Our Street

by Pemberton, Victor

  Maggs smiled back gracefully. ‘Oh, I can assure you, Frankie has very little left to learn.’ She turned to look at him, and he returned her smile.

  Patty didn’t like that. She licked the tea on her heavily lipsticked lips, and used her spare hand to beat time to the music they could hear coming from the Dance Hall. Frankie tried hard not to catch her eye, knowing it would be disastrous, and he hated the way she had tarted herself up with so much make-up, for she was a good-looking girl with a lovely complexion, and had no need to present such a false image.

  ‘Pat had a postcard from Jeff the other day,’ said Alan, suddenly changing the subject. ‘Sounds like ’e’s enjoyin’ navy life.’

  ‘Oh yes, ’e’s doin’ very well,’ said Patty, putting her cup and saucer down on to the counter. ‘Last time he was ’ome he bought me these.’ To Frankie’s horror, she pulled up her dress as far as she dared, and showed off the expensive pair of stockings she was wearing. ‘Sheer nylon,’ she purred, gliding her hand up her leg seductively, to demonstrate what she meant.

  Frankie knew exactly what she meant, and turned his eyes away. But once again, ‘his gel’ surprised him.

  ‘It’s amazing what servicemen can pick up in the NAAFI,’ Maggs said, looking down to admire Patty’s nylons. ‘Apparently, they get most things cheap.’

  Patty looked hurt and lowered her dress, and Maggs immediately wished she hadn’t made the remark. Patty was clearly vulnerable.

  ‘Jeff says he’s on active service out at sea somewhere’, Alan said. ‘He can’t say where, of course, but it sounds like he’s on quite a big ship – probably a cruiser or something. Trust Jeff!’

  Frankie responded with a dismissive, ‘Yeh.’ He knew that everything Alan had just said about Jeff was rubbish. It was common knowledge in Merton Street that when Jeff had been called up for National Service, he had been posted to a Naval Training Depot in the north of England, where he had remained ever since.

  Maggs was still feeling guilty about her snide remark to Patty, so she made an effort to be nice. ‘Patty. I need to go to the Girls’ Room. Feel like joining me for a chat?’

  Frankie darted a look of horror at Maggs.

  Patty was taken aback, too. ‘A chat? Wot about?’

  Maggs grinned. ‘About how awful blokes are!’

  Patty actually laughed. ‘Yeh! Why not!’ she said, flicking a mischievous look at the two boys.

  Frankie and Alan watched in disbelief as the two girls marched off together and disappeared into the Ladies’ toilet.

  ‘So what’s goin’ on there, then?’ Alan asked tentatively.

  ‘I dunno,’ replied Frankie, biting his lip anxiously. ‘But I don’t like it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry too much if I was you.’ Alan was doing his best to regain the friendship he used to enjoy with Frankie. ‘Maggs seems like a really nice girl. I’m sure she can take care of herself.’

  ‘She can.’ There was a sour edge to Frankie’s reply. ‘Unfortunately, so can Patty.’

  ‘Not any more, Frank.’ Alan lowered his eyes as he spoke. ‘She’s pregnant.’

  Frankie looked as if he’d been struck by a thunderbolt. ‘Yer mean –?’

  ‘No! It’s not me. It’s not Jeff, either.’ Clearly embarrassed, Alan took out a packet of cigarettes, and offered one to Frankie, who shook his head. ‘It’s some bloke she met here at a dance, just before Christmas. She doesn’t know who he is or where he comes from.’

  ‘Christ Almighty!’ Frankie couldn’t get over what he had just heard. ‘Pat can’t ’ave a baby. She’s only sixteen!’

  ‘She’s seventeen next month.’

  ‘Even so. It’s far too young ter . . . Stupid cow! I know the same fing ’appened ter my sister, but at least she loved the bloke.’ He sighed and scratched his head. ‘Wot’s she gonna do now?’

  ‘Get married – I hope.’ Alan lit his cigarette.

  ‘Yer mean – this bloke’s agreed to marry ’er?’

  Alan shook his head.

  ‘Then if she’s ’avin a kid, ’ow’s she gonna get anyone ter marry ’er?’

  Alan inhaled a small puff of smoke and waited for it to settle on his lungs. ‘Because I’ve asked her.’

  ‘Let me get this straight, Alan. Yer know Patty’s ’avin someone else’s kid, and yet you’re prepared ter marry ’er?’

