East End Jubilee (43 page)

‘I’ll just start the fire and we can have a cuppa,’ Benny said as he buried his face in a cloud of ash and coughed up his lungs.

‘I’m not staying,’ Rose said, eager to be on her way. She wanted to get back home before Em and the kids were up. She intended to make everyone a cooked breakfast as a special
treat. ‘I just brought the treacle tart round as promised. Your boys are bringing their girls home for tea today.’

‘Tell me about it. You’d think royalty was paying a visit. I ain’t ever seen so many sausage rolls come out of an oven. Like bloody Lyons Corner House it was
yesterday.’

‘Neet likes to put on a good spread,’ Rose said mildly. ‘Em made the treacle tart with Tate and Lyle and it came out a treat.’

‘Yeah, well thanks, love. I’ll enjoy a bit tonight – if there’s any left, of course.’

Rose smiled, watching the big man carefully sweep the hearth with Anita’s dainty brass brush and pan set. At just gone eight o’clock the house had a peaceful, if rather chilly,
atmosphere and Benny hadn’t shaved, his big dark eyes still bleary from all the festivities.

‘Bobby’s asked Em to get engaged,’ she said on a swift breath. ‘And she’s said yes.’

For a moment Benny turned, looking surprised. Then he let out a loud guffaw. ‘Bloody hell. I’d never have laid a quid on that one.’

‘He’s been waiting to ask her for ages,’ Rose said as she pulled her thick cardigan around her and shivered. It wasn’t very Christmasy weather: damp and mild with strange
flurries of wind, but the houses in Ruby Street were like morgues until the fires went on.

‘So when did he pop the question?’

‘He took Em out last Sunday. They were going to the pictures, but never got there. Bobby was so nervous he asked her to marry him as they stood in the queue waiting for a ticket. Em nearly
fainted and he had to take her back to the car.’

Benny roared with laughter again, spilling the carefully swept ash on to the lino. ‘Poor bugger. But I reckon they’ll make it all right.’

‘I hope so, Benny.’

He swept the last of the sooty waste into the pan, replaced the grate and turned to frown at Rose. ‘When’s the big day?’

‘Not till Eddie’s home . . .’ She paused uncertainly. There had been no confirmation of his release date yet and she didn’t want to tempt fate by guessing at a month. She
moved on swiftly, ‘Bobby’s giving her the ring – officially – on New Year’s Eve. We’re having a party to celebrate. You’ll all come won’t
you?’

‘I’ll be first in line to shake the brave man’s hand,’ Benny grinned. ‘And I reckon that’s really decent of them to wait till Eddie’s back.’

Rose nodded but she didn’t say that Eddie was less than enthusiastic about the idea. He had sent a card before Christmas that he’d made himself for the kids. It consisted of a large
sheet of folded white paper and he’d sprinkled glitter over the carefully written words
, Happy Christmas Toots and Princess.
For Matthew he’d created a smaller card and had drawn
a Christmas tree on the front. The children had loved these and they were given pride of place on the mantel. He’d written a longer than usual letter to Rose – two whole pages –
but he sounded depressed instead of happy. ‘I hope your sister knows what she’s doing with this Bobby bloke,’ he’d written glumly in answer to all her news on the
forthcoming engagement. Added to which he’d still maintained that Rose’s job at Kirkwood’s was too demanding and she should give it up. What worried her most was that he
hadn’t responded to her query that if she didn’t have a reliable income when he came home, what would they live on? Because he avoided answering her question she feared the worst, her
suspicion growing that Norman Payne had already forged an unbreakable hold over him before he’d set one foot out of the prison. From what Eddie had hinted at, she was almost certain that
Norman Payne had no intention of letting her husband, or anyone else that might prove useful to him, off the hook.

‘Well, I’d better let you light that fire before everyone wakes up,’ Rose said as she stood up.

Benny hauled himself to his feet. He wore only his vest, soiled now by the ashes, and a pair of braces that stretched tightly across his barrel-like chest. His crumpled trousers resembled baggy
balloons at the knees. ‘Thanks for the treacle tart, love. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cuppa?’

‘No ta, Benny. Be sure to tell Neet about Friday though, won’t you?’

Benny grinned devilishly under his dark growth of beard. ‘It’d be more than me life’s worth to forget.’ He walked with her to the front door. She opened it and looked
both ways as she stepped out. Benny read her mind. ‘You ain’t seen nothing of that bastard Payne have you?’

