring to a round of oohs and ahhs. ‘I met him after I found out about Desiree.’ She grinned like a pure ray of sunshine. ‘He’s been ever so good to me. I love him to bits, I can’t wait to be his wife. For him, me, and my girl to be a real family. We’re doing the deed next week.’
‘So we’ve got a wedding to plan.’ Beryl rubbed her hands in glee.
Babs quickly burst her bubble. ‘No, we want to do it all hush-hush, you know, no fuss. Maybe have a proper reception when we’re settled.’ She stood up. ‘I’m gonna love and leave ya, I’m off to see Desiree.’
Some of the women hugged her and they all wished her and the baby well.
‘Can I come with you?’ Kieran piped up.
Babs’ heart lurched, touched by his kind gesture. ‘’Course you can.’ She held out her hand. He took it and they set off for Mile End Hospital.
As soon as all the other women were gone, Beryl and Cheryl put their heads together.
‘Hush-hush and quiet.’
‘Not on my watch.’
‘She needs cheering up.’
‘OK, this is what we’re gonna do . . .’
Babs almost broke down as she gazed at her poor baby through the large window.
‘She’s beautiful, Babs,’ Kieran said, just above a whisper. She hadn’t asked him to talk so quietly. There was something about being with the vulnerable babies that made you want to keep everything soft and serene. ‘She has got a sweet face. And you were right, her skin’s a lovely colour.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Last time my mum had a nipper, it had a long head and kept dribbling all the time.’
Babs ruffled his hair. ‘All babies dribble. You were probably the biggest dribbler of the lot,’ she teased, her eyes dancing.
‘Was not.’ He turned back to look at the baby. ‘She looks all tiny.’
‘They say she’s put on a bit more weight, which is a good sign.’
Her stomach tightened as if it were calling out to her daughter. She was so desperate to hold her. Desiree was doing much better but they wanted to keep her in for one more week at least. Babs didn’t know what she’d do if anything happened to her.
Kieran let go of Babs’ hand and laid his own flat against the glass. He whispered, ‘Keep fighting like Henry Cooper. Your mummy loves you, little one.’
Thirty-One
It was her wedding day, but Babs wasn’t really in the mood. All she could think about was Desiree.
‘She wouldn’t want her mummy to be sad on such a special day,’ Babs said to herself as she stared in the mirror.
Although she’d always imagined being decked out in a flowing white gown, trimmed with lace, and a matching veil, she thought she’d done herself proud. She wore a yellow flower-print maxi dress with puff sleeves, a velvet black choker with a cameo of a woman in the middle around her neck and a huge, lilac hat. She’d kept her slap to a minimum, with only a splash of green eyeshadow and a touch of rosy gel blusher on her cheeks. Stan had decided against a church do and gone for a low-key ceremony up at Mile End registry. But that didn’t mean she had to turn up looking like some dosser.
Babs sighed. She had written her parents an invite, but then torn it up and slung it in the bin, suspecting that she was wasting her time. Her heart twisted as she thought about poor Denny, who would’ve been her maid of honour. Stan was still digging away with no joy, but Babs felt guilty that she hadn’t breathed a word to Maggie Brooks about what might’ve happened.
She straightened her spine and said to her reflection, ‘Desiree, I want you to know that today is the start of a new life for us, my pretty little angel.’
Five minutes later, humming ‘Chapel Of Love’, Babs crossed the Essex Lane Estate. Maybe, in time, when Stan’s chips came in, they’d buy a house up Leytonstone or Walthamstow way. Not the best places in the world, but they were one step up from Mile End.
Stan was on the steps of the town hall when she reached it. He looked smart as usual in a dark green suit with a white carnation in his lapel.
‘Babs-babe, you look a picture; a bloomin’ angel,’ he told her with a grin as wide as Blackwall Tunnel.
They shared a secret smile as she slipped her arm into his. Inside, they saw a man and woman chatting together. Stan let go of her arm.
‘What you doing?’
