He raised his arm again. Another boy stepped forward from the shadows. Chen spoke to him in his own language, and then in English to Charlie.
‘You are very wet, Charles. You should get out of those things. The boy here will take you back and get you some fresh clothes. He will dispose of your bloodstained garments.’
Charlie looked down at himself. He was smeared with the blood of two men, foul river water and slime. He retched. ‘’E should be buried proper,’ he managed to say.
‘The river will be his final resting place,’ said Chen and walked towards the steps. Two men stepped forward and walked with him, one on either side. Without looking back he said to Charlie, ‘The boy will take you through a rear entrance to the club. Be as quiet as possible.’ Then he stopped. ‘You did well, Charles. You proved your loyalty. I will not forget.’ Before he climbed the steps he turned right round to face Charlie. ‘You will need to go away for a while. I shall have a word with an associate of mine. You will be found a position with him; an occupation where you will be well rewarded.’
‘Thank you, Mr Chen,’ whispered Charlie into his chest.
Before he left Jack to the mercy of the tide, Charlie stroked the mud-caked hair away from the young postman’s face.
‘See yer sometime, mate,’ he said gently.
With one swift movement he pulled the knife from Jack’s throat and threw it with all his strength into the greedy depths of the river. Then he untied the yellow paisley stock from around the dead man’s neck.
‘Just a keepsake, Jacky boy,’ he said through the tears running down his bloodstained cheeks. ‘Just a keepsake.’
* * *
‘Mum. Mum, it’s me, Charlie. Come on. Open up.’
‘For Gawd’s sake, whatever’s going on ’ere? It ain’t even light yet.’ Rose stood squinting in the doorway of the hop hut, her black serge coat draped round her shoulders, covering her long underclothes. ‘What the ’ell are yer doin’ ’ere? Whatever’s ’appened?’
‘Long time since I’ve seen yer with yer ’air down loose, Mum,’ Charlie said, reaching out his hand to her. ‘Yer still a good-looker and that’s the truth.’
‘Ne’ mind none of that ol’ nonsense, Charlie,’ Rose sighed. ‘Yer get yerself inside ’ere. An’ keep yer noise down before yer wake everyone up.’
‘Who’s there? Mum?’ Jess’s voice, thick with sleep and scarcely audible came from the back of the pitch-dark hut.
‘It’s all right, love, it’s our Charlie,’ Rose whispered. ‘’E’s come to see us, that’s all. Yer go back to sleep.’
‘’Ello, Charlie,’ she yawned.
‘Do as Mum says, Jess. Yer go back to sleep.’
Jess snuggled deeper down into the straw-filled mattress, pulled the scratchy wool blanket over her head and smiled contentedly to herself, happy to go back to sleep.
‘Now, will yer tell me what’s ’appened? An’ look at yer face, all swollen. Yer been fightin’ again, ain’t yer? Yer wasn’t meant to come down ’til the weekend with all the others. Yer in trouble, are yer?’
‘All right, all right, let’s get a word in edgeways, Mum.’ Charlie took his mother’s hand. ‘Sit down an’ listen to me.’
Reluctantly, Rose sat down on the tea chest by the half-open door. Charlie squatted down on his haunches next to her. She was looking old. He hadn’t noticed that before. In the first glow of early morning sun, he could just make out the lines on her tired face. They were deeper than he remembered.
‘If yer can stop rabbitin’ on for a minute,’ he said gently, ‘I’ve got some good news to tell yer. Yer’ll be right proud of me, I reckon, when yer ’ear.’
‘Don’t mess around, Charlie. Spit it out. What’s up? What yer been up to this time? Tell me.’
‘Mum. Listen to me. I’ve been given a big chance. A real big chance.’ He squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her. ‘I’m gonna become a manager of a club.’
‘You?’ Rose shook her head, trying to understand.
‘Well, an assistant manager. Gonna learn all the trade proper and everythin’.’
‘You’ve already got a trade. Down the woodyard,’ said Rose stiffly.
‘Yer know I always ’ated that place, Mum.’
‘Don’t I just, all yer ever went on about was bein’ a professional boxer.’
‘Exactly. That’s why I thought yer’d be pleased about the club. I’ve given up fightin’ for good. No more knockin’ geezers around on street comers earnin’ pennies. I’m gonna be someone. It’s a real opportunity for a bloke like me from Burton Street.’
‘’Oo’d want you for a job like that then? You look a real state with yer face all bashed up.’
‘Should ’ave seen the other geezers.’ Charlie laughed.