She shook her head dismissively but every time she stepped on the street she wondered if a car would come roaring round the corner towards her. It hadn’t happened yet and she hoped
they’d given up on her for the time being. ‘I don’t think they’d dare come down this road again,’ she said more confidently than she felt.

‘You’ve only got to bang on the wall and I’m out of here in a shot,’ Benny told her stoutly.

‘I know. But I hope I’ll never have to ask that kind of favour.’ She went on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ‘Happy Christmas, pet.’

‘Happy Christmas, gel,’ he grinned and blushed.

Rose hadn’t been able to afford any real presents for the Mendozas but she’d made up a basket of fruit for the whole family and Em had baked one of her Christmas puddings and topped
it with a sprig of holly from a stunted holly bush that Will had unearthed on the debris. As Benny closed the door behind her she glanced over at Olga’s house. It was still unoccupied, two
pieces of tatty board nailed up to the lower window, just like the house next to forty-six. She thought of Olga hovering somewhere in the vicinity still trying to find her home. Rose was the only
one now who visited her grave at Golders Green. From time to time she took flowers, just a cheap bunch from the market, and silently she promised herself to take a big bunch of daffodils in
spring.

Back on her own doorstep, Rose paused, listening to the uncanny silence of Ruby Street on Boxing Day morning. Even the docks were in slumber, with only a faint hooting from the river drifting in
the morning air, bouncing like an invisible ball from the sooty, pointed roofs. Christmas 1954 had passed without snow. Except for the storm that had blown like a typhoon through west London, the
weather gods could do nothing more than spatter a few wet pearls across the deserted street. Not that it would stay deserted for very long, she decided as she let herself in. Soon all the kids
would be out, eager to play with their new toys on the pavements and in the road.

Inside the house the walls and ceilings were strung with the children’s handmade paper chains and the smell of Em’s freshly baked Christmas pudding lingered in the kitchen. The girls
and Matthew had left their Christmas presents under the tree in the front room, a brightly coloured push-along train and two bald baby dolls both purchased second-hand and given an overhaul with
Sunlight soap. They slept side by side in a blue painted crib with fairytale transfers stuck to the sides. This was also purchased second-hand but scrubbed as clean as a whistle. Will was still
fast asleep on his camp bed in the corner, his soft snore coming gently from under the eiderdown. It was too cold now to sleep in the tent. Two books,
Biggles Gets His Men
and
Another Job
for Biggles
, were placed safely on top of the gram, side by side. Em had managed to root out these dog-eared copies in a Poplar bookshop and the brightly coloured illustrations of Biggles
wearing his flying goggles and big smile made Rose want to smile too.

She felt a glow of pride when she looked around her house, just as she always had, despite little money being available for Christmas extras. Rose’s wages covered the rent and bills,
Em’s contribution filled the larder. On Christmas Day there had been roast chicken, stuffing, Brussels and crisp baked potatoes accompanied by a rich fruit pudding. No one had gone short. At
tea time they had scoffed mince pies and condensed cream as they gathered round the gram and listened to Bing Crosby singing ‘Count Your Blessings’, a song newly released from the film
White Christmas
. The rest of the day had been one long party: board games, charades and hide and seek being the all time favourites.

‘God bless our home,’ Rose sighed contentedly as she looked around her little nest. She thought of Eddie and said a prayer for him too. ‘Only a little while to go now,
sweetheart,’ she whispered, ‘and you’ll be in my arms once more.’

They came in the night.

The car must have stopped outside for several minutes before Rose woke. She heard the noise vaguely in her sleep, a soft growl at first, then a rattle and finally a big cat’s purr. The car
engine revved and a bolt of terror woke her fully. She jumped out of bed and ran to the window. Headlights flashed along the street and sliced the cold night air like a sharp, bright knife. Em
hadn’t woken. Nor had the children. Rose was frozen to the spot, her hand lifting the net curtain as though she was lifting the lid on a time bomb.

‘Please God, make it disappear,’ she said aloud, though her voice was just a hoarse whisper. She wanted to be brave, but courage deserted her. She had thought they would never dare
come down the street again. But they had. In the darkness, when no one was about to see what they did.

A loud crash echoed round the house. They were breaking in! They were going to kill them all! The children – the children! Rose jumped out of bed. Matthew hadn’t stirred in his cot,
amazingly. But Em sat up in bed, her eyes full of sleep.

