by Carol Rivers
‘I intended to drive up to town,’ Vic said thoughtfully. ‘But I’m undecided now.’
‘Because I brought Lucky, you mean?’ Connie asked worriedly.
‘No, it was something Gran said, not that I should take her seriously, but once she makes these predictions it’s hard to ignore them.’
‘Predictions?’ Connie repeated curiously.
He paused for a moment. ‘I feel a bit of a twerp, really, repeating what seems like a load of cobblers. But this morning Gran knew about me taking you out.’
Connie looked confused. ‘Did you tell her?’
Vic’s dark eyebrows raised. ‘Never said a word.’
‘How did she know, then?’
He drew the car into the gutter and pulled on the handbrake. Switching off the engine, he turned in his seat, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. ‘She said it was deduction, but she also reads the tealeaves. Now don’t ask me how it works, ’cos I don’t know. It’s something I’ve grown up with from a kid and makes me a bit uncomfortable really. I always try to get out of it.’
Connie was fascinated. ‘Why is that?’
‘I suppose because she’s not often wrong.’
‘Does she tell you bad things, then?’
‘Oh no.’ He shrugged, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘It’s not bad or anything, but you get a sort of warning and you’re obliged to take notice of it, whether you like it or not. Anyway, one of the things she went on about was not to go up West today, stay local, as she reckons we might get a raid.’
‘What, in daylight?’
He nodded. ‘I shouldn’t take no notice really. I don’t know why I’m hesitating.’
Connie nodded thoughtfully. ‘Well, perhaps we could just go up to Cox Street? See if they’ve put out the stalls.’
Vic rubbed his jaw. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course. I like a bit of mystery.’ She giggled.
Vic grinned as he glanced at her. ‘I’ll have to polish up on my mysterious skills, then.’
‘You’re doing quite well as it is.’ Connie gazed into his beautiful eyes, so dark and dreamy, with little orange flecks in the centre of the brown that she hadn’t noticed before. His smiling lips were full and smooth and set in the middle of a strong, square jaw that seemed to be just the right shape for his long, aquiline nose. He dressed so nicely too, the collar of his overcoat turned up, his shirt and tie just showing beneath, even driving gloves on the dashboard, though she hadn’t seen him wearing them.
‘So . . .’ he said, taking a deep swallow, ‘the market it is.’ He stretched across to take Lucky’s tiny hand in his big fingers. His palm covered the back of her hand briefly and their eyes met. Never before had she felt like this. Now she actually knew the meaning of the words weak at the knees, and the world for one breathtaking moment seemed to stand still. He gazed deeply into her eyes and very slowly leaned towards her. ‘Connie, I—’
‘What’s all this?’ a deep voice boomed through the open window. Connie saw a policeman standing there. ‘We don’t want no argey bargey in broad daylight, do we? Plenty of time for all that sort of stuff in the blackout.’ He gave a little grin. ‘Now, ’oppit!’
Looking embarrassed, Vic started the car again quickly. He drove off, the engine revving noisily over their suppressed laughter.
Everyone seemed to be defying the Luftwaffe to turn up. A fruit and veg barrow with a notice inscribed ‘Hitler’s bombs can’t beat us’ hanging from its canvas awning was surrounded by women opening their purses and shopping bags. People bustled to and fro as if it was quite normal to step over girders and deep craters. A piano had been pushed into the open and an old lady was sitting in front of it, bashing away at the keys. All the kids had gathered round and were singing whilst people carried furniture and possessions from the remains of one house into another. Even the demolished buildings were part of the scenery now. The islanders were out in force, searching for replacements for their losses, or simply to cheer themselves up.
Vic took Lucky in his arms as they strolled down the street. Connie noted the curious glances cast their way. What were people thinking, she wondered? What would it be like to have a husband and child of her own?
‘Gran used to bring me and Pat here to the market, get us out of the way like, when Mum was ill and needed a bit of peace,’ Vic said as they walked. ‘She knew everyone. We’d tag along, playing with other kids, and help to bring back what she bought. Mostly it was fruit and veg and a bit of meat, all dead cheap.’
‘How long ago was that?’
