‘You were wonderful, wonderful,’ Will told her as she came out once more, this time dressed in her ordinary clothes.
‘This is the last time I play here,’ she said. ‘This place is hardly better than a penny-gaff. I’m worth more than this.’
Carrying the costume, Will was drawn along in her wake. They ended up at a chophouse. Will blenched at the prices on the menu chalked on the wall. A meal here was going to cost a week’s wages. But there was no way of backing out now, unless he wanted to lose Siobhan altogether. He tried to push the thought of his four hungry children to the back of his mind, and chose the cheapest dish. Then he listened with a sinking feeling of doom as Siobhan ordered lavishly.
‘Performing always makes me ravenous,’ she said, tucking into a loaded plate, then taking a long drink of the bottle of wine she had ordered.
Will nodded dumbly. His appetite had deserted him.
She threw him a saucy look. ‘And not just for food and drink,’ she said.
Will swallowed. She was so unexpected. He never knew what she was going to say next.
‘That’s good,’ he responded, a little belatedly. ‘I’m much more hungry for that than for this.’ He nodded at the food in front of him.
Then the eternal difficulty reared its head. ‘There anywhere we can go? I don’t know this part of town.’
‘We can get back in that dump. Doorkeeper’ll let you in if you slip him a bob. We can use the star dressing room.’
A shilling took Will two hours’ hard labour to earn, but the prospect of having her in the privacy of a locked room was worth five times as much.
‘Just the job,’ he said.
Siobhan talked away between mouthfuls, telling him about fellow artistes, bad audiences, conditions backstage, her opinion of Sidney Spruce. It was all damning, but as the food and drink restored her humour, it changed from a string of complaints into barbed jokes against all concerned. The underlying theme was that she, Miss Siobhan O’Donaghue, was ill-used. Nobody appreciated her talent. She was not getting the pay, conditions, venues or billing that she deserved, and it was everybody’s fault but her own.
Will could only nod and agree, watching her full lips and the rise and fall of her breasts as she spoke, and thinking of her soft round body, soon to be his. He sent silent thanks that Pat and Declan were no longer on constant guard over their cousin. Now that they were both married, their wives did not take kindly to their going out night after night to play chaperon, and their mother was finding it difficult to get menfolk enough to escort her, even within their big family.
‘You ought to be top of the bill at the Empire,’ he told her, saying no more than what he believed to be the truth.
‘Of course I should,’ she said. ‘I know that, you know that, but does Mr Wonderful Sidney Spruce tell them that? No, he does not.’ She poured out the last of the wine and drained it, banging her empty glass down on the table.
Will leant across and took her hands. ‘Let’s go back to the theatre, eh?’ he said.
She gave him a long, considering look, pulled her hands away and sat back in her chair.
‘That depends,’ she said.
Will’s hopes plummeted. It was always the same with Siobhan; nothing was ever straightforward. There was always some catch, some bargaining point.
‘Depends on what?’ he asked.
She did not answer right away. ‘My glass is empty,’ she said pointedly, twirling it between her fingers.
For a while he thought she was just delaying things and that another drink or two was all she was waiting for. He watched her drinking the wine, remembering what she looked like partly dressed, what her soft hot body felt like beneath and around him. Under the table, he rubbed his leg against hers, sending shafts of excitement through his nerves. But she drew sharply back.
‘Stop that!’ she hissed.
He sighed, frustrated and perplexed. He would never understand the workings of her mind.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘What’s up with you?’
‘You’ve been up, that’s the trouble.’
For a moment he just stared at her.
‘What?’
‘What?’ she mimicked viciously. ‘Going back to the theatre’s all very well, but one thing leads to another, don’t it? If you want to do it this time, then it’s got to be permanent. You got to face up to your responsibilities.’
He stopped on the verge of saying ‘What?’ again. The gist of what she meant was beginning to sink in, and sending messages of fear around his body.
‘Just what are you saying?’ he asked slowly.
