East End Jubilee (42 page)

Eddie listened as his wife explained how the car had knocked her off her bike and the men in it had tied something around her eyes and driven her to a place close by. Then Norman Payne had told
her who he was and disclosed the truth about that bent copper who had stitched him up with an assault charge. Then the bugger had cut off her hair when she’d given him some lip, but thank God
he’d been disturbed by some kids. Eddie had imagined worse, much worse during these last few days. But perhaps this time they’d been lucky. Maybe Norman Payne had made his point and the
next little reminder would come from inside, as it had done at Brixton. Well, they could do whatever they liked to him. He wanted it that way. He’d take anything –
anything
–
rather than have them touch his family.

‘I don’t want you going anywhere alone,’ he told her. ‘Or the kids.’

‘They play in the yard now,’ she assured him, ‘and I go by bus with Kamala Patel’s daughter, Nima and some others who all wait at the same stop. On the way home I walk
with the girls from the mill.’

‘What happened to the bike?’

‘I don’t know.’

Eddie chewed on his lip. Something, somewhere didn’t sound right, but he didn’t know what.

‘Eddie, don’t worry. We’ll be all right.’

Eddie wished that was true, but he knew different. He wasn’t a violent man but at this very moment he wanted to close his fingers around Norman Payne’s worthless neck and squeeze
tightly.

Autumn was Rose’s favourite time of the year but as the days grew shorter and the nights longer, she found even the cosy evenings spent indoors made her feel as unsettled
as the damp, foggy weather.

The mild spells of warm and wet weather had given way to outbursts of gusty wind and in November the roof started to leak after a violent storm blew tiles off the roof. Rose informed the
landlord, but as usual, nothing was done. She considered them lucky, though, to have escaped a series of gales that swept over west and north London, causing damage to property and even loss of
life. Gunnersbury tube station was destroyed and further south the South Godwin lightship was overturned in freak weather conditions. An inch of rain fell on London, almost matching the record of
the disastrously wet Coronation year.

Two weeks before Christmas Donnie came out in large red blotches that covered her entire body followed a week later by Marlene. Dr Cox diagnosed measles and very soon was proclaiming Will
infected too. As none of the children were allowed to school and had to be quarantined, Rose had no need to worry about Norman Payne’s unwelcome attentions. She was, however, still vigilant
when it came to work. She had now joined the typing pool of Kirkwood’s, having left the canteen and a disappointed Gwen House in early November.

Anita had been right when she’d assured Rose that she’d soon recover her speed. Her fingers took no time at all in recalling their correct positions on the big, lusty half moon
typewriters that clacked noisily in the office. Rose had been nervous on her first morning, making several unnecessary mistakes. But during her lunch hour, Phyllis Waters, the clerk she had met
when first applying for a job at Kirkwood’s, paid her a visit.

‘Congratulations,’ she told Rose enthusiastically as she perched a slim thigh on the stool by Rose’s desk. ‘I came to wish you good luck and fatten you up.’ She
unwrapped a rather greasy looking brown paper bag. ‘Coconut Madeleine,’ Phyllis giggled and offered one to Rose. ‘By the looks of you, rushing around in the canteen has kept you
as thin as a rake.’

Rose gratefully accepted the pastry. She hadn’t brought any sandwiches with her. Coming up to Christmas every penny counted. She took a cautious bite and closed her eyes.
‘Scrumptious,’ she sighed as the jam and coconut melted on her tongue.

‘It’s hard work in the kitchens,’ Phyllis said sympathetically as she picked at the cherry with her small white teeth. ‘You’ll soon put on a few pounds now Gwen
doesn’t give you the runaround.’

‘Gwen was a good supervisor,’ Rose said loyally. ‘In many ways I was sorry to leave.’ She didn’t tell Phyllis it wasn’t the canteen work that kept her thin,
but keeping alert to a very nasty individual, causing her almost to live on her nerves. Rose thought Phyllis was far too young and naïve to know anything about Norman Payne’s sleazy
world.

‘Mr Grimmond, your boss here, is a bit of an old grump,’ Phyllis warned as they polished off the delicious cakes. ‘But he is fair to his staff.’

Rose had met Mr Grimmond once, at her interview. He was a small, round and bespectacled man, close to retiring age. He had given her a test on one of the machines and seemed satisfied with her
execution of a dictated paragraph that she completed slowly but efficiently. Sweat had been pouring down her back at the time as she hadn’t used a typewriter in years.

