Everybody's Somebody

by Beryl Kingston

  This was the moment Rosie had been dreading. She took a deep breath and told her quickly before she could be overcome by tears. And when Kitty’s face wrinkled into concern and sympathy and she was afraid she would cry just for looking at her, she turned the conversation in a new direction by asking how Jim was.

  ‘Orl right,’ Kitty said. ‘I seen him twice last week. Still a bit down. You ’ave to aspect that, don’tcher? But I tell you summink good. Leastways, I think it’s good. He asked when you was coming to see him.’

  ‘That,’ Rosie said approvingly, spooning the condensed milk into her tea, ‘is a step in the right direction. I can’t do it this Thursday, tell him, nor the next, on account of me taking time off an’ it bein’ Christmas an’ all, but I’ll come the week after.’

  ‘Not ter worry,’ Kitty said, dipping her spoon into the tin. ‘You’ll visit when you can. He’ll understand. You can’t do no more’n that, can yer? We can go together.’ And when Rosie looked a question at her. ‘I been laid off. Munitions is closing. Don’t need shells no more. Which is good in one way an’ bad in another, if you takes my meanin’. I’m orl right. I got another job. Starts termorrer.’

  ‘What sort a’ job?’

  ‘Postwoman. Won’t last though that’s the trouble. When the men start comin’ home they’ll want their jobs back, a’ course, an’ then I’ll be out on me ear again. But it’ll tide me over fer the time bein’.’

  There was nothing Rosie could say to that, so she changed the subject again. ‘You make a good cuppa,’ she said.

  ‘Wan’ another?’

  ‘If I drink too much,’ Rosie warned, ‘I shall need a wee.’ She wasn’t sure whether this house had a WC and thought it a bit unlikely and she didn’t want to go out in the backyard if she could avoid it.

  ‘Drink what yer like,’ Kitty said. ‘I got a jerry in the other room.’

  So they emptied the teapot between them. Then Rosie watched as Kitty tidied up. First, she poured the remains of the hot water from the kettle into an enamel bowl and washed the mugs, spoon and teapot, and put them away in a cupboard, then she emptied the dirty water into a covered bucket that stood under the table and then she did something rather odd. She picked up the condensed milk tin and lowered it into another larger tin with a lid before she put it away on the top shelf of the cupboard.

  ‘I likes ter keep it all neat an’ clean an’ have everythink tidied away,’ she explained, ‘on account a’ the black beetles.’

  ‘Beetles?’ Rosie asked. ‘Do they eat condensed milk?’

  ‘This lot do,’ Kitty said, making a grimace. ‘They eat anythink, ’orrible things. They ain’t beetles really. That’s jest what we calls ’em. You’d call ’em cockroaches.’

  Rosie’s heart contracted with revulsion and pity. ‘Ah!’ she said, understanding. She knew they waged an unceasing war against vermin in the kitchens, traps and a cat for the mice, Keating’s Powder for what the chef called ‘livestock’. Everything had to be scoured and cleaned every day. He was most particular about it.

  ‘I keeps ’em down as best I can,’ Kitty said, ‘but the best way is to keep everythink locked away where they can’t get at it. Let ’em go hungry, ’orrible things. I wish I could do that to the bedbugs an’ all. They’re worse. Ain’t so bad at the moment. Not like they are come the summer. They breed in the heat, d’yer see, that’s the trouble. No sooner d’you get rid a’ one lot than you got another.’

  And my Jim’s been living in that ever since I’ve known him, Rosie thought. And she made up her mind that the first thing she would do, once she’d arranged the wedding, would be to find a proper place for all three of them to live, where they had water on tap and a WC and no vermin. She wasn’t sure how she’d set about it, but she was determined to do it.

  It was nearly three weeks before she and Kitty could get to Tooting again to visit their wounded soldier, and, by that time, Rosie had been down to Binderton for her mother’s funeral and had managed to get through it somehow or other, but only with a lot of weeping, and Kitty had started work as a postwoman and said she felt quite a swell in her uniform. They found him in a different ward, which was encouraging, dressed in the familiar bright blue uniform of a wounded soldier, white shirt, red tie and all, and sitting in a chair, looking quite pleased with himself. He seemed clean and smelt freshly washed and was a much better colour.

