‘D’you think that’s right? He’s only little.’ Gerry looked worried.
‘Your mum said that’s what she used to do with you two, and it ain’t done you no harm, has it?’
‘No.’
‘And anyway, what’s it to you? You’re never here. If I know anything, you’ll be off out the moment you’ve had your tea. Am I right?’
‘Well . . .’ Gerry could not deny it.
‘There you are. Same every night. Don’t know why you bother coming home. Kids hardly know they got a dad.’
Recognizing trouble coming, the lodgers got up from where they were spinning out an extra cup of tea at the kitchen table.
‘Er – think we’ll go down the Puncheon for a bit, missus.’
Ellen gave a swift nod of acknowledgement. Gerry tried to pretend all was well, and bade them a cheery good evening.
‘You talk to them more than what you do to me,’ Ellen complained the moment the door had closed behind them.
‘Oh, come on, love.’ Gerry put an arm round her shoulders, but she stiffened defensively. ‘It ain’t as bad as all that. Look, we’ll go down the Island Gardens Sunday, how about that? You like that? Jess would, wouldn’t you, girl? You like the Gardens. Get you a hokey-pokey, eh?’
Ellen made an effort to be grateful. Any chance of a trip away from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the street was to be snatched at. But the mention of the Island Gardens only brought back aching memories.
‘It’ll be crowded out there, this weather,’ she said.
‘Greenwich, then. We’ll go through the tunnel, have a cup of tea in the park. That suit you? You like the park, don’t you? Plenty of room there – won’t be crowded. Do you good to have an outing.’
‘Yeah, that’ll be nice.’ It was hard to inject the right amount of enthusiasm into her voice.
‘Good, right, we’ll do that. Greenwich on Sunday.’ Gerry rubbed his hands together, the problem solved. ‘My tea ready, then?’
‘All dried up, I expect.’
Ellen fished the plate out of the oven. She was right, it was all dried up, but Gerry made no comment. He sat down and tucked in, telling her in between mouthfuls about an incident at the market. Ellen hardly bothered to listen. She finished washing Teddy and pinned him into his nappy.
‘’Bout time you was dry an’ all,’ she told him. ‘I’m fed up of washing your stuff.’
Jessica managed to struggle all by herself into the shirt that did duty for a nightie. Ellen planted a kiss on the top of her head.
‘There’s my clever girl. Sharp as a barrel-load of monkeys. You’re going to be top of the class, you are.’
She plaited the child’s fair hair and looked at her with satisfaction, the frustrations of the day slipping away for a while. Jessica could be a wilful little madam at times, but when she was washed and ready for bed like this, bright and clean and glowing, she was pure delight.
‘She’s that bright,’ she said to Gerry, interrupting his story. ‘She’ll go to the Central like her mum, just you wait and see. But she’ll stay on. She’ll get an office job, will my Jess. Nothing but the best for her.’
The little girl preened while Ellen caught Teddy and expertly dosed him with a teaspoon of gin, followed by one of jam.
‘Say goodnight to you dad, then,’ Ellen told them.
Upstairs in the front bedroom it was even more stuffy than the kitchen. All the stale air of the day seemed to have gathered there. Ellen squeezed past the big bed to open the window, but it made little difference. She tucked the two babies into their bed with only the sheet over them, but they still looked too hot. It wasn’t helped by the fact that the room was so crowded. There was hardly space to get around with all four of them sleeping in there. But then the little ones were lucky to have a bed of their own. Many children slept on the floor or in with their mum and dad.
She gave them each a kiss and smoothed the hair from their hot little foreheads.
‘Nightie-night, sleep tight –’
‘Make sure the bugs don’t bite!’ Jessica responded.
Ellen paused at the door, smiling down at them. Her two little cherubs. They were worth any amount of hard work and broken nights. They gave meaning to her life. She felt ashamed of the way she had treated them today. It was not their fault she was out of sorts. Poor little Teddy couldn’t help teething. His eyes were already closing under the influence of the gin. She vowed to be more patient with them in the morning.
‘God bless,’ she whispered, and trod softly downstairs.
