Lizzie of Langley Street (4 page)

‘Off out then, gel?’ Vi had asked as she walked down Langley Street one morning.

‘Just doing some errands for Ma, Vi.’ Lizzie knew it was a mistake to pause, but she didn’t want to appear rude.

‘Heard the Old Bill collared your Vinnie in the pub last night,’ Vi said with a gleam in her eye. ‘That Mik Ferreter slipped the copper a few quid, apparently, to get him off
the hook.’

‘You know more than I do, then, Vi,’ Lizzie retorted sharply. Vinnie hadn’t mentioned any of this at home and Vi knew it.

‘I hope I ain’t put me foot in it, gel. But I know how much your mum worries about you kids and I thought, well,
someone
ought to know. Just in case, like.’

Lizzie had got away quickly, then. She didn’t want to hear any more. A lot of it was gossip, but what Vi had said worried her. Mik Ferreter’s reputation preceded him in the East End.
Not only was he a bookie who tolerated no debt, but he was said to have some of the police in his pay. His criminal exploits in the underworld were legendary, and if Vi’s information was
correct there was no doubt of the hold he had over Vinnie.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder and Lizzie jumped.

‘Blimey, gel, your nerves are in a bad way.’ Danny Flowers grinned down at her. His blue eyes twinkled under his mop of blond hair.

‘Oh, it’s you, Danny.’

‘Who did you think it was,’ he answered with a straight face. ‘The Old Bill?’

Lizzie went white. ‘Course not!’

‘Crikey, I only came up to say hello. I might as well not have bothered.’ Danny stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat and rocked on his heels.

Lizzie smiled faintly. ‘Sorry, Danny. I got a lot on me mind.’

‘Like what for instance?’

‘Nothing important, not really.’

‘In which case, you’re doing a lot of frowning and jumping for something that ain’t important,’ Danny remarked astutely. ‘Why don’t you walk down to the barra
with me and ’ave some chestnuts. Yer dad’ll let you come if you ask ’im nicely.’

‘I ain’t saying nothing about what’s on me mind, Danny Flowers,’ she warned him, knowing that it would be a surprise to both of them if she kept her mouth shut.
‘It’s me own business and I don’t want no one poking their nose in.’

‘Me? Poke me nose in? The name’s Danny Flowers not Pinocchio.’ Danny looked affronted.

Danny always made her laugh. ‘Just for a few minutes then. I’ll just tell Pa.’

Lizzie walked over to the Bath chair and asked her father if she could go with Danny. ‘As long as he don’t come the old nonsense,’ Tom said suspiciously. ‘I don’t
trust any of them costermongers further than I could throw them.’

Costermongers were regarded by shopkeepers and stall-holders as disreputable moving from street to street, often selling goods at dirt-cheap prices. The Flowers family, however, had reformed
years ago and now ran a greengrocery business on Ebondale Street.

‘Danny ain’t a costermonger, Pa,’ Lizzie reminded him once more, hoping Danny couldn’t hear. ‘He just brings the barra up to the market on Saturday for his
dad.’

‘A leopard don’t change his spots. Just you remember that, my girl.’

Lizzie escaped whilst she could, though her inclination to argue the point was strong. Bill Flowers’ shop was a bit scruffy and you had to watch some of the stuff he sold but he had gained
a reputation for fairness. She couldn’t see the difference, anyway, between selling from a Bath chair and a barrow. Danny had been in the war, too. He was just sixteen when he had enlisted
the year before armistice. He had done his bit for king and country.

Danny was liked on the island, but Danny’s older bother, Frank, was not well regarded. Frank helped in the shop, but had once worked on the docks as a guard. He had been exempt from
conscription because of this. Tom Allen had once remarked that Frank Flowers must have a trunk full of white feathers by now.

‘How’s yer dad and Gertie?’ Lizzie asked as they walked together down Cox Street.

Bill Flowers had been a widower since Danny was born nineteen years ago. His wife, Daisy, had died in childbirth. Danny and Frank were the reason Bill had given up his roving way of life. With a
new born baby and a little boy of three to look after, a shop was the only way he could earn a living.

The barrow was all that remained of the old way of life. Gertie Spooner was Bill’s right-hand man. Bill had hired her to help look after the baby after Daisy’s death and Gertie had
been at his side ever since. As well as looking after the two boys, she knew the business back to front.

