She knew immediately that it was. And she also knew that he could never be a mad axeman, or a kidnapper waiting to pounce on her and ship her off to some sheik’s harem in the moonlit sands of a faraway desert – he was far too handsome. Maybe it would have been a bit of all right if he had planned to whisk her off somewhere on the back of a camel; he was smashing.
‘Hello, Simon,’ she said, her voice cracking slightly. ‘I ain’t kept yer waiting, have I?’
‘No, of course you haven’t. It’s me, I was worried I’d be late, so I got here a bit early, that’s all.’ He laughed. ‘I must’ve been here for half an hour. I reckon all the passers-by thought I’d been stood up.’ He paused. ‘But I didn’t care, I didn’t want to risk missing you.’
Molly lowered her eyes; she could feel him looking at her. ‘That’s really nice of yer. Thoughtful.’
They stood there for a moment, Molly peering up at him through her lashes, thinking how good-looking he was, and he smiling down at her as though they had known each other for ages.
Simon suddenly grinned, showing teeth more even than Molly had ever seen before, and as white as his stiff shirt collar that contrasted so handsomely with his olive skin. ‘I ran all the way,’ he said with a throaty chuckle. ‘I’ve only just about got my breath back.’
Molly felt herself blush. She wasn’t used to such consideration from anyone, let alone a boy. Her mouth felt dry and she had to swallow before she could speak. ‘Yer must’ve fagged yerself out.’
Simon shrugged amiably. ‘I’m all right. I keep fit with all the running around I have to do for my uncle.’
Molly nodded feebly, unsure as to what to say next – not a usual problem for her.
Simon didn’t seem to notice her rising panic and continued to speak easily. ‘Much of a walk to this foot tunnel, is it?’ he asked.
Molly’s surprise made her forget her nerves. ‘Ain’t yer never been through it before?’
‘No, and I’ve never been to Greenwich either. I’ve only lived in the East End for a few years. I used to live in North London with my aunt, but when I left school I needed a job so I came to live with my uncle’s family in Whitechapel.’
‘You ain’t got a mum or dad, have yer?’ The idea of being an orphan intrigued Molly; hers was a romantic image of foundlings and mistaken identities that she’d got from the cinema and from reading penny romances.
Simon stared down at his feet. ‘They died when I was a baby. There was an accident.’
Molly reached out, and before she realised what she was doing she was holding Simon’s hand. ‘I’m sorry, I should learn to mind me own business, shouldn’t I? I’ve got such a big mouth, every one says so.’
He raised his eyes to meet hers. ‘No,’ he said, ‘you haven’t got a big mouth. I think you’ve got a lovely mouth.’
‘Blimey, now that’s something no one’s never said to me before.’
‘I can’t believe that.’
‘And I can’t believe we’re standing here in all this dust and muck when we could be walking through the grass in Greenwich Park.’ Molly began running along Preston’s Road, pulling Simon behind her. ‘Move yerself then, there’s a number fifty-seven coming along. That’ll take us right down to the bottom of the Island. It’ll be worth the tuppence each to save our legs for hiking up that great big hill. You just wait, you ain’t never seen nothing like it. Nothing in yer whole life.’
Just fifteen minutes later Molly was leading Simon down a winding iron staircase and into the mouth of a big, tiled pipe of a tunnel that took them right beneath the bed of the Thames and across to Greenwich on the south side of the river.
As they emerged from the lamp-lit mustiness of the foot tunnel into the strong summer light of the riverside, the far horizon to the west was growing heavier with storm clouds and the afternoon heat was becoming even more stickily oppressive, but Molly didn’t notice either; all she was aware of was that she and Simon were still holding hands.
Fascinated, Simon looked back across the river and then along the bankside. Piles of boxes and pallets were waiting to be loaded or shifted into the warehouses, carts and trucks that crowded every available inch of space. Even on a Sunday afternoon the bank was bustling with people and activity, and on the river itself there were boats and barges, skiffs and tugs, all bobbing up and down in the wake of the paddle steamers, carrying crowds of laughing day-trippers up river towards Westminster and the elegant delights beyond, or down river to the estuary and the less sophisticated pleasures of Southend-on-Sea.
