‘Shut up,’ said Dan, ‘I don’t like hearin’ a woman talk like that.’
‘Bloody ’ard luck,’ said Gladys, and made a dive for her suitcase, lying on its side. Tilly executed a tigerish spring and put a foot on it. The kitchen door opened just a little and a small face showed itself. A small voice was heard.
‘Dad, is she chuckin’ fings?’ asked Penny-Farving.
‘Not yet, sausage, you sit with Bubbles,’ said Dan. Penny-Farving vanished.
Gladys was trying to yank the suitcase free, bending to the task.
‘Now’s yer chance,’ said Tilly to Dan, ‘smack ’er bottom.’
‘Not my style,’ said Dan. ‘Still, now she’s here I suppose I ought to make her stay and see reason.’
‘She’ll ’ave to stay if she’s got no clothes,’ said Tilly, and Gladys, with a screech, bolted for the front door. Tilly got there first and barred the way. Gladys cannoned into her and bounced off. She opened her mouth to scream, and Dan clapped a hand over her lips.
‘Don’t let’s ’ave a lot of noise, Elvira,’ he said.
‘Best thing is to take ’er into your room,’ said Tilly. ‘Then get all ’er clothes off, put them in your wardrobe and lock it.’
‘You serious?’ said Dan.
‘It’s the best thing,’ said Tilly. ‘She won’t fancy runnin’ off back to ’er circus without a stitch on. She can stay in bed and you can talk to ’er till she realizes she’s got to stop muckin’ about on a tightrope and be a mother to ’er gels.’
‘It would take me a week to get all her clothes off,’ said Dan, one arm holding Gladys fast, and his right hand still over her mouth.
‘Well, Mr Rogers,’ said Tilly, ‘for the sake of all the good that’ll come from turnin’ her into a ’ome-lovin’ woman, I’ll do it for yer. It won’t take me more than ten minutes in private, unless she’s got a padlock on ’er corset.’
‘I’m not sure – oh, blimey!’ Dan let go of Gladys. She’d managed to sink her teeth into his hand. She yelled then.
‘’Elp! Police!’
‘’Old her!’ shouted Tilly, but Gladys rushed into the parlour. Tilly went after her. Dan heard a thumping bump and a strangled yelp from Gladys.
‘Talk about a quiet weekend,’ he said, and went in. Gladys was on the floor, on her back, Tilly kneeling astride her hips. Gladys’s legs were kicking, her skirts all over her hips. Dan recognized the legs as those he’d seen so often in circus tights. He also recognized that a battle was taking place. They weren’t skinny women, either of them, they were both full-bodied, and it was obvious they could do each other a lot of damage. Gladys was biting and clawing, Tilly working to subdue her. Dan heard something rip and tear.
‘Oh, yer naughty woman,’ breathed Tilly, ‘that’s me second-best blouse you’ve just done in.’
‘Sod yer,’ panted Gladys.
Dan sighed, reached and hauled Tilly off the dishevelled Gladys. Gladys, not a high-wire act for nothing, was up in a flash. Lashing out with a booted foot, she caught Dan on the side of his left calf. It collapsed him, and Tilly went down with him, landing on top of him. Gladys, spitting, dashed out, picked up her suitcase, opened the front door and shot through like an expelled cannonball made of indiarubber. Her loosened hat danced on her head as she made a beeline for Browning Street.
‘You wet week, you’ve let ’er get away,’ panted Tilly.
‘I happen to ’ave a broken leg,’ said Dan. ‘Get off me.’
Tilly rolled off and sat up. Dan, on his back, did some more gawping. His lady lodger’s button-up blouse was split wide open, revealing a deep valley.
‘What a chump,’ breathed Tilly, ‘we ’ad her floored and you let her scarper.’
‘It wouldn’t have worked,’ said Dan, ‘she’d have smashed up all me bedroom furniture and the windows as well. It’s her Hungarian reincarnation that does it. Look, would you mind doin’ yer blouse up? It’s givin’ me more eye problems.’
Tilly looked down at herself. Above her exposed corset top, fulsome upper curves peeped, and hardly in a coy fashion.
‘Oh, me gawd,’ she said, ‘did it with ’er claws. Nearly tore me second-best blouse off. I’m chargin’ you for a new one, and d’you mind takin’ them evil eyes of yours for a walk somewhere?’ Tilly gathered her ripped blouse together. ‘Mind, I’m not sayin’ you’re evil all through. There’s some good in you, or you wouldn’t be the kind of dad you are to the gels, which makes me wonder what made you take up with that ’orrible female.’
