East End Jubilee (16 page)

On Saturday morning Rose took the girls to Chrisp Street. Anita declined the outing as she was spring-cleaning, though Rose knew the real reason was that her friend was on
another one of her Butlin’s economy drives.

The market was busy and though Marlene and Donnie enjoyed the excitement of new stalls to look at and candyfloss to eat, Rose made no headway with her investigations. Syd was definitely not
present in his watch-selling guise and neither was there a van remotely like the one Eddie had described. She did, however, buy a bottle of Milk of Magnesia from a chemist on the walk home and on
Sunday administered herself a generous dose or two.

But on Monday morning Rose still felt queasy. She was about to take another spoonful of the unpleasant medicine when a letter dropped on the mat. She gulped the liquid down and ran along the
hall. Her heart was racing as she recognized the familiar scrawl. Not a letter writer at the best of times, Eddie explained he was well and cracked a joke about the food. He promised he would send
a visiting order soon and signed off with love to them all. Three big crosses concluded the letter.

Five minutes later Rose was pedalling towards Hackney High Road, ignoring the waves of sickness that flowed over her. The shops and markets were busy, people content to browse and buy under a
dazzling sun. Rose looked in windows and studied each stall. One little word, she told herself, might provide the clue that changed the course of their lives.

Her tummy had finally settled and she was able to enjoy all the East End had to offer. Pearls and diamonds, sable and seal furs, expensive perfume, praying shawls and car manuals, old violins
and gramophone records, toffee apples, humbugs and exotic bundles of sharks’ fins. Delicate ivory bracelets, fancy cow bells, gum copal, graphite, sacks of chicory and sheets of old music.
Any item that anyone could possibly want in one lifetime.

Despite Syd and his van not appearing, Rose felt more like her old self. As she pedalled towards school, she decided the Milk of Magnesia was beginning to work.

‘Eddie’s in the nick, love, not Buckingham Palace. What do you expect him to write? That he’s happy with the waitress service?’ Anita observed dryly as
they discussed the contents of Eddie’s letter. It was Thursday morning and the July sun was shining as they stood talking outside the corner shop. ‘Now tell me how you got on at the
markets.’

Rose shrugged. ‘Not a lot to tell. I didn’t see anyone of the description Eddie gave me and no one knew who or where Syd was. So really I’ve come to a dead end.’

Anita frowned. ‘Have you heard from Em?’

‘Not a word,’ Rose said resignedly. ‘Arthur’s death was a bit of a blow, I expect.’

‘He would have left them comfortable no doubt,’ Anita stated flatly.

‘As far as I know.’ Rose paused. ‘Talking of money, I’ve been thinking—’ She stopped in mid-sentence as Kamala Patel came towards them, her red and
green sari lifting softly in the breeze.

‘Hello, love,’ Anita smiled. ‘Lovely day.’

‘Yes, indeed.’ Kamala replied. ‘How are you both?’

‘Fine, thanks,’ Rose and Anita said together.

‘And the family?’

‘Keeping us on our toes,’ Anita replied briskly.

The Indian woman looked kindly at Rose. ‘I was sorry to hear about Eddie. Your husband was very good to us when we moved in. He gave us a table and chairs, you know, when we first came to
the street.’

‘Did he?’ Rose said in surprise. Eddie never ceased to amaze her.

‘We shall not forget his kindness. If Balaji and I can help in any way . . .?’

‘That’s nice of you, Kamala.’

‘Fancy Eddie giving them a table,’ Anita said when Kamala had gone.

Rose nodded. ‘He never said.’

‘I ’spect he thought he’d get a rocket.’

‘From me?’ Rose asked in surprise. ‘I don’t object to him giving things to people, it’s doing business on our doorstep I don’t like.’

‘Yes, well that makes sense,’ Anita agreed, refraining from mentioning the television. ‘Now what was it you were going to ask me?’

Rose hesitated as she wasn’t certain if her friend would be in favour of her new idea. ‘Well,’ she said hesitantly, ‘it’s about a job. I’ve decided to look
for one. I thought I could do cleaning in an office or something.’

Anita’s eyes widened. ‘Blimey, the shoebox ain’t run out already has it?’

‘’Course not,’ Rose said a little defensively. ‘But it’s best to be prepared.’ Last night she had counted the money remaining and had given herself a shock.
Eddie’s five hundred pounds was now down to four hundred and thirty-five. After settling their debt with Olga, paying the month’s rent of ten pounds and purchasing a few groceries,
sixty-five pounds had vanished in no time at all. Even buying snacks from Alf seemed extravagant now.