‘I must have been six or seven and Pat a year younger. We lived up Poplar in two rooms then, but when Dad died of TB we came to stay with Gran. Mum lasted two years without him. Gran said she just wasted away. I don’t remember much, but what I do remember, though, is Mum’s smile. It was lovely, like a ray of sunshine.’
Connie felt sad. She was so lucky to have a family. ‘Have you had your call-up papers yet?’
‘Would you miss me if I went away?’
‘I’d hardly notice.’ She shrugged, then smiled. ‘Well maybe I would – a bit.’
‘A bit will do for now.’
‘Why do you want to join up when you’ve got a reserved job?’
He transferred Lucky to his other arm, nestling the baby comfortably as he spoke. ‘I’ve always wanted to do something that would make Mum and Dad proud of me. Even though I know they’re not here to appreciate it. But I believe they’re somewhere, that two lovely people like them couldn’t just disappear, never to be heard of again. Do you reckon I’m daft, thinking like that?’
Connie smiled. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Dad was ill from a kid. He had this shadow on his lung and got turned down for the navy. Gran said he always wanted to go to sea. He had ambition but he never lived to achieve his dreams.’ He frowned down at her. ‘What are your dreams, Connie?’
A week ago it would have been a good career with prospects, a dream that she had pursued since starting at Dalton’s in the typing pool and working her way up to Mr Burns’s shipping office. But now her aspirations seemed to have taken a back seat. ‘Ada and me are the only ones left from our class at school that are single. Everyone else is married with kids, most of them living in the same houses as their relations, so hard up they’ve not got a penny to spare.’ Connie looked up at him. ‘Mum keeps on at me to settle down, as she calls it. But I don’t want to rush into a marriage I’ll regret as soon as the novelty wears off. I want – well, I want too much, she says. Apparently I’ve got exaggerated ideas of me own importance. She maintains she’s managed on a shoestring and was happy enough, so why shouldn’t I? But I know one thing, I don’t want to be poor all my life.’
‘Not many girls think like you,’ he said quietly. ‘All they want is a ring on their finger.’ He steered her towards a stall full of china, brass and other strange objects. ‘Come on, Miss Independence. Let’s have a look, shall we?’
Connie wondered if he was secretly laughing at her. High faluting ideas was what Mum said her dreams were. But she’d worked hard at school and even harder at Dalton’s to get where she was. One day she could even be a secretary to the boss; it wasn’t out of the question. She glanced at Vic and Lucky out of the corner of her eye and sighed. What did she really want out of life?
At the front of the stall stood a pile of thumbed Woman’s Own and Home Notes magazines, all priced at a bargain halfpenny each. Propped against these was a child’s Mickey Mouse gas mask, next to this a tea service, the cups, saucers and plates all chipped but painted in a nice floral pattern.
‘Decent bit of china that,’ the stallholder yelled. ‘Get yer ’ubbie to treat you to it.’
Connie went red. She didn’t look at Vic. ‘Why is it so badly chipped?’ she asked quickly to mask her embarrassment.
‘Shrapnel. Took the full blast.’
‘Oh.’ Connie dug in a box of ornaments. She was still flustered that the stallholder had called Vic her hubbie. Had he he
ard the comment? It made her feel very strange, especially as only a moment ago she’d been Dalton’s top career woman!
On the top of the box was a rude novelty toilet roll holder proclaiming ‘S(h)it down with Goering and Use Hess Paper for Mess Paper!’ She replaced it quickly.
Next to this was a stained chamber pot on top of which was propped a notice. ‘Marmet pram for sale. Ask Mrs Pritchard’.
‘A pram sounds just the job,’ Vic said over her shoulder. ‘He’ll be too heavy to carry around soon.’
Connie was still staring at it. ‘But a pram would cost a lot.’
‘Hold Lucky a moment and I’ll find Mrs Pritchard.’ Vic handed over the baby.
‘I’ve got my wages with me,’ Connie called after him, her heart already dropping at the fact that most of it was already spent. After giving her mother the housekeeping, keeping some aside for Lucky’s food and clothes and a little for herself, the remaining amount wouldn’t be enough to pay for a pram.
Vic disappeared behind the stall. Connie lost sight of him then and went on to the next stall. Perhaps the pram was already sold!