She did not answer, but just sat there waiting for the penny to drop. Her hand gripped the table top, white-knuckled, and the smile that glittered in her face had not a trace of humour in it.
‘You’re – you’re having a baby.’
‘No. I’m having your baby.’
He could not think straight. Images jostled in his mind – Siobhan on stage, Siobhan arm in arm with one of the local boys, Siobhan beneath him, Harry Turner coming at him with fists raised, Lily pink and scrubbed and ready for bed, Maisie’s swollen pregnant belly, Mrs O’Donaghue . . .
‘You’re joking,’ he said, to gain time.
She shook her head very slightly, holding him with her eyes.
‘You’re a lucky man, Will Johnson. You got me tied down. Lot of men have wanted to do that. Lot of men would like to keep me to themselves, but you gone and done it.’
There was resentment in her voice. She had not wanted it this way.
He knew what she said was true. He had had to wait his turn so many times. And now he was being offered what he had always wanted. And yet – it was not quite what he had imagined. When he fantasized about owning Siobhan, it was not as part of a family. He had a family already. Siobhan did not fit into the part of housewife and mother. That was Maisie’s role. Siobhan was the bright, teasing, carefree one, up in the spotlight, forever just out of reach. He wanted her to stay like that, so that other men would see her there and envy him when she walked out on his arm.
He recalled Maisie when she was in the same position. Half proud, half scared, she had told him she was in the club, and he had known that there was no alternative. He had to marry her. All the street knew they were going out together. If he backed down, his mother and her mother and all the neighbours would have something to say about it. There was no getting away with it.
‘But what about your family, the street?’ he blurted out. ‘We couldn’t go there. There’s Maisie and the kids – they’d never . . .’
They would be outcasts.
She cast her eyes to the ceiling. ‘The devil take my family, and the street,’ she said. ‘Use your head, do! We don’t go back there. We get a room for tonight, then we find ourselves lodgings. Easy. You find yourself a job, we get a place. Nobody need ever know.’
‘But . . .’
It took his breath away. To just walk out on everything – Maisie, the kids, his job, his family, the street, all the people he knew. It was wiping away his life, his personality. It was one thing to leave them behind for an evening. The sense of freedom had been as good as the effect of two pints on an empty stomach. But to leave them for ever was unthinkable. Without the familiar references, he hardly knew who he was.
‘I can’t,’ he said.
Siobhan did not cry, or rail, or swear. Desperation did not work on her that way. Instead, her full lips parted, showing the tip of her pink tongue. Under the table, her foot travelled slowly, sensuously up his leg until it rested in his crotch just long enough to rouse him. Then it went down the other leg, lingered on his foot, and was gone, leaving him in a fever of desire.
‘Coward,’ she said.
He wanted her, right now. He wanted to say ‘Let’s go’, and take her to a rooming house and make love to her all night long on a proper bed, and to hell with the consequences. But to do so would be to throw away everything he knew. She was right, he was a coward.
>
‘I –’ he began, wavering.
He would never see little Lily again. She would never toddle up to him with her arms raised to be picked up. She would never cling round his legs, giggling. Tommy and Peter and Albert would have no dad to show them how to shoot goals or take them for their first drink.
‘I can’t. I can’t leave them all in the lurch.’
Siobhan went white. Fear, anger and an edge of panic pinched her face, making it look old and ravaged. She was not used to being rejected. Then she recovered herself. She took a deep breath through her nose, held it, then shrugged and stood up.
‘You’ll regret it,’ she said, and walked out without a backward glance.
Will was left staring after her. He wanted to jump up and run to stop her, but his legs were leaden. He could not. He could not just leave everything, even for her. The waiter appeared with the massive bill. Will searched through his pockets and paid it with every last penny. Somehow, he got out on to the street. He looked up and down, expecting, hoping, to see her small, determined figure lugging her clothes, but there was nothing. It was as if the pavement had swallowed her up. Without making a conscious decision, he set off for the theatre, walking faster and faster until he broke into a run. He pounded on the door but it was all locked up. Not even the stage doorkeeper she had said they could bribe was there. It was then that he finally realized he had lost her. He had made his choice and he was going to have to stick with it. You’ll regret it. Her words pounded over and over in his head. And as he started on the long walk home, he already did.
