The Cockney Girl

by The Cockney Girl (retail) (epub)

  ‘Don’t blame yerself, Mum, I know ’ow ’ard it is.’ Jess turned to her mother. ‘’Ark at me goin’ on about all me troubles. What ‘ave I got to complain about, eh? Tell me, ’ow’s things at ’ome?’

  ‘Same as ever, I suppose,’ said Rose shrugging. ‘Yer Dad’s away on a trip still, an’ with all this war lark, Gawd only knows when ’e’ll be back.’

  Although she was wrapped up well enough, Jess fussed with the baby’s blanket, hoping to hide her concern. ‘No one’s ’eard nothin’ from Jack Barnes then?’ she asked casually.

  ‘No,’ said Rose flatly. ‘Not a word. But there is somethin’ I’ve gotta tell yer.’

  Rose stopped and looked hard at her daughter. She had the words on the tip of her tongue, the secret words that until now had only gone round in her head. The words that spoke her worst fears about Jack’s disappearance being something to do with their Charlie going away. But when she looked down into the crib at the baby sleeping so peacefully, she changed her mind. She’d settle for telling her daughter the other bad news.

  ‘I’ve gotta tell yer, Jess,’ she said uneasily. ‘It’s our Sammy. ’E’s gone an’ joined up. Gone to Belgium with the army.’

  Jess looked away from her mother’s anxious face, unable to bear seeing her so worried. She wondered how much more Rose could take.

  ‘Don’t get upset, Mum,’ she said as briskly as she could. ‘Yer know what our Sammy’s like. ’E’ll be all right, same as our Charlie. They’re like a couple a big ol’ ginger toms runnin’ wild over the rooftops an’ always landin’ on their feet, no matter ’ow they fall.’

  Rose jerked her head up in an attempt at looking cheerful. ‘At least Charlie’s written a couple of times. An’ I’ve gotta speak as I find – if Ted’s not been makin’ it up when ’e reads the letters to me, then Charlie’s as ’appy as Larry over there. I never reckoned ’e’d make it, Jess, but I really think ’e will. I’ve got this feelin’.’

  ‘There y’are, Mum, I told yer things’d work out all right.’

  ‘Let’s just ’ope ’e don’t get too many big ideas, eh? That Charlie’s vain enough as it it.’

  ‘See? That’s better. It ain’t like yer to be so morbid.’

  ‘Yer right. We’ve got a lot to be grateful for. Yer know I wish I could tell Charlie about the baby, ’e’d be ever so proud. Imagine ’im, an uncle.’

  ‘I don’t think that’d be a very good idea just yet, Mum.’

  ‘No, I suppose yer right.’ Rose sighed. ‘I don’t mean to be a misery, but there’s so many things I wish I could do. Yer know. Things I’d like to put right. I feel so useless sometimes.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Mum. We all know yer’d do anythin’ for us kids. Yer’ve always ’elped all of us whenever yer can.’

  ‘I didn’t do much for yer when they took yer away, did I?’

  ‘It was ’ard enough for Leonore to sort out, an’ she knows all sorts of people. Yer know, I still ain’t sure ’ow she swung it.’ Jess managed to laugh. ‘I’m still on the run, mind. Like a convict I am. If Leonore’s ’usband found out,’ she paused, ‘or anyone else in that family, for that matter, I’d be done for.’

  Rose frowned. ‘’Ow much do these people yer stayin’ with know?’

  ‘Mr an’ Mrs Garnett know almost everythin’, Mum.’

  ‘Christ, Jess, yer sure that’s safe?’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s all right, an’ Leonore said it was for the best in the end. It was gettin’ right complicated tellin’ lies all the time. An’ I know all about that from me own experience, don’t I, when I lied to you? I should ’ave listened to yer. Yer brought me up to always tell the truth, remember?’

  ‘But is it safe, them knowin’? I couldn’t bear nothin’ more to ’appen to yer, Jess.’

  ‘Nothin’ will, Mum. They’re as good as gold, the Garnetts. They ’ad a bit of trouble ’emselves, see, so they know what it’s like.’

  ‘Yer sure yer can trust ’em?’

  ‘I’m sure. An’ they know I’ve gotta keep my ’ead down for a while. ‘Til it’s all died down, like.’

  ‘Let’s ’ope that’ll be soon, eh, darlin’?’

  ‘Yeh. P’raps that’s the one good thing to be said about this war. It’ll make everyone forget about someone as unimportant as me.’

  ‘Yer’ll never be unimportant, Jess. Never.’

