‘The one yer’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes – ever since yer got in from work, in fact.’ Evie jerked her head towards the letter that had been left carelessly on the kitchen table, half in, half out of its envelope.
Babs concentrated on brushing an imaginary piece of fluff from the sleeve of her dress. ‘Why should I care about a letter what’s addressed to you?’
Evie’s smile became broader. ‘I see, so yer’ve noticed it’s addressed to me, have yer?’
Babs raked her fingers through her hair. ‘I just guessed, that’s all.’
‘What, like yer guessed about every other letter he’s sent me these past few months?’
‘Look, Eve, it’s nothing to do with me if Harry wants to write to yer.’
‘Aw, that’s interesting, so yer know who it’s from as well. Yer a really good guesser, ain’t yer?’
‘Shut up, can’t yer? Yer’ve always got a bloody answer, you.’ Babs pushed herself away from the sink and strode angrily across to the kitchen door.
‘Sausages,’ Evie said.
Babs stopped in the doorway and sighed. ‘What you on about now?’
‘Sausages. It’s what we’re having for tea. They won’t be a minute.’
‘I know your minutes,’ Babs said coldly. ‘Call me when they’re ready. I’m going up to see Betty.’
Nearly half an hour later Babs heard her name being hollered up the stairway from the passage below.
‘Babs!’ Evie shouted again. ‘Yer tea’s on the table. Now.’
Babs stepped out onto the landing. She closed the bedroom door gently behind her. ‘Ssshhh. Keep it down, can’t yer, yer’ll wake Betty.’
In the kitchen, Evie had indeed put the tea on the table. On the bare wooden surface stood two plates, each boasting two almost incinerated sausages, a limp pile of anaemic looking chips and a slice of badly cut, dry, grey bread.
‘This looks smashing,’ said Babs sarcastically. ‘Now, which one’s mine?’ She pulled out a chair from under the table. ‘This one, I hope,’ she said, pointing to one of the equally horrible looking meals.
Evie rolled her eyes, tutted loudly and sat down next to her sister. ‘What d’yer bloody expect, Babs, tea at the Ritz? There is a war on, yer know.’
‘Well, bugger me, and I hadn’t even noticed. Good job yer told me.’
‘Salt?’ Evie slammed the cellar down hard on the table, making Flash run for cover into the passage.
‘No thanks. Even the dog’s turned her nose up,’ said Babs, disgustedly pushing the plate away from her.
‘I dunno what yer complaining about.’ Evie took a bite of sausage and promptly screwed up her face at the revolting taste. ‘Yeughhh!’ She rubbed the back of her hand across her lips. ‘I can’t eat that muck.’ She, too, shoved her plate away from her. ‘Fancy coming out tonight?’
‘Where yer going?’
‘Up West.’
‘How about Betty?’
‘Dad’ll be in about eight. He can mind her.’
Babs got up from the table. ‘Flash,’ she called, slapping her thigh with her hand. ‘Here, girl.’
The dog trotted into the kitchen, her tongue lolling from the side of her mouth.
Babs scraped all the food onto one plate and, with a click of her tongue to encourage Flash to follow, opened the back door and tipped the lot into the yard.
Flash sniffed and circled it suspiciously, then overcoming her fastidiousness, guzzled the lot.
‘I’d like to see yer run round a track with that lot inside yer,’ said Babs, closing the back door. Then she put the plates in the sink and sat back down at the table. ‘So, what is it yer doing tonight? I wouldn’t mind going to a dance or something.’
‘We ain’t going to a dance, we’re going on a pub crawl. Me and this girl Gina who I met the other night. She knows all the best places where all the GIs go.’
Babs winced and shook her head. ‘GIs? No thanks.’
‘Please yerself but yer don’t know what yer missing.’
‘And you don’t know what yer getting yerself into.’
Evie laughed disparagingly. ‘You’re such a moaner, Babs. Every time I’ve even mentioned Americans, you’ve gone potty. Go on, come with us, yer’ll have a really good time, I promise. And yer’ll love Gina, she’ll really make yer laugh. Does anything for a lark, that one.’
‘Well, that should suit you right down to the ground, shouldn’t it – anything for a lark.’
