An East End Girl

by Maggie Ford

  ‘You didn’t contact your family either. I think they were hurt.’

  Now she hung her head, letting go of him. ‘I imagine they were. I don’t expect them to forgive me. Why should I expect you to?’

  ‘Because…’ He reached out and with a finger beneath her chin, lifted it so that she was made to look up at him. ‘Because I love you. I ain’t ever stopped loving you, and there’s nothing to forgive.’

  ‘But you must have been hurt by what I did.’

  ‘Yes. And I went on hurting. Until today, seeing you. It’s all gone and all that’s left is what was always there inside me. Loving you…No, Cissy…’ He pulled her face back as she made to shrug away from his hold. ‘No, you hear me out. You’ve ’ad your turn. Now I want mine. I know you was bowled over by this bloke what ’ad more to give you than I ever could. And I couldn’t blame you. Just that I was the one left – the one what ’ad all the pain of losing you. But I worked. Christ, Cissy, I worked so bloody ’ard, so that when you finally came back – and I was always sure you would, because them sort of blokes don’t last – I’d ’ave something to offer you. Until eighteen months ago, I ’ad a lot to offer you. A bloody good business. I could’ve got us a damn fine house to live in, out of London, and you’d ’ave wanted for nothing. Cissy…’

  He tried to pull her towards him but when she remained rigid, he stopped trying. It struck her then that he was so much older, far more mature than the man she had walked out on. He seemed as though that come what may, he would always be in control.

  ‘But now I’ve found you,’ he continued, his tone low and hollow, ‘I can’t offer you what I’d once hoped to any more. The Depression’s hit me like it’s hit everyone.’

  He began to tell her about his towage business, but paused, aware of more people beginning to gather for the next bus.

  ‘We can’t talk here. Let’s go somewhere for a cuppa.’

  As she nodded, he threaded her arm through his as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do and guided her away. She thought suddenly of how Langley would do that, then hurriedly dismissed him. That was another world, a world gone for ever. And now she didn’t want it back, ever, surprising herself that she didn’t. She was home.

  Standing beside Eddie in the waning light, she waited for the door to open to his knock. Nothing had changed in four years, still the dirty brown brick, the flat-faced windows, the peeling green paintwork, still the same lace curtains or at least a similar pattern. Nothing in the street had changed. The only change was in herself, remembering the wide Paris boulevards, the quaint cobbled back-streets where even the most humble dwelling fired the romantic spirit. Now living in the wide and busy if dirty and littered Bethnal Green Road, by comparison these streets, away from the hustle and bustle of main road shops, had an air of neglect and disillusionment.

  She shivered slightly as she waited for someone to answer Eddie’s knock. ‘What if they close the door in our faces?’ she asked.

  He smiled down at her and she felt the reassuring pressure of his hand in hers. ‘They won’t close the door in my face.’

  He looked up expectantly as someone fumbled with the catch on the far side. Cissy drew in a deep breath as the door was opened wide, the enquiring smile of her mother greeting her.

  Seeing Cissy, the smile faded. Obviously she had expected someone else, a neighbour perhaps. Now there was only guarded surprise and shock.

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ she began, but a warning pressure of Eddie’s hand stopped her.

  ‘Mrs Farmer, I’ve something I’ve got to tell you. Can we come in for a moment or two?’

  The round faded blue eyes wavered. ‘Well…I don’t know.’

  A man’s voice came from within, deep and full. Cissy recognised it as her father’s. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s…no one, dear,’ her mother called back, and Cissy felt the words bite into her. But Eddie was talking quickly.

  ‘We do need to talk to you, Mrs Farmer. Most seriously.’

  She hesitated, finally opened the door a little wider. ‘You’d best come in a moment, then,’ she said, at the same time throwing a hasty look left and right along the street. To Cissy it seemed as though she were admitting a fugitive from prison.

  They followed her into the narrow passage, but there she stopped them. ‘You wait ’ere a moment. I’ve got to tell your…I’ve got to tell ’im you’re ’ere.’