  ‘If she’ll have me – yes.’

  Frankie waved away the smoke from Alan’s cigarette, which was beginning to sting his eyes. ‘Yer mean – she ’asn’t agreed?’

  ‘Not yet. But I’m still hoping. I’ve asked my old man, and he says I can do what I want. Actually, he couldn’t care less what I do.’ He flicked his ash on the floor, and looked up at Frankie again. There was an air of desperation in his voice. ‘Patty’s always wanted to get married, you know she has, Frank. It’s just a question of finding the right man.’

  ‘Well, she’s certainly ’ad plenty of good tries!’

  ‘Don’t be unkind, Frank,’ pleaded Alan, stubbing his cigarette out on the floor. ‘There are a lot of good things about Patty. She just needs a chance, that’s all.’

  ‘But – do yer love ’er, Alan?’

  ‘Yes, Frank.’ Alan stared Frankie straight in the eyes. ‘You know I’ve always loved her.’

  ‘But does she love you?’ Frankie could barely grasp this conversation. It all seemed so – wrong!

  ‘No. But she will.’

  A few minutes later, Maggs and Patty returned from the Ladies’ to announce that they actually got on well together, and had arranged to meet up again soon.

  Frankie watched them in disbelief, and, glancing from Patty to Alan, decided that he didn’t know anything about people any more.

  At the beginning of March, Patty and Alan married at Islington Registry Office. Patty’s parents wanted nothing more to do with her, but Alan’s widowed father helped them to get a one-bedroomed flat on the top floor of a house in Windsor Road. Then, a few weeks later, Patty told Alan that because she was desperate to get away from home and start a new life of her own, she had lied about being pregnant. What she didn’t tell him, however, was that gaining Alan’s sympathy had been part of her plan, and his offer of marriage was just what she’d been looking for to break loose from her ‘stinkin’ lousy’ mother and father as she called them. Alan said that it made no difference to him. Indeed, he only hoped that it. wouldn’t be too long before they had kids of their own. Patty, however, wasn’t so sure about that . . .

  Towards the end of April, Alan received call-up papers for his National Service, and by the end of June, he was posted to an Army command in West Germany.

  Frankie decided that he did not particularly want to make contact with either of them again. He had moved on and away from them in too many ways . . .

  Through most of 1946, Elsa’s shop continued to struggle against hard times. The post-war period was proving to be very depressing, for there was no sign of an end to rationing, and some food was even more difficult to get than during the war years. Frankie was only too aware that very little money was being made in the shop, and he often felt guilty about taking a weekly wage from Elsa. Although Jack Barclay had now cut down on his regular visits to put pressure on Elsa, the strain on her health was beginning to show. Not only had she lost a lot of weight, she was also becoming very absent-minded. On one occasion she had almost caused a disaster by leaving the sink tap on in the shop’s back room. Frankie became even more worried when Elsa told him that she now found the tube journey to Swiss Cottage too wearisome and she was giving up her Thursday afternoon tea and cakes with Gertrude.

  After a particularly unprofitable week at the end of September, Frankie came up with a plan of his own that he hoped might help relieve the situation.

  ‘Give up your wages and work for nothing? Never! I wouldn’t hear of such a thing!’ It was Thursday morning, and Elsa was pacing up and down.

  ‘But it’s a good idea, Elsa – it really is.’ Frankie grabbed hold of her hand and
led her back to her stool in front of the counter, and made her sit down. ‘Now listen. All I ’ave ter do is ter go out and find a daytime job. They’re advertisin’ for an office clerk at the coal yard up at the Archway. It’d bring me in all the cash I need, then I could work ’ere in the evenin’s an’ you wouldn’t ’ave ter pay me any money at all. Now, don’t that make sense?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t!’ snapped Elsa.

  ‘Of course it does! ’Ow many times do I ’ave ter tell yer – yer can’t run a business wivout money.’

  Elsa thumped her fist on the counter. ‘And how many times do I have to tell you that it’s not the money I worry about. It’s customers!’

  After Maggs, Frankie adored Elsa more than anyone else in the whole world. But it drove him mad that she had absolutely no business sense at all. ‘Look, Elsa,’ he said in desperation. ‘Do yer want that bruvver-in-law of yours to get ’is slippery wet ’ands on this place?’