Evie ignored her. ‘And the GIs, they’re a scream and all.’ She smiled. ‘They make yer die, honestly, Babs. Like, you ought to hear ’em complain about the damp. I said to this feller the other night, I said, this is flaming summer, mate, if you wanna see damp then you ought to be here in February! He couldn’t get over it. And then they go on about how they can’t get a glass of cold milk, and they hate the beer. And as for Brussels sprouts, well … See, they’re missing the good life what they have over there in America, so they need someone who can show ’em the ropes a bit. But, best of all, they miss having a bit of company.’ Evie winked saucily. ‘And that is where me and Gina – and you if yer’ve got any sense – come into the picture. I’ll bet you that if yer come out with us tonight, yer’ll have the best time yer’ve ever had in your life.’
‘Will you hark at yerself, Eve. Tell me what’s so bloody special about Americans.’
‘For a start, yer’ve never seen so much money being flashed about.’
‘Yer used to say that about Albie Denham.’
‘Don’t talk about him, if yer don’t mind, Babs.’ Evie waved her hand dismissively. ‘And yer know how they’re saying that they’re overpaid, over-sexed and over here? Well, I say, flipping good job! I mean it, you ought to meet some of ’em, Babs. Them uniforms make ’em look like real dreamboats. All the girls are saying it. Yer can give me a doughboy rather than a Tommy any day.’
‘Yeah and the clap and more unwanted babies and all, I suppose.’
Evie jumped up from her seat and jabbed her finger at Babs’s face. ‘Oi, you. Yer might be me sister but I ain’t having that, not from no one.’
Babs stood up as well. She moved very close to her sister. ‘D’you know what I heard someone say about you the other day, Evie?’ she asked in a low, controlled voice.
‘No. What? What did they say?’
‘They said have you heard about that Evie, she’s wearing them new utility drawers – one yank and they’re down.’
Evie pressed her lips tightly together, then she took a long, deep breath. ‘Wouldn’t have been that Ginny, I suppose? That loud-mouthed bitch at Styleways?’
Babs shrugged. ‘Does it matter who said it?’
‘Well, whoever it was, I hope you told their sodding fortune for ’em.’ She stared at Babs, her expression hard as nails. ‘Well, did yer?’
‘D’yer need to ask?’ Babs dropped down onto her chair. ‘Course I did. Yer know I wouldn’t let anyone get away with that. And if yer must know, it was Ginny and I would have given her a good hiding and all if Lou hadn’t have pulled me off her.’ She rubbed her hand over her eyes. ‘But whoever says it, it still hurts to hear that sort of thing being said about yer own sister.’
Evie sat down as well. ‘So I suppose this means yer don’t fancy coming out tonight.’
‘Nothing gets past you, does it, Evie?’
‘Shut up, Babs.’
They sat there for a moment, both lost in their thoughts.
‘So, are you writing to him?’ Babs asked eventually.
‘Who? President Roosevelt to ask him to send over some more GIs so’s I don’t run out of fellers?’
‘Why don’t you stop it, Eve, being clever all the time? Everything ain’t a joke.’ Babs picked up the letter from the table and waved it in Evie’s face. ‘You know who I mean. Harry.’
Evie went over to the mantelpiece to fetch her cigarettes. ‘What would I wanna be bothered writing to him for?’ She lit her cigarette and sat down again.
‘Because he writes to you. Really kind, friendly, lovely letters and he deserves a reply. Even if it’s to tell him to get lost.’
‘I knew you’d been reading ’em! Get ’em out of the bin, did yer?’
‘Shut up.’ Babs hesitated. ‘I think you’re really cruel.’
Evie picked a piece of loose tobacco from her lip. ‘If you’re so keen, why don’t you write to him?’
‘Me? But it’s you he’s interested in.’
‘Is it?’ Evie opened her big blue eyes as wide as she could. ‘Is it really? I don’t think so. It was the single one he was interested in, if yer remember. The one without the husband and the baby. Anyway, I dunno what difference it makes who writes to him. If it’s “Evie” he wants, just write to him and sign that name. Pretend you’re me. Pretend you’re the person he thinks is Evie.’ She laughed. ‘Complicated, innit? He thinks that I’m the single one and that you’re married. But you’re really single and I’m a widow. I mean, neither of us has actually got a husband.’
‘Let alone one in a prison camp called Ron,’ Babs muttered to herself.