  The hesitation in naming her father for what he was to her didn’t escape Cissy. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and held back the cry to be welcomed, forgiven. She stood very still beside Eddie as her mother went into the room, closing the door behind her, leaving them to wait in the dim passageway with its tiny hallstand full of coats and its slightly pockmarked mirror. She said nothing, could find nothing to say, even to Eddie.

  Beyond the door, her father’s voice rose, the words coming plainly. ‘Tell ’er to bugger off. I don’t want ter see ’er.’

  And then her mother. ‘But she’s got Eddie with her.’

  ‘She can ’ave the good God Himself with ’er. I ain’t seeing ’er.’

  Eddie let go her hand. ‘Wait here,’ he ordered, and before she could say anything, he had opened the door to the front room and was inside, leaving her alone. Her heart thumping wildly, feeling suddenly sick, Cissy listened, half expecting him to be bundled bodily out.

  ‘Mr Farmer. You know me. You’ve never ’ad any quarrel with me.’

  ‘Not till now. What you brought ’er ’ere for?’

  ‘I met her today. We’ve ’ad a long talk, me and Cissy. I won’t go into lots of detail, Mr Farmer, but I’m ready to forgive ’er. You might say she made a fool of herself, and she’s had a nasty lesson. She was young and silly going off like that and she knows it. But now she’s come back and wants to make amends. And, as I said, I’ve forgiven ’er and I’m ready to welcome ’er back – take ’er back.’

  ‘Then more bloody fool you.’ Listening at the door the harshness in her father’s tone made Cissy jump, but Eddie’s voice remained steady.

  ‘If I’m a bloody fool, Mr Farmer, I’ll be the first to say so. Maybe I am, but it ain’t for you to judge if I should ’ave her back or not. And if I can, then I’m asking you to try and do the same.’

  ‘Not if I live ter be ’undred years old. I won’t ever forgive ’er for what she put me and ’er mum through. Put years on ’er mum, she did, and for that I won’t ever forgive ’er.’

  In all this, her mother hadn’t spoken. Cissy hoped she might run to her defence, but there had been no sound from her. Even her mother wasn’t prepared to speak up for her.

  ‘She’s your daughter, Mr Farmer.’

  ‘She ain’t no daughter of mine. Never will be again. And you can tell ’er that yourself, though I’ve no doubt she’s ’earing every word through that door.’

  In response, Cissy leapt back as though her father could actually see her. But though she stood with her back to the passage wall, the thin wood of the door let through every word as clear as if it wasn’t there at all. Eddie’s voice rang out.

  ‘It makes no matter, Mr Farmer. I ’aven’t told Cissy yet, but I intend to marry ’er, if she’ll ’ave me. Way things are at present, I ain’t got a lot to offer ’er – not what I once ’oped I would. But there’s never any standing still altogether and in time things might change and get better. I ’ope they do. But I ain’t waiting for ’em. If she’s willing to take me as I am, then I’m ’ere for her. And it would be nice, Mr Farmer, if you was ’ere for ’er too. But if you ain’t then it won’t make no difference to me. It might to ’er, but then she’ll ’ave me to fight for ’er, won’t she?’

  There came a coughing growl from her father. ‘I suppose you think by sayin’ that, we’ll be forced to come to yer weddin’.’

  But Cissy was already fighting to calm the rapid beating inside her breast. He had asked her to marry him, or had from a distance. It was enough.

  ‘Oh, yes, yes,’ she whis
pered. She felt hardly able to breathe. She wanted to rush in and throw herself into Eddie’s arms. But she had to remain calm, had to control herself. Eddie was talking, his voice low.

  ‘No, I don’t expect you to come. And I do understand. I might’ve felt the same in your place, Mr Farmer. But I’m ’ere, and I intend to ask her to be my wife. We’ll get married quietly – if she’ll ’ave me – and we’ll get on with our lives, and you’ll get on with yours, and I don’t suppose much’ll be changed by it, do you?’

  It sounded to Cissy as though he were saying that if every creature on the earth died tomorrow, it would still go on spinning, and still look the same from out there in space. It was a silly thought and suddenly it made her want to cry.

