Keeping My Sister's Secrets

by Beezy Marsh

  ‘Expensive taste,’ said the assistant, raising an eyebrow. He pulled out another tray of watches, all of them were Rolexes.

  Eva felt the edges of the one in her pocket. She had memorized its shape. It was unusual in that it had eight edges to it and she knew it was gold with a brown leather strap. The exact watch was there on the tray before her, except for one detail: the one from the shop had a black leather strap. Alice drifted past them, smiling. She gave Eva a wink. Eva swallowed hard. She had to find a way to swap it.

  Alice stood at the other side of the counter. ‘Excuse me!’

  The shop assistant ignored her for a few seconds, so she boomed out, ‘What does one have to do to get served around here!’

  ‘I’m so sorry, madam.’ He grimaced. ‘I am just dealing with customers and I will be with you shortly.’

  Alice took out a wodge of pound notes and waved them in the air. ‘I have got the money to buy, chum, but I haven’t got time to waste.’

  As he turned and his mouth fell open at the sight of so much ready cash, Eva grabbed the watch from the tray and switched it with the one in her pocket, her heart pounding. He spun back around, his eyes sweeping across the watches on the counter in front of him. The right number were still there.

  ‘Would you ladies excuse me?’ he said, sweeping the trays away from Maggie’s grasp. ‘I have another customer to attend to.’

  Eva and Maggie shrugged their shoulders and meandered back through the store. One thing Alice had taught her was to take her time, never to rush, to look as if she was totally comfortable, with nothing to hide. They sauntered through to the toy department, where children were crowded around a miniature boating lake, gazing at the little boats sailing on it. There was a model railway too, with a station and everything. Her brothers would have loved that. Her hands were clammy with nerves. That watch was the most expensive thing she had ever stolen, maybe even the most expensive thing she’d ever seen, and it was burning a hole in her pocket.

  She was just following Maggie towards the exit when she heard a voice shout across the shop floor, ‘Hey, you! Stop!’ She spun around, to see the man from the watch stand, accompanied by another woman, pushing their way through the crowds. Maggie turned briefly and then elbowed a few people out of the way as she headed towards the door. Eva tried to follow, but someone held her back when she was just a few yards from the door, grabbing her arm in a vice-like grip. ‘Oi! You are wanted by that man over there.’

  In a moment, they were on her, the watch man and the lady assistant. ‘Turn out your pockets.’

  Eva did as he asked but kept the gold watch in its place, tucked into her pocket.

  He reached in, felt inside her coat and pulled it out, with a look of triumph on his face.

  ‘I knew it!’ the watch man said. ‘You stole this!’

  ‘No, I never,’ she said quietly. ‘It belongs to my dad.’

  ‘You liar! You switched it with this one.’ He dangled the broken watch in front of her nose.

  Alice Diamond appeared. ‘I think there has been a misunderstanding. My daughter, she’s a bit slow.’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘She’s trying to get her father a present, that’s all.’

  A few people were listening, open-mouthed. Others pretended not to notice and just bustled past to get on with their shopping.

  ‘It’s stealing,’ said the watch man. ‘And you pretended not to know her earlier. You are in on this too!’ He turned to the woman beside him. ‘Go and get the manager.’

  ‘No need for that, surely?’ said Alice. ‘She’s done wrong and I will make sure she gets punished for it when I get her home.’ She delivered a slap to the side of Eva’s head, which hurt like hell. ‘What have I told you about taking things you like? Haven’t I told you it’s wrong?’

  Eva started to cry, without too much effort, because Alice’s backhand was enough to knock someone’s block off.

  Someone said, ‘Oh, leave her be, she’s simple, you can see that,’ and there were murmurs of approval from the assembled shoppers.

  ‘A likely story,’ said the watch man. ‘The police will be here—’

  But he didn’t get to finish his sentence because Alice made a fist, turned suddenly and smacked him right in the mouth with her row of diamond rings. He staggered backwards and as he did so, Alice snatched the working Rolex back from him. Then she yanked her hatpin out and brandished it at the crowd of onlookers. ‘Anyone else want some?’

