Dream On

by Gilda O'Neill

  In reply, Dilys poked out her tongue and the woman looked away with a loud huff.

  ‘Of course by Ted,’ Ginny hissed, her fair cheeks flushing as pink as a stick of candy-floss. ‘Who d’you think I wanna do it with, the bloody coalman?’

  ‘You take my word for it, Al, I’m telling you, if you can show her you’ve got plenty o’ dough, then any bird you fancy, she’s yours for the taking. You don’t even have to spend that much on ’em. Just flash it about a bit. They ain’t got a lot of brains see, birds ain’t.’ Ted tossed back the last of his drink and weighed his empty glass in his hand.

  ‘Like another one in there?’ asked Al, rising from his chair.

  ‘Why not? And you can get us a chaser an’ all this time.’

  At barely eighteen years of age, and not usually much of a drinker, Al was not exactly sure what sort of a drink a chaser was, but he would find out and Ted would have one if that was what he wanted. Al was determined to impress this new-found friend of his, because while he might not have known much about boozing, Al knew something very clearly: he definitely did not like the idea of being conscripted, especially now there wasn’t even a war to fight. And Ted, whom Al had met only a couple of hours ago – when he had tipped him the wink that he had better put his suitcase full of nylons back in his boot as a copper was heading his way – had been telling him all sorts of fascinating things.

  Ted had told him, for instance, that there were plenty of ways to avoid being called up and had even gone so far as to slip him a piece of paper with a doctor’s address on it, with the promise that it would come in more than useful when the dreaded buff envelope arrived. He’d told him, as easy as that, and just to repay him for his help in avoiding being collared by the law!

  After a few rounds of drinks, all paid for by Al, Ted had gone on to tell him that he too could earn enough money to have a flash motor and sharp-looking suits. But probably most important of all for a reluctant virgin such as Al, Ted had been generous enough to share with him the benefit of his experience with women.

  Ted had said, quite matter-of-factly, that after the cheapest of nights out, he should definitely expect a whole lot more than a quick fumble inside their blouses.

  This was music to Al’s ears. He wouldn’t have admitted it to someone as sophisticated as Ted, of course, but he had often spent the best part of the week’s wages he earned at his clerking job and had not even got as far as a serious kind of kiss, let alone a real bit of how’s your father.

  But then, according to Ted, the way that Al earned his living showed what a mug he was. In Ted’s book, anyone who worked for a governor was no better than a fool.

  Al put down the three drinks, his own half pint, Ted’s pint and a tot of whisky – the barmaid had been very helpful in explaining chasers, especially after Al had bought her a drink as well – and sat himself down next to Ted. ‘So, Ted,’ he said, raising his glass in salutation, ‘you was saying about this, what was it, working the tweedle? How does it go again?’

  Ted grinned; it was a while since he’d met a kid as innocent-looking and as trusting as this one. He was a real one-off. Particularly around the East End. He must have been brought up wrapped in cotton wool.

  Ted studied him across the rim of his glass. Maybe he could be of further service some time. All right, so he wasn’t exactly Brains Trust material, but a look-out with an honest face was always useful when you were on the creep around a warehouse. And anyway, it amused Ted to see the kid hanging on to his every word. He enjoyed a bit of respect.

  Patiently Ted explained the con one more time.

  ‘I get it!’ A flash of understanding at last lit up Al’s baby face. ‘You have two rings. A real one and a fake one. And when you go back, you sell the jeweller the schneid!’

  ‘Right. That’s it.’ Ted winked at the lad, then asked his usual question whenever he met anyone under the age of thirty. ‘Now, tell me about yourself; you got any sisters, son?’

  ‘No, only brothers.’

  Ted paused. No sisters. Well, you couldn’t have everything. Then another thought struck him. ‘So how old’s your mum then?’

  ‘Dunno.’ Al grimaced. ‘Just old, I suppose, like all mums.’

  Ted didn’t let his disappointment show. ‘Where’s this office o’ your’n? Up the City?’

  ‘No, down the docks. I do the paperwork for the bonded warehouses.’

  Ted could feel the happiness spreading through his body like warm treacle dribbling over a spotted dick.

