Dream On

by Gilda O'Neill

  ‘Why d’you think I came out early?’

  ‘To be honest, I really thought you was swinging the lead for once. I was quite impressed. I mean, it’s usually me what gives Stan the old flannel, not you.’ Dilys cocked her head on one side. ‘So what’s up?’

  Ginny sucked in a lungful of air, trying to clear her head. She immediately wished she hadn’t. It tasted foul, just like the stench from the stinking clouds that wafted along from the smoking chimneys and boilers of the factories in nearby Carpenters Road.

  Now her head really was swimming.

  She buried her face in her hands and took little gasping breaths, as the sweat broke out on her top lip. ‘D’you think we could go and get a drink somewhere?’

  ‘Anything to get away from this mob.’ Dilys wrinkled her nose in disgust at the press of bodies pouring through the gates and swirling around them.

  ‘Oi! Watch yourself, you!’ Dilys yelled, as she elbowed a tall, skinny lad who had dared to brush against her, shoving him out of the way. ‘Come on, Gin.’ She pouted through daintily pursed lips. ‘Let’s nip over the Railway away from these bloody hooligans. I could do with a nice cold shandy.’

  Ginny was relieved to see that apart from a few grumpy-looking old men – dressed, despite the heat, in the regulation cockney uniform for males of their age: collarless shirt, stock, braces, waistcoat, watch chain and flat cap – the pub was almost empty. Too early for the evening crowds, she supposed, and too late for afternoon drinkers, who had better things to do than hang around pubs at tea-time.

  At least that was one problem out of the way. It was going to be difficult enough as it was to make up her mind about just how much she would tell Dilys, but if the pub had been crowded with eavesdroppers, it would have been impossible to tell her anything at all. She felt so ashamed.

  ‘You go and sit down there, Gin,’ ordered Dilys, pointing to a table by the propped-open door, ‘and I’ll fetch the drinks over.’

  Dilys wasn’t feeling uncharacteristically thoughtful in taking it on herself to go to the bar, it was that, by the look of her, Ginny couldn’t stand up much longer and Dilys had never really seen herself as being the nursing type. For one thing, it took far too much sympathy and understanding, and for another, Dilys didn’t fancy having to scoop Ginny up off the floor if she passed out. It was far too hot for that sort of lark.

  ‘Just a plain soda water for me thanks, Dil,’ Ginny said, her voice wobbling with the effort of speaking.

  Then she did as Dilys had told her and went and sat down, more than grateful for the breeze blowing through the open doorway and the opportunity to take the weight off her feet.

  Although Dilys returned almost immediately with the drinks, Ginny had had enough time to decide that she was going to tell Dilys all about it. Well, not all, exactly, just the most immediate of her worries. Dilys was her best friend after all.

  Ginny took a big gulp of the luke-warm, bubbly water that Dilys had handed her. The salty taste made her want to gag. But then most things seemed to have that effect on her lately.

  Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Ginny closed her eyes, opened her mouth and out came the words. ‘Dil,’ she said, ‘I’m expecting.’ There, she had said it out loud. The words that made it true.

  Dilys almost choked on her shandy; she felt her cheeks colour and a pulse begin to drum in her temple. ‘But you said . . .’ she spluttered. ‘We said that Ted wouldn’t—’

  Ginny shook her head and grabbed at Dilys’s hand. ‘Ted doesn’t know nothing about this, Dil. And he ain’t gonna know. Promise me you won’t say nothing. Please.’

  Dilys scraped her chair closer to the table. Her face a picture of suppressed fury as, with her forehead almost touching Ginny’s, she stared across at her. ‘It ain’t exactly something you’re gonna be able to keep a secret, now is it, you daft mare?’

  ‘Look, Dil, you’re me best mate. If I tell you something, will you promise me you won’t breathe a word?’

  Dilys leaned back in her chair and puffed sarcastically. ‘You’ve already told me quite a lot, I should think. What more could there be? Someone else’s, is it? Not a Chinaman’s or nothing?’

  Ginny was used to Dilys’s taunts and didn’t rise to them. Anyway, this was more important than that. ‘You know how long I’ve wanted a baby.’ Her voice was cracked and sad. ‘It’s something I’ve dreamed about. But I’d never really got it settled with Ted.’