‘Dad don’t change,’ Danny grinned. ‘All work and no play, that’s me dad. Gertie still manages to get him down the Quarry on Saturdays though. Between you and me, I
reckon she wears the trousers. They should have got spliced those two. Might as well have, for all the time they spend together.’

Lizzie liked Gertie, who always had time to stop and say a few words in the shop, even when she was busy. Kate had been a regular customer in the old days but not so much lately. Market prices
were all she could afford.

When they reached the barrow the chestnuts were sizzling on the brazier. Their succulent aroma filled the air and Lizzie held her hands over the heat. The warmth penetrated her old green coat
and seeped into her cold bones.

‘Sit down, gel. I’ll do you some.’ Danny rubbed a tin plate clean on his elbow before tipping out some chestnuts.

Lizzie hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She sat down on an upturned box. Her mouth was watering as Danny passed her the plate. She stripped them hurriedly, tossing the hot brown nuts quickly
between each hand.

‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, Lizzie Allen,’ he chuckled. ‘Blimey, if all my customers had your appetite – and a full purse – I’d be a
millionaire.’

She licked her lips. ‘I could eat these all day long. They’re lovely.’

‘Like someone else I could name.’ Danny folded his arms and leaned against the barrow, tilting his cap over his forehead. ‘So when are you gonna say yes and marry me, then,
Lizzie Allen?’ Danny was always teasing her like this. She wondered what he would say if she answered, ‘Whenever you like.’ But she never quite had the nerve to spring that one on
him.

‘When you’ve made enough money to keep me like a lady,’ she said instead. ‘I’ve expensive tastes, you know.’

‘Blimey, hark at it. All right then. If you won’t marry me, when are you gonna let me take you out on the town?’

‘Oh, I’ve heard that one before, Danny Flowers.’

Lizzie thought he probably said the same to all the girls. She wouldn’t mind betting all those girls had lovely clothes, too. He was so handsome, her Danny, his white shirtsleeves rolled
up to his elbows, his shirt open at the neck. There wasn’t anyone she’d ever met who made her feel this way, all sort of shivery inside. She’d rather die than let him know, of
course. He probably thought she was still a kid. He’d known her ever since she was small, seen her trailing round the market with her sisters in tow. But the way she felt about him
wasn’t the way a child felt.

‘How do you fancy a night up the Queens?’ he said, with a serious expression on his face.

Lizzie stared at him. ‘The Queens? Up Poplar?’

‘Where else?’

She almost died of shock. ‘You mean . . . just you and me?’

Danny laughed. ‘Blimey, gel, I ain’t speaking French, am I?’ He looked at her with amusement, then, leaning towards her, raised one eyebrow. ‘Saturday is Amateur Night.
We’d have a bit of fun sitting up there in the gods.’

The gods! Had she heard him right? She couldn’t believe it.

Suddenly Danny was staring at her, and his eyes were telling her that he didn’t think of her as a kid any longer. Oh no, she’d been wrong there.

‘Course if you didn’t fancy the Queens, we could go to the Lyric,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s over Hammersmith, but Dad would let us borrow the ’orse and
cart.’

‘The Lyric,’ Lizzie breathed in wonder. ‘At Hammersmith.’

‘Beggar’s Opera, it’s called. The most popular show in town.’

Lizzie knew exactly what the Beggar’s Opera was. Dickie had read aloud all about it from an article in the newspaper; the show was packed with popular music, songs, dancing and puns.
Lizzie swallowed. Not only had Danny Flowers actually asked her to go out with him, but he’d asked her to go to the theatre.

She’d never even been in one. The nearest she’d ever got was looking at the posters outside the Queens. Life-sized colour posters of actors and actresses, singers and dancers,
comedians and acrobats.

This was a dream come true. Her and Danny at the Beggar’s Opera.

Then reality came back with a crash. Besides not having any clothes – or money – her father would refuse to let her go. She couldn’t tell Danny that Tom didn’t approve of
him. Danny would be angry then, and he might never talk to her again, let alone ask her out.

Thinking quickly, she made a joke of it. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she told him. ‘If I’ve got time, I might. I’ve got a schedule to keep you know.’

She held her breath. Maybe she had got away with it.

‘Don’t keep me waiting too long,’ he warned her. ‘I’ve got a schedule to keep an’ all.’ His blue eyes were twinkling.

Lizzie stood up, intending to leave whilst the going was good.

‘Yer not off already?’

‘I’d better. Pa said not to be away too long.’

Danny came to stand beside her. He was so tall and handsome. She felt weak at the knees. ‘Incidentally,’ he said as he looked down at her, ‘how’s that brother of yours
– Vinnie?’

