Lizzie of Langley Street

by Carol Rivers

  ‘No, course not, Frank. I wish you luck.’

  ‘Thanks. I ’ope I won’t need it.’

  Frank walked out of the shop, his broad shoulders swaying, and Lizzie wondered if she had done right. She enjoyed the business so much. It would have been exciting to learn about a new supplier and whether or not it would benefit them. It would also have been wonderful to see Flo’s face as they gave her a big bunch of flowers, fresh from Ludgate Circus. However, she couldn’t change her mind now.

  She went out to the back room where Bill was stacking potatoes. The small room was like an oven. He had sweat dripping from his lined forehead and he was passing a filthy rag over it, groaning and wheezing.

  ‘Mornin’, Lizzie,’ he mumbled, putting his hands on his hips and stretching.

  ‘Morning, Bill. What’s happened?’ There was veg all over the floor.

  ‘Had an accident with the taters,’ he groaned. ‘I ain’t no ’ercules any more.’

  ‘Let me help.’ Lizzie put on her overall and tied back her hair.

  Bill sighed as he prodded a large, dirty potato with the tip of his boot. ‘Me blooming back is giving me gyp.’

  ‘This won’t take a moment. You make yourself a cuppa,’ she told him, reaching for the brush and pan and wondering if Frank’s prediction wasn’t nearer to coming true than any of them had supposed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was early in September when Frank Flowers gave himself the once over in the chipped shop mirror. He was preparing to meet Vinnie Allen. The knocked-off suit with the wide lapels was just the right fit. A shade large on the shoulders, but he liked that. The blue serge made him look taller, too.

  ‘And where do you think you’re off to again?’ demanded Bill Flowers as he stood in the doorway of the storeroom in his grimy apron, tatty cloth cap and scruffy boots. ‘You’re supposed to be down the market with the barra.’

  Frank hadn’t realized his father was there.

  ‘The barra ain’t lucrative, old man. I ain’t wasting me time on it no more.’ Frank continued to inspect himself in the mirror above the till.

  ‘You must be jokin’. That barra’s a little goldmine.’

  ‘No it ain’t. It’s just a lot of hard work for a pittance.’

  ‘At this rate, you ain’t ever going to die of overwork are you?’ scoffed Bill Flowers as he shuffled towards his son.

  ‘No, and I don’t intend to neither.’ Frank tugged lightly at his tie. It was navy blue, discreet yet jaunty. He reckoned the plain dark suit and white shirt was spot on. He and Vinnie had a nice little deal going on suits. Through their contact up West they made a tidy little profit.

  ‘Where you goin’, all dressed up like that? You look a real dandy.’

  Frank combed back his hair carefully. ‘Why don’t you shut yer trap and give us all a rest.’

  ‘Who’s gonna ’elp me in the shop?’ the old man demanded. ‘Lizzie ain’t in today.’

  Frank stopped combing his hair. ‘No, and don’t you know it. Look at this place. It’s a bloomin’ tip.’

  ‘It’s a storeroom. It ain’t supposed to be tidy.’

  ‘And it ain’t supposed to be waist deep in rotting veg, either.’

  ‘Why don’t you clean it up yerself, then? I got a bad back and you do bugger all.’

  Frank told himself he wasn’t going to get into a row this morning. ‘I got more important matters to see to. It’s your mess. You clean up. I’m off’

  Bill Flowers blew his dripping nose loudly, stuffing the rag into the sleeve of his cardigan. ‘Well you ain’t takin’ my money with you and that’s a fact.’

  ‘I’ll take what’s owing to me, you stingy old sod,’ Frank muttered contemptuously. ‘Look at you. No wonder we’ve been losing trade all these years. Who wants their fruit and veg served up by a flea-ridden old coster?’

  The old man narrowed his eyes. ‘I put clothes on yer back and fed you and if it wasn’t for me you’d have nothing. They’d have taken you away and put you in an orphanage if I hadn’t stopped ’em.’

  ‘Yeah, well maybe I’d have done better if they had,’ Frank growled as he turned and walked over to the till.

  Bill Flowers hurried after him. ‘You keep away from that till!’

  Frank’s eyes darkened. ‘Stay out of me way or—’

  ‘Or what?’ sneered the old man. ‘I warn you. I’ll blow the whistle if you lay a finger on me. I know all about them scams you pull.’

