by Martina Cole
‘How do you know that?’ Tubby’s voice was nasty now. He couldn’t write his own name. A black man being educated was alien to him.
‘A white lady told me, a long time ago when I was a child. I just never forgot it.’
Kevin Carter laughed.
‘You won’t forget tonight, either, you black ponce. What the fuck did you think you was playing at, dipping your wick with a white girl? You’re scum, you’re shit beneath my shoes, you’re nothing. And you thought you could take a decent white girl and soil her? Well, you’re going to learn a big lesson tonight, mate.’
The mood in the car was ugly, the atmosphere heavy with malice. Kevin Carter stopped the car in the East India Docks. They walked a now terrified Evander into a small warehouse. Kevin Carter picked up a large pickaxe handle, and when the two Tubby brothers had forced him to the ground, proceeded to beat Evander mercilessly across the back of the legs. Finally, when he was unconscious, they broke every one of his fingers. An hour later, they were banging on Glennford’s door. When it was opened they threw Evander’s bloodied and bleeding form on to the bare floor.
‘Here’s your tickets, you lot fuck off tonight! You’re to be gone by the morning or there’ll be more trouble.’
Glennford nodded, wanting to fight but knowing since his years of childhood and manhood it was a fight he could never win. Instead, he did as he was bidden.
They were all gone by first light.
Briony was impressed by Sea View. It was a large rambling Victorian house on the seafront at Southend. It had two large turrets either side of the roof, which provided bedrooms with windows that looked over the Thames estuary towards Kent. The round bedroom to the right of the building was to be Eileen’s.
As Briony unpacked her sister’s things, she noticed that Eileen was sitting on a window seat gazing out to sea.
‘It’s beautiful here, isn’t it, Eileen?’
She nodded, her feet tucked underneath her. She looked like a child again.
‘I like it here, Briony, it smells nice.’
‘That’s the salt, Eileen. Remember when Mum took us to Rainham on Sea when we was kids? And we sat on the beach and paddled in the water?’
Eileen nodded, smiling at the memory.
‘We had jellied eels and whelks for supper and Kerry got sick everywhere on the way home.’
‘That’s right, Eileen.’ Briony was pleased she was talking, pleased she seemed to like this place peopled with nuns and patients who seemed to move about as silently as the nuns. It was peaceful, though, with only the sound of the tide coming in. Briony sat on the seat beside Eileen. A few lone fishermen sat on the small quayside. It was overcast and they wore their oilskins and wellingtons with a jaunty air. This part of the coast was called Thorpe Bay. All along this road were large houses, imposing residences owned by people with money and position. She gazed out over the estuary, seeing the silent movement of the ships as they passed one another. It was a calm and beautiful place. It would do Eileen good. Make her happier.
A ship’s hooter blasted and Eileen jumped. Briony laughed and put her arm around her shoulders, pulling her sister’s head next to hers.
‘Everything will be all right, Eileen, I promise you.’
‘What’s happened to Joshua, Bri? Where is he?’
Briony took a deep breath. ‘He’s gone away, love. He can’t hurt you any more.
‘Will he come back, do you think?’ Her voice was low.
‘No, he can’t come back, darlin’. Not where he’s gone.’
Eileen relaxed against her.
‘Good, I’m glad. I can’t face him any more, Bri, any of them. Keep Mum away from me for a while, will you?’
Briony started. ‘Mum? Why don’t you want to see Mum?’ This request shocked her.
‘I can’t face anyone but you, not for a while. She bosses me about, you know that. Tells me to pull meself together. I wish to Christ I could, Briony. But I have those feelings again, like I had before, remember? Sometimes I don’t know for sure who I am or what I’m doing. I hear things, Bri... People keep talking to me, all the time. I know there’s no one there really, but I have to listen to them. If I don’t, then I feel like something bad will happen.’
Briony hugged her close. Her voice was thick with tears as she said: ‘Nothing bad is ever going to happen to us again, not me or you or the others. I promise you that.’
‘I really like it here, Briony, I feel safe.’
