by Juliet West
‘Yes, you were saying this morning, weren’t you, Hannah? You’re getting together with the factory girls again.’
‘That’s right.’
Friday at seven.
‘Where you meeting them?’
‘Oh, I’m not sure . . .’ Ridiculous to pretend I don’t know. Does that sound more suspicious? ‘The Steamship, I think. Yes, the Steamship at seven.’
‘You could go along, Meena. Hannah could introduce you.’
Mrs Flynn taps a teaspoon against the cup, weighing up the suggestion. Shall I? Shan’t I? with every tap. ‘Perhaps another time,’ she says. ‘When I’m more myself. They meet every week, do they? Dor used to look forward to her Friday nights. And Saturday nights.’
‘Queer going-on, isn’t it, young women out in the pubs? And some of them with husbands abroad,’ says Mum.
Heat prickles on my cheeks, but still it’s the knitting I focus on, Alice pulling the stitches tight as she reaches the end of the line.
‘I don’t think there’s any harm in it,’ I say. Then I clap my hands as if there’s work to be done. ‘Kids, come and have a wash before your tea.’ They don’t even look up. ‘Come and have a wash, you two. Pair of ragamuffins.’
They drag themselves from the floor and follow me into the scullery. I take the lid from the copper and ladle some lukewarm water into the wash bowl. Teddy picks up the copper lid and holds it across his tummy as if it’s a shield. Alice grabs the ladle for a sword, starts bashing the lid and shouting, ‘You’re dead! You’re dead!’ I let them screech and yell. Can’t even be bothered to scold them. I wring out the flannel, watch the drips of water settle into the blue china bowl. I feel it must be a punishment, this visit from Dor’s mum. A warning. How can I lie to the people who are so dear to me – my mum, Mrs Flynn? I could shrivel with the shame of it. Yet I can’t give up the thought of Daniel, this need to feel his kiss again, the warmth of his skin.
Friday at seven.
It’s a clear night and the moon is already rising. The iron bridge spans the creek like the hunched back of a giant. I hurry over, glancing up at the dark sky, a habit I can’t shake, though it’s months since a Zeppelin flew over London. They say we’ve got the Zepps beaten, but a part of me still jumps every time a cloud shifts across the moon.
On the dock road, I keep my head down, past the bottom of Chrisp Street with its crowded evening market, the costers calling and the smell of hot rum.
My nerve breaks as I reach Daniel’s lodging house and I think that perhaps I will double back and go to the Steamship after all. I hesitate outside the door, raise my hand and then the door opens before I have even had a chance to knock.
‘Been watching from the window,’ says Daniel.
‘I’m late. Sorry. The children . . .’
‘But you managed to get away.’
‘They think I’m out with the factory girls.’
He shuts the door very quietly and turns the key in the lock. I follow him up the stairs. When we reach the landing, a woman appears in a thin print dress, her large feet bare and red with cold and her hair loose around her shoulders. She twines a leg round the stair post and the dress clings so that you can see the shape of her thin body clear as anything. She can’t be wearing a slip. Can’t be wearing any drawers, for that matter. She must be freezing.
‘Well, well, Daniel,’ she says. ‘And who’s this pretty girl?’ She’s about my age, but she looks at me as if I’m a child.
‘Evening, Sonia. This is . . . a friend.’
She smiles at Daniel and squeezes one eye shut in an exaggerated wink, her mouth half open so that you can see her spit-shiny teeth. ‘Well, that’s very nice, lovey.’ She laughs and her small breasts shiver under her dress. ‘You enjoy yourselves. Friends is all we got, at the end of the day. Ain’t that right?’
‘If you’ll excuse us. We don’t want Mrs Browne up here poking her nose in.’
‘I’m going out shortly. Won’t disturb you.’ Sonia uncurls her leg from the post and pushes up against the banister as we pass along the narrow landing. From her opened door drifts the scent of lavender water.
‘She don’t mean no harm,’ whispers Daniel. He tilts his hand towards his mouth as if he’s holding a glass. ‘Been on the booze.’
Daniel’s room is neat and warm. He has found another chair from somewhere, a small wooden chair, with flecks of paint on the seat. It’s placed near to the armchair, a respectable distance apart.
He gestures towards the armchair. ‘Sit down. A drink?’ He lifts the bottle of port wine that stands on the floorboards next to a pile of books.
