A Time to Love

by Beryl Kingston

  Then he realized that Josh was standing just outside the charabanc his arms raised to lift little Ruthie down. Josh would know who she was.

  ‘See that girl there, Josh,’ he said eagerly. ‘Just walking off. By the red tent. See? D’yer know who she is?’

  Josh set his daughter on the ground and straightened her ruffled skirt before he looked. ‘Oh yes,’ he said slowly. ‘That’s our Miss White. Dress materials. For vhy you vant to know?’

  ‘I’ve seen ’er before,’ David said, and even to his ears the explanation sounded lame. ‘She’s very pretty.’ And that made him blush. But how marvellous! She worked in Hopkins and Peggs, just across the road from Mr Woolnoth’s.

  Josh looked away tactfully. ‘Yes, I s’pose she is,’ he agreed. ‘Lots a’ young fellers fancy ’er, and that’s a fact. Don’t make no difference one way or the other, I tell you, ’cos she’s a proper man-hater, our Miss White.’

  ‘A man-hater?’

  ‘Keeps ’em all at arm’s length. So you ready, girls?’

  A man-hater, David thought, and the idea pleased him. There was an admirable pride in it. She was too pretty to cast herself away on any old Tom, Dick or Harry, and she knew it. He loved her more than ever for having such good sense. But she was walking away! ‘See you in a jiffy,’ he said to Josh as he ran. ‘Shan’t be long!’

  He was out of breath when he caught up with her beside the coconut shies, so he had to stand where he was for a minute or two to recover. But he didn’t mind this little delay, because he’d found her again, and she was there, almost beside him, and he knew her name and where she worked, and anyway he could admire the delicate line of her cheek and the thick black eyelashes fringeing her blue eyes while he waited, and that was pleasure enough for the moment.

  ‘I’ll ’ave a go, shall I?’ she said to her companion. And he liked her voice too, a clear bold voice, he thought, but womanly. She was paying her penny for the three wooden balls. What a chance!

  He eased in beside her and paid his penny quickly, so that they could throw together, and even though he was watching her, or perhaps because he was watching her, he threw so luckily he dislodged a coconut. She glanced at him as the prize was put into his hands, her eyes smiling at his good fortune. It was the perfect moment to speak, always providing she could hear him above the hooting and drumming of the roundabout.

  ‘You can ’ave it if yer like,’ he offered, and then blushed furiously because his voice sounded so rough and the offer so crude.

  But she went on smiling. ‘D’yer mean it?’

  ‘’Course.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t. Go on, it’s yours. You won it.’

  ‘I’d be honoured,’ he said, offering the coconut with both hands. ‘Really. Anyway you oughter’ve won one. You throw ever so straight.’

  ‘Well, ta,’ she said, taking the coconut. ‘I wish I ’ad an ’ammer. We could share it.’

  ‘We’ll ’ave a go on the rifle range,’ he dared. ‘P’rhaps I could win one. You never know.’

  ‘Well …’ she said again, and now she was looking serious, as though he’d gone too far and been presumptuous.

  ‘We oughter be introduced,’ he agreed to still her doubts. ‘If my cousin was ’ere he’d introduce us. I know who you are.’

  She looked at him with such a sharp expression on her face that he blushed again. ‘Do yer?’

  ‘I seen yer before,’ he explained. ‘At the People’s Palace. You was lookin’ at the exhibition. The art exhibition. In the Winter Garden.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, relaxing a little. ‘I was. I went there wiv Maudie ’ere. Yer right Was you there an’ all?’ But her eyes were still guarded.

  The pride of what he was about to say made him stand tall. ‘You was looking at my paintin’s,’ he said. ‘I was exhibitin’.’

  ‘Fancy!’ Maudie said, most impressed.

  But Miss White took it calmly. ‘I know who you are an’ all then,’ she said. ‘You’re David Cheifitz, aintcher?’

  He was so surprised his mouth fell open. He hadn’t expected fame quite like that How did she know?

  ‘My name’s Ellen White,’ she said, smiling at him again. ‘An’ this is my friend, Maudie Fenner.’

  They shook hands. He was so happy he wanted to jump about and shout But he tried to be calm. ‘Let’s win an ’ammer,’ he said.

