Luck Be a Lady

by Anna King

  Maude was lying on the pillows, her hand resting across her heart, her face tear-streaked. Rebecca watched as the beady eyes opened warily and smiled grimly. How often had she witnessed such a scene when Maude, in a fit of pique, had tried to milk some sympathy. Hand on heart, the obligatory tears – no change here then. Her manner brisk, Rebecca said, ‘We’ll be coming up to bed shortly, as soon as our guests have gone. Is there anything you need before I go back down?’

  Maude squeezed her eyes tightly closed. ‘No, I’m fine,’ she muttered in a weak, brave voice.

  ‘That’s all right then. I’ll pop in before I retire for the night.’

  And before Maude could protest, Rebecca had left the room.

  *

  ‘Goodnight, Jimmy, and thanks again for being with us today. And for the experience of East End pub life, it was quite an education, but the meal more than made up for it.’ Aware she was babbling, Rebecca concentrated on staring at Amy and Charlie, who were standing only a few feet away, their heads bent together as they said their goodnights. An icy gust of wind swept over the figures on the doorstep and Rebecca wrapped her arms around her waist for warmth, grateful for something to do with her hands.

  When the strong arms enfolded her, Rebecca flinched involuntarily, then bit down on her bottom lip in confusion. She had no idea of what to do next and was mortified when her entire body began trembling; and it had nothing to do with the cold.

  Jimmy smiled tenderly as he sensed Rebecca’s discomfort. The poor cow doesn’t have a clue, he thought wryly, and was immediately ashamed of himself. It was a feeling new to Jimmy, yet this girl seemed able to evoke his conscience, even when he’d done nothing wrong, but he didn’t loosen his hold. Instead he gently pulled her body into his and bent down to kiss the soft, cold cheek. ‘You’d better get inside before you freeze,’ he murmured softly, his breath fanning her face.

  Grateful for the comparative darkness of the street, Rebecca didn’t try to pull away from the comforting warmth of Jimmy’s arms, neither did she respond in any way. She simply didn’t know how to. Her mind was screaming at her to say something, anything, rather than remain silent, like an imbecile. She tried to think of something witty, or amusing; instead she blurted out lamely, ‘Oh! I meant to tell you earlier – I met a friend of yours in the… the ladies’ room… She said to tell you Heather was asking after you… Or something like that…’

  Immediately Jimmy’s hold loosened and in the quietness of the night, Rebecca heard him draw in a deep breath. Then, as if remembering she was there, he gave her a swift hug and stepped back, leaving Rebecca suddenly cold and bereft.

  Jimmy too was experiencing a sense of loss, but it had nothing to do with Rebecca. Dragging his mind back to the young woman standing at arm’s length, he repeated gently, ‘Go on, get in the warmth.’

  Rebecca nodded dumbly. ‘Yes, I think I will. Goodbye, Jimmy… and thanks again.’ Rebecca stepped into the house, glad to be out of sight before Jimmy saw the tears that had welled up behind her eyes. She was half hoping that he would call her back, but this time it seemed as if Jimmy Jackson wouldn’t be returning; and it was all her own fault. Things had been going fine until she’d opened her big mouth and mentioned that ghastly woman from the restaurant. And by Jimmy’s reaction to her name, it was obvious that the woman meant something to him, else why would he have gone so cold towards her? Her shoulders slumped, she walked slowly towards the fire and dropped into the armchair. Phil had already gone to bed, Maude was supposedly sleeping, so until Amy returned Rebecca had the house to herself.

  The sound of the door opening brought Rebecca’s head up in hope, a hope that quickly died as Amy bounded into the room.

  ‘Coo, it’s freezing out there… Lord, is that the time? I’d better get some sleep. Are you coming up, Becky?’

  Rebecca shook her head. ‘No, not just yet, love, but you go ahead. I… I won’t be too long.’

  Amy gazed down at the bent head then turned away. Slowly mounting the stairs, she looked back to where her sister sat, her eyes staring unseeingly into the dying flames, and felt a spasm of pity for the girl by the fire. This wasn’t the time to tell Becky that Charlie had asked to see her again on Sunday, because, by the look of it, Jimmy hadn’t asked to see Becky again. A spurt of anger, rare to Amy, rippled through her slender body. Who did that Jimmy Jackson think he was anyway? Her Becky was worth twice of his sort any day of the week, but she had thought he was genuinely fond of Becky. It looked as if she was wrong. She hated seeing Becky so miserable, and after such a lovely evening as well. The shine taken off her day, Amy continued her journey to the bedroom she shared with her elder sister.