  ‘Don’t start cryin’ again, Mum. Yer’ll set me off. Be ’appy for me. It’s all right ’ere. Really it is. I ’elp Mrs Garnett with things, an’ get paid a bit an’ all. An’ now,’ Jess threw her arms around Rose, ‘I’ve got you ’ere with me. What more could I want?’

  ‘Did I hear my name being mentioned down there?’

  ‘Mrs Garnett.’ Jess let go of Rose and went over to the foot of the stairs. She took Mrs Garnett by the arm. ‘Come an’ meet me mum. Mum, this is Mrs Garnett. She’s been right good to me an’ little Sylvie.’

  ‘Pleased to meet yer, Mrs Garnett, I’m sure,’ said Rose formally.

  ‘And I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs Fairleigh. Your Jess here has told me so much about you. All the stories about living up there in the big city.’

  Rose flashed a worried look at her daughter.

  ‘Don’t go worrying yourself, she’s told no family secrets,’ said Mrs Garnett, smiling pleasantly. ‘And you’re a very special lady according to your daughter here. Very special indeed. Now, sit yourself down and I’ll make us a nice pot of tea.’

  Rose relaxed a little. ‘I don’t know about being special, Mrs Garnett. But I know I never say no to a cuppa tea.’

  ‘Jess, why don’t you go out to the pump and fetch in some more water, my dear?’ suggested Mrs Garnett.

  ‘There’s plenty in the kettle. I got some in earlier.’

  ‘Jess,’ said Rose, gesturing towards the door with a nod. ‘I think Mrs Garnett wants yer to go to the pump.’

  Jess took the hint. She gave her mother another hug and almost danced out of the cottage, swinging the empty bucket by her side.

  ‘We’re in no hurry for that water,’ called Mrs Garnett.

  * * *

  When she returned, Jess found the two women talking across the table like old friends.

  ‘Mrs Garnett ’ere tells me they ’ave their Florrie Baxters in Tiln’urst as well as in Poplar,’ said Rose laughing.

  ‘Just like ’ome,’ said Jess, topping up the big black kettle.

  ‘An’ I always thought country people were too busy complainin’ about us Londoners to find time to gossip about each other.’ Realising what she had said, Rose apologised to Mrs Garnett. ‘No offence, of course.’

  ‘None taken, I’m sure.’

  ‘We don’t get involved with none of that lark, Mum,’ said Jess, putting down the empty bucket outside the door. ‘Do we, Mrs Garnett?’

  Mrs Garnett smiled her agreement.

  ‘That’s why I’m so ’appy stayin’ ‘ere in the cottage, see. It’s just like bein’ at ’ome with you, Mum. Won’t ’ave none of their nosin’ and tellin’ tales, will yer, Mrs Garnett?’

  ‘I’m glad to ’ear it,’ Rose said to the kindly countrywoman. ‘I did me best to bring Jessie up to be a good girl, an’ not ’ave nothin’ to do with bad talk about no one. There’s enough of that without us joinin’ in.’

  ‘There’s good and bad all over, I reckon,’ said Mrs Garnett. ‘Town or country. Good and bad.’

  ‘Yer right there, Mrs Garnett,’ agreed Rose. ‘It’s like in the ’op gardens. We’ve got a real good ’un doing the measurin’ this year. Talk about chalk an’ cheese. Yer wouldn’t think ’e was even the same breed as that Theo, or whatever ’is name was. I know we’ve only been pickin’ a day but yer can tell already that’s ’e’s really fair, this new bloke. Polite an’ all. Says “good mornin’” an’ everythin’. What ’appened to that Theo anyway?’

  Mrs Garnett beamed with pleasure as Jess answered her mother.

  ‘Theo’s not around any more. ’E joined up. So Mr Garn
ett took over the measurin’. It’s ’im what’s so nice. ’E’s much too old to join up, see.’

  ‘I’m not that old, Jessie.’

  The three women looked round to see the gardener standing in the doorway.

  ‘I was expecting you to come and see us, Mrs Fairleigh. You’re very welcome.’ He stepped out of his mud-caked boots and walked in his stockinged feet to join them at the table.

  ‘Keep your voice down, Matthew,’ his wife scolded him playfully. ‘The baby’s asleep.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he whispered.

  ‘She’s fine,’ said Jess, smiling at the gentle gardener. ‘Sleeps like a log she does, Mum,’ she added proudly.

