Custard Tarts and Broken Hearts (13 page)

‘What do I care what they think?’ he said defiantly.

‘But what about what I think?’ She pretended to be angry, keeping her voice down.

‘You’re a good kisser, Nellie.’ He smiled, disarmingly.

‘You said that before.’

‘Yes, and it’s like anything else, if you’re good at something, you like to practise it.’ He flashed her his brightest grin, and then pointed towards where the Goodwin Sands now stood, miles of them, like a golden island surrounded by the silvery sea.

Once they got there, the descent from the boat was precarious. Nellie was beginning to wish they hadn’t come. She was hot, flustered by Ted’s uncontrollable boldness, and now she wondered if she really wanted to be standing on a sandbank with the deep sea all around her.

‘What if the tide changes, Ted?’ she asked anxiously.

‘It won’t. The old captain knows his job, we’ll be right as rain. Come on!’

He had descended the wooden duckboard that had been laid from boat to sand and was standing at the bottom, waiting for her. So that she didn’t have to walk through the pools of water in their path, he picked her up and carried her to the firm beach.

Nellie caught her breath and looked around her. She was astonished. The sand was not flat; the tide had sculpted it into long rippling mounds which looked like the ridges on the back of some slumbering sea beast.

‘What a sight!’ Ted exclaimed. ‘This is something to tell our kids about, eh, Nellie?’

Time seemed to stand still for Nellie – had she heard right? Did he really think that much of her? She’d told herself he was a long way from any such commitments, probably always would be.

‘Alice and the kids will never believe it!’ was all she said.

They looked back and could just make out Ramsgate seafront, but Ted did not want to stand still; he was off, pulling Nellie along with him. She had only ever seen him look as excited when he was up on a soapbox during the strike.

‘Let’s see how far it goes, there’s miles!’

Nellie was having trouble keeping up and she half trotted beside him, trying to keep the parasol between her and the sun, which was burning her fair skin. Thinking that by now she must look as attractive as a boiled lobster, she doubted he’d want to be kissing her on the voyage back.

Soon they had outstripped the other day trippers and Ted put out his hand, helping her to leap over the increasingly frequent pools of water in their path. Nellie looked nervously back at the others, now just white smudges, standing in groups near the boat. ‘I think we should go back, Ted, we don’t want to get cut off.’

But he wouldn’t listen; he pushed on and her anxiety grew. Finally she stopped still, digging her heels in to the soft sand. ‘I’m not going any further!’ she called to his back, and he turned his sunburned face to her, his green eyes clouded with incomprehension.

‘Come on, it’s safe as houses. Don’t be such a baby.’

But, no, Nellie was sure of it, the texture of the sand had changed. Whereas the long ridges had been hard and compacted, this sand was sucking and jelly-like.

‘Ted, come back now!’ she almost screamed at him. ‘I’m sure the tide’s coming in, you’ll get stuck!’

Still he trudged on and she knew she wouldn’t follow. She heard the long shrill hoot from the steamer, the signal for them to get back on the boat, and she turned and began walking back on her own, dimly aware that Ted had at least stopped his advance. She had never felt such fear in her life. Every pool seemed to be filling rapidly, the sand sucking at her feet and slowing her progress. Panic had overtaken her, she didn’t care if Ted was behind her or not, and when she finally reached firmer sand she picked up her skirts and sprinted back to the steamer. Now she could see clearly how much danger Ted had put her in, for the sea had encroached upon the sand alarmingly. Ted’s distant figure was at least now moving towards the boat, but two claws of bright water were closing around him like pincers. The passengers were all aboard and the captain ushered her up the duckboard. ‘What’s that young idiot up to? Was he trying to drown you both?’ he growled.

Nellie tried to apologize, but the captain was furiously pulling on the hooter and gesturing for Ted to get a move on. She could see him coming closer, walking swiftly now but still not running. The other passengers were getting restive and shame turned Nellie’s sunburned face a deeper red as he finally made it on board. With the merest tip of his cap he gave his apologies to the captain, who was now furiously pulling in the duckboard, while shouting at Ted, ‘Help me with this, you young fool. If this boat gets stuck in the sand, she’ll sink.’

She felt the boat lurch as the tide lifted it and the steam engine chugged into life. They swung out, they were clear!

