Lizzie of Langley Street (14 page)

Lizzie wished she could have waved at Lil and Doug, but they were spending the day at Blackheath with Ethel. The horse and cart progressed sedately up Westferry Road and into Manchester Road. A
small group of ragged children joined them, singing and dancing in their wake. A few tried to climb aboard but Bert’s ugly face soon deterred them.

The laughter went on, as did the singing, until Danny twitched the reigns. Benji turned, his nose leading him as it had many times before to the stable behind the coster-monger’s shop. At
the junction of Ebondale Street and William Road the laughter faded to whispers. Their faces peered over the side of the cart.

The terraced houses, all with three floors, each had an airey. Each airey was railed with long iron posts, rusted and peeling. Lizzie knew that Bill Flowers lived above his shop, his sons below
it. By day the doors were thrown open, the front extended across the paving stones. Fruit and vegetables were displayed in boxes that only hours before had been sold at Covent Garden.

‘We’re going in
there
?’ Lizzie gasped. ‘In your house?’

Danny pulled in the reins. ‘A costermonger’s party not good enough for you, then?’ He jumped from his seat and lifted her down.

‘I hope you got something nice to eat at this party,’ Flo shouted, trailing lace behind her. ‘’Cos we ain’t had nothing since Lizzie’s stew and that bit of
cake afterwards.’

Danny laughed. ‘You’d better go and see for yourselves, hadn’t you? If there ain’t no ice cream, it won’t be a party, will it?’

‘We ain’t had ice cream for so long I can’t even remember what it tastes like.’

The Allen family made their way in single file down to the basement of the corner shop. Danny and Lizzie were the last to enter, a girl dressed in a red cape and a young man, tall and handsome,
with his arm lying lightly round her waist.

‘G
o steady, Lizzie Allen, or you’ll fall and break your neck if you don’t watch where you put your pretty feet.’ The narrow
steps turned at a sharp right angle. ‘Go on in, Bert, the door’s on the latch,’ called Danny as they descended, and Bert and the girls pushed open a door that gave way to a
spacious room, at the end of which was a big coal fire burning brightly in the grate.

‘Who lives ’ere?’ asked Flo as they walked in.

‘Just Frank and me. Dad lives upstairs above the shop. Make yourselves at home, everyone. Flo, gel, you go over and sit by the fire and get yourself warm.’

‘Ain’t it big?’ Flo stared around her.

‘It’s a lovely fire.’ Flo kneeled in front of it, raising her palms towards the heat. A large brass coal scuttle filled with coal stood by the fender and a pair. of tongs and a
brass shovel hung beside it.

Lizzie admired the surroundings that made up Danny’s life. The heavily draped window gave little light from the street, but the gas lamps filled the room with a warm glow. The floor was
covered in duckboards, planks of wood preventing the dampness from seeping into the carpet above.

Two comfortable easy chairs stood either side of the fire, tufts of horsehair poking out of their backs. A dresser spanned half of one wall, its pillared cupboards and thick shelves filled with
china and curios, and next to it a grandfather clock chimed the hour, its deep chords filling the air. At the far end of the room was a chiffonier, raised up on four bulbous feet, but it was the
upright piano beside it with two ornate brass candlesticks fixed to its front that caught Lizzie’s eye.

‘Ma always wanted a piano,’ Lizzie said wistfully as she walked over and touched its shiny surface.

‘Me and Frank ain’t musical,’ Danny told her. ‘Mum used to play it, though. She had a lovely voice, so me Dad says. Course I never ’eard it, but sometimes I think I
know what her voice sounded like . . . almost as though I’ve got the sound of it in me head.’

She knew that feeling too. Sometimes Kate’s voice would ring in her ears as though she were standing right beside her. ‘Ethel used to have lessons when Doug was in regular work and
afterwards we’d have a bit of fun, mucking about on the piano together. Ethel would teach me a few tunes, though I’d sort of know which keys to put me fingers on.’

‘We’ll have a good old sing-song later and you can give us a tune.’

‘Oh, I’d probably be a bit rusty.’

‘’Spect it’s like riding a bike, ain’t it? Sort of natural, like.’

She laughed. ‘Yes, I ’spect so.’

‘Here, you two,’ he called to Babs and Flo, who were inspecting the china ornaments on the dresser, ‘there’s lemonade, ginger beer or ice cream soda – who wants a
drink?’ He walked to the sideboard by the kitchen door where bottles of drink were lined up by the glasses.

‘It ain’t real lemonade, is it?’ called Flo.

‘Is it real?’ He looked back at Lizzie and winked. Course it’s real. Absolutely kosher.’

