Custard Tarts and Broken Hearts

by Mary Gibson

  She smiled ruefully, handing over the sack to Sam. He tied it over his shoulder and mounted the penny-farthing.

  ‘I’ll bring it back tomorrow afternoon. Make sure you’re fighting fit – I’ll be putting you through your paces!’ With a wave, Sam was off, wheeling over the cobblestones with the sack bouncing on his back.

  ‘Good luck!’ Nellie called out to him, and hurried back to boil potatoes for dinner, before marshalling Alice and the boys for their afternoon’s work.

  ‘Oh, you’ve already done it, good girl!’ she said, smiling, as she walked in the front door.

  In the kitchen, Alice was busy peeling potatoes and had already sliced the little bit of mutton they had been able to afford. The young girl had stepped into her role as Nellie’s helpmeet without complaint, but she seemed subdued today. ‘What’s the matter, love? You look worn out.’

  Alice did not find the long hours of custard-powder packing easy, especially when it was her turn to load the trolleys – trundling the heavy carts of completed packages to the loading lifts had taken its toll on her back. Nellie had begged her to transfer over to the print shop, where all the Duff’s packaging was produced. As a bag maker, at least she’d be sitting down all day, but Alice had refused to be parted from her sister. She would stay on custard, however hard the work.

  ‘It’s not that I’m worn out, Nell. I don’t mind the work, it’s just I’m a bit worried.’

  Nellie took the saucepan of potatoes from her sister and put it on the range to boil. ‘We’ll be all right, Al. We’re staying together and we’re stopping in this house, Wicks or no Wicks. I’m going to make bloody sure of that.’

  Alice shook her head. ‘That’s you all over, Nell. I know you’ll do it, but what I’m worried about is you’ll kill yourself trying!’

  Nellie was shocked. She hadn’t imagined the girl’s worries were about her. ‘What do you mean?’

  Alice sat at the table, turning mournful eyes to her sister. ‘I mean that contraption! You can’t ride it up to London Bridge with all this stuff in it.’ She spread her arms to indicate the piles of matchboxes. ‘The first cart comes round the corner’ll tip you over and if the same thing happens to you as happened to Dad, what will we do then?’

  Alice brushed away the tears trickling down her cheeks.

  ‘Oh, love, is that what you think?’ Nellie went to her side and put her arm round Alice’s shoulders. ‘Listen, I promise I’ll be careful, and Sam’s going to make me practise and practise, he says, before he’ll let me on the road.’

  Alice looked up. ‘Is that what he said?’

  Nellie nodded and Alice seemed satisfied. ‘That’s all right, then, you can trust Sam. He’ll look after you.’

  Nellie had no doubt what her sister meant: if Ted had proved himself untrustworthy, then Sam was of a completely different breed. ‘You can trust Sam,’ she had said, and suddenly for Nellie the world turned. She looked down at her young sister, knowing she had spoken a truth that had been silently growing like a hidden wildflower between the cracks of her heart. Silently she mashed the potatoes, ladled them on to the plates and called the boys, listening to their chatter as they ate, but all the while with a litany echoing in her mind: Sam will look after you.

  Her one concern had been to look after others for so long she had forgotten entirely that she might need looking after herself, and if she ever had admitted the possibility she’d dismissed it, in the certain knowledge that there was no one in her life who could look after her, not now. But Alice’s words had shown her how wrong that was. For months it had been Sam, quietly there when she needed someone the most. When Ted was putting her in utmost danger, Sam had been there to divert that danger from her path; when her father had been struck down, Sam’s steady presence by her side had made her feel she was not alone, and now here he was again, making sure she had exactly what she needed. It might only be an old bicycle and a box cart, but it was her means of keeping the family in one piece and it was as precious to her as any golden chariot. As she joined her family round their work table to begin the monotonous labour of assembling hundreds more matchboxes, finally, to her own astonishment, she believed it herself. She could trust Sam.

  But Nellie soon found out that even Sam could not protect her from the bumps and grazes she earned during the hours of practice that he put her through. He turned up on Sunday afternoon, proudly showing off the fruits of his labour.