  Clasping her hands together and looking up towards the ceiling as though praying, Elsa let out a loud wail of anguish.

  ‘Well, then, be sensible!’

  Now it was Frankie’s turn to start pacing the shop floor. But as he did so, he was thinking out loud, trying to work out a rescue plan that would satisfy Elsa.

  ‘Let’s face it, we don’t get more than a couple of customers in ’ere on any day of the week. And even when they come they only browse around wivout buyin’ anyfin’. If yer can cut yer losses, and make even a tenner a week, yer could break even wivin a munff.’ Then he quickly swung around to confront Elsa. ‘And one way ter do that is ter cut out my wages!’

  Elsa, arms crossed defiantly, was staring at the ceiling.

  Frankie was extremely irritated by her obstinacy. ‘Elsa, be reasonable! We’ve got ter do somefin! Last year Jack Barclay was warnin’ yer that if somefin’ in’t done to make this place habitable, yer’d ’ave the Council down on yer like a ton of ’ot bricks. We’ve gotta make some profits, if only to pay for the repair work.’

  ‘May I now say something, please?’ Elsa finally spoke, but Frankie could tell she was putting on one of her acts of being a totally reasonable woman.

  Frankie sighed in frustration, crossed his arms like Elsa, and stood with his back to the shop window.

  ‘I have said – oh, so many times—’ Elsa continued, ‘I have said that if the only problem with this shop is finding the money to run it, then the money shall be found . . .’ She quickly put her hand up to stop Frankie from interrupting.

  ‘But if . . . if you are trying to tell me that you do not want to work in this shop with me any more, I shall not stand in your way.’

  ‘Elsa!’

  ‘Do I make myself clear, Frankie? That’s all I ask.’

  ‘’Ow can yer say such a fing? Of course I wanna work for yer. I love this shop. It was the best day of my life when you asked me ter come and work ’ere. Yer know that, Elsa! Yer must know it!’

  Winston’s head was getting dizzy looking at one and then the other as they spoke.

  ‘Things are different now, Frankie. You’re not a boy any longer. You’re a man. And I quite understand that you want to go out in the world to earn a proper wage and mix with people of your own age . . .’

  Frankie suddenly got very angry. ‘Stop it, Elsa! Stop it!’

  ‘Well, it’s true!’ Elsa sprang up from her seat and went to him. ‘Next year you’ll be eighteen, Frankie. It’s time you did things for yourself. You don’t need an old woman like me hanging on to your tail.’

  Frankie looked straight at her. ‘You’re not an old woman, Elsa! But are you giving me the sack?’ he asked, accusingly.

  Elsa turned away. ‘Don’t be so foolish!’

  ‘Come on now – out wiv it! Is that why yer want ter get rid of me? ’Cos yer’ve ’ad enuff of me ’round the place?’

  Elsa clasped her hands together. ‘Dear Maker! What did I do to deserve this?’

  Frankie turned her around to face him. ‘Come on now – own up! D’yer want ter get rid of me – or don’t yer?’

  There followed a very long pause whilst they glared at each other. But gradually, a faint smile appeared in Elsa’s eyes which slowly spread across her entire face. Then the same thing happened to Frankie, and soon they found themselves roaring with laughter.

  ‘Yer artful old devil!’ yelled Frankie as he threw his arms around Elsa and hugged her. ‘Yer’ve been ’avin’ me on, in’t yer? You was just testin’ me?’

  ‘Old friends should always be truthful with each other,’ Elsa said with a sly grin, pressing her face up against Frankie’s chest.

  After that, Frankie never brought up the subject again. But three weeks later, Elsa received a letter from the Islington Borough Council Health and Safety Department, advising her that she would shortly be receiving an official visit from a Council surveyor . . .

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Over the past year, Gracie and Reg Lewis had made huge efforts to come to terms with their life together. The painful row between them following Helen and Eric’s wedding had finally stirred them into talking to each other, more than they had done in all the years since they married. It turned out to be an extraordinary experience. They learned about each other’s likes and dislikes, their fears and anxieties, their hopes for the future. They talked about the people they had met, the ones they knew and the ones they wished they still knew. They talked about the kids – or, at least, what Helen and Frankie were like when they were kids. They still had rows, but in time they found a way to keep their disagreements in perspective. When Gracie wanted to listen to her favourite Sunday night radio programme, Reg listened with her. But perhaps the most important development took place one night as they lay in bed, both wide awake, waiting, hoping. And without a word, it happened, for the first time in more than ten years. And after it had happened, Gracie wept, for it seemed that her life was at last beginning to take on a new meaning . . .