Harry walked briskly along Chrisp Street. It was Saturday evening and the crowds in the market were rapidly thinning. Some of the traders were already packing up for the day. Around the fresh-food stalls hopeful knots of the very poor were gathered, waiting to pick up the last of the bruised fruit or off-colour meat at bargain prices. Harry glanced at them and looked away, proud that his mother no longer had to hang around on the chance of getting a bit of food that nobody else wanted. At least his family ate properly now. He shook off the other problems. It was Saturday, he had been paid and he was on his way to meet Ellen. It was time for enjoyment, not worries.
It was going to be a surprise. He had got off earlier than expected and rather than wait for her to come home, he had decided to come up here and take her out straight from work. It would give them that much longer together. The thought of the evening ahead put a spring into his step, despite the gruelling week he had spent at work. Six twelve-hour days on the trot were worth it when there was a night out with Ellen to look forward to. At a flower stall he paused, on the point of buying her a bunch of roses. But on closer inspection the blooms were wilted.
‘Not good enough for my girl,’ he told the vendor. ‘Only the best for her.’
He would save the money and take her somewhere for a slap-up meal, and watch her face as she read the menu, her lip caught in her teeth as she tried to decide between all the delicious treats. He would see the weariness of the day slip from her and a glow come to her cheeks as she ate and relaxed and enjoyed herself. He grinned to himself, almost laughing aloud in anticipation.
As Gerry’s stall came into view he stopped, waiting to catch the first sight of her. The handcart was parked in front of it, half loaded. They were packing up. Then he saw her. Her arms were full of newspaper-wrapped bundles and she was smiling, evidently sharing a joke with someone. And as he watched, Gerry appeared, also smiling, and flung an arm round her shoulders, a brief intimate gesture that brought all Harry’s suppressed suspicions boiling to the surface. He strode the last few yards, ready to do murder.
‘Ellen!’
She jumped, colour rising in her face. Gerry hastily withdrew his arm.
‘Harry! I never thought –’
‘Yeah, I can see that,’ he said. ‘Sorry if I’m breaking something up.’
Gerry gave a placatory smile. ‘We was only having a bit of a laugh. Between pals, like.’
‘If you will come creeping up like that, checking up . . .’ Ellen said.
‘I wasn’t meaning to come checking up. I was meaning to take you out. But perhaps I ought to come and see what’s happening up here more often.’
‘Come off it, mate. I wouldn’t move in on you. You know that,’ Gerry said.
‘Blooming well ought to know it,’ Ellen added.
Harry looked from one to the other. He wanted to believe them. But Gerry was no fool, he knew a good thing when he saw it, cousin or not.
Under his accusing stare, Gerry shifted and looked away, fiddling with some of his goods.
‘Look, er – why don’t you two make off now, eh? I can finish the packing up. Go and have a bit of fun.’
Ellen looked awkward. ‘Oh, Gerry, I couldn’t do that. There’s loads to do yet.’
‘Don’t let me drag you away,’ Harry said.
‘Don’t be so bloody pig-headed,’ Gerry told them both. ‘Shove off, for God’s sake.’
‘Oh, well – if you’re sure.’ Ellen deliberately threw Harry a defiant look and kissed Gerry on the cheek. ‘Thanks, gov’nor. You’re a real pal.’
Then she tucked her arm into Harry’s and smiled up at him. ‘So where are we going, then?’
He was so angry he could have shaken her. Playing games with him like this! It was the sort of thing Siobhan did, not Ellen. He strode off down the street, not caring that she had to trot to keep up with him.
‘Harry . . .’ She was clinging on to his arm, her face red with exertion. ‘Harry, I’d love a drink.’