‘I think her circus tights did it,’ said Dan, ‘they went all the way up to her spangled corset.’
‘Don’t be disgusting,’ said Tilly, ‘and what’re you still lyin’ there for?’
‘I’m worn out,’ said Dan, ‘and in any case, I don’t feel like gettin’ up now that the bird’s flown. And I’ve got a gloomy idea that’s the last I’ll see of me red-hot Elvira.’
‘If that woman wasn’t your gels’ mother, I’d call it good riddance,’ said Tilly. She got up, and Dan followed. He rubbed his hurt leg. ‘But you can still catch ’er in ’er caravan at Margate, can’t you? Take a mallet with you, like I said, and one of them wandering preachers that do Bible readings. Hit ’er with the mallet, just enough so that she won’t know if it’s Christmas or Easter, and then get the preacher to marry you. I’ll ’ave to come with you, because you won’t get her home by yerself. I’m sorry to say this, Mr Rogers, but while you look like a man with a man’s muscles, you’re as wet as a paper bag that’s been out in the rain all night. Otherwise, you’d ’ave put that woman over your knees and pasted ’er.’
‘I’m not sure it’s right, a bloke pastin’ a woman,’ said Dan.
‘It’s right with a woman like Gladys Hobday,’ said Tilly. ‘I don’t know why I’m puttin’ meself out tryin’ to help a bloke as unsure as you are. Blow my eye and Betty Martin, why am I botherin’ when I’ve got me livin’ to make?’ Her wrecked blouse parted again. Dan blinked. ‘Them eyeballs of yours’ll drop out one day,’ she said.
‘Look how about that pot of tea?’ suggested Dan. ‘Then I’ll be puttin’ Bubbles and Penny-Farvin’ in their Saturday bath – um, unless you’d like to do it.’
‘Gawd ’elp us,’ said Tilly, ‘for a bloke who lets a woman like Gladys Hobday walk all over ’im, you’ve got a lot more gall than you ought to ’ave. All this week you’ve been tryin’ to make a nursemaid of me, and now you’ve got the nerve to suggest I might like to bath the gels. Nothing doin’.’ Tilly knew she had to fight to keep her independence, and her options. She was thinking of opting tomorrow for a visit to Ruskin Park in her Sunday best. She had a tall dark handsome man in mind, a highly eligible bloke who might give her the eye. She was in need of a man friend, one with a bit more go than Frank, her ex-fiancé. I could let myself go with someone tall dark and handsome, she thought, I’ve been a virgin long enough, and I’d give it up for a promise to marry me.
Penny-Farving put her head in.
‘’As she gone, Dad?’ she asked.
‘Yes, she’s gone,’ said Dan.
‘Cor, what a relief – Dad, what’s Tilly showin’ ’er bosom for?’
‘Her blouse got accident’lly torn,’ said Dan, and Tilly did her best to cover herself.
‘Oh, did our muvver chuck somefing at ’er?’ asked Penny-Farving, and Bubbles appeared. She asked a hesitant question.
‘Is she still ’ere, Dad?’
‘No, she’s gone,’ smiled Dan.
‘Oh, good,’ said Bubbles.
Tilly ground her teeth in anger at a woman whose little girls had reason not to like her.
‘Let’s have a pot of tea and the jam doughnuts I brought in from Hall’s the bakers,’ said Dan.
‘Oh, bless yer, Dad,’ said Penny-Farving.
‘Excuse me,’ said Tilly, ‘I’ve got to go up and change me blouse. Don’t forget about Margate and the gipsy’s caravan, Mr Rogers.’
‘What a thought,’ said Dan.
T
illy disappeared.
On Sunday morning, Dan popped up to knock on his lodger’s door.
‘All right, come in,’ called Tilly.
Dan, entering, smiled and said, ‘Mornin’, Tilly.’ She was at her machine and wearing a floral dress. She turned her head and eyed him with now familiar suspicion.
‘I don’t like that smile of yours,’ she said.
‘Sorry about that,’ said Dan. ‘Just thought I’d come and ask if you’d like to join us for Sunday dinner. I’m doin’ roast beef. Fancy sittin’ down with us?’
‘You can cook?’ said Tilly.
‘I’ve had to learn to,’ said Dan, ‘and I think I’m passable.’
‘You shouldn’t ’ave had to learn,’ said Tilly, ‘you’ve let that woman get away with murder. Are you still daft about ’er?’
