East End Jubilee (32 page)

The river seemed such a mighty force, she mused as she stood by the park railing and looked across the water to Greenwich. Sometimes wild and turgid, sometimes calm and inviting, it stretched
left and right as far as the eye could see. Directly opposite, on the south bank, lay the smooth green lawns of the Naval College dwarfed by the Observatory’s gleaming dome. A faint spring
mist gathered lazily over the land, an innocent mist that would result in warmth and not fog.

A soft grumble of wakefulness came from Matthew. Rose pulled back the cover. Matthew smiled up at her knowingly.

‘Hello, pet. Are you awake?’ She knew it was probably wind, but his smile was infectious. She laughed. ‘Shall we sit for a while in the sun?’

Rose sat on a bench where a few late daffodils still survived the children’s attentions. She would bring Will, Donnie, Marlene and the baby here in two days’ time, Good Friday. They
never tired of the park and would play for hours with the other children.

Matthew blew bubbles as he lay in her arms. His little hands came up to curl around her fingers. Rose had rolled back the sleeves of his white romper suit, which had once been Donnie’s and
then Marlene’s. His olive skin and light grey eyes were the spit of Eddie.

‘So this is your baby?’

Rose looked up. It was a few seconds before she recognized the gaunt, drawn features of Olga Parker.

‘Is it a boy?’

Rose nodded slowly. Olga’s bleached blonde hair had vanished. Dull brown, greasy locks replaced her former smart hairstyle. Her purple wool coat was far too large, a coat that had once
looked so fashionable. Rose noted that her neighbour had made an attempt at make-up though her efforts were a far cry from the elegant, carefully applied pan stick and mascara that Olga had once
favoured. A red, uneven streak of lipstick clashed with the purple and her close-set eyes were absent of expression altogether.

‘What is his name?’

‘Matthew.’ Olga was talking to her! She hadn’t seen her since long before Christmas and then her hostile neighbour had hurried along Ruby Street without a glance. Rose had sent
her a Christmas card but had never received one in return.

‘How old is he?’

‘He was born on the fifth of February.’ Rose shifted along the bench, leaving enough space for Olga to sit down. She was surprised when her neighbour did. ‘Do you often come
down the park?’ Rose asked uncertainly.

Olga threaded her hands into the sleeves of her coat and shook her head. Her large nose and high forehead looked very prominent after the loss of so much weight. Two emaciated cheekbones carved
a valley to her jaw and emphasized her long scraggy neck.

‘How are you now?’ Rose enquired after an uncomfortable silence. She didn’t care for the strange manner in which Olga was behaving as every now and then she blinked at Matthew
with her sad eyes.

‘I always wanted a family,’ Olga replied, as though she hadn’t heard Rose’s question.

‘You mean you wanted children?’ Rose hoped Olga wasn’t going to take offence at her question and think she was prying. Their last meeting, when she had tried her best to be
neighbourly, had resulted in a loudly banged door.

Olga reached out with white, bony fingers and stroked Matthew’s thick cap of dark hair. ‘I did have a son once, a long time ago. In fact I had a family, just like you. My husband was
a doctor,’ she said with a sudden rush of pride. ‘And Siegfried was just three when—’ She seemed to lose track of what she was saying as she ran her hand lightly over
Matthew’s delicate pink fingers. ‘My mother, Clara, was a German Jew,’ she began again, ‘my father a Polish Protestant. My real name is Anne Sarah Nimitz. I was born in
Dortmund, Northern Germany.’

Rose had always felt that Olga’s life had been tragic and now she wasn’t surprised at what she was hearing. It seemed almost inevitable that Olga should pour out her heart, even
though Olga had never forgiven her for the humiliation of Coronation Day.

‘I was twenty-six,’ Olga continued, ‘when my mother, husband and son were taken from our home by the Nazis and sent to a labour camp. I alone escaped capture as I was away at
the time, visiting a sick friend. I never saw any of them again.’

Rose felt her flesh creep. ‘What happened to them?’

The flickering eyes lowered. ‘I learned that Siegfried died of a fever soon after he was taken. He was a frail, delicate child—’ She paused, her voice devoid of all
expression. ‘My husband was executed for refusing to cooperate as a doctor, in other words he would not agree to participate in torture. No one was able to tell me what happened to my
mother.’

Rose couldn’t imagine what it must be like to lose a family in such a way. A child’s death was terrible enough, but added to the loss of a husband and mother under such terrifying
circumstances, was enough to send anyone insane.