  Dilys shrugged non-committally as though she had little thought on the matter, but her mind was working nineteen to the dozen: Ted didn’t know yet. That meant she must be quite early on. Or maybe she was mistaken. False alarms happened all the time. Dilys had had enough frights of her own to know that only too well. You got all wound up and then you woke up one morning and found you were fretting over nothing. That’s what this would be. Nothing.

  But even if it was a false alarm, Dilys decided, it would still be best if Ted was kept in the dark. The last thing she wanted was for him to start getting broody. She would have to play her cards very close to her chest on this one. It could go in any number of directions. And, if she wasn’t careful, it might go exactly opposite to the way she wanted.

  ‘Well, Ginny, all I can say is, I hope you’re wrong, girl. I mean, I’ve said it often enough, Ted’d go spare if you ever did get yourself knocked up.’

  ‘It’s not that, Dil, it’s . . .’ Ginny turned her head slightly, her gaze flicking nervously about the dull little bar. ‘I’ve decided . . .’

  ‘What? What have you decided?’ Dilys snapped. Although she was sure she could control the situation and was convinced that she wasn’t going to let Saint bloody Ginny the martyr spoil things between her and Ted, Dilys still wasn’t going to make it easy for her. Just the pathetic look on her pretty little face made Dilys want to slap her. ‘Well?’ she demanded.

  ‘I’ve decided that now ain’t the right time.’

  Dilys took a gulp of her shandy. ‘When would be the right time? He ain’t gonna be pleased whenever you tell him. You know that, don’t you? He’s gonna go—’

  ‘Dilys, I ain’t talking about that. I mean it ain’t the right time for me to have . . .’ She lowered her chin until it was almost touching her chest. ‘You know.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Please, Dil. Don’t shout. My head’s splitting and I don’t want everyone in the pub earwigging.’ She sipped the soda water and shuddered. ‘I’ve thought about it,’ she went on, unable to meet her friend’s gaze. ‘In fact, I’ve thought about nothing else these last few weeks. Not only do I feel really ill, but I can’t afford to give up my job.’

  She paused, getting a grip on the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks before she could continue. ‘You see,’ she sniffed, ‘since Ted’s got himself involved—’

  ‘Who with?’ Dilys demanded. She was wide-eyed with alarm. ‘Who’s he involved with?’

  ‘It’s nothing like that. There’s no other woman.’ Ginny shook her head, dismissing the very idea. ‘He’s got involved in something dodgy’ Slowly she raised her eyes until she was looking at Dilys. ‘You know when the law came round, a few months back?’

  Dilys nodded dumbly. Silly cow, what was so new about that? Surely she realised everyone knew how Ted earned his living? He was a spiv.

  ‘Well’ – Ginny’s voice was now so small it was barely audible – ‘he ain’t only selling bits and pieces no more. He’s fencing big stuff. Expensive gear from down the docks. And he’s sort of in trouble.’

  ‘Blimey, Gin.’ Dilys did her best to sound shocked, reckoning that there was no point letting on to the miserable-looking little mare. ‘That’s a bit of a turn-up for the book, ain’t it, girl? Your Ted fencing, eh? Who’d have thought it?’

  Dilys glugged down the rest of her shandy and stood up, marvelling at the close shave she’d just had. Just for the moment she had really been convinced that Ginny had either found out about her and Ted, or that the rat had gone and found himse
lf an extra bit on the side. ‘I’m gonna get another drink,’ she said, holding up her empty glass to Ginny by way of invitation.

  Ginny shook her head. ‘No thanks, Dil,’ she murmured. ‘I’m fine with this.’

  While Dilys was up at the bar, Ginny went over and over in her mind why she wouldn’t have the child she was carrying. Why she really, honestly couldn’t.

  It had almost broken her, coming to that terrible decision, but she couldn’t go through with it. She couldn’t have a baby. Not yet. She just couldn’t.

  Deep in her heart, Ginny knew Ted was a violent, womanising, selfish bastard. But even when she was explaining away yet another cut or bruise, she had always told herself that he acted that way because he was worried, or had been working too hard, or, more often than not, that it was her fault, because she had irritated him through her own thoughtless stupidity.

