As she read the documents, Elsa’s mind wandered to the events of the day at number 1 Merton Street. Her face broke into an affectionate smile as she tried to imagine Frankie, all togged up in his new double-breasted suit, acting as grown-up as he could as best man. But her smile quickly faded and she returned to the letter she was reading. How could she accept the solicitor’s advice, she wondered? And how would she ever be able to tell Frankie?
She sighed and put down the letter, then she closed the desk and went to bed.
It was now after one o’clock in the morning.
An hour later, Gracie Lewis still hadn’t arrived back home. When she rushed out of the house soon after ten o’clock that evening, she was only wearing the thin summer dress she had worn for Helen’s wedding, but luckily it was a warm night so Frankie wasn’t too worried that his mother would catch cold. What he was worried about, however, was that it was now four hours that she’d been gone, and despite his father’s assurance of ‘Don’t worry, she’ll be back’, she still hadn’t returned.
Frankie had gone outside several times to see if there was any sign of her, but Merton Street was totally deserted except for the odd scavenging cat. To make matters worse, soon after his mother had left the house, his father had gone up to bed, and hadn’t reappeared since. Frankie couldn’t believe anyone could be so heartless, and there were several times when he wanted to go upstairs and thump on his parents’ bedroom door. It was so cruel of his father to just go off to sleep and ignore the fact that his mother was wandering the streets alone.
But Reg Lewis had not slept a wink. He hadn’t even taken off his clothes or got into bed. For four hours, he had kept a lonely vigil at the upstairs bedroom window, peering out from behind the curtains at the street below. The effect of the large amount of brown ale that he had drunk was beginning to wear off, and, as his mind began to clear, he felt riddled with guilt and apprehension. He had belittled Gracie in front of Frankie, and robbed her of any dignity she might have had left. He lit fag after fag and kept asking himself how he could have talked to her like that. And why blame her, after all? A marriage was a partnership; it had to be worked at by two people, not just one. If Gracie had never been a good wife and mother to their children, he himself was just as much to blame.
‘Dad!’
Reg turned from the window when he heard Frankie tapping on the bedroom door.
‘Dad! Are yer there?’
Reg stubbed his fag end out in the lid of an old Zubes tin, went to the door and opened it. As there was no light on the landing outside, he could only see the dim outline of his son.
‘Dad. She’s bin gone fer over four hours. I’m goin’ out ter look for ’er.’
Reg turned on the bedroom light. He could immediately see Frankie’s tense and anxious face. ‘Leave ’er alone, son. She’ll come back when she’s ready.’
Frankie stiffened. ‘’Ow can yer say that! She’s all on ’er own out there. Suppose somefin’s ’appened to ’er? Fer all we know someone might’ve coshed ’er or – or . . . Dad, we just can’t leave ’er.’
Reg left the bedroom light on so that he could see his way back downstairs. ‘We’ll give ’er anuvver ’alf ’our or so.’
‘If we wait anuvver ’alf ’our, we should call ’Ornsey Road Police Station!’
At the bottom of the stairs, where Winston was waiting patiently, Reg turned on the hall passage light, which immediately covered all three of them in a sickly yellow glow. ‘Yer muvver’s no fool, Frank. She knows wot she’s doin’.’
‘Does she, Dad? Do eivver of yer know wot yer’re doin’?’
This piercing remark caused Reg to turn around and look at his son. Things had not been right between them since the day Reg had created the ugly scene outside poor old Clancy’s house, so it was an odd feeling for both of them when they found themselves gazing straight into each other’s eyes for the first time in several months.
‘I’m just as worried about yer mum as you are, Frank.’ There was anguish in Reg’s voice.
‘Then why did yer talk to ’er the way you did?’
Reg didn’t know how to answer.
‘Why?’
Frankie’s naïve insistence sent a cold chill down Reg’s spine. ‘I don’t know, son.’ Reg’s face began to tense, and his voice was cracking. ‘It’s one of the mysteries of lovin’ someone.’
