by Anna King
Glaring from one woman to the other she nodded, confident now she had nothing to worry about. Then she made the mistake of testing her luck a bit further.
As she passed Grace, her hard eyes fastening on the young woman’s lovely features, she gave a short, derisive laugh and said, ‘What a pair of hypocrites you are. You’ve got the cheek to slag me off when we all know what’s going on with you and that Nobby Clark. At least my old man’s not banged up in a POW camp with his so-called loved ones sitting at home wishing him dead so he won’t upset the apple cart…’
The cutting remark struck both women forcibly, for what Beryl had just said was partly true, and it was because of the guilt Grace and Aggie harboured, that they reacted as they did.
Aggie made a move towards the smirking figure, but it was Grace who, with a howl of rage and before Beryl knew what was happening, swung her hand up and round, catching the side of Beryl’s face with such force it almost lifted the woman’s feet from the floor. Then, in a near perfect reconstruction of Aggie’s actions with Mrs Collins months back, Grace gripped Beryl by the back of the neck and, marching her down the hallway, threw open the front door and sent the detested figure sprawling. Not bothering to see if her sister-in-law was all right, Grace slammed the door so hard that the noise reverberated throughout the house.
Shaking with rage Grace practically ran back into the kitchen, then, just as suddenly as her anger had flared, it evaporated. Placing her arms on the table, she rested her head between them and began to sob wildly, her voice coming out in disjointed words.
‘She was r… right, Nan. I… I have wish… wished Stanley wouldn’t come home. I… I don’t wi… wish any ha… harm to him, hon… honest to God, I don’t. I just sometimes wi… wish, he just wouldn’t co… come home. But I’ve never wished h… him dead, Nan, n… never…!’
Aggie’s own eyes misted over with unshed tears, and she stroked the back of Grace’s head, murmuring softly, ‘I know you haven’t, love, I know.’
But I have, she added silently to herself. God forgive me, I have!
Chapter Twenty-three
‘Aw, come on, Aggie, it’ll do yer the world of good ter get outta the house fer a couple of hours. It can’t be much fun stuck in ’ere all day with that miserable cow upstairs. And it’s a marvellous film, ain’t it, Jeannie?’ Rene Castle looked to her friend for support.
Jean Butcher nodded her agreement.
‘Rene’s right, Aggie. I’ve seen it twice already, an’ I cried me eyes out both times.’
Aggie snorted loudly. ‘I thought yer said it’d cheer me up. If it’s that bleeding sad, I’d rather stay at home and be miserable, ta very much.’
Rene and Jeannie looked at each other in resignation, their faces glum. Then a spark of optimism flared as Aggie asked gruffly, ‘What’s it called again?’
The two women leant forward eagerly, and it was Rene who answered.
‘Gone with the Wind, Aggie. And it’s got Clark Gable an’ Vivien Leigh in it. Eh, she’s a right bitch, ain’t she, Jeannie? But yer liked her anyway. But I was a bit disappointed with Leslie Howard. He played a proper wally…’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Jean agreed. ‘But that scene when Clark Gable sweeps Vivien Leigh up in his arms, then carries her up the stairs. Ooh, I came over all hot an’ bothered at that bit. And what about the part when—’
Ter Gawd’s sake!’ Aggie interrupted loudly. ‘It won’t be worth me while going if yer tell me any more about it. Why don’t yer tell me how it ends an’ all while you’re at it?’
‘Then yer’ll come, Aggie?’
Both women held their breaths expectantly, and when Aggie shrugged and said gruffly, ‘I don’t suppose I’ve got anything better to do,’ Rene and Jeannie shared a delighted grin of triumph. They had been trying for over two years to get Aggie to go to the pictures with them. Mind you, they could understand her reluctance to go after what had happened to Sam and Hetty. As far as they knew, none of the girls had been inside a picture palace since that day either.
Anxious to get Aggie out of the house before she could change her mind, the two friends practically bundled the elderly woman out of the door, keeping up a steady stream of talk as they walked.
‘…I prefer ter go ter the matinee performance, it means I’m back home in time for the kids getting outta school. Not that they’d care. First thing they do after tea is run off ter play on the bomb-sites, and if I ain’t at home when they get in, they’re off ter the nearest one. Play there fer hours they would. They think it’s all a game, which is just as well. Mind you, if their dad was at home they wouldn’t have as much freedom as I give ’em. An’ seeing as how Tom’s due fer a short leave soon, they’d best make the most of it.’