  ‘It works a treat!’ he said, demonstrating how the trailer cart obediently swung round behind the penny-farthing.

  ‘You and Jock should be proud of yourselves!’ Nellie said, delighted. ‘It’s plenty big enough. Now get off and let me have a go!’

  Nellie practically pushed Sam off the bicycle, in her eagerness to try for herself. She was annoyed that her first attempts were much less impressive than her first secret midnight ride around Wicks’s stable yard. After her fourth tumble she began to despair.

  ‘It’s the bloody cart. I could ride it fine without,’ she said, dusting off her skirt and examining the graze on her elbow. It didn’t help that her training was taking place in front of the entire street. She was proving to be excellent Sunday afternoon entertainment for the assembled children. They were voluble in their encouragement and equally exultant every time Nellie toppled off. She was getting fed up.

  ‘Can’t we go somewhere else to practise, Sam? What about the park?’ she begged, in desperation.

  He looked round at the eager faces of the children, all waiting to see the next part of the show, then shook his head. ‘They’ll only follow us, now they’re on the scent. Anyway, you’ll be in full public view down Tooley Street, so you might as well get used to an audience.’

  Resignedly, Nellie got back on and, after another hour, was able to perfect a figure of eight without upending either the trailer or herself. She blew out a sigh of relief, when Sam finally announced, ‘All right, that’s enough for today. You’ll do.’

  But she knew there would be a price to pay for her gruelling training session and when she woke on Monday morning the bruises she had earned were ripening and her muscles felt as if they’d been stretched through the mangle one by one.

  At work, she even had the foreman’s sympathy when she gave up pushing a full cartload of custard powder and slumped over in exhaustion. ‘Crikey, Nellie, what’s happened to your strength?’ Albert asked as he gave her a rare helping hand.

  ‘Oh, I’ll be all right, Albert. It’s just I was up early, doing the laundry, that’s all.’ It was a convincing enough half-lie. She had indeed been boiling the boys’ shirts in the copper before work. But Albert didn’t have to know she had put herself through the wringer on Sunday.

  On Tuesday evening, the boys and Alice helped her carry the carefully wrapped parcels of matchboxes out to their small back yard, where the penny-farthing was now to be kept. They loaded the cart up, packing it to the limit with the precious fruits of their labour, finally covering it all with a piece of old tarpaulin. Nellie strapped it down securely and opened the gate leading to the back alley.

  ‘All right, boys, be good for Alice while I’m gone. Straight to bed now.’ She kissed them all. ‘Go on,’ she shooed them in, ‘don’t look at me, or I’ll wobble!’

  They obediently closed the gate. Nellie mounted the penny-farthing, unaware that three anxious pairs of eyes were peering through the slats in the gate at her unsteady progress along the alley. She concentrated hard to get the rhythm of the wheels going, before reaching the end of the alley and turning into the street. The full cart responded well to the turn and she blessed Sam and Jock’s idea of a lock that prevented the thing from swinging round too far and knocking her off. She eased into a faster rhythm at the top of Spa Road. It was a still, warm March evening, almost spring-like, and couples were out walking. Some stopped to stare, others waved and shouted encouragement, but she daren’t take her eyes off the road.

  Soon her trepidation turned to exhilaration. She ventured some more speed as she
turned down Grange Road and into Bermondsey Street, the power of propelling herself forward transforming itself from hard work into an unexpected joy that rose from her feet to her heart, and for the first time since her father’s death she felt truly light-hearted. Her skirt whipped away and the breeze caught in the sleeves of her jacket, her hair lifted, and the cobwebs of her mourning and struggle seemed swept away. She smiled to think she could drop off the boxes, get paid and load up with material for the next week’s work in a fraction of the time it would otherwise have taken her. And what’s more, the boys hadn’t been dragged through the streets to be objects of derision; they were safe in bed, and for once she’d be in bed herself before midnight. She would be there and back in no time!

