“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Ah – thought I’d satisfy your curiosity about my secret gaff,” he told her. “The horrible sordid place I creep into when I’m not with you.”
“Oh,” she said.
He took her hand as they swung round a corner. “You had a rough time while I was gone, didn’t you?” he said.
“It was horrible, Johnnie,” she blurted out. “I thought you were never coming back. I was like a madwoman. I had dreadful dreams –”
“All right now?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I love you, Johnnie,” she said.
“I love you, Moll,” he said. He had never told her that before.
She felt empty, suddenly, and the memory, dimly, of those half-realized dreams, about crashes and fires, all overlaid with the sweet, sad voice of a woman singing, came back to her. “I must be going barmy,” she said to herself. In fact this ride seemed like another dream. They raced the streets. The baby slept on her lap. Where were they going?
“Is it far?” she asked him.
“No – few more miles,” he answered. “Anyway, Moll, I’ve got some plans. I want to change things. I think I’m going to be able to set myself up nicely.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked him.
“You know what they say – never tell a woman anything,” he told her.
“Why not?”
“It’s an old motto in the business. Most of the time you’re better off not knowing. Anyway, while I was away I managed to raise a little capital – which I’m thinking of investing and going legitimate.”
“Oh, Johnnie – what a relief,” she said. “You don’t know what it’s like, wondering what’s happening.” Although she thought to herself that it had not been Johnnie’s arrest she had dreaded over those recent awful days – it had been his desertion of her.
Then she realized, as they entered suburban, tree-lined streets full of houses built in the nineteenth century, each with a large garden at the front, that there must be some connection between this trip and his new plans. By the time they drew up in front of one of the houses she had become quite excited. They got out and looked at the front of the house. The garden was well tended. There were roses still blooming.
“Here we are,” he said. “The secret hide-away of arch-criminal Johnnie Bridges.” Mary doubled up, hanging on to the baby, laughing fit to bust.
“I don’t believe it,” she said. “You’re having me on.”
A large tabby cat walked up to them as they stood on the pavement. It began to rub up against Johnnie’s trouser leg.
“This your cat?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered. Mary roared with laughter again.
“Oh dear, oh dear,” she cried. She bent over, holding the baby against her stomach like a bundle of laundry.
“Stand up,” he said, “you’re making an exhibition of yourself.”
Mary pulled herself together, although a fresh look at the cat, now walking affrontedly up the garden path, made her start again.
“This is where my mum and dad live,” Johnnie said with some dignity. She glanced at him as they walked towards the front door. How handsome he was – how well set-up. He smiled down at her. She melted. She wished for a moment they were in bed in Meakin Street. She did not really want to meet his parents. She wanted him all to herself. A private world of whispering and bodies locked together. But there was a woman of about fifty, dressed in a dark pink woollen dress, standing already on the threshold. She held out her arms, “Johnnie.” He embraced her, said, “Hullo, Dad,” over her shoulder to an invisible person in the hall and then stood back, “Mum, Dad,” he said. “This is Mary.”
“Come in,” said Mrs Bridges. She was small and dark, with the same large, black eyes as her son. As they went inside she said, “You’re very welcome. I was just taking some scones out of the oven. Why don’t you bring the baby into the kitchen with me?”
In the large, very clean kitchen there was a smell of baking. Mrs Bridges put on a flowered apron and opened the oven door. She took out a tray of scones. “Just in time,” she remarked. Mary sat down at the kitchen table with the baby on her lap. Josephine struggled to get down.
“She’s just learned to walk,” she said. “She wants to do it all the time.”
“Little love,” said Mrs Bridges. “What lovely curly hair. Put her down on the floor and we’ll both watch her.” She unloaded the scones on to a wire rack. “I’ll put the kettle on,” she said. “Is there anything you want for the baby?”
“She only wants some orange juice later, from her bottle,” Mary said. “I’ve got that. Can I do anything to help you? Butter the scones?”
“Here’s the butter,” Mrs Bridges said. “You go ahead while I make some sandwiches.” Josephine toddled across the kitchen floor while the two women got on with their buttering. “Nice to have a baby about again,” Mrs Bridges said. “We haven’t had a baby in the house since my niece came to stay over Christmas.”
In a way it felt to Mary like being back in the kitchen at Allaun Towers. It was peaceful. The clock ticked. It was unlike Ivy’s mad scrambles around the tiny kitchen at Meakin Street. In another way she felt very uneasy. Why was she there and who did they think she was? Above all – did they know how their son made a living? How could they?
“John’s never brought a girl back here before,” Mrs Bridges said. “Not since he was eighteen, anyway.”
Mary was searching for some answer to this when the tall, thin man she had passed in the hall put his head round the door. “Any signs of tea, yet, Mother?” he asked. “The beasts are getting restless.”
“Go and wash your hands, Edward,” Mrs Bridges remarked placidly. “Then you can help with the things.”
And so tea was loaded on to the trolley and the teapot was left on the kitchen table for Mr Bridges to carry in.
When they got into the front room Johnnie was half asleep in front of the fire, with his legs stretched out.
