East End Jubilee (26 page)

‘Here we are,’ Benny said then as a familiar row of post-war council housing came into view. ‘Fifteen minutes and we’ll be home.’

But the fifteen minutes weren’t up before Rose gave a gasp. She tried to muffle her indrawn breath. A pain shot across her tummy and held it in a vice-like grip.

‘Are you all right, love?’ Anita frowned in concern.

Rose bit her lip and nodded. Perhaps this was cramp. She couldn’t relax as she waited for the pain to disappear, but her brow was beaded with sweat and Anita noticed.

‘What is it, girl, tell me!’

‘I don’t know, Neet.’ She held the sides of her tummy as panic curled into her throat. ‘I can’t breathe . . . me stomach is like lead.’

‘Hold on, love, we’ll get you to the doctor,’ Anita yelled above the noise of the engine. ‘Benny, take the next left for Dr Cox’s.’

A clammy wave of nausea engulfed her. The pain deepened and she clutched her tummy with trembling hands. As Benny changed direction through the fog, she felt a hot little trickle between her
legs. All she remembered thinking was that her coat was red too and wouldn’t show the stain.

Em, Anita and Benny were all staring down at her. ‘How are you feeling, love?’ Anita asked with unusual concern.

‘The doctor said you’ll be all right as long as you keep your feet up,’ Em interrupted before Rose could reply as her sister pulled the sheet tightly across her chest.

Rose tried to resist. ‘I want to get up.’

‘Well, you can’t,’ Em and Anita shouted at the same time.

‘You gotta take notice of the old King’s Proctor,’ Benny said in a gentle tone from above the heads of the two women. ‘You’ve been overdoing it, gel.’

‘Dr Cox said bed rest from now on,’ echoed her sister, once more tugging on the eiderdown as if she was wrapping Rose in a straightjacket.

‘But I’ve got to be in court tomorrow!’

Anita and Em were shaking their heads even before she’d finished her sentence and Rose stared up at them helplessly. Anita sat stiffly on the bed. She had worn a dark wool two-piece suit
to the Old Bailey and a little scarf pinned at the collar with a marcasite clip, matching leaf earrings adorned her earlobes and her short fair hair was, for once, neatly combed. She said very
gently, ‘You want this baby safe and sound don’t you, love?’

‘Of course I do, but—’

‘There’s no buts where a pregnancy is concerned. You lost a few spots today and you know what that means.’

At this Benny flushed, cleared his throat and shifted away from the bedside to disappear very quickly out of the door.

‘Rosy,’ Em said as she clutched her hands together, ‘you know you could have miscarried, don’t you? I don’t want to be an alarmist, but you must think of the
baby.’

Rose knew her sister was right, had known deep down in her soul as Anita and Benny had helped her into Dr Cox’s surgery that the symptoms she was exhibiting were danger signals. The young
doctor had confirmed her fears as he listened to the baby’s disturbed heartbeat and taken her blood pressure. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Weaver,’ he’d said slowly after giving
her a thorough examination, ‘but I must advise rest – total rest – from now on until the baby is born. Your blood pressure is raised and added to the show of blood, I urge great
caution. Of course I don’t want to worry you—’

Rose looked at the two women at her bedside. Her sister stood upright like a wraith, bedecked from head to foot in black but thankfully devoid of the turban, whilst Anita sat on the bed in her
smart suit, both of them with expressions of regret yet quiet determination on their faces.

‘Our Benny said he’d stand in for you,’ Anita said with a little smile. ‘And he’ll get word to Eddie that we’re making you take it easy.’

‘But he’ll worry,’ Rose protested unhappily, ‘if I’m not there.’

‘He’ll worry more if he sees you carried out of the courtroom on a stretcher,’ Em pointed out bluntly.

Rose sniffed as the tears were close to spilling. She couldn’t let Eddie down. She had to be there. He would need her moral support even if she couldn’t say anything to help him.

‘Look, love,’ Anita began reasonably, ‘you’re not in pain now so it’s natural for you to want to continue as normal. But if you move about you’ll put the babe
at risk and you’ve got to bring that blood pressure down. You don’t want another turn like today because the consequences are unthinkable. Dr Cox said you’ve had a warning. The
question is, are you going to be sensible and listen to it?’ Anita patted her knee under the eiderdown. ‘Take his advice. For little ’un’s sake.’