Rose didn’t. ‘Why do I think yer ’iding somethin’ from me, Charlie Fairleigh?’ she said. ‘’Oo is it givin’ yer this big chance, anyway? ’Oo yer gonna be workin’ for?’
‘That’s the really good bit, Mum. I’ll be goin’ to a place called Chicago. It’s in America.’
‘America! Oh, Charlie, whatever will yer dad ’ave to say? Yer’ll ’ave to talk to ’im before yer agree to somethin’ like that, boy.’
‘I can’t. See this geezer, ’e’s gimme a contract thing. I ’ad to sign it an’ all that. It’s now or never ’e said.’
‘What geezer?’ Rose raked her fingers distractedly through her hair. It was still thick and glossy, though odd strands of grey were beginning to show through the rich auburn tones. ‘Charlie, yer’ll ’ave to speak to yer dad and that’s that. ’E’s due ’ome any day now. Yer won’t ’ave to wait long.’
‘Sorry, Mum, but I’m sailin’ from Tilbury on Thursday mornin’.’
Rose took Charlie’s face in her hands and pulled him towards her. She looked straight into his eyes, desperate to read the truth she was sure he was concealing. ‘Yer remember Ivy, son? Ivy Jennings from down Barchester Street?’
‘Yeh. What’s she gotta do with it?’
‘When ’er Archie died, the welfare people sent ’er kids to Canada. Said they was gettin’ ’em good work an’ that. Well, she never saw ’em again. Never. Not even a letter. Gawd alone knows what ’appened to them poor little devils.’ Rose made no attempt to hide the tears that were rolling down her sunburned cheeks. ‘Why America, son? Yer are in trouble, ain’t yer? Tell me.’
Charlie stood up. ‘Don’t yer worry yerself, Mum. I’ll make yer right proud of me, yer’ll see. I’ll work ’ard an’ save, an’ one day I’ll ’ave a club of me own. ‘Ow about that?’ He opened the door wider and stepped out into the chilly morning air. ‘’Ark at them bleed’n’ birds singin’,’ he said, breathing deeply andhis arms high above his head. ‘’Andsome down ’ere, innit? Don’t get that in Poplar, eh, Mum? The sparrers can’t sing for coughin’ back ’ome.’
He made a real effort to look happy, to smile for his weeping mother. But he couldn’t coax even the ghost of a smile from her. She really was looking old.
‘Tell yer what, Rosie Fairleigh,’ he said, almost his old cheeky self. ‘When I’ve made me fortune I’ll buy yer a bloody great big mansion. Better than them Worlingtons ’ave got up there. An’ yer can invite that old bugger Sir George, an’ ’is missus, round to tea. ’Ow about that, eh, Mum?’ He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. ‘Yer’ve always been a duchess to me, Mum. An’ yer always will be. Always.’
‘Charlie, why don’t yer wait, son?’ Rose stood up to try and stop him. She didn’t notice the cold, or that her coat had fallen from her shoulders on to the damp, dewy ground. ‘Just ’til yer dad gets back, eh, boy? I promise I won’t try to stop yer after that. Please, son, just a couple o’ days.’
‘I can’t, Mum, honest.’ He bent forward and kissed her again, then picked up her coat and draped it round her shoulders. ‘Yer should keep yerself warm, Mum. Look after yerself. We’re all big enough an’ ugly enough to take care of ourselves now.’
Charlie took a rough
ly wrapped brown paper parcel from inside his jacket and handed it to Rose.
‘Now ’ere’s something I want yer to look after for me.’
Rose took the package without looking at it, clutching it to her chest as though it was the last she’d ever have of her boy.
‘There’s a few quid in there,’ he said, winking. ‘Emergencies, see? I mean, ’oo knows what’s gonna ’appen to any of us in this ol’ world, eh, Mum? An’ there’s a little secret in there an’ all, just between you an’ me. Yer might wanna look at it one day.’
‘Charlie, don’t go, son. Please.’
‘Be ’appy for me, Mum.’
Rose held on to the door frame of the mean little hut, watching her son walk away across the Common and out of her life. Chicago. All she had left of her child, her Charlie, was a brown paper parcel. She sat back down on the tea chest and untied the knotted string. Inside was a filthy, stained cloth that looked like it might once have been yellow. It smelt horrible, stale. She unfolded the stiff material. Inside was more money than she’d ever seen in her life. She looked more closely at the cloth. She could just make out its paisley design. Her hands flew to her mouth, trying to stifle the gasp that escaped from her lips.
Jess stirred. ‘Mum? Is it time to get up yet?’ she asked, still groggy with sleep.