“Take no notice,” Mrs Bridges advised Mary. “He only comes here to sleep in front of the fire. He reminds me of the cat.”
“The cat’s got more energy,” remarked Mr Bridges, coming in with the teapot in one hand and a fireguard in the other. He hooked the fireguard onto the sides of the fireplace, remarking, “Don’t want any accidents, do we? John – your mother says do you want a scone?”
“Yes, please,” said Johnnie, coming out of his doze. Mary was still wondering if his parents knew what he did and how Johnnie had come to be a crook from a background like this. The sons of homes like this became bank managers, or council officials, not safebreakers.
They ate their tea in the orderly and conventional room, with a rose-sprigged cretonne-covered sofa and chairs, and gate-legged tables in stained oak. A big gilt clock ticked on the mantelpiece. The teapot was silver. Mr Bridges talked about his garden – “Not much to be done at this time of the year but prepare for next year. And keep the vegetables coming for the family pot, of course. No excuses accepted in that direction, I can tell you.” Mary and Mrs Bridges talked about babies. “You have to let them have a few tumbles now and again,” said Mrs Bridges. “You can’t wrap them up in cotton wool.” Johnnie said little, except to argue about football with his father. “Say what you like,” said Mr Bridges, “these huge transfer fees are no good for the game.” And afterwards the men were set to mind the baby and make sure she got into no mischief while the two women took the trolley out in the kitchen to wash up. Mary stood beside Mrs Bridges with the tea cloth while she handed her the thin, bone china plates, one by one. Mary, who, thanks to Mrs Gates, had never broken a plate in her life, treated them with the proper care.
“I didn’t know you were coming till yesterday,” the older woman said. “He sprung it on me out of the blue, by phone.”
“I didn’t know I was coming till today,” said Mary. “In fact he never told me where we were going. It was a mystery tour.” She felt very embarra
ssed, a tall girl, the mistress of this woman’s son, too young to have a fatherless baby. She put down another plate on the kitchen table and asked, “Where do you keep these?”
“Leave them there, dear. I’ll put them away after,” said Mrs Bridges. Handing her a cup she said carefully, “You do know how he gets his living, don’t you?”
Not knowing how to reply Mary said, “Well – er – he’s told me one or two things –” and turned to put the cup on the table.
She put out her hand for another cup, which Mrs Bridges withheld. “He’s a thief,” she said.
Mary said, “I know.” Mrs Bridges handed her the cup.
“What do your mum and dad think of that?” asked the other woman.
“Not much,” Mary said, with feeling. “’Specially my dad.”
Mrs Bridges sighed and said, “Well, I’m not surprised.”
Mary, thinking she’d better come out with it straight away, said, “Did Johnnie tell you what happened to my husband?”
“That’s right,” agreed Mrs Bridges. “Young fool – with a baby on the way. Of course, I said at the time he shouldn’t have been hanged. There was a lot of feeling about that. In my opinion they hung him as an example.”
Mary, at a loss for words, went on drying up the cups and saucers carefully.
“We don’t take any of John’s money,” said Mrs Bridges. “Not a penny – just Christmas and birthday presents so’s to be normal, otherwise nothing. What started him off was the war, I suppose. His father, being an engineer, went straight into the airforce and after that it was posting after posting. He was hardly ever here. John was twelve when his father went away – a bad age for a boy’s dad to disappear. He was good at school, but he didn’t take advantage of it. He got in with the wrong crowd. You know how it can be. I couldn’t control him. There were lads coming round for him at half past one in the morning, and girls, not nice ones, I can tell you. By the time his father came back after the war he was a petty criminal. I couldn’t bear it – I couldn’t bear to admit it, even. But he was. Of course I thought his father would do what I hadn’t been able to but – well, he couldn’t. There was row after row. We turned him out of the house once, after the police found a lot of cases of watches here, under his bed. He got probation. First offence.” She paused, helplessly, looking at Mary as if she hoped to find support. Mary said, “But didn’t you ought to have kept him with you, after he got caught and convicted –?”
“It was when he did it again,” she said.
Mary felt annoyed with Johnnie, for the first time. It seemed wrong that he should have upset this nice, quiet couple in the way he had. Mrs Bridges did not say so but it was obvious she must have had some plans for Johnnie – she and her husband must have hoped he’d become a doctor, or a lawyer, something like that.
“We had to accept it in the end,” Mrs Bridges told her, in a firmer voice. “We had to accept he was what he was. He came back that time but the next time we told him he had a home when he wanted one – whenever, whatever he wanted – but not for that. We couldn’t let him use it as a base. We wouldn’t have his mates round. We didn’t want that kind of girl in our house – I hope I’m not shocking you,” she said suddenly. “You’re not very old –”
“I’ve heard these things before,” Mary told her.
“It’s a terrible thing when a child, especially your only one, does that,” Mrs Bridges said. “My hair went completely grey in four years. This isn’t my own colour,” she added. “He would have had a brother but he died before the war. Polio.”
“Oh, my God,” Mary said. “Oh – Mrs Bridges. Oh – that’s terrible.”
“These things happen,” said Johnnie’s mother. “Unfortunately.”