‘You are safe, Eileen, as safe as houses.’
‘And you’ll keep Mum away, just for a little while, until I get settled?’
‘Of course I will. Anything you want you can have.’
She looked at Eileen, but she was gone again, to wherever it was her mind drifted to. She pulled herself from Briony’s arms and looked out at the seascape before her.
She didn’t say another word the whole time Briony was there.
Kerry woke up alone. She stretched in the bed and put out her arm to a cold empty space. Opening her eyes, she remembered that Evander had not been there when she had got home the night before. She turned over on to her back and sighed. She had got used to having him beside her, having him there when she opened her eyes. Her neighbours were faceless people who kept office hours so she rarely saw them, and the fact that she was a singer, one who was becoming well known, gave her the perfect excuse to have a black musician with her. Now she wanted that black musician and he wasn’t here.
She looked at the clock by her bedside. It was nearly ten-thirty. She sat bolt upright in bed. She had slept later than she had for a long time. As she pulled a dressing gown around herself, she heard Bernie’s key in the door.
‘Hello, Bernie, where’ve you been all night.’ Kerry walked out into the hallway as she spoke, tying the sash of the dressing gown. The sight of Bernadette’s face made her stop in mid-sentence.
‘What’s wrong? Is it Eileen?’
Bernadette shrugged off her coat and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor of the hallway. Then, yanking off her cloche hat, she dropped that on to the untidy pile as well.
‘Come through to the kitchen, Kerry. Nothing’s wrong with Eileen but there’s something I have to tell you.’
‘What? What’s wrong, Bernie?’
Bernadette picked up the kettle and banged it down on the hob. She lit the gas then, satisfied it was fully alight, looked into her sister’s face and said: ‘He’s gone.’
Kerry screwed up her eyes in disbelief. ‘Who? Who’s gone?’
‘Evander. The whole band, in fact. Mother tumbled you, Kerry, she was told about you and him. Briony had him driven out last night.’
Kerry put a slim hand to her throat. Holding on to the table with the other hand, she whispered: ‘He ain’t dead?’
Bernadette, after a sleepless night with her mother who’d been cursing her errant daughter up hill and down dale, finally snapped.
‘Oh, don’t be so bloody dramatic! They got shot of him, that’s all.’
Kerry sat on a wooden kitchen chair, her face grey now. ‘Don’t be dramatic, you say! She made short bloody work of Ronnie Olds, to name one of many! Dear God, my poor Evander. They must have taken him last night. I waited for him, but he didn’t come.’ She jumped from the seat and ran through to the bedroom.
Bernadette made the tea. She was bringing in a cup when Kerry emerged from the bedroom, dressed.
‘Where you going?’
Kerry looked at her in amazement. ‘Where the hell do you think? Stepney.’
Bernie put the cup of steaming tea on the small hall table. ‘He won’t be there.’
‘How do you know? He might not have gone yet, she might have just told him he had to go, maybe he’ll still be there, he might have left a message for me.’ Kerry knew she was babbling.
‘Calm down, will you? You’ll have the whole place on the knocker in a minute.’
Pushing Bernadette out of the way, she grabbed her bag and keys and left the flat. Bernadette followe
d her out on to the stairwell.
‘For Christ’s sake, Kerry, it’s pointless going there, can’t you see that? Please come back inside. We’ll talk about it, try and sort something out!’
Kerry laughed nastily. ‘You and me, talk? You must be joking! Who told on us, eh? I bet it was you. You vindictive cow! I bet you loved every second of it. I wouldn’t put nothing past you. Nothing!’
Outside on the street she tried to unlock her car. Her hands were trembling so much she dropped the keys. Kicking them across the road in a temper, she flagged down a passing cab. ‘Stepney, East Street. Quick as you can.’
The cabbie laughed.
‘What’s the matter, darling? Your old man doing a moonlight flit?’
‘Just drive the sodding cab, mate, and shut your mouth up! If I wanted a fucking comedian I’d have arranged to have Stan Laurel drive me!’
