by June Tate
‘Like hell! You don’t fool me for a moment, but don’t bother calling again; it would be a waste of time!’
He just smiled at her, then he left.
While Jessie was going through her rough patch in life, young Daisy was making her pocket money sewing for Doris and Maggie, the two prostitutes. Although she’d been a bit wary of taking them on as clients, to her great surprise she found them likeable and amusing, and as they got to know her, they would sometimes gossip about their way of life and their clients. It was a different world to the one Daisy inhabited and it did intrigue her, but they had embarrassed her more than once with their chatter.
‘How can you take a stranger to your bed?’ she once asked.
‘You get used to it,’ Doris told her. ‘It wasn’t easy to begin with, but in time it’s just another punter. You get on with it and takes their money.’ She laughed. ‘While they’re humping and grunting, I’m doing my shopping list, mentally. With some, it’s over in five minutes. Money for old rope, really!’
‘Do you ever get someone you fancy?’ she asked shyly, but curious to understand.
Maggie joined the conversation. ‘I had a sailor the other night who was gorgeous. He was just missing his wife and having his oats. Now he did know his way around a woman’s body. I had a lovely time. He actually made me come!’
Daisy felt her cheeks redden and changed the conversation.
As she let the girls out after their fitting, Iris Jones and Emily Coates were standing by their door, having a chat and a cigarette. They looked at the girls with disdain.
Doris saw the look. ‘Got your eyeful, have you? Bet it was many a year since you two had a tumble,’ and they walked away laughing.
Daisy smothered a smile and walked back indoors. Ever since Jessie had spoken to them, the two hadn’t said a word to her, except to glare whenever they saw her, but she was still very careful not to get into conversation with them, knowing how unpleasant it would be, and still not trusting them to keep their mouths shut when they saw her husband.
Thanks to Conor’s intervention, Bill was still working in a gang, but the gang leader had been changed and the new one was demanding a cut of the men’s wages if they wanted to stay working, which didn’t please them. They dared not argue for fear of being kicked off the gang, but it made for bad feelings as they worked, and every night when Bill came home, his indignation grew.
‘He’s a bloody crook!’ he exclaimed. ‘The man earns his own wage and now has some of ours too. It just isn’t right.’
‘Calm down, love,’ said Daisy. ‘At least you’ve got more regular work; you don’t have to line up every morning any more.’
‘It’s the only thing that keeps us from complaining and that bugger knows it. He struts about like a cockerel. It makes me sick!’
‘We all have to put up with some things in life, Bill; you just have to get on with it.’
He looked surprised at her outburst. Daisy had changed during the past months. It was ever since she started earning her own money. She had grown in confidence, whereas in the past she would agree with everything he said. Now, if she didn’t agree with him, she said so. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not – however, here, she was right. After so long worrying about getting work, he knew he’d have to put up with the change – like it or not.
It was now almost Christmas and Conor was allowed home at last. His ribs and the fracture to his pelvis had healed, but the knee on his broken leg was giving him trouble and he was still having to walk using crutches so as not to put any weight on it. It would take time, he was told, and he’d been given exercises to do before returning to the outpatients’ ward of the hospital.
He was not a patient man, and now he was at home time seemed to hang. In the hospital it was always busy, but at home Jessie was working and he felt lost. One day he hobbled down to the docks to see his old mates.
By the time he got to the dock gates he was feeling exhausted, so he stopped in at the police hut on the gate and sat inside talking to the constable on duty that he knew.
‘How’s it going then, Conor, my old mate?’
‘Too bloody slow. I can’t wait to be well enough to get back to work.’
The man frowned. ‘After such an accident, do you think that’s a possibility?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come on, Conor, you know how physical your job is. You need to be strong and really fit to do it. Will you still be able, is all?’
Frowning, he said, ‘I’ll just have to wait and see, I suppose.’ Standing up, he said, ‘I’ll let you get on. Good to see you again.’
