Lizzie of Langley Street (19 page)

‘You’re shaking like a leaf, gel.’ Frank urged Benji on, slapping the reins and clucking his tongue. ‘Put the sack across yer knees.’ He reached
behind the seat and threw the potato sack across her legs. She huddled underneath it. She wasn’t really cold even though the fog was still thick. She felt so tired she could go to sleep
sitting up. To keep herself awake she told Frank all about Flo.

The fog swirled in patches, then cleared suddenly. The dirty streets of Limehouse were scattered with drunks and street women and a few cabs braving the weather. Lizzie was glad she hadn’t
had to make this journey on her own.

Frank had lit two oil lamps and hung them on the side of the cart. Bill used them in the mornings when he drove the cart back from Covent Garden or Spitalfields. A few Salvation Army officers
stood outside the Seamen’s Mission, the ex-servicemen’s hostel. Frank told her there had been a big Easter service there. But Lizzie couldn’t stop thinking about Flo all alone in
the hospital.

‘She’s in the best place,’ Frank told her as the cart clattered over the cobbles.

‘But she might have to go over the water to New Cross.’ Lizzie didn’t realize she was speaking her thoughts aloud. ‘How am I going to get there?’

‘I’ll take you,’ Frank said with a shrug as he shook the reins. ‘It won’t be no trouble.’

‘No,’ said Lizzie quickly. ‘I wouldn’t want that.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Frank muttered crossly, glancing at her. ‘I told you, I’ll take you. It ain’t no bother.’

They sat in silence for a while and Lizzie wished she hadn’t argued with Frank. He had been kind to her tonight and she should be grateful. But she didn’t know how long Flo was going
to be in hospital. And she didn’t want to be in Frank’s debt.

‘Do you want a cup of tea before you go home?’ Lizzie asked politely as Benji came to a halt in Langley Street.

‘Nah, thanks all the same. Better get home.’ He jumped off the cart and came round to her side. He helped her down and she leaned on him, her body tired and weak. They stood by the
door as the fog cleared and the bright moon shone down on the slippery pavement.

‘It’s Good Friday tomorrow – we’re closed for the day,’ Frank said, his silhouette tall in the moonlight. ‘I’ll take you to the hospital.’

‘No,’ Lizzie replied quickly. ‘I’ll catch a tram.’ She didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so she added quickly, ‘You’ve done enough. I wouldn’t
have been able to get to the hospital tonight if it wasn’t for you.’

He pulled his cap down over his forehead. ‘I ain’t never met anyone at stubborn as you, Lizzie Allen.’ He hesitated as he left her. ‘Night, then.’

‘Night, Frank. And thanks.’

She watched him jump back up on the cart. In the darkness, his broad shoulders looked like Danny’s. For a moment her heart ached so much she let out a moan. If only Danny were with her now
to share her troubles.

The horse and cart and Frank melted into the mist. She really didn’t want him to take her to the hospital again. She would get up bright and early and ask Lil to keep an eye on Pa. Luckily
she wasn’t at the shop tomorrow.

As she pulled the string up and slid the key in the latch, her mind was working quickly. Tomorrow she would find out about the trams going to hospital. She was determined to visit Flo without
asking help from Frank.

V
iolet Catcher sat outside her front door on a wooden chair, her legs protruding from her skirt like pink balloons. The August heat had caused her
to roll down her stockings and hold her pinny out, away from her body. She flapped it up and down, inducing a small breeze. Her face was red, her frizzed hair covered by a multicoloured turban. She
watched everyone and everything, the heat having no effect whatsoever on her eyesight.

Lizzie let the lace curtain that covered the small window by the front door fall back into place. How was she to leave the house unnoticed? Other than a murder taking place in the house next to
Vi’s, it looked as though her neighbour was there for the duration.

‘Off to the shop, then, ducks?’ would be Vi’s first question, as Lizzie walked past, followed swiftly by, ‘Does the old ’eart good to see you better off, gel,
’specially with your Flo being sick all this time. No one deserves a bit of luck more than you, that’s what I says.’ Lizzie mimicked Violet’s coarse tones.
‘’Spect you get a nice bit o’ fruit and veg on the side? That Frank Flowers is sure to look after you. Strapping great fella like him.’