  ‘This is my fourth day,’ he told them. ‘They’re learnin’ me to walk better. I’ll show you presently. Then I’m to go to the seaside to be convalesced. Whatcher think a’ that? An’ if everythin’ goes to plan, they’ll sign me off an’ I can come home.’

  They both told him it was wonderful news and Kitty said he was a ‘giddy marvel’. Then he reached behind his chair and produced a wooden crutch and after a bit of a struggle stood up and began to walk along the ward. It upset them both to see how slow he was and how painful it looked but they praised him fulsomely.

  ‘We shall ’ave you runnin’ about in no time,’ Kitty told him.

  He grinned at her almost happily. ‘You watch me,’ he said. And the other men in the ward cheered him and grinned at him.

  ‘I’ll call the banns then shall I?’ Rosie said, grinning at him.

  He looked at her sheepishly. ‘If you think I’m worth it.’

  She stamped her foot in exasperation, frowning at him. ‘Don’t keep on sayin’ silly things,’ she said. ‘Do you want me to or don’t you?’

  He looked at her, tawny eyes anxious in his thin face. ‘You know I do,’ he said. ‘I jest don’ want you to regret it, that’s all. I’m not much cop when all’s said an’ done. Not now.’

  She was so touched by his concern, she rose from her chair and rushed to throw her arms round him and kiss him, as his fellow patients cheered and whistled. ‘I shall start getting it organised first thing,’ she promised.

  And did. It took her every spare minute for the next two weeks, but she was able to report on her progress each time she went to visit. ‘I’ve written to Father Alfred,’ she said on her first visit, ‘an’ he’s agreed to it an’ sent us this leaflet to tell us all about it.’ And on her second visit she told him she’d arranged for the banns to be called at St George’s Church in the Borough as well and that she and Kitty were planning a trip to Petticoat Lane to choose a frock ‘or some such’.

  By that time Jim had good news of his own. ‘They’re sendin’ me ter this convalescent place day after termorrer,’ he said, beaming at them in quite his old way. ‘I’ll be home in no time at this rate. You’ll come an’ see me there, won’tcher?’

  ‘Try an’ stop us,’ Rosie said, grinning at him and then at Kitty. ‘We shall have to put a jerk on with that dress,’ she said to Kitty.

  ‘We’ll go Sunday,’ Kitty said, rubbing her hands. ‘I ain’t ’alf looking forward to it, our Rosie.’

  It was an extraordinary outing. Rosie had never been in a street so crammed full of people nor heard so many voices all shouting at once, nor seen so many stalls in such a narrow space, nor smelt so many old clothes, piled in tousled heaps on every stall and hanging from every available hook and rail, dolefully flapping their sleeves in the rush of air as the crowds pushed from place to place and giving off a strong smell of sweat and long dried dirt so pungent that it made her eyes water. We’ll never find anything in all this, she thought, gazing round her, never mind a wedding dress. But Kitty had another opinion.

  ‘Come on,’ she ordered. ‘Foller me. An’ keep yer ’ands on yer purse or they’ll nick it soon as look at yer. I know jest the place.’ And she was off, dodging through the crowds as if she was dancing.

  Rosie followed her, keeping one hand in the pocket of her coat so that she could keep her purse safe and trying to avoid being trodden on. At first, she tried saying, ‘’Scuse me!’ but that was no good at all and, after a few minutes, she was pushing and shoving with the rest. They arrived at a shop draped with clothes and presided over by a small plump man in a Jewish coat and a black yar
mulke embroidered in gold thread. He threw up his hands in delight when he saw Kitty and greeted her by name. ‘Pretty Kitty Jackson, as I live an’ breathe. Vhat I can do for you, my darlink?’

  Kitty explained what she wanted and within seconds he had pulled four possible dresses from his rails and held them out for inspection, extolling the virtues of each one. ‘Nice bit a’ schmutter,’ he said, offering a blue velvet dress with a long stain down the front of it, ‘or you could try this one,’ showing a yellowing white lace. ‘That ’ud wash up lovely.’ Then a pink skirt, ‘Just your colour darlin’,’ and finally a faded grey dress with a dilapidated collar. But Rosie grimaced and shook her head at all of them.

