This Lovely City

by Louise Hare

  ‘You didn’t want to go?’ Moses asked.

  ‘No. Means nothing to me, to visit a place I’ve never been. I’d rather remember my brother the way he was back home, not think about him dying in a field in France.’ Lawrie took a drink from the flask as it came round. ‘Anyhow, last thing I need right now is that copper thinking I’ve done a runner.’

  ‘True,’ Sonny agreed. ‘Ain’t nothing they like more than an excuse to lock any one of us up.’ Johnny sighed and opened his mouth to speak but Sonny held his arm up, calling for silence.

  ‘Everyone here?’ Sonny addressed the room, the men around him murmuring their assent. Lawrie counted thirty or so men and a couple of women, an impressive number for a meeting that he had only heard about that afternoon. ‘All right then. I want to thank you all for comin’ at short notice. Perhaps a few of you think there isn’t a point to this.’

  Lawrie stared down into the swirling centre of his beer. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree with Sonny, it was more that he didn’t want to attract any more attention.

  ‘Point is, these people think we beneath them. They ignore the fact that we all got passports that say we are British. That we got a right to be here. This entire city is still half fallen down and they think we are what’s ruinin’ things for them? Hitler, he the one who bombed this place to smithereens, not I. Not any of us. I mean, can you imagine someone less likely to be a murderer than Moses?’

  Moses grinned innocently and everyone laughed. He was the same age as Lawrie but his round face made him look younger than his twenty-one years. Chubby and soft, he was the most good-natured fella Lawrie knew.

  Emboldened, Sonny stood, his voice gaining volume. ‘See, I not lookin’ to solve all our problems right here tonight. I just want to propose that we look after one another. They think we all the same so let us be just that. Let us join together and have a weekly meeting right here. A place where we can come and discuss what is goin’ on. We locked in a system that is too difficult to change one by one but, if we act together, maybe we can do something about this.’

  Lawrie looked around at the crowd, every man transfixed by Sonny, no longer the surly pessimist that Lawrie had thought him, now a man of sensible action that anyone could agree with. Lawrie put his hands together, leading the applause as Sonny looked bashful and sat back down.

  The thought occurred as the clapping died down and Sonny began to talk once more, of collating problems and forming a regular committee, that one of these men could be the father of Ophelia. If he was, did he even know it? Lawrie looked around, noting which of the faces were most familiar, discounting those he knew had arrived more recently. He considered the women: one was with her husband, the other he knew was sweet on Sonny which was probably the main reason she’d come along. He couldn’t see how either of them could have kept a baby quiet, not when everyone he knew lived practically on top of one another, sharing houses to keep the rent low. No, he kept coming back to Derek’s idea: that it was a local woman trying to hide her mistake.

  Could it be that someone in this very room was Ophelia’s father and had no idea?

  He’d made the reservation at a restaurant that he hoped would feel special without being intimidating. As Agnes had suggested, he went there in person to make sure that they, and he, knew who they were dealing with. They asked for a deposit which he paid, though he heard the maître d’ take a reservation over the telephone with no mention of pre-payment. There were battles worth fighting and this wasn’t one.

  He told Evie a tiny white lie: that he’d meet her after work on Tuesday and they’d go for something to eat before the pictures. ‘Why don’t you wear that red dress I like?’ he suggested.

  ‘To sit in the dark?’

  ‘I just like that dress, but you wear what you want,’ he’d replied with a smile.

  He waited outside Vernon & Sons as the girls filed out in chattering pairs and trios, the men carrying their briefcases. Evie was one of the last out and he smiled when he saw the red hem of her dress peeking out from below her buttoned up coat. She’d put on make-up as well, he noticed. She might not know where they were going but she’d worked out that this wasn’t the usual night out at the movies. Perhaps Agnes had said something. He embraced her but kept his kiss to her cheek, knowing that curious eyes watched them. Taking her arm, they walked in the opposite direction from the usual café, up St John’s Road towards the Junction.

  ‘Where’re we going?’ she asked, looking over her shoulder in confusion.

