Turner slapped the money down beside Cissie. ‘Seventy-five quid.’
He raised his chin at the man by his side. ‘Chalkie, help the lady wrap ’em up. And don’t take too long about it. Yer know how I get if I’m kept waiting.’
With that, he turned on his heel and headed back to the car. He ducked his head as though he were about to get in, then, thinking better of it, he straightened up again. ‘I’ll be round to pick you up at about eight,’ he said matter-of- factly.
‘You talking to me?’ Cissie asked, tapping herself on the chest.
‘Sod me,’ Turner gasped, ‘no wonder Jack was taking so long. I ain’t never heard a bird ask so many bloody questions. Yes, I mean you. I’m taking yer to a supper club. Up West. So make sure yer wear something nice. I like a bird to look classy.’
He pointed at the pile of notes. ‘Buy yerself something outta that if you ain’t got nothing decent.’
Cissie shook her head at him as though he were mad. ‘I ain’t going to no club with no one. And especially not with the likes o’ you, I ain’t.’
‘Eh?’ Turner walked slowly back to the stall. ‘I don’t think I heard yer right.’
‘Yes yer did. You heard all right.’
Turner’s face flared the colour of port. ‘Chalkie. In.’ He stabbed his finger at the car.
‘How about the flowers, guv?’
‘In,’ Turner repeated savagely.
Chalkie did as he was told.
‘Is this cos I ain’t been around for a few weeks?’ he asked. ‘You showing off or something?’
‘Are you mad?’ Cissie shook her head in wonder at the man’s arrogance.
‘I’ve been busy,’ Turner went on. ‘Doing some big deals. Important business. Sorting a few things out.’
‘Why should I care what you’ve been up to?’
‘You saying you ain’t noticed I ain’t been around?’
‘That’s right.’
Turner looked at Cissie with a final indignant frown, then without saying another word, he followed Chalkie back to the car.
‘Yer forgot yer money,’ Cissie called, snatching up the pile of fivers and dashing after him.
‘Keep the sodding money,’ snapped Turner and slammed the car door in her face.
Cissie stood and watched as the car sped away in the direction of Mile End, then walked slowly back to the stall.
‘Everything all right?’ Fat Stan shouted across to her.
‘Yeah,’ said Cissie absently, as she shoved the notes deep into her money apron. ‘I’m fine thanks, Stan.’
But she wasn’t fine, her mind was in turmoil as she thought of all the things she could do with seventy-five pounds. She tried to weigh them against what the cost of taking it would actually be; Turner had made it quite clear the price he had in mind.
‘Stan,’ she called across to the news-vendor, ‘I’m packing up early today. Something’s come up.’
‘You sure everything’s all right?’
‘Yeah. Just a bit of business. I’ve gotta go and see someone.’
Cissie had the stall back at the lock-up in record time, and within an hour of saying goodbye to Fat Stan, she was standing at the door to Eileen’s grubby room.
‘Please, Eileen, it’s too much to put in the post. Please, take it round there for me. So’s I can be sure he’s got it. I don’t want him thinking I’ve kept it, or he’ll be able to hold it over me.’
Eileen shook her head even more determinedly. ‘No. I told yer. I’ll help anyone if they’re in trouble, but I ain’t gonna humiliate meself.’
‘Humiliate yerself?’ Cissie frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘No, your sort never do. Yer’ve still got the sort of looks that mean yer don’t have to understand no one but yerself.’ Eileen stepped on to the little landing and pulled the door to behind her. She stared at Cissie with a booze-blurred glare. ‘How would it be, eh, just you think about it, me going round there looking like this, running errands for you? I’d look a right pissing idiot. Make it look like that was all I was fit for.’
She lit herself a cigarette without offering one to Cissie, and started laughing, which soon degenerated into a raw smoker’s cough. ‘I reckon being selfish goes with being pretty, d’you know that? I was the same meself once, when I first went with Bill. Couldn’t give a monkey’s about no one, I couldn’t.’
Cissie had the good grace to look ashamed. She’d done it again, thinking only of herself. When would she ever learn?