After one drink the awkwardness lifts and for the first time we talk properly. We talk for an hour, about anything and everything – where we grew up, the jobs we have had, books and poems, music-hall turns. He mimics Wilkie Bard and I nearly choke on my port wine for laughing. Of course, the conversation comes down to the war in the end, how everything is so dreary now. So little to laugh about.
‘You’re not joining up, then?’ I ask him. ‘You’re exempted?’
‘They count it as war work. Ship repair at Beaumont’s.’
I think of Ada with her teeth curled round her lips. A feather man more like.
‘I ain’t afraid of the war,’ he says. ‘I ain’t afraid to die. It’s the living I can’t stand. Cheek by jowl with the other lads, the banter, the boredom of it, a living hell. I’d be first out of the trench when the whistle sounds. Just to get it over with. I’m more use here – I truly believe that.’
‘But the whispering. You know what people say.’
‘I don’t care what others say.’ He looks directly in my eyes and I meet his gaze. ‘I’ve never cared.’
My heart thuds against my ribs. Daniel stands and steps towards the window, unhooks the string of the blind. Rough calico tumbles down over the glass panes. There is no moonlight now, just the candle burning steadily on the washstand. He unfolds my hands from my lap and pulls me up so that we are facing each other. Tenderly he lifts the hat from my head and removes one pin from my hair. I reach out to him, unknot his neckerchief and drop it on the floor. We kiss slowly and the pleasure of it is almost too much to bear. I unbutton his shirt. His chest is broad and smooth. There is a pale scar on his collarbone, like a bird, with both wings outstretched. Our skin presses together, our every breath a shudder.
This is what I was born for. This is why I exist.
22
Good Friday. A skipping rope thwacks on the cobbles. The whole street has turned out, everyone wrapped in scarves and overcoats because it’s cold for Easter. Even Mrs Hillier is having a turn, her gentleman friend holding one end of the rope and Fat Eddie the other. At first they sway the rope gently from side to side.
‘That’s it, Winnie,’ says the gentleman friend, and Mrs Hillier manages a few jumps before he speeds up suddenly, catching the rope on her ankles.
‘Leave off,’ she laughs. ‘I’ll lose me drawers!’
‘Not for the first time,’ someone shouts, and she thrusts a hand to her hip, pretending to be cross.
Alice notices me watching behind the upstairs window. Her hair is a tangle of ringlets tied with yellow ribbons. ‘Come down,’ she shouts up from the street. I shake my head and shush her with a finger on my lips. I daren’t call out for fear of waking Jen.
The baby is sleeping too, on his own pillow next to Jen. His fists are tight under his chin, and there is a milky blister on his top lip. He loves his food; in that respect he takes after Jen, but it’s Alec I see in this child’s face: the high forehead and the wisps of fair hair. Alec to a tee.
I move over to the fireplace and warm the backs of my legs. Jen likes to keep the fire lit up here, night and day. She’s frightened the baby will catch cold; Alice and Teddy aren’t allowed near unless they’ve washed their hands. I wonder how long it will take before she stops all that nonsense. There’s no use mollycoddling him, I’ve told her, but she won’t listen. ‘It’s just her instinct,’ Mum s
ays, as if I’ve got no instinct myself.
If I stand here any longer, my skirt will scorch. I ought to go back downstairs, finish the dusting and put the baby’s muslins in to soak. I tiptoe across the room, but the door opens wide and Alec appears.
I put a finger to my lips again and point over to the bed, but Alec doesn’t step back out to the landing. He creeps closer towards me. I can smell fresh sweat on his shirt.
‘Just checking up on my little family,’ he whispers.
‘All fine. They’re resting.’
‘I could do with a lie-down myself.’ He winks and puts his hand on my waist. ‘I’m getting too old for these Easter games. Can’t skip for toffee.’
I turn sharply, shaking off his hand, and walk out onto the landing. Alec follows. He’s been more of a nuisance since the baby was born. He’ll be feeling lonely. Jen won’t be letting him near her for a long while yet.
‘Heard from George?’ asks Alec, as he shadows me down the stairs.
‘I’ll let you know when I do.’
‘Are you coping all right? No husband, all this time?’
My pulse quickens. Is it just a smutty remark, or does he know something? Surely he can’t have seen me with Daniel? I’ve not been out in the street with him, not since that day in Greenwich Park.