Her gentler mood was broken the moment she arrived back in the kitchen. Gerry was at the sink, washing, ready to go out again.
‘So where are you off to, then?’ she demanded. As if she didn’t know. She mouthed the words as he said them.
‘Got to see a bloke about some stuff.’
‘You’re always seeing a bloke about some stuff,’ she complained. ‘How much stuff do you need for the stall? You don’t sell that much every day.’
It was the usual excuse. He had a business to run.
‘You think more about the business than you do about me and the kids,’ Ellen accused.
‘Now then, love, don’t be daft. I said I’d take you all out Sunday, didn’t I? What could be fairer than that? Nice trip to Greenwich . . .’
But Ellen was familiar with his patter.
‘I ain’t some customer for the stall and you ain’t selling me nothing, so come off it. Fact is, you come in, have your tea and go out again. Hardly see hide nor hair of you sometimes. What’s up, eh? You got some girl you got your eye on?’
‘No!’ He sounded so shocked that she knew he was telling the truth. Not that she really suspected him, anyway. She had only said it to stir him up.
‘Ellen love, you know what it’s like. I got four mouths to feed now. I’m doing it for you and the kids.’
‘Good thing there’s not much danger of there being any more mouths to feed, then,’ Ellen said.
The dangerous note in her voice brought him sharply round to meet her eyes.
‘What d’you mean by that?’
Ellen put her hands on her hips, and there was a challenge in the set of her head.
‘Just that. Not likely to be any more babies, the way you’re going on, is there?’
A slow tide of red seeped into his face. He turned away and picked his jacket up off the chair.
‘I got to get out,’ he said. ‘I ain’t got time to talk now. I’ll see you later.
‘Oh yeah, much later,’ Ellen said to his retreating back. ‘And I suppose then you’ll be too tired. And then in the morning you’ll be up early. It’s always the same story, ain’t it?’
She followed him to the door, only a sense of self-preservation stopping her from shouting after him into the street. Once she did that, all the neighbours would be avid to know what was up. She did not want to be this evening’s topic of gossip. She stood on the step, her arms folded over her stomach, seething, looking after him as he went up the road. His cap was pulled down over his face, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders defensively hunched. He never had had an impressive figure, product as he was of an impoverished childhood. Now he looked prematurely aged, one more stunted little man in a flat cap. Amidst the rage, Ellen felt sorry for him.
‘’Evening, Ellen!’
She started. Across the road, Florrie was just coming out with a kitchen chair in one hand and a piece of knitting in the other. The first hint of a swelling could just be seen at her waist.
‘’Lo Florrie.’ Her voice sounded false and uneven to her over-sensitive ears. She stayed where she was, not trusting herself to go over and have a chat, even with her best friend. She was about to go inside when a movement in the dark doorway of Florrie’s house caught her eye. Jimmy was coming out, laughing and making some remark over his shoulder. Ellen froze. Behind him was Harry. She stood gaping, unable to move.
‘’Bye, love. Just going to have a quick half.’ Jimmy bent over t
o kiss his new wife. The commonplace words drifted over to Ellen as through a fog.
Harry was looking at her. For an endless moment their eyes locked. Longing flashed between them, an invisible wire joining them across the unbridgeable gulf of the narrow street. She wanted desperately to run across, to fling herself into his arms. She knew with absolute certainty that he wanted it too, and it was only the crushing weight of loyalty, upbringing and fear of public opinion that kept them both rooted to the spot.
‘You coming, mate?’ Jimmy was already setting off.
‘I’m with you.’
The thread was broken. Harry jerked into life. The two men walked together in the direction of the pub.
Ellen stood watching them as she had watched her husband. It was impossible not to make unfair comparisons. Harry walked with a swing to his stride, his broad shoulders unbowed. The slanting rays of the sun glinted on the ends of his blond curls. Ellen was consumed with an unbearable ache. She whisked inside, slammed the door behind her and slumped into the nearest chair in a flood of tears.
‘You’re a fool, Ellen Billingham,’ she told herself, when the weeping finally subsided into sobs. ‘You had your chance and you lost it.’