  Down below, Rebecca sat before the fire until the last spark of heat had been extinguished, her tortured mind going over and over the past few weeks. It was impossible to believe that she had only known Jimmy such a short while, yet in that time, Rebecca had felt more alive than she had ever felt in her entire life. An image of the red-haired woman swam before her eyes, and Rebecca shook her head savagely. ‘You stupid, stupid, cow,’ she muttered to the empty room. ‘How could you have thought you had a chance with Jimmy, when there’s women like that one ready to fall at his feet, and more if asked.’ Yet would she, if asked? Wearily she shook her head. No! As much as she wanted Jimmy back in her life, she wasn’t like those other women, and never could be.

  When at last, her bone-weary body crying out for sleep, she dragged herself from the armchair, and with tears almost blinding her vision, she followed the path Amy had taken earlier.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Bessie! Bessie! Where are you, woman?’ Letting the heavy door slam behind him, Jimmy strode into the dimly lit room as if the devil himself was on his heels. Throwing his overcoat carelessly onto the nearest armchair, he went straight to the walnut cabinet in the corner and took out a bottle of brandy. Pouring out a large measure, Jimmy quickly downed the liquid in one gulp, the drink hardly wetting his throat before he was pouring another.

  ‘Bessie! God damn it, woman. You died while I was out, or what!’

  The door at the far corner of the room opened to emit a sleepy-eyed Bessie, her grey hair bound up in tortuous steel clips. Hugging a grey woollen dressing gown around her sparse body, the elderly woman shouted back, ‘No, I ain’t dead. But you will be if yer talk ter me like that again, yer loudmouthed bugger. What’s up with yer anyway?’

  Jimmy glanced briefly at the bristling figure before saying tersely, ‘Heather’s back.’

  Just two words, but they had the power to drain the strength from Bessie’s limbs and voice. All fight gone from her, the aggression sifted from the lined face to be replaced by deep anxiety and fear.

  Clutching at her throat, she reached out with her spare hand to find the armchair behind her and sank down in a crumpled heap. ‘Oh my Gawd!’ she breathed through dry lips.

  Jimmy glanced at the small figure and laughed grimly. ‘Yeah! And don’t ask me how I’m taking the news, ’cos you look like I feel right now.’ Seeing the dismayed face staring at him, Jimmy quickly poured another glass of brandy. Handing the balloon-shaped glass to the trembling form, he said, ‘Here, get that down your throat, you look like you could do with it.’

  Bessie grabbed the glass wordlessly and downed it in one go, then held it out for a refill. When the glass was replenished and the colour restored to her sunken cheeks, she said, ‘So she’s back, then. I’ve been expecting her to show her face fer years, but I was beginning ter think she’d gone for good. No such luck, eh!’ Shifting in the chair, she looked up at the towering figure and asked, ‘How d’yer know she’s back, lad? Have yer seen her yerself?’

  Jimmy shook his head, then, in a few terse words he told Bessie what had transpired.

  ‘So, yer ain’t actually seen her yerself then. Maybe that young girl got it wrong,’ Bessie stirred hopefully. ‘I mean ter say, it might have been another Heather an’—’

  ‘Oh, don’t talk rubbish, Bessie,’ Jimmy cut in sh
arply. ‘How many Heathers do you know? No! It was her all right. And now she’s made herself known, I should be expecting a visit any day.’

  A silence fell upon the room as both occupants dwelt on the enormity of how this could change their lives. Finally Bessie stirred.

  ‘Heather Mills back in the East End. Well! Well! And after all she said about never coming back. I suppose ’er fancy man dumped ’er an’ now she’s back looking fer a hand out. What yer gonna do, Jimmy?’ Without waiting for an answer she carried on. ‘Bloody hell! Heather Mills, she’s—’

  Jimmy swung round suddenly. ‘Or Heather Jackson. Don’t forget that, Bessie. She might just be Mrs Heather Jackson.’