  When their bus finally arrived, Ginny was, for once, delighted to see that it was really crowded and that she had to sit by herself. She had been shown up quite enough for one day by Dilys and her big mouth.

  Dilys, on the other hand, wasn’t very happy at all, though her increased displeasure had nothing to do with losing her job or how many people were on the bus. It was the idea that Ginny was thinking about having a baby that had really upset her. That was the last thing she wanted to happen, because Dilys had been thinking very seriously about her future with Ted. Despite all the servicemen being demobbed, good-looking blokes with a few bob in their pockets were still very thin on the ground and Dilys wasn’t getting any younger. She was nearly twenty-three, for goodness sake, and Ted was getting to be a bit of a last resort. All right, he was already married, but the papers were full of stories about people getting divorced. Once it had been something only the rich and famous could do, but nowadays it seemed as though every Tom, Dick and Harry could get shot of his wife if he wanted to. All you had to do was spend a couple of days down in Brighton with some willing tart or other, have a quick snapshot taken leaving your love nest, and Bob appeared to be your uncle. So why not Ted? Well, maybe it was a bit more complicated than that, but if Ginny went and got herself up the duff, it probably wouldn’t matter anyway, as Dilys had seen how funny blokes could get when their wives got pregnant.

  They came over all stupid and loyal, and started staying in and holding their old women’s hands and talking about whether it would be a boy or a girl, and if they should name it after Auntie Flo or Uncle Harold. No, Ginny getting herself pregnant was definitely not a very good idea, not a very good idea at all. Dilys had to get the thought right out of Ginny’s stupid, curly blonde head, and she had to do it soon, before it got out of hand and Ted got to like the idea of becoming a daddy. And a little thing like the three rows of people sitting between her and Ginny certainly wasn’t going to deter Dilys from putting her plan into action.

  To Ginny’s alarmed embarrassment – but to the obvious interest of the press of passengers surrounding them – the moment she sat down, Dilys started firing a barrage of questions at her. ‘Oi, Ginny! So what’s Ted got to say about all this baby lark then?’

  Ginny took a deep breath, twisted round in her seat and mouthed very quietly, ‘I haven’t mentioned it to him yet, Dilys.’

  That wasn’t exactly true; she had tried to raise the subject once or twice, but Ted wouldn’t even discuss it. In fact, he had forbidden her to talk about it. But now she had no job and the war was over, maybe he’d feel differently. She would have to be careful how she brought it up, of course, as she didn’t want to aggravate him, and Dilys opening her big gob certainly wouldn’t help matters.

  ‘And I’d appreciate you not mentioning it either, Dilys.’

  Dilys could have kissed the silly cow. She hadn’t even talked to him about it. Perfect!

  Suppressing the urge to burst into laughter, Dilys carried on – her face now arranged into a concerned frown. ‘Well, he won’t like it, you know.’

  ‘I don’t agree.’

  ‘I’m telling you.’

  ‘Dilys, please, d’you mind?’ Ginny pulled her coat collar tighter around her throat and tried to shrink down into her seat.

  ‘And how about Nellie? What’s she gonna say?’

  ‘I’m sure Nellie would love a grandchild.’

  ‘What, Nellie? Are you sure? With all that screaming; and crying keeping her awak
e all night? Clothes-horses full of wet nappies all over the place. She’d go barmy. And you know Ted can’t stand fat birds,’ she added with a sudden flash of inspiration. ‘And with your legs and figure, you’d blow up like a barrage balloon. You do know that, don’t you, Ginny? You’d be like a right flipping elephant. Stuck in a chair, day in day out, with just Nellie for company. You’d hate it. I’m telling you.’

  ‘That’s what happened to me,’ chipped in a sharp-nosed woman in a peculiar brown felt hat, who was sitting across the aisle from Ginny. ‘Didn’t it, Charlie?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘It did. Just like an elephant she was. And her legs . . . You’ve never seen nothing like ’em.’ He winced at the memory. ‘Went all veiny and horrible, they did. And her ankles! Swollen up like a pair o’ prize marrows they was. Months she was like that. Couldn’t get a pair o’ slippers near her feet, let alone a decent pair o’ shoes on her. And as for her guts . . .’ He shuddered. ‘Talk about taking over the Bile Beans factory She must have swallowed a hundred boxes of the bloody things. But nothing worked her. Bunged up like a bottle with a cork, she was.’