‘I can’t believe we’ve only come across the river,’ said Simon, shaking his head in wonder. ‘All this.’
‘Wait till yer see the park,’ Molly said, again hauling him along behind her. This time she led him through dingy side streets lined with soot-stained terraced houses. ‘Yer’ll love it. There’s views that’ll take yer breath away.’ She glanced sideways at him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘All over London yer can see – miles and miles and miles. Yer feel like yer standing right on top of the world.’
Practically every hot step they took from the river to the park, there was something that Simon either wanted to stop to admire or to ask Molly questions about. Most of the time she didn’t know the answers, particularly those about the big buildings that Simon said he was sure must be something to do with royalty and that he intended looking up in some book or other when he got home. She had never known anyone before to be so interested in everything and anything that presented itself. All Molly wanted to do was enjoy the fresh air, lick the ice-cream cone that Simon had brought her from the stop-me-and-buy-one man on his trike, and just bask in the pleasure of Simon’s company. But, if that meant listening to him going on about buildings and kings and queens, then that was all right with her. He could have been talking about how his uncle’s printing machines worked for all she cared, just so long as he carried on holding her hand and smiled at her whenever he caught her eye.
When they reached halfway up the hill, even with all her energy, Molly was exhausted by the heat and the climb. ‘Come on, let’s have a sit-down,’ she said, jerking her head towards a huge chestnut tree. ‘I’m flipping tired out. And I’m so hot.’
They leant their backs against the hard, knobbly trunk and stared down the hill towards the river, watching it sparkle, darkly silver, in the few starkly etched rays of sunlight that were managing to find their way through the now almost completely flat, leaden grey sky.
‘You always like this?’ Molly asked, concentrating on sucking a drip of the now liquid ice cream that was seeping through the hole she had bitten in the end of her cone.
‘Like what?’ Simon asked, squinting his eyes as he tried to focus on her face in the dappled shade.
‘Sort of, I dunno, nosy like me, I suppose. But not about people like I am. About things and about what’s going on and that.’
‘Don’t you want to know about things?’
Molly considered for a moment as she ran her tongue along the sweet, rough pattern on the side of the cornet. ‘Never really thought about it to tell yer the truth. I mean, I’ve always wanted to know about what’s going on in Plumley Street.’ She looked round at him. ‘That’s where I live, off Chris Street, with me family. And about me mates, of course – I wanna know how they’re getting on. And there’s the warehouse, you know, where I work. But all that’s always been, sort of, enough for me to think about. I suppose I’ve never really had the need to know much more about anything else. The rest of the world kind of passes me by.’
She crunched the last of her cone and licked the remaining drips from her fingers. ‘My dad’s interested in things. He’s in the union down the docks and he reads the paper from front to back and back again. And he’s always telling me to be quiet and stop chatting so’s he can listen to the news on the wireless – we was the first in our street to get one.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe I’m just stupid, eh?’ she added, beaming at him.
This time Simon didn’t return her grin.
‘No, you’re not stupid, Molly, you’re lucky,’ he said. ‘Not needing to worry about things and having friends to care about. I envy you.’
Molly sat up straight. ‘What, you ain’t got no friends?’
Simon plucked a blade of grass and pulled it between his teeth. ‘I’ve moved around my family so many times, so often, I’ve not been anywhere long enough to make any. Not really.’
Molly sprang to her feet and held her hand out to him. ‘Well, yer’ve got yerself a friend now,’ she said, surprising him with the strength of her grip. ‘Come on. On yer feet. Now we’ve had a sit-down I’m gonna take yer to the top of the hill and show yer the best view of London yer’ve seen in all yer life. And yer can get that collar and tie off and all. Yer look like a turkey cock how red yer’ve gone.’
The rest of the afternoon passed in an easy blur of talking and laughter, with Molly doing most of the talking and each of them having a fair share of the laughs. And when Simon checked his watch after the first fat drops of stormy rain began to fall, Molly was thrilled to hear that it sounded like genuine regret when he said they should be thinking about getting home.