Very soon she felt a tap on her back. Vic was grinning from ear to ear. He was rocking a large pram with a faded red hood and maroon apron. There was a large dent in the chassis and the wheels were three times the size of those on Billy’s cart. A little blue elephant lay on the frilly pillow inside.
Connie’s jaw dropped. ‘Where did that come from?’
‘Mrs Pritchard. She was over on the pie and mash and the pram was full of junk. She took it all out and the deal was done. Try it for size.’
Gently she lay Lucky inside, placing the elephant beside him. ‘It’s a perfect fit.’
‘There’s a harness too.’
‘What a find!’
‘Let’s try to put it in the boot of the car.’
‘I must pay Mrs Pritchard first.’
He took hold of her hands and placed them firmly on the pram. Giving her a little push, he moved her forward. ‘This one’s on me – and no arguments now.’
Connie would have preferred to pay for the pram, even if it meant owing Mum the housekeeping. After all, Lucky wasn’t Vic’s responsibility. But she sensed he would be upset if she argued. She looked up at him. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply and he nodded.
‘You’re welcome.’
By the time they returned to Kettle Street it was almost four o’clock. Vic struggled to lift the pram from the boot where he had tied it with a rope. They had driven very carefully back, avoiding the potholes. Now, as he lowered it to the pavement, Connie lay Lucky in again, his soft crying denoting an appetite brewing.
‘Come and meet Nan,’ Connie suggested, knowing Nan would have the bottle at her fingertips.
‘All right. But I won’t stop. I’ve got firewatching tonight.’
Nan opened the door. She put her hands over her mouth. ‘A pram!’
‘This is Vic.’ Connie smiled. ‘He bought it at the market.’
‘Lofty! Get yourself out here. We’ve got visitors.’
Lofty appeared in his shirtsleeves, a newspaper in hand. ‘Blimey, a bath on wheels.’ He grinned. ‘Which end does the water come from?’
All four of them struggled to lift it over the step and into the passage. Connie pushed it into the front room. She hadn’t realized it would take up so much space but Nan seemed delighted.
‘Put it here by the chairs, love. I’ll fetch his bottle. It’s all ready.’ Nan went out and Lofty rocked the pram.
‘Sturdy bit of machinery this. I’ll make a shelf to fit between them wheels.’
‘Are you sure you want it here?’ Connie asked, not knowing what she would do if he said no. But he shook his head, tapping the newspaper on the apron as he inspected the new addition.
‘A jar of jam is just what she wanted.’
‘I’ll buy some covers for it next week.’
Lofty straightened his back. ‘So you’re the lad who helped our Connie rescue the baby? We’ve heard all about you. Now you’ll stay to tea, I’m sure.’
‘I’ve got to get back,’ Vic said as Nan returned with the bottle. ‘I’m on duty at five and I have to see Gran’s all right before I go. There wasn’t a raid today after all,’ he added, glancing at Connie, ‘but she was a bit worried.’
‘Another time then,’ Nan said. ‘Now, I’ll feed the boy whilst you see your young man off, Connie.’
‘So I’m your young man, am I?’ Vic asked as they walked out to the car.
‘I never told them that,’ Connie replied, blushing. ‘Nan just assumed—’
‘I wish I was,’ he interrupted, moving a little closer. He took her hand. ‘I wish a lot of things, Connie. And I think you know what they are. Can I see you again?’
‘I’d like that.’
‘When? Tomorrow?’
‘I have to help Mum with the chores on Sundays.’
He looked disappointed. ‘I’ll have to wait till next Saturday, then?’
‘Well, you could drop in anytime – if you’re passing.’
He gazed deep into her eyes. ‘Oh, I’ll be passing all right.’ He paused, squeezing her fingers, then slowly let them go. ‘Goodbye, I suppose.’
‘Goodbye – and thanks!’
She watched him drive off, her heart missing a beat as the car disappeared round the corner.
‘Nice boy that,’ Nan said when she went back in.
Connie sighed as she sat down. ‘I know.’
‘Reminds me of when I met lover boy here. Though you’d never believe it to look at him now, but he was a right good-looker. Romanced me good and proper he did, brought me flowers an’ all.’ She pushed Lofty’s feet from the stool and brushed off the dirt. ‘Now all he thinks about is his grub.’