  That was how she was as Eddie came out of the room, her face buried in her hands, no longer feeling the chic young woman he’d met a couple of hours ago, more a little girl hunched over with sorrow as well as happiness, and unable to differentiate between the two. It was to her as if the world, or at least everyone in it, was indeed threatening to come to an end, and that she and Eddie would be the only ones left to struggle alone.

  His voice came softly to her, somewhat far away. ‘Cissy, are you all right?’

  She nodded into her covering hands. ‘I just feel…overwhelmed, sad, happy…I don’t know what I feel.’

  The door had opened again. Cissy looked up. It was her mother.

  ‘Cissy,’ she whispered. ‘I ain’t forgiving you entirely. Not as quick as all that. You caused this family a lot of ’urt and ’eartache, and it ain’t a thing to get over lightly, but what I’m saying is I know what Eddie’s talkin’ about, and if you two are going to marry, then I want to give me blessing. Things is very ’ard these days and Lord knows you’ll ’ave a lot to cope with, but you’ll manage, the pair of you. All’s well what ends well, so they say, and though blessings ain’t much, I can at least give ’em to you both. In time your dad’ll come round if I know ’im. Ain’t one to ’old a grudge when there’s no grudge to ’old. He’s really a decent sort, your dad.’

  In seconds, Cissy was in her arms, sobbing. ‘I know. I know he is.’

  ‘Now you give me your address,’ Doris said, as she held her daughter gently. ‘And I’ll come and see you.’

  *

  As they left, bubbles of excitement were already surging up inside her. It didn’t matter any more what Dad felt about her, how bitterly he had renounced her – all she could think of was whether to gasp out her acceptance breathlessly on the very brink of Eddie asking, or whether she should bridle a little so as not to make herself look too eager. But he didn’t ask. He said little except that he was taking her to see his mother, having mentioned on the way to her parents’ home his father’s death, waving away her instant condolences almost brusquely.

  She supposed that being taken to see his mother might be considered a proposal of sorts and she assumed that this was all she could expect, remembering the cautious, practical man Eddie had always been. But how she wished it could have been more the romantic one she’d have liked. Disappointment swept over her in waves which she tried hard to ignore as they reached his home, even though he smiled fondly down at her.

  Meeting him this evening – a mere three hours ago, for all it now seemed like ages ago – the first heart-crushing rush of joy issuing from that amazing meeting now past, he was treating her as casually as if they had been reunited months ago and had settled down to routine. Nor was it as if she had never met his mother before. It was all so deflating, that lovely bubbling excitement dissipated, her arm through his, yet she feeling oddly distanced by it all. Even making conversation was becoming hard, not knowing what to say to him, she trying to keep in step with him, the old problem.

  ‘It’s been so long since I saw your mum,’ she said, more to fill a hiatus, instantly ruing the remark that emphasised her long absence, but he didn’t seem bothered by it for he had already forgiven her. He had said as much to her father.

  All he said was, ‘She’ll be so glad you and me are together again.’ He seemed to assume that he had proposed to her face to face, in the recognised way, and that she had said yes, again in the conventional way. Of course she would have said yes, but it would have been nice to have had the opportunity to say it, not just have it taken for granted. She felt a little irritated by it.

  In this frame of mind, she accepted Mrs Bennett’s warm, if verging on the stoic, greeting, her recent bereavement and the sad timing of her son’s news bravely held at bay as Eddie announced, ‘Me and Cissy’s going to get married, Mum,’ – news that would have so pleased his father – Cissy could see it behind the smile, and squirmed as the pale hazel eyes, brimming, looked from one to the other.

  ‘Oh, Eddie, I’m so pleased for you – pleased for you both.’ Her arms out to him, she hugged him to her, then came and kissed Cissy. ‘I always hoped, you know. I was so sorry how things turned out. But everything’s all right again, and I do wish you both every ’appiness.’

  Eddie was smiling proudly. He had his arm about Cissy. She was his and he was pleased with himself, pleased with her. His world had come together after all his heartache, and so had hers. Yet he still hadn’t proposed properly. He probably never would, and though some of the romance had been lost by it, she felt it had to be enough. Romance – that sweeping off the feet romance – had no substance to it, had it? A whispering of lovely words, were they ever reliable? She knew by bitter experience, didn’t she, that they were not. Better, wasn’t it, to have lasting love starting quietly than being swept off one’s feet to last only months? Yet, it would have been nice to have been asked.