Rose had been surprised when he gave her the job. She had been one of four women who had applied, and the others were all experienced typists. Her one advantage had been that she was already an
employee of Kirkwood’s and had her name down on the list. She was to have three months’ trial in the typing pool, her starting wage a princely four pounds seventeen and sixpence. If she
could refresh her shorthand too, her salary would rise to five pounds fifty.

Rose was thrilled at the prospect, though when the children came down with measles, she didn’t like leaving Em to cope alone. Having a serious job meant she couldn’t take time off as
easily as she had done in the canteen. But Em said she didn’t mind and as it was almost Christmas, the kids would be on holiday anyway. It was the perfect opportunity to make decorations.

Eddie was less enamoured with the situation. Rose hoped he would be happy to hear her news, but his letter, or rather note of just a few lines, was discouraging. ‘Why can’t you stay
in the canteen till I come home?’ he wrote. ‘You can give up work altogether when we’re back to normal. With luck, I’ll be home in March.’

It was the first Saturday in December when his letter arrived. Rose opened it hurriedly before Em or the children were up. The house was cold, she hadn’t made up a fire yet and a few bleak
spots of rain splattered against the kitchen window. There was no visiting order enclosed.

‘Thought I heard you up,’ Em said, coming up behind her in her plaid dressing gown and slippers. ‘It’s only seven o’clock. You should have had a lie in.’

‘I heard the postman.’

‘Is there a letter from Eddie?’

‘Yes, but no VO. And I asked him to send one for us all. I wanted to see him before Christmas. Well, all of us really. The kids will forget what their dad looks like.’

Em put the kettle on, her hair in curlers still. ‘Eddie knows what he’s doing.’

‘I sometimes wonder.’

‘In his shoes wouldn’t you want the same? Christmas in a prison must be a terrible reminder for men of the home they’re missing. It would be like sprinkling salt on the wound
seeing everyone so happy.’

‘But what about the kids? They need reminding we’re a family. And he hasn’t seen them since that time when Bobby first took us all up.’

Em turned round and rubbed her hands together. ‘Why don’t you just go up on your own? Eddie could handle that. Bobby will take you.’

Rose looked away. Bobby had been a bit of a stranger lately. She guessed he was embarrassed to face her. But their kiss was innocent. It had happened on the spur of the moment and wasn’t
intended. The moment didn’t reflect on his relationship with Em or, indeed, with her.

‘I know he would.’ Rose didn’t quite meet Em’s eyes. Em wasn’t engaged to Bobby or even going out with him, but Rose still felt guilty. She didn’t think going
alone in the car with him was a good idea.

As the whistle blew Em got up to lift the kettle. ‘Do you know when Eddie’s coming home?’

‘In March, he thinks.’

‘Well then, four months shouldn’t be too long to wait.’

‘No, it shouldn’t,’ Rose agreed, although at the moment it felt like an eternity.

Em gave a little twitch of her mouth and a tight cough and Rose realized it was the first time in weeks that she’d noticed the nervous tic. Not only that, but Rose hadn’t been woken
by Em’s nightmares any more, and Em had even started wearing curlers to give bounce to her fine light brown hair. And wasn’t that lipstick she’d worn last Sunday when Bobby had
come round to mend the vacuum cleaner?

‘Talking of Bobby . . .’ Em turned round, the steaming teapot in her hand. ‘Well, you see . . . I’ve been thinking.’

Rose guessed what was coming. She’d hoped Em would accept Bobby’s proposal months ago, but it had never come. Had Bobby finally popped the question?

‘Yes?’ Rose prompted eagerly.

‘Of course I’d never do anything now – not before Eddie comes home—’

‘Oh, Em, spit it out!’ Rose couldn’t wait. The morning had started off so dismally with Eddie’s letter. Now, as the grey sky outside was slowly breaking into sunshine
over the backyard, she felt its warmth.

‘Bobby’s asked me to go to the pictures.’

Rose was silent. If she didn’t laugh, she’d cry. ‘Oh, Em, is that all?’

‘I haven’t said yes, yet.’ Her sister sank down on the chair. ‘Oh, Rosy, what if I can’t – you know –
respond
? He’s a young man. Healthy.
Normal . . .’

Rose stretched out her hands and folded them over the thin, cold fingers. ‘You’re young, pet. And you’re healthy.’