  ‘Well thank you very much, Mr Levy,’ Kitty said. ‘But they ain’t quite the thing we ’ad in mind. I think we’ll go on looking.’ And when Mr Levy gave a rueful grimace, they were off into the throng again and pushing their way to another shop.

  This one was run by a tall man with a horribly tangled grey beard and kind eyes, which lit up when he heard what they were looking for.

  ‘Now ain’t you the lucky ones,’ he said. ‘I got just the thing. Come in yesterday. Vait there, my darlinks.’ And he disappeared into the dark cavern of his shop and reappeared with an elegant cream-coloured suit hanging over his arm as if it had fainted. He hung it on the nearest rail, pushing the other clothes aside to make room for it and smoothed the sleeves and the skirt with a reverent hand. ‘Vhat you think of that, eh?’ he asked, looking from one to the other.

  Rosie made her mind up at once. It was just the thing, it looked so soft and so stylish, with all those little buttons running straight down the coat and straight down the skirt and all covered in the same pretty silk. But before she could say she wanted it Kitty started to bargain.

  ‘It’s good cloth,’ she said nodding her head from side to side. ‘I’ll give yer that. All depends how much yer want for it.’

  ‘For you darlink, two quid an’ cheap at the price.’

  Kitty made a grimace. ‘Oh do me a favour, Mr Segal,’ she said. ‘Twenty bob more like.’

  Mr Segal spread his hands before her placatingly. ‘For you darlink, thirty shillin’,’ he offered. ‘Can’t drop it no further’n that or there’ll be no margin.’

  Another sideways nod of the head and a pause for thought. ‘Twenty-five.’

  Again the hands were spread. ‘Oy, oy. You drive hard bargain. I tell you vhat I do. Call it twenty-eight an’ I throw in a pair of shoes for free. Vhat could be fairer?’ And the shoes were produced from a dark chest of drawers just inside the door and held out for Rosie’s inspection. They were the prettiest shoes she’d ever seen and matched the suit to perfection. There was no doubt in her mind at all that she would buy the entire outfit. And she did.

  ‘Won’t you have a lot ter tell our Jim,’ Kitty said, as she and Rosie went home on the tram with their parcels. ‘When you goin’?’

  ‘Thursday,’ Rosie told her. ‘I can get to Angmering on the train an’ then I shall have to walk. I don’t think it’s far.’

  It was actually rather further than she expected and took her thirty-five minutes, but happy anticipation made her quick and when she finally reached the convalescent home it was such a splendid place, all red brick and huge windows under a grey tiled roof, that she was cheered by the sight of it and set off across the lawn to find her darling, singing Marie Lloyd’s happy song,

  ‘The boy I love is up in the gallery.

  The boy I love is lookin’ down at me.’

  And there he was, taking a walk with another soldier, both on crutches and both laughing. To see him walking out there in the open air was wonderful enough but to hear that easy laugh made her heart lift with pleasure.

  ‘Whatcher think a’ this, our Rosie?’ he said, as she ran towards him. ‘We’re comin’ on like a house afire, ain’t we Jesse? They reckon they’re gonna discharge us in a week or two, if we can run down to the beach an’ back.’

  ‘Run?’ Jesse said, squinting at him.

  Jim grinned. ‘Well hobble then,’ he said. ‘All we got ter do is get as far as that ol’ beach an’ back an’ we shall be free men, with a month’s paid leave an’ all. We’re gonna live like lords.’

  You won’t live like a lord in two rooms full of bugs and cockroaches, Rosie thought, but she didn’t say anything. ‘Guess what I’ve bought,’ she said, falling in alongside them as they started to walk again.

  He looked a question at her, his eyes teasing. ‘Well go on then. Spill the beans. What’ve yer bought?’

  ‘My wedding dress.’ What a marvellous thing to be able to tell him.

  ‘Oh well then,’ he said, pretending to sigh. ‘I s’pose I shall ’ave ter marry you now.’

  It was so good to be teased. It felt so normal after all those awful weeks watching him grow thinner by the day and looking so ill and downhearted. ‘The banns’ve been called,’ she said. ‘We can fix a date as soon as you get home.’

