‘But I have got to work the day out.’
‘OK, you don’t want to lose your pay and let the others down. So tell them you’ll finish today’s shift, but that’s it. You have got to leave there or it’ll flipping do you in. Tell them your husband’s come back from sea or something. Tell them you’re off to be that bloody Wallis Simpson’s brides-flipping-maid. Tell them anything. Then come back over here and I’ll go with you to the Buildings and we’ll get the kids and all your stuff.’
Nell laughed mirthlessly. ‘All what stuff?’
‘So I gather you’ve not got much then?’
‘Not really.’ Nell looked down into her lap. ‘Just the things you’ve bought me over the years.’
‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’
‘Do you really think Bernie would let me stay here, after what he said?’
‘Believe me, I can guarantee he will. Like most blokes, he reckons that what goes on between a couple is their business, private. But that? That is the one thing that no man – well, not one worth a light – can stomach lowlifes like him doing to a woman.’
Satisfied that Sylvia had seen Nell well off the premises, Bernie beckoned to his wife to come back behind the bar.
‘Enjoy your mothers’ meeting, Sylv?’ he asked, without realising how accurate he was being. ‘Because I have been run off my sodding feet behind here.’
‘Bernie, I need to talk to you.’ Sylvia led him to the quieter, far end of the bar and stood on tiptoe so she could whisper into his ear.
‘I don’t know how to say this nicely, darling, so I’ll just have to come straight out with it.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Now I don’t want you going off your head, Bernie, but George Flanagan . . .’ She paused, taking a deep breath. ‘George Flanagan raped our little Nelly. On the day of his own father’s funeral. And now she’s pregnant by him.’
Bernie’s face screwed up in disgust. ‘No.’
‘On my life.’
‘The dirty stinking swivel-eyed bastard.’
‘I know, it makes your guts churn, don’t it?’ Sylvia dropped down onto her heels and poured them each a brandy. ‘Here, drink that. And do you know what the worst part of it is? She was like a mother to them twins. It’s disgusting, that’s what it is. And that’s why her and the kids are coming here to stay with us.’
This time even big, bumptious, opinionated Bernie had no objections. ‘He did that to young Nell, a girl who’d lived with his own father? It beggars belief, the filthy bastard.’
Sylvia stared down into her glass. ‘That thing and his sister can even have that poxy flat back if they want it – they deserve it, because you know what? That place must be bloody haunted with what’s gone on in there.’
Bernie knocked back his brandy and poured himself another. ‘I feel right bad about this, Sylv. I just wish I could have known. I’d have never left that girl there with him if I’d had any idea that this would happen.’
‘Don’t blame yourself, Bern. Who would have thought that anyone – even him – would have been capable of such a thing? And what makes me sick is he’s just gonna get away with it. Nell won’t even think about going to the law. She reckons they’d never believe her. The poor little mare says she feels ashamed.’
‘Don’t you worry, Sylv, he is not getting away with anything. And if that animal’s got any brains, him and his sister had better start looking at other places to park their bastard stalls. Somewhere well away from me.’
Chapter 60
At the end of that day – her final one in the hated ironing room – Nell left her job feeling not exactly happy, but at least a bit better. As she had worked through the afternoon she’d been aware of the jealous glances of the other women who had heard her spinning what they all decided was a tale to the superintendent about why she was leaving so suddenly. But Nell could think of nothing but the chance Sylvia was giving her and her children, and also – in a very different way – about the other child that was growing inside her. Although horrified and revolted by the memory of what George had done to her, she still didn’t think she could get rid of it. She of all people knew what it meant to feel unwanted, so how could she even consider doing that to an unborn child? At least she had been given the possibility of a life when she had been put in the home.
But now, as she and Sylvia sat squashed up against one another on the bench seat of the crowded bus, with its windows steamed up and the ice-cold wind blowing in across the platform, making the young conductor rub his hands and stamp his feet to keep warm, Nell knew that Sylvia wouldn’t leave it at that. Unfortunately, that wasn’t her way. But Nell couldn’t be angry with her, she knew her friend only wanted what was best for her. Nell would just have to be patient when she nagged at her.