  Bessie struggled upright in the large chair, her fighting spirit once more to the fore. ‘Now don’t start that lark again, lad. You ain’t married ter that trollop, an’ nothin’ she can say will make me believe it. An’ yer can huff an’ puff all yer like…’ she said, her voice rising as Jimmy made a dismissive gesture with his hands. ‘All that business happened a long time ago, an’ there was never any proof yer was married. An’ even if yer was, she’s been gone for so long, yer could easily get a divorce. I don’t know that much about divorces, but I’m sure yer can get one if yer other half goes missing fer eight years without a bleeding word.’

  But Jimmy wasn’t listening; he was back, ten years ago, to the time he had first met Heather Mills. Dimly he heard Bessie leaving the room and wished he hadn’t woken her, but he had always gone to Bessie in times of trouble; it had become a comforting habit. Pouring another brandy, Jimmy paced the room, his mind whirling back in time.

  He was eighteen, and just beginning to make a name for himself on the rough streets of the East End. On a Saturday morning in late September, when the sun was still warm and the air crisp, he had been collecting bets on a corner of Mare Street when the young, red-haired girl had come into his view. She was just emerging from the local dressmakers, her arms laden with parcels, when a crowd of youths had accosted her. Jimmy had immediately gone to her rescue, the crowing youths scattering rapidly when they saw Jimmy Jackson flying towards them, his fists clenched ready for trouble. The girl had been full of gratitude for his timely intervention, thanking him over and over, her pretty face animated with hero worship. It was heady stuff for a young man, and Jimmy, like any youth of his age, had been eager to establish himself as a man. After helping her with the parcels, he had taken the girl for a light lunch. Over piping hot cups of tea and an assortment of cakes, the two of them had talked and laughed like old friends, and by the time he had seen her into a waiting carriage Jimmy had already fallen in love.

  For the next few months they had rarely been out of each other’s company, much to Bessie’s horror, for she had taken an instant dislike to her beloved Jimmy’s new girl, not least because Heather had rapidly begun to eat into Jimmy’s hard-earned savings. But the youthful Jimmy was besotted, and Bessie, seeing the way the land lay, had reluctantly kept her counsel.

  In the dimly lit room, Jimmy stirred. If only he had listened to Bessie. But when had the young ever listened to their elders, especially when they were in love? Leaning his head back against the soft cushions, Jimmy smiled wryly as his mind took him back to that fateful weekend in August 1903.

  He had been seeing Heather for almost a year when he suggested they go away together for the weekend. To his surprise and delight, Heather had agreed without a murmur. It had been easy enough to arrange. Heather had lost her parents when she was two and had been brought up by an elderly uncle, who was only too pleased to have his wayward niece taken off his hands for a while. Telling a disbelieving Bessie that he was staying with an old friend for the weekend, Jimmy had taken Heather to a small hotel on the outskirts of Kent, hopeful of a good time, but Heather had disappointed him, insisting they sleep apart until they were married. Bursting with adolescent love and unconsummated passion, Jimmy had proposed straight away, but Heather had laughed, saying that it wasn’t that easy to get married. His hopes for a passionate weekend crushed, Jimmy had drowned his sorrows in drink. He still couldn’t remember that Saturday night, but he did remember vividly that Sunday morning, when he had awoken to find Heather in his bed telling him they were now married.

  A door banged somewhere in the house, jerking Jimmy from his reverie. For a moment he stiffened, then relaxed as he realised it was only Bessie bustling around in the kitchen. Instinctively his eyes had darted to the hidden safe in the far corner of the room, then he relaxed. No intruder would ever find it behind the false panel of wood Jimmy had made himself. Looking down at his empty glass, Jimmy pondered on getting another drink, but couldn’t be bothered to get out of his chair. Impatient at how his thoughts were running amok, Jimmy forced himself to think back to the matter in hand.

  According to Heather at that time, they had been married on the Saturday night by a Justice of the Peace. In his youth and inexperience, Jimmy had never queried Heather’s claims. In truth he had been delighted at the unexpected turn of events. But all hell had been let loose when he’d returned home with his new bride to the small, one-bedroomed house he’d shared with Bessie. The following months had been hell on earth as Jimmy had striven to please both the women in his life; women who had hated each other on sight. Every night when he arrived home, tired and weary, Heather would be on at him to get rid of Bessie, while the older woman had kept a grim, reproachful silence that had torn at Jimmy’s heart more than Heather’s constant nagging. Their first Christmas together had been a disaster, and by the New Year, Jimmy had already tired of married life. So too, it appeared, had Heather, because barely into their fifth month of marriage, Jimmy had come home to find a jubilant Bessie and no wife.