  ‘You do that and you’ll be the first to suffer,’ Frank snarled. ‘If I go down, you’ll go with me, old man. I’ll make sure of that.’

  ‘I ain’t done nothin’ wrong!’

  In one swift movement Frank reached his father and thrust him against the wall. The old man let out a startled yelp as a fist tightened round his throat. ‘If you know what’s good for you,’ hissed Frank through his teeth, ‘you won’t breathe a word about what you think you know. And if ever the coppers come round when I’m not here, you just think of a good story to send them on their way. After all,’ Frank continued as he increased the pressure round his father’s scrawny neck, ‘you’d have trouble explaining youself to the Old Bill if they found half a bloody gents outfitters down in the airey, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Y . . . you threatenin’ me?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m doing.’ Frank pushed his face up to his father’s. ‘Savvy?’

  Bill Flowers spluttered, gasping for breath. ‘I. . . I’ll bet you ain’t told her about that letter yet, neither!’

  Frank stared into the watery old eyes that were bulging out of their sockets. He wasn’t going to let the old devil see how much that last remark troubled him. Slowly he released his grasp. ‘What letter?’ he asked evenly.

  ‘The one our Danny sent her from Australia,’ came the spluttered reply. ‘The one her sister brought round here.’

  ‘How do you know about that?’ Frank curbed the urge to throw the old man across the room.

  ‘I . . . I ’eard her – that Babs. She come in the shop, didn’t she, the silly cow. Pinchin’ someone else’s letters for you, she is. That’s thievin’ in my book.’

  ‘So you was listening, were you, you nosy old devil?’ Frank laughed, despite his anger. Carefully he shrugged his jacket back into place. ‘Well, let’s you and me get one thing clear. It’s in your interest that the girl stays here at the shop. Without her, you and the shop would be in a right state. She’s brought in the custom and worked like a bloody slave to clean this place up. If you open your big mouth, it’s you who’ll lose out, not me.’ Frank smiled nastily as he walked to the cash register and pressed one of the keys. The drawer sprung open. He grabbed at a handful of notes and pushed them into his breast pocket.

  ‘You’re me own son,’ Bill Flowers wheezed as he leaned against the wall, ‘but by God, you’re a bastard.’

  Frank laughed again as he walked slowly to the storeroom door. ‘I’m glad we had our little talk. Clears the air a bit. Cheerio, Dad.’

  Once out in the fresh September breeze, Frank took a deep, satisfied breath, inhaling the oxygen deep into his lungs. He walked along Ebondale Street with a spring in his step. What his father had said about Danny’s letters had caught him off guard. It was a bit of bad luck, the old bugger overhearing Babs when she’d brought the letter into the shop. She was supposed to go to Ferreter’s place at Poplar. Still, he was on to a winner there. That letter had given him the break he needed. He’d written to Danny himself and made certain that what he said would stop him from ever writing again. Mind, he’d told Babs to watch for more letters, just in case. He’d have to keep Babs happy, the flighty little piece. She really fancied her chances with him and he saw no harm in stringing her along.

  Frank whistled a little tune, pleased with himself. The old man had come to depend on Lizzie. They all had. She was a nice little earner. She was bright, quick and she wasn’t bad looking. Business had never been better.

  Frank laughed to himself. Life was looking
up. Things, at last, were going his way.

  A screech of brakes brought the open top bus to a halt. They stepped down on to the pavement and Lizzie paused, turning to stare at the vehicle.

  ‘I’ve never been on one of them open top buses before. It was wonderful,’ she told Frank.

  They watched the bus move off, staring at the large number nine displayed next to its stated route: Kensington Road, Piccadilly, the Strand and Charing Cross. Now they were at Ludgate Hill and the magnificent dome of Saint Paul’s filled the skyline. A late-September haze softened the purple-blue crown of the most famous church in London.

  ‘You could see everything from up there,’ Lizzie gasped as the bus disappeared. ‘All those shop windows and the people dressed up so nicely . . .’

  ‘That’s the city for you, gel. ’Specially up this way. This is where it’s all happening.’

  ‘I’ve never seen so many motor cars.’

  ‘As I said,’ Frank told her with a shrug, ‘we gotta keep up with the times.’

  Lizzie nodded thoughtfully. She had finally agreed to meet Mr Cole, the fruit and veg supplier Frank had been talking about for weeks. Perhaps Frank was right and the horse and cart were outdated. She knew Bill was dead set against any change, but she had slowly come round to Frank’s way of thinking. Not that it was up to her to give an opinion, but she was flattered that Frank wanted it.