  Matthew Garnett kept his voice lowered anyway. ‘I came back to tell you I won’t be finished for a while yet, Susan.’ He looked at Rose. ‘In all truth, I wasn’t sad to see the back of Theo and his meddling ways. We don’t approve of that kind of thing in this family. But with all the other jobs I have to do now, I’m working from dawn ‘til it’s pitch-dark.’ He turned back to his wife. ‘I’ll have a quick cup of tea, then I’ll have to get back.’ He swallowed the hot tea amazingly quickly and stood up to leave. ‘Good job we’ve got your Jessie here to help us, eh, Mrs Fairleigh?’

  ‘I’m glad she’s doin’ ’er share, Mr Garnett. An’ before yer go I wanna thank yer for takin’ ’er in. An’ for not sayin’ nothin’ down in the ’op gardens.’

  ‘There’s no tittle-tattlers in this cottage, Mrs Fairleigh,’ he assured her.

  * * *

  By the time the harvest was in full swing, Rose had become a familiar face at the Garnetts’ cottage. And, like Leonore Worlington, she took every opportunity to slip away to the Garnetts’ to see Jess and Sylvia.

  Susan and Matthew Garnett made Rose as welcome as any member of their own family, although they found Leonore’s visits rather more of a strain. They just didn’t know how to treat the mistress of the Hall in such unfamiliar circumstances, and found themselves acting awkwardly and shyly with her.

  Sylvia’s reactions were far less complicated to the two women. She had learnt to recognise her grandmothers and delighted them both with her cooing and gurgling whenever they visited.

  But Rose’s visits to the cottage were a source of real anxiety for one person. And that was Florrie Baxter. She suffered horribly, fretting and worrying herself about where Rose could be disappearing to all the time. She had tried to follow her on more than one occasion but the twins spoilt her plans every time. They just would not cooperate with her efforts at secret snooping, and had given her away with their noisy questioning about where she thought she was going and what she thought she was doing. Unfortunately for Florrie, nosiness was a definite Baxter family trait.

  * * *

  Rose could hardly believe it when the harvest came to an end. It was as though it had only just started. She had never known hop picking fly by so quickly. It had been such a strange time: all the joy and happiness at seeing her beautiful granddaughter, and seeing for herself that Jess was doing so well. Even the weather had been glorious. But all the time, there in the background, were the worries nagging away at her. She worried that Jess would be found out and get put away again to keep her quiet. And she fretted over whether Bill and Sammy would come home safely from the war. And she was still concerned about Charlie; no matter what his letters said, it wasn’t like having him at home with her. And as for Jack, well that didn’t even bear thinking about.

  Rose went one last time to the Garnetts’ cottage, to say her farewells to Jess and to little Sylvia, and to say thank you to the Garnetts.

  Susan and Jess had made special cakes and sandwiches and Matthew had brought flowers from the garden to decorate the kitchen table. Leonore had arrived early with a new dress for Sylvia, to make her look pretty for Nanna Fairleigh’s goodbye tea. She was sitting holding her granddaughter when Rose arrived.

  ‘There you are, my beauty,’ said Leonore as she handed Sylvia to Rose. ‘Go and see your grandmama.’

  An hour later, the food, so lovingly prepared, was still hardly touched. Nobody had much of an appetite.

  ‘I’ll just go upstairs and get a box to pack some of these cakes in for your journey, Rose,’ said Mrs Garnett. ‘Be a pity to waste them.’

  ‘Thank yer, Susan. I’d like that. Sorry I didn’t eat much. It was such a lovely spread yer put on as well.’

  ‘No need to explain. I understand, my dear. Now I might be a little while finding a box, so you can sit there and have a nice chat. And, Matthew, didn’t you say as how you wanted to dig up a few vegetables for Rose to take home with her?’

  ‘What? Oh yes, yes. That I did,’ said Matthew, pulling on his boots and taking his wife’s hint to leave their guests alone.

  ‘I wonder if I might stay for a while?’ asked Leonore.

  ‘I’d be glad if yer would,’ said Rose.

  The three women talked as they watched Sylvia rolling around on the rug in front of the range, biting at her fists and gurgling away in the busy little language that made sense only to her.

  ‘I’ll miss seein’ ’er take ’er first steps, Jess,’ said Rose sadly.

  ‘Don’t be like that, Mum. Be ’appy for me.’

  ‘Yer said that before, darlin’ – be ’appy for me. So did our Charlie.’ Rose buried her face in her hands. ‘Just before ’e left. Yer sound just like ’im.’

  ‘Is that your son who joined the army?’ asked Leonore sympathetically.