They ran, holding hands, down the grassy hill back towards the river, Molly refusing Simon’s jacket, clutching her hat in her hand, not caring what happened to her hair.
‘I love the rain,’ she shouted, lifting her face to the sky, as the thunder began to rumble in the distance. ‘My nanna used to sit on the street doorstep with me on her knee and tell me that the raindrops hitting the tarry blocks was soldiers marching up and down the street to keep me safe from the storm.’
‘I feel I know your family after all you’ve told me about them,’ Simon panted as he strained to keep up with her. He was fit but Molly seemed to have enough energy for two as she surged on ahead, looking like she wouldn’t stop until she reached the river bank. That was why he was so surprised when she stopped dead and turned to face him.
She looked mortified. ‘I’ve talked too much, ain’t I?’ She dropped her chin and tutted angrily to herself. ‘Dad’s always telling me to slow down and think before I open me gob.’ She lifted her eyes and looked at him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said pitifully. ‘It’s just me. I can’t help meself.’
Simon gently wiped a raindrop from her cheek. ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry about.’ He touched his lips to the end of her nose. ‘I’ve never been happier.’
This time Molly definitely didn’t stop to think what she was doing. She threw her arms round his neck and kissed him smack on the lips, right there in the park in front of anyone who cared to look. Then, wide-eyed with horror at what she’d done now, she burst into nervous giggles and began running again towards the foot tunnel.
Simon caught up with her just as she ducked inside the dome-topped entrance building. He backed her against the wall. ‘Did you mean that?’ he asked.
She nodded up at him, closed her eyes and lifted her face towards his.
‘Good,’ he whispered.
They stood there, folded in each other’s arms until a loud chorus of whistles made them spring apart.
A row of tousle-haired, scabby-kneed boys were staring at them with undisguised curiosity. ‘Cor, I thought yer was eating each other for yer tea,’ one of the scruffy kids piped up, to the evident delight of his mates.
‘Yeah, making a right meal of it,’ offered another.
‘Clear off!’ Molly yelled.
‘Here,’ yet another butted in, bouncing his half-deflated football aggravatingly close to her feet. ‘I know you. You’re Micky Mehan’s big sister, ain’t yer?’
‘Never heard of him,’ said Molly sharply, gulping at the terrifying visions of what her mum would do to her if she found out that Molly had even been holding a boy’s hand, let alone kissing one she hardly even knew. And in public, during broad daylight.
‘Yes you are,’ the boy persisted, still bouncing the ball at her. ‘Yer Molly Mehan.’
Before he realised what was happening the boy was suddenly being hoisted by his ear, and almost off his feet, towards Simon. ‘Oi!’ he squealed. ‘Leave us alone, you, or I’ll tell me dad of yer. He’ll bash you up, he will.’
Simon bent forward and looked the boy directly in the eye. ‘The lady said she doesn’t know you,’ he said in a low, threatening whisper. ‘So, are you going to run off with your little friends and be a good boy or do you want me to give you something to really cry about?’ He let the child go and stood up straight. ‘Well?’
The boy rubbed his ear sulkily. ‘Come on,’ he said to his mates, making his way towards the iron stairway that led down to the tunnel. ‘I’ll have me own back on him, you just see if I don’t.’
As the last and smallest of the boys filed past Simon and Molly with a defiant scowl and a quick flash of his tongue, Simon grabbed him by his skinny shoulder. ‘Hold it, you,’ Simon said.
‘What?’ Now he was separated from his friends, the child’s rebelliousness was forgotten completely. Looking up at Simon with big, frightened eyes, he said plaintively, ‘It was them, mister, it weren’t me. I never meant nothing. Honest.’
‘I know,’ said Simon gently. He took a threepenny bit from his trouser pocket and put it in the astonished boy’s grubby hand. ‘Here, you and your friends buy yourself some sweets.’ He watched, a faint smile playing on his lips, as the now completely confused child, clutching the reward for he wasn’t sure what, ran off to tell his mates about their good fortune.
When Simon turned back to Molly, his own smile vanished. ‘Molly? What’s wrong? You’re not crying, are you?’
