The Cockney Girl

by The Cockney Girl (retail) (epub)

  ‘’Ardly. We never ’ad none of this posh gear down there.’

  Jess laughed. ‘Yer right. Our Charlie’s been really good to us. I’d never ’ave been able to afford all this stuff for Sylvie.’

  ‘Well, it’s only right,’ said Rose. ‘Us Fairleighs ’ave always stuck together. We’ve always ’elped our own. An’ that’s why I want yer to take the money ’e left with me.’

  ‘Not again, Mum. No! I’ve got more than enough. Yer know ’e sent me fare an’ everythin’. An’ Robert’s got ’is army money an’ Leonore lent ’im that bit extra.’ Jess broke into an exasperated smile. ‘Yer ’ave me goin’ through all this nearly every day, don’t yer? I’ll say it one last time. We’re fine. All right?’

  ‘It never ’urts to ’ave a bit extra. A bit put by.’

  ‘Mum. Don’t.’

  ‘You’re wilful, Jessie Fairleigh.’

  ‘Now I wonder where I got that from, eh, Mum?’ said Jess, all wide-eyed innocence. ‘An’ yer know I mean to pay back everyone an’ all, don’t yer? So I don’t need no more debts now, do I? Yer keep the money.’ She handed Rose the final pile of Sylvia’s clothes. ‘Tell yer what, keep it for yer fares when yer bring Ted out to see us.’

  ‘Is Nanna coming on the boat with us tomorrow?’ said Sylvia, suddenly interested in the adults’ conversation.

  ‘Not tomorrow she’s not, sweet’eart,’ said Jess.

  ‘But ’oo knows,’ said Rose, closing the lid of the trunk, ‘we just might come over to see yer one day. That’d surprise yer, Jess, wouldn’t it?’

  * * *

  ‘Joey’s ’ere, Jess,’ Ted shouted up the stairs. ‘Jess, I said Joey’s ’ere, cloth-ears.’

  ‘I ’eard yer the first time,’ Jess called down to her brother. ‘’Ang on a minute, will yer.’

  ‘I can’t believe this mornin’s come already,’ said Rose, biting her lip.

  ‘An’ Robert’s ’ere now an’ all,’ hollered Ted.

  ‘I ain’t surprised he’s turned up.’

  ‘Nor am I, Mum,’ said Jess, smiling.

  ‘I knew ’e wouldn’t be able to wait down at the docks for yer.’

  ‘Come on, Sylvie,’ Ted called from the passage. ‘Yer come down at least.’

  Sylvia picked up her dolly from the landing where she’d been playing and slid down the stairs on her bottom.

  ‘Give yer uncle a great big cuddle,’ he said, catching her up in his arms. ‘Awwww, I’m gonna miss yer, princess.’

  Ted carried Sylvia outside into the bright morning air. Burton Street had done the Fairleighs proud; the houses were all decked with bunting, paper flowers and good luck messages wishing them well. The neighbours stood at a respectful distance by their street doors, ready to wave and cheer their best. Nobody wanted to miss the opportunity for a knees-up, and a farewell party was as good a reason as any, even if the guest of honour would be steaming away on an ocean liner.

  Jess flew down the stairs and made a dash for the street door, her hands held up in front of her, just in time to stop Robert from coming into the passage.

  ‘Careful, Robert,’ she shouted, her voice breaking with emotion. ‘Don’t tread on the step, Mum’s just cleaned it. An’ she’s right proud of ’er step. Cleanest step in Burton Street that is, ain’t it, Mum?’ she said, turning to face her mother.

  Rose threw her arms round her daughter. ‘Jessie.’

  ‘I love yer so much, Mum.’

  ‘An’ I love yer too, darlin’.’

  ‘I know, Mum. Listen,’ sniffed Jess, ‘I don’t want yer to come to the docks with us. All right? Or Ted. I won’t be able to stand it. Saying goodbye to yer both again.’

  ‘All right, Jess.’ Rose fussed lovingly with Jess’s auburn hair, tucking a stray curl under the brim of her blue velvet hat. ‘Joey’ll see yer off for me, won’t yer, Joe.’

  ‘Course I will, Rose,’ said Joey getting out of the cab of his van.

  ‘Bit smarter than the old cart, eh, Joe?’ said Ted, running his hand appreciatively over the shiny new coachwork.

  ‘I dunno, Ted. I miss me ol’ Daddler,’ said Joey. ‘Even more than I miss me old mum sometimes, God rest her.’

  ‘You get in, Jess,’ said Robert, ‘and I’ll sit Sylvia on your lap.’

  ‘I’ll write yer loads of letters, Mum.’ Jess sniffed loudly as she slid along the seat. ‘Pity Jack Barnes ain’t around to deliver ’em to yer, eh?’