  Later she would put it down to vanity and a hatpin. If she had worn her old wide flat cap, it would never have happened, but she’d chosen to wear her pretty little straw hat. The hatpin had never been long enough to secure that hat to her abundant chestnut hair, so when her increased speed lifted the hat from her head, it flew off, causing Nellie to make a grab for it; but riding one-handed wasn’t something she’d practised. The big wheel wobbled, the little cart responded, and when Nellie leaned over to compensate she found herself flying through the air. She landed safely but ignominiously on her backside, not far from her hat.

  ‘Bloody hat!’ she addressed the offending article of clothing, and snatched it up. Fortunately, she had reached the less busy area of Crucifix Lane running alongside the railway arches, so no one had witnessed her tumble. She brushed off her skirt and attended to the penny-farthing. The trailer was on its side, still attached to the cycle, and luckily, the tarpaulin and ropes had held fast, so the matchboxes were intact.

  ‘Thank Gawd for that!’ she whispered in relief. The thought of all their hard work being ruined was too sickening to contemplate.

  But by the time she had struggled to right the bicycle and trailer, she was cursing her over-confidence. The accident had delayed her badly and she only made it to the depot in the nick of time. Then the storeman insisted on tallying each gross before he paid her out, so by the time she had loaded up the materials for the next week, darkness was falling.

  She got back on to the bicycle, angry at the tears that caught in her throat. ‘You turn on the water taps too quick!’ she told herself, in her father’s stern voice. Whether it was the fault of the hatpin or the tardy storeman, the result was that she was cycling home much later than she had expected, and as she rode by London Bridge Station she spotted a couple standing just beyond the light of a gas lamp. From a distance it looked like a touching family scene, perhaps one of farewell, as the woman was holding a bag over one arm and an infant in the other. The young man, presumably the father, leaned over to kiss the baby gently on the forehead, before the woman and child disappeared into the train station. A cold sickness seemed to descend over Nellie’s heart, for although she could not see the woman clearly by the time she’d passed them, she was certain that the male figure, now turning back to the dimly lit street, had been that of Sam Gilbie.

  18

  Choices, Mistakes and Promises

  I couldn’t care tuppence, she thought. If he’s got a fancy woman, good luck to him. What’s it to me?

  But words which once might have been true, carelessly tripping off her tongue, now turned round to bite her. She simply could not rid herself of the sick feeling lodged in her stomach, the churning disorientation of seeing Sam there, with a woman and child he had never mentioned. She thought she knew him; even more foolishly, she believed he knew her. Perhaps he did, and perhaps he had used that knowledge to manipulate her feelings, just as Ted had. But Sam – could she really believe it of him? And even if it were true, why should she care? It was nothing to her.

  The endless cycle of questions whirled round and round in her head, till she was sick of them. Eventually a small voice inside her insisted on giving the answer: she cared because she cared, and it wasn’t nothing, it was definitely something.

  Even so, the next time she saw Sam Gilbie she prepared herself to give him a cooler reception than she usually did. But when he knocked at the door after work a few days later, his fresh open face made her thoughts of deception and manipulation seem absurd. Still, she told herself, she knew what she had seen.

  ‘Well, did you manage all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine!’ she lied brightly. She saw him glance doubtfully at her grazed knuckles.

  ‘You might as well tell me what happened. I thought it was funny you never came and told me all about it.’

  She shook her head dismissively. ‘Don’t look so worried. I’m all right, but you might need to give the bike the once-over, though.’

  She opened the door and led him through the passage to the back yard. On the way, he put his head round the kitchen door. ‘I’m just borrowing your foreman – no slacking, you lot!’

  The boys laughed at his mock sternness.

  ‘I’ll keep them at it, don’t worry about that!’ Alice said.

  The penny-farthing was propped against the back wall of the yard and Sam bent down to inspect the damage.

  ‘How did you know I’d come a cropper?’ she asked.

  ‘Little bird.’ He was already tightening the bolt on the cart axle and didn’t look up.

  ‘That Alice! I’ll kill her, I told her not to say anything.’

  She looked on as he methodically checked each bolt and screw and lined up the wheels to make sure they were still true.

  ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Nell. These things ain’t easy to control, even without a cart behind you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I’d broke the bike, though.’

