Dream On

by Gilda O'Neill

  ‘I ain’t a bloody married woman, am I? But you are.’

  A married woman? A punch-bag more like. Ginny swallowed hard, as the memories of the kicks and beatings, and the humiliation, flooded her mind. She rubbed her hands over her face. She wouldn’t let the memories stay there, she wouldn’t let Ted have that power over her. But then, as clearly as if it were happening right in front of her eyes, Ginny saw Pearl’s funeral and Ted sitting with Susan on his lap . . .

  She had to stop letting these stupid ideas taunt her, or she’d make herself ill.

  ‘Are you listening to me?’ Dilys demanded.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, you should know better. And Gawd knows what Ted’s poor mother’s got to say about all this.’

  ‘Nellie don’t know nothing about what I’m doing.’ Ginny drew her breath in sharply, as she saw the look of triumph on Dilys’s face. ‘But it wouldn’t matter if she did,’ she added hurriedly. ‘You know her. She wouldn’t give a toss what I’m doing so long as there’s money coming in.’

  ‘Well, I reckon you’re wrong there, ’cos even Nellie’s got standards.’

  There was a moment’s uneasy silence, as Ginny bit back the question as to what on earth Dilys knew about standards. She couldn’t risk not being allowed to see Susan for a few weeks, just to score an easy point in a row that would, as usual, be forgotten as soon as Dilys grew bored with it.

  Ginny had to be the appeaser. With all the dignity she could muster she fixed on a smile and said cheerfully, ‘Well, if we’re gonna get there before the shop shuts, me and the little ‘un had better get going.’

  ‘Better get going?’ echoed Dilys incredulously. ‘I’ll give you better get going. You just get out of here, Ginny Martin. Go on. You go back to your Yvette and your Carmen and your Leila and all the rest of them. And don’t bother coming back. I ain’t having no kid of mine mixing with no whores.’

  As Dilys shoved Ginny towards the street door, she seemed genuinely unaware of the irony of her words.

  While Ginny was waiting at the bus-stop in the pouring rain, not caring, or even really noticing, that she was getting drenched to the skin, so angry was she with herself at not handling Dilys better, Ted was pulling his car into the kerb outside a scruffy-looking terraced house in Plaistow.

  Ted hated his new car, a tiny Austin that looked as though it should have a family squashed into the back seat, complete with picnic hamper and tartan travelling rug, singing ‘Ten Green Bottles’ at the tops of their voices. But he had to have something to drive after he sold the MG.

  It had almost physically hurt when he’d had to let his open-topped bird-puller of a car go, even though he’d made a more than good price on it. He’d always enjoyed displaying that he had money to spend, and what sort of impression did selling the MG and driving a bloody Austin give to people? That he was having hard times, that was what. And the impression was just about right: times weren’t so good for Ted Martin any more.

  It seemed that no matter what he tried lately, it all went wrong. Everything was so difficult, there were barriers no matter which way he turned and it was sending him round the sodding bend. In the past he’d always been able to make a living, a very good living, ducking and diving, doing a bit of this and a bit of that – he had been well on the way to becoming what he’d always wanted to be, a face to be reckoned with – but then it had all started going wrong. And Ted was convinced he knew why.

  Saunders. That was all you heard nowadays. It had been bad enough when they’d had that ruck over that stupid bitch Lilly, but that was nothing like what was happening now. Since the bastard had started expanding his business into the East End it seemed like the no-good cowson was everywhere. No matter what scams and schemes Ted tried setting up, all he got was: ‘No mate, not without clearing it with Saunders first.’ And Ted knew exactly what Saunders’s reaction would be if he did turn up with a deal.

  Even the money-lending had gone wrong on him. His loans had been ‘bought up’, and he’d been paid off – nothing compared with what he should have earned out of it – by a pair of goons who would have terrified even the likes of Freddie Mills. They’d told him that someone else was running the debts now, and that if he knew what was good for him, he’d sling his hook like a good little boy and keep his head down and his nose clean.

  The trouble with arseholes like Saunders was they were powerful enough to do exactly what they felt like and to hold a grudge for a very long time. They didn’t have to be beholden to anyone, but they still knew they had to show that they held all the cards, all the power, in their hands, or someone else was standing there, ready to step right into their shoes.

