This Lovely City

by Louise Hare

  ‘Fancy a cuppa?’ Derek produced a flask from under the counter and Lawrie ducked under.

  Derek folded out two camping stools and poured tea into the flask’s cup. He added one sugar cube and milk from a metal jug. ‘You all right? Not to be rude but you look like hell.’

  ‘I could do with something stronger, truth be told.’ He did drink from the cup, though. He wasn’t as evangelical about the healing properties of tea as Mrs Ryan but the sweetness was soothing. He laid out the bag of apples in exchange.

  ‘You’re not at work?’ Derek took a hefty bite from a Cox.

  ‘Been let go.’ He drained the cup and passed it back to Derek. ‘Rathbone found out about the sugar I’ve been passing to Donovan. Threatened him, said if he didn’t fire me then he’d make it common knowledge.’

  ‘Ah.’ Derek laid a commiserating hand on Lawrie’s shoulder.

  ‘I don’t know how he found out. I was careful. He was never anywhere near me when I made deliveries, and Donovan’s stuff I always gave him at work.’

  Derek laughed. ‘Probably just a good guess. I could tell you the names of at least five coppers down his station who are on my books. Didn’t I say he was a chancer, that Rathbone? He didn’t know for sure until Donovan spilled his guts, bet you.’

  It made sense what Derek was saying but it didn’t exactly help Lawrie, knowing that Donovan was an idiot.

  ‘You’re worried about money?’ Derek lit a cigarette. ‘I can give you more deliveries, but this is another level. Booze and fags that need shifting. Some other stuff as well, the sort of stuff that if Rathbone catches you it’ll mean big trouble. And I mean serious big trouble.’

  Lawrie could see that Derek was offering him a lifeline but it was like being thrown a rope laced with glass shards. He could choose to tread water and hope not to drown, or catch hold of Derek’s offer and risk worse. What would he say to Evie? She didn’t know he’d been doing deliveries for Derek in the first place but she’d wonder where the money was coming from when he wasn’t working for the Post Office. Unless he didn’t tell her about that, either.

  ‘Can I think about it?’

  ‘Sure.’ Derek rummaged around under the counter and brought out a bottle of Bell’s, cracking the seal with one hand. ‘Here, get some of this down your neck.’

  Lawrie took a slug of whisky, wincing as it went down. ‘Christ!’

  ‘Take it easy young fella.’ Derek laughed and topped it up. ‘Especially this weekend.’

  Lawrie’s ears pricked up. ‘You hear something?’

  ‘Some fellas were letting it be known at the pub last night that it was their doing, the attack on Johnny’s and those other houses. They wanted to know if anyone else was interested in getting involved.’

  ‘You knew them?’

  ‘Nah. They weren’t regulars. Reckon they were coming round to stir up trouble off their own patch.’

  Lawrie drank back the rest of the booze. ‘You think you could find out a name? They tried to set fire to Johnny’s place, you know? Someone could get hurt. And don’t forget that includes your own house as long as me and Arthur are living there.’

  Derek looked troubled. ‘Aye, I suppose it does. I’ve got to get back to work but I’ll see what I can find out. But you’re not to do anything daft, right?’

  Lawrie just nodded and ducked back under the counter, a little wobblier than when he’d arrived.

  20

  It was a relief to see Lawrie and Sid getting on. Lawrie had pulled a face at the idea of a night out with another couple, but the two men quickly discovered a mutual love of cricket. Lawrie had even gone so far as to suggest that Sid might want to go to Lord’s with him and Aston that summer when the West Indies team came over.

  The club was busy, the atmosphere buzzing with music and conversation. The women drank gin gimlets, the men stuck to bourbon and, as Evie watched their reflection in the mirror beside the table, she thought they looked like movie stars. They’d had supper at an Italian café on Charing Cross Road, the manager Tony welcoming them as if they were royalty. Lawrie was a regular there, apparently; she loved seeing this part of Lawrie’s life, meeting the people he knew so well. They’d gorged on pasta and heaped bowls of ice cream, delivered to the table along with Tony’s warm hospitality and conversation. He’d even offered to let them use the café for their wedding reception. For a second she wondered if her mother would consent to eating ‘foreign muck’ before she remembered that it didn’t matter. She had no intention of inviting Ma to the wedding.

