The Flower Girl

by The Flower Girl (retail) (epub)

  ‘If you ever need to talk or anything,’ she muttered, her voice thick with drink, ‘I’d be only too pleased to listen. I’ve been through it all myself, see.’ Eileen dug into her battered crocodile handbag and pulled out a dainty gold-covered note-pad. ‘He bought me this,’ she said, slipping a slim, gold propelling pencil from a slot in the side. She scribbled something down and tore the sheet of paper from the pad. ‘This is where I live,’ she said handing it to Cissie. ‘Remember what I said: any time. I’ve been through it all.’

  ‘What would I wanna talk to you for?’ Cissie wasn’t being rude, she honestly didn’t understand what she and this whorey-looking woman could possibly have in common.

  Eileen checked over her shoulder again. She saw Turner was still looking at her. ‘Like I said,’ she breathed, her eyes fixed on Turner. ‘I’ve been through it all meself.’

  Cissie too was now looking at Turner. His face was like a mask as he stared back at them. She couldn’t understand what this woman was going on about? And how did she know Davy? ‘What, you’re a widow, yer mean?’ she asked, trying to make sense of it all. ‘Is that what yer’ve been through?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Eileen replied with a sardonic laugh. ‘Now,’ she insisted, ‘stick that bit of paper in yer bag a bit lively. We don’t want no one knowing our business, now do we?’

  With that, Eileen stood up and moved off into the crowd without another word.

  Cissie wasn’t left alone for long to muse over the curious exchange; Lil, wiping her hands down the front of her black dress, had reappeared from the lavatory. ‘I saw that old tart with the red hair – what was her name? Eileen? – back talking to yer again. What did she want?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Cissie tucked Eileen Clayton’s address into her pocket. She wasn’t sure why exactly, but she didn’t want her mother-in-law to know she had it.

  ‘Well, that Big Bill Turner don’t like her. That’s obvious. So you’d better not let him see yer talking to her no more.’

  Cissie gasped at her audacity. ‘I don’t think I heard you right, did I, Lil? D’you mind repeating that?’

  ‘Ssshhh,’ Lil hissed, flapping her hand about in Cissie’s face. ‘Look sharp, he’s gonna say something.’

  Cissie twisted round to see that a space had been cleared around Turner so that everyone had a good view of him.

  Tapping the ash from his cigar on to the floor, Turner pulled himself up to his full height and began speaking. ‘I wanna start off by saying what a very sad occasion this is.’ Murmurs of agreement buzzed around the bar.

  ‘And I wanna say how nice, how very nice, it’s been to see all Mrs Flowers’ friends and neighbours showing their respect and concern by turning up here today, and by the generous offers to help the little lady at such a difficult time.’

  A sense of smug pleasure at being congratulated by someone as important as Big Bill Turner replaced the murmuring.

  ‘But I know these are hard times for everyone.’ Turner paused, waiting for the edgy, unsure laughter to begin at his joke. Satisfied with the response, he raised his hand immediately to crush it. He grinned. ‘Well, hard times for some, I should say.’ More uneasy laughter rippled around the bar.

  ‘So I don’t want no one worrying about Mrs Flowers and her young ’uns as far as money for this little lot is concerned. I’m footing the bill for this funeral.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the landlord. ‘Including all the booze. So you can swallow pints till yer boots are overflowing.’

  This time the laughter came easier.

  He continued. ‘I’m gonna show everyone that we know how to look after our own in the East End. And that’s why I also wanna say that there’ll be no worry about Mrs Flowers wanting for anything in the future neither. I’m gonna see to that personally. Now, come on, drink up to Davy Flowers.’

  He raised his glass in salute and then downed his drink in a single gulp. ‘And there’s plenty more where that come from!’

  Under cover of the loud clapping and shouts of approval, Cissie turned to her mother-in-law. ‘What do you know about this, Lil?’ she demanded.

  Lil rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t start, girl. Yer wanna show yer appreciation, not start bleed’n moaning. Turner’s a powerful bloke. Rich and all.’ She took a swig of scotch, and giggled happily to herself. ‘He’s a bloke what could make my old age very comfortable. Very comfortable indeed.’

