‘Leave him,’ she counselled. ‘Go and talk to him later when it’s quieter.’
Alma filled him in as far as she could.
‘It was just after midday, after the kids’d gone back to school. Lot of them saw her going up the street.’
‘But didn’t no one try to stop her?’
‘They thought she was feeling better. Martha Johnson offered to walk along with her, but Milly said she was only going up the shop to get something. Poor Martha, she’s in a terrible state. Says she didn’t ought to have taken no for an answer.’
Harry was inclined to agree with this, but he let it pass.
‘Didn’t no one know she was in a bad way today? Had anyone been in to see her?’
‘I know Ellen looked in, and Florrie. But you know what she’s – she was like. You couldn’t hardly get a word out of her. Difficult to know what she was feeling like inside, really.’
That was true enough.
‘And at the lock –’ He stopped. It was difficult to talk about it. ‘Didn’t they – didn’t anyone try to stop her?’
‘Couldn’t get to her in time, so they said.’
He knew he was trying to shift the blame. What really gnawed at him was the fact that he and Johnny had been away overnight.
‘If I’d been home last night, it might not have happened,’ he said. ‘She never did like us going. And this time Johnny was with me as well. I should have tried to get the foreman to change us around. I should have seen this was a danger.’
‘You couldn’t have,’ Alma told him. ‘None of us knew she was thinking of doing this. I mean, you don’t, do you? She never said nothing, never said she wanted to. Maybe she didn’t know herself until she done it.’
‘I should have done more,’ Harry insisted.
Alma gave a great sigh. ‘We all should have done. Maybe we was all at fault. Didn’t see what she was going through.’
The guilt and the recriminations carried on for half the evening as the family went over and over the same ground, trying to decide a reason, trying to exorcise the pain, until Harry was almost glad when the police sent for him to formally identify the body. That was the start of a nightmare of official duties, made all the worse because they had been done so recently for his father. Another inquest, another funeral.
They all turned to him whenever something needed deciding or arranging, all with their stained faces and haunted eyes. Bob took to truanting from school, and Harry had to sort it all out and make sure he got there each day. On top of that there was an ever changing makeshift of domestic arrangements, all fitted in between the demands of work. And every day when he came home there was an empty space in the kitchen, the unoccupied chair at the table, reminding him of his failure to help his mother.
At the end of another long hot week, Ida came home from work in tears.
‘I hate that place. They been picking on me again. That forewoman, she’s got her knife into me. She stands there just waiting for me to do something wrong. Every week I get fined for something, and the others, they just laugh.’
Harry tried to calm her down, but whatever he said she took exception to. He suggested finding a different job, but that would not do either.
‘You just don’t understand!’ she wailed, and took herself off upstairs.
That meant there was no tea on the table.
Harry dug in his pockets. ‘Here, Bob, you take this and go down the chip shop,’ he said. ‘Cod and chips all round.’
‘Why me? Why is it always me? Why can’t someone else go?’ Bob kicked at the table leg, his face thunderous.
Harry reached out and clipped him round the ear. ‘Because the rest of us been at work all day and we’re starving. Now get a move on.’
Bob glared at him and went, his lower lip thrust out. Harry frowned after him. The boy might be ten years old and tough with it, but he needed someone to mother him. He was probably feeling it worse than any of them, but instead of crying, like Ida, he went about trying to take it out on someone. Behind him there was a sigh. He looked round and saw Johnny slumped over the table, asleep, with his head cradled in his arms. He had grown a lot lately, but it was all upwards and the heavy work he did was too much for him. Through the ceiling came the sound of Ida sobbing on her bed. Harry ran his hands through his hair. They all needed more from him than he was able to give.
He sat on the step after tea, wondering what to do for the best. He could not see his way through the tangle of problems. Gerry emerged from next door.
‘’Evening, Harry. Coming up the Puncheon for a drink?’
Harry shook his head. It was tempting to go out and forget it in a cheerful evening and a few pints, but that was what his father had always done.
‘No thanks, mate. Another time.’