The cab driver shut up. Dressed like a lady and with the mouth of a dockside harpy. Now he was sure he’d seen everything. She jumped from the cab at the top of East Street, throwing the man ten shillings as his fare. He took the money and saluted her like a general before driving off.
Kerry walked down East Street. She was dressed in a deep red brocade evening coat, with fur collar and cuffs. The coat swung as she walked, displaying a suit of pale pink wool that hugged her ample figure. She wasn’t wearing a hat but her hair was fresh-looking, swinging healthily with each step she took.
East Street had once been a nice area. It had large imposing four-storey houses, with steps leading up to the front door. Years before these steps had been scrubbed every day; now the majority were filthy and chipped. Rubbish was strewn in the road - vegetable peelings, soiled rags and human waste where the children dropped their pants and defecated where they played. It smelt like the basements, only every now and then a billow of fresh air whipped through, giving the residents a welcome change. The breeze smelt of coal from the factories around and about. The houses were covered in soot. At eleven-fifteen in the morning the tally men were on the knockers, the children were out in force, and women were gossiping among themselves. Or rather the women who weren’t trying to avoid a tally man, or the rent collector.
Kerry was aware of hostile eyes watching her as she approached the house where Evander and his band had lodged. Outside number two was a young boy of about sixteen. He looked her up and down with a surly leer as she stopped beside him.
‘Would you like to earn a shilling?’
‘Doing what?’ His voice had a thick twang, affected and very unpleasant.
‘I want a message taken to a Mr Dorsey in there.’ She jerked her head towards the front door of the house.
‘Cost you a bit more than that, darling. Messages for blackies is double.’
Kerry swallowed down the retort that came to her lips and nodded.
‘All right then. Two bob. I want you to knock at his room and tell him that Miss Cavanagh is outside and wishes to speak with him.’
‘Gis the money then.’ He held out a dirty hand. Opening her bag, she took out a half crown.
‘That’s all I’ve got, I haven’t anything smaller.’
‘Well, I ain’t got any change, girl, so it looks like the price just went up again, don’t it?’
With that he disappeared up the step and into the house. Kerry stood uncertainly outside, wishing she had not worn such a striking coat. Wishing Evander would come out so they could get away from this place. Hoping against hope that he would tell her everything was all right and it was just another of Bernie’s nasty jokes.
A figure appeared at the top of the steps and Kerry’s heart sank.
‘You’ve got a bloody nerve, I must say, you trollop! Coming here for your bleeding black fancy man!’
All the residents in the street looked in the direction of the loud strident voice. Kerry felt her heart sinking. The woman was old, her huge pendulous breasts hanging down to her waist beneath an old wrapover apron. On her feet were an old pair of men’s issue army boots, minus the laces, and her stockings hung around the tops in wrinkles. Arms like meat cleavers were crossed before her and her face was screwed up in disgust.
‘He left here in the night, love, they all did, owing me a bleeding week’s rent! Someone must have tumbled your game, darling, because he was dripping blood. All down the stairs it was this morning! Up me bleeding walls, everywhere! My God, you’ve got a Christing nerve coming here to a respectable woman and looking for your darkie! Your black man!’
A few men emerged from doorways in their vests, obviously just woken by the harridan’s voice and coming out to see the uppity bitch in the red coat get her comeuppance.
Kerry turned away and started to walk down the street, her heels clattering on the pavements, her head hanging down on to her chest.
‘Gerroutofit, you whore of hell! Before I stick me boot up your arse! Black man’s darling, are you? Go on, piss off!’ The man disappeared into his doorway after shouting at her and Kerry began to walk faster.
A woman with a young child on her arm walked across the road. Hawking deep in the back of her throat, she spat in Kerry’s face, the spittle running down her cheek and on to her fur collar.
‘You filthy bitch, coming here for your darkie! Don’t think we never saw you.’
Kerry was waiting for the woman to move when the man who had shouted at her came out of his house carrying a chamber pot. He threw the contents towards Kerry. A small amount hit the bottom of her coat and her shoes. Looking into the man’s face, seeing the hatred there and all around her, she began to run, dropping her bag on to the pavement as she went. Never before had she felt such malevolence. Never before had she experienced anything so utterly shaming and humiliating. She ran until she was in the High Street, staring around her like an animal being chased by a pack of hounds, her eyes wild. She carried on running until she came to Victoria Park.
