‘Come on, Dad, get up into the armchair,’ she said, her voice heavy with sadness as she leant her arm to the weight of her father.
* * *
Florrie strode purposefully along the pavement, her face set with compressed anger. The soles of her boots slithered dangerously over the wet cobblestones but still she marched on heedless of any danger. When her feet suddenly seemed to be whipped out from under her, her stomach lurched in alarm. For a breath-stopping moment she seemed to hover in the cold night air, then with a resounding thump she landed painfully on the gleaming cobbles, much to the amusement of two men passing by.
‘Urt yer arse, ’ave yer, darling?’ one of them called out, chuckling loudly.
‘Want me ter rub it better fer yer?’ his companion chortled.
Florrie grinned ruefully and shook her head. She wasn’t alarmed by the men. She had been a visitor to this part of Bow for several years and instinctively knew that they posed no real threat. Besides, the street was a busy one and well lit at this time of the evening. When willing hands helped her to her feet, she thanked them and quickly walked on, not wishing to give them any further encouragement.
The unexpected fall had wiped away the seething anger and jerked her mind back to reality. Pulling her thick woollen shawl up and over her fair head, she wavered for a few moments, undecided as to what to do. Despite her heavy outer garments, she was bitterly cold, the keen October night air piercing her unprotected hands and face. At the end of the road stood the Green Dragon pub, its welcoming bright lights spilling through the grimy windows, lighting up the road and pavement. Without further hesitation she entered her favourite haunt.
Since it was the last evening of the weekend, the pub was crowded, but that didn’t bother her. She was well known here and in no danger of being accosted. And if a stranger happened by and mistook her for a working girl, Percy Smith, the beefy landlord, would soon set them on their way.
‘’Ello there, Florrie! Didn’t expect ter see yer ’ere on a Sunday night!’ Percy Smith pushed to one side the eager young potman who had been hurrying to serve the attractive woman. ‘Usual, is it?’ he asked jovially, already pouring a generous measure of gin into a glass.
‘Thanks, Percy,’ Florrie answered gratefully. Pushing a florin across the beer-soaked bartop, she waited for her change, giving the landlord a beguiling smile that set the middle-aged man’s heart racing.
Thrusting her way through the noisy crowd, she spotted an elderly woman leaving a table in the far comer and quickly secured the prized possession for herself. Safely ensconced in the secluded corner, she took a deep gulp, relaxing as the fiery liquid burned its way down her throat. Sighing, she set the glass down on the rickety table and reflected on the evening’s events. A spasm of pain flitted across her face as she remembered William’s look of horror as she had hit him with the heavy frying-pan; then she shrugged, her features settling into a hard line. She should have done it years ago – it was no more than he deserved. Right now he was probably being fussed over by Kate, wearing that insufferable hangdog expression that infuriated her, and loving every minute of the attention. As she thought of her daughter, a sharp niggle of guilt assailed her and she quickly took another mouthful of gin. Poor Kate. It hadn’t been fair to walk out and leave her to cope on her own, but she’d had to get out of the house. She couldn’t have stayed within those four walls a moment longer.
A man, much the worse for drink, staggered against the table, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the pretty blonde-headed woman sitting on her own. But before he could start a conversation, his face contorted, he made a gagging sound and with a strangled cry he raced outside to be sick.
Florrie turned away in disgust, tears of mortification stinging her eyes. She shouldn’t be here. She should be at home looking after her children instead of mingling with drunks and prostitutes. How had she come to be in such a position? Until a few years ago she had never tasted gin, or any other liquor, and the idea of coming unescorted to a pub would have horrified her. Now she was a familiar face known to all. Even the brides of Bow, those hapless women who offered their bodies for drinks or money, knew her by name.
‘Everything all right, Florrie?’ Percy was standing by the table, his florid face hopeful. He held out another glass of gin. ‘Thought I’d save yer the trouble of coming back ter the bar. Don’t want ter lose yer table, do yer? Like gold dust they are…’ His voice petered out as he searched for something witty to say, and failed dismally.
‘Thanks, Percy.’ Florrie smiled at him in gratitude and understanding. She knew the burly man entertained hopes of something more than friendship, but despite his bulk he was gentle, and would never push the point without encouragement from her; and that was something she wasn’t about to give. The last thing she needed was another man messing up her life. When she had settled back into the corner, her mind, mellowed by the gin, travelled back to the day she had met William.
She had been barely eighteen when she had met the thirty-four-year-old widower. His wife had died, leaving him with a ten-year-old son to bring up on his own. He had come into the children’s department of Marshall & Snellgrove in the West End, where she had been working as a counter assistant. Her heart had gone out to the embarrassed man as he had tried to choose new undergarments for the boy. She had helped him with his purchases and then took afternoon tea with them both in a coffee-shop.