‘But you can use a typewriter, can’t you?’ Anita asked after a while, her forehead crinkled in a deep frown.

Rose nodded doubtfully. ‘Well yes, but that was a long time ago, just after school in fact, when I worked at Horton’s.’

Anita waved her hand. ‘Oh, you’d pick it up again. Bit like riding a bike!’

Rose wasn’t so sure. ‘I’d be all fingers and thumbs. It takes a lot of practice to type forty-five words a minute, in fact that’s quite slow compared to some.’

Anita looked unimpressed. ‘Yeah, well, sitting all day long at a desk never appealed to me so I wouldn’t know. But what would you do with the girls in the holidays?’

‘If it was a cleaning job I could take them with me and they could sit and wait. An office cleaner for instance, or in a factory when the staff aren’t around.’

Anita chewed on her lip. ‘You could do worse than ask Joan. She’s always complaining Charlie’s too slow and the bonus in that is you wouldn’t be far from home.’

Rose turned and glanced at the shop. ‘Yes, that’s an idea.’

Anita nudged her arm. ‘No time like the present. Go and ask.’

Rose took a deep breath. ‘Do you think I should?’

‘Yeah, no harm in asking.’

After a moment’s silence Rose nodded. ‘Wish me luck, then.’

Anita grinned. ‘I might be buying me bread off you yet.’

Rose smiled. She really liked the idea as the shop was only a stone’s throw from home.

Rose bought a piece of cheese and found the courage to ask as Joan cut a thin slice from the big yellow wedge with a long thin wire before scooping it on to greaseproof paper
and firmly folding the ends. Joan shook her head, ‘Sorry love, I’d like to help but trade isn’t what it used to be. If you’d come to me five years ago it would have been a
different story as a lot of stuff was still on ration and we had the custom. But now everyone goes to the big shops as it’s cheaper and there’s more variety. Eggs, cream, butter, cheese
– you name it – all the food that once was on coupon, is now becoming available. The only advantage to anyone shopping at a little corner shop like this is that I’m on their
doorstep. Me and Charlie are struggling on, but I can’t see us lasting much longer.’

Rose hid her disappointment. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Joan.’

‘And I’m sorry I can’t take you on, love,’ Joan said sincerely. ‘But if I hear anything on the grapevine I’ll be sure to let you know.’

‘Any luck?’ Anita was waiting eagerly outside.

‘No, trade isn’t brisk enough any more,’ Rose said, trying to look as if the refusal hadn’t hurt her pride. ‘She even hinted they might be closing.’

‘Well, nothing ventured nothing gained,’ Anita said, a little too cheerfully, as they began retracing their steps home. ‘Are you going to market today?’

‘I might.’ Rose was uncertain if she felt like riding as the tummy upset had returned.

Anita laughed aloud. ‘You’re gonna need a new bum after all the mileage!’

Rose grinned. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without Alan’s bike.’

‘You’re welcome to keep it.’

‘I couldn’t do that!’

‘You might as well,’ Anita scoffed. ‘Can you see him cocking his leg over a beret?’

Rose had to laugh. She hadn’t cared what she looked like but then Alan was young and fashion-conscious as all teenagers were.

‘He wants a new one,’ Anita admitted as they arrived at their front doors. ‘But I told him he’d have to save the same way I do. Save the pennies and the pounds will look
after themselves.’ Anita glanced across the road. ‘Talking of which, have you seen Olga lately?’

‘Not for ages.’

‘I saw Brenda Weller up Stepney. She was waiting for a bus and I stopped to say hello. She said Olga’s been ill.’

‘Ill? What with?’

‘Dunno. But she ain’t been seen for weeks.’

Rose stared at the net curtains in Olga’s window. ‘How does Brenda know that?’

‘Ron, the coalman, is her husband, remember? He delivers on his horse and cart. Well Olga could hardly get herself to the door last time he called. She said she was sick and in bed and for
him not to call again.’

‘She did look awful when I last saw her. How is she managing with her shopping and everything?’

‘I dunno. I suppose her old man must do it, though he don’t look the type. Come to think of it, I ain’t seen him for weeks either.’

‘Do you think we should call and ask if we can help?’ Rose suggested uncertainly.

Anita looked askance. ‘We ain’t exactly in her good books are we?’

‘Still, if she’s ill . . .’ Rose murmured thoughtfully.