He watched Gerry walk up the street. He didn’t look too happy himself these days; unlike the breezy, confident Gerry they all knew, there was an air of worry about him. But Harry had no sympathy to spare for his cousin. Gerry had Ellen.
And then it came to him, like a window opening to the sunshine. He would go and talk to Ellen. Without stopping to consider, he got up and went indoors. Ida was still upstairs. Bob was out with his gang. In less than a minute, Harry was out of his back yard and into hers.
Jessica was grubbing around in the tiny patch of earth where a few cabbages were struggling to survive. She looked up and grinned at him. Little Teddy stopped banging a saucepan with a wooden spoon to babble a welcome. Harry hardly saw them. His eyes were only for Ellen. She was sitting on the back step, darning a sock. Her head was bent over her work, her deft fingers weaving the needle in and out of the spaces in the wool. After the wreck of his own family, she seemed like a haven of peace and calm and order. His shadow fell across her and she looked up, her hazel eyes glowing amber in the low evening light. For a moment she regarded him in silence. Then she stood up.
‘Come inside,’ she said.
They sat on either side of the kitchen table. Now that he was here, Harry did not quite know what it was he wanted to say. For the moment, just being with her was enough.
‘What is it?’ Ellen prompted. Her voice was soft and low.
‘Oh – everything.’
‘Your mother?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You couldn’t have done any more, Harry. We all tried, but it was like she built a wall round her. You couldn’t get through it.’
‘But I should’ve got through it. She was my mum. I should’ve done something more. I should’ve known she was that bad. To do that . . .’
‘I know. It’s horrible to even think about it.’
‘I can’t stop thinking about it, Ellen. I lived in the same house as her and saw how she was, and I didn’t know just how bad she was. I even – well, I got angry with her, just giving in under it like that. I thought, other women lose their husbands, better husbands than what my dad was, and they don’t go like what she did. You couldn’t talk to her, you couldn’t make her see. Sometimes I wanted to shake her. I had to stop myself. It was awful.’
He had never admitted this to anyone before. It was such a relief to be able to talk, to say just how he felt, to stop having to play the strong one of the family. Once started, he couldn’t stop. Ellen sat there and nodded and said yes and no in the right places, and he talked on.
‘If only I hadn’t gone away for the night. I knew she didn’t like it. And taking Johnny too. We was both away when she needed us.’
‘But you can’t say what job you’re going to do, can you? The foreman decides that. It wasn’t your fault.’
‘I could’ve asked him to see that we weren’t both on the same trip. He might’ve listened. But I didn’t even try. Fact was, I was glad to go, glad to have a night away from home. I thought it’d do Johnny good and all. I was pleased when we was given that run. It meant I had a night when I didn’t have to see her sitting there in the corner, it meant I could forget about her for a while. That’s how I felt. I was really glad to put her
out of my head for a bit. And just look what came of it.’
His voice broke and he stopped, struggling with himself. And then Ellen was there, standing beside him, an arm round his shoulders.
‘Let it out,’ she said.
He turned to her and clasped her waist, muffling the harsh sobs in her soft belly while she stroked his head. The pressure of emotion that had been building for so long burst, leaving him hollow and empty and strangely light.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said automatically, but he did not mean it. Never since he had grown up had he exposed himself like that, and yet he felt perfectly safe. Ellen would not think the worse of him.
Don’t be so silly, there’s nothing to be sorry for. You’ve been carrying it all by yourself. Nobody should do that. Better now?’
He nodded, and gave a crooked smile. ‘Much.’
She dropped a kiss on the top of his head, then eased out of his arms.
‘Cuppa?’
‘Please.’
He was immensely grateful for her matter-of-fact way of taking it. They sat and sipped tea and considered the practical problems facing the Turner family.
‘Seems to me you need a bit of a change round. You’re just managing from day to day at the moment.’
‘I know. Yeah, that’s just it.’