‘Daft?’
‘Infatuated.’
‘I’ve got to admit, she sent me cockeyed in her tights and spangles,’ said Dan.
‘I don’t like to ’ear a man talkin’ lustful,’ said Tilly, ‘so kindly shut up about ’er tights. Anyway, if you’re still daft about ’er, I suppose you’d like ’er for a wife, even if there’s no sense to it. All I can say is that it’s got to be for the sake of the gels. So don’t sit in corners, go after ’er, and don’t forget about givin’ ’er a good ’iding. Never mind she’s a woman, a good ’iding ought to do wonders for ’er, and it’ll make more of a man of you.’
‘You sure?’ said Dan.
‘Course I’m sure,’ said Tilly, ‘so gird up yer manly armour and do what a man ought to do with that selfish Gladys Hobday. All right, I’ll come down and ’ave Sunday dinner with you, for which invite many thanks. But I’m goin’ out after dinner to meet someone.’
‘Well, good for you, Tilly,’ said Dan, not knowing she was dealing in wishful thinking. ‘I’m pleased for yer, you bein’ a proud-lookin’ woman.’
‘Proud? What d’you mean, proud?’
‘Only that you’re a fine figure of a woman,’ said Dan breezily, ‘and I’ve got a feelin’ you’d bring the house down in tights and spangles.’
Tilly let go a little yell and looked round for something to throw at him. Dan wisely disappeared.
Tilly enjoyed the dinner, and couldn’t fault the cooking. In return, she made a contribution in a domestic sense by seeing to it that Bubbles and Penny-Farving exercised proper behaviour at the table. She also played the major part in clearing the table and doing the washing-up, the little girls frisking around her skirts as she worked at the scullery sink. Dan used the tea towel to dry the dishes, whistling as he did so. Tilly thought it very airy-fairy of him to always be so cheerful when he ought to be applying himself seriously to his problems.
Afterwards, she went up to her bedroom and changed into a very nice costume and blouse. She put on some light make-up, then her best hat, and out she went. She took a tram ride to Ruskin Park, the afternoon bright with sunshine. In the park, she joined the cockney and lower-middle-class promenaders, keeping her eyes open for someone tall, dark and handsome. She couldn’t have said they were there in their hundreds, so after a while she sat down on a vacant bench and watched as the immediate world passed by. She spotted a tall man, jacket over his arm, hat in his hand, sauntering along with the air of a bloke on the casual look-out for someone who might make his day. She thought him in his early thirties. He stopped as he caught Tilly’s glance. A friendly Sunday afternoon smile appeared on his face.
‘Mind if I take the weight off me feet?’ he asked.
‘Well, it’s not my bench,’ said Tilly, and he smiled again and sat down beside her.
‘Not seen you here before,’ he said.
‘That’s funny,’ said Tilly, ‘I ’aven’t seen you, either.’
‘Oh, I’m nobody much,’ he said, and Tilly wondered if this could be the beginning of a welcome friendship. She wouldn’t mind, he was a personable bloke. Not that she’d ever made a habit of being picked up. But you could meet people in parks in a way that was more acceptable than having some street corner Romeo try his luck. ‘Have you been waitin’ long?’ asked the friendly stranger.
‘Beg yer pardon?’ said Tilly.
‘Don’t mention it,’ he said. ‘Where’d you conduct the business?’
‘Do what?’ said Tilly.
‘Well, whatever you call it,’ he said, winking.
‘You’re askin’ funny questions,’ said Tilly. ‘I do dressmakin’, but I don’t call it a business.’
‘Dressmaking’s a new one on me,’ he said, giving her figure a very friendly look. ‘Anyway, how much?’
‘What d’you mean, ’ow much?’
‘With your kind of looks, I could go to ten bob,’ he said, ‘but I hope it’s not too far, I’m a bit short of time this afternoon.’
Tilly caught on then, and umbrage made her vibrate.
‘You disgustin’ beast, I’ve never been more insulted in all me life.’
‘Come on, gorgeous, let’s go and do a bit of dressmakin’ together, if that’s what you call it,’ he said, winking again.
‘If you don’t hoppit,’ said Tilly, ‘I’ll bash your ’ead in.’
‘But aren’t you a friend of Gloria’s?’ asked the disgusting bloke.
‘Who’s Gloria?’ fumed Tilly.
‘She always sits there on a Sunday afternoon, waitin’ for custom,’ he said. ‘She calls it havin’ a tea party.’