‘And lovely grub it is too,’ Lofty mumbled from behind his raised newspaper.
‘Talking of which I’ve saved a nice piece of bread pudding for you, love,’ Nan said. ‘Here, I’ve winded the child, but there’s still some left in the bottle.’
Connie was daydreaming as she took Lucky and cuddled him in the big, comfy armchair. The fire in the grate was just embers now and the room was very warm. As Lucky sucked contentedly, gazing up at her with his big blue eyes, her mind wandered back to Vic and the way his hand had rested lightly on her waist as they’d strolled through the market. Had he heard when the stallholder called him her hubbie?
‘That poor old geezer popped his clogs you know,’ Lofty said suddenly as he scrutinized the middle pages of the Gazette.
‘What did you say?’ Connie came back to reality with a start.
‘A pawn shop was broke into up Stepney last Saturday. A gang pulled this job just as the first raid started. They shot the old boy in cold blood. Defenceless he was. Had a gun but it never worked. Was trying to scare them off.’
‘He . . . he died you mean?’
‘Yesterday, in the ’orspital.’ Lofty rattled the newspaper angrily. ‘The heartless sods want locking up and the key chucking away.’
The lunchtime drinkers of the Rose and Crown were all staring at Billy, who lay flat on his back, gasping. His jaw felt twice its normal size. Straw and sawdust spattered his bare chest and his filthy feet poked from the ends of his muddy trousers. A wave of sickness rolled slowly over in his stomach. He hadn’t seen the blow coming. The Fat Man, his opponent and padded with lard, had landed a good one. Billy began to regret the glass of ale that he’d drunk from sheer bravado. If he’d had his senses about him when he stepped into the ring, he would have ducked in good time. He wasn’t a drinker, didn’t like the stuff, but all the blokes had been egging him on.
‘Come on, lad, up you get.’
Billy felt the tip of Taffy’s boot tickle his thigh. Conquering the urge to throw up, he climbed unsteadily to his feet. The heckling was loud, every man there hoping to see seven bells knocked out of the young whippersnapper.
‘You’ll get your second wind,’ shouted Taffy in his ear as he pushed Billy forward. ‘
I’ve got a few quid on you, son. Don’t let me down.’
Billy wiped his filthy hands across his swollen mouth. What had he let himself in for? He’d had no idea that you really – actually – got hurt in this game.
‘You said he was a pushover,’ Billy muttered.
‘He’s all wind. Just skip round and stay out of trouble. He’ll soon run out of puff.’
As Billy blinked the sweat from his eyes, he wished he hadn’t boasted he was handy with his fists. Taffy’s sideline of setting up pub fights had momentarily dazzled him. He should have stuck to the roofing.
‘You a scrapper, then?’ Taffy had asked in surprise.
Billy’d nodded arrogantly. ‘What’s the money like?’
‘Not bad, boyo, but you look a bit undersized to me.’
‘See these?’ Billy had raised his fists and punched air. ‘So quick you’d miss ’em if you blinked.’
‘Don’t look up to much to me.’
Taffy’s words echoed inside Billy’s head as he wobbled precariously, trying to focus the three blurred faces of his opponent.
‘Go on, lad, move!’ he heard Taffy scream.
Billy’s last thought before he crashed into the human wall of blubber was that not even Taffy’s lorry would be able to knock this jelly flat.
‘Missed,’ growled the Fat Man as he gripped Billy’s thin body between bulbous arms. Besides being slowly crushed to death, Billy was humiliated. He’d been smacked silly, knocked down and laughed at. He had to think of something or his roofing job would be just a distant memory.
‘All right, I give in, mate, I’ll go down,’ he wheezed into the ugly mug. A trickle of oxygen squeezed into his lungs. The massive biceps relaxed. An instant later Billy’s teeth were fastened over a thick, fleshy ear lobe.
Fatty’s screams echoed round the pub yard. Billy tasted blood and revelled in it. He spat out the severed body part. The roar from the crowd was the last thing he remembered as he was flattened by a ton of ferocious flesh.
Connie jumped up from the bench as Billy stumbled into the Anderson. ‘Oh!’ she gasped at the sight of his swollen face. ‘Billy, what’s happened?’