  The letter had been very short and to the point. Heather, it seemed, had met someone who could give her a better life, and had swiftly taken it. There had been no mention of a divorce, no mention of the hasty wedding that Jimmy still couldn’t remember, and with Bessie constantly telling him there probably never had been a wedding, Jimmy had put Heather Mills down to experience and tried to forget about her.

  It had been easy enough the first few years, as Jimmy concentrated all his thoughts and efforts into making something of himself. And if, at times, his mind had touched on that episode in his life, Jimmy had quickly pushed the images to one side. The notion that he might be a married man had never troubled him, for he’d had no intention of making the same mistake twice.

  His throat dry, Jimmy stirred himself from the chair to get another drink, then began pacing the room. For the first time in many a long year, Jimmy was at a loss what to do next. If only Rebecca hadn’t…!

  He came to an abrupt stop in his pacing. Rebecca! Good Lord, he’d nearly forgotten all about her. Then he jumped as the strident voice hit his back, seeming to echo his thoughts.

  ‘An’ what about that Rebecca, then, eh? Yer seemed ter be getting on all right with her. What yer gonna tell her, or ain’t yer gonna bother?’

  Bessie, fully recovered from her earlier shock, came bustling into the room carrying a tray with two steaming mugs of cocoa.

  Jimmy grinned. That was more like it. With Bessie shouting and hollering, life was back to normal. Hiding his amusement, he said wryly, ‘I thought you didn’t like Rebecca either.’

  Bessie sniffed. ‘I don’t much. Stuck-up little madam, if yer ask me. But at least she’s a decent sort, not a trollop like some I could mention.’

  Taking the tray from her hands, Jimmy nodded towards the armchair. ‘Sit down, you old trout, and we’ll talk and try and sort this mess out, all right?’

  And Bessie, after a moment’s hesitation, gladly did as she was bid, thanking God that at least some good had come of Heather Mills’s unwelcome return into their lives. It had been a long time since Jimmy had asked for her help, and for someone like Bessie, who thrived on being useful and needed, Jimmy’s latter independence had become a source of discontentment.

  Now, seated together around the fire, the two of them united
against the world, Bessie felt her confidence returning. It was just like old times. Raising her head, she looked at the rugged, handsome face lit up by the fire and felt a lump come to her throat. He still needed her; her Jimmy needed her. And she suddenly realised that he always would. A stab of alarm clutched at her chest as she felt tears prick behind her heavy eyelids. Sitting bolt upright she shook her head. Bleeding Hell! What was the matter with her? She never cried, never! You’re getting old, girl, she rebuked herself silently, before giving all her attention to the man sitting opposite.

  *

  ‘Come back to bed, darling, me backside’s getting cold.’ The plaintive voice of the sleepy-eyed man wheedled from the rumpled double bed. Propping himself up on one elbow, he patted the empty space by his side, pleading, ‘Come on, love, I’m waiting,’ but the red-haired woman seemed oblivious of his presence. Grunting with displeasure, the man rolled himself up in the heavy blankets with much huffing and bouncing on the well-oiled springs, yet still the woman remained staring out into the night. Realising his efforts were futile, the man gave one last punch to the feather pillow then settled down to wait for what he felt was owed him.

  Heather Mills sat curled up in a padded wicker chair, her slender arms hugging her knees. She made an arresting sight, clad as she was in a long, shimmering white nightgown, her luxurious flame-coloured hair tumbling over her neck and shoulders, yet if the man, so eager for her company, had seen the coldness in the hard, glittering eyes, he would have been repelled.

  A movement from the bed caught Heather’s attention for a brief moment, then she returned to her thoughts. Up until six months ago she had been living a life of luxury in the company of Sean Finnegan, the wealthy middle-aged man she had left Jimmy for. She had met him one day, when, desperate to escape from her new, depressing environment, she had taken herself up to the West End in search of a day’s solace from the contemptuous glare and scathing remarks of Bessie Wilks.