‘For the next year I survived in a cellar,’ Olga murmured, ‘until I was smuggled to Spain and provided with false papers. When the war was over, I came to England.’

Rose said hesitantly, ‘Was there no one left in Germany?’

‘No,’ Olga replied simply. ‘Only memories.’

‘Why are you telling me this, Olga?’ Rose asked sadly.

‘Because there is no one left to tell.’

‘But you’ve got Leslie,’ Rose said encouragingly. ‘After all the unhappiness, you made a new life.’

‘A wasted life,’ Olga said with sudden bitterness. ‘Three years ago, when we met, I added a little
chutzpah
to his life, perhaps.’ She smiled coldly. ‘He did
not question the lies I concocted about my past. But when the police arrived and discovered the stolen television they asked me many difficult questions. I was forced to produce my papers.’
Olga took in a breath as her body shuddered. ‘I desired only to belong to somewhere, to someone. I had lived many lies to preserve this skin. But now this skin no longer seems worth the
effort.’ Her thin lips twisted. ‘I confessed to Leslie and, because he thought my troubles would incriminate him, he left me.’

‘But, he’s still your husband—’

‘We never married,’ Olga shrugged. ‘This was also a lie.’

‘Olga, I’m so sorry,’ Rose said heavily, searching for words of consolation. ‘I didn’t know—’

‘Even if you had known,’ Olga broke in, ‘would it have made any difference to the way you regarded me? I would never have been accepted here, no matter how hard I tried to
become one of you.’

Rose couldn’t deny there was an element of truth in this. East Enders were slow to welcome strangers into their midst, but this didn’t mean the residents of Ruby Street
wouldn’t have eventually opened their homes and hearts to the Parkers. As for Rose, after the events of Coronation Day, she had truly regretted the embarrassment Olga had suffered. But would
Olga believe her now if she tried to explain?

‘I must go,’ Olga said before Rose could speak. ‘My time in Ruby Street is over.’

‘You’re leaving the island?’ Rose asked in alarm. ‘Is it because you think you’ll be questioned again?’

Olga shrugged indifferently, as though she couldn’t have cared less. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in a year . . . who knows?’

‘But why don’t you tell them the truth?’ Rose asked in desperation. ‘It couldn’t be any worse than what you’ve already gone through.’

Olga looked at her calmly. ‘I am not married to a British citizen, therefore I have no legal right to remain in your country. And Germany holds nothing for me but emptiness.’ She let
Matthew’s fingers drop, her eyes glazed as she stood up. ‘Goodbye, Rose.’

‘Wait, I’ll walk home with you.’

‘No, that will not be necessary.’ Hunching her narrow shoulders she smiled at Matthew. A flicker of warmth briefly filled her haggard face. ‘He is beautiful,’ she
murmured softly. Then unsteadily, she walked away.

Rose wanted to run after her, try to persuade her to stay. Just when it was possible they might mend their differences, Olga was leaving!

Rose’s wary eyes searched the length of Ruby Street. Groups of children played in the street, although she couldn’t see Marlene, Donnie or Will, but she
wasn’t surprised. Em would have kept them in or sent them in the yard to play until Rose returned. After learning of Eddie’s warnings about reprisals, Em hadn’t let them out of
her sight.

Rose glanced down the length of the road. The only vehicle in sight was a horse-drawn cart. With a faint clip clop it passed Len Silverman’s house. The old man was sitting in a chair
outside his front door and when he saw her, lifted his hand in salute. She returned his wave then pushed the pram briskly to her own front door and slid the key in the lock.

‘It’s only me, Em,’ she called, returning the pram to the front room and lifting Matthew into her arms before entering the kitchen.

‘I was beginning to wonder where you were,’ Em said reproachfully, as she lifted a big saucepan from the stove and on to the draining board. Scooping the froth from the surface with
a cup, she glanced at Rose. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been worried.’

‘I went for a walk, that’s all.’

‘But you know what Eddie said about—’ Em began but Rose shook her head irritably.

‘I can’t wrap meself up in cotton wool, Em,’ Rose argued. The last week had seemed an eternity, always taking care to close doors and go out in twos and watch the children with
an eagle eye.

‘Did Matthew fall asleep?’

‘Yes, but he’s hungry again now.’

‘Do you want me to make up a feed? And there’s a nice bit of mashed potato I’ve made.’

‘I’ll give him what I have first and try the potato afterwards. Where are the kids?’

‘Out in the yard. Ashley Green and his two little sisters are playing with our lot. Do you want me to call them in?’