  They didn’t win a hammer. Or a goldfish, which Ellen said was just as well. But they went on the roundabout, and saw the freak show and didn’t think much of it, and had rides on the donkeys. And that reminded David of his family.

  ‘I promised ter treat my cousins to the donkeys,’ he said as they dismounted.

  By now Maudie was beginning to flirt with him. ‘An’ how old are they when they’re at ’ome?’ she said, making eyes.

  He took flirtation solemnly as always. ‘Four and three,’ he told her.

  Then we’d better find ’em,’ Ellen said. ‘If you’ve promised, they’ll be lookin’ forward to it Poor kids.’

  It took a lot of walking and talking to achieve, for the fairground was so crowded it was impossible to see more than a few yards ahead whichever direction they looked.

  ‘You’d see more if you was up in the swings,’ Ellen said, and that was such a very good idea they all agreed to act on it immediately. And there, standing beside the showman as if they’d prearranged it, were his cousin Josh and Naomi and little Ruth.

  He introduced his two new friends, shyly and hoping he wouldn’t blush too much, but before any of them had a chance to feel awkward Naomi moved in to the attack.

  ‘Where’ve you bin?’ she demanded. ‘We waited an’ waited.’

  ‘I bin on an ’orse,’ Ruth told them proudly. ‘Wid reins!’

  ‘No you never,’ her sister corrected, as the crowds milled around them. ‘You bin on a donkey, silly.’ Then she turned her reproachful eyes to David again. ‘We waited an’ waited fer you. An’ you never come.’ She wanted him to know how much he’d been missed.

  Her reproach shamed him. He felt he should try to make amends. ‘Take you on the swings,’ he offered. ‘How about that?’

  ‘Both?’ Ruth asked hopefully.

  ‘Well, if you’re goin’ on the swings, I’m off,’ Maudie said, waving at her current young man who was lurking for her beside the rifle range. ‘Me an’ swings don’t agree. See yer later, Ellen.’

  So David and Ellen took the two children on the swings and they all enjoyed it very much. I’ve found her, David thought, pulling the furry ropes through his hands. I’ve found my beautiful girl. And he laughed aloud as their bright carriage swooped into the sky, and the moon-faced figures below them dipped in and out of their sight. And how pretty Ellen was, with her dark hair flying behind her as they rose and falling forward to frame her face as they descended, her blue eyes shining with laughter.

  When their turn was over, Josh and his wife Maggie were both waiting to take their daughters on the roundabout, and there was no sign of Maudie or her young man.

  ‘Let’s go on the helter-skelter,’ David said, thinking, quick, before anybody else can join us.

  So they did, and after that they bought pie and mash and sat on the scrubby grass to eat it, talking and talking. They talked so much they hardly had time to swallow. He told her all about Mr Woolnoth and how particular he was, and took out his sketch pad to show her a portrait of the gentleman, and she was very impressed by his sketches and wanted to see them all. Then she gave him her famous impression of Mr Fenway, the floor walker, with pursed lips and folded arms, stabbing his alarm cry at his ladies, ‘Look lively, ladies! Look lively!’ From then on they entertained one another without a pause, drawing and mimicking every odd and eccentric character they could remember or discover around them.

  Then they realized that their laughter had made them dry, so they had to go off to the beer tent to ‘wet their whistles’. And after that there was Indian toffee to be sampled and hokey pokey ice cream at a penny a lump, which was so r
ich it made David feel quite sick for half an hour afterwards, although he didn’t admit it.

  And the sun shone on them all day.

  When the evening began to draw in and the first of the naptha flares were lit above the stalls, they were quite surprised by how quickly the day had gone. But by then the Music Hall had opened its tent flap, so they went in to the first house and enjoyed it all so much they decided to catch the last performance too.

  ‘I like the sing-song,’ Ellen said. ‘Don’t you?’