‘You need someone looking after the home proper. You’d all feel better then. You’d all know where you was.’ Ellen chewed her lip, thinking. Harry watched the thought processes in the expressions that passed over her face. ‘If Ida hates her job so much, she could stay home. But I can’t see her dealing with young Bob . . . Look, there’s only the four of you now. Why don’t you ask Florrie and Jimmy to move in? They could have the front bedroom and you and the boys the back one, and Ida the put-you-up. You and Jimmy get on all right, and Florrie’s a good housewife. And I think she’d like to get away from your aunt Alma.’
‘Of course!’ He could not believe it could be so simple. ‘Yeah, that’s just what we ought to do. You hit it on the head, Ellen. You always was the clever one.’
‘Yeah.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘Sometimes.’
They looked at each other as past mistakes and misunderstandings marched through their minds. Unspoken between them came the acknowledgement that their relationship had progressed to a new level. Harry reached out and took her hand. It was roughened with hard work but still small and dainty. He held it to his lips.
From outside came a wail of distress. Harry started. He had been so immersed that he had forgotten all about the two children playing in the yard. It came as a shock to have to take in all over again the reality of their situation. Ellen broke away from him and opened the back door. She scooped up Teddy and settled him on her hip, jiggling him up and down to soothe his crying. The baby nuzzled against her, his tears turning magically into gurgles of pleasure. Harry was aware of a great ache in his heart. It should have been his son that she held.
‘If only,’ he began.
She gave a frown. ‘Don’t say it. You’d best go now. You know what the neighbours are like – if they find out you been in here there’s no knowing what they’ll say.’
‘Yeah.’ She was right again. But it was hard to leave. ‘I want to thank you, Ellen.’
‘You don’t have to. I know you’d do the same for me.’
‘Yeah, yeah I would. I’ll repay you one day.’
‘Just go and sort your family out. That’s payment enough.’
‘I’ll do that.’
He walked slowly back next door, so much lighter in heart that his feet hardly touched the ground.
7
‘YOU GO AND sit with you dad, lovey,’ Martha said. ‘Me and Daisy’ll wash up.’
Ellen did not argue. It was nice to be spoilt for once. Carrying Teddy, she followed her father out to the front, where she set two chairs on the pavement.
The street was emerging from its Sunday-afternoon quiet. Sleeping off hangovers for some, church, chapel or Sunday school for others, and family tea for everyone, were all over and people were coming out of the stuffy houses to find a breath of air. Two little girls immediately swooped on Ellen and begged to be allowed to take Teddy for an airing. She sent them for the pram on the condition that they took Jessica as well. Delighted, the girls agreed and ran off, boasting to their friends that they had a baby to walk.
Mary O’Donaghue as was, trailing babies and heavily pregnant again, passed by on her way to her mother’s. She looked Ellen up and down pointedly.
‘Still not fallen for another?’ she asked. ‘Blimey, what’s the matter with you? You not giving himself his oats? Or ain’t he up to it no more?’
Ellen flushed. It was too near the mark for laughter.
‘At least I don’t shell ’em out by the dozen like what rabbits do,’ she retorted.
Mary sniffed and put her nose in the air. ‘I’m raising little souls for Jesus,’ she said self-righteously, and lumbered on up the street.
‘Riff-raff,’ Tom muttered. ‘Beats me how a respectable woman like Clodagh O’Donaghue managed to get daughters like Theresa and this one – and the young one’s no better, neither. Must break her heart.’
‘I ain’t got a lot of time for Clodagh O’Donaghue,’ Ellen said. ‘She ain’t spoken to none of the Turners since Milly died. She thinks they’re all tainted.’
Tom digested this. ‘I’m with you there. What Milly done was a tragedy – no need to take it out on her family. And talking of family, it’s a shame your Gerry had to go out today. He should be with his wife and kids on a Sunday.’
‘Oh well, you know how it is. If you want to do business over Whitechapel, Sunday’s the best day for it.’
Tom lit a cigarette and drew the smoke down into his lungs. Not looking at his daughter, he asked, ‘Everything going all right for your Gerry?’