‘What are we ’aving to eat? Is there any jellies?’ Flo hurried over to watch Danny pour the sparkling lemonade.

‘Flo, it ain’t polite to ask,’ Lizzie said quickly.

‘Have a gander in there.’ Danny gave Flo her drink, tilting his head towards the kitchen. ‘Help yerself.’

‘She will an’ all,’ Lizzie giggled as Danny took her arm and led her towards the fire.

‘Ah well, she won’t make much impression on what’s out there. Gertie came over this morning and done us proud. Me old man, Frank and Gertie will be putting in an appearance
later.’ Danny glanced at Bert, who had made himself comfy in one of the chairs beside the fire. ‘Beer, Bert? Help yerself, mate, there’s bottled brown on the sideboard or
there’s a barrel up in the storeroom.’

Bert grinned and reached for the nearest bottle. ‘Think I’ll ’ave a brown for now.’

Lizzie looked around in admiration. ‘It’s a big airey, Danny.’

‘S’pose it is. There’s the sitting room, the kitchen, the scullery, then Frank’s room and mine. The glory hole’s full of junk. Come and have a look.’

The first bedroom was Frank’s. The pictures on the walls displayed men who looked stiffly at the camera. They were dressed in the rough working clothes of the costers: thick trousers and
jackets, caps discreetly removed from their heads for the benefit of the photographer. ‘Rogue’s gallery,’ Danny chuckled.

‘Are they all your family?’

‘Unfortunately, yes. Grandad Flowers is the old bloke in the middle there. I don’t remember much about him, only that when he was alive he had a blooming great voice that scared me
and Frank half to death. That’s Uncle Charlie and Uncle Fred, me dad’s two brothers.’ Danny pointed to two young boys standing by a horse and cart. ‘Uncle Fred got scarlet
fever and died young. Uncle Charlie ran away to sea and me dad ain’t seen or heard of him since.’

Lizzie’s gaze went to the photograph of a young woman wearing a long dark dress with a high collar. She was seated formally on a chair, her hands in her lap.

‘That’s me mum,’ Danny said quietly. ‘Puts the others to shame, don’t she?’

‘She’s beautiful.’

Danny nodded and was silent for a moment. ‘Still, it wasn’t meant to be and that’s that,’ he sighed, shrugging back his shoulders. ‘Dad and Gertie rub along well
enough together. Gertie’s a good sort. She was the closest thing to a mother we ever had . . .though Frank don’t really see it that way.’ A frown on his forehead, Danny sighed.
‘When Mum died having me, well, I think Frank felt sort of cheated. He never took to Gertie like I did. It was easier for me. I hadn’t had three years of a mother’s love, so I
didn’t know any better. Me dad said Frank never spoke much till he was four or five. As for me, I ain’t stopped rabbiting since I was born.’ He laughed softly. ‘As you well
know, gel.’

Lizzie smiled at Danny’s joke, but she was curious about Frank, who everyone said was a dark horse. The two brothers were so different yet looked so much alike. She wondered if Frank
resented Danny for the death of their mother, just as he had resented Gertie Spooner for taking her place.

Lizzie gazed at the big brass bed, the old-fashioned wardrobe and bulky set of drawers. An oil lamp stood on the corner of a marble-topped washstand and above this hung a glass case in which
there was a large stuffed fish. She thought the room resembled Frank, dark and brooding.

The next room was the glory hole, as Danny called it, so full of furniture you couldn’t walk inside. But Danny’s room was light and cheerful, having a window, which Frank’s
didn’t. Under the window was a desk on which stood a silver-framed photograph of Danny’s mother. Unlike Frank’s room, there were no photographs on the walls, but there was a large
coloured map of the world.

‘Mum painted it,’ Danny told her. Each continent was a different colour. The oceans were dark blue with tiny white eyelashes denoting waves. ‘She was clever like that. Dad said
she finished it just before I was born. Look, that’s Australia – where I’m going to make me fortune.’

Lizzie stared at the tiny green island of England and the huge red continent of Australia. ‘It’s so far away, Danny. And what about your dad? Who’s going to help him with the
shop?’

Danny shrugged. ‘Dad ain’t that struck on me going, but he’s not the sort to hold me back. And he’s got Frank to help him with the business. It ain’t as if I was
leaving him on his jack.’ He gazed at the map, then turned slowly towards Lizzie. ‘I’ve never been out of this country except to war, when I was sixteen. I saw action for twelve
short months but it seemed like a lifetime. They said the war was important for the world. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. But I found meself thinking if I survived, I’d live every day
like I never lived before. I made meself a vow. If ever I got out alive, I wouldn’t waste a moment.’