‘Nell, I said: are you listening to me?’
‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘I said what do you think? Shall we go to the flat first or fetch the kids from the shop?’
At least she wasn’t telling her again that she should go to see that young doctor. ‘If it’s all right with you, Sylv, I’d rather go to the flat first. Get it over with. The sooner I’m out of there the better, and it wouldn’t mean dragging Tommy and Dolly up there for nothing.’
‘Good idea,’ Sylvia said, catching the bus conductor taking an admiring look at Nell’s legs.
She shoved Nell. ‘See the way he’s looking at you? If you were fancy free and not –’ she nodded at Nell’s middle – ‘you know, you could start having a life again. I’m not being hard, Nell, but a young girl like you deserves someone nice to share her life with.’
‘Please, Sylvia, don’t let’s wind up having words over this. I really appreciate what you’re trying to do, but don’t keep going on about it. I’ve made up my mind.’
Sylvia crossed her legs and folded her arms, making herself into a tight little bundle of defiance. ‘We’ll see.’
‘Why have you three all been living in this one room? It was all right for the kids, but with the lot of you crowded in here, it’s more like a bloody rabbit hutch.’ Sylvia looked around the front room of 55 Turnbury Buildings. ‘Why didn’t you use the other bedrooms?’
Nell, who was on her knees, with her head and shoulders under the bed retrieving the handbag, was only glad that Sylvia couldn’t see her bright red face. ‘We stayed in here because it’s the only room with its own lock on the door,’ she mumbled. ‘And the children like me to sing them little songs and tell them stories as they go to sleep.’
‘Even so, Nell . . .’
‘We don’t stay in here all of the time. We sometimes go in the kitchen, and we use the wash house down in the basement.’
‘For goodness sake Nell, if I’d had any idea about how the three of you have been living . . . It’s like being in prison. I’d never have let you stay here like this, no matter what Bernie had to say about it.’
If George had appeared at that moment, tiny as she was, Sylvia would have punched him on the nose – or worse. ‘Them Flanagans, how could they have done this to you? And how can you even think of having that arsehole’s baby?’
Nell shuffled backwards on her knees out from under the bed. She stood up and her head dropped forward. ‘I’ve just realised I haven’t got anything to put our things in,’ she said, her eyes immediately brimming with tears as if those were the saddest words ever uttered.
‘Don’t upset yourself any more, Nell.’ Sylvia gulped back her own tears and touched Nell on the shoulder. ‘This’ll all be just a bad memory before you know it. Now, is there anything special you want to take?’
‘Only this.’ The tears were now pouring down her cheeks as she held out the handbag that Sylvia had given to her. ‘And Tommy’s lead soldiers that you got him. Dolly took her toy rabbit with her to the shop.’
‘Please don’t cry, Nell.’ Sylvia clambered over the double bed to the narrow wardrobe that was jammed in the corner. The door could only be opened halfway before it hit the headboard.
‘I
don’t suppose you’ll be too worried about wearing this mourning gear any more, and most of Tommy and Dolly’s stuff only looks fit for the ragman.’
‘I’ve done my best for them.’ Nell’s voice was flat, defeated.
Sylvia shut the wardrobe and climbed back over the bed to her friend. ‘Of course you have, sweetheart. No one could have done more. You are a beautiful, loving girl, and you’ve been a good mum to those kids. And don’t you ever go thinking otherwise.’
Sylvia handed Nell a handkerchief.
‘This is getting a habit,’ sniffed Nell.
‘I came prepared.’ Sylvia swiped the back of her hand across her eyes. ‘Now, let’s get out of here, shall we? Pick up them soldiers of Tommy’s and just leave.’
Chapter 61
Nell and Sylvia walked around the corner at the top of Wapping Lane. Sylvia was doing her best to cheer them up, chattering away about her plans for going shopping for clothes, decorating bedrooms and getting the children registered at the local school. Nell tried to listen to her, but she couldn’t concentrate for fretting about what on earth she thought she was doing and about what was going to happen to her and the children. What would Bernie say when she started showing and he realised that there were going to be four of them living in his pub? And one of them a screaming baby.