Rose hurriedly tucked the parcel under the patched folds of her threadbare petticoat. ‘Go back to sleep, Jess,’ she said quietly through her tears. ‘I’ll tell yer when it’s time.’
Chapter 9
Bring Us Back a Monkey
‘Jess.’ Winnie poked her head inside the hut. ‘Yer comin’ over for a bath? Dunno about you, but I could really do with one. I feel lousy. Sweatin’ out in them fields all week, and sleepin’ on that dusty straw. Me frock’s stiff.’
‘I’ll come with yer if yer’ll shut up gassin’, Win,’ snapped Jessie. ‘If not, yer can go by yerself.’
‘Charmin’,’ pouted Winnie.
‘Oi, Jess, there’s no need to be rude to Winnie,’ frowned Rose. ‘What’s got into yer, talkin’ like that?’
‘Thank you, Rose,’ said Winnie, all offended. ‘At least one of the Fairleighs has some manners.’
‘Well, she gets on me nerves going on all the time,’ Jess answered her mother.
Rose didn’t reply, she just stared at Jessie. Whatever had got into the girl? she wondered. It wasn’t like her to be unkind to anyone.
‘An’ if yer both don’t stop chatterin’,’ said Lil, joining her friends in the doorway of the Fairleighs’ hut, ‘the Mission ladies’ll ’ave gone, then there’ll be no baths for no one.’
‘Blimey, ’ello, Lil,’ said Winnie, back to her old sarcastic self. ‘Fancy seein’ you this early on a Saturday mornin’. I didn’t know yer ’ad it in yer.’
‘I want to get a nice bath, don’t I? Before we ’ave to start pickin’. Wanna posh meself up for the weekend, an’ all the fellers.’
Win, getting more like her mother every day, found a reason to complain about the bathing facilities. ‘Well, I think it’s a right shame we can’t ’ave our bath at dinnertime. At one o’clock, when we’ve finished pickin’ for the week. Then we’d be proper clean for the weekend.’
‘Yer should think yerself lucky the Mission ladies fetch the bath tent on a Saturday at all, Win,’ said Lil, glad of the opportunity to get her own back on her moaning friend. ‘Down Fanshawe’s they get ’em there of a Friday night after pickin’. They ’ave to tear back from the fields, get their baths, get their tea, do the washin’, an’ all before it gets too dark. It’s a right turn-out down there. An’ anyway, Win,’ Lil added, warming to her subject, ‘listenin’ to the way yer talkin’, anyone’d think you Baxters was used to ’aving regular baths.’
‘Aw shut up, Lilly Dorkin,’ said Win. ‘I don’t need no sermon. ’Oo do yer think yer are, the bleed’n’ vicar?’
‘Shut up, yer moanin’ cow,’ spat Lil.
‘Least I ain’t got a fat arse,’ sneered Winnie in reply.
‘Why don’t yer stop rowin’, the pair of yer. I’m right fed up with all this,’ said Jess irritably. ‘If we’re goin’, let’s get down there an’ start queuin’, or no one’ll ’ave no bath.’
‘Yeh,’ said Lil, ‘if she shuts ’er gob I will.’
‘An’ ’er an’ all,’ said Win. ‘If she shuts ’ers.’
‘I’ve ’ad enough of this. I’m going’ down the bath tent, Mum,’ Jess called into the hut, ‘before war breaks out with these two. I’ll save yer a place in the queue.’
Jess strode off across the grass.
‘All right, Jess, leave off,’ said Lil, rolling her eyes at Winnie. ‘Wait for us. We’re comin’. What’s the matter with yer this mornin’?’
‘I’m just fed up with you two rowin’ all the time.’
Winnie didn’t say anything; she simply raised her eyebrows and nodded at Lil, acknowledging that Jess’s behaviour was confirming all the rumours Win had been busily passing around about her.
The three young women, with Jess keeping slightly ahead of her two still bickering friends, walked across the Common towards the big field next to the pub. It was there that the ladies of the ‘Missionary League for the Hop Pickers of Kent’ set up their big bell tent and offered weekly baths for a halfpenny, a dab of ointment for wounds, and spiritual advice for the misguided.
‘I’ll bet Jess is lookin’ forward to the weekend, eh, Lil?’ said Win, nudging Lil behind Jess’s back. ‘Or d’yer think it might be a bit awkward for ’er, like?’
‘You two mates again then, are yer?’ said Jess. She lengthened her stride, leaving her friends further behind. She kept walking determinedly towards the tent, head high, flicking her ragged scrap of towel at the lush, fruit-laden branches overhanging the hedgerows.