  Cissie was too stunned by her mother-in-law’s cold-blooded greed to even think of a reply. She just sat there as a series of men and women, most of whom Cissie had never met before, but who all seemed very keen that Turner should see their generosity, came over to her table and pledged their ostentatious offers of help. Every single one of them made sure that she realised they weren’t treading on Mr Turner’s toes – his help took precedence, of course, that went without saying – but they wanted her to know that they were there if ever she needed them. And these weren’t the empty gestures made by Ethel and Myrtle, these were offers supported by bulging wallets.

  Lil beamed with pleasure at her son’s widow being paid court by such well-to-do people, especially as it was so obviously driving Ethel and Myrtle to distraction to see her receiving so much attention. They were livid at being relegated to the role of poor relations, and began sharpening their knives.

  Ethel stabbed her thumb in Turner’s direction. ‘Yer do know who that is, don’t yer?’ she asked Myrtle quite unnecessarily. ‘Only the biggest crook this side of the West End.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ concurred Myrtle. ‘And I know who his old woman is and all.’ She sniggered nastily. ‘I wonder what Moe Turner would have to say if she could see him now, hanging around with the bleed’n merry widow?’

  ‘I dunno about what she’d say to him,’ Ethel sneered, ‘but I reckon Moe would have that Cissie’s head right off her shoulders. No shame, some women. No shame at all.’ She held up her empty glass. ‘Come on,’ she urged Myrtle, ‘drink up for Gawd sake. You don’t get free booze every day of the week.’

  But when Ethel reached the counter she was disappointed. She was just about to order another gin, when Turner slapped his hand on the counter and called loudly, ‘Right then everybody, Mrs Flowers’ll be wanting to get off home, so I reckon it’s about time all you good people did the same.’

  With that, he set his wide-brimmed hat on his slicked-back greying hair, threw his topcoat over his arm and strode over to the door. He waited for someone to open it for him, then turned round, looked in Cissie’s direction and raised his hat. ‘I’ll be seeing you, Mrs Flowers.’

  Outside, the pavement was soon as crowded as the pub had been, full of people milling around, talking and, having got the taste, making arrangements to move on elsewhere to another pub.

  The man who had kept Lil supplied with cigarettes was talking to Turner.

  ‘Shall I get back to the office, boss,’ he asked, ‘or is there anything you want me to do first?’

  Turner took a silver case from his inside pocket and snapped it open. The other man had a match lit and at the ready before Turner had even put the cigarette in his mouth.

  ‘No, don’t go back to the office just yet, Bernie. I’ve got a little errand I want yer to run for me first.’ Turner took in a lungful of smoke then blew it in a lavender stream from his nostrils. ‘I wanna know what that slag Plains is up to. And I wanna know what we’re gonna do about Flowers’ pitch.’

  ‘Shall I take a few of the lads with me, Bill?’

  ‘No.’ Turner narrowed his eyes as he took another drag, then exhaled slowly. ‘Let’s just see what the bastard does first.’ He jabbed the cigarette at Bernie, using it to emphasise the importance of what he was saying. ‘I don’t want nothing upsetting that little widow lady, right?’

  Bernie nodded to show he understood.

  ‘I’m gonna let her get over the shock first, see? Then I’m gonna make me move.’

  ‘You was always the gentleman, Bill,’ Bernie laughed. ‘But maybe I should take a
set of knuckles with me. Just in case, eh?’

  It was Turner who laughed this time. ‘And a razor and all if yer’ve got any sense. I mean, we don’t want yer going out naked or nothing, now do we?’

  ‘Excuse me.’ Gladys Mills, holding Matty and Joyce’s hands, was easing her way through the throng. She pushed past Bernie but paused next to Turner.

  Leaning close so that only he could hear, she said to him, ‘We don’t need the likes of you round here, Turner. You don’t impress me, or Cissie, yer know. She’s disgusted with that little performance in there. She’s sitting there, crying her eyes out. So just leave her alone and don’t waste your time.’ Gladys then smiled down at the children. ‘Come on, darlings, let’s get home and put the kettle on for Mummy. She’ll be gasping for a nice cup o’ tea.’

  She stared at Turner for a long, calm moment. ‘She’ll need to get the nasty taste out of her mouth.’

  With that, Gladys marched forward with the children beside her.