Her heart banged against her ribs. ‘Why?’ she blurted, immediately on the defensive.

Danny shrugged. ‘Nothin’ really. It’s just that I was down the Quarry the other night. Someone said he was in a spot of bother.’

‘Not that I know of Lizzie turned and walked away, her heart still pounding.

But Danny caught up with her and took her arm. His eyes were kind as he said gently, ‘You can trust me, Lizzie, you know that. A trouble shared is a trouble halved.’

She really wanted to tell him, but she couldn’t. She still had her pride and didn’t want Danny to think less of her for something Vinnie had done. ‘Vinnie is old enough to look
after himself,’ she said, tossing back her thick black curls. ‘He don’t tell me his business and I don’t ask.’

Danny raised his eyebrows and let her go. ‘Pardon me for breathing.’

Lizzie felt a moment’s regret as she looked into his eyes.

‘When am I gonna see you again?’

She smiled a halting little smile. ‘Next Saturday. I’ll be here with Pa as usual.’

He grinned. ‘Looks like I’m gonna have to wait another week for me answer, then.’

She knew what the answer was already, but she wasn’t going to tell him. She’d have to think up a good excuse over the next seven days. She had as much chance of seeing the inside of
the Lyric as going to Buckingham Palace for tea.

When she got back, her father and Dickie were still engrossed in the newspaper. ‘Me old mate’s right,’ Tom hailed her as if she’d been sitting there listening for the
last half-hour. ‘Our strife will all be forgot. In time to come no one will remember we fought a war.’

‘The kids these days don’t know what life is about,’ agreed Dickie, folding the newspaper carefully and sliding it back in the sack. Politics, religion and the unions had been
ripped apart and put to rights again. Now it was time to get on with what remained of the day.

‘Push me by Elfie Goldblum’s stall,’ Tom instructed her. ‘No doubt he’ll be catchin’ a few latecomers.’ Though the traders had to have licences for
their pitches, disabled veterans were given the freedom of the streets, and Lizzie pushed the Bath chair beside Elfie Goldblum’s stall for their last stop of the day.

‘How you doing, my son?’ Elfie called, emerging from the back.

‘Had a good day, Elfie. And you?’

‘Could be better, could be better.’ Elfie Goldblum regularly denied making a fortune. He dealt in secondhand jewellery and curios. He was tiny and wizened with a small brown face
like a gnome. He had kept a stall at the market for years and was a very astute businessman. Tom liked to be near him in the afternoons because interest waned in the food as the day wore on but
people were always keen to look at Elfie’s fascinating stock. Rings, necklaces, bracelets, small pieces of china, teapots, brass and second-hand clocks. Elfie craftily replaced the gaps as he
sold and his stall always looked inviting.

Lizzie was still thinking about Danny, the Lyric and Hammersmith when a cultured voice broke in on her thoughts. ‘How much are the mints?’ A well-dressed man pointed to the small
bundle of sweets remaining on Tom’s tray.

‘Four ounces for a ha’penny, all done up in nice packets,’ replied Tom, before Lizzie could speak. ‘Lizzie, pass the gent a packet.’

Lizzie passed the mints, and after some examination their customer nodded. ‘I’ll take those three, one for each of my children.’

Lizzie stared at the gentleman, dressed in quality clothing, a brown trilby, leather gloves and a silk tie. What was it like to have money to spend and nice clothes to wear and be able to lead a
life that wasn’t always overshadowed by poverty, she wondered as the man nodded to her father and went on his way.

‘You all right, gel?’ Dickie asked, nudging her arm.

Lizzie nodded. ‘Yes, Dickie, I’m fine.’

‘Just as long as that flash ’arry with the barra ain’t upset yer.’

‘No, he hasn’t, and he’s not flash, Dickie.’ Lizzie knew there wasn’t much point in arguing. Dickie and her father were set in their ways and ideas. She could argue
till she was blue in the face on Danny’s behalf. It would make no difference. To some people on the island the Flowers would always be known as costermongers.

It was growing foggy again and the crowd was thinning out. Dickie rubbed his mittened hands together as another customer passed over a penny. ‘Blimey, it’s like Christmas arrived
early,’ Dickie chuckled as he gazed down at Tom’s depleted tray. All that was left was a small pile of written commemorations for Armistice Day.

Tom nodded in satisfaction. ‘I’ll be able to knock a bit off the rent. Kate’ll be pleased about that.’