Mary put the drying-up cloth on the table beside the crockery and said, “Mrs Bridges – can I make you a cup of tea? You’re all upset – no wonder.”
“Yes,” she said. “I could do with another cup.”
“Sit down, then,” said Mary. She put on the kettle.
Mrs Bridges sat down and produced a battered packet of Gold Flake from her pocket. She offered Mary one. Mary, who had learned to smoke to keep up with the other girls in the clubs, took it.
Mrs Bridges said, “You had to know.”
Mary, setting the teapot on the table, said, “I don’t know whether I ought to say this, but he told me he was planning to go legitimate.”
“I hope to God he is,” she said, puffing out some smoke. “Because – because –” she burst out. “I’ve been worried to death. I think he did that Putney bank job. He didn’t tell you –”
“They never do – they don’t trust women,” Mary said. “But I thought something had happened. He turned up yesterday looking as if he’d been pulled through a hedge backwards. When was it – the bank robbery?”
“Wednesday night, Thursday morning,” said Mrs Bridges. “They must have hid out until they were sure the police had no leads – then he came to you. Anyway, I know it was him. I always know when he’s in danger. I can’t sleep – I get this instinct. I pray. Silly, isn’t it – praying your son will get away with a crime. But he must have some money now. Best if he puts it in a business. Do you think that’s what he has in mind?”
“I don’t know, Mrs Bridges,” said Mary.
“You don’t want him to go on thieving, do you?” demanded Johnnie’s mother. Mary, as when she was expecting her baby, sensed the obligation of concerning herself selflessly with another person being placed upon her and felt the resentment of a horse tasting the bit.
She tried to answer truthfully by saying, “I’m not his wife, am I, Mrs Bridges? Stands to reason I wouldn’t want anyone to go on thieving, not after what happened to my husband. But some people aren’t made to work nine to five.” She paused, thinking this was a poor argument. All she meant was that she doubted if Johnnie Bridges would ever submit to it. And then added, “And he’s got no training, either.” She paused again and said. “It’s a hard choice, after you’ve had the best of everything and never got caught – either hard work and low pay, or going on like you are –”
“And ending up behind bars,” Mrs Bridges said bitterly. She was not finding in Mary quite the ally she desired. She wanted a woman who would dedicate herself to the reclamation, of her son.
“He could have done anything,” she said sadly. “He was clever at school.”
“That’s why he’s not been caught thieving,” Mary told her bluntly. She had noticed that behind her lover’s pretended insouciance lay a keen efficiency. She took another Gold Flake from the packet held out to her by Mrs Bridges and said, “Look – I don’t know how to say this to you but in the first place I haven’t got a lot of influence over him so I can’t change his mind for you. And secondly, I don’t like all this much, as you can guess, but I don’t know I could ask him to go into a dead-end job and sweat his guts out for years and years, like my dad has.”
“All you young people think like that,” said Johnnie’s mother. “It was the Labour government. You’ve got high ideas now. In my day you were glad of a job, any job, to keep body and soul together. I hope it keeps fine for you.”
The door opened and Johnnie said, “Oh – ladies’ smoking party, eh? Aren’t you coming back to join us?”
And there were Josephine’s erratic steps behind him and her piping voice crying, “Don! Don!” He picked her up and handed her to Mary. “Here you are, love. And I think we’d better be going, Mum.”
As they left, Mary turned on the garden path and waved goodbye to Mr and Mrs Bridges, who were standing on the step. She knew they were both hoping that the formally perfect picture they saw before them – son, young woman and baby leaving after tea on Sunday – would somehow one day turn out to be as real as it looked.
On the way back he said, “What was Mum saying to you in the kitchen? Hoping you’d get me to go straight, was she?”
“That’s right,” Mary said.
“And you told her you’d try?”
/> “No,” Mary said stoutly. “I told her I couldn’t see why anyone should sweat their life out for the company for forty years and fetch up with a gold watch and a thank you from the managing director. Then the geezer goes home to his council house and the managing director pops off to his club as usual for another round of pink gins.”
“That’s my girl,” said Johnnie.
“I said I didn’t want to see you in jail, either,” remarked Mary.
“You’ll never see that,” he told her.
“No, that’s right,” she said. She loved him.
I suppose if you study what all this meant, what I was saying wasn’t what your average working-class girl would have told the man she loved. The usual would have been, “Unless you go straight I’ll never see you again.” I couldn’t do that. I knew I loved Johnnie so much I couldn’t part with him, no matter what he did. I suppose if I found out he’d been torturing little children or beating up old ladies I would have had to get rid of him. But if he’d been that sort I doubt if I’d have taken to him in the first place. As it was, at that time, he was a crook, but not a brutal one. It was a mixture of greed, which he had a lot of, and high spirits and the challenge of it all – but the truth is that I took him on the way he was and that’s the point I became what Ivy feared I would – a gangster’s moll. In fact Johnnie always called me Molly and in the end everybody did. Even Sid and Ivy got round to it. By that time I think I didn’t seem to anybody like a Mary any more. That’s a plain old name. Your average Mary in those days was a quiet girl who didn’t get up to any tricks. So I suppose the name Molly fitted me better.
All The Days of My Life Page 20