‘Give me a minute, yeah.’ Then he walked to the couple, who were eyeing him with suspicion.
‘Me and my girl are getting hitched today,’ he said. ‘We need some witnesses. There’s a couple of quid in it for you.’
Half an hour later they became Mr and Mrs Miller, with two strangers as witnesses to their union.
Babs was glowing from head to toe. She gave him such a smacker she thought she’d sucked the very life from her new hubby. But she couldn’t help it; she was dizzy with excitement. She’d turned her fortune around and snagged the best bloke in town.
‘Steady on.’ Stan looked slightly embarrassed. ‘We’ve got all night to christen the mattress.’
Now it was Babs’ turn to be embarrassed. ‘Ah, that’s a bit awkward . . . the doctor said . . .’
‘I get it. No how’s your father for a while.’ He leaned in. ‘Don’t stop us from having a good ol’ cuddle though.’ Then he backed off, straightening his jacket. ‘I just need to have a word with someone and I’ll catch up with you.’
‘But we just got married.’ Babs couldn’t believe her ears. ‘I thought we’d have a little celebration drink at home.’
‘And we will, petal. Plenty of time to play mister and missus.’ He kissed her quickly on the lips and was off. Over his shoulder he called, ‘If you get home before me, get a slap-up bit of nosh on the go. I’m partial to crispy roast taters.’
Babs suddenly remembered she didn’t know much about her new husband. What he liked for his tea, what side of the bed he liked to kip on, did he support West Ham or Arsenal. Better be Arsenal! She was not best pleased that he’d more or less left her at the altar, but he had a business on the go and he couldn’t just drop everything, even on his wedding day. Babs gazed down at her wedding band and, despite her earlier misgivings, sprang into the air with joy. She was a married woman.
Mrs Miller. Mrs Barbara Miller. Mrs Babs Miller ... She adored her new name; it had such a lovely ring about it. She still felt like she was in a dream. Still couldn’t believe that she’d actually married Stanley. He wasn’t a layabout but a man who’d worked his way up in the world. When Desiree got out of the ozzie she’d have a proper dad, a man who didn’t look at her skin with horror. The only blot on her happiness was her parents. Maybe they’d come around when they knew she was a married woman. They’d already met Stan; it should be easy for them to accept her new situation.
‘Oh hello, Babs – how’s the b
aby?’
The surly question made Babs lift her head. She groaned when she clocked Miss Mean and Miss Trouble: the two women on the estate who Beryl and Cheryl had warned her about all those months ago. One was too fat for her own good and the other was too thin. They were both dressed in flared trousers and cheesecloth shirts and the plump one had blonde hair crimped in a frizzy fashion that made her like she’d had an electric shock.
Babs had no choice but to walk their way.
‘Fine, thanks,’ she replied in a clipped tone.
‘Oh good,’ said Miss Mean. ‘We was wondering if you’d sent her to the jungle to learn how to chuck spears.’
Babs froze. Even though she knew both women had a reputation for rubbishing anyone and everyone, she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. ‘You what?’
‘Yeah,’ the other jumped in, ‘we heard the hospital left your baby out in the sun too long and she got a bit burnt.’
Both women laughed high and loud.
Babs was outraged. How could they say such things about a sick baby? Her baby? ‘It’s a shame someone don’t send you to the jungle. With a bit of luck you might get eaten. Although, if I was a lion, I’d just have the chips and leave you on the side – you’re all fat and gristle.’
‘Yeah? At least I ain’t some jungle bunny’s bow-wow. I’ve got my self-respect.’
‘You ain’t anyone’s whore, luv. No bloke in his right mind’s going to poke you. Even if you paid them.’
Miss Mean gobbed in Babs’ face, spit landing on her cheek. Babs was so stunned, all she could do was stand there.
The bitch growled, ‘If your kid was here, I’d gob on her too. You wanna be ashamed of yourself, a white woman letting one of them darkies touch you. No white man will touch you ever again.’