Looking past Aggie, who was sandwiched between the two women, Jeannie asked Rene, ‘How about your Bert, Rene? Any news of when he’s due some leave?’
Rene shook her head dolefully.
‘Nah, I ain’t heard from the bugger in weeks. But then my Bert was never any good at writing letters… ’Ere, d’yer remember that time when that incendiary bomb landed over the house at the back of us, an’ the handpump at the bottom of the street wasn’t working?’ Nudging Aggie in the ribs, Rene laughed gleefully. ‘Yer remember that, don’t yer, Aggie? A crowd of us went running over to see if we could help out, and there it was, a long bleeding silver tube, laying on the bedroom floor of the old couple who lived there, and them running round like blue-arsed flies, not knowing what ter do. And that horrible burning smell coming from it. Lucky our old men were on leave that day, wasn’t it, Jeannie? ’Cos what with the handpump being out of order and the old couple in such a state, if it weren’t fer our Bert and Tom, the bleeding thing would’ve gone off, and likely taken the lot of us with it.’
Noting a slight tremble pass through the large frame tucked neatly between her and Jeannie, Rene hurriedly continued her story.
‘Then when the white smoke started to pour out of the end bit, me and you legged it, didn’t we, Jeannie? ’Cos once that smoke starts coming out, yer know the bleeding thing’s gonna explode. But Tom and Bert didn’t turn a hair. There was us screaming at them ter run fer it, and waiting fer the bloody thing ter go off, and no sign of either one of them. Then, about five minutes later, when we didn’t hear anything, we crept back up the stairs, and their was our old men just buttoning up their trousers. They’d only pissed on it, hadn’t they? Gawd! Did we ’ave a laugh that day. You remember, don’t yer, Aggie?’
A nudge in the ribs jerked Aggie out of her nervous silence. Throwing back her shoulders she barked in her usual voice, ‘Course I do. I remember saying at the time it was a good job the men were on hand to deal with it, ’cos you wouldn’t have caught me squatting over a smoking bomb trying ter piss on it.’
The notion of the enormous bottom of Aggie Harper squatting over the incendiary bomb sent them all off into howls of laughter, with Aggie joining in, her spirits lifting temporarily – until they reached their destination. As they waited in line outside the rebuilt Plaza in Mare Street, neither Rene nor Jeannie could have guessed at the violent flutterings going on in their friend’s stomach. And when the three women were finally seated, Aggie experienced a moment of blind panic as the lights went down. She felt as if she was enclosed inside a dark tomb, with memories of Sam and Hetty flashing through her mind, wondering if they’d had any warning before the bomb hit the cinema. Gripping the sides of the plush chairs Aggie tried to breath normally, calling on all her courage not to get up and run. Then the screen lit up and the familiar ‘Cock-a doodle-do’ of the big cockerel heralding the start of the Pathé News jerked Aggie out of her reverie, and as the news progressed she felt herself relaxing. Suddenly it was as if she had never missed her weekly visit to the pictures.
Then the news finished and when the haunting melody began to play the theme tune of the film, Aggie found herself settling into her seat, eager to watch the much-publicised film, just like old times. Within ten minutes she was deeply
engrossed, her fear slowly subsiding as she was drawn into the exploits of Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler. Opening her bag of boiled sweets, she began to stuff the confectionery into her mouth, her mind no longer in Hackney, but in the Deep South of America.
* * *
Hearing the three women leave the house, Beryl waddled slowly down the stairs and into the kitchen. Raiding the larder, she made herself a cheese sandwich and cut herself a large slice of the carrot cake that Aggie had baked that morning.
She had barely finished her midday snack when she heard the rattle of the letterbox and, as quickly as her cumbersome body would allow, she shuffled out into the hall and picked up the two letters from the mat, instantly recognising the scrawled writing of Chuck and Donald. Placing Vi’s letter on the hall table, Beryl eagerly made her way back to the kitchen, her trembling fingers tearing at the long white envelope.