  Lizzie stared at a big motor car full of top hats. ‘I wonder if it’s anyone famous,’ she gasped, her eyes riveted as it passed by.

  ‘Look, there’s the king.’ Frank pointed to the passenger in the rear seat, a well-dressed man with a small beard.

  ‘Oh, now you’re having me on.’

  ‘Well, I can’t help it, can I?’ Laughing, Frank took her arm. ‘Come on, let’s eat.’

  ‘Won’t it cost a lot up here?’

  ‘This is a business meeting. I told you.’

  She looked doubtfully at him. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Course.’ They strolled down Fleet Street and turned off at Shoe Lane. Frank was easy company and he made her laugh. He told her a lot about London. About how on Sundays, if she wanted to see anyone famous, she should go to Hyde Park. He told her it was full of carriages and horse riders, and that just watching them parade up and down could fill up a whole day.

  ‘See that little place with the bow windows?’ Frank said suddenly. ‘That’s where we’re headed.’

  ‘It looks ever so posh, Frank. I don’t feel dressed up enough.’

  ‘You’re the prettiest girl I’ve seen all day,’ he told her quietly. ‘Mr Cole will be very impressed.’

  What was this Mr Cole like, she wondered? She was very nervous. What would she say? What questions should she ask? Frank had told her he would do most of the talking, but when she had a question she should speak up and ask it.

  It was quieter down this road. There were no buses and only a few motor cars. Everyone’s clothes looked very expensive and rather heavy. The suits with long jackets looked elegant and smart. Would she look out of place in her green summer frock? Frank didn’t seem to notice. And now she was too excited to worry about what she was wearing.

  The sign above the shop with the bow window said ‘Batsford’s Fine Food Restaurant’.

  ‘It’s not like your Savoy,’ apologized Frank as he pushed open the door and the bell tinkled. ‘But the food is good.’

  All the couples at the tables looked well dressed. The young men wore suits and the women had fashionable hairstyles. There was a pleasant haze of smoke in the room and the aroma of cooking.

  ‘Well?’ whispered Frank as they stood there. ‘What’s the verdict?’

  She could feel herself blushing. ‘It’s lovely, Frank. I just ain’t been in a place like this before.’

  ‘No one would guess it. I’ll bet all the girls are envious of you.’ She looked up at him. He was staring straight into her eyes. ‘You look beautiful.’

  ‘Hello, Mr Flowers,’ a voice said, and Lizzie jumped.

  ‘Hello, Rose. Is our table free?’

  The waitress nodded. ‘Just give me a minute to clear it.’

  Before Lizzie could ask anything, Rose was leading them to a corner table. Covered in a starched white cloth, it looked very impressive.

  Frank pulled out a chair. Lizzie sat down and he sat next to her.

  ‘When will Mr Cole be here?’ she whispered.

  Frank looked towards the door. ‘We’ll give him ten minutes before we order.’ He passed her the menu. ‘Let’s choose what we’re gonna have.’

  She read aloud, ‘Beef soup, sausages, mash and onions, steak and onion pie, baked potatoes, fish and chips, roast lamb—’

  Frank grinned. ‘You reckon you can eat all that lot in one go?’

  She giggled. ‘I’ll have what you have.’

  ‘That’s me girl,’ he laughed. ‘‘We’ll order the biggest lamb chops they’ve got.’

  ‘Lamb!’ She had only eaten scrag-end since the war.

  ‘Then we’ll have apple pie and custard that melts on your tongue.’

  ‘I couldn’t eat afters as well.’

  ‘You don’t know till you try.’

  Lizzie felt very special, sitting in a restaurant and being part of everything that was going on. She couldn’t help liking the feeling. Frank’s blue eyes met hers and she blushed.

  ‘What about Mr Cole?’ she asked quickly.

  Frank shrugged. ‘We’ll give our order. They won’t wait all day.’

  ‘Your usual, Mr Flowers?’ asked the waitress with a smile.

  ‘Yeah, thank you, Rose. And the same for the young lady. Oh, and two lemonades please. And, er . . . we’re expecting someone only he ain’t shown up yet.’

  Rose gave Lizzie a quick glance. ‘I’ll put your orders through anyway.’

  ‘She’s very pretty.’ Lizzie wondered if Rose was one of the conquests that Reg Barnes had alluded to at the Christmas party when he had called Frank a Casanova?