‘And he thinks that Betty is the married one’s little girl, but …’ Evie stopped short, having lost track as well as interest; she flapped her hand to show she was bored with the whole thing and then took another drag at her cigarette. ‘Aw, I dunno, do what yer like, I don’t give a toss. It’s no skin off my nose either way.’
‘Evie, how can yer treat him like this?’
‘Like what? Look, I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal with this bloke. We’ve pretended to plenty of fellers before.’
‘But Harry’s really nice.’
‘Aw, it’s up to you. Write to him if yer like, if not, chuck the letter in the bin like all the rest.’ Evie stood up. ‘I’m going up to get ready. If you definitely ain’t coming, you can look after Betty and I can go out a bit earlier.’
Babs also stood up. She walked slowly over to the sink. ‘Yeah, you go,’ she said without looking round.
As she filled the kettle to boil water for the washing up, she heard Evie run up the stairs. Babs stared into the flame as she lit the gas and wondered whether she should, or even if she dared, do what Evie had suggested. Could she really write to Harry pretending to be the make-believe version of Evie Bell that her twin had created – an unmarried young woman without a child? A young woman, in fact, exactly like her except for the bleached blonde hair. And, if she did pretend to be the person he believed Evie to be, could she keep up the pretence, and what should she say to him? I love getting your letters? Please don’t write again? Or, worst of all, the truth, and risk him feeling that he had been made such a fool of that he wouldn’t want anything more to do with either of them?
Even for November it was an especially dark and gloomy afternoon in the Roman Road. The market traders, many of whom had disappeared from their usual pitches since the war, hated this sort of weather, as people preferred to stay at home round their firesides and keep warm rather than stroll among the stalls.
‘Great to hear them old bells ringing again, wasn’t it, eh, Art?’ said Wally, a fat, elderly man whose stall held nothing but potatoes and carrots. ‘Cheered me right up, they did.’
Art, a dealer in secondhand clothes, puffed his chest out proudly. ‘My boy was there, yer know, Wally.’
‘What, El Alamein?’
‘Yup.’
‘Well, I never knew he was out there, Art. Yer must’ve been right chuffed when the news about the victory broke.’
Art smiled with pleasure. ‘Me and the missus was pleased as punch, I can tell yer. And, d’yer know, when them old bells started ringing to celebrate, it was like being a bit closer to him. Know what I mean?’
‘Talking about bells, here’s another Bell what’s always welcome.’ Wally pointed to Babs who was walking towards his stall. ‘Hello, love, how are yer?’ He turned to Art. ‘Look at them dimples. She can even brighten up a rotten November day like this with that smile of hers. If I was a few years younger, girl!’
‘Yeah, and if yer wife wasn’t working in the pie ’n’ mash shop right behind yer, eh, Wally?’ laughed Babs. She put her string bag and basket on the ground, balancing them carefully between her feet.
Art nudged the young boy who helped him on the stall. ‘See that smile of hers, and how she’s all glowing, like? Know what that means?’
The boy shook his head.
‘Means she’s found herself a chap.’
Babs tutted. ‘You and Wally are as bad as each other, Art.’
‘Does it?’ the boy asked, with a soppy, crooked grin that made his face look lopsided.
‘Here,’ said Art, poking his young helper in the ribs. ‘It ain’t you she’s sweet on, is it, kiddo?’
The boy blushed crimson from the teasing. ‘Leave off, Art. Course it ain’t me.’
‘It could be.’ Babs smiled kindly at the lad and ruffled his hair. She leaned closer to him and whispered, ‘Just ignore these two old sods. You give it a while and yer’ll be breaking all the girls’ hearts round here, just you see. Them two are jealous ’cos they’re past it.’
The young lad, made confident by Babs’s words, repaid her with a wink.
The two elderly traders laughed noisily at the boy’s audacity, both enjoying the chance for a bit of a chuckle on a miserable winter’s afternoon.
‘And how’s that gorgeous blonde twin of your’n?’ asked Wally.
‘Still putting herself about with all the blokes, is she?’ the newly self-assured but still very naive youngster asked.
Art and Wally exchanged horrified looks.
Before the boy realised that he had said anything even remotely wrong, Babs had caught him a stinging wallop round his ear. ‘Don’t you be so bloody cheeky, you rotten little bugger.’