‘You too, Conor, take care now.’
The cafe wasn’t far away and Conor carefully made his way there. At least he would see Jessie and there would be people to talk to.
He was greeted warmly by many of the customers who knew him and, of course, Jessie made a fuss of him, giving him something to eat while he waited.
‘Conor doesn’t look too bad, considering,’ Nancy said.
‘No, he’s recovering, but it’s slow and he doesn’t know how to fill his time. You know what men are like.’
Conor sat enjoying his food and the chat from the various customers. One or two came over to his table and sat for a moment. But they all asked the same question.
‘Will you be able to take up your old job when you’re well?’
It was a thought that terrified him. His upper-body strength was fine, but it was his leg that was his main concern. He needed to be nimble in the depth of a ship’s hold and he wasn’t at all sure if he would be able to be so, and the waiting to find out was wearing him down. He didn’t say anything to Jessie, but no doubt she, too, was worried about his future. Thank God she had the cafe or they really would be in Queer Street.
He sat drinking his tea and looked around. He was so proud of his wife. The cafe had been smartened up, the food was delicious and business was good, but he found it difficult to accept that Jessie was the main breadwinner now and not him. He’d worked hard to earn his place as a stevedore. He was good at his job. The bosses trusted him as did the men who worked with him. But what of the future if he was unable to bring in the money when he recovered?
When Jessie had finished for the day, she suggested now that Conor had rested perhaps a slow walk along to the pier might be nice. It would give them a chance to sit quietly and take in the sea air, especially as they had hardly been out together since his return home, and they could catch a tram ride back.
They were well wrapped up against the cold and sat in a shelter out of the wind. She snuggled up to him to keep warm.
‘This reminds me of when we were courting,’ she said. ‘Remember how we would come along and play the machines, then have an ice cream in the summer?’
He put his arm around her. ‘That I do. I thought I was the luckiest man alive to have such a beauty by my side.’
‘So you were! There was many a man who had asked me out and I’d turned down.’
He gazed at her fondly. ‘Any regrets, Jessie?’
She looked into the face of the man she loved and caught the uncertain tone in his voice. It broke her heart. Conor, who ever since she’d known him had been certain of everything. She’d so admired his strength of character, it had been one of the things that had drawn her to him, and now, for the first time, he was vulnerable and it showed.
Leaning forward, she kissed him. ‘Not for a second! Now I think we should make our way home. Best get the next tram or we’ll both catch our death of cold.’
She helped him to his feet, handed him his crutches and they set off.
It was the week before Christmas and in Southampton, all the windows of the shops were suitably decorated. Jessie had put up decorations in the cafe and had a typical Christmas menu on offer as one of her two choices, knowing that some of her customers wouldn’t be having this over the holiday.
There was turkey with all the trimmings, roast potatoes and vegetables, and her home-made
Christmas puddings, which she’d been making the previous month, served with custard. With each cup of tea, a free mince pie. This made her even more popular with her customers.
One of her favourites came to pay his bill. ‘Oh, Jessie love, that was a wonderful spread. Don’t know when I last had turkey at Christmas.’
She knew that the man worked hard in one of the local warehouses and that he had three small children. She was aware that he struggled to make his wages stretch to feed and clothe his family. He only came into the cafe once a week, as he couldn’t afford to do so more frequently.
‘You come in here and see me on Christmas Eve,’ she told him. ‘I’ll have a few things to help your wife over Christmas, but not a word, alright?’
For a moment he was overcome. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ he began.
She put a finger to her mouth. ‘Shh, you say nothing, now off you go.’
It was Christmas Eve, and after she and Nancy had cleaned and cleared the cafe, Jessie had given her customer a parcel of food for his family and was now making her way home through crowded streets. People were bustling about doing their last-minute shopping. Walking through Canal Walk, she looked at the butcher’s shop with its turkeys and chickens hanging from hooks in the windows. Christmas trees leant against the wall outside the greengrocers. Bundles of holly and mistletoe lay beside them and cut logs in sacks for the fire, to save on the cost of coal. The pawnshop was busy where those who were short of money had taken various goods in for cash, yet there was an air of festivity despite all this. The human spirit seemed to rise above its problems at such a time.
