The Bells of Bow (42 page)

‘Come back later when everyone’s calmed down.’

‘I’ll be back later all right, don’t you worry about that.’ He shoved her roughly out of the way and stormed out of the room.

She waited for the street door to slam and then went into the front room.

Georgie was still doing his best to comfort Betty, but his anger and tension had communicated themselves to the bawling infant.

‘I should’ve socked that bastard right on the bloody chin,’ Georgie spat the words through gritted teeth, ‘the first time he showed his stinking face in this house.’ He hardly noticed as Babs took Betty from him.

‘Go up to bed, Dad. I’ll stay down here and try her with a feed.’

This time when the knocking started, Babs really thought she must be dreaming. She switched on the lamp and peered at her watch. Half past six. She’d been asleep for less than two hours.

By her side in the double bed, Evie was on her back, sound asleep, snoring like a pig.

Babs staggered down the stairs praying that it wasn’t Albie back for a return match.

She pulled open the door and blinked at the cold dawn light.

‘Blanche?’

Blanche took her hand. ‘We’d better go inside and yer’d better call Evie down. I’ve got some bad news, Babs.’

It took some doing, but Babs eventually got Evie out of bed and into the kitchen.

Evie had come down the stairs with her eyes closed and her head thumping, nursing what promised to be the makings of a violent hangover.

Blanche looked at the twins then bowed her head and fiddled with the buttons of the coat that she had thrown over her nightgown, no longer having the courage to launch straight in to what she had to say. ‘My Terry come running home just now,’ she eventually began. ‘Him and Micky Clarke was out getting the stall set up when one of the market traders told him.’

Evie lit a cigarette. ‘This had better be good,’ she said, blowing out a stream of smoke and breaking into a loud racking cough. ‘Me head’s splitting.’

Babs frowned, she had never seen Evie smoke before. But then, she had to admit, there was a lot she didn’t know about her sister lately.

Blanche reached out and took one of Evie’s cigarettes from the packet on the table. She lit it slowly, making a performance out of striking the match and blowing it out. It was clear that she was stalling. She took a long drag and then blurted out: ‘Albie. He’s been killed.’

‘What?’ Babs thought she’d misheard.

‘Who did it?’ Evie asked coolly. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with her thumbs. ‘Someone’s old man who caught him at it?’

Blanche lowered her gaze. ‘He got trampled to death, Eve.’

‘What?’ Babs said again.

Evie flapped her hand at Babs. ‘Shut up, can’t yer, Babs? “
What? What?
” Yer sound just like a sodding parrot.’

Blanche took another long draw at her cigarette. ‘A shower of incendiaries fell on Dixon’s haulage yard. Direct hit on the stables. The horses went crackers. They broke out of the yard and bolted, right into the street. Albie never stood a chance in the blackout.’

‘Aw, Christ. No.’ Babs buried her face in her hands and began to cry softly. ‘It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have thrown him out like that.’

Blanche stubbed out her cigarette. She stood up and put her arm round Babs. ‘You mustn’t blame yerself, darling.’

Evie laughed mirthlessly. ‘No. Yer should be proud of yerself, girl. Yer’ve probably done me a favour.’

Blanche stared at Evie. She had always been one of the first to make excuses for her wild behaviour whenever anyone criticised her, putting it down to Violet running off like that, but this was definitely out of order. ‘As much as I disliked the man, Eve – everyone knows he was no good – I think you could show a bit of respect. The man’s dead, and he was Betty’s dad, after all.’

Evie lit another cigarette from the butt of the one she had just finished. ‘So, he was her dad, was he? I never noticed.’ She crossed her legs and jiggled her foot impatiently up and down. ‘Good riddance to him, that’s what I say. And there’s no need to look at me like that. Why should I be sorry? In fact, d’yer know what? I’m really glad he’s dead. Chuffed as hell. Perhaps now I can go out and have a bit of fun.’

Babs lifted her head and said quietly through her tears, ‘I thought that’s what you’d been doing anyway.’

Evie leant back in her chair and stretched her legs out in front of her. ‘I ain’t even started yet.’

Just a week after Albie’s funeral, Evie had moved all her possessions back into Darnfield Street. By two weeks after the funeral, it was as though she had forgotten that Albie had ever been her husband, and she treated Betty’s existence at number six with as little interest as she did Flash’s presence in the household.

