Cockney Orphan

by Carol Rivers

  ‘Let’s dance,’ he said, pulling her up.

  Connie stood on shaky legs. But once on the floor he held her tightly against him. She closed her eyes and moved in time with the music, almost by instinct. As she nuzzled close to his chest she wondered what had happened to the old Connie. The single girl determined to resist love in pursuit of a better life. Her vision of the big manor, the lady of the house like she’d seen in the film Rebecca, the gardens that stretched down to the cliffs, with rose bushes and croquet lawns, was all her imagination. Now the only dream she had was to live the rest of her life with this man.

  The melody changed to ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’. They swayed slowly, Vic’s hand pressed in the small of her back, his mouth touching the bare skin of her neck. When the tempo changed to ‘You Must have Been a Beautiful Baby’, he sang the words in her ear, whirling her round the floor and into the next medley of songs.

  ‘To us, sweetheart. To our future,’ Vic said breathlessly as they took their seats and lifted their glasses.

  ‘Oh, Vic, I’m so happy. But I’m sad too. I don’t want to go back to reality.’

  ‘We’ll always have tonight, darling.’

  ‘Can we dance again?’

  ‘All night, if you like. What do you want him to play?’

  She lowered her glass. ‘Can I chose?’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘I’d like “Dancing in the Dark”. Wouldn’t it always remind us of tonight?’

  ‘No sooner said than done.’ She watched him weave between the chairs and tables, looking so tall and handsome in his new uniform as he made his way towards the piano. The pianist glanced up and nodded, spinning his fingers across the keys.

  ‘Think of me whenever you hear this and your thoughts will reach me wherever I am,’ he whispered as he held her tightly on the dance floor.

  She lifted her face, committing every detail to memory. She was Cinderella tonight, with her prince. And all too soon they would be rushing out of the door, in their case not to the coach and six white horses to return to the castle, but to Taffy arriving in his lorry to drive them home.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gran opened the front door and searched the cloudy skies. The raids now had nothing like the intensity of the Blitz, and it was a relief. But the Luftwaffe visits were still unpredictable. The warning siren was as disturbing as ever, though all she could hear was the sound of Barker Brown’s old nag, clip-clopping along the main road. The rag-and-bone man was off to an early start. The inclement September weather, a gusty wind and continuous rainfall, had him encouraging the horse faster before a downpour.

  There was a lot to be said for the old-fashioned methods of transport, Gran thought to herself as she tied on her scarf and buttoned up her coat. A horse and cart made a friendly noise, unlike these new-fangled motor cars, frightening the daylights out of unsuspecting pedestrians. Vic had convinced her to ride in his car once or twice, but she wasn’t impressed. You couldn’t put your foot down and stop it when you wanted, like a bicycle. And as for all that pulling and pushing of levers, well – what a game! No, she was quite satisfied to take her morning stroll to the shops – even in the rain – by Shanks’s pony.

  Once fully attired, Gran set off. Her umbrella blew sideways once or twice, but she held on grimly. Gran was an all-weather veteran. She prided herself on her resilience to the elements.

  ‘Hope yer wearing your long johns,’ a voice said beside her as she waited on the pavement to cross the street.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Albie.’ She smiled at her next-door-but-one neighbour, Albert Cross. ‘And no, in answer to your question, I ain’t got me flannel drawers on yet.’

  Albie’s wizened face wrinkled into a grin. ‘Come on, let me take you across the road, before you fall over that bloody umbrella.’

  Gran held out her elbow and Albie grabbed it. ‘Which way you going?’

  ‘Down the butcher’s.’

  ‘Me too. I’ll keep you company.’

  It was a conversation they enjoyed regularly, old friends from a different generation, still around to tell the tale of a previous existence. Gran liked Albie. He’d been a costermonger in his time, starting off in Cox Street as a barrow boy. She had known his wife, Elsie, a dressmaker, who had died a decade ago of TB, leaving behind a heartbroken partner. Not that Albie had let on. His pride wouldn’t allow it.