She sat for a long time, aching all over but unable to summon up the energy to move. Nothing had changed. She knew her unhappiness was all of her own making. A saying of her mother’s ran round her head, teasing her with its truth, ‘If only never done anyone any good’. If only she had made it up with Harry. If only she had not risen to Siobhan’s taunts. If only she had not pig-headedly gone on with marrying Gerry. It was too late now. In a way, she almost wished Harry would find himself a wife. That way, what seemed like a door would finally be closed. She might stop wishing for what she couldn’t have.
She stood up at last, cramped and stiff, her eyes tender with crying, and tottered into the kitchen to splash water over her face. Evening was drawing in. She cleared away the remains of the tea and made ready for the night. There was a heap of mending that needed doing, but she could not face it. She got ready for bed and plodded up the narrow stairs.
Jessica and Teddy were sound asleep. Her children. Gerry’s children. She crept round their bed and lay down on her own. Her head pounded, and her skin seemed extra sensitive, so that the sheet scraped her nerve endings. She turned this way and that, trying to get comfortable, and the sagging springs creaked beneath her. She was suffocating. There did not seem to be enough air in the room. She lay sleepless as the darkness crept in, listening to the sounds of the street.
The two lodgers let themselves in. She listened as they clumped around. They were a quiet pair, never any trouble, but in the cramped house with its thin walls, they sounded like a couple of giants thundering about. At last they settled in the back bedroom. A snore vibrated through the dividing wall.
She recognized Gerry’s footsteps as he came down the street. She could tell he was tired. Maybe the deal had not come off. She lay rigid in bed. She knew what she should do: she should apologize to him for being so horrible. He worked hard to provide for them all. She used to admire him for his ambition, and she had no right to complain now when she found he was wedded to his dreams of advancement.
The front door opened and he came straight up. Ellen lay quite still as he shuffled between the beds and sat down on his side to undo his boots. He undressed slowly, his movements stiff and weary, and lay down beside her in his shirt and underpants. The bed crunched and moaned beneath his extra weight.
‘How did it go?’ Ellen whispered.
‘Oh, I thought you was asleep.’ There was wariness in his voice.
‘No. It’s too hot. Besides – I – I wanted to talk to you.’
‘Oh. Well.’ For once Gerry was lost for words. He reached across the space between them and clasped her hand. ‘I been thinking about – about what you said.’
‘I didn’t mean it, Gerry. You mustn’t take any notice. I was just tired, that’s all.’
‘No, no, you was right. I’m not – I don’t – you mustn’t think I don’t love you, Ellen. I do. You and the kids, you’re everything to me. Everything I do, it’s for you. It always has been, ever since – ever since I can remember, since you was still at school. I wanted to marry you then. I was working towards it, trying to make something of myself so I’d be good enough for you. It’s all for you, Ellen. I know I’m not like Harry. When you was going out with him, I thought, well, that’s it, I ain’t got a chance. I couldn’t hardly believe it when you said you’d marry me. You’re so pretty and quick and good – I couldn’t believe my luck. But I know I don’t measure up.’
‘Don’t, don’t, you mustn’t say that.’ Ellen was racked with guilt and remorse. ‘I chose you. I never said you wasn’t good enough. Of course you are. You’re my husband, the father of my children.’
It was all her own fault. She had always thought she was different – too good to go to Dock Street school like the others, too good to work in a factory. Now she was making Gerry unhappy with her mooning over what she couldn’t have. She rolled over and put her arms around him.
‘I love you,’ she whispered, and meant it.
He held her tight. ‘The thing is . . .’ he said.
A few feet away, Teddy moaned in his sleep and Jessica turned over. From the next room came steady snores. They were surrounded by people. There was no privacy. Gerry’s whisper dropped so low that she could hardly catch what he was saying. He spoke hesitantly, the words coming out through a suffocating barrier of embarrassment.
