Custard Tarts and Broken Hearts (8 page)

‘We ain’t seen nothing of him today, didn’t come home for his dinner, and I’ve been so worried about you, Nell!’

‘Don’t worry, Al,’ Nellie said, squeezing her little sister’s hand, ‘we’ll be together again soon, I know we will.’

‘We can’t stop long, I’m scared in case he comes home and finds us gone,’ Alice said, gulping the rest of her tea.

Nellie saw them out and, at the top of the basement steps, gave Alice some hurried instructions about looking after her brothers and father. Alice left with promises to bring the boys back to see her when she could.

‘And you two boys do as Alice tells you while I’m gone!’ Nellie called after them as they turned the corner.

The following evening, after another long day at the Labour Institute, she and Lily were sitting outside on the wall at the top of the Boshers’ basement steps, trying to cool off in what passed for an evening breeze. The temperatures had reached a hundred degrees that day and the two girls barely had enough energy to chat. Nellie saw Alice first, being followed two steps behind by the boys, who both had sorrowful hangdog expressions. She was surprised to see them again so soon; she’d expected her father to monitor their comings and goings more closely. But as Alice sat herself on the wall beside them, Nellie knew immediately that all was not well.

‘What’s the matter with you two?’ Nellie asked the glum-looking boys.

‘Dad give us a walloping!’ Freddie shouted at her, his face swollen and red with tears.

Before Nellie had a chance to blame her father, Alice jumped in. ‘He found out they’ve been swimming in the river.’

Bobby and Freddie, like all the boys who lived anywhere near the Thames, made it their playground during the summer. They would regularly sneak down the river stairs, leap across the moored barges tied up in rows that reached almost to the middle of the river, and then dive into the treacherous currents. The great wide sweep of the Thames, which wound through Bermondsey and Rotherhithe, was perilous and polluted and their father had quite rightly forbidden them from swimming in its waters. But Nellie could understand how the overwhelming heat had won out over her father’s warnings: the water might be filthy, but at least it was cool.

‘Well, don’t come looking for sympathy, it’s your own fault!’ she said, as Bobby came to lean on Nellie’s knees. She kissed the top of his head, nonetheless, belying her stern tone.

‘He don’t care about us, anyway,’ said Freddie, banging his boot against the bottom of the wall. ‘He never even speaks to us, just belts us.’

Whatever Nellie felt about her father, it hurt her to think his sons thought this way about him. ‘Well, he just doesn’t want you to end up like your friend Michael McIlvoy, does he?’

One of their neighbour’s children, nine-year-old Michael McIlvoy, had swum out to a notorious current in the centre of the Thames known as the Fountain. Boys would let themselves be dragged under and sucked along beneath the water by the undertow and, if they were lucky, they were shot clean out of the river by a water spout. It was deadly fun, but Michael McIlvoy was not lucky: he had missed the water jet and the undercurrent took him all the way down to Greenwich, where his body was found the next day.

‘But we didn’t go anywhere near the Fountain!’ Freddie protested.

‘It doesn’t matter! If you slip between the barges, you drown anyway. How many times do we have to tell you!’ Bobby’s head felt hot in her lap and she lifted him up. ‘You two have got to be good while I’m away. Just keep Dad happy, all right? Now promise me you won’t go down the foreshore tomorrow?’

When Bobby nodded and Freddie gave her a grudging promise, Nellie dug into her apron pocket. One of the more eccentric philanthropists had responded to Eliza James’s appeal for food with six jars of humbugs and a barrel of sardines. The boys’ faces lit up at the sight of the bag of humbugs that Nellie now dangled in front of them.

‘You only get ’em if you’re good for Alice!’ she said as Freddie whipped them out of her hand and immediately stuffed a black-and-white striped sweet into his mouth.

‘’Course we’ll be good, we’re always good, ain’t we, Bob?’

With their cheeks bulging, they looked like two grinning hamsters, and Nellie was glad she’d at least managed to send them home happier than when they’d arrived.

Nellie worked for the next few days at the Labour Institute, leaving the Boshers’ house early, with Lily, to start assembling food parcels and then doling them out all day. Sometimes she found it more exhausting than working in the factory; the constant press of people, with their worried faces and their hungry children, was draining her. She was grateful for a ten-minute break in the little basement canteen and was just enjoying her first cup of tea of the day when she saw Eliza James approaching.

‘Nellie, dear, you’d best come with me. Someone wants to talk to you.’

‘Who?’