‘I don’t understand, Dad.’ Frankie stared straight into his father’s eyes. ‘If yer love Mum, then why d’yer talk to ’er like yer did?’
Reg lowered his eyes. Love her, he asked himself. Love Gracie – after all these years? Surely their marriage had been nothing more than an escape from the depression of those turbulent years between the two great wars, and love had played no part at all, not then, not ever. Or had it? Had there been something lurking inside Reg Lewis that he had never recognised – or wanted to recognise? Without answering Frankie’s question, he turned and made his way towards the front room.
Frankie followed him. ‘Dad – tell me!’ he said, raising his voice. ‘Do yer love ’er – or don’t yer?’
Reg stopped in the open doorway of the front room. He didn’t turn. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice cracking with emotion. ‘I’ve always loved her.’
For a moment, Frankie remained quite still. It was not difficult for him to guess how much it had meant for his father to say such a thing. ‘Then why don’t yer tell ’er so?’
The strain of trying to understand his emotions finally took its toll on Reg. Without saying another word he burst into tears, ran into the front room, and shut the door behind him.
Frankie waited a moment, then he collected Winston’s leash and fixed it to the dog’s collar. ‘Come on boy,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and find ’er.’
Frankie and Winston’s route took them into Seven Sisters Road, where Frankie knew his mother spent much of her time window shopping. But this was the middle of the night, and there was no sign of Gracie now, only the boxes of rotten fruit and veg waiting to be collected by the dustmen outside Ma Digby’s greengrocer’s shop, and the smell of winkles, whelks, and crabs drifting out through the door of the fresh fish shop. Winston got very excited by all the inviting smells.
As he reached the traffic lights at the junction with Hornsey Road, Frankie’s stomach was churning. There was no sign of his mother anywhere, and he was in two minds about whether to go and report her missing at Hornsey Road Police Station, but he was temporarily distracted by the overpowering smell of bread-baking coming from Stagnell’s shop, where the basement lights were on.
Winston suddenly became very agitated and tugged hard on his leash, pulling himself free and running off. Remembering what had happened the last time the dog was loose on a main road, Frankie panicked. ‘Winnie!’ he called, chasing after the dog. ‘Winnie! Come back ’ere, yer stupid git . . .!’ But Winston didn’t stop until he had reached the front gate of number 1 and when Frankie finally caught up with him he was already being made a fuss of by Gracie Lewis, who was sitting on the coping-stone.
‘Mum!’ Wheezing badly from the start of one of his now less frequent asthma attacks, Frankie was desperately relieved to find his mother safe and sound. ‘Wot ’appened ter yer? Me and Winnie . . . we’ve lookin’ all over fer yer! I fawt – I fawt –’ He suddenly realised that he was babbling, but his relief was so intense that he did something that he had never done in all his life before. He threw his arms around Gracie and hugged her as tight as he could. ‘Oh Mum! Don’t ever do fings like that again!’
Gracie found herself hugging him back and holding on to him. For her, also, it was a new and rewarding experience, and for the first time it gave her hope. During the past few hours she had walked the dark and lonely streets, with only one horrifying thought tearing away at her mind: ‘As a wife, you stink!’ Reg’s words had been devastating and had made her look back over their whole life together. And it hadn’t been the remark itself that had sent her rushing out into the night, but the fact that it was the t
ruth. Gracie knew that she had not been a good wife to Reg Lewis. She knew she had not been a good mother to their kids. But it wasn’t true that she didn’t love them. The trouble was, and had always been, that she didn’t know how to show that love.
Not wanting to be left out of anything, Winston, tail wagging wildly, leapt up, and tried to lick them both. For a little while Gracie held on to Frankie, as if she wanted to savour this moment for as long as possible, then she kissed the top of his head. Finally, she spoke.
‘Come on, son. It’s past our bedtime.’
With that, she got up, put her arm around Frankie, and, with Winston leading them, they all went back into the house.
The following Monday morning, Frankie turned up at the shop to start work full-time until the results of his exams were known in a few weeks’ time. When he arrived, Elsa was already there, brewing up her kettle of hot water for a mug of tea, despite the fact that it was yet another blisteringly hot July morning. But she was not in the best of moods, which was unlike her, for even when she was feeling depressed Elsa had a way of pretending that everything was perfectly all right.