  Jamming his trilby on his head, Ted shut the car door with an angry slam. Poxy rain! He could happily have murdered Saunders. He was earning a fortune and what was Ted doing? He was back to having birds doing tuppenny ha’penny hoisting for him; lifting bits and pieces to sell off in pubs for fucking peanuts. Pubs that weren’t even on his own manor. Not that he had a manor any more.

  And it was all Saunders’s fault.

  He smacked at the street door with the flat of his hand. The silly whore had better be in. He didn’t have a penny to bless himself with and he was getting bloody soaked.

  ‘Are you telling me this is all you’ve got?’ Ted snorted heavily, as though he had been running, but his panting was more to do with anger than exertion. He held up the striped hand-towels with a scowl of disbelief. ‘You’re a lazy bastard, Irene.’

  ‘Me a lazy bastard?’ Irene, a girl of barely nineteen, stuck her fists into her waist and threw back her head. ‘If what I’ve nicked ain’t good enough for you, then do something about it. You take the bloody risks. I’ve had enough of this lark anyway, and I’ve had enough of you thinking you can stay here whenever you fancy it. Well, you’ve got a shock coming, mate, ’cos I’m getting out of here. The place has been bought up by some businessman. He’s paid me and all the other tenants in the street to move out. So I’m going. I’ve got plans.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You heard.’

  As she continued to talk, telling him exactly what she thought of him and what she was going to do about it, Ted rose slowly to his feet.

  Young Irene no longer had her prettily dimpled chin stuck arrogantly in the air, she had it tucked down close to her chest, as she cowered against the wall with her arms folded over her head, trying to protect herself.

  A few hours later, Ginny was sitting alone in the front room of Bailey Street, listening to the wireless she had bought for Nellie’s birthday, with the paper, unread, in her lap. She felt really miserable and instead of making the most of her first night off from the club, she was dreading spending the rest of the evening alone.

  It wasn’t really the row – Dilys always had been one for making dramatic gestures – it was something else and it wasn’ so easy to deal with. Ginny hadn’t realised just how lonely she had become before she had met Leila.

  Knowing she was going to be with the girls each evening had given her something to look forward to. Hearing their constant chatter, their joking around, sharing in their laughter, was like a bright light shining into her life. And even if their jokes were sometimes a bit close to the knuckle, at least there was no pretence with them.

  Not like Dilys and her sudden moral conversion.

  Ginny sighed loudly. All her adult life she had had to give in or make allowances for someone or other. And it got her down at times, but she knew that she would soon be round the prefab, knocking on the door, smiling like a fool as though nothing had happened, hoping that Dilys either wanted something off her, or was in a more reasonable mood, so that she would at least let her in and allow her to apologise. And, if she wanted to see Susan, that’s what Ginny knew she would have to do.

  She looked up at the clock. It was only ten to eight – although it felt more like midnight – and she didn’t know what to do with herself. She had finished all the clearing up and there wasn
’t a single handkerchief left unironed. There wasn’t even anybody to talk to, not even Nellie and her moaning, as she’d taken herself off to Florrie’s to play cards and to put the world to rights.

  Ginny sighed again. Things were in a bad way when she found herself wishing she had Nellie for company.

  She was as bored as hell, but she was damned if she was going up to bed.

  She’d make a cup of tea. That’s what she’d do. There was nothing else to bloody do . . .

  ‘Hello, gorgeous. Enough left in the pot for me?’

  Ginny spun round and let out a little gasp of surprise, nearly dropping the teapot. ‘Ted! I didn’t hear you come in.’

  He winked lazily and lifted his foot, displaying a heavily buckled, crêpe-soled, black suede shoe. ‘Brothel creepers. Silent but deadly. Got ’em off this bloke in a pub. Latest thing from the States, they are. You see, they’ll all be wearing ’em soon.’ He laughed easily as he pulled a chair out from under the kitchen table and straddled it as though he were riding a horse. ‘Swapped ’em for a set of poxy hand-towels, if you can believe it. Told him they was best Turkish quality, as found in all the big hotels up West. What a mug!’

  Ginny joined in with his laughter. He was in a good mood and he hadn’t been drinking. This was the Ted she had fallen for: the one who made her smile, made her feel good about herself. The one she loved. It was over a month since she’d even set eyes on him and that had only been for a few minutes when he’d come to collect some clean clothes in the middle of the night; and she had missed him. Well, she had missed this particular Ted.