She had invited Daisy and Bill to join them on Christmas Day, but they had all decided after dinner tonight to go across the road together to the Builders Arms for a drink, knowing the pianist would be playing, which meant a good old sing-song was on the cards.
The place was fairly packed, but folk made room for them to sit so Conor could be comfortable. Paper decorations hung from the ceiling, colourful baubles rested between the bottles on the shelves behind the bar, the landlord was wearing a smart shirt and bow tie for the occasion and the pianist was playing all the favourite songs of the day. One of the locals stood by the piano and started singing. ‘I’m Burlington Bertie’, to great applause, then ‘Knees Up Mother Brown’ was sung lustily by all. But when last orders were called, the pianist started to play ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ and the night was finished on a festive note.
Folk poured out of the pub onto the street, still singing, many of them somewhat unsteady on their feet and fuelled by too much beer. None more so than Iris Jones, who staggered out of the snug bar, singing at the top of her voice, words slurred beyond recognition, arms waving as she staggered from side to side. She suddenly saw Jessie and her neighbours, and headed towards them.
‘Well if it ain’t bloody Lady Jessie McGonigall, who thinks she’s a cut above everybody!’
‘Shut your mouth, Iris, you’re drunk.’
‘S’right I am, I’m celebrating Christmas.’ She gazed blearily at Daisy, then at Bill. ‘Does he know yet?’
‘Know what?’ asked Bill.
‘That’s enough, Iris!’ Jessie tried to shut her up, but Iris was in her own drunken haze.
‘Your missus sews clothes for a couple of the local brasses, but you mustn’t know!’ She put a finger alongside her nose. ‘Shh, don’t say I told you.’ With that, she headed for her front door, opened it and fell in.
Bill turned to his wife. ‘Is she telling the truth?’
She had no choice but to answer, ‘Yes, they are my customers.’
‘You have invited two brasses into our home?’ He was livid.
Jessie went to say something, but Conor frowned at her and shook his head.
‘We’ll see you both tomorrow about noon. Night, now,’ and he ushered Jessie away.
‘This isn’t your business, darlin’, you can’t interfere. Leave them to sort it.’
But as they opened their front door and walked inside, they could hear raised voices from their neighbours.
‘Oh dear, that’s ruined Christmas for them, I’m afraid,’ Jessie remarked.
Chapter Seven
Closing his front door behind him, Bill turned to his wife. ‘You have some explaining to do!’
‘Alright, I will. I have two very good customers and, yes, they are a couple of prostitutes, but their money is as good as anyone else’s!’ She stood defiantly before him and added, ‘They are decent women, Bill, honestly.’
‘Decent? How can you say that when you know how they earn their money? No decent woman would sell her body.’
‘Who are you to judge? I certainly don’t, and when they come here they are just two ladies wanting work done for which they pay me and for which I’m grateful.’
‘Ladies? Well, I won’t have them in my house, so you tell them not to call again. They’re not welcome!’
Daisy put her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘I’ll do no such thing! This is my chance to use my skills and I’m enjoying it, besides, the money is useful. If you were to lose your job, we would still have money coming in. Let’s face it, your new gangmaster is a crook, you said so yourself. Who knows what he’ll end up doing?’
This silenced Bill, because he’d been thinking the same thing of late. He still remembered the mornings standing in line for the call-on and not being chosen, the days they’d not had much to eat, wondering how to pay the rent. His small stash of money in the jam jar wouldn’t last for ever if he lost his job.
‘Well, I’m not happy about it, Daisy.’