Ted joined her at the back of the boat and tried to take her hand. She snatched it away. ‘If you ever do something like that to me again, Ted Bosher, we’re finished! You might not care about your own life, but I’ve got kids depending on me!’

She was livid, blaming herself for forgetting that her life was not her own. Ted Bosher had not just jeopardized her life, he’d threatened theirs. But if she’d insisted Al and the boys come with them, this would never have happened. Was it so selfish of her to have wanted this day alone with Ted? For any other girl her age, perhaps not, but now Nellie knew that the claims of her heart would always have to take second place to the welfare of her family. She turned her face away from Ted and gazed steadily back at the Goodwin Sands. All she could make out were the spars and ribs of some ancient wreck and soon the last of the sands were covered by the deep green sea.

11

Fire and Ice

Their day at Goodwin Sands marked the end of that fierce summer. For the first time in months the sun no longer shone, and by October the temperatures began to cool. Ted’s ardour did not cool, however, and he continued to court her into the shorter, misty days of autumn. But her early feelings of girlish elation had suffered a blow that day at Ramsgate. She had taken an instinctive step back. A preservation instinct had been born in her the day her mother died, but not just for herself. The day she became a motherless child, she’d stepped into the role of childless mother, and she would protect Alice and Bobby and Freddie as if she’d given birth to them herself. Ted’s actions had nearly deprived her siblings of their second mother and that she could not forgive. So little by little she began to shield her heart.

She was glad of this defence when the day came, as she knew it would, that Ted finally lost patience and demanded more than just kisses and cuddles. If she had only herself to think about she might have given him what he wanted for, in spite of his faults, he could still make her heart lurch just by the way his hair fell across his forehead. She might have ignored all Maggie’s advice if it hadn’t been for the two little boys she still tucked up in bed every night. She felt the irony of it, but had to admit that another firm anchor to her home was her changed father. The prospect of losing his youngest son had forcibly ejected him from his prison of grief. For a time it seemed he felt physical pain just being separated from the little boy; he would come home at odd times throughout the day to check on him, calling out, ‘Where’s my brave boy, are you staying out of trouble?’ At first it seemed as if he would only have enough love to spare for Bobby and this contented Nellie, for it made him a much pleasanter presence in the house. Then, gradually, that love spread like honey from the broken comb of her father’s heart, first to Freddie who, not wanting to be left out, would make sure he was present whenever his father started fussing over Bobby. Being the practical boy that he was, he ran for drinks or blankets at his father’s command and basked in the few words of praise he received. Then Alice was pulled into the charmed circle. Still Nellie wanted nothing for herself; it was enough to have a peaceful home and a father who let her come and go as she pleased, with no questions. But over the weeks she noticed a change in his treatment of her. It felt as though Bobby had formed a bridge from her father’s heart to her own, she caring for the boy on one side, her father caring for him on the other, and across that bridge finally she saw him looking at her with a warmth she longed desperately to call love.

She and Ted still walked but their destinations altered with the season. Often now they went through the misty evenings to London Bridge Station, just for somewhere to go. Wreathed in smoke and steam, there was life and bustle and warmth there, which Nellie preferred to the chilly streets. Ted liked to watch the trains chuffing and screaming into the platforms, and would make Nellie wait till the engine-room doors opened and they could catch a glimpse of the stokers feeding the flames. Nellie preferred to stroll around the station, watching the travellers and imagining their destinations. On their way home one night, Nellie suggested stopping at the Green Ginger.

‘I’m skint, Nell,’ he admitted.

‘What, didn’t you get called on today?’ she asked.

‘Not today, there’s nothing on,’ he said, and looked at her steadily. She wouldn’t question him but she risked embarrassing him. ‘It’s my treat,’ she offered. She was missing her friend and guessed Lily might be in the Green Ginger with some of the other custard tarts.

She was right and it felt a relief to be enveloped by their warm, welcoming chatter. She slipped Ted some coins to get a drink and he made a grateful retreat to the bar. But Maggie Tyrell had missed nothing.

‘Oh, your chap’s very free, ain’t he?’ she called out, loud enough for the whole pub to hear. Nellie shushed her and Ted looked back. Lit by the gas lamp, his face flared with a fierce annoyance. Lily leaned over and whispered, ‘What’s he cadging off you for? Dad worked all day, then did an all-nighter, he said the boats was queueing up for unloading!’