  ‘Still can’t get used to all these missing houses,’ Albie complained as they walked. ‘Went by the old Star pram and mangle factory the other day. Nothing left of it. Same with the Blackwall Mill and all those warehouses. Been there years they had. Snowdon Sons have moved out to Crawley I hear. As for the Clergy House of Saint John’s, it’s growing weeds as tall as trees.’ He shook his head mournfully. ‘And I daren’t walk by the place where Bullivant’s factory stood. To think of all those poor buggers sheltering there, a hundred by some estimates. All gonners that night in March last year. It still chokes me up something rotten.’

  ‘I know,’ agreed Gran soberly. ‘I’ve only got to stroll down Roserton Street or Cleveland Terrace and see the gaps, and think of all the people I’ve known a lifetime, not there any more.’

  ‘Yeah, I was born in Chipka Street, you know. Nothing left of the old home now. Still, I suppose there’s not many who haven’t lost someone or somewhere. Speaking of which, how’s your Vic? Saw he was home last month. Waved to me as he passed, looking the cat’s whiskers in that uniform of his.’

  Gran nodded proudly. ‘Been on the Arctic run to Russia.’

  ‘Christ! Read about them convoys in the papers. Sitting ducks they are for the U-boats.’

  ‘I daren’t think about it, Albie.’

  ‘No, course not.’

  Gran stopped to get her breath back. She had been walking too fast as usual. Harris’s the butcher’s was on the next corner. There would be a queue, but she fancied a nice tasty bit of liver if she could get it.

  ‘You all right, gel?’

  ‘I’m not as young as some.’

  ‘I was rushing to keep up with you.’ Albie lifted the collar of his raincoat. ‘Fancy a cuppa in the café? My shout.’

  Gran smiled a little wearily as she glanced across the road. ‘It’s rotten tea in there.’

  ‘Yeah, but think of the riveting company you’ll have. Worth a bit of poison for a laugh.’

  Gran took her neighbour’s arm and they crossed the road once more. The glass window of the café was drenched in condensation. She wasn’t fussed about going in, but she was puffing like a dray. She must remember to take it slower in future.

  The café was warm inside, if damp. Albie bought two teas and they sat a safe distance from the wet window and the puddles pooling on the lino. The two other customers were dockers, putting away plates of fried bread.

  Gran examined her cup. She curled her lip. ‘As I suspected, dishwater.’

  Albie laughed. ‘It’s hot dishwater, though.’

  They drank in silence and Gran felt the tea warm her insides, even if the taste was unrecognizable. Albie rattled his false teeth in pleasure and sat back on the wooden chair with a sigh. ‘We should do this more often.’

  Gran glanced at her companion. ‘I’ve got better things to do than waste my time in here.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Never you mind.’

  ‘Don’t you ever get lonely, Alice?’

  Gran felt a funny little stir at the mention of her name. Rarely was she called Alice. She had been known by all and sundry for years as Gran. Alice was part of ancient history. But then so was Albie.

  ‘Why should I be?’

  ‘Your grandson’s at sea, that’s why.’

  ‘That doesn’t make me lonely.’ She regretted her sharp tone and said a little softer, ‘Women are more resilient, got more stamina in their later years.’

  ‘My Elsie hadn’t.’

  Gran sighed heavily. ‘She was a good wife, Albert.’

  He nodded, a quiver of a smile
on his lips. ‘Like your Maurice.’

  Gran reached for her damp brolly. ‘Well, this won’t do.’

  ‘Blimey, are we off already?’

  ‘Needs must.’

  He chuckled as he stood up. ‘You didn’t give me time to try out me courting tactics.’

  Gran smiled ruefully as she gathered her bag and umbrella. ‘You keep your tactics to yourself.’

  As they approached the door, it opened and a man entered. Gran stood still as he rudely pushed past, and Albie muttered, ‘Watch your step, chum!’

  Gran turned slowly, her heart dipping as the man ignored them and pulled out a chair. He sank down on it, beginning to undo the buttons of his suit. Thin features, eyes set too close, an opportunist’s face. Her eyesight wasn’t up to scratch these days, but she was almost certain . . . yes, she had seen him before. She couldn’t forget lights like that. The dark, muddy brown . . .

  Albie squared his shoulders. ‘Bloody ignorant, some people.’

  Gran pulled him with her through the door and into the fresh air. The rain was coming down harder.