  Ginny had become an expert at lying to herself.

  But there were some things even she couldn’t pretend weren’t happening: Ted was away more than ever and it was down to her to earn the wages. Okay, when Ted was around they might have chops, or sausages, or steak even – twice on the trot the other week – but then he’d be gone for days on end, leaving them without a word, without a penny. On the run from the latest police raids, or so he reckoned when he came back. But whatever the real reason he chose to be away, it could have occurred to him that Ginny and his mum still had to live when he wasn’t there.

  By the time Ginny had paid the rent man, put money in the gas, had paid her fares to work and had given Nellie enough to take her off to the Albert for her now regular nightly guzzle, the few bob that were left barely bought enough grub to satisfy Nellie’s hungry guts, let alone to feed the pair of them something decent every night. It didn’t bear thinking about what would happen if she had to give up her job. And if there was another mouth to feed . . .

  But maybe Ted would change if they had a child.

  And maybe they’d ask her to star in the next Joan Crawford film and buy her a sable coat to wear for the première in Hollywood.

  Ginny knew she had no choice. And, much as she disliked her mother-in-law, it wasn’t in Ginny’s nature to let anyone, even Nellie, suffer. She knew what she would have thought if her own mum and dad, God rest their souls, had needed to depend on someone and they had been let down.

  And then there was this bloke, whoever he was, the one the police said had it in for Ted. Even if she didn’t have money worries, how could she bring a child into the world knowing that was going on?

  ‘I said, so, what you gonna do then?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Ginny lifted her chin and frowned at her friend as though she was surprised to see her there.

  ‘Blimey, Gin, you’re in a right dream. I go up and get myself a drink, have a quick piddle and come back to find you’ve turned into a flipping zombie.’

  ‘I’m gonna find someone to get rid of it.’ Ginny said the words in a flat, conversational tone as though she was discussing something of no more significance than how she would get rid of the beer stains on the rickety little table which stood between them.

  Dilys managed to suppress her smile as she reached out and took Ginny’s hands in hers. ‘I’ll help you find someone, darling,’ she cooed. “Cos you know I’ll always be there to help you, don’t you, Gin?’

  Although it was barely five o’clock on a bright summer’s afternoon, Marge was dressed up to the nines, looking more suited to doing a turn on the stage than to wandering about in the shabby back-streets of the East End.

  She stopped outside a soot-covered, derelict-looking warehouse – one of the few buildings in the grubby little turning off the Bethnal Green Road that hadn’t been damaged in the Blitz – and pushed open the faded, nondescript door.

  Once inside, hampered by the tightness of her skirt, the height of her heels and her bad temper, Marge tutted and wiggled her way up the narrow, uncarpeted flight of stairs that lead to the top floor of the building.

  She was going in to work nearly three hours early and she wasn’t very happy. If it hadn’t been for one of Billy Saunders’s men turning up at her flat to tell her that she was wanted, she could still have been snoring her head off in the blissful, solitary comfort of her bed.

  She just hoped Saunders hadn’t arranged a private party. That was all she felt like, being nice to some mug punter, with her make-up running in the heat and her drawers sticking to her with sweat.

  With a bored sigh, Marge dragged her handbag up her arm and rapped her knuckles on the plain, black-painted door at the top of the stairway.

  A small spyhole opened at eye level. ‘Who is it?’ asked a gruff voice from behind the door.

  ‘The Old Bill. Who d’you think it is, you great daft sod? Now come on, Phil, open up.’

  The door was opened immediately and Marge brushed past Phil, a huge, cauliflower-eared goon, without so much as a glance.

  Phil and the other minders were useful if any of the customers started getting too friendly without coughing up enough for drinks, but other than that, Marge ignored them. She had enough trouble with the men she was paid to be nice to, so she was buggered if she’d be nice to any of them just for the sake of it.

  ‘Mr Saunders about yet?’ she asked nonchalantly, staring at herself in one of the dingy mirrored panels lining the walls.

  She leaned forward and concentrated, dabbing the tip of her little finger at a streak of scarlet bleeding from her lipstick. There were definitely more lines around her mouth than there had been yesterday, she was sure of it. She would have to start getting a few decent nights’ sleep a week or she’d wind up looking like the battered old bags who plied their trade along the Mile End Waste.