Lizzie wanted to be at his side, to go to Australia too. But how could she leave the family?

‘Well, now you know,’ he said gently. ‘It’s me dream, you see, one that I’ll have to follow whilst I’m still young enough.’

‘It a wonderful dream, Danny.’

‘I’d like to share it with you, you know that, Lizzie.’

She knew it, but as he took her in his arms and she waited for his kiss, she didn’t reply. He lowered his head and his lips touched her waiting mouth, then softly nuzzled her hair. She
leaned against him as pleasure and pain swept through her, mixed emotions that she could not understand.

Bert snored in one of the armchairs beside the fire. Babs and Flo, as usual, were in the middle of a disagreement.

‘You’re making an ’orrible din,’ said Babs as she tried to push Flo from the piano stool.

‘I ain’t!’ Flo glared at her sister. ‘No worse than you, anyway.’

‘Miss Hailing taught me to play “Silent Night”,’ Babs retorted, unable to dislodge Flo from the keyboard.

Flo’s cheeks went bright pink. ‘Yeah, with one finger I expect.’

Lizzie intervened. ‘Flo, let Babs play a tune and then you can have a go.’

Flo jumped up, pulling the lace curtain from her shoulders. ‘She’ll sit there for ever, making an ’orrible row. She can’t play no better than I can.’

Danny took Lizzie’s arm. ‘Leave ’em to it,’ he chuckled.

He guided her across the room, down the two steps into the kitchen. It was a long, thin room with a high ceiling. Over the cooking range were copper pans, skillets, spoons and ladles, all
crammed on to the shelves. The big wooden table down the middle was overflowing with sandwiches, pies, tarts, trifles, cold meats, saveloys and sardines.

‘It’s a banquet,’ Lizzie gasped as she stared at the feast.

‘There’s more in here if we run short.’ Danny opened the pantry door. All kinds of delicious smells oozed out. She had never seen a hock of ham so large, or bacon so mouth
wateringly pink. Big jars of pickles, fruit and fish all stood on the bottom shelf, their contents squashed tantalizingly against the glass. A crusty cottage loaf as big as the bread board occupied
the middle shelf Above this was a tin of Clarnico confections and a wedge of yellow cheese covered in muslin. On the top shelf was a hessian sack full of biscuits, a plate of muffins and a large
china pot of jam.

‘I ain’t never seen so much food in all me life!’

‘Well, it’s Christmas, ain’t it?’ Danny closed the pantry door and nodded to the turkey. It stood, as brown as toffee, on an oval dish in the centre of the table, its
legs decorated with fluted white caps. ‘Hope you didn’t eat too much dinner. Should be a tender bit of meat. We kept old Kaiser out the back with Benji. That bloomin’ bird ate as
much as the ’orse did.’

Just then, Babs came into the kitchen, a glass in her hand. ‘Everyone’s arriving,’ she said, her face flushed. ‘Frank says to come and tell you.’

‘What are you drinking?’ Lizzie asked.

‘Port and lemon.’ Babs tossed back her hair and smiled at Danny. ‘Frank said he’d pour me a shandy if I wanted, but that port and lemon was a lady’s drink.’
She gave a little toss of her head. ‘Well, are you two coming or not?’

‘Hold yer horses,’ said Danny, grinning.

‘I don’t like Babs drinking,’ Lizzie said as they followed her out. Babs was walking towards Frank, swaying her hips and giggling.

‘Aw, she’s just having a bit of fun,’ Danny assured her, sliding his arm round her waist. ‘Come on, stop worrying about Babs. You’re meant to enjoy yourself
tonight. And I’m gonna see that you do.’

But Lizzie was worried about Babs. She was flirting with Frank Flowers and looked much older than her years. It wasn’t just the port and lemon that had gone to her head, Lizzie realized.
It was in Babs’ character to tease. And without Ma to keep her in check, Babs’ bad behaviour knew no limits.

Boston Brown, all six feet and seventeen stone of him, had an arm round tiny Elfie Goldblum’s shoulders. They stood beside the piano singing to Fat Freda’s
rendition of ‘Won’t You Come Home, Bill Bailey?’ Elfie’s cloth-capped head barely came up to Boston’s swelling chest. But it was, surprisingly, the tenor of the tiny
jeweller’s voice that outshone the fishmonger’s bass.

The room was full of laughter, beer flowed freely. Empty brown bottles and froth-stained glasses jiggled on table tops. Every now and then a hand came over and replenished a glass. People moved
to and fro, laughing and joking. Some of the women were dancing, garters and pink flannelette drawers shamelessly exposed. Fat Freda played a medley of tunes as the men drank steadily.