It was Saturday, 3 May, a bright, sunny morning full of the promise of a lovely spring day. Babs was washing up after a late breakfast while Evie sat at the kitchen table drinking her way through the pot of tea and flicking idly through the morning paper.

She took a long drag of her cigarette and then balanced it on the edge of her saucer. ‘Can’t you shut that bloody kid up?’ she said without looking up.

Babs dropped a plate into the bowl of lukewarm water and took a moment to compose herself. Then she went out to the passage and cooed and rocked the pram until Betty settled.

‘It’s not for you, you know,’ she said, getting on with the dishes. ‘I don’t want Dad upsetting, that’s all. He needs his rest, he’s been working that hard lately.’

‘Hark at Saint bleed’n Babs of Bow,’ sneered Evie and sucked hard on her cigarette.

Babs put the final dish to drain on the side and emptied the greasy water down the sink. She wiped her hands on the tea towel and sat at the table next to Evie.

Evie continued to glance indifferently at the newspaper stories of bombings and death that had become an everyday part of the Blitz.

Babs poured herself some tea. ‘I can’t believe how hard you’ve got, Evie. You’ve changed so much.’

‘Me? Changed? Yeah, I reckon I have with all I’ve had to put up with. And I mean to keep changing and all. But before yer start, yer wanna look at yerself. How
you’ve
changed. When was the last time you went out with a feller? You’ve got like a bloody old woman, staying in all the time.’

‘Go out with a feller? Chance’d be a fine thing. Who’d look after Betty while you’re out enjoying yerself?’

‘There’s no need to talk to me like that.’

Babs laughed in amazement. ‘No need?’

Evie closed the paper, folded it in half and then looked earnestly into her sister’s eyes. ‘Look, Babs, yer don’t understand. I have to get out. I’m stuck in here all day by meself while you’re out at work. I’d go mad if I didn’t see a bit of life sometimes.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘Please. Don’t be wild with me. Yer do understand, don’t yer, Babs?’

‘I understand all right. Yer a selfish, conniving mare. And I’m pissed off with the way yer carrying on.’

Evie’s expression and mood changed in a flash. ‘Aw, shut up, Babs. Who’d yer think you are, telling me what to do? How d’yer think I feel, eh? I’ll tell yer, I feel really pissed off and all. Pissed off with yer going on at me all the time.’ Evie turned away and opened the paper again.

Babs stood up and snatched the paper from Evie’s hands and slammed it down on the table. ‘Yer don’t get pissed off with me looking after the baby though, do yer?’

They stared hard at each other, both knowing that things could easily be said that would be very difficult, maybe too difficult, ever to heal.

Babs swallowed the remains of her tea and poured herself another cup. She sighed loudly. ‘I don’t want bad feelings, Eve. I know it ain’t been easy for yer.’

Evie shrugged.

‘Anything happened about the flat?’

Evie seemed to brighten up. ‘Yeah. I had a real result there. Got rid of the dump easy as pie.’

‘I suppose there’s plenty need homes at the minute.’

‘Yeah, and willing to pay good money to get ’em and all.’

Babs frowned. ‘So yer’ve got some money for yerself and the baby then?’

‘Only a bit,’ she said hurriedly.

‘What did Albie’s mum have to say about yer getting rid of it?’

Evie poured herself more tea, draining the pot without offering more to Babs even though it was nearly the end of the ration. ‘Who cares? Don’t want nothing to do with that family.’

‘They’re Betty’s family as well, Eve. You must have some sort of responsibility to ’em.’

‘Look, Babs – not that it’s anything to do with you – but I went to the funeral to do the grieving wife act, and I let the old bag see the baby, if it’s convenient, so what more do yer want me to do?’

Babs didn’t say what she really felt; instead she said, ‘There is something yer could do. Yer could try and get some food for Flash. I’m having real trouble getting enough grub for her.’

Evie shook her head disbelievingly. ‘What, it’s the dog now is it? I really don’t think you’re happy unless yer moaning. Honest, Babs, yer getting right on my nerves.’

‘And Flash whining and scratching at the door ’cos she’s hungry, that don’t get on yer nerves?’

Evie rolled her eyes. ‘If it’ll make you happy, Babs,’ she said sarcastically, ‘I’ll sort something out when I pop out later on. How about that?’

‘Where yer going?’

Evie looked over her shoulder to the little window by the sink. ‘It’s such a nice morning I thought I’d have a walk down the Roman.’