And with that, both busybodies walked away.
Babs finally moved, screaming down the street, ‘You spiteful pair of witches. I’m going to ring Battersea Dogs’ Home to come and put you down.’ But the women carried on speeding away.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, Babs sternly told herself as she wiped the spit from her face. Why was the world such a horrible place sometimes? Why couldn’t everyone just live and let live? There was another thought that Babs didn’t want to face, that she tried to bury deep. As much as she was disgusted by what those hate-filled women had done, she knew that protecting her precious Desiree was going to be a wagonload harder than she’d thought.
In Bancroft Square, a grim-faced Cleo listened to Mickey grunt and groan for England as he went at it with one of the girls. If his Mel ever found out, he was a dead man. But that wasn’t her business. She just had to make sure he was occupied. She’d been waiting for the opportunity for weeks.
She crept downstairs and found his jacket slung over the back of a settee in the VIP lounge. She checked that the coast was clear and started frantically searching through it. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for.
A few minutes later, she was down the call box on Mile End Road.
‘Stan, it’s me. I’ve got the address . . .’
Thirty-One
A deflated Babs walked onto the estate. She felt so dirty after being spat on. She couldn’t wait to get indoors and wash the filth off and then Stan could make her feel all better. That perked her up, thoughts of her other half and his lips and his hands . . . ooh, what plans she had in store for him.
Babs was startled to hear singing coming from her block.
‘Here comes the bride! All fat and wide ...’ It tailed off into la-la-la because the singers clearly didn’t know the rest of the words. Babs looked up and saw Beryl and Cheryl waving madly at her. What a pair of wallies, Babs thought happily. They both rushed down to greet her in the courtyard.
‘Congrats, Babs!’ They embraced her with delight.
‘Ta.’
‘Where’s Stan?’
Babs started to cover up for her husband. ‘He’s coming. He’s just got a couple of things to sort out.’
‘I hope he ain’t got a girlfriend already!’ Beryl said with half a wink.
Babs didn’t get the joke. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Only joshing girl, take it easy.’ There was an awkward silence before Beryl added, ‘So, you still postponing the reception?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. We’ll have the full works when we’ve got time and my little one comes home. We thought, let’s do the deed, make it all legal and sort out the particulars later on. Stan was terribly eager to get married, so we thought why wait.’
‘He must really love ya.’ Cheryl gave her a ‘you lucky devil’ nudge with her elbow.
Babs nodded. Just seeing her neighbours made her feel better after the aggro she’d experienced on the street.
Beryl put her arm around Babs’ shoulder and said, ‘Not to worry, doll, while you’re waiting for the real thing, your ol’ muckers have stepped in and organised a little reception of our own.’ She stopped as a thought hit her. ‘Hang on a minute, how we gonna let your better half know?’
Cheryl turned back to their block and yelled to her eldest. ‘Gary,’ which came out as ‘Gareeeeee’. If you wanted your kids you yelled for them; there was a technique to it. You sang the name rising good and high at the end. Sure enough her fifteen-year-old appeared on the landing.
‘Stick a note on Babs’ door telling her Stan that he’s needed in the washhouse for a knees-up.’
Her kid jumped to it, while a frowning Babs asked, ‘The washhouse?’
‘Yeah, we’ve hired it for the afternoon.’ Beryl lowered her voice, ‘Truth be told, that’s a porkie; we’ve just taken it over. Come on! Everyone’s gonna be there!’
That everyone was going to be there and her without her new husband was what Babs was worried about. ‘I can’t. I need to touch up my make-up—’
‘You look a treat. It’s a piss-up, Babs, not Come Dancing.’
Beryl and Cheryl took an arm each and steered her towards the washhouse, while the bride tried to think of reasons why she couldn’t go. She looked at her watch and decided to give it half an hour before slipping away. It would probably only be half an hour before a brawl started anyway, especially if Beryl’s sloe gin was on the go.