  As she looked at his handsome, smiling face, while he sat there at the table as though he had just finished his supper and was telling her little stories about his day, her old optimism bubbled up around her like water from a spring. With her earning decent money, maybe she could help him start a different sort of life, just as she had done. One they could share. A proper life. With children . . .

  ‘Are you gonna stand there gawping at me with your gob open?’ he asked, reaching out his hand to her. ‘Or are you gonna give us a kiss?’

  Almost before Ginny realised what was happening, Ted had bent her back over the table, had pulled her skirt up over her thighs, her knickers down to her ankles and was pushing himself into her.

  It was all over very quickly. Within minutes Ted was back on his chair and the only sign of anything having happened between them was a rip in Ginny’s stocking and a flush covering her face and throat.

  ‘You’re looking good,’ he said, running his fingers through his thick, dark quiff. ‘All this austerity shit everyone’s going on about obviously ain’t affecting you.’ He sniffed noisily. ‘How about a drink then?’

  Ginny, torn between feelings of near elation that her husband obviously still desired her and an absurd shyness after their moment of what she refused to acknowledge was a brief, brutal intimacy for Ted’s purely physical relief, averted her eyes from his easy, direct gaze and turned to the kettle on the stove. ‘I’ll make a fresh pot,’ she said in a girlish whisper.

  ‘No. I mean a proper drink. Ain’t Mum got no whisky?’

  Ginny turned off the tap. ‘Since you ain’t been bringing her stuff home, she don’t really keep anything in the house no more.’

  Ted frowned. ‘What d’you mean by that?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Ginny hurriedly assured him. ‘I just meant that I think she drank it ’cos it was there.’

  ‘Leave off. She used to knock the stuff back like it was water.’

  ‘No, really. I reckon the only reason she goes down the Albert is for a bit of company. It’s a terrible thing being lonely.’ Ginny thought guiltily of how easily she had got into the routine of leaving Nellie alone each evening. ‘To be honest, Ted, I feel a bit sorry for her.’

  Ted snorted and shook his head. ‘You always have to see the bloody good side of everyone, don’t you? She drinks like a fish and you feel sorry for her.’

  Ginny hoped he’d meant it as a compliment. Checking her hair in the glass by the sink, she grabbed her bag from the door handle and smiled broadly. ‘Tell you what, I’ll nip over the Albert and get us a bottle.’

  Bob, the landlord of the Albert, folded his arms across his big barrel chest and whistled appreciatively. ‘Ain’t seen you for a while, darling, but just look at your hair and everything. You’re looking a right little cracker. Here, come and have a butcher’s at this little lady, Martha,’ he called to his wife who was through in the other bar, serving. He leaned across the counter and winked. ‘Tell us your secret before the old woman comes through and I’ll see if it works on her.’

  Ginny glowed with pleasure. ‘I’m happy, Bob, that’s all.’

  ‘Are you, babe? Good. You deserve it. And I tell you what, I know you always had a lovely head of hair on you, but you look like a film star with it all blonded up like that. I’ll have to get Martha to do hers that colour.’

  ‘Do my what, what colour, you cheeky bugger?’ Martha asked, giving Bob a flick with her glass cloth.

  Not bothering to wait for her husband’s answer, which Martha knew was bound to be saucy, she turned her attention to Ginny. ‘Hello, love. Well just look at you all prettied up. You’re a real sight for sore eyes.’

  ‘Ta, Martha.’ Ginny couldn’t stop grinning.

  ‘Come looking for Nellie, have you?’ She turned to her husband. ‘Don’t think she’s been in tonight, has she Bob?’

  Ginny shook her head. ‘No, she’s round Florrie’s. I was after some scotch actually. You ain’t got a spare one to sell us, have you?’

  While Bob went out the back to fetch the whisky, she chatted to Martha, who was as surprised as Bob had been by the transformation of Ginny from down-trodden drudge back to the vibrant young woman she had once been.

  As Bob rang the one pound and fifteen shillings into the till, and Ginny practically skipped out of the pub, Martha stood next him with a worried frown clouding her face.