‘What the hell?’ Nell jerked her arm away from Sylvia’s and started running towards Sarah’s shop on the corner of the street.
Sylvia caught up with her and grabbed her by the arm. ‘Wait a minute, Nell. This looks nasty.’
Nell tried to pull away, but despite the difference in their size, Sylvia had a firm hold on her.
‘Let me go. Tommy and Dolly are in there.’
‘I know, darling, but just hang on while we figure out what’s going on here.’
They could see that the door to the shop was closed, something Sarah never allowed even in the coldest weather – it had to look welcoming to customers, she always said. And she would rather have the wood burner going at double the rate to keep the place warm than ever shut the door. But that wasn’t all. Outside the shop was a gang of men and boys – some youngsters who looked to be barely in their teens, and others far older.
While two of the crowd painted crude slogans on the walls the rest of them sang a song to the jolly tune of the one about Daisy Bell and the bicycle made for two – but with far more sinister words.
‘Blackshirts,’ said Nell under her breath, pulling away from Sylvia with such force that they both stumbled forward.
‘Come to join in, girls?’ asked one of the men, who was painting a slogan about what he thought should happen to Sarah and David and all other Jews along with them.
‘I’ve come to collect my children.’ Nell stood tall, determined to control her breathing, refusing to let them intimidate her.
The man’s lip curled in disgust. ‘You’ve left your kids with the likes of them?’
The rest of the mob stopped their singing.
‘What sort of woman are you?’ asked another.
‘It’s obvious. She’s a Jew-lover,’ shouted a third.
Nell pushed past them and tried to open the door. It was locked. She could see Sarah and Mary cowering inside behind the counter. Nell was beside herself. Where were her children?
She felt someone grab her arm. Thinking it was Sylvia, she slapped at the hand. But the grip only grew tighter. She looked down. It wasn’t Sylvia holding onto her, it was a man.
‘If you know what’s good for you,’ he snarled, ‘you’ll piss off out of here right now.’
As Nell struggled with the man, a stone whistled past them. They both turned to see it hit the glass panel in the door; the window didn’t break, but if it had, anyone who wanted to could have reached through and unlocked the door.
One of the men struggled to hold onto a kicking, struggling Sylvia, who had failed to get past them to help her friend. The mob laughed like fools as Nell, using all her strength, shoved the man away from her and threw herself towards the door. She couldn’t let them get inside the shop. She had to protect her children.
‘Aw blimey, it’s not that lot again.’ It was Florrie Talbot, wobbling along the cobbled street on her high heels. Her hat was tipped rakishly over one eye, and the fox-fur tippet on the collar of her coat was pulled up snugly around her neck. Despite the cold and the drizzle that was now coming down, she kicked off her shoes, shoved her sleeves up her arms and sprinted over to the man who was now holding the almost defeated Sylvia about a foot off the ground. Florrie smacked him hard around the head, sending him reeling, and wrenched Sylvia out of his grasp.
‘Get over there across the street till you get your breath back,’ she ordered, pushing a gasping Sylvia out of the way, and then barged past the men to join Nell by the door.
‘Come on you bastards,’ she hissed, her fists up and her chin stuck in the air, looking for all the world like an inappropriately dressed prizefighter.
Sylvia, her chest almost bursting from the efforts of her struggle, watched with her hand over her mouth as Nell and Florrie Talbot stood determinedly by the door. What chance did the two of them have of stopping all those men? Since the humiliation the Blackshirts had faced when they’d been driven away from their march through the East End, Mosley’s thugs had picked on easier targets, and their retribution had become more and more vicious.
At first the men just stood there, staring at the two women. But then, without warning, the one whom Florrie had hit around the head let out a yell. ‘Did you see what she did to me?’