Apart from a casual morning greeting, Elsa said very little to Frankie until he had finished stacking a pile of wooden boxes containing secondhand baby’s clothing. Finally, she said ‘Sit down for a minute, Frankie. I want to talk to you.’
The moment she spoke, Frankie knew that something was badly wrong. He sat on his usual high-stool by the counter, and Elsa sat on hers behind it.
‘We have a problem, Frankie.’ She tried to smile. ‘What would you say if I told you that – I have to sell the shop?’
Frankie felt as though he had been nailed to the stool he was sitting on . . .
Chapter Twenty-four
On Thursday 26th July everyone got very excited by the results of the previous day’s General Election, in which Mr Attlee’s Labour Party was swept in by a landslide vote. Frankie thought it was marvellous news, for since he had become such a close friend of Eric, he was convinced that getting rid of the Tories would mean that ordinary people would be treated fairer, like having a National Health Service and all sorts of other benefits. Even so, he did feel a little uneasy that Winston Churchill had been kicked out of office after leading the country so triumphantly through a long and dangerous war.
Just a few weeks before the Election, Churchill himself had come to Islington to campaign. Frankie had been very excited at the prospect of actually seeing, in person, the nation’s hero, so on the morning of the Rally, which was to be held outside Beales restaurant on the corner of Holloway Road and Tollington Road, he made quite sure he got a front position right by the dais where the Prime Minister was due to speak. Unfortunately, the poor man was denied the chance to say anything, for among the huge crowd who had turned up to hear him was a sizeable gang of thugs who created such chaos with booing and jostling, that Mr Churchill couldn’t even reach the dais. However, Frankie wasn’t nearly as interested in politics as Eric. Indeed, he was only too relieved that he wasn’t allowed to vote until he was twenty-one.
Frankie hadn’t seen any of the Merton Street gang since Prof’s funeral. Although he had been grateful that they at least made the effort to pay their last respects, he could never really forgive Jeff or Patty for what they had done to him on the bike trip. Alan Downs was a different matter. Frankie felt sorry that he had to knock around with the others. But Frankie knew why he did it. He was just crazy for Patty Jackson.
On the Saturday afternoon after the General Election, Frankie was due to go with Eric to the Arsenal Football Stadium where ‘the Gunners’ were playing a summer special home game. In the morning he went to Woolworth’s in Holloway Road to buy his sister Helen, who was now only two weeks off from having her baby, some of her favourite macaroon biscuits. Whilst he was waiting in a queue at the counter, he was surprised to see Jeff Murray just coming in through the Enkel Street back entrance of the store. Frankie had recently heard that Jeff, who was now almost eighteen years old, had received his call-up papers, and was due at any minute to go into the Royal Navy to do his two years’ National Service. A few minutes later, Patty Jackson came through the same door, and although it was quite clear that she was with Jeff, she made off in a different direction towards the nearby electrical counter.
For the next few minutes, Jeff wandered in and out of the shoppers, casually glancing at the different counter displays. He spent most of his time at the gramophone record counter where he sorted through the latest releases and listened to the song the assistant was playing sung by a new comedian called Danny Kaye from his film, Wonder Man. After a while, Patty also joined the crowd at the record counter, but curiously, she did not acknowledge Jeff’s presence there.
Frankie reached the front of the queue he was standing in, and paid for his biscuits. But as he mingled with the other shoppers, his attention was constantly drawn towards Jeff and Patty, who were behaving in a very odd way, ignoring each other at opposite ends of the record counter. Frankie had a nasty feeling that they were up to something.
A few moments later, Jeff casually wandered across to the jewellery counter close by. There he paused to browse through the tatty selection of cheap rings, necklaces, bracelets, and brooches. At the gramophone record counter nearby, Patty Jackson peered carefully over her shoulder to check what Jeff was doing.