Sitting on a bench, she cried, bitter tears that seemed to wrench her whole frame in two. Wrapping her arms around herself, she caressed her belly underneath her ruined coat.
She had had such good news for him, such a secret. Now she could tell him nothing because he was gone.
Bleeding and beaten he had left, but if he was bleeding he was still alive. This thought, amongst so many other bad ones, comforted her.
If he could bleed, he was still alive.
At that moment in time, she hated Briony more than she had ever hated anyone or anything in her life.
It was late and the journey home from Southend-on-Sea had tired Briony out. Sitting alone in her small sitting room, she sipped a steaming cup of tea. She was supposed to go to the club tonight, she was supposed to go to the houses, and she was supposed to be seeing a man called Joey Vickers about some very cheap liquor. Eileen’s blank face was haunting her. She looked at the photograph of Benedict. Bernadette had been right in a lot of respects. You didn’t know where your heart was going to lie. The fact that his father was Henry Dumas, a skunk, a piece of filth in Briony’s opinion, didn’t stop the feelings she had for the son she’d borne him.
How many times had she heard people say, ‘If I could have my time again, I’d do it all differently’? Well, she wouldn’t really, because as bad as it all seemed now, it had been the means of her son coming into the world. Of Benedict’s very existence. Although he was away from her, was in a different house, living a life she could only glimpse through Sally, he was still her boy. One day he would know that, when the time was right.
She drank her tea and poured herself another cup. The room was quiet, the house too. She was enjoying the peace when Cissy tiptoed into the room.
‘Can I get you a bite?’
‘No, thanks all the same. Sit down a second, Cissy. Take the weight off your feet.’
Cissy sat beside the fire and glanced ruefully at her swollen legs. ‘Look at them, like legs of pork!’
‘If they’re bad, you should take the doctor’s advice and keep off them now and then. There’s plenty of help coming in no
w. You don’t have to take the brunt of the work any more.’
Cissy blew out her red mottled cheeks, making a rude noise. ‘What’s that silly old bugger know, eh? I can’t sit around all day, I’d go off me head...’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, Bri, that just came out.’
Briony laughed. ‘You don’t have to watch what you say to me, Cis, I was just thinking about her meself.’
‘How was she? All right?’
Briony nodded. ‘Yeah, she seemed to like it there. It’s really lovely, Cis, the view from the place is gorgeous. I’ve never really seen so much water before. I know we used to swim in the cut when we was kids, but this was different. Clean-looking and deep green. It was lovely. And the smell! I tell you now, I felt like staying there meself. Getting away from it all. Never coming back here.’
Cissy made a loud noise.
‘I can just see you now, in an early dotage, sitting on the prom in a bleeding bathchair. Listen here, Briony, you’ve got a lot of bother at the moment, I know that. You ain’t been yourself since all that with Ginelle. That threw you. I watched you change. But even if you did leave this place, left London even, you’d soon be back. You’re a woman who needs aggravation, you bloody well thrive on it. Otherwise, why the hell would you have opened up your houses? Look at this week. You’ve had no Tommy to back you up yet you’ve sorted out Eileen, in between running your clubs and your houses, of course.’
Cissy’s voice was full of admiration. ‘Me, I couldn’t organise the proverbial piss up. Don’t sell yourself short, and don’t get maudlin. Get drunk if you want, let off a bit of steam, but don’t let it all get you down now. I don’t like seeing you depressed. Somehow, if you’re not right, then the world around you don’t seem right.’
Briony looked into the face of her old friend. Cissy was only a few years older than she, yet she looked ancient. She was a workhouse child, had known nothing but hard work all her life. Without it she was like a fish out of water. That’s why she couldn’t bear to let a younger girl take on any of her work. She had to be needed, to earn her keep. It was something that had been drummed into her at a very early age.