  There was now a clear foot of space around them. ‘Run!’ she said to Eva. Eva didn’t hesitate; she made a break for it, tumbling through the door into the street. Alice followed, leaping in through the open door of the motor car, which already had its engine going. It all happened so fast. Eva’s legs were carrying her towards the car but the car was already screeching around the corner without her.

  The lady shop assistant was through the doors. Their eyes met for an instant. Eva turned on her heel and sprinted, ducking and weaving through the crowds and into the fog, which froze in her lungs as she quickened her pace. She couldn’t see more than twenty yards in each direction now but she didn’t stop running, her little feet pounding the pavement. A bus was pulling away into the road in front of her, heading towards Tottenham Court Road. She leaped onto it, almost squashing the bus conductor, and took her seat, glancing back over her shoulder. The shop assistant had given up the chase but Eva’s heart was still pounding out of her chest with the fear of it all. She hopped off the bus at Holborn Tube Station and lost herself in the maze of backstreets around the Seven Dials in Covent Garden, just to be sure.

  From there it was a familiar walk, down Bow Street and back across Waterloo Bridge, where she took the tram down to the Borough, to Alice’s tenement. Eva was more than a little bit worried about what Alice would do to her for giving up that watch. At least Alice had grabbed it back but that was not the point. She was supposed to be one of the Forty Thieves and she’d let Alice down.

  As she trudged up the three flights of stairs to Alice’s flat, she could hear raucous laughter from the women in there. She pushed open the front door and Alice greeted her with open arms. ‘And here she is!’ she said, ushering her in to the scullery. ‘Gawd, we gave them a fright, didn’t we?’

  ‘You’re not angry with me?’ said Eva.

  ‘No, love, of course I’m not! You did a great job of hoisting that watch! If there’s anyone at fault, it’s Maggie, isn’t that right, Mags?’

  Maggie looked up from her tot of rum and scowled.

  ‘She should have taken it off you when she had the chance, in case someone checked your pockets,’ said Alice. ‘Did they chase you far?’

  ‘No, only a little way down the road,’ said Eva, brightening. It all seemed such an adventure now she was safely back with the gang in Alice’s flat. ‘I couldn’t get to the car in time.’

  ‘I know,’ said Alice, pouring her a reviving cuppa. ‘But I knew you’d outrun them. I’d never leave you on a job, you know that, don’t you? I always look after my girls.’

  Eva held her gaze for a second, wondering if Alice meant that. Would she really have made sure she was all right, or would she have just left her to fend for herself?

  Sensing Eva’s doubt, Alice came over and patted her on the shoulder. ‘In fact, as a reward, I have got a little surprise for you. I know you’ve been wanting to get that songbird sister of yours a piano, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eva. She’d hardly managed to save anything; she’d been giving money to her mum instead.

  ‘Well, a lovely one fell off the back of a lorry down the Elephant the other day. I’ll have it sent round at the weekend. Will that be enough time for you and your ma to get it past your dad?’

  ‘I expect so,’ said Eva, with a grin. That was brilliant! It was Kathleen’s birthday coming up and the piano would make the best present ever.

  Alice reached into a shopping bag and pulled out a frock.

  ‘And here’s a dress. Your older sister’s a skin
ny thing ain’t she? Bit taller than you but not much? This will fit her.’

  Peggy would be thrilled! It wasn’t exactly like the one she’d been talking about getting but it was lovely, just the thing for a night out with George Harwood.

  ‘What in the name of God Almighty is that piano doing in this house?’

  Her dad was gobsmacked by the arrival of the musical instrument, to say the least, when he got in from a hard day’s work to find it taking pride of place in their tiny living room. Kathleen had been bashing out every tune she could think of ever since its arrival this morning and by teatime half the street was crammed into their house, having a good old sing-song.

  ‘I saved some money from the housekeeping and Peggy put a few bob aside, didn’t you, Peg?’ said Mum airily.

  Peggy shot her a look of disbelief, but then nodded in agreement.

  ‘That’s all very well but I have been thinking, Maggie, you won’t be needing as much housekeeping in the future, will you? Now Peggy is working, I am going to dock your allowance. If you’ve got enough to buy pianos . . .’

  ‘But it was a special present!’ said Eva.

