by Maggie Ford
Then with the spring of 1921, suddenly the Treasury coffers were revealed to be empty. Two million thrown out of work as summer came, their dreams of a land fit for heroes diminishing fast, Letty’s dreams of success faded along with them as her till fell unnervingly quiet.
‘I don’t understand politics,’ Letty complained to Billy. She saw a lot of him, spending most of her evenings with him and his family.
‘How can things go so quickly from being rosy to everyone being out of work?’ she asked, looking towards his father for an answer.
Mr Beans drew reflectively on a cigarette; he would have chain smoked but that too much smoke in the room tended to affect Billy’s chest.
‘The economy,’ he said sagaciously, his cockney richer even than Billy’s, ‘’an’ strikes. Them that’s still in work. Wantin’ ’igher wages an’ shorter hours, an’ sod everyone else! A bloody daft government – that Lloyd George and ’is National Insurance Act. Wiv less comin’ in from National Insurance because so many’s aht of work, it’s costin’ the government even more!’
Letty, more interested in her own problems than politics – she’d have to be thirty to vote – saw her own hopes going down the drain.
‘Scrimping and scraping fer me future,’ she told Billy later as they took a slow stroll in the summer sunshine. They never went very far, because of Billy’s health. ‘The shop’s just one up-hill struggle, with nothing to show for it in the end. And I had such high hopes earlier this year!’ Strange how things could change between last December and now. All her clothes came secondhand from The Lane – Petticoat Lane as the Wentworth Street Market was known. She saved on food, and now no longer went to the pictures as she used to with Ethel Bock. Anyway Ethel Bock was now Ethel Baker – had married in April – with a baby on the way and Letty saw little of her.
‘The only ones doing any good are pawnbrokers,’ she scoffed. It wasn’t nice to think that she was a single step from that trade; that were she to lower her principles, she’d thrive.
‘I ain’t out ter make money on other people’s troubles like that,’ she said firmly, her cockney surfacing as always in Billy’s company. ‘I wouldn’t want ter score off other poor devils, just ter make money.’
The fine porcelain she had spent out on, the bright ormolu and highly polished furniture had gradually crept to the rear of the shop, giving way to more ready sellers: sturdy crockery, second hand dinner services, chipped at the edges, serviceable brown tea pots, jugs, slop basins, heavy glass sugar bowls – the stuff Dad always used to make his money on. Letty was well aware that she had fallen into the same trap as he had.
‘I don’t know why I bother,’ she told Billy. ‘Certainly not for Christopher, because sometimes I think I’ll never get him back. He’ll soon be six.’
He knew about Christopher. She had told him some time ago how David had been killed in Gallipoli, and how she’d been made to feel the shame of her condition, her child taken from her for his own good when she’d been too weak to resist. Afterwards, it had been too late to get him back. Billy hadn’t made any comment, just nodded understandingly.
Letty sat with Billy in the parlour over his father’s shop. The room redolent of steak and kidney pudding from dinner time, was bright with an early evening May sun. She had been seeing a lot more of Billy this past year, these days confided in him much more. She confided in him now – about Christopher.
She sat on the sofa as usual. Billy, in the armchair by the window, wore a grey flannel jacket and a brown and fawn Fair Isle pullover in spite of the sun’s slanting warmth. He hadn’t improved as much this year as last. It had been a bad winter for him and he hadn’t properly recovered. His illness was like that – one season good, the next bad.
‘Time for me to get Christopher back,’ she said. ‘Hard to believe he’ll be seven this August. If I ever do, he’ll be old enough not to want to leave me sister. Won’t be doing him any favours, will I, telling ’im about himself? He’ll probably hate me. Not as if I was married. I don’t suppose I’ll ever be that. Too many surplus women younger than me won’t find husbands, with so many gone in the war. It would have been nice to have been married, though.’
‘It ain’t too late,’ he said, so quietly that she didn’t at first catch what he’d said but went on thinking of what might have been, how a life could be so wasted and not through anyone’s fault. Perhaps Dad’s fault in the beginning, but not now. Time had dulled the pain anyway.