Sensing the change in his attitude, her tone softened. ‘I know, and I respect your feelings, but we have to earn what we can for the bad times. You know as well as I do that things change.’ She put her arms around him. ‘They are just two women who are doing the same thing, trying to survive, but in a different way, that’s all.’
He looked concerned. ‘I just don’t want anyone to think this is a knocking shop, that’s all.’
‘Bill Brown! How could you say such a thing? As if anyone who knows us would even consider that.’
He just shrugged.
‘Come on, love, I’m tired. Let’s go to bed,’ she said. ‘It’s Christmas Day tomorrow and we’re going next door for our dinner, and you know Jessie, she’s a marvellous cook, I’m really looking forward to it.’
He rose to his feet and, taking her hand, led her up the stairs. ‘Can I have my Christmas present tonight?’
With a chuckle, she said, ‘Only if you’ve been a good boy, that’s what Father Christmas says.’
‘I’m not sleeping with bloody Father Christmas!’
‘No, you’re not.’ She laughed. ‘That wouldn’t be any fun at all.’
Jessie had been up early preparing the food, putting a small turkey in the oven. Over breakfast, she and Conor exchanged gifts. She took his gift to her with childish excitement. Tearing off the wrapping and letting out a cry of delight at the beautiful shawl inside. She swished it round her shoulders, the warm autumn colours matching her Titian hair.
She stood up and, looking in the mirror at her reflection, said, ‘Oh, thank you, darlin’. It’s lovely.’
He beamed at her. To see his wife happy was his greatest joy.
She handed him a parcel from beneath the Christmas tree in the corner. ‘This is for you.’
He removed the wrapping to find a warm, dark-grey jumper. ‘Just the thing for the cold weather, thank you,’ he said. ‘I love it,’ and he kissed her.
‘I wonder how those two next door are feeling this morning after last night’s revelations? Daisy knew Bill would go mad if he knew about her customers being prostitutes. Would you mind if it was me in that situation?’
He thought for a moment. ‘No, I don’t think so. After all, she’s just trying to earn extra money. I’ve seen the girls working in Canal Walk, most of them seem alright. They’re trying to earn a living, like everyone else. Let’s face it; it’s a bloody hard w
ay to earn a crust.’
‘I’m not at all sure Bill sees it that way. Well, we’ll soon find out. Now come on, we need to clear away and get dressed. There’s lots to do before they arrive.’
When Daisy and her husband knocked on Jessie’s door later that day, she ushered them in. She looked at Daisy and raised her eyebrows in a question. The girl looked back at her, winked, smiled and said, ‘Merry Christmas!’
Jessie let out a sigh of relief. Christmas Day was going to be alright, after all.
The men drank beer and the girls had sherry from a half-bottle Jessie had purchased, while the turkey cooked. Then they went into the kitchen after a while to see to the roast potatoes and the vegetables.
‘So … how did you get round him?’ asked Jessie.
‘I did what you told me: stood up for myself instead of being a doormat! Eventually, he came round to my way of thinking.’ She beamed at her friend. ‘It worked, to my surprise.’
‘Well done, you. I could have killed that Iris, letting the cat out of the bag like that.’ She started laughing. ‘I bet she’s got one hell of a hangover this morning.’
‘Serves the old bitch right! She could have caused me a load of trouble.’
Jessie added more water to the pot with the Christmas pudding steaming away and they returned to the living room.
It was late that night when they called it a day. Everyone was full up from the feast Jessie had prepared and they had all had their fair share of alcohol. Their spirits were high as they gathered outside. Jessie glanced along the street at Iris’s front door and saw it was partially open. She walked along and, pushing it wider, called out.
‘Iris. Iris, are you there?’ There was no answer. Jessie stepped inside and put on the light. The fire was out and Iris was asleep in the chair beside it. She walked over to her to waken her. ‘Iris, wake up, let’s get you to bed.’ There was no response. She went to take her hand; the woman’s arm was limp. Jessie felt her face. It was cool.