  ‘Who the hell does she—’

  ‘Leave it, Bern.’ Turner put a steadying hand on the man’s arm and ground out his cigarette beneath his heel. ‘Give ’em a few weeks,’ he grinned, ‘and they’ll be begging me for help. Now, I thought you had a job to do.’

  Chapter 3

  ‘Mummy.’ Joyce tugged miserably at the hem of Cissie’s skirt. ‘Mummy.’

  Cissie reached out and stroked her daughter’s hair, the hair that was as black as her own. ‘Sorry, darling,’ she said wearily, ‘Mummy’s tired, and I’ve gotta get this done. Play with Matty, eh?’

  Joyce’s bottom lip began to tremble.

  Cissie hooked her hands gently under Joyce’s arms and lifted her on to her lap. ‘I know you’re fed up, baby, but Mummy’s gotta do this. Honest.’

  She brushed her lips across Joyce’s forehead as she stared down at the pile of bills that seemed to be growing in front of her eyes; and at the rent book with its two weeks owing; and at her almost empty purse. There they were, all laid out on the kitchen table in front of her, all accusing her of being a bad mother and a useless manager and provider.

  Cissie sighed loudly. ‘I really have gotta do something with all this, babe. I ain’t sure how, but I know I’ve got to. We’ll play later eh?’ She picked up one of the bills and frowned at it. She never even knew that they hadn’t paid the man who had mended the cracked window in Davy’s truck.

  ‘Mummy,’ Joyce whimpered again.

  ‘Tell yer what,’ Cissie said, trying to make herself sound enthusiastic – none of this was Joyce’s fault, ‘I’ll make up a really good story for yer when I’ve finished. How about that? Now you just let me get on with this, eh?’

  Matty, who, up until then, had been busily playing under the table with the army of lead soldiers his dad had bought him in the Chrisp Street Woolworth’s, was suddenly far more interested in his mother and sister than in the battle he had been organising.

  ‘I’ll help yer do that, Mum,’ he said, his eyes wide with anxiety.

  He hated his mum sounding so sad and tired, it really scared him. Ever since they’d been to those horrible places – the cemetery and the pub – she’d been like this. He’d hated both those places right away, but he’d hated them even more when his mum had explained why she’d had to take them there.

  They had buried his dad, because he had had to go and live in Heaven with the angels, and he would never be coming home. Not ever again, no matter how hard Matty wished or even prayed. That was it. He was gone. And now Matty was terrified that his mum would get so sad without him that she would leave him and Joyce as well, and go to Heaven to be with their dad.

  ‘I can help, Mum,’ he insisted. Matty wasn’t sure what he would be helping with, but he knew he had to do something. He’d be going to school in the autumn, whenever that was – his mum had told him that too – so he had to do what he could now, to make her happy while he was still around. It was no good him expecting Joyce to be any use, even though she was three years old, Matty knew that she was still a baby. So, it was up to him.

  He crawled out from under the table and wrapped his arms around Cissie’s legs. ‘Don’t cry, Mum. Please. I’ll help yer.’

  Cissie leant forward and hugged him and Joyce close to her, feeling their vulnerability as sure as she could feel the warmth of their little bodies.

  ‘What’s going on in here? What’s all this wailing about?’ Lil screeched from the kitchen doorway.

  Lil Prentice wasn’t a big woman, just an average sort of build for a woman in her late fifties, but she had a voice on her that Davy had always said could carry as far as the Aldgate Pump. ‘It’s like a flipping graveyard in here,’ she bellowed, grasping hold of the door-frame for support.

  Cissie wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and shook her head disbelievingly. She’d been drinking again, Cissie was sure of it. But that was no excuse for her spitefulness; Cissie would never get used to Lil’s nasty, uncaring ways. It was hard to believe she was Davy’s mum. But she was, and that was why Cissie, as much as she couldn’t stand the woman, had never objected when Davy had brought her to live with them when they’d moved into Linman Street.

  ‘Well?’ Lil persisted.

  ‘I’ve been trying to work out things. You know.’ Cissie nodded towards the children, hoping that, for once, Lil would take the hint and keep her mouth shut in front of them. They had enough to fret about without their nanna adding to their fears.

