East End Jubilee

by Carol Rivers

‘I know he would.’ Rose didn’t quite meet Em’s eyes. Em wasn’t engaged to Bobby or even going out with him, but Rose still felt guilty. She didn’t think going alone in the car with him was a good idea.

  As the whistle blew Em got up to lift the kettle. ‘Do you know when Eddie’s coming home?’

  ‘In March, he thinks.’

  ‘Well then, four months shouldn’t be too long to wait.’

  ‘No, it shouldn’t,’ Rose agreed, although at the moment it felt like an eternity.

  Em gave a little twitch of her mouth and a tight cough and Rose realized it was the first time in weeks that she’d noticed the nervous tic. Not only that, but Rose hadn’t been woken by Em’s nightmares any more, and Em had even started wearing curlers to give bounce to her fine light brown hair. And wasn’t that lipstick she’d worn last Sunday when Bobby had come round to mend the vacuum cleaner?

  ‘Talking of Bobby . . .’ Em turned round, the steaming teapot in her hand. ‘Well, you see . . . I’ve been thinking.’

  Rose guessed what was coming. She’d hoped Em would accept Bobby’s proposal months ago, but it had never come. Had Bobby finally popped the question?

  ‘Yes?’ Rose prompted eagerly.

  ‘Of course I’d never do anything now – not before Eddie comes home—’

  ‘Oh, Em, spit it out!’ Rose couldn’t wait. The morning had started off so dismally with Eddie’s letter. Now, as the grey sky outside was slowly breaking into sunshine over the backyard, she felt its warmth.

  ‘Bobby’s asked me to go to the pictures.’

  Rose was silent. If she didn’t laugh, she’d cry. ‘Oh, Em, is that all?’

  ‘I haven’t said yes, yet.’ Her sister sank down on the chair. ‘Oh, Rosy, what if I can’t – you know – respond? He’s a young man. Healthy. Normal . . .’

  Rose stretched out her hands and folded them over the thin, cold fingers. ‘You’re young, pet. And you’re healthy.’

  ‘But not normal. Not after what happened with Arthur. I feel like a freak. I don’t know what Bobby sees in me, I honestly don’t. That’s why I’ve been so rude. I don’t deserve a good man. And he’s good, I know he is. Far too good for the likes of me.’ She hung her head and sobbed softly. One of her curlers fell down on the table. Rose picked it up and replaced it, wrapping the hair gently back into place. Her sister’s head came up slowly, her cheeks red and shiny.

  ‘Em, do you love him?’ It was the only question that needed to be asked.

  Her sister gulped. ‘I don’t know what love is.’

  ‘’Course you do. It’s what you didn’t have with Arthur.’

  Em sniffed noisily. Her voice was a whisper as she looked at Rose. ‘Sometimes, when I’m with Bobby, I get this feeling inside. As if I’m flying. My tummy’s all light and swirling and my arms and legs go numb, as though I’ve no control. And that’s what frightens me, I think.’

  ‘You’ve had to be in control in the past, but it’s different now. You can set your emotions free.’

  Em stared out from her clear, hazel brown eyes. ‘Free?’

  ‘Yes, you can trust again.’

  ‘But what if—’

  ‘What if you grow old without knowing what it’s like to be loved? What if you never hold a man that you love in your arms and let him make love to you? What if you never experience the joy of going to sleep beside him and waking up in the morning knowing you’d shared the most precious gift in all the world?’

  ‘Sex? You mean sex?’ Em asked anxiously.

  ‘Sex is just bodies isn’t it? But lovemaking is mind and heart and soul, all rolled into one because you trust each other.’

  ‘I never thought that could happen to me.’

  ‘Well, you have the choice now.’

  Em gave a long, shuddery sigh again. ‘It sounds so simple.’

  Rose had no comment to make on simplicity. She would have had plenty to say two years ago, but not now. Loving someone the way she loved Eddie was more complicated than she had ever imagined possible.

  ‘I don’t know a thing about electricity,’ Em murmured distantly, ‘or cars. And Bobby goes on about them all the time.’

  Rose smiled ruefully. ‘You know a lot about cleaning things. You’ve got a lot in common in that sense. Anyway, he only talks about electricity because he can’t say what he really wants to say.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  Rose raised her eyebrows and grinned. ‘Emily Trim, you’re fishing.’