Lizzie smiled to herself as she prepared for work. No one considered Bill Flowers a suitable subject for gossip and, officially, it was Bill who was her boss. Sixty years old and hard of
hearing, the old coster didn’t qualify for juicy bits of scandal. No, Lizzie thought wryly, the truth didn’t fetch much attention these days, not like a good bit of tittle-tattle.

She slipped on a pale green summer frock with a pretty scooped neckline and short sleeves. It was her favourite dress from Anne Hailing’s parcel. She smoothed down the soft cotton, aware
that a little more weight suited her. Her hair was pinned up neatly for work at the shop. The sun had spattered freckles over her nose. She liked to look smart for the shop nowadays. At first she
had worn a coarse grey overall, as weighing up the fruit and veg was a filthy job. But as trade became brisker, she left this to Bert. Now she did the books and shared the ordering with Bill. She
had come to know the business well and now worked four days each week.

At home things had also improved. She had brought the rent up to date and redeemed the sewing machine. Flo, too, had benefited. Frank provided a regular supply of large, juicy black grapes for
her diet. Lizzie took a bunch from Covent Garden each time she visited. And instead of transferring her to New Cross they had moved Flo to a convalescent home near the hospital, an easy trip by bus
and tram.

If only Danny was here, Lizzie thought as she picked up her bag from the chair. If only she knew where he was. Why hadn’t he written? ‘What’s happened, Danny?’ she
whispered aloud. ‘Where are you?’

Five months had passed. Frank had said that a letter from Australia might take months to arrive in England. Where was Danny? In Australia or in some other country? What could have prevented him
from writing?

She caught the sad expression on her face in the mirror. What was she miserable for? She had a job to go to, one that had made a difference to their lives, providing security. And it was a job
she liked and was good at. Pulling back her shoulders she called out, ‘I’m off now, Pa. Lil will be in with your tray at dinner time.’

‘Tell her not to bother.’

‘It ain’t no bother. She likes coming in for a chat.’

Lil always came in at midday. She sometimes brought him a hot meal, or Lizzie would leave cheese and pickles in the kitchen. Lil would add a mug of tea to it, stopping for a few minutes, though
it was she who did all the chatting.

‘Stubborn as a mule, that father of yours,’ she complained good naturedly. ‘Tells me to clear off, the daft old bugger. So I tell him he can starve for all I care but I
ain’t about to let good food go to waste. Then he calls me a nosy parker and tells me I should mind me own business. Silly old sod.’

Lizzie opened the front door and stepped out into a warm summer’s day. Vi Catcher gave her a wave. Sighing softly, Lizzie closed the front door and walked across to number
seventy-nine.

‘You look a smasher today, gel.’ Vi nodded at her green dress.

‘Thanks, Vi.’

‘Nice to see you all done up. You’ve filled out a bit since you been at that shop. Must be all the fruit and veg doing you good.’

Lizzie smiled. ‘Was the cauli I brought you last week all right?’

‘Did me a real treat, that. Put a bit of cheese with it and baked it in the oven. Made it last for three days. But you shouldn’t have troubled, love. You can’t afford to spend
yer money on me.’

‘It didn’t cost me a penny, Vi. They were left over from Saturday. I gave one to Lil and thought you’d like the other.’

‘Too true. Anything you got left over I’ll have off you,’ Vi said eagerly.

Lizzie felt sorry for Vi even though she was an old gossip. She never had any visitors and no one knew if she had any family. She’d lived alone in the house for as long as Lizzie could
remember.

Vi put up her fat hand to shield her eyes from the morning sun. ‘How’s your Flo doing, then? Last time I saw you she was being shifted to that convalescent ’ome.’

‘She likes it there,’ Lizzie told her. ‘They’ve got nice gardens and when it’s sunny she can go outside if she’s well wrapped up.’

‘If me legs was up to it, I’d go over and see her meself Dunno how you keep making all them bus journeys.’ Vi raised her eyebrows. ‘Old Tap given you all the once over,
has he? That fever has a nasty habit of spreading.’

‘Dr Tap tests us regularly and we’re all clear.’ Lizzie knew Vi was afraid of catching diseases.

‘Nasty disease, that is,’ Vi sighed. ‘Your mum used to say to me she was more worried about health than money and I reckon she was right. As I was saying to Mrs B down the road
whose uncle had a touch of it last year—’

Lizzie began to move away. ‘I’d better go. I’m late already.’

‘Give Flo me love!’ Vi boomed out.