  ‘No,’ said Rose looking up at her. ‘That’s me oldest – our Sammy. Charlie’s the one who went off to Chicago. That’s in America, that is. The one ’oo wants to open a club. What a way to earn a livin’ for a kid from Burton Street, eh? Yer know, ’e’s worried the life out of me at times.’ Rose bent down and picked up the baby. She held Sylvia closely to her, feeling the comfort of her life and warmth. ‘When yer see ’em like this, yer wouldn’t believe it, would yer? Yer wouldn’t believe they could grow up to be such bloody nuisances, an’ break yer ’eart.’

  Leonore bowed her head. ‘Robert has gone with the British Expeditionary Force to Belgium. I hear from friends who know about such things that it might be dangerous.’ She looked at Rose, then at Jess. Her voice shook. ‘I hope you can understand. Even though he behaved so abominably, I still worry about him. I am his mother, when all’s said and done.’

  Sylvia produced a loud, throaty chuckle as Rose tickled her dimpled knees. ‘I can understand all right, Leonore,’ she said. ‘No matter what they do, yer still love ’em.’

  Jess did not say anything. She just looked at Sylvia and wondered if she would always love her child as unreservedly as these two women loved theirs.

  * * *

  ‘Yer gonna get down, Rosie Fairleigh, or what?’ asked Joe softly. ‘Everyone’s waitin’, an’ me poor ol’ pony’s nearly a-kip.’

  ‘Do what?’ Rose opened her eyes and looked around her. They were in Burton Street already. She felt for a moment as though she had never been away.

  ‘You, Rosie Fairleigh,’ butted in Florrie loudly. ‘’E said, are yer gettin’ down or what? Gawd blimey, gel, yer ain’t said nothin’ for the ’ole journey ’ome. Now yer in a bleedin’ dream. Whatever’s the matter with yer?’

  ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ Rose climbed down from Joey Fuller’s cart and began half-heartedly unloading her bags and boxes from the back.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ said Florrie huffily. ‘Now perhaps I can reach some of my gear. If nobody minds, that is. Gettin’ in people’s way. I think it’s a liberty.’

  ‘’Ere she goes, Lil,’ said Elsie Dorkin, nudging her daughter. ‘Found somethin’ else to bleed’n’ moan about for a change.’

  ‘There’s some of us, Elsie, as wants to get ’ome to see to our ’ousework an’ our jobs an’ that. Wanna sort things out after bein’ away. We ain’t all like you Dorkins, yer know.’

  ‘An’ what’s that supposed to mean, yer bigmouthed old tart?’ Elsie yelled at the top of her booming voice.
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  ‘Ladies, ladies. Please.’ Joey decided it was time to intervene, before physical violence took over from verbal abuse. ‘Do us a favour. We’ve only been back in Burton Street for five minutes. What’re yer old men gonna think, eh? They’ll be sittin’ there waitin’ for yer with open arms, an’ all they’ll get is a load of screamin’ an’ ’ollerin’.’

  ‘’Er old man’ll be down at The Star out of ’er way, if ’e’s got any sense,’ spat Elsie, pointing aggressively at Florrie.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Joey. ‘I’ve ’ad enough.’ With two sweeps of his arms he calmly sent all the remaining bags and baggage tumbling on to the pavement at the astonished women’s feet.

  Despite the emptiness she felt, Rose couldn’t help laughing as Elsie and Florrie set to fighting over ownership of the pile of parcels. They even continued squabbling over one of the packages as they walked along the road back to their houses, not giving a damn as to who saw or heard them.

  ‘Will yer look at ’em?’ said Joey. ‘That’s my brown paper parcel, that is, give it ’ere,’ he whined, in a very creditable impersonation of Florrie Baxter.

  ‘Yer a caution, Joey Fuller,’ said Rose.

  ‘More like a bleed’n’ ’eadcase puttin’ up with this lot every year,’ he said, sitting down on the kerb and rolling himself a cigarette.

  ‘Joey?’

  ‘Yeh, Rose.’

  ‘Can I talk to yer?’

  ‘Course yer can, mate.’

  ‘Not ’ere though. Indoors, eh? In me ’ouse. I won’t keep yer long.’

  ‘Sure.’ Joey stood up and slung Daddler’s reins over her neck. ‘Stay there, gel,’ he said to the little pony. ‘Come on then, Rose.’

  The sight of Joey Fuller going into Number 8 Burton Street with Rose Fairleigh had a miraculous effect on Florrie. She had, until that moment, still been straddling her doorstep and screeching abuse at Elsie as they struggled over possession of the parcel. But now she stood stock-still and stared along the road.