Rose glanced out of the kitchen window. The children were playing hopscotch on the stones by the washhouse and she shook her head. ‘No, I’ve got something to tell you
first.’

Em placed the saucepan back on the stove and wiped her hands on her pinny. ‘Well sit down and take the weight off your feet. You look pale—’ She stiffened abruptly.
‘You haven’t seen the car again?’

‘No. It’s nothing like that.’ Matthew began to cry. Rose sat down on one of the kitchen chairs and slid out of her coat. Undoing her blouse and sliding up her bra, she pressed
Matthew’s lips to her nipple. She didn’t usually breastfeed in the kitchen but she wanted Em to listen attentively.

‘I saw Olga today,’ Rose said at once. ‘Up Island Gardens.’

‘Olga Parker?’ Em repeated in surprise as she also sank down on a chair.

‘Yes, she looked awful. No, not just awful, quite sick in fact. I’m really worried about her.’

‘But she cut you dead just before Christmas.’

‘I know, but today she wanted to talk. And what she told me explains so much. None of it would have happened if it hadn’t been for that blessed television!’

‘None of what would have happened?’ Em asked in a guarded tone.

‘Olga is leaving Ruby Street.’

‘Leaving?’

‘Yes, because when the police found the telly they asked her a lot of difficult questions about her past. You see, she’s not really who she says she is and when Leslie
left—’

‘Rosy, love,’ Em interrupted looking puzzled, ‘you’d better start from the beginning. You’ve lost me already.’

Rose explained the whole story as patiently as she could. She began with Olga’s true identity and how her entire family were taken away to labour camps in 1944 and how since her escape,
Olga had lived in fear of being discovered. Em stared at her, asking her to repeat much of what she said. ‘Was she telling you the truth do you think?’ she asked eventually.

‘I don’t know why she’d make it up.’

‘But she never talks to you – or me – or the children.’

Rose nodded slowly. ‘I think she’s been drinking and seemed to be in a dreadful turmoil. Although I must admit I couldn’t smell alcohol on her breath, just a funny stale smell
of old clothes, not at all like she used to be, so smart and done up.’

‘Well, if it’s true,’ Em said sadly, ‘she’s had a tragic life.’

‘The last straw was when Leslie walked out on her,’ Rose continued. ‘They weren’t married, just living together.’ Rose felt Matthew stir. She looked down and smiled
at him. ‘I’m sorry, my sweet, I’m not taking any notice of you, am I?’

‘Rosy, that poor woman,’ Em murmured on a deep sigh. ‘No wonder she’s lived like a hermit.’

‘She looks terrible, Em. If Eddie hadn’t sold them a duff telly, this wouldn’t have happened. Apparently everyone in the street turned against her after that, or at least she
thought they did.’

‘The trouble is,’ Em said bleakly, ‘we all worry about what other people think of us. If we didn’t, we’d save ourselves a lot of heartache.’

Rose nodded. ‘And there was me, in exactly the same boat. But at least I have a husband and family alive and kicking. She has no one.’

‘What can we do to help?’ Em asked sympathetically. ‘Could we persuade her to stay on do you think?’

‘I don’t know. She thinks the police might come back.’

‘How terrible to live in fear like that.’

‘Perhaps we could take over some food,’ Rose said suddenly. ‘I’ll bet she’s been starving herself. She’s as thin as a rake.’

‘Do you think she would accept it though?’ Em said doubtfully. ‘She strikes me as someone who despises charity.’

‘We can try.’ Rose felt Matthew wriggle uncomfortably. He was sucking away but her nipples felt dry and uncomfortable. Suddenly he let out a yell of impatience. She tried him on the
other breast, but it was no use. He began to whimper again.

‘If you ask me,’ Em frowned, ‘you’re drying up.’

‘And he’s not even three months old yet.’

‘I’ll make up a bottle,’ Em decided firmly. ‘All this talk of starvation makes me uneasy.’

Rose smiled down at the wrinkled nose and open mouth now emitting a piercing scream. How lucky she was to have her son safe in her arms. How desperate Olga must have felt when they took away her
baby.

‘Why are we taking all this food to Mrs Parker?’ Donnie asked as Rose packed the shopping bag with a fruit cake that Em had made yesterday, half a loaf and a little
margarine wrapped in greaseproof paper. Will was carrying a small basin covered with muslin and tied with a piece of string under which two hefty dumplings were bobbing on the surface of the stew.
The two girls had wrapped an orange and a banana in a brown bag from Joan’s corner shop.