‘But not normal. Not after what happened with Arthur. I feel like a freak. I don’t know what Bobby sees in me, I honestly don’t. That’s why I’ve been so rude. I
don’t deserve a good man. And he’s good, I know he is. Far too good for the likes of me.’ She hung her head and sobbed softly. One of her curlers fell down on the table. Rose
picked it up and replaced it, wrapping the hair gently back into place. Her sister’s head came up slowly, her cheeks red and shiny.

‘Em, do you love him?’ It was the only question that needed to be asked.

Her sister gulped. ‘I don’t know what love is.’

‘’Course you do. It’s what you didn’t have with Arthur.’

Em sniffed noisily. Her voice was a whisper as she looked at Rose. ‘Sometimes, when I’m with Bobby, I get this feeling inside. As if I’m flying. My tummy’s all light and
swirling and my arms and legs go numb, as though I’ve no control. And that’s what frightens me, I think.’

‘You’ve had to be in control in the past, but it’s different now. You can set your emotions free.’

Em stared out from her clear, hazel brown eyes. ‘Free?’

‘Yes, you can trust again.’

‘But what if—’

‘What if you grow old without knowing what it’s like to be loved? What if you never hold a man that you love in your arms and let him make love to you? What if you never experience
the joy of going to sleep beside him and waking up in the morning knowing you’d shared the most precious gift in all the world?’

‘Sex? You mean sex?’ Em asked anxiously.

‘Sex is just bodies isn’t it? But lovemaking is mind and heart and soul, all rolled into one because you trust each other.’

‘I never thought that could happen to me.’

‘Well, you have the choice now.’

Em gave a long, shuddery sigh again. ‘It sounds so simple.’

Rose had no comment to make on simplicity. She would have had plenty to say two years ago, but not now. Loving someone the way she loved Eddie was more complicated than she had ever imagined
possible.

‘I don’t know a thing about electricity,’ Em murmured distantly, ‘or cars. And Bobby goes on about them all the time.’

Rose smiled ruefully. ‘You know a lot about cleaning things. You’ve got a lot in common in that sense. Anyway, he only talks about electricity because he can’t say what he
really wants to say.’

‘And what’s that?’

Rose raised her eyebrows and grinned. ‘Emily Trim, you’re fishing.’

Em blushed deeply. Rose thought how pretty she was looking these days even first thing in the morning in her curlers. Now that old turban was confined to the cupboard under the stairs, the
flower was blooming.

‘I might ask him to dinner next Sunday if that’s all right.’

‘With three kids watching your every move?’ Rose frowned. ‘Why don’t you take him up on his offer?’

‘Do you really think I should?’

‘Meself I’d rather go dancing,’ Rose giggled. ‘A tea dance first and maybe the films after.’

‘Oh, that’s even worse! I wouldn’t know a waltz from a quickstep.’

‘’Course you do. We learnt at school.’

‘Yes, but that was years ago.’

‘You said that to me about typing, that it was as easy as cracking eggs to pick up. Now it’s your turn.’

‘With my two left feet, Bobby’d be trampled!’

But Rose wasn’t fooled for a moment. Her sister was blushing like a schoolgirl. Bobby Morton was finally on to a winner.

Bobby and Em’s engagement party was held on New Year’s Eve. It was to have been Christmas Eve, but since the measles rash still irritated the children, Rose decided
to go along with Bobby’s suggestion of a slap-up do on the last day of the year.

On Boxing Day morning Rose sat in the Mendozas’ front room surrounded by piles of Christmas paper and string. A bright red cardigan and new plaid slippers occupied the top of the sideboard
along with packets of sweets, a box of Clarnico Assortment and a large jar of Turkish Delight. There were coats, scarves and hats thrown haphazardly over a chair and last night’s ashes were
still in the grate, a folded sheet of newspaper in front of them where Benny was kneeling.

‘Anita ain’t tidied up yet,’ he told her ruefully. ‘She’s having an extra hour in bed this morning as her back was giving her gyp again last night. She’s
doing too much, but dare I tell her to ease up? It’s more than me life’s worth to open me cake ’ole and speak me piece.’

‘She should get that back seen to,’ Rose agreed worriedly.

‘I just need a few more tyre contracts that I can rely on and she can chuck in scrubbing Lady Muck’s toilets.’

Rose knew that Benny hated the fact his wife wore herself out cleaning other people’s houses. But she also knew that Anita would refuse point blank to give up her independence. The
prospect of another Butlin’s holiday was what kept her going through thick and thin.