  Oh he did. They had to sit so close together in the crowded tent they were almost thigh to thigh, and that was a pleasure so exquisite he would have sat through any performance for the sake of it. He was so happy being with her, breathing in the musky, powdery scent of her flesh, and drinking the sight of her, like a man long parched of vision. Her cheeks glowed like peaches in the heat of the tent, and now that they were so close together he could see that they were brushed with a fine down of tiny soft hairs, and that the pale skin above her upper lip was beaded with miniature pearls of sweat. And he remembered the Song of Solomon, ‘Behold thou art fair, my love; behold thou art fair, thou hast doves’ eyes within thy locks; thy lips drop honeycomb, honey and milk are under thy tongue; and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.’ And he knew he wanted to stay beside her for ever.

  But even the longest and happiest of holidays have to end, and at last the ‘’Opkins ’Op’ was on its bedraggled way back to the charabancs, the men shirt-sleeved and jovial, the women flushed with beer and idleness, girls giggly, young men oggly, kids sticky-mouthed, sleeping babies sausaged into shawls and draped over their mothers’ shoulders, acknowledged lovers arm in happy arm. And among them came Ellen and David, still talking, still laughing and still locked eye to eye.

  All through the evening David had been waiting for a chance to ask her to walk out with him, but it seemed so presumptuous and they’d been talking so much he hadn’t found the moment. Now, with all her friends gathered before the second coach, he began to panic. If he didn’t ask quickly, she’d be gone.

  ‘We’re – er – I mean – er – I’m – er – I mean,’ he stuttered, glad that it was too dark for her to see how much he was blushing. ‘There’s a good play on at the Standard. Beauty an’ the Beast. I was thinkin’ a’ goin’ Thursday. Or Tuesday if you’d like. What I mean is, would yer like to see it with me?’

  She didn’t answer for a very long time, but stood, considering his face seriously, her blue eyes dark in the faint light from the charabanc. She was remembering her mother’s voice, ‘Never get married, gel!’ and her own heartfelt answer, ‘Don’t you worry, Ma, I never will!’ and wondering whether this really was her standing beside this handsome young man and knowing she was going to say ‘yes’. But he was different, a young gent, almost a swell. Not a rotten old roughneck like her old man, nor a soppy ha’p’orth like them fellers in the shop, all sheep’s eyes and stupid remarks. His eyes were serious and very handsome, and he was watching her with such a touching anxiety she really couldn’t resist him. He’d be different, she was sure of it.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I would. Ta. Thursday’d be lovely.’

  ‘I meet you outside the store,’ he said, smiling fit to crack his face. ‘Quarter past seven, nu?’

  It was a marvellous journey home. He was so happy he wanted to jump about and dance and run up and down. It took all his concentration just to sit still as the charabanc rattled towards Stamford with its singing cargo. How beautiful London is, he thought, with the street lamps shining like beads of polished amber and the trams streaming yellow light and the pavements blue as the night sky. And as they went racketing along the Mile End Road, past the white glimmer of the People’s Palace and the black shadows of the young plane trees, he knew he was lucky to be alive in such a place.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘You should a’ see your David at the fair,’ Rivke said to Rachel. ‘Don’t you never tell me he ain’t got an eye for the girls!’

  ‘I knew it!’ Dumpling said, pinning a frill deftly to the front of the blouse she was sewing. ‘Didden I say so, Rachel?’

  Rachel said nothing, but her face was sour and she was tacking with quick angry stitches.

  The three women were working together in Dumpling’s room, with lemon tea to sustain them and the window open wide to admit what little air there was. It was very hot and they were all tired and sticky and working harder than they should under the pressure of the orders they had to finish in that shortened week.

  ‘A boy so handsome vhat you expect?’ Dumpling said, fitting another row of pins between her lips. ‘Onny nat’rul.’

  ‘A pretty girl he took on the svings,’ Rivke informed them, slapping a skirt seam into position ready for machining. ‘Best looking girl in the shop, according to Josh. All the young fellers vant her, an’ off she valks vid your Davey. So vhat you think a’ that, bubeleh? Good taste in vomen, nu?’ She gave Rachel a lopsided grin to show she was half teasing, but her sister-in-law wouldn’t receive it.

  ‘I tell you vhat I think a’ that,’ Rachel said crossly, ‘idle gossip, that’s all it is. I vonder you ain’t got nothink better to occupy your mind.’