  While her son devoured the tea she’d had waiting for him, stretching sausages and mashed potato to provide for Cissy, Mrs Bennett talked non-stop: how had Eddie’s day been, and what a coincidence it was the two of them meeting like that, and what was her shop like and what sort of things was she selling? She would pop down Bethnal Green Road and buy some wool or something from her – as if that sufficed to help Cissy’s business. She submitted to the woman’s questions with no observations of her own, noted with a stab of conscience how she kept well away from any mention of her being abroad, conversation kept strictly to a lighter side.

  ‘And when do you two plan the wedding for?’

  Eddie looked over the moon. ‘It’ll be a quiet one, I expect. We ain’t had no time to talk about it properly, but we’ll be doing that soon enough.’ He turned towards Cissy. ‘After we’ve finished tea, I could take you and show you my office. We could do a bit of serious talking there.’

  While Mrs Bennett smiled her approval, he studied Cissy’s face for her agreement, which she gave with a nod, after which he fell to downing his portion of the rice pudding his mother had baked.

  His office wasn’t large. Cluttered and, she imagined, somewhat dark during the day with the window, inaccessible from the outside, a dirty brown from not having been cleaned in years, there were faint odours of fish and cattle cake and dozens of others from surrounding wharves. The light switched on, she stood in the centre of the room, having been conducted through the small outer office where his secretary had left her typewriter protected by such a tatty dust cover that Cissy hazarded the machine beneath had to be second-hand.

  ‘It’s not much,’ he said ruefully, seeing her slow survey of the room. ‘We were going to move offices a couple of years ago when things were better than they are now.’

  ‘We?’ she queried absently.

  ‘Me and Dad. We was in partnership – until he died.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m sorry.’

  ‘One of those things.’

  ‘How did you come to start up this business?’ she asked, hurriedly changing the subject. His shrug had told her he didn’t want to talk about his father’s death. They must have been so close, she thought, and felt a small tug of envy and of regret that she had not been there when he probably most needed her.

  ‘I had a bit of a windfall. An inheritance – couple o
f months after you left.’ The remark sounded pointed, and again came the twinge of guilt. She was quite prepared for him to follow it up with another that had she been there, he might have been well able to match the enticement offered by the man she had gone off with. But he said no more, except to give a short account of how he’d come into the money.

  ‘So this is it,’ he concluded, again ruefully, this time conveying the impression that she could back out if she wanted.

  Cissy turned to look at him and knew now that if he had nothing but the clothes he stood up in and was up to his eyes in debt, it was him she wanted and no one else. Suddenly she was in his arms.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Eddie. We can make a go of it – you with this and me with my shop. Neither of us is making much money, but we could pool our resources. We can make a go of things.’

  ‘I reckon we could,’ he began, but she had lifted her face to kiss him. She felt the warm lips on hers, knew again the tingle that used to surge through her at his touch all those years ago.

  A need was gripping them both, their lips parting and hungry, her hands behind his neck so that he would not let go of her. But his arms held her, one hand moving round to knead her breast as together they rocked, moved, strove to draw ever nearer to each other. With only one other way to be even closer, each knew that this, their first time ever, would make them one, the dingy little office becoming a magic shady dell for making love in.

  But first, he must prepare the place. Reluctantly he let his hold on her fall away, enough to remove his coat and to lay it on the floor with a sort of nest-building instinct, while she, her heart beating with heavy expectant thuds against her ribs, watched the meticulous preparation. So absorbed he was in ensuring her comfort that she found her love for him bursting out of her.

  Nest completed, he lay her down and with careful fingers undid her suit, her blouse, the side zip of her skirt, not once looking at her, but concentrating deeply on what he was doing, and that so slowly, she wanted to help. It wasn’t so much he taking his time as time being taken. Even as she slipped her skirt off for him he watched only with reverence; neither self-conscious nor self-assured, but seemingly humbled by this moment, special to them both.