‘’Course!’ Ellen said, too sharply. ‘Why shouldn’t they be?’
‘Come on now, you don’t have to take that tone with me. I seen the way young Gerry looks, like he’s carrying the world on his shoulders. And your mum says you gone and got rid of all your knick-knacks at home. Needed the money, did you?’
‘Just to tide us over,’ Ellen said.
She bit her lip. All was not well at home. It was just as her father had said: Gerry did not know which way to turn and they owed money in all directions. What was more, she was sure there was plenty that Gerry had not told her about.
‘Well, you know where to come for help, don’t you? We ain’t got much, you know that, but we’ll always do what we can.’
Tears stood in Ellen’s eyes. She squeezed her father’s knee.
‘Thanks, Dad. I’ll remember.’ And because she could not talk about it, even to him, she changed the subject to the main family topic of the moment. ‘Be funny having Daisy married, won’t it? I still think of her as my little sister.’
‘High time, if you ask me. I told your mum, if she don’t settle down soon, all the decent young men her age’ll be spoken for.’
‘She’ll be all right with Wilf Hodges. He was in my class at school.’
‘Yeah, he’s fine, is her Wilf. He’ll take care of her. Keep her in her place an’ all. Needs a firm hand, does your sister.’
‘I’ll tell you something,’ Ellen said. ‘If Siobhan turns up and ruins her wedding like what she done to Florrie, I’ll get her, that I will. And there’s others’ll help me an’ all.’
‘Yeah – that’s another blooming O’Donaghue. I been friends with Brian for as long as I can remember, and his lads are as straight as they come, but them girls are the sort what give the Irish a bad name. That Siobhan . . .’ Tom blew smoke out of his nose and frowned at it as it dispersed in the sluggish air.
‘What about her?’ Ellen prompted.
Tom sighed. ‘That brother of yours is still mooning over her, you know. Maisie ain’t never going to set the Thames on fire, but she’s a good wife to him. He ought to give up hankering over what he can’t have.’
‘Yes
,’ Ellen agreed, though her conscience troubled her. Will was not the only one in the family to do that.
‘Besides,’ Tom went on, ‘he ought to be taking an interest in the union. Things are beginning to stir, what with trade being good and everything. If we could get more men interested, we could get somewhere. But we need people to talk, to persuade. We need someone on every quay, getting new members. The stevedores been talking about letting in all cargo handlers to their union, and if they do that, the Dockers Union as such’ll just wither away. The stevedores and the lightermen’ll have the port stitched up between them.’
Ellen nodded. She had not heard her father talk like this for a long time. She listened as he expounded his hopes for a federation of the three unions, plus the seamen, to really make the owners and the new Port of London Authority sit up.
‘If we could only speak with one voice, they’d have to put the hourly rate up,’ he said.
‘Will never was that taken with the union,’ Ellen pointed out.
‘He ought to be. It’s important to all of us, if he’d only see it,’ Tom said. ‘And it’s only that Siobhan woman getting in the way.’
Ellen wasn’t so sure it was that straightforward. ‘I suppose I could talk to him, but I don’t think he’d listen,’ she said.
‘No, you’d only set his back up. I tried and it done no good at all. Can’t think why a son of mine should turn out so bone-headed. You’re the one with the brains of the family, Ellen. Pity you weren’t born a boy. You’d’ve been a big help to me.’
‘Can’t help that,’ she said, but she felt flattered. Then, thinking of things she had read in the newspapers that Gerry sometimes brought home, she added, ‘Women do speak at meeting and things. I seen it in the papers. Suffragettes. They’re always having meetings about getting the vote for women.’
‘Vote!’ Tom snorted. ‘Can you see the likes of young Mary O’Donaghue and Will’s Maisie voting? What do they know about it?’
‘They know when they’re not being treated right,’ Ellen retorted. ‘I tell you something, Daisy’d make a good union leader. She’d get ’em all going, she would. She knows what’s fair and what ain’t. You ought to think about getting women into unions, Dad.’
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