  ‘I want to treat you for once.’ He ushered her through the entrance of Arding and Hobbs.

  They crossed the ground floor, passing the multi-coloured linens of the drapery department and the subtle glances of the over made-up shop girls. The lifts were at the back of the shop, the quickest way to reach the fifth-floor restaurant. He hoped the food was decent. He’d looked at the prices on the menu to make sure he could afford them and checked the venue with Agnes who’d nodded approvingly. The ring box was in his jacket pocket, growing heavier the longer it sat there. He was amazed that Evie hadn’t asked him what on earth that gigantic lump was sticking out of his chest. The lift operator pressed the button and he felt his knees weaken slightly. All he could hear was his own heart, pumping blood at a wild pace as if he’d just run a mile. How was it that no one else could hear it?

  They entered the restaurant past the grand piano, the pianist booked for later on when the restaurant was at its busiest. The maître d’ recognised Lawrie immediately, greeting the couple and taking them to the table by the window that Lawrie had requested. Lawrie’s palms were sweating as they walked, his eyes drawn to the stunning stained-glass cupola that dominated the ceiling. Evie gave a shy smile as her chair was pulled out for her. Through the glass onto Lavender Hill they could see the tiny office workers below as they swarmed across the road towards the station, heading home. Evie looked as enchanted by the view as Lawrie was with her.

  The restaurant was almost empty, only a handful of early diners dotted throughout. Everyone looked very serious, talking in low, civilised tones. Lawrie and Evie were the youngest by a decade, if not more, and everyone else looked comfortable. The men moved easily in their jackets, tailored second skins. Lawrie fidgeted, raising his shoulders to try and loosen the fit of his suit, bought for him by his mother a year before he’d left Kingston. He’d thought that, at eighteen, he wouldn’t grow any more. Now, at twenty-one, his once-skinny frame had broadened, strengthened, partly thanks to his job. He’d gone from a deskbound student who rode his bicycle to class, to a working man who thought nothing of walking miles every day on foot. If she said yes, and please God, she would, he’d have to buy a new suit for the wedding. A man couldn’t get married in clothes belonging to a child. Lawrie ran a finger between his neck and the stiff collar, adjusting his tie self-consciously.

  ‘So what’s the occasion?’ Evie had finished gorging herself on the view and was watching him now.

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Even his watch felt tight on his wrist and he tugged at the band.

  He had made a plan in his head: order the food and some wine, make a toast to Evie (to be improvised after his attempts to put words on paper had failed, every effort sounding stilted and false when he read them aloud). Then his great hope was that the wine gave him the courage he needed to get down on one knee.

  ‘Why are we really here?’ She reached out and put her hand on his, stopping him from shuffling the cutlery. ‘Is something going on?’

  The waiter saved him, arriving with a jug of water. ‘Have you had a chance to peruse the wine list, sir?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Lawrie pointed to the one he wanted, making sure the waiter took note and didn’t accidentally bring a more expensive bottle. ‘Are you ready to order, Evie?’

  She nodded and ordered tomato soup followed by lamb cutlets.

  ‘I’ll have the same.’ Lawrie handed over his menu and the waiter vanished.

  ‘So?’ Her right eyebrow rose.
r />   ‘What? I can’t treat you for once?’ His laugh sounded fake. His palms were clammy. ‘Would you rather have just gone to the pictures?’

  ‘No, of course not. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.’ She looked away. This wasn’t going the way he had hoped.

  The waiter saved him. ‘Your wine, sir.’ He opened the bottle in front of them with ease, Lawrie watching his technique for future reference, then poured barely a splash into Lawrie’s wine glass, waiting.

  He was supposed to try it, he knew, and determine if the wine was decent. He lifted the glass to his nose as he’d seen in movies, inhaling the strong aroma of fruit and something spicy. He held a small drop on his tongue and let the taste fill his mouth, nodding to the waiter.

  ‘I hope I passed the test,’ he said once the waiter was out of earshot. ‘I don’t have a clue when it comes to wine.’