‘Now,’ Eileen said, ‘if yer don’t mind, yer’ll have to shift yerself. I’ve got a friend in there waiting for me, and I ain’t in the position to say no to a few bob.’
* * *
Cissie stood by the black chipped railings, knowing she was being watched from behind the net curtains.
She stuck her chin defiantly in the air and strode purposefully up to the door.
This time no one waited to be asked, she was shown straight to Turner’s office.
‘Aw, yer’ve brought me flowers round, have yer?’ Turner asked, with a sarcastic lift in his voice. ‘I didn’t know yer did a delivery service.’
‘I’ve brought you yer money back,’ Cissie said levelly, laying seventy pounds on the desk in front of him. ‘I kept back a fiver to cover the earnings yer’ve lost me this afternoon.’
Turner grinned appreciatively. ‘I meant what I said about liking the idea of having a pretty woman on me arm when I go out of a night. But I like the idea of having a clever one who ain’t afraid to use her brains even more. Makes things more interesting don’t it, having something to talk about afterwards?’
‘What would yer wife have to say if she could hear the filth you talk?’ asked Cissie, shaking her head in disgust.
‘Mrs Turner don’t enjoy the social life like she used to.’
Cissie leant across the desk at him. ‘What, and I suppose she don’t understand yer any more either, does she?’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart. She understands me very well. Very well indeed, actually. In fact, it was something she said to me the other day, in this very office if yer wanna know, what’s convinced me I should improve me offer to yer.’
Cissie straightened up. ‘What d’yer mean?’ she asked suspiciously.
Turner leant back in his chair, folded his arms and stared directly into her eyes. ‘I’ve just completed a very nice deal, got a good few quid going spare I have. So Mrs Turner thought we could invest it in a bit o’ property like. That’s why I’m gonna set you up in a little flat, Mrs Flowers.’ Cissie’s mouth dropped open. It took her a moment before she could speak. ‘You’re out of your head,’ she finally managed to say. With that, she turned round and strode over to the door, using every bit of her strength to stop herself screaming abuse at this vile man.
‘You’ll come round to my way of thinking, you just see,’ Turner said to her back, as she grasped the brass door handle. ‘People always do. And a clever girl like you wouldn’t waste your special type of assets running a poxy little flower stall. Not unless you was a fool, of course.’ She didn’t even look round at him.
* * *
Cissie parked the truck on the waste ground at the end of Linman Street, and climbed down from the cab. She was worn out. The traffic back from Mile End had been murder, then she’d had to stop to fill up at the petrol station, and had got her dress covered in grease after struggling with the starting handle – much to the amusement of the young lad who was working the pump.
Then, as she locked the truck door, just to put the final touch to a rotten afternoon, she heard them: Ethel and Myrtle, standing on Myrtle’s street doorstep, were gossiping loudly about her. That was all she needed, that pair running her down.
Ethel nudged Myrtle. ‘My Lena’s Reg heard from someone that that Cissie Flowers has been to see that Big Bill Turner again, yer know.’
‘She never has!’
‘True as I’m standing here.’
‘The brazen trollop.’<
br />
‘I’d love to see that Moe Turner get hold of her if she found out that her old man was sniffing around her. Little whore. It’s about time she was brought down a peg or two. Walking about like a painted doll. Her old man’s barely cold in the ground.’
Cissie put her keys in her pocket, took a deep breath, and took the few steps from the waste ground to Myrtle’s street door.
She stood in front of the pair of them, hands on hips and said, in a quiet, controlled voice, ‘Has your Lena thought about asking her Reg where he heard that, Ethel?’
‘Eh?’ Ethel’s face was like stone.
‘Well, I reckon the answer might interest her. See,’ she said turning to Myrtle, ‘as far as I know, the only one who knew where I was going was an old brass.’
Cissie turned back to Ethel. ‘She wants to be careful, that big-mouthed daughter o’ your’n, or she’ll wind up with a dose.’
‘You filthy-minded little—’
‘Just shut yer trap for once, can’t yer, Ethel?’ Cissie sneered.