Molly shrugged, willing herself not to let the tears escape from her eyes. ‘No. I’m sorry, Simon, I just don’t want yer getting the wrong idea, that’s all. I ain’t ashamed of kissing yer or nothing but it’s me mum and dad. They’d kill me if they found out.’ She drew her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘I suppose I didn’t want nobody getting the wrong idea ’cos I ain’t the sort of girl who usually does this sort of thing. I dunno what got into me.’
‘I know,’ said Simon, gently running his fingers through her thick auburn waves. ‘Your hair,’ he said softly, ‘it’s like flames.’ He touched his lips to her forehead. ‘Come on.’
They walked slowly, not saying much, hand in hand, back through the tunnel. When they reached the other side of the river, despite the rain that was now coming down in sheets, Molly still didn’t want to hurry herself or even wait for a bus that would get them home more quickly. She knew she had to get back sometime, her mum would be bound to start wondering where she was, and she would have more than a little explaining to do when she did get home – especially now that she was soaked right through to her underwear – but she didn’t want their parting to come a moment before it had to. It would be all too soon anyway, because, unspoken though it was, they both knew that Simon would not be walking Molly all the way back to Plumley Street.
Molly had never met anyone like Simon before; being with him made her feel happier than she could ever remember. No, she corrected herself, not happier exactly; her family made her happy in their own special, noisy, rumbustious way. And being with Bob made her happy too; in fact, even though she had bristled every time he had been bossy and arrogant, which had been quite often during their evening together, she had actually been thrilled that he had cared enough about her to bother to tell her what to do. But being with Simon was, well, it was different. As they walked along in easy silence, she tried to work out what it was. It eventually dawned on her: Simon was treating her like she was special just because she was her, Molly Katherine Mehan, and not, as Bob had made her feel, that she was someone he wanted to own and make her into someone else, someone he would prefer her to be.
It was scary when she thought about it, someone liking her for who she was, when he really didn’t know that much about her. But she knew herself all right, and knew that she could be exactly what her dad called ‘a right little madam’ when she got a mood on her, and that was something she would hate Simon to see. She wan
ted Simon to think she was perfect, and there’d be a fat chance of that if he saw her bawling at her brothers at the top of her lungs, or shinning up over the wall at the end of the street, or worst of all, if he saw her actually fighting with Danny. She felt herself going red with shame just at the thought of it.
‘Are you sure you won’t take my jacket?’ Simon asked her. ‘You’re looking a bit flushed, I’d hate you to get a fever.’
‘I’m as tough as old boots, me,’ Molly said, shaking her heavy wet hair away from her face and trying to let the rain cool her burning cheeks.
‘I don’t believe that for a moment,’ he said.
They had just reached the point where Manchester Road became Preston’s Road. They both knew that they would soon be making excuses as to why they had to go their separate ways from the corner of Poplar High Street, the place where they would be in increasing danger of people they knew seeing them together, and not just little kids with footballs who could easily be accused of making up stories for mischief.
Paying no heed to the teeming rain, Simon stopped and turned Molly to face him. ‘I’m sorry, Molly, but I won’t be able to see you all the way home. All right if I leave you at the corner up there? I hate to do this, but I hadn’t realised how late it was getting.’
Saved from having to make up a story of her own, Molly smiled happily at him. ‘I reckon I can manage to find me own way from there, ’cos I ain’t exactly a delicate little flower, yer know,’ she said, unconsciously echoing her brother Danny’s sarcasm. ‘I told yer, tough as old boots, me.’
‘No matter what you say about yourself, I think you’re wonderful.’
‘Blimey,’ she answered for want of knowing what else to say.
‘So, before we both catch our deaths,’ he said, putting his hand in the small of her back and guiding her forward. ‘What time shall we meet next Sunday?’
‘Yer wanna see me again?’
‘Yes,’ he said simply.
She stopped and looked at him. Hurriedly banishing any thoughts of what Bob Jarvis would have to say if he found out about all this, she blurted out, ‘And I’d really like to see you again and all.’
Just Around the Corner Page 10