‘We all manage, don’t we? We have to.’
‘Not even a week’s leave.’ He shakes his head.
He follows me into the parlour now, standing close by as I stir the pot on the stove.
‘If you ever need anything, you will let me know, Hannah?’ His hand is on the small of my back.
‘Alec . . .’ I begin, and at the same time there is Jen, standing in the doorway wearing only her nightie. Milk from her breasts has soaked through the white cotton.
‘Hannah? Weren’t you going to come up with some tea?’
‘You were asleep.’
‘And now I’m awake.’
As Alec scurries to her side, she throws me a scowl. Anyone would think I’d lured him into the parlour and tempted him to touch me. Surely she doesn’t trust Alec over me? I watch him stroke her arm and I know the answer.
‘You get some rest, Jenny,’ he says. ‘I’ll be right up with your tea.’
Friday nights, I visit. Sometimes I call into the Steamship on the way, just to have a drink with Ada and the girls so I can give an honest answer when Mum asks how the evening went. I don’t like to lie, but it’s curious how quickly the habit takes you, how your mind snakes ahead, keeping your story straight. I find myself adding little flourishes of detail, even on nights when I haven’t set foot in the Steamship. ‘Oh, Ada, she was dressed up posh for a change. She’s actually gone out and bought a dress.’ Or, ‘Remember Daisy, the one with the sweetheart in the navy? He sent her a beautiful necklace, all the way from Malta.’
But tonight there’s no need for lies. I won’t see Daniel and there’s no getting round it. His children have come to stay for Easter and he has promised to take them up Chrisp Street for hot cross buns. I can write to him, at least, post a letter to his boarding house. Mrs Browne isn’t happy, says Daniel. ‘No children or pets’ – it’s written in the rules pasted up in her hall. But she’s made an exception for his children, so long as they’re quiet and don’t go treading muck up the stairs.
We’re eating our fish stew at the table, mopping up the juice with thick chunks of bread. Jen is having her stew in the bedroom. Give it five minutes and she’ll be banging on the floor for seconds.
‘Is it Friday today?’ asks Alice. ‘Are you going to see your friends, Mum?’
‘Not tonight. It’s Good Friday. That’s why Nana cooked this lovely stew.’ Alice makes a face. Mum is sitting next to her, but I don’t think she notices. ‘She went up Billingsgate special,’ I say. ‘Come on, eat nicely.’
Alice puts her spoon down and fiddles with the fish bones on the side of her bowl. ‘Can we go over Victoria Park tomorrow?’ she asks. ‘Violet says there’s a fair.’
‘Maybe, if you’re good. You were going to draw one of your lovely pictures for Daddy, remember? Show him how you can write your letters? Do that nicely and we’ll go to the fair.’
‘What about Teddy? Don’t he ’ave to do nothing?’
‘Teddy is only three. He can’t write, can he? You’re almost five.’
Alec smiles and gives Alice a pretend cuff round the ear.
‘Enough verbal from you, madam,’ he says. ‘You’re wearing your poor mum out. I’ll take you all to the fair tomorrow. I’ll treat you to the ghost show. Woo-ooo!’
He sways his hands as if he’s a ghost and Teddy squeals, covers his eyes with his grubby puppet.
‘We’ll have a fine time, won’t we, Hannah?’ says Alec.
‘No doubt.’ I can’t meet his eyes, though I know he is staring. ‘Perhaps Jen will feel up to the trip?’
Mum frowns. ‘Oh, I don’t think so. A quiet house is what she needs. You all go and enjoy yourselves. I’ll stay and help with the baby.’
There’s a recruiting stand at the entrance to the funfair, a large banner draped across the top that reads: YOUR CHUMS ARE FIGHTING. WHY AREN’T YOU?
‘Now’s your chance, Alec,’ I say, nodding over towards the stand and the grey-haired sergeant in khaki who’s stationed under the banner. I expect they’d accept Alec now, however much he may cough and wheeze. Alec knows it too, but he pretends not to hear me, veers off in the opposite direction, over to the right where there’s an organ playing a waltz in front of the bioscope show. A girl in a frilly Bo Peep dress sits on a swing that hangs above a narrow platform at the front of the show. Her plaited hair is draped over one shoulder, and she’s smiling at the drib-drabby crowd waiting to file in. Faded advertising boards are propped against the side of the stage. THE BIOSCOPE – LIVING PICTURES! LOVERS ON THE SOFA. BATHING AT BRIGHTON. A REALLY WONDERFUL SIGHT.