To her young and impressionable eyes, the mature man had appeared a figure of strength and security, representing the father figure she sorely missed. She had lost both parents in a boating accident a year earlier and was feeling desperately alone and afraid for the future. A shy girl, she had made few friends in the large department store where she had worked since leaving school at sixteen. Her parents, both school-teachers, who had supplemented their wages by giving private tuition to those unable to afford private schooling, had died virtually penniless. Unable to pay the rent on the three-storey house in Hackney, Florrie had moved into a one-roomed flat in Whitechapel, from where she ventured out only to go to work, hurrying home in the evenings and bolting herself in from the frightening sights and sounds of the rough streets. Within three months of their first meeting they were married quietly and without fuss, and Florrie was installed in the small but comfortable two-storey terraced house in one of the more respectable parts of Bow.
They had been happy enough at first, but it hadn’t been long before Florrie discovered that her new husband was anything but a father figure. It soon became obvious even to the inexperienced girl that her new husband was a weak man, and, instead of being looked after as she had hoped, she had found herself cast as the stronger partner. Much to her surprise, she had discovered strengths she had previously been unaware of. Proud to discover she wasn’t as useless as she had imagined, she had willingly taken up the reins of responsibility, managing her husband, stepson, home, finances and her job with comparative ease. In a short time she had changed from a shy, timid girl into an independent, capable woman, a change that maybe would never have come about if she had married a man of stronger character. The transformation had been quickly noted by her superiors at Marshall & Snellgrove, who had upgraded her position to senior counter assistant in her department. The promotion had acted as a tremendous boost to her self-esteem, causing her to strive even harder, her eyes set firmly on the most sought-after position of all; the post of manageress.
This particular dream was cut short when she had found herself pregnant with Kate, and for the following ten years Florrie had happily given herself to the joys and tribulations of motherhood. Yet even before Sally had begun to walk, she had already began to plan her return to work. Florrie was twenty-six when her third daughter was born and, as far as she was concerned, her duty in providing her husband with children was over. He already had a son to carry on his name, and she had no intention of bearing a child a year in the hope of producing another.
As she became more determined to carve out a life of her own, inde
pendent of him, so William became more worried. Florrie was a beautiful woman, and he knew in his heart of hearts that he had succeeded in marrying her only because he had caught her at a vulnerable time in her life. He was happy enough for her to take charge, to smooth away life’s irritants and generally ensure his days ran as smoothly as possible, but only when it suited him. He had been glad of her strength, but when he saw that same strength was enabling his wife to become independent of him and realised that she could survive quite easily, and maybe quite happily, without him, he became increasingly fretful.
As the time grew near for Sally to start school, leaving Florrie free to return to work, he began a campaign of moral blackmail, pointing out at every given opportunity that Kate, at eleven, was too young to take responsibility for her two younger sisters, conveniently ignoring the fact that his eldest daughter was more than capable of taking her siblings to and from school each day. When this tactic failed to work, William began hinting that he would like another child; to which Florrie had replied tartly that if he wanted one that badly he could go down to Dr Barnardo’s and take his pick. With her husband effectively silenced, Florrie had looked forward to the day when she could finally go back to work.
The only fly in the ointment had been Alex, by now a grown man of twenty, who had taken every opportunity to make her feel uncomfortable. He had been against her from the day she had married his father, and even from that early age had refused to call her ‘Mum’. Florrie had been hurt at first, but once Kate was born she had stopped worrying about her stepson, regretfully admitting that the boy would never take to her. So when William had hesitantly suggested that the small inheritance left to him by his father that had been gathering interest in the bank for over twenty years should be used to send his only son to a small boarding school in Essex, Florrie had thankfully fallen in with his plans. The modest amount tucked away had always been there to fall back on if times became too hard, but the relief of having the truculent boy out of the house had been a small price to pay for her own peace of mind.
Florrie had accepted the fact that she no longer loved her husband; indeed she often wondered if she ever had. He had come into her life at a time when she needed someone to belong to; almost anyone would have done, as long as they had been kind to her. And William had always been kind. He was too weak to be anything else. Although still beautiful and attractive to the opposite sex, Florrie had never entertained any notion of leaving him. She was quite happy with her home and family and the companionship of the man she now looked upon as a friend rather than a lover. The only burning desire she possessed was to do something with her life; it was something she had to do, for her own self-esteem. Also she’d had to face the fact that her husband would, in all probability, die before her, and she needed the security of knowing that should the worst happen she would be able to provide for herself and her children.
It was as if William had had the power to read her mind, for the night she had returned from the West End, tired but triumphant at having been taken back at Marshall & Snellgrove, he had gone to the pub and returned with two bottles of wine. Not used to drinking, Florrie had soon become intoxicated, and it was some time that evening or during the night that William had taken advantage of his wife’s drunken state.