  Em blushed deeply. Rose thought how pretty she was looking these days even first thing in the morning in her curlers. Now that old turban was confined to the cupboard under the stairs, the flower was blooming.

  ‘I might ask him to dinner next Sunday if that’s all right.’

  ‘With three kids watching your every move?’ Rose frowned. ‘Why don’t you take him up on his offer?’

  ‘Do you really think I should?’

  ‘Meself I’d rather go dancing,’ Rose giggled. ‘A tea dance first and maybe the films after.’

  ‘Oh, that’s even worse! I wouldn’t know a waltz from a quickstep.’

  ‘’Course you do. We learnt at school.’

  ‘Yes, but that was years ago.’

  ‘You said that to me about typing, that it was as easy as cracking eggs to pick up. Now it’s your turn.’

  ‘With my two left feet, Bobby’d be trampled!’

  But Rose wasn’t fooled for a moment. Her sister was blushing like a schoolgirl. Bobby Morton was finally on to a winner.

  Bobby and Em’s engagement party was held on New Year’s Eve. It was to have been Christmas Eve, but since the measles rash still irritated the children, Rose decided to go along with Bobby’s suggestion of a slap-up do on the last day of the year.

  On Boxing Day morning Rose sat in the Mendozas’ front room surrounded by piles of Christmas paper and string. A bright red cardigan and new plaid slippers occupied the top of the sideboard along with packets of sweets, a box of Clarnico Assortment and a large jar of Turkish Delight. There were coats, scarves and hats thrown haphazardly over a chair and last night’s ashes were still in the grate, a folded sheet of newspaper in front of them where Benny was kneeling.

  ‘Anita ain’t tidied up yet,’ he told her ruefully. ‘She’s having an extra hour in bed this morning as her back was giving her gyp again last night. She’s doing too much, but dare I tell her to ease up? It’s more than me life’s worth to open me cake ’ole and speak me piece.’

  ‘She should get that back seen to,’ Rose agreed worriedly.

  ‘I just need a few more tyre contracts that I can rely on and she can chuck in scrubbing Lady Muck’s toilets.’

  Rose knew that Benny hated the fact his wife wore herself out cleaning other people’s houses. But she also knew that Anita would refuse point blank to give up her independence. The prospect of another Butlin’s holiday was what kept her going through thick and thin.

  ‘I’ll just start the fire and we can have a cuppa,’ Benny said as he buried his face in a cloud of ash and coughed up his lungs.

  ‘I’m not staying,’ Rose said, eager to be on her way. She wanted to get back home before Em and the kids were up. She intended to make everyone a cooked breakfast as a special treat. ‘I just brought the treacle tart round as promised. Your boys are bringing their girls home for tea today.’

  ‘Tell me about it. You’d think royalty was paying a visit. I ain’t ever seen so many sausage rolls come out of an oven. Like bloody Lyons Corner House it was yesterday.’

  ‘Neet likes to put on a good spread,’ Rose said mildly. ‘Em made the treacle tart with Tate and Lyle and it came out a treat.’

  ‘Yeah, well thanks, love. I’ll enjoy a bit tonight – if there’s any left, of course.’

  Rose smiled, watching the big man carefully sweep the hearth with Anita’s dainty brass brush and pan set. At just gone eight o’clock the house had a peaceful, if rather chilly, atmosphere and Benny hadn’t shaved, his big dark eyes still b
leary from all the festivities.

  ‘Bobby’s asked Em to get engaged,’ she said on a swift breath. ‘And she’s said yes.’

  For a moment Benny turned, looking surprised. Then he let out a loud guffaw. ‘Bloody hell. I’d never have laid a quid on that one.’

  ‘He’s been waiting to ask her for ages,’ Rose said as she pulled her thick cardigan around her and shivered. It wasn’t very Christmasy weather: damp and mild with strange flurries of wind, but the houses in Ruby Street were like morgues until the fires went on.

  ‘So when did he pop the question?’

  ‘He took Em out last Sunday. They were going to the pictures, but never got there. Bobby was so nervous he asked her to marry him as they stood in the queue waiting for a ticket. Em nearly fainted and he had to take her back to the car.’