Frankie hung around the stationery counter, watching Jeff and Patty’s every move. Their behaviour was making him nervous, for it seemed as though they were plotting something quite daring. Frankie hated the way they were always doing stupid things that could get them into trouble.
Jeff finally found something that appealed to him, a pair of men’s cufflinks attached to a small piece of cardboard and marked at sixpence. But, Frankie noticed, he didn’t pick them up until he was sure that the assistant had her back turned towards him and was serving a customer on the opposite side of the counter. Frankie who had by now himself reached the jewellery counter, made quite sure that he kept carefully concealed behind some other browsing shoppers.
As soon as he was confident that no one was watching him, Jeff briskly snatched the cufflinks, covered them with his hand, and quickly tucked them into his trousers pocket.
Frankie watched with growing horror. Over the heads of the other shoppers he could see Jeff make a quick dash towards the Holloway Road entrance, unchallenged by anybody. Patty, who had hardly been able to conceal her excitement, then followed at a safe distance behind.
‘Excuse me, sir. May I see what you just put in your pocket?’
Jeff stopped dead as a burly brown-coated store assistant appeared from nowhere and blocked his exit. ‘Wot yer talkin’ about?’ he spluttered, indignantly.
‘I just saw you take something from the jewellery counter.’ The assistant was polite, but firm. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to see what it is.’
Patty looked on in horror from a safe distance nearby.
Jeff, now white-faced with fright, tried to pass it off with his usual bravado. ‘Yer’ve got a bloody cheek! You tryin’ ter accuse me of nickin’ or somefin’?’
‘Turn out yer pockets, son!’ This time it was a different voice that approached him. ‘Come on now. We ’aven’t got all day!’
The sight of a Police Constable stopping someone at the entrance immediately drew a crowd of onlookers. But not Patty. Despite a look of desperation from Jeff for help, she was out of the store in a flash.
Although Frankie couldn’t hear what was going on near the store entrance, he could just see Jeff with the Police Constable. The stupid, mindless git! What a thing to do! He’d really dropped himself in it and he deserved all he got! But despite his bitter resentment of everything Jeff had ever done, Frankie felt his stomach churning over inside. There was only one thing to do, he thought. Quickly pushing his way back through the shoppers, he went straight to the jewellery counter.
Realising that there was now nothing he could do but obey the Police Constable’s command, Jeff took
the cufflinks out of his pocket, and gave them to the store assistant.
‘Thank you, sir. Do you have a receipt for this item?’
‘Of course I don’t ’ave a bloody receipt!’ Jeff was trying to bluff his way out by becoming aggressive. ‘The gel never give me one.’
The assistant exchanged a knowing glance with the Constable. ‘I find that hard to believe, sir,’ he said, rather grandly.
‘Well, she didn’t. An’ if yer keep me ’angin’ ’round ’ere my old man’ll be onter your manager. Everyone knows my dad up the Town ’All!’
The crowd of onlookers gasped as they watched the Police Constable take hold of Jeff’s arm. ‘You’d better come along wiv me, son. You can tell us all about yer old man back at the Station.’
‘I tell yer I didn’t nick it! I paid wiv it – wiv me own money!’
‘That’s absolutely untrue, Constable,’ said the store assistant, very proud to have caught a shop-lifter red-handed. ‘There’s no receipt. It’s perfectly obvious that the cufflinks haven’t been paid for.’
‘That’s not quite true, Constable. I paid for them.’
Everyone turned to look at Frankie, who, breathless, had pushed his way to the front of the crowd.
‘That was right, wasn’t it?’ Frankie said to an absolutely astonished Jeff. ‘That is wot yer give me the money for wan’t it? Ter buy the cufflinks?’
Jeff was so flustered, he didn’t know what to say. But he eventually caught on and answered quickly, ‘Yeh! Yeh, that’s wot it was for.’
Frankie sighed with mock relief. ‘Oh, fank goodness! I give the girl a tanner. That was the price, wan’t it?’
‘Yeh! Yeh! That’s it! A tanner!’ The colour was gradually returning to Jeff’s face.
Our Street Page 28