‘Don’t you talk to her like that,’ put in Myrtle, torn between standing up for her friend and having the chance to hear a bit more dirt about Reg Dunn. ‘If anyone should’ve found out what her husband was up to, it should’ve been you, Cissie Flowers.’
‘What?’
‘You heard. She said you,’ chipped in Ethel. ‘I mean, he earnt a lot o’ money from being a so-called flower seller, that old man o’ your’n, didn’t he? Ain’t you ever wondered how?’
Cissie shook her head contemptuously. ‘You make me sick, d’you know that? Don’t think I ain’t heard all the nasty little rumours and stories your sort put around, cos I have. And that’s all they are, rumours and bloody stupid stories. And all cos the likes of you are jealous. Jealous cos my Davy did so well for himself and his family. And now jealous cos I’m doing it too. So don’t think you can get me at it with all your old shit.’ She held up her head and stabbed her finger at them. ‘You hate it, don’t yer, me showing you all that I can do it and all. That’s what’s wrong with yers. I know. Yer can’t stand it, can yer? Any of yer.’
Cissie turned her back on the pair of them and marched along the street towards Gladys’s. She was determined not to cry in front of the two old bags, but that didn’t stop the pain their words were causing her. Why did they have to be so spiteful?
‘I’m doing well on the stall,’ she said to herself, ‘I am. I’m doing well enough to be able to give that pig Turner his seventy pounds back. And to be able to tell him what he can do with his so-called “offer”.’
The first angry tear spilt on to Cissie’s cheek just as she stepped inside Gladys’s street door. But although she was crying, Cissie Flowers was also smiling.
She was doing it. She was making a success of caring for her family. And Davy would be proud of her. She had shown them all. Even if they couldn’t stand it.
Chapter 14
‘Ta, love.’ Cissie handed the man his bunch of flowers and a rattle of loose change. ‘See yer next week,’ she added with a confident, happy smile.
‘You’re looking pleased with yerself, girl,’ said Fat Stan as he strolled over to her and then leant back against the wall, all the while concentrating on the cigarette he was rolling in his great, sausagey fingers.
‘Why shouldn’t I look pleased on a smashing day like this, eh, Stan? Friday dinner-time’s always good for business. The sun’s shining more like it’s the middle of June rather than the end of October. And I’m getting more and more customers what’re coming back regular.’
She jerked her head at the man who was filtering his way back into the busy lunch-time crowds. ‘Blokes like him. He’s back twice every week.’
She lowered her eyes and giggled girlishly. ‘Must have a wife and a bit on the side. What d’yer reckon?’
Fat Stan sealed his cigarette with a lick along the paper and joined in with the amusement, his deep bear’s growl of a laugh making his chins wobble.
‘Yer know,’ Cissie sighed contentedly, ‘I never thought I’d be doing this well, Stan. ’Specially not at this time o’ the year.’
She turned round and appraised the stall. ‘Good stock, I suppose. That Jim Phillips does me right proud at the market. I dunno what I’d have done without him. Really looks after me, he does.’
‘Good. I’m glad to hear it, girl.’ And he was. Fat Stan nodded approvingly, more than relieved that things were, at last, going along so nicely. Because if Cissie Flowers was happy, then so was Turner, and – at the end of that little line – so was he.
He flicked his spent match into the gutter and left Cissie to deal with two men who had paused to look over the stall.
They were youngish, but not too young, and smartly dressed; City-looking types, good for spending a few bob at the end of the week, Cissie judged.
‘How can I help you, gentlemen?’ she asked pleasantly. ‘These camellias are lovely. Not cheap, mind,’ she added. She’d learnt a fair bit about how to sell, and expensively rigged-out fellers like these two wouldn’t want to be seen looking mean in front of one another. ‘Fancy one do yer? I could put it in a nice little box, if it’s for someone special like.’
‘We ain’t interested in no flowers, darling,’ said one of them in a surprisingly rough, East End drawl. ‘We’re here as representatives. For a firm of property developers. And we’ve got a bit of news for yer. News you might not like very much, but I’d advise yer to listen all the same.’
Cissie pulled her brows together in a puzzled frown. Property developers? What was this all about?