  Evie took a tentative sip and smiled. ‘Tastes very nice, actually.’

  ‘In that case I’d like to make a toast.’ He raised his glass. ‘To you, Evie. I’ve not always enjoyed my time in London. I was homesick, I suppose, for a long time. And things weren’t as I had expected. I was foolish. Like Dick Whittington.’ Someone had said that to him before, he couldn’t remember who. ‘I thought life would be easier here. That I’d walk into a good job and make my fortune.’

  ‘It’s not foolish to have dreams,’ Evie told him. ‘Life just doesn’t turn out as you imagine, that’s all.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me that. I thought I’d walk straight off that boat into a perfect life. Hasn’t worked out that way exactly but then I never dreamed of meeting you, so…’ He paused to collect his thoughts. ‘I was so angry with myself when I messed things up. And then you went away for all those months and all I could think was that it was my fault.’

  Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘I was ill. You couldn’t have prevented that.’

  ‘No, but I thought – I worried that it was because of what happened, you know, at the party. That Agnes sent you away so I couldn’t hurt you again. I was so happy when you came back. When you forgave me.’

  ‘I forgave you before I even left London,’ she admitted.

  ‘Really? I wish I’d known.’ He pulled a face and was glad to hear her laugh. ‘But I want to promise you that I’ll never do anything like that again. I won’t lose you again.’

  ‘I know. I trust you.’ Evie clinked her glass against his and they drank. ‘We should be toasting you though, Lawrie. Don’t you see how well you’ve done? You arrived with nothing and now you’ve got a good job. And you get to play music and be paid for it. Wasn’t that your dream once upon a time?’

  ‘It’ll never make me rich.’

  ‘There’s more to life than money,’ she reminded him. ‘Johnny manages.’

  ‘Only ’cause Ursula works six days a week. It’s selfish of him, with two children to feed, and another child left back home with Ursula’s mother. When I have a family, I want to be able to support them. Sometimes you’ve got to leave one dream behind to follow another.’

  He reached into his jacket pocket, trying to retrieve the ring box which was now refusing to come out. He tugged, ignoring the rip of the stitching. Evie watched him, her hands flying up to her mouth as he dropped to one knee before her.

  ‘Evelyn Coleridge, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

  His heart stopped as she made him wait the briefest of seconds before nodding, her cheeks glistening with the tears that quickly began to stream from her eyes as he slipped the ring onto her finger. It was a perfect fit, as Agnes had assured him it would be.

  The soup arrived and Lawrie clambered back onto his chair, the waiter smiling his congratulations. The sky outside was now pitch black, rain speckling the window. The low-lit restaurant felt cosy now, a waft of warm scented steam rising from the soup.

  ‘Are you happy?’ He picked up his spoon.

  Evie laughed as she blew her nose. ‘Of course. These are happy tears, I promise.’ She held up her left hand and looked closer. ‘Isn’t this…’

  ‘Your grandmother’s ring,’ he confirmed. ‘Your mother gave it to me.’

  Evie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Ma knows?’

  ‘You think I’d dare ask you to marry me without getting her blessing first?’

  She blew on a spoonful of soup. ‘You must have really won her over.’

  It certainly seemed that way. Perhaps it was like Aston had said and Agnes had realised that it was best for Evie to marry a man with the same colour skin as her own. Which was crazy, really. He’d seen the girls Evie worked with and not one of them was better looking, not even Delia who he secretly thought was quite plain once you looked past the blonde hair.

  ‘What are you staring at?’ she asked, a twinkle in her eye.

  He grinned back. ‘How can I not stare when I’m sitting opposite the most beautiful girl in this lovely city?’ It was the sort of line Aston would have come up with, but Lawrie meant it.

  It was a charmed evening where nothing could go wrong. They had coffee afterwards, real coffee like he drank in the Italian cafés in Soho. Evie pulled a face at the bitter taste but once he’d added sugar she liked it, though she still couldn’t see why a person would choose it over tea. He watched her drink, wondering why it had taken him so long to realise that all that mattered was Evie: being with her, marrying her, spending the rest of his life with her.