  Afterwards they’d followed Lawrie through the labyrinthine Soho streets, Evie holding tight to his hand so as not to get lost. They were shown to a coveted table near the front of the cosy basement, Sid clearly in awe of his new friend’s influence. Even Delia looked impressed. The dim lighting and haze of cigarette smoke veiled the club with a magical aura. Or perhaps that was the gin. The cocktails were strong; Evie felt a little giddy after the second.

  ‘You’re in a better mood tonight.’ Delia leaned forward to let Sid light her cigarette, feeding the nicotine fog with her exhalation. ‘You’ve had a face like a wet weekend for days now. You know I’ll listen, if you want to talk about it.’

  ‘It’s complicated.’ Evie glanced across at Lawrie but he was deep in conversation with Sid.

  ‘It must be if you won’t even talk to me. Even old Sullivan asked after you the other day.’

  ‘Mr Sullivan did?’

  Her boss wasn’t the most observant when it came to women. To people in general. Give him a ledger full of numbers and he could unravel the most tangled of accounts but he still often called Delia by the wrong name, Betty, who had been secretary to the old Mr Vernon before the war.

  ‘He says you don’t sing any more,’ Delia said. ‘And you know, I knew I was missing something but I didn’t realise what it was until he came out and said it.’

  ‘What? He misses me humming away? I thought people found it annoying.’

  ‘Who? And if you dare say Mildred I’ll pinch you. You know she’d say anything to upset you.’

  It had of course been Mildred, but Mildred wasn’t the reason she’d stopped singing. She sang when she was happy and she hadn’t been happy, not completely, since the whole business with Ophelia began.

  ‘There’s just been a lot going on,’ she replied. ‘What with the police and Lawrie and then the argument with Ma.’

  ‘It wasn’t just any old argument, was it?’ There was a clarity in Delia’s eyes that scared Evie, even though she couldn’t possibly know the truth.

  ‘I’ve told you already, I’m fine.’ She tried to laugh it off. ‘Can’t we talk about this later when we’re at home?’

  ‘I tried to talk to you the other day when we were at home,’ Delia reminded her. ‘You make excuses every time. We’re living under the same roof but we talk less than we did before.’

  ‘Exactly! We spend all day together. I don’t have anything new to tell you because you already know it,’ Evie said triumphantly.

  ‘But what about your mother?’ Delia said quietly. ‘You’ve never told me what happened. I’m happy having you to stay but don’t you think I’m owed some sort of explanation? Mum’s asking me questions and I don’t know what to say to her, do I?’

  ‘I just… look, I can’t talk about it now, not here. I need the loo.’ Evie fled.

  What passed for the club’s ladies’ was a dank, pungent room with two skinny cubicles and a sink that hadn’t been given a good scrub since before the Blitz. Its saving grace was that it was empty. Evie locked herself into the cubicle furthest from the door. The only light in the room was over the sink and she realised she’d closed herself into a grim cell, her nose telling her that the underlying stench that permeated the entire bathroom had its source in the porcelain bowl that she now stepped back from. She was about to slip back the lock and escape when she heard Delia walk in.

  ‘Evie?’

  She stayed quiet though Delia knew she was there.
<
br />   ‘Evie, come on out!’ Delia snapped. ‘If you can’t talk to me then who on earth can you talk to? And don’t say Lawrie ’cause I reckon he knows even less than I do. How long have we been friends for now?’ She paused and Evie knew she would be doing the maths, counting out the years on her fingers. ‘Almost fourteen years. And you still don’t trust me?’

  ‘Fine.’ She unlocked the door and walked out, met with a hug from her best friend.

  The brick bathroom walls, once white, were now nicotine-stained, and Evie and Delia followed in the footsteps of hundreds of girls before them – lighting their cigarettes in preparation for the soul bearing to come.

  ‘I swear, Evie, you can tell me anything and I’ll take it to the grave if I need to,’ Delia assured her. ‘I’m only thinking the worst because, well, for you not to tell me what’s going on it has to be pretty bad, doesn’t it?’