She felt only sadness for Dad now. At nearly sixty-three, he wasn’t the man he’d once been. In the pub every night, drinking away the rent money with Ada’s help. She was a dirty old drab; her brother’s nice house a tip now. Letty had been there once. Never again. She thought sadly of the dad she’d known as a child – the fastidious dreamer, the collector of beautiful things.
She still had his paintings on the wall, those lovelorn maidens with the sea foaming about their loins, the wallpaper behind them lighter than the rest of the room. Still had a lot of Dad’s treasures up in the top room too. Poor Dad. He didn’t care any more.
It wouldn’t have hurt Vinny or Lucy to see him more often. Perhaps she should have made more of an effort, but it was hard to forget how different her life could have been if he’d been kinder to David …
She broke off abruptly from her reverie, looking at Billy.
‘Sorry, what was that you said?’ she asked quickly.
‘Oh, … nothin’ much.’ He smiled at her, his breathing laboured.
Now she felt guilty. ‘No, what was it? Tell me!’
‘I said it ain’t too late. I do remember you once sayin’ yer wondered what yer was doin’ it all for. Why not do it for yerself?’
‘Myself?’ she queried, lips twisting into a sneer. ‘What a laugh!’
‘Fer me then?’
Letty stared at him and saw him shrug, grinning self-consciously, suddenly embarrassed.
‘Just a thought,’ he said quietly.
Letty felt emotion rise inside her, making her want to cry. There was no nicer person than Billy. He hadn’t deserved what he’d got and she was so very fond of him. But had she heard him right? Surely he hadn’t been trying to propose?
She dropped her eyes, fiddling with the frill of her dress, a sky blue one she’d bought in a proper shop. She might not care for dressing up these days, but one thing she always did when going to see Billy was to dress nicely, brush her bobbed auburn hair until it shone like finely polished mahogany, put on a dab of Californian Poppy and a bit of pink lipstick. Why this compulsion to look good for him, she wasn’t sure – just that she felt she had to.
Billy’s grin had faded when she looked up again. His bright blue eyes, wide and honest and unsmiling, were fixed on her. He seemed eager yet fearful.
‘Let, I know I ain’t much of a catch, but I wouldn’t be a burden to yer. I won’t be offended if yer say no. I expect yer to really. But I just ’ave ter ask, just this once. If yer say no, I won’t ever ask yer again.’
She didn’t know what to say now; what to think. She was fond of him – but to marry him, if that’s what he was asking …
‘I’ve always loved yer,’ he said, speaking fast. ‘From years back. But yer looked as if yer never ’ad eyes fer me, an’ when yer started goin’ out wiv that bloke – ’e was such a toff, I fought, well, she’s got a decent one, an’ I couldn’t ’ave ’alfway given yer what ’e could. So I backed off.’
He gave a dry chuckle. ‘Never did get meself a steady gel after that. I suppose none of ’em ever came up ter you in me estimation. But now, when p’raps I could ’ave yer fer me own, the war goes an’ ’ands me this bloody dose of crap in me lungs! I can’t even ’elp me dad lift a couple of boxes of soapflakes wivout coughin’ me lungs up and bein’ as out of breaf as if I’d been running a thousand yards race. Me, what was strong as an ox before I went into the bloody army …’
He stopped suddenly, realising he’d been going off the track, giving her no chance to get a word in. He
shook his head in confusion.
‘What I’ve bin tryin’ ter say, Let, is I’m not askin’ yer ter fall in love wiv me. That’s too much to expect. But a sort of partnership. What they call a marriage of convenience. But yer can say no.’
At last, Letty found her voice.
‘Oh, Billy, I can’t.’
There were visions of David running through her head as though he were still there, still alive. For an instant it was as if she was betraying him by even listening to what Billy was saying.
It was like a dart going through her to see the eagerness disappear and be replaced by a bleak but stoic expression.
‘Just thought I’d ask – get it off me chest.’
He said it so simply that thoughts of David fled.
‘Oh, Billy, I didn’t mean to say that. I mean, I’ll …’
There was more to accepting than just saying yes. So much to be explained, to be understood, by him and by her. She felt such affection for Billy, such a tenderness, but it wasn’t love – not the sort she’d known. It would never be like that. There was only one love of that sort and it was unfair to accept him as second best. She’d have to explain.