  Albie stared at her, his brow furrowed. ‘Don’t forget to put yer brolly up.’

  Gran nodded, though she wasn’t for once concerned about a few drops of water. It was those lights that had upset her. Just like the ones round Connie.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve called, I’ve got something to tell you,’ Pat said as she showed Connie into the front room. A fire was burning and there were toys scattered on the rug in front of it. ‘Laurie’s just gone to the park with Doris for an hour. Give me your coats and Lucky can play with her toys.’

  When Lucky was settled, Pat sat next to Connie. ‘We’ve just had some bad news. Laurie received his call-up this morning.’

  ‘I thought Laurie’s security job at Kenward’s was safe.’

  ‘The firm is cutting down on staff and moving out to Rayleigh. Laurie wasn’t asked to go with them. Not that I’d want him to go away, but if it meant him not having to join up, I would have agreed.’

  ‘When has he got to go?’

  ‘Next week.’

  ‘That’s a bit short notice.’

  ‘They’re recruiting all and sundry now.’ She looked down at Lucky. ‘We’re trying to make the best of it for Doris’s sake.’

  ‘What have you told her?’

  ‘Just that Daddy is going away for a while but will be home soon.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Pat.’

  ‘Can’t be helped I suppose,’ sighed Pat, trying to be cheerful as she pushed her thick brown hair from her face. ‘Anyway, that’s enough of our troubles. How are you?’

  ‘All right – well, I was until this afternoon. I’ve just been round to Gran’s and she wasn’t her usual self. I wondered if you knew why. Is it because of Laurie, do you think?’

  Pat frowned. ‘She doesn’t know yet. When you say upset, do you mean ill?’

  ‘No, at least I don’t think so.’ Connie was bewildered. ‘She told me she’d read her cup and there was a big exclamation mark in it. She didn’t know who it was for, but thought she would tell me to be on the safe side. She did seem worried, though, kept asking funny questions, like had anything queer happened lately?’

  ‘And has it?’

  ‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’

  Pat sank to the floor and waggled the little dog’s tail. Lucky gurgled and perched his fat bottom on her knees. ‘I’ll be seeing her tomorrow, so don’t worry.’

  ‘Will you tell her about Laurie’s call-up?’

  Pat nodded and Connie put her hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s no consolation, but I’ll be around to help you.’

  Pat smiled sadly as she looked up. ‘I know you will.’

  ‘You’ll miss him something rotten.’

  Pat’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Especially with the baby coming.’

  ‘What!’ Connie gasped.

  ‘The doctor confirmed it yesterday.’

  Connie hugged her friend. ‘Congratulations, Pat, to you both. And I’ll say it again – I’ll be here for you, and the baby.’

  Pat’s cheeks grew wet and she took out her hanky.

  Lucky came up to her. ‘Auntie Pat crying.’

  ‘No, ducks, I’m laughing,’ Pat assured him, giving him a big smile. ‘Now, how would you like a drink of orange juice? Hold my hand and I’ll take you out to the kitchen. I’ll make Mummy a nice cup of tea too.’ Pat glanced at Connie and smiled through her tears. ‘I think Gran got it all wrong, don’t you? That exclamation mark was definitely for us, not you.’

  Connie nodded her agreement as they left the room. She was sad to hear that Laurie would soon be conscripted, especially as Pat was expecting. But selfishly she couldn’t help feeling a sense of relief that Gran’s reading was not meant for her.

  Billy was on top of the world. Another notch on his belt. His opponent was being dragged to his corner. Blood streamed down his chin, his flabby body spent. Several of his front teeth were lost in the sawdust, but no one was going to look for them. It was the victor of the grudge match, not the loser, who drew the crowd’s adoration.

  Billy raised his fists above his head and gave Winnie’s two-fingered salute. He was victorious! The men beneath him roared in approval. Two years ago in this very yard they had given him the thumbs down. He remembered that first thrashing as if it was yesterday. Could still taste the humiliation as he’d grovelled on the ground, wondering if a tram had hit him. He’d only clawed back a grudging respect when he bit off a chunk from the Fat Man’s ear. Now the crowd at the Rose and Crown worshipped him.