‘There’s no two ways about it,’ Em said in an authoritative voice, which Rose thought was bordering on hysteria. ‘You have to do what he says. Or . . .
or—’

‘Or we’ll all be worrying silly,’ Anita settled for, giving Rose a sly wink as Em turned away and fussed with Jane Piper’s cherry red coat.

Rose screwed her hands together under the sheet then drew her fingers over the nightgown that Em and Anita had helped her to put on, swinging her legs up on to the bed as if she was geriatric.
She wanted the best for her baby, of course, but she’d planned to stay on at work until Christmas to earn a bonus and most of all, she had been preparing herself for the remainder of
Eddie’s trial. Now all her plans were in jeopardy, added to which the thought of staying in bed for the next two-and-a-half months was inconceivable.

Suddenly there were voices on the landing outside and a big knuckle drummed on the door. Benny’s voice shouted, ‘Is it all clear to come in?’

‘Yes,’ Anita and Em shouted together.

In came Benny carrying Marlene, who was dressed in her nightgown and looked almost asleep. ‘The boy and Donnie are asleep but Marle just woke up,’ he said gruffly, ‘and wants a
cuddle.’

‘Come on pet, slip into bed with Mummy,’ Rose murmured as she struggled to pull back the bedclothes.

‘Here, wait a moment,’ Em said as she went to Rose’s aid and helped her niece snuggle under the warm bedclothes.

‘You’re in bed early, Mummy,’ she yawned as she threaded her arm over Rose’s bump.

‘Yes,’ Rose smiled, burying her nose in the thatch of red curls that smelt deliciously of Sunlight.

‘Was you tired?’

‘A little,’ Rose nodded, but her daughter’s eyes were already closed and her breathing smooth. In seconds she was asleep, effortlessly curling around Rose’s bulky
shape.

She felt a wave of pleasure flow through her body at the close physical contact and knew then that her priority was her girls and the vulnerable life growing inside her. ‘I know
you’re all right,’ she conceded as she looked up. ‘You can stop worrying, Em, I won’t try to escape.’

‘I should hope not,’ her sister sighed, visibly relaxing.

‘So we won’t need to post a guard, then?’ Anita confirmed.

Rose smiled for the first time. ‘I know when I’m beaten.’

‘Could’ve fooled me,’ Em sniffed. ‘I’ve been trying to persuade you to give up work for the past two months.’

‘Well, now I’ll have to, won’t I?’ She looked up at Benny. ‘Benny, are you certain you want to go in my place?’

He gave her a growl, looking like a big brown bear in his patched driving jacket and old trousers, and his tight dark hair growing down the back of his neck. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t
stop me, gel. There ain’t nothing I can’t do next week with a bit of shifting around.’

Rose felt the baby move under Marlene’s arm. Her heart did a little somersault as it always did when Number Three was up to his antics. She arched her back carefully lifting her spine as
she imagined the baby stretching his limbs.

‘It’s definitely a boy,’ she said as she looked up with shining eyes. ‘He’s playing football again.’

‘Then he’s a Stanley or a Matthew, ain’t he?’ Benny remarked dryly. ‘There ain’t no one in the world plays a better winger than Stanley Matthews.’

They all laughed, and Rose allowed herself the luxury of imagining Number Three outside in the backyard, bashing a football against the Anderson fence with Eddie running around with him,
teaching him how to dribble and head the ball. And there she would be, cooking the dinner and watching them play through the kitchen window, simply bursting with pride. Rose sighed contentedly. She
wasn’t that keen on Stanley for a name, but Matthew would do very nicely. Even when shortened to Matt, it had a ring to it. Matthew Weaver, yes, she liked that. With a lump in her throat she
wondered if Eddie would too.

‘Ding-de-dong, ding-de-dong, ding-dong,’ echoed the radio downstairs. Daphne Oxenford’s clear, articulate voice drifted up from the kitchen radio to the
boys’ bedroom where Anita was cleaning. Today, Friday, she had given the house a once over, since Mrs H was away for a long weekend and didn’t require her services until Monday.

Anita was trying not to think about the proceedings at the Old Bailey today. Eddie’s evidence and the summing up would be over by now. Had the jury come to a decision? Her mind felt
exhausted with different hypotheses and she was trying to fill every moment to avoid creating yet another. She didn’t dare go in to Em and Rose next door. Not until Benny came home and then
they’d go in together.