When Florrie discovered that she was pregnant again, she had nearly gone mad. Her fury was heightened by William’s smug expression. It was as if he were saying, ‘That’s put a stop to your gallop.’ She had screamed at him, yelling that she wouldn’t have it, that she would find a way to get rid of it, and still he had smiled, knowing full well she would never do such a terrible thing. Knowing herself to be defeated, Florrie had worked until her pregnancy began to show, then tearfully given in her notice for the second time. Before leaving the large store, she had made one last purchase, a thick bolster, which was thrust down the middle of the double bed to prevent any further contact with the man who was responsible for her unwanted condition. And still he had continued to smile and act as if everything was all right between them, delighted that he had succeeded in his plan to bring his wife to heel, comfortable in the knowledge that she would have to remain solely dependent on him. It was then that the resentment that had been bubbling beneath the surface broke forth; and slowly but surely they had begun to drift further and further apart.
She had tried to keep a normal face on their relationship for the sake of the children, but the effort had proved too much. It had been worse in the evenings when the children had gone to bed, leaving her alone with the man she had grown to dislike and despise. Her torment was further heightened by the presence of her stepson, who made no effort to hide his resentment towards her. Fortunately Alex was rarely at home in the evenings, but on the few occasions he stayed in, the atmosphere and suppressed tension in the small house was unbearable.
On one such night, unable to endure it any longer, she had ventured out into the street, not knowing where she was going but certain that anything was preferable to being alone with her husband and stepson. Her first visit to the Green Dragon had been fraught with danger. She had been accosted by leering men and nearly set upon by three ‘brides’ who saw the lovely blonde woman as a rival to their trade. She had left the pub shaking with fright, only to return with grim determination the following week. In the smoky, loud confines of the pub she had found sanctuary, and she wasn’t about to be driven away.
Shrewd enough to realise that her position as a lone woman was precarious, she had carefully worked her way into the confidence of the loud-mouthed, lewdly dressed women. Initially she had spent the evening buying drinks to cement the unlikely friendships, but soon had been forced to put away her purse, much to the disappointment of the ever thirsty ‘brides’. Once they accepted she wasn’t a threat to their livelihood they left her in peace, even giving her their protection from the many men who frequented the East End pub in search of female company. She was always careful to wear her old clothes and speak as little as possible. In areas such as this, anyone with an educated accent was deemed fair play for the numerous pickpockets and hangers-on that pervaded the streets and public houses.
Even though she was in effect termed middle class, there was precious little money to spare. William’s position as solicitor’s senior clerk sounded grand enough to those less fortunate, but his wage was barely enough to cover the basic necessities of life. Any luxuries, such as a new coat or a pair of shoes for the children, were dependent on Alex’s generosity. Her lips tightened at the thought. She had to get a job, she simply had to. Once employed, she would no longer have to go cap in hand to the man who always took great delight in her embarrassment. But what if she couldn’t find work? She was seized by a moment’s panic, then relaxed, breathing evenly through her nose. She would find a job, even if she had to apply to every department store and shop in London. She was still a young woman, and this time there would be no surprise pregnancy to stop her working. She wasn’t finished yet, not by a long chalk.
‘Hello, Flo! Left dad at home on his own again, I see. Becoming quite an old soak, aren’t we, “Mother” dear.’
Florrie’s head jerked back on her shoulders. Standing beside her, his face flushed with drink, stood her stepson.
Alex looked down with contempt at his stepmother. He had never taken to her, never liked her, resenting her for taking the place of his beloved mother who had died so young. Like his father, he had been glad when she had been forced to give up her plans of returning to work. But whereas William had gloated because she was, in his opinion, back where she belonged, Alex had been delighted to see his hated stepmother brought low. In his lighter moments he had admitted to himself that Florrie had tried her best to be a good mother to him, but he had never given her the chance. The more she had tried to show him affection, the more he had pulled away until she had finally given up trying. He had also recognised from his early teens that she was a very beautiful woman.
Her soft fragrance floated up to his nostrils, and he felt his s
tomach contract painfully. Looking down into her wide green eyes, he remembered the conversation he had overheard earlier, his eyes hardening at the memory. The bitch! He had his own reasons for wanting to remain in his home, reasons that had nothing to do with any loyalty or love concerning his father.
Seeing her startled expression, he almost laughed out loud. Since his early teen years, when he had first become aware of her sensual beauty, he had been tormented by her presence. And on the occasions when he was at home during the holiday breaks, he had tossed and turned in his cramped bed, the image of her and his father together in the big brass bed sending his insides twisting into knots of adolescent sexual anguish. But as the years passed and he had watched the daughter turning into an exact replica of the woman he both hated and desired, his thoughts had become centred on Kate. Why should he hanker after soiled goods when there was a younger, untouched version to be had when the time was right? Still, there was a power about Florrie that unsettled him, and he didn’t like not being in control of any situation. But for now, at least, he must be patient and bide his time.
Bow Belles Page 3