He threw himself at Florrie and grabbed her. Nell tried to separate them, but one of the men who had been painting slogans threw down his pot of whitewash, splattering the pavement and splashing her coat, and joined in the scuffle. It was enough to distract Nell and Florrie for an all-important few seconds. Each man grasped the opportunity. One of them took hold of Nell and dragged her away from the door. The other was less successful, getting a straight jab to his chin – Florrie had dealt with tougher men than him.
‘Don’t let them get to the door,’ Nell yelled to Florrie.
‘Don’t you worry,’ hollered Florrie, her eyes blazing and her blood up.
Sylvia ran back across the street and did her best to drag the man off Nell, but she was no match for his strength.
He hauled Nell across the pavement, with her slipping and skidding through the whitewash, and Sylvia hanging onto his coat. As they came to the gutter, Nell tripped and fell down into the road.
‘Jew-lover,’ he spat at her, kicking her in the side.
‘Get off her!’ screamed Sylvia, but the man was caught up in the violence and struck Nell again, not even noticing her trying to pull him away.
‘Do something someone, help her,’ Sylvia appealed to the men, not believing they could let this happen.
No one stepped forward, but one of them, alarmed by the man’s ferocity, shouted across to him, ‘All right, that’s enough, what the fuck d’you think you’re doing?’
Nell tried to protect herself with her arms, but her assailant wasn’t ready to stop. She clutched at her stomach, moaning to herself as a pool of blood began seeping out from under her, mingling with the whitewash.
‘You fucking lunatic,’ shouted another one of the mob. ‘Look what you’ve gone and done.’
The man who had been kicking Nell backed away from her, turned and ran.
‘Forget about that Jew-loving cow, you can see she’s only putting it on,’ shouted another one, turning his attention back to painting his filth on the walls. ‘Do you want these bastards out of this area or what?’
‘But she’s bleeding,’ said one of the younger ones, clearly terrified.
‘Ain’t your mother told you anything yet? All women fucking bleed, you idiot.’
Florrie hurried across to Sylvia, who was folding her coat to put under Nell’s head. Florrie tore off her own coat as she ran, knelt down beside Nell and draped it over her.
‘Don’t worry
about me,’ gasped Nell. ‘Don’t let them get to the kids. Please.’
‘I’m going for the police,’ said Sylvia, staring down at the puddle of blood that was growing darker and thicker around Nell.
‘No. Don’t leave the children. Please. You’ve got to stop them getting inside.’
Sylvia and Florrie looked at each other and made a rush for the door, silently praying that the others weren’t as vicious as the man who had attacked Nell.
Chapter 62
Inside the shop, Sarah Meckel and Mary Lovell were crouching behind the counter with the children tucked in below them.
Mary had seen one of the men dragging Nell away, and now Florrie Talbot and someone who looked like Nell’s friend Sylvia were back guarding the door. The men were shouting and gesturing at them, but at least they didn’t look as if they were going to hurt them. Goodness only knew what had happened to Nell. Say she needed help? Mary didn’t want to do this, but what choice did she have?
‘Tommy,’ she murmured without looking down at him, in case the jeering, singing mob realised what she was doing. ‘I know you’re scared, love, but do you think you could creep out the back on your hands and knees and then climb up over the wall and run and fetch Mr Lovell? Tell him what’s happening, that there’s nasty men, and that we need help?’
Mary knew that Joe had been to the Blackshirt meetings – she had had to live with the trouble it had caused between them all, and watched as it had eventually driven Martin away and caused a rift between her and Joe – but she could never believe he would tolerate anything like this. He was a good man at heart. And he loved her. She knew that too.
Tommy had never run so fast. Within minutes he was in the Lovells’ kitchen, breathlessly explaining to Joe about the bad men who were frightening them all and that Sarah and Mrs Lovell wanted him to help them.
Pausing only to instruct Tommy to stay exactly where he was, Joe ran down the stairs to the courtyard, bashing on every door as he passed each landing, yelling at the top of his voice that he needed help from every available man who could use his fists or wield a lump of wood.
Rough Justice Page 26