The boys’ bedroom, an antidote to the tension, was at the top of Anita’s hit list of chores. She had discovered dirty pants under the beds along with socks as stiff as walking
sticks. Crumpled shirts were dropped carelessly on the floor of their wardrobe and a box of rubbish smelt to high heaven. Anita was not impressed.

Did they think she lived for their benefit alone? Stripping the sheets off the two mattresses and throwing them over the banister, a small object landed at her feet.

Anita bent down and picked it up. The dog-end had been clumsily concealed under the pillow, no doubt for revival tonight. She couldn’t be certain from which bed it had fallen, but she had
expressly forbidden smoking in their room. For the last twelve months, whilst she had been trying to abstain herself, she had forbidden smoking at all in the house. The fact that she was secretly
puffing once more made no difference to her overall plan of action. Benny had almost set himself alight in the front room one evening when a Woodbine had dropped from his fingers to the cushion
whilst snoozing. The boys had had a good laugh at Benny’s expense, but Anita had implemented the rule immediately. No smoking in the house. Although they denied it flat, her boys smoked like
chimneys. After a Saturday night out they had dog’s breath and smelly clothes to prove it.

She would have a word with the buggers tonight, although a flat denial was all she’d receive. God help her, the sooner the little sods were taken off her hands, the better. Anita
energetically scooped up the clothes that littered the small bedroom. How many years had she been tidying up after men?

Suddenly the familiar voice of Daphne Oxenford broke into her thoughts.
Listen With Mother
always evoked bittersweet memories no matter how hard she tried not to get sentimental. How her
two little boys had once loved that short fifteen minutes of pure escapism!

Daphne Oxenford was Anita’s own favourite reader with her cut glass accent and beautiful lilt. Catherine Edwards came a close second. Anita paused to recall Alan and David as healthy,
happy four- and five-year-olds, their beautiful dark eyes filling with wonder the moment they heard those tempting words, ‘Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.’

Anita had always set aside time to be with her young sons even when she’d started to work part-time as a cleaner. She’d even persuaded them to sit a little longer and endure ten
minutes of
Woman’s Hour
. But as they’d grown older, the novelty had worn off. Anita hummed softly to herself. ‘The Old Clockmaker’ was the theme tune to
Jennings
at School
and she loved it even now. The boys had sung along with her then, both of them with voices like foghorns even as kids.

When had it happened that
Children’s Hour
faded into oblivion and
Dick Barton, Special Agent
, had stolen their affections? She couldn’t remember now, but she could
still hum that theme tune too.

‘Da-da-dad-drrra-da-drrr-dadadahh . . .’ Anita sang as she turned to the window and pressed her forehead against the cold glass. Her breath formed an opaque curtain in front of her
nose and she stroked it gently with her fingertips.

Her boys had grown up so quickly. From babies in nappies to grown men almost. There had been so much more she’d wanted to do with them. Holidays for instance. She’d dreamed of taking
them abroad, visiting the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, a city she’d always wanted to see. None of them, except Benny, had ever been abroad. And he’d only travelled in
the Merchant Navy. At least they had made Skegness this year.

Anita turned away from the window, her gaze landing on the two boys’ beds and all the accoutrements of youth. On the chest of drawers lay an untidy assortment of combs, brushes, Brylcreem
jars and a signed photograph of a young blonde Redcoat. She had chosen Alan to dance with her in the Princes’ Ballroom and although he’d gone beetroot he’d obliged very nicely. No
two left feet for Alan, Anita thought proudly. Unlike David, Alan was a born dancer and lately spent his Saturday evenings jitterbugging at a local dancehall. Now he gazed at the Redcoat’s
photograph every day, swearing he was going back next year to dance with her again.

Anita wondered if they would all return to Butlin’s as a family? The two weeks this year had been the best holiday of their lives. She was saving again. David had engineered himself a job
after school at the bike shop in Poplar. And Benny, equally impressed by Butlin’s, was working as many Sundays as he could find. So maybe they might make it again. Just one more time. Once
before her babies left the nest . . .

The front door banged. Anita jumped. She left the boys’ untidy room and hurried out on the landing.

‘Benny? Is that you?’

No reply. David or Alan would have yelled out, immediately wanting something. But Alan didn’t knock off from Kirkwood’s until four and David was going straight to the bike shop. On
the other hand, Benny would have come up directly to tell her the news.