But Eliza simply took her by the arm, leading her out to another small basement room. Nellie asked again, ‘Who wants me?’

Eliza pushed open the door and stood back to reveal Sam Gilbie, standing with his cap in his hand. Nellie was confused and looked at each of them in turn, wondering what on earth was going on. For a moment, she thought it was something to do with finding a room for her. But Eliza didn’t look as though she was about to impart good news and Sam’s face was grim.

‘What is it, Sam?’ Nellie felt fear ripple through her. Had his mother died?

‘Nellie, your father sent me to fetch you…’

There was a moment’s relief, first that it wasn’t Lizzie and then at the thought that her father had relented. She could go home again! But then she saw Sam shake his head.

‘It’s Bobby, it looks like he’s got the dysentery…’

Nellie’s hand covered her mouth as she tried to stifle the cry, remembering the two little coffins she’d seen pass along Vauban Street only a few days ago.

‘Oh, no, Sam, not Bobby. Is it bad? Oh, no.’ Her knees buckled and he sprang to catch her. Eliza had her under the other arm and the two of them half carried her up the stairs out to the back yard and the waiting cart.

‘Get me there quick, Sam. Bobby needs me, get me there quick.’ Panic had fallen over her like a chill, icy covering, which no summer heat could penetrate. Her mouth was dry, but a cold sheen of sweat enveloped her. Her breath came in shallow, harsh rasps. They helped her up on to the front seat and, as though from a great distance, she heard Eliza say, ‘I’m so sorry, Nellie. I would come with you, but I can’t leave things as they are here…’

‘No, of course you can’t,’ Sam replied, and his tone was steel.

‘Thank you, madam, thank you. Could someone let Lily know?’ Nellie asked, just as Sam slapped the reins and manoeuvred the cart out of the yard. The streets were a blur as the horse clipped along, and Nellie found herself gripping the side board till her knuckles were white. She thought of all the times Sam Gilbie had asked her to ride in this cart, feeling she would give anything if only it could be one of those times now. And then she found herself making a stupid bargain with God. If you spare Bobby, I’ll be kinder to Sam. I promise I’ll ride in the bloody cart whenever he wants me to. Spare Bobby, she prayed silently and fervently, and I’ll keep the promise I made his mum, I will, just let Bobby be all right…

Sam pulled up the cart in Vauban Street and helped her down. ‘He’s a strong little ’un, Nellie. Try not to worry too much, he’ll get through it,’ he said quietly.

She wished she could believe him. If the other two children in the street had been carried off by dysentery, what was there to save Bobby? People were blaming the dock strike for the lack of fresh food and milk. Hungry children had to be fed and, like other families, they’d been forced to buy the ‘specks’ of rotting fruit and whatever ends of meat were left over at the market. She knew too well how hungry boys would eat whatever was to hand; she’d never forgive herself if Bobby had eaten bad food, just because she wasn’t there to supervise.

Alice must have heard the cart draw up and in seconds she was at the front door, flinging her arms round Nellie. ‘Oh, Nell, he’s bad. Come quick, he’s been asking for you.’

Her father was slumped in his chair, staring at the empty grate. She didn’t think he saw her as they passed through the kitchen and up the stairs to the bedroom, where Bobby was lying alone in the bed he normally shared with Freddie. A white-faced Freddie, all the bravado knocked out of him, now knelt beside the bed and she rushed over to join him.

‘Bobby,’ she said, gently stroking the little boy’s damp hair, ‘it’s Nellie come back to see you.’

His eyes flickered open and he gave her a weak smile. ‘Dad let you come home! I kept asking him. I didn’t give up, even when he got angry.’

Nellie swallowed the tears. ‘’Course I’m home, I wouldn’t leave you, would I?’ She held the little boy’s hand and it was icy cold. She felt down to his feet and, though the room was stifling, they were frozen too. Her sister’s fearful look told her everything.

‘Stay with me now, Nellie, don’t go away again,’ the boy pleaded weakly.

She looked at Alice, who nodded. ‘Dad’s taking it bad, Nell. I don’t think he even noticed you come in.’

‘I’m here, Bobby. I’m staying here.’

And she kept her word, kneeling at the little boy’s side, hour after hour, as the window darkened and the stars came out. Periodically she got up and tried to make him drink. Alice had been dozing in the other bed, comforting Freddie, but now she got up and asked anxiously, ‘Can’t we call the doctor out, Nell?’