  Delia had no idea. The months of lying to everyone, the discovery of her mother’s betrayal. It was hard enough to admit that she hadn’t trusted her friend enough to tell her about the baby in the first place, but how could she explain what Agnes had done without making her mother sound a monster? Evie checked her face in the mirror: under the harsh bulb that hung above the sink her skin looked grey, her cheeks sunken under the strain of holding the truth inside.

  She told Delia everything; she had to. Beginning with the first lie: that she had never suffered from pneumonia, that she had gone to Devon to hide the mistake she’d made. Brave enough to look her friend in the eye, she saw guilt rather than horror or disgust.

  ‘Did you know?’ she accused.

  ‘I guessed,’ Delia admitted. ‘I wasn’t sure but you were acting so strangely. You wouldn’t talk about Lawrie and then one day you were just gone. I always thought it was his baby. I had no idea. I should have said something when you came back only—’

  ‘Only I didn’t want to talk about it,’ Evie said. ‘I thought she was dead, Dee.’

  The rest of the story came tumbling out, so easy now that she knew Delia was on her side.

  ‘Tell you what, I’d like to go round and give your mother a piece of my mind.’ Delia’s eyes shone with anger. ‘I’d say she deserves a slap only it doesn’t seem enough, not for what she’s done.’

  ‘She thinks she was doing what was best for me,’ Evie admitted. ‘But I don’t know if I can ever forgive her and I don’t know how to tell Lawrie. He doesn’t know any of it and I feel so guilty. Tonight’s the first time I’ve felt normal around him, and I know it’s because you and Sid are here. I’m not worrying that he’s going to ask me what’s wrong, or get that sad look on his face because he thinks I don’t trust him. And really it’s the other way round. How will he ever trust me again when he finds out I’ve lied for so long?’

  ‘You need to tell him,’ Delia said quietly. ‘You can’t risk him finding out another way.’

  ‘But how do I tell him now, after all this time? He’ll call off the wedding, I know it.’

  ‘Perhaps you need to have a little more faith in him. If I can understand, can’t he? We all keep secrets, it’s just that yours is a little – bigger – than most.’

  Evie nodded, scattering more tears. ‘I should feel lucky. Best friend in the world and a wonderful man who wants to marry me.’ She ran the tap and dampened her handkerchief, rubbing away the salt tracks on her face, the slight blotting of mascara beneath her eyes. ‘I can’t help but feel that I don’t deserve any of it.’

  Delia punched her lightly in the arm. ‘Come on, none of that nonsense. A horrid thing happened to you and it wasn’t your fault. You just need to be brave for a little bit longer, that’s all. Tell Lawrie. Tonight if you can bear it.’

  Back at the table, Lawrie’s eyes were glazing over as Sid talked motor vehicles. A mechanic by trade, Delia had already warned Evie about his obsession with all things car related. Happy relief washed over Lawrie’s face as Evie retook her seat and reached out for his hand.

  ‘Ready to go?’ she asked. She was going to have to tell him now, before courage deserted her.

  He nodded, leaning over to whisper: ‘I don’t think I can fake an interest in carburettors much longer.’

  The house band began their next set as they stood to go, a tall American woman singing ‘Crazy He Calls Me’, the light sparkling off her jewelled necklace. Evie looked over her shoulder with regret. She’d have loved to stay and listen but this was more important.

  Outside, the pavement was still crowded. It wasn’t that late after all, only just after eleven.

  ‘I thought we might grab a coffee back at Tony’s before we go home,’ Evie spoke quickly, forcing the words out before she could change her mind. ‘There’s something – ow!’

  She cried out as Lawrie’s grip on her hand tightened sharply. She followed his gaze and fell silent as her gaze alighted upon Rose Armstrong standing on the opposite corner of Shaftesbury Avenue, looking impatient as she smoked from a long cigarette holder. Around her shoulders was slung a man’s jacket, its black formality incongruous against the pale green of her dress. Her heels were reliably impractical. Evie watched as the jacket’s owner joined her, tucking a billfold into a trouser pocket. Frank Armstrong, she guessed. He was more handsome than she’d imagined, though his features were slightly blurred, like a matinee idol who had enjoyed his success a little too enthusiastically. He liked a drink, she remembered Rose saying.