  He laughed again, grinning at his friend. ‘She don’t give me no option,’ he said and took her arm. So they walked across the lawn together, heading towards the beach. Everything about the afternoon was easy, it was Spring, they were into 1920, the sun warm on their heads, wallflowers scenting the air around them, sparrows chirruping in the hedges, the rippling sea calm and peacock green, the sky full of innocent clouds, the grass soft under her feet, his hand warm and alive on her arm.

  Chapter 13

  Ex-Private Jim Jackson was so happy to be back in Parish Street he couldn’t stop grinning. He had to admit it was a bit of a job getting up the stairs, which were a lot steeper than the ones he’d got used to at the convalescent home, but once he was inside his room and breathing in the familiar smell of home, he was quite himself again.

  ‘This is the life!’ he said, sinking into the comfort of his lovely old battered chair. ‘In me own clothes, in me own ’ome, wiv no bleedin’ guns an’ no gas an’ no stink an’ no rats an’ four weeks’ pay. Think a’ that, Kitty. Holiday wiv pay. I shall live the life a’ Reilly.’

  ‘I got sausage an’ bacon an’ fried bread fer yer supper,’ Kitty told him happily. Oh it was good to have him home. ‘I’ll get the fire goin’ shall I?’

  ‘Real grub!’ Jim said rapturously. And he leant back in his chair and sighed with satisfaction at the thought.

  For the next few days he spent his time and his holiday pay down the pub looking up old friends, getting tiddly and catching up on the local news. But it was Thursday evening he was waiting for and that seemed a long time coming. He came back from the pub early that afternoon, lit a fire, boiled up a kettle and took it off into the bedroom to give himself a thorough good wash. If he and Rosie were going to finish the evening in the park he didn’t want to smell. Since that stinking dysentery he’d been very particular about how he smelt. And then it was off to the Star and he had his two best girls on either side of him, holding onto his arms and singing and he was so happy he felt as though his chest was going to burst.

  It was such a good night. The comedians were on top form and they sang all the old songs and the performing dog was so badly behaved he made their sides ache with laughing at him. Then it was time for pie an’ mash and a quick half. And then it was time for kisses in the park.

  ‘Oh Rosie! Rosie! Rosie!’ he groaned when they’d reached their protective oak tree and he’d kissed her at last. ‘You don’t know…’

  ‘I do,’ she said. ‘It’s like it for me an’ all.’ And she held his face between her strong warm hands and kissed him lovingly, again and again. Above their heads the oak leaves shushed and whispered, and the distant moon looked down on them with its lopsided face and touched them with magic, making their eyes shine and edging their darkened faces with silver. The world and its incessant traffic were a distant murmur a long way away. They kissed until they were both taut with longing, aching to go further than kisses, sweet though they were, and oblivious to the time. Big Ben struck eleven and they barely heard it, he bec
ause he was nuzzling into her neck, she because she was enjoying it so much and never wanted him to stop.

  ‘In three weeks’ time,’ she said dreamily, ‘we shall be married. Think a’ that.’

  ‘I never think a’ nothin’ else,’ he told her, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

  ‘It’s all fixed,’ she told him. ‘All I got to do is find us somewhere to live.’

  ‘You’ll come an’ live wiv me an’ Kitty, won’t yer?’ he said. It was only just a question because he was so sure of the answer.

  She was instantly alert. She knew how glad he was to be home, he’d hardly talked about anything else all evening, but she couldn’t live in a bug hutch. ‘We planned to rent a flat,’ she said, as reasonably as she could.

  ‘Yeh, I know,’ he said easily, ‘but people like us don’t live in flats. Not really.’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ she said. ‘Why shouldn’t we go for somethin’ better?’

  ‘’Cause we can’t afford it,’ he said, still speaking easily because he was drowsy with kisses. ‘You’ll never find nothin’ nowhere near what we could afford.’

  ‘I ent found it yet,’ she said. ‘I’ll grant you that. But I’m goin’ to. I’ve made up my mind. I been looking for weeks. I’ll find it in the end.’

  ‘Well we’ll see,’ he said. She couldn’t do it. He knew that, but there was no harm in her trying. It was a flash in the pan. That was all. A daft idea. ‘Now we’d better be gettin’ you back or you’ll be late in.’

  By the time he got home to Parish Street, he’d forgotten all about it so when he got a postcard from her on Tuesday morning it came as quite a surprise.