  ‘My Josh …’

  ‘Your Josh!’ Rachel interrupted. ‘Alvays first vith the gossip, your Josh. So ve don’t listen to your Josh.’

  ‘A better boy don’t tread shoe leather,’ Rivke said driving the material through the machine as though she was planing wood. ‘Good vorker, good son, don’t give himself airs, like some I could name. So you vatch your mouth, Rachel Cheifitz.’

  ‘A meshuganer!’ Rachel accused. ‘Nothing, he don’t know, if he says my David’s after the girls. My David’s a good Jewish boy. He don’t chase girls, I tell you.’

  Dumpling removed the last pin from her mouth and mopped her forehead with her apron. ‘So they all chase girls, dolly,’ she said, giving Rachel a little placating nod. ‘All the young men they all chase girls. Come the spring, the fine weather, you know vhat they say.’

  ‘I don’t vanna hear,’ Rachel said stubbornly. ‘My Davey ain’t like all the others. My Davey’s an artist.’

  ‘Umph!’ Rivke snorted, and she and Dumpling exchanged a quick glance that expressed their disbelief, their annoyance and their pity for her pig-headed blindness.

  ‘I make more tea, maybe,’ Dumpling said bringing their uncomfortable topic to a halt. ‘Oy oy such heat!’

  But later in the week when she and Rivke took their finished garments back to the sweat shop they told one another with considerable satisfaction that their sister-in-law was being a poor blind fool. ‘So vhat a shock she get vhen she know the truth,’ Rivke said. ‘My Davey’s an artist! Oy oy oy! Pride before a fall, Dumpling, don’t I tell you.’

  ‘Vhat the eye can’t see!’ Dumpling said wobbling her chins vehemently. ‘Ain’t no good ve tell her.’

  ‘Ve should talk to Manny maybe?’

  ‘Nu-nu! Time enough vhen it ain’t so hot. Oy, my back!’

  But Emmanuel already knew and wished he didn’t. Rachel had come home incoherent with tears and distress that afternoon, vowing she would never work in Dumpling’s room again, and it had taken him more than an hour to comfort her into a better frame of mind.

  ‘They don’t mean it, bubeleh,’ he said drying her eyes.

  ‘They mean it,’ she sobbed. ‘So spiteful, just because he’s an artist, a cut above that Josh, may he be forgiven.’

  ‘So you forgive him, bubeleh, nu?’

  ‘My David’s a good Jewish boy. He ain’t got one impure thought in his head. Ve know that, Emmanuel?’

  Emmanuel wasn’t at all sure he knew any such thing but he nodded and murmured as though he agreed, and comforted himself that David was kept so busy with his work and his classes that he really wouldn’t have very much time for courting even if he wanted to. And besides, he was young yet.

  At that very moment, had he known it, David was at the Standard Theatre sitting as clos
e as he could to his beautiful Ellen. It was a very good play, with a slim dark-haired hero beset on every side by unspeakable villainy, and winning through to fame and fortune in the spotlit ring of the National Sporting Club. And even though the actor who played this gullible innocent looked far too fragile to prevail in a boxing ring, they followed his progress with sighs and cheers, and when the villain was finally forced into the ring to confront him and was then instantly felled, they clapped and cheered and booed until the curtain fell too. When they emerged into the smoky evening, they were glowing with satisfaction because virtue had triumphed and they’d been sitting side by side for such a long delightful time.

  They ambled, very slowly, along the few hundred yards that separated the Standard Theatre from the staff entrance of Hopkins and Peggs. And they told one another what a good play it was and how much they’d enjoyed it, and she thought he was much more handsome than the hero, but of course she didn’t say so, and he thought she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen and that she was getting prettier by the minute and that he’d give anything to kiss her, but of course he kept his thoughts to himself.

  They stood together in the doorway as the theatre-leaving crowds chattered past them along the pavement and a fleet of trams buzzed and rocked along the rails in the middle of the road. And they were so absorbed in each other they didn’t notice any of it, not even the noise.

  She’s only about two inches shorter than I am, David thought, and only about three inches away. And it occurred to him that if they were just to sway towards one another, just a very very little, they would be mouth to mouth. And the thought made him weak at the knees.