‘He didn’t mean no offence to yer, darling,’ said Art, trying to placate her. ‘Did yer, yer big-mouthed little tyke?’
‘No,’ the boy said, a scowl on his face. ‘I didn’t mean you was like it. I just meant yer sister what’s knocking around with all them Yanks.’
This time, Babs didn’t have to clout him. Art and Wally did it for her.
‘Oi,’ the boy yelled, covering his stinging ears with his hands. ‘That bloody hurt, that did.’
‘Good,’ snapped Babs. ‘Perhaps yer’ll remember it, and it’ll learn yer some manners.’
‘Want some potatoes and carrots, Babs?’ Wally asked, shaking his head in wonder at the boy’s stupidity.
Babs shook her head; she couldn’t answer, her eyes were brimming with tears.
‘Don’t upset yerself ’cos of yer sister,’ Wally said, putting his short, fat little arm round her shoulder. ‘She ain’t worth it.’
Babs shoved his arm away. ‘Why don’t you piss off, the lot of yer? And yer know what yer can do with yer bloody carrots.’
‘But I didn’t mean—’
‘I know exactly what yer meant.’
Wally dropped his arms to his side and lifted his face to the sky. ‘Keep yer gob shut, Wally,’ he told himself. ‘Aw no,’ he said, feeling the first spots of rain on his upturned face. ‘That’s all we need.’
‘Good,’ sniped Babs. ‘I hope yer all get soaked putting yer stalls away.’ With that she gathered up her things and stomped off back towards Grove Road.
When she eventually got to Darnfield Street, it was she who was soaked. Her hair was plastered flat to her head and her arms were aching from carrying the shopping. The final straw was when she got to number six and pushed sideways at the door to find it was shut tight. She couldn’t believe it.
She didn’t want to put the shopping on the ground in the pouring rain, so while she tried to find her key, she juggled the bags from one hand to the other. But it was no good, it wasn’t in either pocket, or in any of the bags. She shouted loudly for Evie to open up, but no one came. As a last resort she kicked the door as hard as she could. ‘You’d better be in, Evie Bell,’ she muttered, looking up at the sky that had now
turned a deep leaden grey.
The door opened unexpectedly and Evie was standing there with, of all things, an apron over her dress. ‘Look at yer,’ she said, ‘yer soaked.’
‘Yeah. I know. I’ve been out to get the shopping in the rain, ain’t I. And then I couldn’t get in me own house and I’ve been standing here shouting like a flipping nutcase.’
‘Well, why don’t yer come in then, yer silly mare? Here, let me take them off yer.’
Babs threw her bags on the floor.
‘I had to shut the door ’cos Betty was running in and out.’
‘Aw.’
‘I’ve made us a nice hot casserole for our tea, from that chicken Maudie give us.’
‘Aw.’
‘Is that all yer gonna do, stand here in the passage dripping all over the place and saying “aw”?’
‘It’s just that you surprise me sometimes, Eve.’
‘I hope so. I do me best.’ Evie picked up the bags and carried them through to the kitchen.
Babs followed her. ‘No, I ain’t messing around, Eve. I … I forget how nice yer can be when yer want to.’
Evie sighed as she heaved the bags onto the draining board. ‘Look, Babs, I know yer think I’m a selfish cow, but I really don’t mean to be. It’s just that I’ve got so many other things on me mind most of the time.’ She looked down at Betty who was sitting under the table totally absorbed in playing with her bricks. ‘I sometimes wonder how I got into all this. Being a widow and having a kid. And I don’t feel much more than a kid meself half the time.’
Babs put her arms out to Evie and hugged her. ‘I know it ain’t been easy for yer. And I know yer think I’m a moaner at times, but I don’t mean to be ratty with yer. I just worry about yer so much, that’s all.’
Evie pulled a face as she lifted Babs’s wet hair from her cheek. ‘What, worry about me? Don’t waste yer time, girl. I’m a survivor, me.’
‘Yeah. I know you are.’
Betty looked up. When she realised that Babs was home she clambered up from the floor and grabbed her round the legs. ‘Babs!’ she yelled, delighted to see her.
Babs bent down and kissed her. ‘I can’t pick you up, tuppence. I’m all wet, look at me.’
The Bells of Bow Page 40