  Finally he had some good news to send home.

  1948

  She finally knew why they said that love was like walking on air. At least, perhaps it was a little early to say that she loved him, but she’d certainly never met a person who made her feel as strange and giddy and special as Lawrie Matthews did. On Wednesday evening they’d met at the Astoria and she told him as they took their seats that Mrs Ryan next door would rent him her box room for less than what he was paying to share with Sam.

  ‘You serious?’ The joy on his face was infectious.

  ‘You should see the room first. It’s tiny! Barely room for the bed, but it’s clean and she’ll provide breakfast and dinner in the rate. She says you can go round tomorrow and have a look.’

  He let out a low whistle. ‘Evie, you just saved my life. I’ll take it. I just got to make sure I can pay first. Can she wait a day? I got a job interview Friday morning and I could go round after that?’

  He’d be living next door, so close. And her mother wouldn’t even know until it was too late. They’d talked about movies and about the band before the programme started and afterwards, as he left her at the end of her street, he’d kissed her on the cheek and told her that she was the prettiest girl he’d seen in London.

  ‘I don’t suppose your mother will let you come out on Saturday night? There’s a party at our house,’ he told her.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  She was too embarrassed to admit to him that there was no way Ma would let her go. But then luck seemed to fall on her side. When she got home from college on Friday evening, Ma told her that she’d been called on as a replacement for a bridge game in Camberwell that weekend. She’d be out of the house on Saturday evening.

  It was worth the risk, she finally decided. What other boy had ever told her that he liked her? Ma said that boys liked what they knew, that they all ended up married to their mothers. None of them had mothers who looked like Evie; that was her point. Evie wasn’t stupid and she wasn’t going to let her opportunity pass her by. What if some other girl turned Lawrie’s head in her absence?

  Delia talked her through the tricks her sisters had used in their day and it was too easy for Evie to draw her bedroom curtains and pile a few clothes under the bedsheets to form a human-shaped lump. If her mother glanced in the doorway late at night she wouldn’t notice that it wasn’t Evie. She hoped. Then, when she did creep home, Ma would be snoring her head off, her sleeping tablets ensuring nothing short of a bombing raid would wake her.

  To be on the safe side she waited unt
il Ma had left before grabbing her packed bag and running round to Delia’s to get ready, Delia jumping at the chance to try out her older sister’s make-up using Evie as a guinea pig.

  ‘I don’t look like me,’ Evie said, turning her face this way and that and wrinkling her nose at her mirror image. She rubbed at the rouged cheeks, trying to soften them. She felt like she was wearing a mask, her skin tingling like mad after the amount of blending that Delia had had to do. The powder had lightened her complexion and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

  ‘Leave it!’ Delia smacked her hand down. ‘You look lovely. Lawrie won’t know his luck.’

  The girls swapped places before the glass, Delia taking care of her own make-up since Evie didn’t have a clue.

  ‘Thanks for coming with me,’ Evie said as they finally set off. ‘I don’t think I’d have the nerve otherwise.’

  ‘Not like I’ve anything better to do.’ Delia sniffed. ‘’Sides, I need to meet this Lawrie, don’t I? Make sure he’s not a wrong ’un.’

  It had been two weeks since Delia’s brother had caught Lennie, her previous chap, down an alleyway just off their road, with a girl who wasn’t Delia. Lennie had ended up with a black eye and the girl, some tart from over Stockwell way, had run off so fast she’d left her knickers on the fence. At least that was what Chris Marson was telling everyone.

  ‘You made it.’ Lawrie was sitting on the front wall of his house as the girls tottered up in their heels, Evie’s borrowed from Delia – wandering around the streets in high heels was another item on Ma’s list of unapproved activities.

  ‘Thanks for inviting us,’ Delia beamed.

  ‘You want a drink?’ Lawrie looked at Evie.

  She nodded and followed him into the house. Bunting had been strung up all along the garden fence, continuing into the hallway. ‘It looks very festive round here.’