  Billy revelled in the limelight. What a brilliant right jab! The man’s teeth had met with a crack, his tongue in between them. He’d still been screaming when Billy had dealt a low punch that would see him walking with a stoop for a week. There was no coming back from that and Billy knew it.

  ‘You done it, Billy my lad,’ Taffy shouted at him. ‘They love you. You’re the champ!’

  Billy was high as a kite. He had never felt so good. ‘I can beat ’em all, Taff. Every last one of them.’

  ‘You can, boyo, indeed you can.’

  ‘I’m gonna celebrate, buy a few beers.’

  Taffy took his arm and pushed him to the stable door. Inside smelled of horse dung and ale. ‘Celebrate tomorrow, Billy. When you’ve calmed down.’

  ‘But me mates are waiting.’

  Taffy pushed him on a barrel. He flung a towel in his face. ‘They’re not mates, Billy boy, they’re leeches.’

  ‘Just give me my share,’ Billy demanded, standing up. ‘I earned it fair and square.’

  ‘If I do, it’ll be gone by the morning.’

  ‘Leave off, Taff, you’re not me father.’

  ‘I’m not trying to be, lad. I’m just looking out for your business interests. You gotta remember you’re only as good as your last fight.’

  Billy threw the towel aside. ‘All I seem to get from you these days are scraps with fat gits.’

  Taffy looked insulted. ‘I’ll ignore that, Billy, owing to your excitement.’

  ‘I want to box, Taff. You promised.’ Billy felt as if he was about to explode. Why couldn’t Taffy see the talent in front of him? He knew for certain he could box at the British Legion if only Taffy would pull his finger out.’

  ‘We’ll talk about it soon, lad.’

  Billy grabbed his shirt and pushed past Taffy.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To drown my sorrows.’ Billy strode out to his friends. They cheered when they saw him and followed him into the pub. Billy ordered drinks all round, assuaging his pride, but not the anger that was smouldering inside him.

  ‘Name your poison, chum.’

  Billy was in the Rose and Crown, his head reeling pleasantly. ‘I’ll have another pint if you insist.’

  ‘Good fight,’ said Freddie Smith, signalling the barman for two more ales.

  ‘Yeah, for me it was anyway.’

  ‘Get that down you.’

&nb
sp; Billy took a hefty gulp. He was getting his revenge on Taffy and enjoying his freedom. He was skint, but the barman knew the fight would cover his slate. At least Freddie had the decency to buy a round, and, to Billy’s surprise, was telling him all the things he wanted to hear.

  After all, who did Taffy think he was? In reality he was a failed Welsh lightweight turned cockney roofer. He hadn’t thrown a punch in years. Well, bollocks to Taffy. This last fight had proved a big point. Billy was ready to box. If winning his last six fights on the trot wasn’t experience, he didn’t know what was.

  And his opinion on the subject had been confirmed many times over this evening. All his mates were of one mind. He could knock spots off any fist fighter this side of the river. Why wouldn’t Taffy see sense?

  ‘You were a right hard case today,’ said Freddie, looking at Billy in admiration. ‘The other bloke made twice of you, but you wore him down.’

  ‘That was me plan.’ Billy nodded, gulping his ale.

  ‘Then you landed those crafty jabs. It was a shock to the other geezer. Could see it in his eyes.’

  Billy stood tall as a chum on the other side of the bar gave him the thumbs up. Another patted him on the back. ‘I’m quick on my feet and stay out of range. That’s where they all go wrong, see? They think one wallop and I’ll be on the floor. But I fool them all.’

  ‘Anyone can see that,’ his companion agreed. ‘You’ve got a career ahead of you.’

  ‘I know.’ Billy frowned in consternation. ‘That is if I can get Taffy to set me up with gloves.’

  ‘You want to box?’

  For the first time Billy really studied the man standing beside him. He was dressed in a suit and tie, unlike the majority of dockers and stevedores who drank in the pub. ‘Yeah, that’s the plan, anyway.’

  ‘Well, a nice little southpaw like you should go places.’

  Billy looked surprised. ‘You reckon I’m a southpaw?’

  ‘With a right hook like that, what else? Take it from me, I should know. I’m in the management line myself.’