As Lizzie walked the sun bathed her in its soft early glow. It was a glorious morning. All the scents of the island whirled into her nose. They brought back childhood, the hot summers spent in
Island Gardens under the trees. Flo, as plump as a puppy, Babs sitting on the edge of the pond with the boys, catching minnows. And when it was time to come home, there was tea to look forward to,
a rich fruit cake and sometimes a treat of toffee apples.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Her long dark lashes flickered down on her cheeks. They were all so happy then. What had happened to Babs and Vinnie? She had long since stopped asking either
of them for money and none was forthcoming. They were like strangers, coming and going without speaking. What could she do to make it right again?

Twenty minutes later and she had arrived at Ebondale Street. The fruit and veg were already laid out in their boxes. Bill would have brought all the fresh stock on the cart from the city early
this morning. By the looks of it Bert had finished the display and he had drawn the blind up in the shop window. The sun glinted off the freshly cleaned glass and the white price tickets she had
made for the bargains stood up straight in their boxes. Each piece of fruit would be fresh and shiny. Attention to detail helped to boost turnover, and low prices enticed the customers.

This was her future, here, at the shop. She must stop dwelling on the past. Tonight she would catch a bus to see Flo. Perhaps they could sit out in the garden and enjoy the summer evening. Flo
had been very ill but now she was recovering.

There was a lot to be grateful for.

The bell over the shop door tinkled as Lizzie walked in. Frank came out from the back room and smiled when he saw her.

‘Hello, Frank,’ she said, surprised to see him dressed in a suit and tie. ‘Where you off to, then?’

‘As a matter of fact, I’m taking the day off to go up West,’ he told her.

‘What’s happening to the barrow?’

Frank shrugged. ‘Well, going up to Cox Street ain’t a matter of life and death, is it? I’ve more important business to attend to.’

Lizzie didn’t say what she was thinking. That Bill relied on his son to take the barrow up to the market. The money Frank took at market wasn’t a great deal, but together with the
takings at the shop it paid all the bills and wages.

When Lizzie tried to pass Frank, he took hold of her arm. ‘Ain’t you gonna ask me what the business is?’

‘No, Frank. That’s your concern. Now, is there anything you want me to do here? And where’s Bert? I didn’t see him out the front.’

‘He’s gone down to make himself a cup of tea.’ She frowned. ‘Bert usually has his break at eleven.’ Frank nodded. ‘I told him to nip off early. I’ve
left everything priced up. King Edwards at sixpence for eight pounds, parsnips at tuppence a pound and the other veg at a penny a pound for a good mixture. There’s leeks, onions and shallots
all weighed up in bags and ready for the customer. See? I had it all done early this morning, before breakfast.’

‘So you have.’ She gazed around the shop. ‘But why? I would have prepared them before doing the books. That’s what you pay me for.’

‘Truth is, I thought you might like to come up West with me. Get the experience. Me business today is with a new supplier.’

‘A new supplier? Who?’ she asked in surprise. ‘Well, that’s what I’ve got to find out, haven’t I? This bloke I met at the market said they’re setting up
a new line in fruit and veg. From what he said, I thought we might be interested.’

Lizzie looked at Frank, unable to dismiss the growing suspicion that sometimes he resembled Vinnie. The way he talked and his manner suggested something a little underhand. Although she
didn’t want to think it, she wondered if Frank had the same attraction to easy money as her brother.

‘Your father brings our stock from market,’ Lizzie said quickly. ‘It’s fresh and cheap. Why should we want another supplier?’

Frank’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Ain’t you ever thought about the day the old man will retire? I mean, he’s sixty-one now and fitter than most. But there will come a time when
he’ll want to ease up.’

‘Couldn’t Bert take over the horse and cart?’ Lizzie suggested.

‘What, can you see Bert pittin’ his brains against them Covent Garden traders?’ Frank gave a disparaging laugh. ‘I don’t think so. Don’t even know if he could
find his way there, come to think of it.’

Lizzie knew Frank was right. But perhaps Bert had never really been given the chance to prove himself. She wanted to say as much, but didn’t. She and Bert were lucky to have jobs. She
couldn’t tell Frank how to run his own business.

‘Anyway,’ Frank said, shrugging back his shoulders, ‘this bloke has got one of them new fangled motor vans. Reckons he can deliver the goods instead of us having to fetch
them.’

‘You mean do away with the horse and cart?’ Lizzie asked in a shocked tone.