When they got to the washhouse, she saw balloons pinned outside the door, although several of them said ‘Happy Birthday’ rather than ‘Just Wed.’ Everyone was there, mostly the women who used the washhouse, but also folk she hardly knew and a number of others she suspected were merely passers-by who’d dropped in to see what was going on.
But she was tickled pink to see little Kieran Scott there. The benches were covered with an eye-popping piece of lino with drinks on it and near the huge dryers a wannabe DJ had set up a record player and a couple of speakers on an ironing board.
The crowd raised the roof as she came in.
‘Speech! Speech!’ Beryl and Cheryl cried out, waving at her to come to the front.
Crikey! Babs hated talking in front of people, but she made her way to stand in front of the steam press. As she went she could already hear whispers of, ‘Where’s the old man then?’
Babs cleared her throat. ‘I wanna thank every last one of you . . . for turning out for me and Stan . . .’
Typical knees-up, some people had the bollocks to start jabbering amongst themselves while she was talking.
Cheryl soon put a crimp on that. She stabbed her finger menacingly in the air. ‘Effing well shut it or I’ll stick you in the dryer and give you the spin of a lifetime.’
Instant silence. Babs swallowed again. ‘Stan sends his apologies for being a bit late . . .’
Someone shouted, ‘As long as he ain’t late in the bedroom department.’ That got a huge laugh and broke some of Babs’ tension.
She smiled broadly. ‘Just blimmin’ well enjoy yourselves.’
And that’s what everyone did; well, mostly. Over at the drinks table, as the DJ got Slade’s ‘Mama Weer All Crazee Now’ going, there were complaints that the
booze wasn’t being dished out fairly. Beryl and Cheryl were being collared with demands for food; when the crowd discovered there wasn’t any, grumbles flew left, right and centre.
‘Some fucking reception this is,’ summed it up.
Right, I’m off, Babs decided. But then she heard a loud, strange voice coming from outside.
‘Fuck off, son! Fuck off!’
The room fell silent.
‘Fuck off, son! Fuck off!’
The door burst open and a large woman, wearing a hat that resembled a gigantic blueberry and carrying a bird in a cage, strolled, large as life, into the room.
‘Fuck off, Stan! Fuck off!’ the bird cried, ruffling its feathers.
The woman snapped, ‘Shut up, Charlie, stop making a show of yourself.’
Babs wasn’t surprised the local nutters were turning up, everyone else had. ‘If you’re looking for the reception ...’ she said kindly, only to be savagely cut down to size.
‘I can see where it is, missy, I ain’t stupid,’ the woman responded. ‘And that’s despite the best efforts of that little bastard of a son of mine to keep me in the dark. He thinks I was born yesterday. Keep his own nuptials hush-hush.’ Her voice went up, everyone looking on with horror. ‘From his own mother! This young hussy he’s got hitched to ain’t much better. She’s already knocked out some chocolate drop.’ A shocked gasp echoed around the room. Not Babs though: she’d already got a taste of that. ‘A fine pair they must make! No wonder the fucking country’s going down the toilet. Heaven help us if the Russians invade.’
The penny dropped. ‘You’re Stan’s mum?’
She sniffed. ‘I don’t like to talk about it, darlin’. What did I do? Seriously. What did I do to deserve a nasty bit of work like that?’
Babs had assumed he’d kept her away from his family because he was embarrassed by her. Now she saw it was the other way around. She held out her hand.
‘Hello, Mrs Miller. I’m your son’s new wife.’
Mrs Miller was holding Charlie’s cage with one hand but her free one remained firmly planted by her side. Her nose wrinkled. ‘You know why he’s married you? He’s trying to wind me up by tying the knot with some slapper wheeling around a pram with a coffee-coloured nipper. Taking his revenge on his own mother – that’s the only reason the evil little bastard ever does anything. I suppose you were in on it. Did he offer you a hundred sheets to get knocked up by a darkie?’
Blood Mother: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Two (Flesh and Blood series) Page 18