But her friend made a swift decision. ‘Can’t stop now, anyway. I’m meeting Alan up Kirkwood’s at East India docks. He’s got an interview there. You know, the
building people.’

‘Building? Is that what Alan wants to do?’

Anita grinned. ‘Not bloody likely. He says he’s going places only he don’t know where.’

Rose smiled. ‘Well, he’s a young man now, not a kid any more.’

Anita shook her head regretfully. ‘Yeah, I can’t clip him round the ear like I used to. I have to leave that to his father.’

‘Well, good luck to him I say,’ Rose said gently. ‘Alan’s got personality. I reckon he’ll go far.’

Anita smiled. ‘He’s got personality all right. Him and that swagger he puts on, pushing out his chest and eyeballing the girls. They all think they’re bloody film stars these
days!’

‘Times are changing,’ Rose agreed, thinking of how quickly her own two girls were growing.

Anita was about to leave then stopped. ‘I’ll ask Mrs H if she knows anyone who needs a cleaner – if that’s what you really want?’

‘I’d give anything a go really.’

‘See you tomorrow, then.’

‘’Bye, Neet.’

Rose went indoors and looked around her modest little home. It was clean and tidy, if not luxurious. Cycling everywhere lately, she’d done her housework after the girls were in bed, the
advantage of which was she’d found herself too tired at the end of the day to worry about Eddie. When would she see him again? How long would they be apart? She quickly took herself off to
the kitchen, made a jam sandwich and slipped it into her saddlebag. Taking the letter she had written to Em, she closed her front door and cycled off. She’d post it then try a market or
two.

Rose passed a big brown car at the top of the road. It was parked beside Fred and Mabel Dixon’s house on the corner. She glanced quickly inside but the driver was unknown to her and he
looked the other way as she passed. Rose shuddered. It reminded her of the police car on Coronation Day. For a moment she hesitated, wondering for some reason she wasn’t quite sure of,
whether she should return home. But then she decided she was allowing her vivid imagination to get the better of her. For who was to say that he wasn’t just waiting to visit someone in the
road, or perhaps had lost his way?

It was Thursday and Rose had decided this was to be her last day searching for Syd. The sun-baked roads and pavements were more crowded than ever as she rode through the
streets keeping her eyes peeled. A pretty antiques stall caught her attention. The trader had made a fan of umbrellas, along with some delicate looking china vases. Beside this was a table full of
car parts, which the men swarmed round whilst the women shunned it in favour of the materials, inspecting the fabric with a critical eye. Exhaust fumes, curries and baking bread permeated the air
like an invisible fog.

She stopped to watch a pair of brightly harnessed dray horses pull their heavy load from the breweries, whilst road sweepers toiled in the heat and rubbish steamed in the sun. As she pushed her
bike through the narrow side streets, seeing sights that were commonplace yet were all the more interesting for being reinvented by some clever soul’s bright idea, Rose thought how she loved
every bit of the East End.

At lunchtime she began to feel a little tired, nothing to worry about she told herself, fighting off the niggles of nausea that refused to go away. The cycle home seemed more arduous than usual
and by the time she reached Ruby Street she would have gladly collapsed into a chair. But she remembered Olga and gathered the courage to knock to ease her conscience.

‘Yes?’ Olga opened the door a few inches. The roots of her dyed blonde hair were black and she wore a shapeless baggy jumper that emphasized her gaunt, pale face.

‘I heard you haven’t been well,’ Rose said, a little shocked to be met with this un-upholstered Olga. ‘Can I get you any shopping?’

Olga stared at her. ‘You are the last person I would ask for help.’

Rose was upset. ‘That’s not a nice thing to say.’

‘Well, it’s true.’

‘I’m only trying to be friendly.’

‘I don’t want your friendship.’

‘You used to,’ Rose said, unable to bite her tongue considering her motive for calling had been to help not hinder.

‘You are a troublemaker. Go away.’

Rose reached out to stop the door from shutting. ‘Look, I’m sorry if you think I’m the reason for your troubles, but I never wanted Eddie to sell you the television in the
first place. I don’t like him conducting business in the street. But since he did and I felt responsible, I gave you back your money. Wasn’t that good will enough to bury the
hatchet?’

Olga scowled. ‘You made a laughing stock of us. Now go away.’

‘I’m sorry you feel—’ The door banged in Rose’s face. She felt hurt and confused. What more could she do to reach her neighbour?