  Benny roared with laughter again, spilling the carefully swept ash on to the lino. ‘Poor bugger. But I reckon they’ll make it all right.’

  ‘I hope so, Benny.’

  He swept the last of the sooty waste into the pan, replaced the grate and turned to frown at Rose. ‘When’s the big day?’

  ‘Not till Eddie’s home . . .’ She paused uncertainly. There had been no confirmation of his release date yet and she didn’t want to tempt fate by guessing at a month. She moved on swiftly, ‘Bobby’s giving her the ring – officially – on New Year’s Eve. We’re having a party to celebrate. You’ll all come won’t you?’

  ‘I’ll be first in line to shake the brave man’s hand,’ Benny grinned. ‘And I reckon that’s really decent of them to wait till Eddie’s back.’

  Rose nodded but she didn’t say that Eddie was less than enthusiastic about the idea. He had sent a card before Christmas that he’d made himself for the kids. It consisted of a large sheet of folded white paper and he’d sprinkled glitter over the carefully written words, Happy Christmas Toots and Princess. For Matthew he’d created a smaller card and had drawn a Christmas tree on the front. The children had loved these and they were given pride of place on the mantel. He’d written a longer than usual letter to Rose – two whole pages – but he sounded depressed instead of happy. ‘I hope your sister knows what she’s doing with this Bobby bloke,’ he’d written glumly in answer to all her news on the forthcoming engagement. Added to which he’d still maintained that Rose’s job at Kirkwood’s was too demanding and she should give it up. What worried her most was that he hadn’t responded to her query that if she didn’t have a reliable income when he came home, what would they live on? Because he avoided answering her question she feared the worst, her suspicion growing that Norman Payne had already forged an unbreakable hold over him before he’d set one foot out of the prison. From what Eddie had hinted at, she was almost certain that Norman Payne had no intention of letting her husband, or anyone else that might prove useful to him, off the hook.

  ‘Well, I’d better let you light that fire before everyone wakes up,’ Rose said as she stood up.

  Benny hauled himself to his feet. He wore only his vest, soiled now by the ashes, and a pair of braces that stretched tightly across his barrel-like chest. His crumpled trousers resembled baggy balloons at the knees. ‘Thanks for the treacle tart, love. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cuppa?’

  ‘No ta, Benny. Be sure to tell Neet about Friday though, won’t you?’

  Benny grinned devilishly under his dark growth of beard. ‘It’d be more than me life’s worth to forget.’ He walked with her to the front door. She opened it and looked both ways as she stepped out. Benny read her mind. ‘You ain’t seen nothing of that bastard Payne have you?’

  She shook her head dismissively but every time she stepped on the street she wondered if a car would come roaring round the corner towards her. It hadn’t happened yet and she hoped they’d given up on her for the time being. ‘I don’t think they’d dare come down this road again,’ she said more confidently than she felt.

  ‘You’ve only got to bang on the wall and I’m out of here in a shot,’ Benny told her stoutly.

  ‘I know. But I hope I’ll never have to ask that kind of favour.’ She went on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ‘Happy Christmas, pet.’

  ‘Happy Christmas, gel,’ he grinned and blushed.

  Rose hadn’t been able to afford any real presents for the Mendozas but she’d made up a basket of fruit for the whole family and Em had baked one of her Christmas puddings and topped it with a sprig of holly from a stunted holly bush that Will had unearthed on the debris. As Benny closed the door behind her she glanced over at Olga’s house. It was still unoccupied, two pieces of tatty board nailed up to the lower window, just like the house next to forty-six. She thought of Olga hovering somewhere in the vicinity still trying to find her home. Rose was the only one now who visited her grave at Golders Green. From time to time she took flowers, just a cheap bunch from the market, and silently she promised herself to take a big bunch of daffodils in spring.

  Back on her own doorstep, Rose paused, listening to the uncanny silence of Ruby Street on Boxing Day morning. Even the docks were in slumber, with only a faint hooting from the river drifting in the morning air, bouncing like an invisible ball from the sooty, pointed roofs. Christmas 1954 had passed without snow. Except for the storm that had blown like a typhoon through west London, the weather gods could do nothing more than spatter a few wet pearls across the deserted street. Not that it would stay deserted for very long, she decided as she let herself in. Soon all the kids would be out, eager to play with their new toys on the pavements and in the road.