  ‘Is she? Can’t say as I’d noticed.’

  The two tall glasses of lemonade arrived, a thin slice of lemon floating on the fizzy tops. ‘To us!’ Frank lifted his glass and chinked it against hers.

  Rose brought their meals. Succulent lamb chops with gravy running over them, crisp brown baked potatoes and mint sauce served in a little glass dish with a silver spoon. Frank served her a portion. Her knife slipped through the tender meat like butter; she had never tasted anything so delicious. In no time at all she had eaten every scrap.

  Frank glanced at her plate. ‘Pretty good for someone with a small appetite.’

  She giggled. ‘I can’t believe I’ve eaten all that.’

  ‘And you ain’t finished yet.’ Frank nodded to the puddings that Rose brought to the table. The pie and custard disappeared as quickly as the chops. After their empty dishes were removed, Lizzie gasped. ‘I forgot. Mr Cole ain’t turned up!’

  ‘No, he ain’t, has he?’ Frank frowned. ‘All I can say is, I’m sorry I dragged you up here. It’s a bit embarrassing, actually.’

  ‘If Mr Cole can’t be bothered to turn up on time for an appointment like this,’ she said as they stared at the door, ‘I wouldn’t like to depend on his delivery service.’

  Frank looked at her for a long while before replying. Arching one eyebrow he nodded slowly. ‘You got a point there, gel. You ain’t even met the bloke and you’ve sussed him out already.’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t have said that.’ Lizzie wished she’d kept quiet.

  ‘Yes you should,’ Frank said at once. ‘He’s stood us up, ain’t he?’ Frank glanced at her quickly. ‘That’s not to say I ain’t enjoyed every minute of yer company.’

  Lizzie blushed. They were silent for a moment, then Frank got up and went to the till to pay. When he came back, he pulled out her chair and she stood up.

  ‘Sorry you come for nothin’,’ he said gruffly.

  They stood outside on the pavement and Frank rubbed his chin. ‘Tell you what, let’s take a w
alk back up to Saint Paul’s – should see a few nice carriages on a day like this. Then we can catch a bus from Cannon Street to the convalescent home. Take Flo that big bunch of flowers.’

  ‘Well . . . I don’t know . . .’

  ‘A bit of exercise to walk off our dinner won’t go amiss.’

  She didn’t argue. She wanted to see Flo. Going across the city now would mean she wouldn’t have to get a bus later. They turned the corner of Shoe Lane and Frank pointed up at Saint Paul’s. ‘Looks like a picture postcard, don’t it? A real work of art.’

  Lizzie nodded, enthralled. ‘Miss Evans taught us there’s six hundred steps to the Whispering Gallery.’ She laughed. ‘After them lamb chops I dunno if I’d even get up the first few.’

  ‘Blimey, you wouldn’t catch me trying it,’ Frank chuckled. ‘Come on, let’s get them flowers for Flo.’

  She chose chrysanthemums, lilies and sweet Williams from a stall on Cannon Street. Frank insisted on paying for them.

  ‘This is the new K type,’ Frank told her as they jumped on the bus and sat down. ‘The driver sits behind that shield over the engine. Gives him a bit of protection. Pretty smart contraptions ain’t they?’

  Lizzie felt as though she was on holiday, though as she’d never had one she could only guess at what that felt like. She gazed out at the bustling streets. ‘Oh, Frank, I love London. I reckon we live in the best city in the world.’

  ‘It would take something to beat it,’ Frank agreed, sliding his arm along the back of the seat. ‘I wouldn’t give you a shilling for the likes of Sydney.’

  For a moment Lizzie continued to look out of the window, then slowly she turned to stare at him. ‘Sydney? What made you say Sydney?’

  Frank blinked his fair lashes. ‘Did I say Sydney?’

  ‘Yes . . . you did. Have you heard from Danny?’ Her heart started to beat very fast.

  ‘No, course not. Sydney just tripped off me tongue. Dunno what I said that for.’ Frank drew his arm from the back of the seat and loosened his tie. ‘I said it ’cos it was the first place I thought of, seeing as how our Danny’s there, or so we hope.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose me little brother’s on me mind, not hearing from him. Blimey, gel, don’t you think I’d tell you if I’d heard? In fact, I’d bet me last bob that it would be you he’d write to first, not me or the old man. After all, you are his girl, aren’t you?’