  ‘Well?’ she repeated impatiently, peering closely at the deepening crow’s feet around her eyes. ‘Is he or isn’t he?’

  ‘I’m here, Marge.’

  She spun round. ‘Sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I thought—’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Saunders jerked his head towards one of the spindly legged tables dotted around the room. ‘Sit down.’

  Marge did as she was told. What the hell was this about?

  Saunders sat opposite her. He looked enormous, perched on the little chair. ‘I hear your mate Lilly ain’t been in to work for the last five days.’

  Marge frowned. ‘She ain’t been feeling too well, Mr Saunders.’

  Saunders leaned forward. ‘If she’s been working a foreigner—’

  ‘No. No, she ain’t. Honest, Mr Saunders, I’d stake my life on it. Me and Lil ain’t ever been so well looked after as we have here. We love it. We’d never go behind your back. Never.’

  ‘Do me a favour, Marge. I don’t like being messed about. She might only be a brass but I still expect loyalty in my staff. And if my girls start getting the reputation for being street whores, then they know what they can do. I wanna start getting a bit o’ class in my clubs. I’ve had it up to here with old scrubbers.’

  ‘Honest—’

  ‘Just listen to me, Marge, I took you two on ’cos I wanted to start up here with girls who knew the ropes round these parts. But now there’s plenty more working here I don’t need you if you ain’t gonna behave yourselves.’ Saunders’s voice was low, threatening.

  Marge licked her lips nervously. She could feel the sweat trickling down her back. ‘You’ve got it wrong, Mr Saunders. Honest. As true as I’m sitting here.’

  ‘Look, if Lilly wants to go independent, that’s fine by me. We all know you toms ain’t the most reliable of workers; you come and go like sodding Christmas. But not on my patch. And I ain’t having her coming in here and making private arrangements. Got it? You knew from the outset the cut you’d get. And you knew the rules.’ Slowly he rose to his feet. He towered over her. ‘Go on, Marge. Out. And don’t come back.’

  Marge also stood up, far more unsteadily than Saunders. ‘Please, Mr Saunders, give us a chance. If I go and get her right now, you’ll see.’

  ‘See what?’<
br />
  ‘Please, just give me a quarter of an hour.’

  ‘Marge, I can’t.’ Lilly’s lips were so swollen, she could hardly speak. ‘Look at the state of me.’

  ‘It don’t matter what you look like,’ Marge wheedled. ‘Well, it does, I suppose. It’s a good thing. He’ll be able to see why you ain’t been in.’

  Lilly lifted her hand and cautiously ran her fingers along the cuts and bruises on her cheek. ‘No. Not like this. I feel ashamed. Stupid.’

  ‘You’ll feel even more stupid if we wind up back down the docks, going with seaman under the arches who’re too pissed or too tight-fisted to go to the dearer girls working in the case houses.’

  ‘Lift your head up, Lil,’ Marge urged her friend. ‘Go on, show him. Show Mr Saunders why you couldn’t—’

  ‘That’s enough from the gallery, thanks, darling,’ Saunders snapped. ‘Get yourself over to the bar and tell Phil I said to give you a drink.’

  Marge went to say something, but, for once, she had the good judgement to keep her mouth shut and to do as she was told.

  She flashed a look of helpless apology at Lilly. Fancy dragging her here for this. Lilly would skin her when they got outside, or rather, when they were chucked outside by one of the minders.

  Nodding dumbly at Saunders, Marge slid her way along the cracked leather seat of the booth and disappeared over to the bar, leaving Lilly to learn their fate from Saunders all by herself.

  Saunders took out his cigarettes and offered one to Lilly.

  With a trembling hand she took one, wincing with pain as she opened her mouth to put it between her lips.

  As though he had nothing else in the world on his mind, Saunders took his time and lit first Lilly’s cigarette, then his own. He blew out the match and dropped it carefully into the glass ashtray he had positioned on the table between them. ‘So,’ he began, lifting his chin to indicate her injuries. ‘What’s the S.P. on all this, then?’

  Lilly blew a plume of lavender smoke down her nostrils, wishing she could stop her hands from shaking. ‘I fell down the steps,’ she whispered. Why the hell had she let Marge talk her into doing this?