  Inside the house the walls and ceilings were strung with the children’s handmade paper chains and the smell of Em’s freshly baked Christmas pudding lingered in the kitchen. The girls and Matthew had left their Christmas presents under the tree in the front room, a brightly coloured push-along train and two bald baby dolls both purchased second-hand and given an overhaul with Sunlight soap. They slept side by side in a blue painted crib with fairytale transfers stuck to the sides. This was also purchased second-hand but scrubbed as clean as a whistle. Will was still fast asleep on his camp bed in the corner, his soft snore coming gently from under the eiderdown. It was too cold now to sleep in the tent. Two books, Biggles Gets His Men and Another Job for Biggles, were placed safely on top of the gram, side by side. Em had managed to root out these dog-eared copies in a Poplar bookshop and the brightly coloured illustrations of Biggles wearing his flying goggles and big smile made Rose want to smile too.

  She felt a glow of pride when she looked around her house, just as she always had, despite little money being available for Christmas extras. Rose’s wages covered the rent and bills, Em’s contribution filled the larder. On Christmas Day there had been roast chicken, stuffing, Brussels and crisp baked potatoes accompanied by a rich fruit pudding. No one had gone short. At tea time they had scoffed mince pies and condensed cream as they gathered round the gram and listened to Bing Crosby singing ‘Count Your Blessings’, a song newly released from the film White Christmas. The rest of the day had been one long party: board games, charades and hide and seek being the all time favourites.

  ‘God bless our home,’ Rose sighed contentedly as she looked around her little nest. She thought of Eddie and said a prayer for him too. ‘Only a little while to go now, sweetheart,’ she whispered, ‘and you’ll be in my arms once more.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  They came in the night.

  The car must have stopped outside for several minutes before Rose woke. She heard the noise vaguely in her sleep, a soft growl at first, then a rattle and finally a big cat’s purr. The car engine revved and a bolt of terror woke her fully. She jumped out of bed and ran to the window. Headlights flashed along the street and sliced the cold night air like a sharp, bright knife. Em hadn’t woken. Nor had the children. Rose was frozen to the spot, her hand lifting the net curtain as though she was lifting the lid on a time bomb.

  ‘Please God, make it disappear,’ she said aloud, though her voice was just a hoarse w
hisper. She wanted to be brave, but courage deserted her. She had thought they would never dare come down the street again. But they had. In the darkness, when no one was about to see what they did.

  A loud crash echoed round the house. They were breaking in! They were going to kill them all! The children – the children! Rose jumped out of bed. Matthew hadn’t stirred in his cot, amazingly. But Em sat up in bed, her eyes full of sleep.

  ‘What’s happened? What was that?’

  ‘Hurry! Hurry!’ Rose threw the bedclothes back. ‘They’re coming in!’

  Em sat still looking dazed. ‘Who?’

  Another crash splintered the air. This time there were terrified cries from the girls’ bedroom. Rose rushed along the landing. Someone was coming up the stairs. Her heart nearly stopped as the two girls emerged slowly from their room. They stood in their nightgowns, rubbing their eyes.

  Rose pushed them back, herding them like sheep into safety. But she had nothing to defend them with, nothing! Her eyes went to Matthew’s small wooden chair in the corner. She picked it up and ran back to the landing, lifting it high above her head.

  A split second later she was standing at the top of the stairs, shaking like a jelly inside but prepared to kill anyone who tried to pass her.

  ‘It’s me, Auntie Rose. It’s Will.’

  Rose stared rigidly into the pale, frightened face. She felt her heart bubble as her brain tried to register what she saw with her eyes. In her imagination it had been the driver of the brown car coming towards her, his coarse, blunted features screwed up in a frightening grimace. She didn’t know what Norman Payne looked like but if his appearance was anything like his voice, there wouldn’t be much to choose between either man. She was certain both looked as evil as each other. But then as her nephew stepped cautiously up the stairs, his wide blue eyes filled with fear and confusion, her whole body started to shake.

  ‘Will . . . is it you?’

  ‘Yes, don’t throw the chair at me, will you?’ He advanced cautiously, his striped pyjamas suddenly looking far too big for him as he crept towards her. ‘Someone threw some bricks through the window. The car’s driven away now.’