  ‘Don’t give me any of your lip,’ said Dad. Eva stared at the floor.

  The party atmosphere was ruined. People slipped back out into the street. Mum sighed. ‘I’ll put the kettle on for some tea.’ They were just spreading some jam on slices of bread to celebrate Kathleen and Jim’s fourteenth birthdays, when Nanny Day came through the front door. She was red in the face from running.

  ‘It’s Uncle Dennis. He’s had a bad turn with his chest. Grandad’s taken him up the hospital. They are going to see to him but he’s on almoner’s rates. He’s not had a penny to rub together since the four years’ war. I will have to go the parish and ask for help,’ she said, wringing her hands.

  ‘Don’t worry, Ma,’ Mum said, looking at Eva, ‘it will all be all right, you’ll see.’

  Eva understood perfectly. Tomorrow she would go shopping again.

  14

  Peggy, January 1935

  The dress was possibly the most beautiful thing that Peggy had ever seen. It was covered in a print of pink roses and had a smart little collar and a belt made of the same material, to pull in at the waist. It would suit her for work and for going out to the cinema with George. She desperately wanted to try it on but she bit her lip and handed it back to Eva.

  ‘I can’t take this, Eve,’ she said, reading the disappointment in her little sister’s eyes.

  ‘Why not?’ said Eva. ‘Don’t you like it?’

  ‘I love it,’ said Peggy. ‘But that is not the point. I know where it’s come from.’

  ‘Well, it’s come from a shop, if that is what you mean . . .’

  ‘It’s stolen, Eva.’

  Eva gazed out of the window. ‘How long do you suppose it would take the likes of us to save up to buy a dress like that?’

  ‘A long time,’ said Peggy. ‘I can’t accept it because it is stolen and I don’t believe in stealing.’

  Eva spun round. ‘You think you’re better than me, a cut above.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ said Peggy, reaching out to give her a hug. ‘I know you did it for me with the best will in the world, but I want to work hard to earn what I have. And I believe that if wages for people like us, who work hard, were better we would all stand a better chance in life.’

  ‘Oh, Gawd,’ said Eva, ‘you’re going to give me one of Georgie Harwood’s little sermons, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s not fair, Eva,’ said Peggy, reddening. ‘I happen to share a lot of his views about the way workers are not paid enough and the need for us all to stand together. Being part of a gang of thieves—’

  ‘Don’t you go saying that in the house where Dad can hear you!’ hissed Eva. ‘You know he’ll give me what for.’

  ‘I won’t say anything, of course I won’t. I’m your sister, Eva, I want to look out for you. I’m just worried about you, that’s all. What if you get caught?’

  Eva snatched up the dress and stuffed it under her mattress. ‘I won’t get caught. Now, off you go, Miss High and Mighty, or you’ll be late for work.’

  Peggy mulled it over on the way to the office in Kensington. She could have taken the dress; nobody would have known and it would probably have got her a few admiring glances on the tram. But, as she settled down to read her latest book on Communism from George, she soon forgot all about the frock and was too absorbed to notice the way that men were looking at her, in any case. She wasn’t as beautiful as Kathleen, who seemed to have inherited their mother’s good looks and easy manner, but she was tall and striking, with strong features and dark, wavy hair, which she now wore loose to her shoulders and pinned back above her ears. Her friend Susan had showed her how to style it like the ladies in the magazines.

  When she got to work, Edna, who sat opposite her, was already there, working away quietly. She’d been with the company for fifteen years and was still on lower clerical duties, like most of the other women, even though she was as bright as a button and knew the workings of the Post Office Savings Bank inside out. Whenever Peggy had a problem, she’d only to ask Edna. She knew each ledger, each rule, like the back of her hand. She’d adjust her cardigan and shuffle off to the other side of the office and return with whatever Peggy needed, with a ready smile.

  Edna lived with her mother over in Acton and only ever talked about her cats. Her hair was grey and wiry and her eyes watered almost constantly behind her glasses. Peggy feared that she was looking into her own future whenever she gazed at Edna. If she wanted to keep working, she could never marry or have children because the Post Office, like all big firms, wouldn’t employ married women. The unions wouldn’t stand for it either – taking jobs away from men in a time of such high unemployment – and even the Government had been looking into what it called ‘the women question’, George had told her. He believed that women, married women, should have the right to go out to work if they wanted to. ‘And in Russia, they have nurseries paid for by the state to allow women to do just that,’ he said. Peggy wasn’t sure she would want to work if she ever got married, especially if she had children – not that she had been thinking about that.