  Rose looked straight at them and froze, Frank’s curiosity aroused as she failed to catch hold of his arm. Recognition washed over his face as he clocked Lawrie, Rose now grabbing at his hand as he started towards the road, clearly meaning to cross.

  ‘Shit!’ Lawrie swore under his breath. ‘Come on.’ He tugged her back along the avenue in the opposite direction, checking over his shoulder.

  ‘Lawrie, slow down!’ Evie had to run to match his pace.

  He looked down at her and she realised he was embarrassed to be running away. She looked back and saw that Rose and Frank were still on that street corner, arguing. Frank was throwing an angry arm in their direction as Rose grabbed on to his other hand, stopping him from going anywhere.

  ‘Come on.’ Evie spied a cab with its light on and stepped off the pavement, forcing it to stop. ‘What? Are you going to stand about and wait for him to catch us up?’

  She dove into the back of the cab, relieved when Lawrie followed her and gave the Marson’s address to the driver.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lawrie told her. ‘I just—’

  ‘Hush. I know. No point in having an altercation in the middle of the street.’

  ‘It was cowardly of me to run away like that.’

  ‘No,’ she corrected him, ‘you were thinking of me. God knows, the last thing either of us needs right now is drawing attention to ourselves. Especially over Rose, of all people, though I do feel sorry for her.’

  ‘Really?’ His eyebrows shot up.

  ‘Of course. I mean, I’ve got what she wanted: you. And she’s stuck with that thug of a husband who’s so hell-bent on revenge that he shopped his own wife to the police. I mean, that’s not normal, is it? Married couples are supposed to stand by one another.’ At least she hoped so, though whether that was a loyalty that extended to engaged couples she wasn’t so sure. ‘She waltzes around in her fancy clothes expecting us all to want to be like her, but what’s Rose Armstrong got that I haven’t?’

  Lawrie thought for a moment. ‘She does have one of those fancy refrigerators.’

  ‘Really?’

  Lawrie was grinning now, his bad mood swiftly evaporating. ‘You’re too good for me.’ He leaned over and kissed her, gently, aware of the driver up front. ‘And I’ll pay for the cab.’

  ‘Too right,’ she laughed, and leaned her head on his shoulder.

  When she closed her eyes, the rhythm of the taxi’s wheels bumping along the road reminded her of the song that had been playing as they’d left the club. The singer had been no Billie Holiday but it was the lyrics that stuck in her h
ead, making her feel even worse. How could she dare to say that she loved Lawrie? She couldn’t even tell him the truth, never mind move the mountains for him.

  There was only one coward in that cab, she knew, but how could she talk to Lawrie now, with a nosy cab driver listening in? The weekend, she swore to herself. They’d go for a walk on Saturday afternoon and she would tell him everything. Until then she’d keep praying that Lawrie loved her enough to forgive her.

  1948

  He’d known the moment he saw the look on Evie’s face, the twisted smile on Rose’s. He froze, just long enough for Evie to run past him into the house.

  ‘Evie.’ He gave chase. ‘Wait up!’

  He thought at first that she’d gone out through the front door but the fellas there just shrugged. Her footsteps on the bare wooden stairs gave her away as she ran and he went up after her, following to the very top of the house. Evie had backed herself into a corner, as if she feared him.

  He reached out a placating hand. ‘Whatever she said to you, I can explain.’

  ‘Too late for that.’ Sam appeared out of nowhere and pushed him into the wall, Lawrie too surprised to do anything but put out a hand to break his fall.

  In a split second Sam had spirited Evie into the bedroom he shared with Lawrie, the key turning in the lock. Lawrie thumped the door in frustration. That two-faced bastard!

  ‘Lemme guess…’ Aston wandered up casually, drink in one hand and a smoke in the other. ‘You finally took my advice and decided to enjoy the delights of the beautiful Rose.’

  ‘I don’t need you giving me a hard time as well,’ Lawrie snapped. ‘You got any pearls of wisdom now, Mr Man of the World?’

  Aston chuckled and sipped his drink. ‘I never was quite in the same predicament as you find yourself in currently, Lawrie my boy. You can’t just walk in there?’