  ‘Oh, Nell, the bike don’t matter! So long as you’re in one piece, that’s all I’m worried about.’ He got up, wiping his hands on a handkerchief.

  ‘You seem a bit down in the mouth, though. I thought you’d be happier now your deliveries are easier… Don’t worry about the tumble, you’ll get better at it,’ he said encouragingly.

  Her face was revealing more of her doubts than she had realized and she could see he was puzzled by the change in her demeanour. They had reached an easy sort of friendship, one that tonight she felt incapable of.

  ‘Perhaps I’m just tired.’

  ‘You work all the hours God sends, you’ve got every right to be tired, but I’m getting the feeling I’ve done something wrong.’

  She sighed. She had no right to make him feel awkward; he’d been nothing but kindness. She wanted to take a step back, but her heart, like the penny-farthing, seemed to have no reverse gear. She leaned against the wall and gazed up, beyond the crowded rooftops and chimneys, to a patch of sky, now suffused with a deep orange glow. Soon it would be too dark and they would go inside. If she was going to say anything, this was as private a place as they would get.

  ‘You’re not in trouble, Sam, and anyway, it’s nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Th-there you are, I knew there was something wrong!’ His stammer had returned and he looked flustered.

  He obviously wouldn’t let her get away with saying nothing, and not knowing was clearly upsetting him. She took a deep breath. ‘Oh, well, it’s been playing on me mind so I might as well have my say.’

  He looked worried. Was it guilt? ‘What is it? Tell me, Nellie.’

  ‘It’s just that I saw you, at least I think it was you… Tuesday night, up at London Bridge, with a woman and a baby.’ There, it was out, and before she could change her mind, she rushed on. ‘And that’s your business, but I was just surprised you’d never said a word about it. I thought we were friends,’ she ended lamely.

  His face reddened immediately and then she knew she had not been mistaken. ‘We are friends!’ he said, looking her in the eyes, in spite of his blushes.

  Just then the door from the scullery opened and Alice poked out her head.

  ‘Me and the boys are going up to bed, they’re dead tired.’ She hesitated; perhaps she’d heard S
am’s last words. ‘You two carry on chatting, though!’

  She smiled at them, a puzzled look on her face. Nellie hoped the tension in the air wasn’t that obvious, but Sam certainly looked even more flustered now. Nellie felt he’d wanted to say more, but the moment had passed.

  ‘No, it’s all right, Alice,’ Sam said, putting on his cap. ‘I’d best be going now. I’ll go out the back way.’ Glancing briefly at Nellie, he let himself out of the back gate and was gone before she could even say goodnight.

  Next morning, as she hurried along Spa Road to the factory, she was still confused and at odds with herself. She had been going over her conversation with Sam all night, and there was only one meaning she could attach to those guilty blushes of his. She turned in through the factory gates, jostling a crowd of other women all eager to clock on. Nellie simply couldn’t afford to be docked half an hour’s money for only a few minutes’ tardiness, but waiting her turn to clock on, she grew more and more anxious. If only she hadn’t stopped to do the ironing this morning. The chores had to be fitted in somehow, but now she cursed herself for cutting it so fine. She wondered what her father would have said; stickler for punctuality that he was, their lives had once run by his old watch. These days the watch served a completely different purpose: it sat in the pawnshop all week, helping keep the family afloat. Dad would be turning in his grave, she thought.

  ‘Get a move on! We ain’t got all day!’ came a cry from further back down the line. She punched her time card and groaned: five minutes late! She flew towards the main building, but halfway across the yard noticed Sam’s cart, loaded with sacks of sugar, outside the jelly building. Although he’d been constantly in her thoughts this morning, she hadn’t expected to see him so soon. He must have been out early at the docks, picking up the sugar. Now he was standing on the back board, tying sacks to a rope, then guiding them as they were hoisted to the top-floor loading bay. Slowing her pace, she half raised her hand to get his attention. But the unspoken greeting caught in her throat and she rushed on, glad that he was occupied and that she was hidden three deep in a crowd of scurrying latecomers.