‘What’s happened? What was that?’

‘Hurry! Hurry!’ Rose threw the bedclothes back. ‘They’re coming in!’

Em sat still looking dazed. ‘Who?’

Another crash splintered the air. This time there were terrified cries from the girls’ bedroom. Rose rushed along the landing. Someone was coming up the stairs. Her heart nearly stopped as
the two girls emerged slowly from their room. They stood in their nightgowns, rubbing their eyes.

Rose pushed them back, herding them like sheep into safety. But she had nothing to defend them with, nothing! Her eyes went to Matthew’s small wooden chair in the corner. She picked it up
and ran back to the landing, lifting it high above her head.

A split second later she was standing at the top of the stairs, shaking like a jelly inside but prepared to kill anyone who tried to pass her.

‘It’s me, Auntie Rose. It’s Will.’

Rose stared rigidly into the pale, frightened face. She felt her heart bubble as her brain tried to register what she saw with her eyes. In her imagination it had been the driver of the brown
car coming towards her, his coarse, blunted features screwed up in a frightening grimace. She didn’t know what Norman Payne looked like but if his appearance was anything like his voice,
there wouldn’t be much to choose between either man. She was certain both looked as evil as each other. But then as her nephew stepped cautiously up the stairs, his wide blue eyes filled with
fear and confusion, her whole body started to shake.

‘Will . . . is it you?’

‘Yes, don’t throw the chair at me, will you?’ He advanced cautiously, his striped pyjamas suddenly looking far too big for him as he crept towards her. ‘Someone threw
some bricks through the window. The car’s driven away now.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, I looked out the window after it drove off. There’s a big hole in the glass where the bricks came through.’

‘So they really have gone?’ Rose was still suspicious even though she knew Will was telling her the truth.

‘Yes. Honestly.’

‘Oh, thank God!’ Her legs collapsed under her and she sank down on the stairs, the little wooden chair falling out of her hands against the banister.

‘Rose, are you all right?’ Em called shrilly.

‘Mummy! Mummy!’ The two girls rushed towards her. Suddenly they were all clinging together, arms locked, faces wet with tears of relief. She pulled them against her tightly choking
back her own sobs as Em and Will crouched on the stairs and they all trembled together like one big jelly.

‘Mummy, I was ever so scared.’ Donnie lifted her face and Rose kissed her forehead.

‘So was I,’ Marlene sniffed. ‘I thought it was Old Nick.’

Rose murmured in confusion, ‘Old Nick?’

‘Yeah,’ nodded Marlene staunchly, her curly hair flowing over her shoulders like brilliant tongues of flame. ‘Or sometimes in the Bible he’s called Beeslebub.’

‘Be-el-ze-bub,’ Donnie corrected, giving a little hiccup. ‘You always get it wrong.’

‘It was only me anyway,’ said Will, remarkably calm. ‘I just heard this crash and another one, so I got under the covers.’

‘Are you hurt, love?’ Em smothered him in kisses and squashed his face in her hands as they sat on the stairs.

‘No, I’m okay.’ Embarrassed, Will shrank against the wall and the two girls’ tears soon turned into giggles.

‘Well, you could have been badly cut or knocked out by the bricks.’ Em turned to Rose. ‘What happened? I woke up in a start and the next thing I knew you were standing at the
top of the stairs holding a chair above your head and shrieking like a lunatic.’

‘I was going to stop whoever it was coming up the stairs.’

‘It was only me, Auntie Rose.’

‘I know that now, love,’ Rose said shakily. ‘But as you’ve slept in so many places in this house and in the yard, I forgot you were downstairs. I thought the men in the
car had broken in.’

Suddenly there was a loud knocking at the door. The knocking turned into a pounding and then there were voices. Lots of voices.

‘That’s Uncle Benny and Auntie Anita,’ Donnie cried. ‘And David and Alan.’

‘They must have heard the glass go,’ Em said and they all tried to get down the stairs to open the front door.

Rose went back upstairs to Matthew. He was still fast asleep in his cot beside the double bed. He’d slept through everything. She pulled his blanket round him then tumbled down the stairs
and joined everyone else. She still couldn’t stop shaking. How many more times would this happen, she wondered, or something like it? And next time, would someone be hurt? It was just lucky
that Will’s camp bed was over by the gram. If he’d been under the window the glass and the bricks would have fallen on him.