‘This here factory’s gonna be pulled down, and they’re gonna build offices on the site. Right modern offices they’ll be.’ As he said the word ‘modern’ the man’s voice took on a loving, cooing sort of tone. ‘With smart little shops on the ground floor.’
‘But what about me pitch?’ Cissie turned her head and looked at the soot-blackened factory wall, the velvet backdrop to the jewelled colours of her flowers.
‘Selling flowers off o’ barrows is a thing of the past, darling,’ he said with a sniff. ‘Like all the slums what they’re ripping down. People want smart, modern things nowadays, not street rubbish.’
Smart, modern. He was saying those words again. And what did he mean by ‘rubbish’?
‘There won’t be no places for the likes of you and your stall, sweetheart,’ he said as though reading the question in her mind. ‘That’s the way o’ the world, I’m afraid.’
He shrugged his broad shoulders down into his expensively warm overcoat. ‘These might be hard times for some,’ he went on, with the combined cockiness of youth and power, ‘but there’s still plenty what’re doing well for ’emselves. Very well. People who can buy up land nice and cheap at a time like this.’
Cissie hated the way he kept emphasising the words, there was such menace in his horribly assured tone, and she hated the way his companion stood there next to him, smiling feebly in what looked like slightly scared silence.
She looked along the street towards Fat Stan, but he and Bernie were both busy, their heads bent low as they talked to two other men.
She licked her lips, her mouth was parched. ‘You said you was representing someone.’
‘Yeah.’
‘So, who’s yer boss then?’ She had intended to sound forceful, in control, but her voice had come out squeaking and trembling like a frightened child’s.
Trying to recover at least a bit of dignity, she added with an impetuosity she immediately regretted, ‘Whoever he is, he’d better watch out for himself, cos I’ve got friends, yer see, powerful friends. And you can tell him, whoever he is, that that come straight from me.’
The man who had done all the talking appeared amused by her pathetic attempt at bravado, but the quiet one just dug into the inside pocket of his overcoat and handed Cissie a card.
‘That’s our boss,’ said the chatty one, ‘on that card he’s given yer. But I dunno what good knowing that’s gonna do yer. I’d j
ust get used to the idea if I was you, darling. Cos all this is gonna be settled by the New Year, no matter how powerful your little friends are.’
He smiled again, almost politely this time, then they both raised their hats and left her standing, gawping after them.
She stood there in shocked silence until Fat Stan hollered across to her.
‘You all right, girl?’ he shouted. ‘Yer look like yer’ve just lost a tanner and found a farthing.’
‘Fancy asking Bernie to mind the stalls for a bit and coming over to the Tuns for a drink, Stan?’ Cissie asked, keeping her eyes on the two men as they dodged across the road towards Mansell Street, the noisy one slowing an oncoming truck almost to a halt with an arrogant lift of his hand.
‘It’s a bit early ain’t it, girl?’ he called back with a good-natured grin. ‘The old church ain’t even bonged half twelve yet.’
‘Please, Stan.’
Hearing the urgency in her voice, Fat Stan said something to Bernie, handed him his money apron and hauled his great bulk over to the flower stall.
‘Come on, I’ll treat yer,’ he said ushering her along the road in the direction of the Aldgate Pump.
* * *
‘Now,’ he growled, handing Cissie a gin and orange. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘I had to talk to someone, Stan.’ Cissie’s hand shook as she raised the glass to her lips.
She sipped at the burning, sticky liquid and shuddered, then fumbled around in her bag for her cigarettes, managing only to scatter its contents all over the floor of the busy pub.
‘Blimey, Cis, calm down, girl.’ He patted her shoulder with his huge hand. ‘It might never happen yer know.’
‘Sorry, Stan.’ Gratefully, she sat there while he lowered his huge frame to his knees and collected all her bits and pieces for her. Then she let him light her cigarette, took a deep drag and finally settled back into her chair.
‘Them two blokes,’ she began nervously. ‘Did yer see ’em?’
‘Can’t say I noticed anyone in particular,’ he said warily, his lack of breath after scrabbling about on the sticky, beer-sprinkled floorboards forgotten.
The Flower Girl Page 19