‘That’s done it, that ’as,’ said Tilly, and got up and clouted him with her handbag. People stopped to stare. Tilly finished her short meeting with a tall stranger by delivering a kick on his shin, which nearly crippled him and made him think twice about taking certain things for granted. Then she helped herself to a quick flushed walk to the park gates, from where she walked all the way back to her lodgings to give herself a chance to cool off.
It was a relief to find Dan Rogers and his girls were out. She was sure that if he’d appeared, he’d have noticed she still hadn’t quite cooled off, that she was still outraged. But the saucy devil had slipped a note under her door.
‘Have taken the girls for a bus ride, be back about six. If you’re back first, with your bloke, make yourselves a pot of tea in the kitchen, then enjoy it in the parlour, where there’s a comfy sofa.’
Men.
In the garden of the house in Red Post Hill, cricket was in progress and noisily so. Chinese Lady always had all the families there once a month in the summer. It was her way of making sure the young ones, as much as their parents, knew the importance of belonging, and that family loyalty was what the Lord asked of everyone. Come rain or shine, hardship or good fortune, family togetherness was what counted. Then there was Miss Simms, Sir Henry’s daughter, whose eyes fastened on Boots so much when she thought no-one was looking. Bless the woman, I like her, thought Chinese Lady, and it’s best to keep her a family friend, because it’s harder for a family friend to do something she knows she shouldn’t.
Chinese Lady sat at the garden table outside the kitchen, keeping an eye on the little ones sitting with her. There were four of them, Alice and David, children of Tommy and Vi, together with Daniel and infant Bess, children of Sammy and Susie. Lizzy and Ned’s offspring, Annabelle, Bobby, Emma and Edward, were all joining in the cricket, and so, of course, were Rosie and Tim, the beloved of Boots. Yes, he can be as airy-fairy as he likes, thought Chinese Lady, but that only oldest son of mine has got the kind of fatherly weakness for his son and daughter that does him credit. Fatherly weakness that’s strong in a man is highly creditable, it’s put there by God. Emily likes him for it, which she should, because he gives them so much of his time. Mind, he’s still like a music hall comic sometimes. I don’t know where he gets it from, not from me, nor his late dad. The war ought to have cured him, specially when he was blinded, but it didn’t. It’s ingrained, that’s what it is. Man and boy, he’s always said things that never mean what a body thinks they do. Still, he’s been a good husband to Emily, and if I know him like I should
he won’t make a fool of himself over Miss Polly Simms, nor over any other woman that gives him looks, like Mrs Fletcher next door. If he ever did, I’d make him wish he’d never been born.
The cricket was chaotic. Polly, her stumps spreadeagled by a wicked ball from Boots, was indulging a tantrum, yelling at him that fire and brimstone were too good for a man who thought he was Mars and delivered thunderbolts. He’s always doing that to me, said Lizzy. Oh, what a shame, said Rosie, but you’re still out, Aunt Polly. All the young people called her Aunt Polly now. I don’t mind being out, said Polly, but I do mind being nearly broken in half by your fiend of a father, Rosie. Emily old thing, she said, can’t you get your husband to stop thinking he’s the god of war? Emily, who always watched Polly like a hawk, but had never caught her putting a foot wrong, said she might as well talk to her mangle as to Boots.
Polly, willowy in a white shirt-blouse and cream skirt, laughed. Once engaged in garden cricket with these families, she became as boisterous as they always were. She had never known people with so much enthusiasm for life and so much affinity with each other. Their origins were cockney, and the cockney nuances in the speech of some of them were frequently perceptible. With others, like Tommy and Vi, unaffected cockney accents still prevailed. Yet Polly was drawn to the whole brood as if by a magnet, their rousing enjoyment of these occasions irrepressible and infectious. Vivacious herself, she quickly became one of them. And she would have been one of them in every sense if she stood in Emily’s place.
‘Would someone like to tell me if Polly’s out or not out?’ enquired Boots.
‘Out!’ yelled Tim, who was in his dad’s team.
‘Not out!’ yelled all the young people who were in Polly’s team.
‘Never mind, sports, I’m out,’ said Polly, relinquishing the bat to Lizzy.
‘Boots,’ said gentle Vi, ‘don’t you think you ought to bowl underarm to all the ladies?’
‘Ladies?’ said Sammy. ‘What ladies?’
‘Uncle Sammy,’ said Rosie, ‘Nana’s listening to you.’
‘So am I,’ said Susie, her hair the colour of golden corn in the bright light of the June sun.
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