  Lil walked unsteadily across the narrow room and plonked herself down opposite Cissie. Almost tipping the chair over, she had to grab hold of the edge of the table to steady herself. ‘I need all this, I reckon,’ she said, pushing the pile of bills away from her with a careless flick. ‘I wish I’d have stayed down the bloody Sabberton instead of coming home to your sodding moaning.’

  ‘You’ve been down the pub again. I knew it.’

  ‘What? I need your permission to go for a drink now, do I? Yer cheeky mare!’

  Matty and Joyce clung to their mother, scared by their nanna’s drunken shouting.

  ‘Come on you two.’ Cissie was doing her best to sound calm, but the thought of her mother-in-law pouring what could have been their rent money down her throat in the Sabberton Arms made her blood boil. ‘Time I was getting you little ’uns up to bed.’

  As Cissie led her two bewildered children from the kitchen and along the passage, Lil shouted after them, ‘I’ve been thinking about upstairs,’ she hollered. ‘I reckon now it’s just you up there, Cissie, yer don’t need all that space. So I’ll have that front bedroom o’ your’n and you can move your stuff down here into the parlour and have my bed.’ She paused before adding slyly, ‘I reckon it’s what my poor Davy would have wanted, me having that upstairs room, away from all the noise in the street.’

  Cissie smiled down at the children. ‘See how fast you two can run up them stairs and get your jimjams on, eh? I won’t be a minute, I’m just gonna talk to Nanna for a bit.’ Cissie waited at the foot of the stairs until the children had disappeared into the back bedroom, then she took a deep breath and strode back into the kitchen.

  Lil was ready for her; she started immediately. ‘I’m entitled to that room. Entitled.’

  ‘Aw, right, I see. You wanna take my room from me, do yer? And d’yer wanna take over with the kids and all? Yer don’t mind jumping in and out of bed all night, settling the poor little loves down after all their bad dreams? That right, is it? That what yer wanna do?’

  Lil folded her arms belligerently. ‘What, can’t be bothered to walk up a flight of stairs to see to yer own kids? Davy’d be very proud, I don’t think.’

  Cissie ran her fingers distractedly through her hair; her hands were shaking. ‘Look, just leave it, eh, Lil. Just leave it. We’re both tired. This ain’t the time.’

  Lil snorted derisively. ‘I ain’t just tired, I’m sick and tired. Sick and tired of you. Why don’t you use yer loaf for once? That Turner made you an offer that most women’d jump at. He’s just
waiting to make our lives right comfortable for us. Just waiting for you to be nice to him. But you, Lady Muck, that’s beneath you, ain’t it? Being nice to someone.’

  Cissie summoned every bit of strength she had in her to stop herself wrapping her hands around Lil’s throat. She turned on her heel and walked back out into the passage. ‘If it wasn’t for the kids being here,’ she muttered to herself as she hauled herself up the stairs, ‘I’d bloody kill that woman.’

  * * *

  By the time Cissie had settled the children, reassuring Matty yet again that she wouldn’t be going away and leaving him and Joyce, she had calmed down enough to be able to face Lil without wanting to smack her hard round her miserable face.

  She gripped the banister rail firmly, confident that she wouldn’t let her mother-in-law upset her again. The children were her priority, not Lil and her drunken rantings about Big Bill Turner. She would go on the streets before she had anything to do with the likes of him, and that was why she would sort things out – somehow or other. She straightened her back and urged herself forward; with all those bills to pay, she couldn’t afford the luxury of feeling sorry for herself. Things had to be done.

  But, as she stepped back into the kitchen and saw what Lil was up to, Cissie was, once again, shaking with rage.

  ‘What the hell have you got there?’ she demanded.

  ‘What, begrudge an old girl a drop o’ something to comfort her after her boy’s death would yer?’ Lil was sitting at the table draining the remains of a half-bottle of scotch into her glass. ‘My Davy wouldn’t have let you treat me like this.’ She knocked back the whisky in a single gulp. ‘Been dead just six weeks he has, Gawd rest him, and it’s like yer’ve forgotten him already.’

  Cissie snatched the empty glass from her hand and took it over to the sink. ‘The drink’s making yer talk rubbish,’ she said, running the tap at full force and soaking the front of her dress. ‘Now look what yer’ve made me do.’