  Dilys was triumphant. ‘See! Can you just imagine what Ted would have to say if he had to put up with all that for nine months?’

  That was enough for Ginny. She knew Ted could be difficult and that Nellie wasn’t exactly a loving mother-in-law, but Dilys didn’t have to let the whole bloody bus know. She stood up and jerked the string above her head to ring the bell.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she muttered to the woman next to her, ‘I wanna get off.’

  ‘Where you going?’ Dilys bellowed, as Ginny shuffled sideways along the aisle towards the back of the bus.

  ‘Home. But I’ve decided to walk. All right?’

  Dilys raised her eyebrows in surprise, then turned to face the steamed-up window. ‘Suit yourself. But you must be garrety, it’s started pouring down out there.’

  By the time Ginny eventually got back to Bailey Street she was cold, wet through and thoroughly miserable; but even though all she felt like doing was going indoors, slipping into a warm dressing-gown and sitting in front of the fire with a nice, hot cup of tea, she couldn’t bring herself to walk past Violet Varney’s without at least knocking on her door to see how she was getting on.

  In the four months since the poor woman had heard of her husband’s death, Ginny had called on her most evenings, although Violet usually found a reason not to let her over the street doorstep. It was obvious, even from the brief glimpses Ginny had of her, that she was not doing very well.

  Ginny rapped on the glass panel in the door. ‘Violet? You there?’

  Violet’s youngest, a skinny, hollow-eyed child of about ten, opened the door just wide enough to peer through the crack. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s me, babe. Ginny, from over the road.’

  The little girl opened the door wider. ‘Me mum’s in the kitchen,’ she said, nodding along the passage.

  ‘You sure it’s all right if I come in? Mummy usually talks to me out here.’

  ‘Mum only said I was to say she wasn’t in if it was the rent man, or the bloke for the tally money. She never said nothing about you.’

  Ginny nodded, but she wasn’t actually listening to what the child was saying, she was far too preoccupied with the look of her. There had been talk that Violet was neglecting the kids, giving them a beating even – something that nobody would ever have thought of accusing her of before – and here, right in front of Ginny seemed to be proof that the gossips were right for once. The child’s cheek had a series of wounds across it that certainly hadn’t come from any playground rough and tumble; she had been cut with something a lot sharper than a stone or a hopscotch marker.

  As soon as she noticed Ginny looking at the red, angry slashes, the little girl instinctively raised her hand to her face and dropped her chin, making Ginny flinch at her victim’s shame.

  ‘She’s in the scullery,’ the child muttered, then turned on her heel and fled.

  It tore at Ginny’s heart as she watched the poor, scrawny mite disappear up the unlit stairway. She felt as though she could cry out loud with pain, but not only for the desperate youngster.

  Ginny had seen herself reflected in the look that had clouded the child’s pale, careworn little features. It was a look that Ginny sometimes glimpsed lately, when she sat in front of the mirror. No matter how she tried to deny it – to brush it away, refuse to acknowledge it – it was a look that had stained, and that told anyone who chose to see that Ginny was a woman who knew what it was like to have her dreams shattered.

  When Ginny eventually went home she found Ted sitting at the kitchen table eating his tea, with the evening paper propped up in front of him against the sugar bowl.

  ‘Where d’you think you’ve been?’ he asked, flicking over the page.

  Ginny took off her sopping wet coat, draped it over the back of one of the chairs and stood it in front of the gas stove to dry. ‘I popped in to see Violet Varney, on me way back from work,’ she said shaking out her hat and combing back her damp hair with her fingers. ‘She wasn’t very happy at first that her little one had let me in.’

  Ted looked up at her with disgust. ‘Well, while you was over there chatting, me mum had to do me tea for me. And now she’s so whacked out, she’s had to go up and have a lay down. Satisfied, are you?’

  Ginny thought about her spoilt, idle mother-in-law snoring her head off upstairs, and she thought about how exhausted Violet Varney looked and how skinny and unhealthy the child had been.