She shook her head. ‘There’s no money for the doctor, Al, but everyone says the best thing is to keep putting the fluid back in them.’

She got up to fetch Bobby another drink, but Alice caught her arm. ‘Come on, Nell, let me take a turn watching.’

But Nellie would not leave him. With the dawn came a change. His shivering increased and his breathing became shallow. And then she felt all the strength leave her and she fell sobbing on to the bed. ‘What good’s a promise to you,’ she shouted at God, ‘if you’re going to take him anyway!’

She must have been screaming, for her father came running up the stairs and, kneeling down beside her, gathered her into his arms.

‘It’s my fault, Dad, I’m so sorry. It’s the strike did it, it’s the bad milk and food. We caused it, it should be me there.’

Her stern father’s face melted with tears. ‘You can’t blame yourself, Nell. He could have caught anything, swimming in that filthy river, and I found out they’ve been eating food from the wharf side. It’s been rotting there for days. That could’ve caused it.’

She was stunned. She had expected blame, abuse, rage, but not this vulnerable, weeping old man. She had never seen him like it, not even when her mother died.

‘If anyone’s to blame it’s me,’ he went on. ‘Oh, God, Nellie, my poor little boy. The last thing I did to him was beat him, till he begged me to stop.’

They stayed locked in each other’s arms for a long time, united, for once, in a common bond of guilt and grief.

8

And Roses

Nellie woke with a start, then realized she was in her own bed, though how she got there she couldn’t for the moment recall. The bright morning sun was already piercing the thin curtains and then she remembered. Bobby! How could she have left him? She instinctively turned over to shake Alice, but found she was alone in the bed. A cold panic rose like a paralysis and she was held fast by the fear of what she would find if she left the bed. If she stayed where she was, she needn’t find out. If she stayed still, here and now Bobby could still be alive. Now a memory surfaced of waking in the early morning light in the arms of her father as he carried her to her own bed. She must have fallen asleep at Bobby’s bedside.

‘He’s still the same, Nell,’ her father had whispered. ‘You sleep, I’ll watch him.’

Too tired then to protest, she had sunk into a deep sleep. How many times she’d fended off wakefulness she couldn’t be sure, but each time she felt herself rising out of sleep a sickening fear that her beloved brother had gone overwhelmed her, and she clutched at unconsciousness once more.

But Nellie knew she couldn’t run away from the dreadful news forever. Forcing herself to get up, she walked barefoot across the room. Pulling aside the curtain, she saw him. His pale face looked so peaceful, she even thought there was the trace of a smile. Why was no one here with him? Why had they left him to grow cold all on his own? She felt a surge of anger at the old grey blanket covering him to the neck. He had always hated its scratchiness. He should have been wrapped in something soft. She reached to turn down the blanket and was startled by a movement. Had the blanket risen with a breath or was it her imagination giving her what she so desperately wanted? Placing her hand lightly on Bobby’s chest, she felt it again, an almost imperceptible rise and fall. He was breathing! But so shallow, light as a baby’s breaths and with so many agonizing seconds between them. She sat quietly on the bed, counting each breath till she assured herself the next one would come. She remembered her mother’s favourite saying: ‘Just remember, Nellie, when you open your eyes in the morning and you’re still breathing, you know you’ve already had a bloody good day!’ Bobby’s eyes might not be open, but he
was
still breathing.

‘Oh, Bobby,’ she whispered, leaning closely over him, ‘Mum says you’re having a bloody good day.’ She let the tears fall as she stroked his smooth childish cheek.

Just then she heard the voices of Alice and her father downstairs, speaking in low tones. What were they keeping from her? She flung her coat round her shoulders and hurried down. Freddie was sitting silently by the fire.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked him, but he shook his head.

She ran out of the room to be met by a white-faced Alice, alone in the passage.

‘Where’s Dad gone?’ Nellie asked.

‘He wouldn’t say, Nell, just said the waiting was driving him mad and he had to get out of the house.’

Nellie understood. She felt just as helpless, yet she wished her father had been brave enough to stay at home with them. His absence meant that it would be up to her to keep Alice and Freddie’s spirits up, and she didn’t know if she had the strength. She took her sister’s hand as Alice began to weep, and drew her back into the kitchen. ‘Come on, love, we’ve got to be grateful our Bobby’s still with us. I’m sure he’s through the worst of it,’ she lied. ‘Tell you what, let’s put the kettle on and I’ll see about some breakfast. God knows what we’ve got left, though.’