‘How could you think of taking me on, after …’
‘How could I take you on?’ His laugh was self-deprecating. ‘Good God, Let! I’ve been scared stiff all this time ’ow yer could dream of takin’ me on! In my state of ’ealth!’
But he was grinning all over his face, suddenly exhilarated, and with a small shock Letty realised he was assuming she’d accepted, that she’d said yes.
She hadn’t said yes at all, but how could she say she hadn’t? How could she hurt him like that? She sat there, wondering how all this had happened as Billy went on, his face positively shining, telling her how she’d be able to get back her son, legal like; that her sister couldn’t stop her having back once she was married.
Within minutes, the hope Letty had clung to all these years seemed to be within her grasp. She felt a fleeting sadness for Vinny, soon to know the agony that she herself had seven years ago, suffering every day of her life since then. But she recalled that Vinny hadn’t turned a hair at inflicting that agony upon her, and brushed aside her sadness for her sister.
‘But is that possible? I could get him back, just like that?’ She had been leaning forward eagerly. Now she quickly stood up and strode about the room, turning back to him suddenly.
‘She couldn’t use the law to stop me, could she?’
Billy was grinning from ear to ear. ‘’E’s yours. If yer want ’im back, she’d ’ave no say in the matter. Not once yer married.’
‘What if she won’t give ’im back?’ Fear consumed her.
If it had been possible, Billy’s grin would have grown still wider.
‘She’d ’ave ter. She couldn’t refuse. She never legally adopted ’im as I recall you sayin’!’
Yes, she did recall saying that – quite some while ago. Letty was on her knees beside his chair, gazing up at him. ‘No, she couldn’t, could she? Oh, it’ll be wonderful to have him back!’
There came the slow realisation that this was being discussed as if the marriage had already been arranged: that without her actually having said yes, she had consented to marry Billy.
Chapter Nineteen
They were married on 7 December, a Thursday – early closing. Letty didn’t expect her marriage to be a grand or romantic occasion. Not the way it would have been with David.
Billy had treated her with tenderness on their first night; had told her he loved her but didn’t make love to her. Did she mind? He asked, then told her of his terror of reducing it to a mockery by dissolving into a fit of ludicrous coughing. He asked her forgiveness with such dignity that Letty gave it readily, feeling strangely fulfilled, spiritually if not physically, accepting that they shared a gentle caring love that was without lust or selfishness.
Her respect for Billy rose even higher the next morning as she lay beside him in their new double bed, over her shop, their own furniture around them. Then he told her in quiet tones that his father had recently been diagnosed by the doctor as having a touch of heart trouble.
‘Oh, ’e’s all right,’ he said, staring up at the ceiling from his pillow as Letty murmured her concern at the news. ‘But ’e’s bin a bit under the weather for a while lately. ’Im and me mum talked it over and they decided that this year they’ll sell the shop, get themselves a little retirement place. I didn’t tell yer when I asked yer ter marry me, Let.’
He turned towards her, propping his head up on one arm, his vivid blue eyes taking her in.
‘What I didn’t tell yer was … they made a decision ter take only half of what they get from selling. They said it’ll be enough ter see them out. The rest they’re givin’ ter me. That’s what I didn’t tell yer – in case yer fought I was bribing yer inter marryin’ me. That’s what I meant when I made reference ter a marriage of convenience. I could see by yer expression yer fought I was bein’ funny. An’ then I fought yer wouldn’t take me in marriage because I might assume yer was after me money …’
‘Oh, Billy!’ Letty burst out, but he gave a quiet chuckle, one that set him off coughing. He managed to regain control of himself, returned to being serious again.
‘I wouldn’t have wanted ter embarrass yer, so I didn’t say nothin’. But now I’m tellin’ yer, Let. My intention is ter put that money towards what yer’ve always wanted – yer shop up West.’
Letty sat upright in shock. ‘Oh, Billy – I couldn’t! I couldn’t take your money.’