  Miss Fisher, their supervisor, was one of the few women who had managed to progress up the career ladder a bit, but she had seen countless blokes promoted past her, even though she could probably have done their jobs with her eyes closed. She was really buttoned up, precise and proper. Peggy couldn’t imagine her ever having any fun, or a boyfriend. She’d sacrificed everything for her career and was married to the job. Rumour had it she had even marched with the Suffragettes and campaigned for women’s rights but no one had dared to ask her about it. She was such a stickler for protocol, it would seem like an intrusion, talking to the boss like that, but Peggy was secretly intrigued.

  Susan arrived ten minutes late that day, looking a bit off-colour. Miss Fisher glared at her and tapped her wristwatch. ‘The old dragon’s watching me again,’ said Susan, shrugging off her jacket and sitting down at the desk next to Peggy.

  ‘Was the bus late?’

  ‘No,’ said Susan. ‘I wasn’t feeling too good and it took my mum ages to persuade me to get out of bed.’

  Miss Fisher came over. For once she didn’t tell them off. ‘Now, girls,’ she said. She was including Edna in this, even though Edna was probably older than Miss Fisher. ‘Girls, there is a staff-side meeting after work today, in which we will discuss the possibility of some extra work opportunities for women.’

  ‘What kind of opportunities, miss?’ said Peggy, whose interest was piqued. Perhaps she had been a friend of the Suffragettes and gone on marches, waving Votes for Women placards, after all, although she couldn’t imagine Miss Fisher breaking the rules. She was just too straitlaced.

  ‘Extra training to work in areas such as a cable room,’ said Miss Fisher, with a note of softness in her voice. It was not a tone Peggy had heard from her before. Maybe she wasn’t so bad. ‘G
ood opportunities for bright girls such as yourself, Peggy.’ She pointedly excluded Susan from that compliment, Peggy noticed. Edna’s eyes lit up.

  ‘We’re looking for younger girls, Edna,’ said Miss Fisher gently, as Edna’s shoulders sagged with disappointment. ‘But there is no reason that you can’t come along and lend your weight to the argument. The point is, the representatives from the union are meeting to discuss the possibility of this and we will hear differing viewpoints . . .’

  ‘You mean, the men don’t want us to do this,’ said Peggy flatly.

  ‘Well, some men do and some don’t, but it is important that as women our voices are heard. I wrote to the union magazine Red Tape with some of my own views about it and they just published my letter.’ She brandished a copy of the magazine under Peggy’s nose. ‘In the meantime, the more women we can get along to the meeting, the better. I will put a note up in the women’s lounge at lunchtime. Perhaps you can let some of the others know?’

  Susan yawned as Miss Fisher walked back to her desk at the other side of the office. ‘Sounds dull as dishwater. I won’t be going.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be like that,’ said Peggy. ‘Imagine working the cable room!’

  ‘She’s turned into a right Mrs Pankhurst; don’t you go joining her!’ said Susan. ‘Oh, God, I feel sick again. Tell the old bat I’m going to chuck up, if she asks.’ And she ran from the room.

  The yellowing wallpaper of the men’s lounge at the other end of Blythe House was testament to the long hours the workers had spent puffing away in there, on their breaks. Women were normally not allowed anywhere near that side of the building but as it was a union meeting, the bosses had waived the strict segregation rule. This alone had persuaded Susan to join Peggy.

  ‘I can’t wait to see what stuff they have got in there. Bet their chairs are more comfy than ours,’ she whispered, as Miss Fisher led a delegation of her ‘girls’ into the men’s den.

  Susan was rather disappointed to see that their easy chairs, if anything, were less homely than those in the women’s lounge. Everything was in shades of brown: the carpet, the table, the seats. There were no cosy touches – no vase of flowers, no pile of magazines to flick through – just overflowing ashtrays and a dartboard.