  ‘Jack?’ said Robert as he got in next to her. ‘Someone I know?’

  ‘No, no one. Just an ol’ mate of mine.’

  ‘I thought I remembered the name from somewhere.’

  ‘No,’ said Jess. ‘Yer wouldn’t know Jack Barnes.’

  ‘Thanks for takin’ ’em for me, Joe,’ said Rose, touching him lightly on the shoulder.

  ‘It’s a pleasure, Rosie.’

  Ted cranked the starting handle until the engine spluttered into life. The cheers went up the length of Burton Street as the van pulled away with all the children running along the road behind it, waving homemade flags and hankies, calling out their farewells and best wishes for the journey.

  “Ow about a drink down The Star, eh, Mum?’ said Ted, putting his arm round Rose’s shoulder. ‘A port and lemon. Let’s join in the party to see ’em off. Come on.’

  ‘Later on, boy. Yer go down there. I’ll see yer later on.’

  ‘Yer ain’t gonna get all ’umpy are yer, Mum?’

  ‘No, son. Go on, they’re all callin’ yer. I’m goin’ to pop indoors for a bit, there’s somethin’ I’ve gotta see to first.’

  * * *

  Rose went inside Number 8 and put the kettle on. She made a cup of tea and sat for a long time, just thinking. Then she went upstairs into her bedroom and took a package from behind the chest of drawers. She sat on the bed and unwrapped the crumpled brown paper. Inside was the wad of money she’d wanted to give to Jess, a lock of golden hair and a stained piece of cloth that could once have been a yellow paisley scarf. She took out the cloth and the lock of hair, and put them in her apron pocket. Then carefully she refolded the paper round the money, and put it back in its hiding place.

  Rose went downstairs into the kitchen and slipped the lock of golden hair into the corner of the framed photograph of Jess and Sylvia, the present that Jess had given her that morning before she left for her new life in America. She stood the picture back on the mantelshelf next to the clock, and smiled at it. Then she took a taper and lit it from the range. Shielding the flame with her hand Rose went out into the back yard. Taking the dirty yellow scrap from her pocket, Rose held it up and set light to its ragged corner.

  ‘Rest in peace, Jack Barnes,’ she said, watching the flames take hold. ‘Rest in peace. Whatever our Charlie did, I know ’e never meant no ’arm to no one. An’ now ’e’s gonna look out for your Jessie. She’s gonna be all right after all.’

  ‘They got off all right, Rose.’

  Surprised to hear Joey’s voice, Rose turned and dropped the burning cloth to the ground. ‘Do what?’

  ‘They’ve gone. On the ship. Yer didn’t mind me comin’ in, did yer? The street door was open. I thought I’d come in to tell yer all about it.’

  ‘Course I don’t mind, Joe. I’ll be in in a minute. I’m just seein’ to somethin’ out ’ere.’ Her voice trailed into a whisper as the last fragment of cloth burnt away.

  ‘Yer carry on, Rose. I ain’t in no ’urry.’

  ‘It’s all right, I’ve finished now.’ She moved the ashes around with the toe of her boot, studying the patterns they made. She paused, took a deep breath, then spoke. ‘Fancy a cup o’ tea, Joe?’ she said, looking up at him with a bright smile.

  Five minutes later Rose was pouring Joe his tea from the big brown earthenware teapot.

  ‘I’ll ’ave to get meself one of them fancy little china pots from down the market,’ she said. ‘I ain’t ’ad much use for this great big ol’ thing in donkey’s years. I don’t s’pose even our Ted’ll be around much longer,
either.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ said Joey, blowing on the hot tea.

  ‘Got ’is eye on one of Elsie’s gels, if yer don’t mind,’ said Rose, laughing. ‘Sybil. ’Er youngest.’

  ‘They’ve got good ’earts, Rose, them Dorkins.’

  ‘Yeh. ’E could do a lot worse for ’imself. But I reckon I’ll ’ave to get used to bein’ on me own again.’

  ‘Yer’ll never be on yer own while I’m around,’ said Joey shyly. ‘Yer know that, Rose, don’t yer?’

  ‘Yeh, I reckon I do, Joe.’ She smiled across at him, at his kind, open face.

  ‘’Ow about if we pop over The Star later on?’ he said. ‘Let me treat yer to a drink.’

  ‘Why not?’ she said. ‘I’d like that, Joe. Ta.’

  ‘Might as well give Florrie somethin’ to talk about, eh, Rose?’

  First published in the United Kingdom in 1992 by Headline Book Publishing

  This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by

  Canelo Digital Publishing Limited

  57 Shepherds Lane

  Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU

  United Kingdom

  Copyright © Gilda O'Neill, 1992

  The moral right of Gilda O'Neill to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781788634571

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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