  Frankie spent most Saturday afternoons at Highbury Stadium watching football matches with Eric. Sometimes Maggs went with them; although she still didn’t share Frankie’s enthusiasm for cycling, she did enjoy a good game of football. After the game, they all went back to Eric’s place where Helen was waiting with tea, bread and jam, and home-made cakes.

  During the past few months, however, Frankie was disturbed to notice that there were one or two little tensions developing between his sister and brother-in-law. They appeared to be as much in love as ever, but when Helen announced that she was expecting again, Eric had grown restless. And Helen wasn’t happy that Eric had become more and more involved with politics. He had recently joined the local Labour Party and although Helen too was a fervent Labour supporter, political meetings and rallies scared her; everyone seemed to get so aggressive. It didn’t help that the country was in such a state of depression, what with food shortages, overcrowded schools, poor wages and a lack of jobs for ex-servicemen. But she knew it was inevitable, that Eric and his father-in-law would not always hit it off together, for Reg was an ardent Tory.

  The crunch came in October, during one of Gracie’s recently established Sunday afternoon tea parties for the family. Eric was in a truculent mood, and, to Helen’s concern, was chain-smoking. Maggs was at the table, helping Helen to feed little Josie, while Frankie, Reg and Eric were getting a little hot under the collar about the news during the week that Hermann Goering had managed to commit suicide and escape the hangman after having been found guilty at the Nuremberg Trials in Germany.

  ‘I still say he couldn’t’a done it wivout ’elp from the inside,’ said Eric, both elbows leaning on the table and constantly flicking ash off his fag into a saucer. ‘I tell yer – someone was determined ’e wouldn’t go ter the gallows.’

  ‘They said on the wireless that ’e ’ad a cyanide pill hidden under his tongue,’ said Frankie, finishing off the last of a bowl of winkles.

  Eric pounced on that. ‘Yeh! But who gave it to ’im?’

  ‘Wot does it matter?�
�� said Reg, rolling one of his own fags even though he had a dog-end behind his ear. ‘As long as we get rid er the bastard!’

  ‘Please, Reg!’ Gracie was cutting bread. ‘No swearin’ in front of Josie.’

  ‘What yer don’t understand, Dad,’ Eric continued relentlessly, ‘is that there’s an important point ’ere. ’Ow do we know that Goering isn’t still alive? I mean, we’ve only got the Yanks’ word for it. Suppose they didn’t want ’im dead? Suppose there was some conspiracy ter keep ’im alive ’cos ’e ’ad somefin’ that us and the Yanks wanted? Maybe it ’ad somefin’ ter do wiv the Commies? We all know ’ow much Churchill and Truman’ ate the Commies.’

  ‘Bloody load of old rubbish!’ Reg blew out the match he was using, and flicked it into the empty fire-grate. ‘Yer don’t know wot you’re talkin’ about, son!’

  ‘You can say that, but I ’eard ’em talkin’ down the Club the uvver night. Apparently in the first year of the war, Churchill tried ter do some kind of deal wiv ’Itler. That’s why Rudolf ’Ess flew over ’ere ter meet up wiv ’im.’

  Reg leaned back in his chair and roared with laughter.

  ‘Laugh all yer want, Dad! But you mark my words,’ Eric wagged his finger provocatively at his father-in-law. ‘Churchill got up ter fings that we’ll never know about!’

  Reg laughed even louder. ‘Churchill an’ ’Itler! Now that’s wot I call really funny!’

  Eric hated to be laughed at and was now getting really hot under the collar. ‘Yeh! You would say that – wouldn’t yer! Votin’ Tory all yer bloody life!’

  Reg stopped laughing and leaned forward in his chair. ‘That’s right, mate, and fank Gord I ’ave – when yer see the mess your lot ’ave got us into since they pushed Churchill out!’

  Helen, worried with the way Eric and her father were getting at each other, suddenly got up from the table. ‘Josie needs a walk. I’ll take ’er round the corner.’

  Frankie could see his sister’s agitation so he also got up. ‘Come on, ’Elen. I’ll come wiv yer.’ He looked anxiously at Maggs.