  ‘What’s that look for?’ Bob asked. ‘I know I only charged her—’

  ‘I didn’t expect you to make a mark-up on her, you great daft sod,’ Martha said affectionately. ‘I just hope she knows what she’s doing, that’s all.’

  ‘What you on about?’

  ‘Think about it, Bob. Nellie’s out round Florrie’s and that scotch ain’t for Ginny, now is it? That conniving bastard, Ted bloody Martin, must be sniffing round again.’

  Ginny poured Ted a generous measure and sat opposite him at the table, nervously nibbling her bottom lip. ‘Ted, there’s something I wanna tell you.’

  He took a big gulp from his glass, swallowed, then drew in a sharp breath, stretching his lips tight across his teeth. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘It’s about me job.’ She paused, trying to gauge how he would react, whether his mood had suddenly changed in the way she knew from experience that it could. ‘See, it’s like this, I don’t work at the factory no more.’

  ‘I know, Mum told me.’

  ‘But—’

  Ted tossed back the rest of the scotch and held out his glass for a refill. ‘She might be a wicked old fucker at times, but she ain’t stupid.’

  She unscrewed the cap ‘and, with a shaking hand, poured the drink. ‘So you know where I’m working?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Do you mind?’ Another pause, then, in a rush, it all came out. ‘Because if you do, I’d give it up like a shot. I’d give it up tomorrow. ’Cos I really want us to try and get our lives sorted out, Ted. And I’d do anything for the chance to make a go of it. Anything.’

  For a moment Ted said nothing, he just gulped at his drink and looked fixedly at her, then he burst into loud, coarse laughter, tossing back his head as though she had just told him the funniest joke he had every heard.

  Ginny stared back at him in uncomprehending bewilderment.

  ‘Why would I care where you work?’ he finally managed to ask, as his laughter subsided. ‘Unless you wasn’t earning much, o’ course.’

&nbs
p; ‘But—’

  ‘But what?’ His face creased into a contemptuous sneer. ‘The only reason I’m here is ’cos I need some dough.’

  ‘No.’ She dropped her chin. ‘You’re just saying—’

  He reached out and grabbed her face, sinking his fingers deep into her cheeks and jerking her head up so that she had to look at him.

  Despite the pain, Ginny knew she mustn’t let out the smallest whimper or let a single tear drop on to her cheek.

  ‘Let me tell you, once and for all, you dozy cow, what the real world’s about.’

  Ginny didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to hear any of it, but she had little choice. She sat there, gripped by the cruelty of his hand and his words as he gave her a variously censored and exaggerated version of the life he lead when he wasn’t with her. Censored to hide what he considered his failures and exaggerated to brag about his self-perceived successes. It was only as he got on to more recent times that his tone changed from one of sneering bravado to barely suppressed anger.

  ‘So,’ he murmured, finally releasing his grip on her and reaching for the bottle which was now almost half empty, ‘there’s been this silly tart what’s been going out hoisting for me. But she’s another fucking useless cow.’ He was talking to Ginny as though she was some bloke in a pub he was complaining to about his missus not ironing his shirts the way he liked them. ‘Know what she had the cheek to tell me tonight? She’s going off with some posh old bastard – one of the prats what get a thrill from buying bent gear off us. Makes ’em feel like they’re bastard gangsters. And her flat’s been bought by some property bloke. I ain’t even got that no more.’

  Ginny, no longer even noticing the throbbing pain in her cheeks, couldn’t stop herself from asking the question: ‘Why did you have a woman stealing for you?’

  Ted slowly raised one of his dark, sculpted eyebrows. ‘I ain’t been able to work, have I. I needed money.’

  ‘You could have come to me.’

  Ted shook his head in wonder at her stupidity. ‘I have, ain’t I? But anyway, I ain’t talking about needing a couple o’ bob. I’m talking proper money.’ His voice was beginning to slur and he seemed to be having trouble focusing on her face. ‘I nearly had it an’ all. I had a blag all set up. Sweet as a nut. We was gonna turn over a bank in the Mile End Road. Had all the tools organised and everything. Sawn-off jobs that couldn’t be traced. Right pukka.’ He smacked the side of his fist on the table, making Ginny flinch. ‘Then some bastard grassed us up. We had to call off the job and now we’ve all gotta keep our heads down.’