‘The thing is, when I was a kid, when we was all living in one or two rooms in tenement blocks, my mum . . . We was poor. Really poor, I mean, like we went for weeks on just bread and scrape. No boots in the winter, that sort of thing. I mean, my mum, she just wanted to keep us out of the workhouse. And she brought – there would be men coming in – and sometimes she used to turn us out, Charlie and me. We used to sit on the stairs until they’d gone, like. Once I was older, I stopped it. I got rid of them. But when we was kids, sometimes we’d be asleep when she came in, and then – well, then we’d hear it all. And I couldn’t bear it, Ellen. I couldn’t bear it. It was horrible. The noises.’
He was curled, rigid, a small boy once more, hiding from what was going on.
Ellen stroked his head and made soothing sounds. ‘It’s all right. It’s all right.’
They lay face to face, foreheads and noses touching. She could feel his lips moving as the words came haltingly.
‘You mustn’t think I don’t love you. I do. I do love you. You’re soft and sweet. It’s just – I don’t want it to be like those men . . .’
‘You’re not. You could never be like them.’ Ellen could hardly speak for the ache in her throat.
‘But I’m letting you down.’
‘You’re not. Of course you’re not. I love you just like you are.’ She kissed his lips.
‘Oh, Ellen.’
She felt the tension go out of him. They cuddled together until he fell asleep with his arms round her.
Ellen shut the door tight on the part of her that still yearned for something more.
6
THE HEATWAVE HELD the city in its grip. All those who could leave had gone to the country or the seaside in search of shade and clean air and a breath of breeze. But for hundreds upon thousands of souls there was no getting away. They were trapped there, living in small airless houses and tenements, working in factories and shops, forced to carry on through temperatures that soared into the nineties.
‘At least there is work,’ Tom Johnson said when people complained. ‘Puts us in a better position.’
Trade, and therefore employment, was on the up. To the men at the calling-on stands it meant that the riff-raff that drifted down to the docks in hard times had disappeared, leaving only the regulars. Just when they would have been glad to have some time off, there was plenty of work. Tom looked beyond this.
‘Don’t you see?’ he said to his son. ‘When there’s full emplo
yment and ships waiting to be discharged, they need us. That means we can start to bargain with the gov’nors. God knows, we need to. Sixpence an hour is what was fixed in eighty-nine. Look how food’s gone up since then.’
Will did not need to be told about the rise in prices. That was Maisie’s excuse every time he complained about the paltry teas she provided for him.
‘That’s all I could get, Will. You should see what they’re charging for potatoes now. I don’t know what way to turn, that I don’t.’ She lumbered about the kitchen, pregnant again.
‘Got to go,’ he would say, getting up as soon as he had finished. ‘Working overtime.’
Thank the Lord for overtime. Eightpence an hour and cooler working conditions, and with the extra money he could go and see her. She was back in town again after a tour of the provinces.
The moment his back was turned there was a fierce scuffle. Tommy knocked his brother out of the way and grabbed the used plate. In a trice, he had it licked clean. Maisie thought about the food she could buy with the extra earnings.
Down the road at the Johnsons’, Martha confided her worries about Tom to her daughter.
‘It’s all starting up again, this union business. He’s not a young man any more. He can’t take it, not working all the hours God sends and going to meetings as well. He’s never been the same since that time he was set upon.’
‘I thought he was looking better,’ Ellen said. ‘He seemed more, well, more alive. Like what he used to be.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ her mother argued. ‘All this union stuff. Look what trouble it got him into before. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.’
‘You won’t stop him.’
‘No.’ Martha sighed. ‘No, you’re right there. Nothing I say’ll make any difference. He’s a man of principles, your dad. There’s no changing him. But how are you? You’re looking peaky yourself these days. The heat, is it, or are you . . .?’ She looked at Ellen’s waistline.
‘No,’ Ellen said shortly.
Her mum gave her a brief hug. ‘Best that way really, lovey. Don’t do you no good having ’em all close together. Look at Maisie, lost half her teeth already. And she’s not as bad as some. You look at the ones what have worn the best and it’s the ones what’ve only had a few kids. Look at Alma – still acting like a blooming twenty-year-old at times, and she’s only four years younger than what I am. Only had them two boys, y’see.’
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