They were right by a pub. He needed one himself, he realized, and marched in. They sat opposite each other at a small table, not speaking. But by the time he had downed half a pint, he felt a bit better. Across the table, Ellen was looking at him with amusement in her eyes.
‘You are stupid, you know.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah, you are. We been all through me working for Gerry, over and over again. You got to trust me, Harry.’
‘It ain’t that I don’t trust you. It’s Gerry.’ He stopped. It was too difficult to put into words, to explain how he felt when he saw another man touch her. He said, ‘It’s just that I love you. I want to keep you all to myself.’
She reached across and put a hand over his. ‘I love you too. Don’t you see that? And you have got me all to yourself, in that way. Gerry’s just work. You wouldn’t be jealous of Maconachie’s if I was still there, now would you?’
He sighed. She just didn’t see it. But when she looked at him like that, with her small hand on his large one, he could not stay angry with her.
‘I suppose not’, he said.
Ellen stretched across the table and kissed him on the lips. ‘That’s better.’
The evening fell into a familiar pattern. They went to a chophouse and gorged themselves on meat pudding and peas, then to a music hall, then walked home along the embankment in the moonlight. Idling along with his arm round Ellen’s waist and her head leaning on his shoulder, Harry was practically the happiest man in London.
‘If only things could always be like this,’ he said. ‘You and me and the river and the moon . . .’
‘Mm. It’s just lovely, ain’t it?’
In the darkness between the pools of lamplight they kissed.
‘I love you,’ Ellen said, sighing with pleasure.
‘I love you too.’
If he could just solve the problem of his family, he could ask her to marry him and be done with the nagging question of Gerry for ever.
It was only a few days later that his mother remarked one teatime that the Masons were moving out of number twenty-four.
‘Bloody good riddance,’ Archie growled. He was in a foul mood as he had no money left and the Rum Puncheon had refused to put any more on the slate.
Ida said nothing to contradict him, but stared down at her plate, biting her lips. The Masons’ daughter was exactly her age and a good friend.
Florrie was more open. ‘They’re g
ood people, the Masons. It’s not at all a good riddance. We shall all miss them.’
Archie stood up and thumped a fist down on the table. ‘You shut your trap. You don’t know nothing.’
There was an intake of breath round the table as everyone else looked at Harry. Milly’s hands closed on her apron.
‘No, Harry, please, no,’ she whispered under her breath.
Harry sat quite still, holding on to his temper. He waited until he knew he could speak calmly.
‘She’s got a right to her opinion,’ he said, looking straight at his father.
For several long moments, he and Archie glared at each other. Then slowly, Archie sat down and began eating again.
‘Where they going to?’ Johnny asked.
‘Rotherhithe,’ Milly said.
‘Rotherhithe!’
The children’s eyes widened. That was over the water, practically another country.
As the talk resumed along an almost normal path, Harry let his attention drift. If the Masons were going, that meant their house would be empty. Possibly the landlords had not yet relet it. From number twenty-four he could still keep an eye on his family while getting away from his father. He would not be constantly aggravating the situation simply by being there. Best of all, he could ask Ellen to marry him.
‘– Harry?’
‘Yeah?’ He had not even noticed he was being spoken to.
‘You said you was going to be up early tomorrow?’
‘Yeah, I got a long one upriver.’
It was as if the sun had come out on the future, lighting up the course he was to steer. He would get hold of the rent collector the very next time he came and find out about the house.
Harry was at work when the Masons left, but all those who were at home that day turned out to gawp at the pathetic little collection of household goods as they were loaded on to the cart, and to wish the family well in their new neighbourhood. As the procession of cart, pram and children turned out of the street, those left behind gathered to discuss the departure. General opinion was that the Masons were mad. To move south of the river, and to a rough area like Rotherhithe, when they were nicely established on the Island seemed reckless in the extreme. It served as a point of conversation on the doorsteps and in the Rum Puncheon for days.
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