As she pulled out the letter a photograph fell on to the table. Picking it up Beryl saw a big, white house set inside what looked like acres of open land, and slap in the middle stood Donald, dressed in a brightly patterned shirt, denim trousers and a large cowboy hat perched on his head. Underneath the photo was the date the picture had been taken, July 1937. Beryl’s eyes hungrily devoured the house and land surrounding it; then she turned to the letter. Donald wrote about how much he missed her and couldn’t wait to see her again, and was longing to bring her over to America to visit his home, adding that he hoped she liked the look of it. He didn’t say when he would be returning to England, only that it might not be for another few months. Then at the bottom of the letter he had added a PS: But don’t be surprised to find me on your doorstep one day very soon, if all goes well.
Beryl read the letter twice, then turned her attention back to the photograph. God! If only she could be there right now, instead of stuck here with those three bitches and the growing lump inside her. Thank goodness Donald had gone back overseas before she had started to show. Maybe, if the baby had been his, he might have accepted responsibility for it, but General Donald Laine was no Danny Donnelly, ready to believe anything he was told without question. She had already been six weeks overdue when she had first met Donald, but that hadn’t stopped her sleeping with him on their first night together. She had been just starting to show when he’d been transferred back overseas and that, as she had thought, was that. Oh, he had made the usual promises of keeping in touch, and telling her how he’d fallen for her, but she’d heard it so many times before that she hadn’t attached much importance to it. Now, though, it seemed she had really struck gold. The life Donald was offering her made this place look like a hovel, and it was far from that.
Looking at the photo once again, Beryl grimaced as the baby gave her a hard kick in the ribs. Glancing down on the enormous lump, she said softly, ‘Get a move on, will yer. ’Cos the sooner you’re out the sooner I can get on with me life. But don’t worry, I’m sure yer granny will take care of yer ’til yer daddy gets back home, ’cos I’m afraid yer mummy ain’t gonna be around fer long.’
* * *
‘I can’t believe it, Nan. You actually went to the pictures with Rene and Jeannie. Weren’t you scared… I mean after what happened to Mum and Dad?’
Polly, Grace and Vi were staring at Aggie in stunned amazement, threaded with admiration at their nan’s courage.
As she poured out the tea, Aggie smiled weakly.
‘To tell the truth, girls, I was shitting meself, especially when the lights went down and the whole place was plunged into darkness. I was all for getting up and running out, but I didn’t want ter show meself up in front of Rene and Jeannie, not after all the trouble they’d taken to get me there. But yer know what?’ She bounced her head at all three of them. ‘After a while I forgot me fear and settled down ter enjoy the film, an’ it was bleeding marvellous. In fact I might even go and see it again while it’s still showing,’ she added bravely. ‘It wasn’t only the film I enjoyed either. I’d almost forgotten watching the Pathé News. They’ve got a piece with Hitler and his Nazi chums doing the Lambeth Walk, yer know, with that trick photography, or whatever they call it. Gawd! Yer should have heard the audience laugh. And then they showed our lads landing at Normandy last week. Oh! The cheers that went up when that was shown. Course, it wasn’t only our lads, there was plenty of Yanks there as well. I’ll bet by the time this war is over they’ll be knocking out a war film a week, with the Yanks winning it fer us, of course… No offence to Chuck, Vi.’ Aggie grinned at her granddaughter.
‘Oh, don’t be daft, Nan. He’d probably agree with you if he was here.’
The atmosphere in the kitchen was warm and cosy, and each woman in turn felt the harmonious feeling binding them together. Then Beryl lumbered into the room and the warm glow suddenly dropped a few degrees.
Flopping heavily on to a chair, Beryl held out a letter to Vi, saying tiredly, ‘This came by the second post. I got one an’ all.’
Vi took the letter, her face lighting up as it always did when Chuck wrote. She barely had time to open it when an ominous sound filled the air outside in the street.
‘What the bleeding hell’s that noise?’ demanded Aggie as she lumbered down the hall and yanked open the front door.
Everyone in the street was out in force, all eyes looking to the sky. Then suddenly the noise ceased, only to be followed moments later by an almighty explosion.
As they ran back inside the house, Grace stuttered, ‘I don’t understand, I didn’t see any planes.’
‘Never mind that, girl,’ Aggie barked. ‘Get down them steps ter the cellar.’
Hurriedly they all scrambled down the stairs below, but they barely had the trapdoor closed when Beryl gave a loud scream.
‘Oh, me Gawd! I think the baby’s coming!’ she shouted, before being brought bent double as the first contraction hit.