‘’Ow’s that then, Win? ’Ow do yer mean?’ asked Lil, feigning innocence. ‘Yer said it might be a bit awkward for Jess?’
‘Well, Lil,’ explained Win expansively, ’what I mean is that if Jack Barnes comes down, like ’e promised ’e would, well, what’s ’e to think when ’e sees young feller-me-lad, Master Robert from the big ’ouse, makin’ eyes at our Jessie ’ere? An’ them practically goin’ out an’ all. I mean ’e did give ’er that canary.’
‘Yer shut up, Win,’ said Jess, turning on them. ‘I’ve ’ad enough of yer rotten comments. Yer’ve got a big bloody gob an’ that’s a fact. An’ as for you, Lilly Dorkin, I’m surprised at yer joining in with ’er.’ Jess took them both aback with her sudden outburst and the furious look on her face.
Win was the first to find her voice. ‘Temper, temper,’ she said, all hurt.
‘Well, yer nosy cows,’ said Jess. ‘Yer know gossip like that causes trouble. An’ it’s all lies, anyway.’
‘Sorry, yer ladyship,’ mocked Lil dropping a wobbly curtsey. ‘We never meant no offence, ma’am, I’m sure.’
The sight of the grubby, plump girl, with her hair tumbling from its pins, aping the starched manners and speech of a parlourmaid had Winnie spluttering with laughter.
‘It ain’t funny,’ said Jess. ‘Yer know ’ow stories get out of ’and. What would ’appen if me mum ’eard yer talkin’ like that?’
‘Leave off, Jess,’ said Win. ‘’Oo’d believe Robert Worlington would really ’ave anythin’ to do with the likes of us?’
‘Yeh, forget it, Jess, we was only ’aving a lark,’ said Lil. ‘Now do yer want this bath or not?’
Saturday’s half-day picking seemed to drag on forever as the women and girls waited eagerly to see their menfolk. Then, at last, ‘Pull no more bines’ was called, and Theo came round to do his final, reluctant measuring of the week.
‘That old sod’s gettin’ worse than ever,’ said Florrie Baxter to no one in particular. ‘’E drives me blinkin’ crackers. I’d like to…’
‘Ignore ’im. We’re finished now,’ said Rose. ‘Don’t let ’im spoil yer weekend, Flo.’
‘Well, Rose, I’ve gotta speak fair,’ said Elsie. ‘
I agree with Florrie for once. ‘E really is an ignorant old bastard. ’E nearly knocked Mabel over, pushin’ past ’er just now.’
‘It’s all right, Elsie,’ said Mabel nervously, her head lowered. ‘’E never hurt me or nothin’.’
‘No, but it’s ’is bloody aggravatin’ attitude.’ Elsie shook her head, thinking about what she’d like to do to Theo and his rotten bushel basket. ‘Still, this won’t buy the baby a new bonnet, will it, gels? Come on, all of yers, back to the ’uts.’ Elsie wiped her hands on her coarse sacking apron and tapped out her pipe on the comer of the bin. She collected up her things from the ground and gladly left the hop gardens until Monday morning.
The rest of the pickers followed her example and made their way back to the Common in an untidy procession, accompanied by children, emptied food baskets, and fire-blackened kettles.
‘Ted! Sammy!’ Jess lifted her skirts and broke into a run when she spotted her brothers basking in the sun on the grass outside the huts. ‘Look, Mum, they’ve got ’ere.’
‘Only just,’ said Sammy, standing up to greet his sister, and dragging his little brother up by the ear. ‘Ted ’ere only wanted to ’ire them penny-a-day bikes. Wanted to bike all the way down ’ere. ’E’s drove me flamin’ bonkers this last fortnight. I’m sure ’e’s crackers or somethin’.’
‘Yer shut up, Sammy, an’ leave me alone. Mum’s ’ere now. I’ll tell ’er of yer if yer don’t leave off.’
‘Yer meant to be a grown-up worker now, Ted, not a snotty little snitchin’ kid. Carry on like that an’ instead of going back to work on Monday I’ll ’ave to send yer back to school.’
‘Aw yeh, big ’ead. ’Oo says? You?’
‘Shut up, the pair of yer,’ hissed Jess under her breath. ‘Yer’ve only been ’ere five minutes an’ yer fightin’ already. Now be quiet before Mum ’ears yer.’ Jess lowered her voice even more. ‘She’s not been too well. An’ I don’t want you pair upsettin’ ’er. Right?’ Jess stuck her fists into her hips. ‘I said, right?’
‘Yes, Jess,’ said Ted.
The Cockney Girl Page 14