  She would have liked to have gone up and dragged Nellie out of bed and across the street to see what being whacked out really meant. She’d have liked to have rubbed her self-regarding nose in it, and she’d have liked to have told the lazy old bugger – and Ted – exactly how she felt.

  Instead, Ginny said nothing. She knew there were lines she shouldn’t cross, so, as always, she acted the appeaser. ‘I wasn’t chatting, Ted,’ she said defensively, as she filled the kettle at the sink. ‘And I only meant to go in for a couple of minutes. You know, to see if there was anything I could do. But when I saw the state she was in—’

  ‘What state d’you expect her to be in?’ Ted interrupted. He tore a chunk of bread from the loaf, mopped up the gravy from his plate and shoved it in his mouth.

  Ginny didn’t reply immediately. She lit the gas and sat down at the table to wait for the water to boil. Ted liked to have a cup of tea after he had finished his meal. She herself had no appetite after what she had seen across the road, but even if she had, she knew it would have been pointless to ask if Nellie had made anything for her to eat.

  ‘I didn’t expect her to be as bad as she is, to tell you the truth, Ted,’ she said eventually. ‘She was going on about all sorts. Kind of rambling. She was talking about this place, Southern Rhodesia, wherever that is. A welfare lady went round to see her the other day and said they was offering places at some college over there. And parents who ain’t managing very well can send their kids. Their older ones like. It’s because they need more people in their country or something. I didn’t really understand what Violet was going on about, but she reckoned it sounded like a good thing.’ Ginny sighed loudly. ‘Can you imagine being that desperate that you’d let some stranger take your child?’

  She waited a moment to see if Ted had anything to say about such a terrible decision for someone to make. When he said nothing, she continued with her story. ‘You see, this welfare lady turned up because of the school.’ Ginny got up and warmed the pot and began slowly spooning in measures of tea. ‘They was worried Violet’s been beating the kids. Not giving them a smack, I don’t mean, but really hurting them. She’s been driven off her head I reckon, since she heard about her Bert.’

  Ginny filled the pot with the boiling water and carried it back to the table. ‘I think she’s gonna do it, you know, Ted. See, she’s really in trouble.’

  Ted snorted derisively and forked in another mouthful. ‘What, one of her punt
ers put her in the club, has he?’

  Ginny almost dropped the teapot. ‘You know what she’s been up to?’

  ‘Don’t everyone? She’s been hanging around outside the billiard hall down Chris Street for months now, waiting for customers.’

  Ginny shook her head. ‘I never knew. In fact, I didn’t even know whether to believe her when she was telling me just now. It’s not like her to say much at all, especially about personal things. So when all that came pouring out, well . . . I didn’t know what to say. But she said it was a relief to have someone to talk to about it.’

  She poured Ted’s tea, added sugar and milk and automatically stirred it for him, before setting it down next to his plate.

  ‘And d’you know what else she told me?’ she continued in a low voice. ‘She thinks she’s got a dose.’ Ginny shuddered. ‘VD. Can you imagine? Said she’s been going with all sorts of men, just to get a few bob for the kids. She was so scared they’d put them in a home if she wasn’t feeding them right and dressing them decent. But the poor little devils was more at risk in their own flipping house. She was so upset when she saw how one of the blokes she brought home the other night looked at her youngest that she went sort of barmy.’

  Ginny took a gulp of her scalding hot tea as Violet’s horrific words replayed in her head. ‘She held her down and cut her little face. With the bread knife. Said she was trying to make her look ugly.’

  ‘Silly whore.’ Ted threw down his knife and fork, and shoved his plate away from him.

  ‘I don’t understand it either, Ted. I can’t imagine how desperate you’d have to be to go and do something like that. How anyone could sell their body . . .’ Ginny shuddered again. ‘But at least she’s gonna try and do her best for the kids. She’s gonna send the oldest two to this Rhodesia place. And the others are gonna live with her sister. Until she can find a way to get herself straight. She feels so guilty about what’s been happening. But I said to her, it’s not your fault, I said. Well, what else could I say? But honestly, Ted, fancy doing that. It’s horrible. If only she’d have said something. If only she’d have let people help her.’