Babs nodded and smiled. ‘Yeah. I’ll come with yer.’ She poked Evie in the ribs, just like she used to, her face glowing with a happy grin. ‘And I can watch Betty for yer when yer go in the butcher’s shop for the dog’s meat.’

Evie stood up and wrapped her dressing gown tightly round her. ‘I hadn’t planned on taking the pram. Yer know how crowded it gets of a Saturday. So you stay here with her, eh, Babs?’ It wasn’t actually a question.

Outside the butcher’s, Evie smoothed down the powder-blue dress which she knew set off her eyes so well, flicked her long, waved blonde hair over her shoulder, straightened her back and sashayed into the shop, a picture of fresh healthy beauty. Inside, the smell of clean sawdust sprinkled over the floor made her wrinkle her pert little nose, giving her a young, innocent look.

The elderly butcher, his striped navy and white apron stretched tight round his broad middle, raised his straw boater to her in appreciative greeting. ‘And what can I do you for, twin?’ he asked with a wink.

As Evie smiled back and breathed her requests for ‘a bit extra’ in sultry, intimate undertones, two stern-looking women, waiting for the youthful assistant to wrap their meat, stood with arms folded aggressively across their bosoms, discussing what they called Evie’s performance.

‘Just look at her, will yer,’ said the grey-haired one. ‘Not a coupon’ll change hands and she’ll get all the gear she wants. Just you mark my words.’

‘Yeah,’ said her friend, a big woman with a dingy-looking turban and dull brown eyes. ‘And I’ll bet the butcher’ll be getting what he wants and all later on.’

‘Dirty cow.’

‘Just like her mother.’

‘Yer right there,’ the first woman said knowingly. ‘Violet was always out more than she was in, and I don’t mean standing chatting on her street doorstep neither. That place was like a tip while she went out with her fancy fellers. The old man took to drink, yer know.’

‘Yer’d think she’d be in black,’ said the other one, adjusting the knot on her turban.

‘Not even an armband.’

Evie thanked the butcher, piled her parcels into her basket and turned round from the counter. She smiled serenely at the two gossips and said quietly so that the butcher couldn’t hear her, ‘Why don’t yer both get stuffed, yer nosy old bastards?’ Then, with a friendly wave and a cute little shrug at the happily smiling butcher, she went out to have a look at the stalls.

While Evie was flirting her way along the Roman Road market, Babs was trying to cope with Queenie, who had turned up completely unexpectedly. It wasn’t like her to be even dressed before lunchtime.

Finding the street door wedged open to let in the fresh spring air, she had walked into the kitchen unannounced. Babs had jumped back in alarm at the sight of her, big as she was, clad from head to foot in black and without her usual layers of make-up, looking ghostly pale and drawn. Even her hair looked less of a startling orange than normal, more of a dreary, subdued copper. She was carrying two bulging bags, piled high with yet more things for her granddaughter.

Babs had taken her through to the front room, where they had sat on the matching armchairs, facing each other warily from opposite sides of the hearth.

‘So, what’s she doing for money?’ Queenie’s voice was cold but quiet, so as not to wake Betty who she was holding in her arms.

‘Me and Dad’re seeing her all right.’ Babs studied her hands as she spoke.

‘I wondered how she was managing.’

Babs glanced up at her. ‘What d’yer mean by that? What d’yer think she’s doing for money?’

‘That flat must have fetched something.’

Babs blushed. ‘A bit. Not much.’

Queenie shook her head and snorted derisively. ‘I can’t see that one getting caught.’ She ran her hand tenderly over Betty’s soft, down-covered head. ‘Anyway, that don’t matter, so long as the baby’s not wanting for nothing.’

‘She’s fine.’ Babs tried to hide her surprise. Concern was the last thing she had expected from Queenie Denham. ‘Especially with all that gear yer’ve fetched again for her, she’s got more than enough stuff.’

Betty stirred and Queenie shifted her to a more comfortable position on her lap. ‘Right, we’ve got all the old flannel out of the way, now let’s get down to business.’

‘Sorry?’

Queenie’s expression hardened. ‘Don’t come the little Miss Innocent with me, girl.’

‘But—’

‘And there’s no use even thinking about trying to cover up for her. I ain’t come straight off the boat, yer know. I know all about her gallivanting. And I don’t like it.’ She waved a ring-encrusted hand. ‘It’s all right for blokes, it’s in ’em to be like that, I should know. But not for women. It ain’t right. And now she’s got my granddaughter here to look after. I ain’t having it, my little Betty suffering.’