Helping hands guided Beryl to the settee, while Aggie shouted out orders left, right and centre.
And while Beryl screamed and struggled to bring a new life into the world, the first V1 rocket had landed on London, killing many, and shattering the newly found confidence of the people of London.
* * *
After the first attack, the V1s, or doodlebugs as they soon became known, rained down thick and fast, more terrifying than any other bomb. It was all right as long as you could hear the drone of the engine; it was when the engine cut out that people either ran or threw themselves to the ground, waiting for the explosion. The craters they caused were relatively small compared to the bomb craters of the Blitz, but they were nonetheless deadly, and as the death toll rose steadily, the government began to think about ordering yet another evacuation of mothers and children.
It wasn’t only lives that were shattered: homes and businesses that had been rebuilt were now being destroyed again. One such business was the Davidsons’ illegal empire. After the war from the air had eased off, the brothers had become confident enough to buy a warehouse and stock it to the hilt, only to watch horrified as one of the dreaded doodlebugs dropped directly on to their Aladdin’s cave, wiping out everything they had stockpiled over the years, and leaving them almost back where they had started.
Before the war they had been petty criminals, barely making enough to survive. With the onset of the war, Phil and Pete had avoided the draft for as long as possible but had eventually been conscripted. The first battle they had engaged in had left Phil with a badly damaged eardrum, and Pete, less fortunate than his brother, had been shot in the calf by one of his own platoon, leaving him with a distinctive limp. Neither man had minded his injury, seeing as it had got him discharged from the army. George hadn’t even been considered for service – not with his history of mental instability.
Once back together in London, the men had returned to their petty thieving, until Phil realised there was a fortune to be made on the black market. They had started out on a low scale, but had soon realised how easy it was to obtain goods not available to the general public, and had steadily progre
ssed their shady business until they were on a par with the big men running the same racket. The climb up the ladder had been so simple that the Davidsons couldn’t believe their luck. What with the blackout and a serious shortage of police manpower, due to the large proportion of able-bodied policemen being sent off to war, at times it was like taking sweets from a baby. A few months back, 14,000 ration books had been stolen from a government office in Hertfordshire, 600,000 supplementary clothing coupons from a London employment exchange, and 100,000 ration books from the Romford food office. None of the culprits had ever been caught, nor any of the stolen items recovered. It was these particular robberies that the Davidsons were discussing as they sat hunched together at a table in a backstreet pub in Bow. They had become used to the good life, and weren’t about to see it disappear. What was needed were a few good jobs, like the ones they had just been talking about, and they would be set for life. And Phil had just the jobs in mind.
‘Now look, I’m telling yer, I got the information from an old mate who used ter work at the warehouse before he got sacked fer pilfering.’ Phil Davidson, his face alight with enthusiasm, was detailing his plan to his brother and cousin. Seeing their doubtful expressions he banged his fist down hard on the table, almost overturning the three glasses of beer atop of it. ‘What’s the matter with the pair of yer? Lost yer bottle, ’ave yer?’
Pete Davidson, his face turning hard, growled, ‘Don’t talk cobblers, Phil. I’ve never lost me bottle in me life, but it’s a big job you’re talking about. It’ll need more than just the three of us, and if you’ve heard about it, then yer can bet yer life the other gangs will ’ave got wind of it by now.’
Leaning forward eagerly, Phil said in a more moderate tone of voice, ‘Nah, they won’t. That’s the beauty of it. This mate I was telling yer about went back ter the warehouse after they sacked him, looking fer some easy pickings. Anyway, he gets into one of the offices, hoping to find a cashbox lying around, and comes across these invoices fer two lorries expected to arrive at the warehouse next week. Arthur, me mate, knowing he’d stumbled on to a gold mine, copied down all the information. Times, routes and the loads the lorries are carrying. Now Arthur knows the job’s too big fer him, right outta his league, so he comes ter me, knowing I’d see him all right. Which I did. Cost me a packet an’ all, but it was worth it. At least I thought it was, now I ain’t so sure. I thought you’d both jump at the chance of earning some easy money, but yer look like two old ladies frightened someone’s hiding under their bed… Huh!’ He laughed derisively. Finishing off his drink, he pushed back his chair, saying roughly, ‘All right, if yer ain’t interested, I know plenty of geezers that’d snatch me hand off fer the chance at a job like this…’