‘Of course yer can. What’s the point of me ’avin’ it if it can’t be of ’elp ter yer in gettin’ yer dearest wish? It’s what I married her for. Ter make her ’appy.’
‘But I wouldn’t take …’
‘I know yer wouldn’t.’ He sat up now, putting an arm about her and drawing her close. ‘But I want yer to. Mind you, it’ll be a few more months yet, yer know. But come summer, yer can start lookin’ fer yer premises. I’ll be a lot better then an’ can ’elp a bit.’
‘What d’you mean, a lot better?’ Letty queried, pulling away. ‘Anyone’d think you was ill.’
This time Billy’s chuckle was bitter. ‘We ain’t reached the ’ard part of winter yet. Yer know what it does to me, Let. The worse months is yet ter come. I wonder at yer takin’ me on like yer did, Let, wivout questioning what yer was in for. I wonder at meself fer lettin’ yer. Lovin’ yer made me selfish. You was a proper nurse ter yer dad what was always very bronchial – a proper ’andful as I recall, yer sayin’ many a time. I reasoned that if I made a point of never moanin’ yer’d find me less of an ’andful. But I shouldn’t have asked yer ter take me on, Let. Even though I love yer.’
‘Oh, you are a chump, Billy!’ she cried, throwing her arms about him. ‘All these years we’ve known each other. I’d have married you years ago if you’d persisted. Except that when …’
She let the words fade away, not wanting to think of the past, of David, which would have made her nostalgic and spoiled this morning. The past ought not to be dwelled on and worried at like a sore place not allowed to heal.
‘I know,’ she heard Billy say in a low voice.
‘You don’t know at all, Billy Beans!’ she blurted, her mind searching for some alternative excuse. ‘If you must know, it was your name. I’d have let you propose to me years ago if …’
‘My name?’ He was looking at her, puzzled, demanding an explanation. Letty gave in.
‘I didn’t fancy being called Letty Beans.’
For a moment longer he stared, then laughter exploded from him. She had to thump him before he would stop and the pair of them were in stitches.
It was a bad winter for Billy. Letty was kept on her feet looking after him. It was just like Dad’s winter bronchitis, but Billy she nursed willingly, with love, respect and admiration that grew daily for the stoicism with which he behaved – with never a whine, never a cross word, more often than not with wry humour.
If she could come to love a man totally without once experiencing sexual fulfilment with him, Billy was that man. As March blew itself out and he began to gain ground, inch by inch, as an army determined on victory might, Letty knew she loved him with all her heart, that if anything should happen to him, she would be devastated, she spent the moments before dropping off to sleep in frantic prayer that he would live to a ripe old age, despite his gas-torn lungs.
‘Fer you!’ Pleased as punch, Billy watched Letty’s expression change from surprise to delight as she came into the room.
‘Lor, it’s not me birthday! What on earth made you get that?’
She stared at the polished rosewood box, the turntable, the dark shiny disc ready for playing, the horn soaring above like a great wing.
‘I fought yer wanted one. Yer did, didn’t yer?’
‘Oh, Billy – a gramophone!’ she cried rapturously. ‘Oh, it’s lovely! You do think of some lovely things!’
He’d thought of something else too. ‘Easter in a couple of weeks,’ he said. ‘Your boy breaks up from ’is school. Might be a good time fer us to ask fer ’im back.’
In the midst of her delight, a chill of foreboding clutched at Letty; a fear she’d always had lurking somewhere at the back of her mind, that to ask would be to ask in vain, that it was better not to rather than suffer failure and be destroyed by it. And now she was terrified.
‘Better write to yer sister first,’ Billy advised as she made to protest. ‘It’s not fair ter break it to ’er sudden. Best ter ’ave a word wiv a solicitor first, ter be sure of yer rights.’
She thanked God for Billy. She’d never have had the courage, would have been lost before she’d started. He was her strength. She would put it to Vinny delicately, of course, but she’d do it.
In the end there was no way to put it delicately as she stood in Vinny’s living room, her body so taut she feared it would snap were she to move.
‘He’s mine, Vinny. I’ve explained it all. By law you were only minding him until I was able to have him back. I was told that.’