Alice and Teddy run to the little stage and wave at the Bo Peep girl. She smiles wider than ever, swings a little higher. The paper flowers tied along the ropes flutter in the damp afternoon.
‘Fancy the bioscope, Hannah?’ says Alec. He’s standing too close to me. I step to the side, but he puts his arm around my shoulder and draws me back in, so that anyone would think we were husband and wife, out with the children for an Easter treat.
‘I’ll give it a miss if it’s all the same.’
‘Spoilsport.’
‘The bioscope’s old hat now, ain’t it?’
Alec shrugs and drops his arm. ‘S’pose. Kids!’ he calls to Alice and Teddy. ‘Last one to the ghost show’s a rotten tomato.’
He runs past the bioscope and the children chase after him, laughing and stumbling, their boots gathering mud and sawdust with every step. I follow behind, clocking the stalls and wondering how much I’ll be able to afford. Two sideshows and a bag of nuts, that’s my limit. I don’t want Alec to treat them, don’t want to owe him anything, but I don’t suppose I’ll get much choice.
The fairground seems busier now, the music from a hurdy-gurdy clashing with the stop-start jangle of the carousel. Everything looks tired and run-down, so different to before the war. At the animal show, an old man is trying to drum up business. The whites of his eyes are yellow, and when he smiles at me, his front teeth slip sideways. ‘Step inside,’ he says, bowing and sweeping his arm towards the shadowy flaps of the tent. I scan the painted boards. A SURPRISING LARGE FISH, AFFIRMED TO HAVE IN HER BELLY, WHEN FOUND, ONE THOUSAND, SEVEN HUNDRED AND NINETEEN LIVE MACKEREL. That fish can’t still be alive? I remember seeing it when I was Alice’s age, its great sucking mouth and giant eyes like squishy marbles.
I’ve lost the children now, lost Alec. Teddy will be frightened in the ghost show; he’ll want to sit on my lap. ‘Maybe later,’ I say to the yellow-eyed man, and he sucks his top teeth right off, letting the dentures drop onto his poked-out tongue. It’s the most horrible sight I ever saw. I rush from the stall, shoulder my way through the crowds until I find the ghost show: the black woode
n gravestones nailed to the facade, white paint promising spine-chilling apparitions. There’s no queue, which means the show must have just started. Maybe they’ll let me slip in.
‘Hannah!’
The shock causes me to drop the shilling I’d just taken from my purse.
Daniel smiles as he picks the coin from the sawdust and presents it to me on an upturned palm. I take it and without thinking rise onto my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek.
‘You never said . . .’ My words come out as a gasp. It’s knocked the breath right out of me to see him unexpected like this.
‘Neither did you.’
‘Alice only mentioned it last night.’
‘The children?’
‘In the ghost show. Yours are here?’
‘The gallopers.’ He looks down at my hands, which are holding tight on to his. Quickly I drop them and step away, a decent distance apart. He turns to the gallopers and waves at a boy and a girl as they lurch past. I catch sight of a swinging blonde ponytail, the patched elbow of a corduroy jacket.
‘I was just going into the show.’ I glance towards the entrance, a hundred yards to my right, and suddenly there is Alec with Alice and Teddy, sucking on toffee apples. The children haven’t noticed me, but Alec has. Alec is staring. He raises his cap and Daniel tips his hat back.
‘You know him?’ asks Daniel.
The gallopers seem to be whirling nearer, closing in on me. I put my hand to my face, to shield my eyes from the lights. ‘My sister’s husband, and my children. I . . . I thought they were in the ghost show.’
‘Don’t look so worried, Hannah. We’re only talking.’
‘But . . .’ Surely anyone can tell that I care for him. The way I’m blushing and stammering, I may as well have a fairground sign above my head.
‘A peck on the cheek, that’s all it was. Say I’m someone you knew from school. Haven’t bumped into me in years.’
‘Yes, that’s it.’ I step away from him. ‘Bye, then. Nice seeing you.’
I try my best to seem careless as I walk towards Alec and the children. Muddy sawdust clags around my boots. The fifty yards feel more like a mile.