Ted came back, but seemed uncomfortable with the boisterous familiarity of the custard tarts. Nellie was thinking of leaving when Sam Gilbie, who sometimes drank there after work, walked in. Nellie always made a point of acknowledging Sam, stopping for a chat and asking after his mother and the children. She knew this would make Ted even more morose and testy.

Oh, sod him
, she thought, annoyed that he’d taken money and dismayed that he’d lied about his work. She turned her smile towards Sam, who had stopped at their table. Ignoring Ted, she asked after Sam’s family. ‘Mum went into Guy’s for a week.’

Her heart lurched at the news, evidence that her promise to Lizzie had the power to wrench her out of her own life at any moment. Try as she might to ignore it, a part of her was always on alert that one day the Fates would ask her to redeem her pledge and then the whole of her youth would be used up in looking after other people’s children. Sam, seeing her face, hastily reassured her.

‘Don’t look so worried, it seemed to do her good! And our Matty was a little diamond, running the house. She’s old before her time, that one. Did I tell you she went in for a singing competition at the Star?’ This got the attention of Lily and the other girls.

‘What did she sing?’

‘Charlie says she brought the house down with “Last Rose of Summer” and she come first!’

Nellie was delighted, and joined in the chorus of congratulations. Looking round for Ted, she saw he’d left the table and was back up at the bar. It wouldn’t have hurt him, she thought, to be pleasant for once. Sam went off to join his mates and when Ted came back, she quickly got up and said her goodbyes. She kissed Lily, who whispered, ‘Give bear’s breath his marching orders and stay with us!’ Nellie shook her head and, as she followed Ted out of the pub, she wondered if it might not be easier if they kept to their solitary walks in future.

They were, in any case, beginning to spend more time outside Bermondsey, venturing over the other side to a café, or if they had money to a show in the West End. But it became obvious over the following weeks that Ted was increasingly short of money, and it was often she who paid for their outings. These days when he came to meet Nellie at Duff’s gates after work, her initial delight was too often tempered with the suspicion that his main interest was in cadging the odd shilling from her. ‘Just a sub until the next boat comes in,’ he would say, and she would dig uneasily into her purse, knowing deep down that the boat would never arrive.

The momentous year of 1911 turned, as a freezing December gave way to grey January skies damp with perpetual drizzle. Nellie found herself longing for those sunbaked eventful days of the previous summer. The new year also seemed to bring a change in Ted. Perhaps the excitement of the strike victory and his new romance with her had begun to wane, but she noticed an increasing number of absences through those early months of 1912 and by the beginning of summer he seemed to be away more often than at home. When she questioned him about where he’d been, his stock reply was, ‘Union work.’

She told herself she had no reason to doubt him. The unrest of 1911 had carried over into this year, erupting into more strikes; the coal miners came out in March and the London dockers again by May. Ted always wanted to be in the thick of it, at rallies in Wales or meetings in Poplar. But sometimes the details of his trips away were so sketchy that Nellie began to feel uneasy. Perhaps he’d finally got fed up with her and found himself another girl, one who wouldn’t be so prudish with him.

Then one day towards the end of July, Lily came to her in a panic. ‘Nellie, I’ve got to talk to you about our Ted. Mum’s worried sick about him!’

Nellie was immediately alert. ‘Why, what’s he done?’

‘Nothing… I hope, not yet. But Mum found some pamphlets in a jacket she was mending for him. Nell, I’m scared, they were full of anarchist talk about revolution, there was pictures of men with guns and bombs!’

Nellie tried to calm her friend. ‘You know Ted! Sometimes it’s all talk, Lil.’

But secretly Nellie was worried about what Ted might have got himself involved with. She remembered how angry he’d been when the soldiers turned their bayonets on strikers last year. The deaths of innocent bystanders in Liverpool and Wales had incensed him. Afterwards, when the soldiers got off scot-free, he’d gone on and on for days about it, saying it was murder and they weren’t even in the strike, just putting up shop shutters or standing in their gardens. He took it so personally, nothing she could say would make him let it go. Nellie had learned to look out anxiously now for a liquid fire in those green eyes; it was like something burning under the sea and some days it frightened her.