The Fight for Lizzie Flowers (10 page)

‘That’s not true, Flo. I’ll never take him back.’

‘You’re a soft touch when it comes to family,’ Flo replied with a shrug. ‘Oh, you told that thug Ferreter to sling his hook, never flinched as you faced him down. But
closer to home you’re easily fooled. After Mum and Dad left us it was the end of the Allens. The end of an era. You should have married Danny and left the East End behind you.’ Flo
stopped, adding accusingly, ‘God knows you and Danny are entitled to some happiness after all these years.’

‘I want that happiness too.’

‘Then take it. The sooner the better.’

‘I have to work this out in my own way.’

‘By which time Danny will have finally decided to bugger off.’

At this, Lizzie looked away.

‘I’m sorry.’ Flo touched her shoulder. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

Lizzie swallowed, taken aback at the pain she felt as Flo’s words struck home. ‘I saw Danny on Friday. There was a burglary at the workshop.’

‘Who did that?’

‘Danny thinks it was Frank.’

‘You can’t blame him,’ Flo replied unhelpfully. ‘But really, gel, what about you two?’

‘What about us?’

‘You know what I mean.’

Lizzie looked hard at her sister. ‘Danny wants me to move in, start afresh somewhere else. But that’s not for me.’

‘Christ, Lizzie, are you sure?’

Lizzie nodded. ‘So I’m to have a niece or nephew soon,’ she said, changing the subject quickly.

‘Yes, late September if me dates are right.’

‘So there will be the patter of little feet again in our old house.’

Flo’s cheeks flushed red as she nodded. ‘I hope our ma’s pleased, wherever she is. And Pa too.’

The silence stretched between them as Lizzie looked across the park, remembering the days of their childhood. The Allens had come here many years before; Vinnie and Bert had played on the
foreshore, searching for treasures in the mud. Flo and Babs had enjoyed the sandpit, their faces and hands caked with more dirt than sand by the time they made their way home. The gardens were full
of memories and, as she looked back at Flo, she wondered if Flo would bring her children to play here too.

Flo grinned. ‘I’ll be knackered lugging all that weight around in hot weather.’

‘You’re as strong as a brewery horse.’

‘I’ll look like one an’ all.’

They laughed, both relieved the tension was broken. ‘Don’t worry,’ Lizzie chuckled, ‘me and Pol will come round and make sure you’re resting. I’ll bring you
one of Lil’s Victoria sponges.’

Flo groaned. ‘I feel sick at the thought of food.’

‘You won’t be sick forever.’ Although it had been a shock to hear about the baby, Lizzie wasn’t surprised. After all, Flo and Syd had lived together, albeit as landlady
and lodger, for some while. It would be lovely to have a baby in the family again. Polly had been such a dear little mite. So pretty with her tufts of copper coloured hair and big blue eyes. As she
thought of Polly lying in the cot, Lizzie had a warm feeling inside. From the start, Polly had revelled in the love of her close family. Flo and Syd and Bert never failed to provide what was
lacking from Babs. They loved Polly as their own. And as the years had gone by, Polly had accepted and not questioned the gap that Babs had left in her young life.

What had become of Babs? Lizzie wondered yet again. Where had she gone and what was she doing? Did she miss her child and the love that Polly would eagerly give her?

Only Babs could answer that.

It was a mild April afternoon, and the cloudy sky had given way to occasional showers. Lizzie had left Bert to cover the exposed greengrocery with an old tarpaulin. She had
managed to dodge the showers on her way to the school.

Now as she stood at the school gate, she craned her neck to see if Polly was in the playground. A light spring breeze blew the stray strands of her dark hair away from her face. Polly’s
teacher, Mrs Price, saw to it that every child was out of class by five minutes past four. Today Polly was late. There were only a few children left on the weed-speckled square of asphalt in front
of the old Victorian building. Polly had loved West India Road School from the moment she had begun there just after her fourth birthday. She was a bright little girl and learned her three
‘R’s quickly. Lizzie knew that Polly was an achiever. Waiting for her niece to appear, she felt a familiar curl of anticipation. She never tired of the pride she felt when Polly
appeared in her school beret, her navy-blue drill slip, green blouse and jersey. Over her shoulder would be strung her shoe bag, and her hair would have come loose from her plaits. Somewhere on her
face would be an ink smudge.

Lizzie pushed open the iron gate. As she walked across the playground, Polly appeared at the school door.

‘Auntie Lizzie!’ Polly ran into her arms.

‘You’re late today, monkey!’ She hugged Polly, catching a whiff of the inks and papers of the classroom on her niece’s clothes.

‘I’m a monitor now. I have to help Mrs Price clear away.’

‘How did you get to be a monitor?’

Polly looked serious. ‘You have to be good to get a badge.’

‘And are you good?’

Polly giggled as she skipped along. ‘A bit.’

‘Well, I’m very proud of you.’

Polly stopped suddenly. ‘There was a man outside the gates today. I think it was Uncle Frank.’

Lizzie froze. ‘Uncle Frank? Are you sure?’

‘Dunno. I forgot what he looks like. But he said he was.’

‘What did he want?’

‘He just said hello.’

‘Was that all?’

‘The whistle went so I had to go in.’

Lizzie drew Polly close. ‘Are you sure that’s all he said?’

Polly nodded solemnly as she stared at Lizzie. ‘I was a bit frightened. Is he gonna blow up the shop again?’

Lizzie shook her head quickly. ‘No, course not.’

‘Billy Roper said he was.’

‘Well Billy Roper’s wrong.’ Lizzie drew her hands over Polly’s narrow shoulders. The children at school had been very cruel last year after the word went round that
Polly’s home had been bombed. When the police had reported the shop was a target in the spate of East End uprisings, Polly’s friends had deserted her. Rumours had quickly spread. The
parents suspected the Flowers family were involved with political activists. And it seemed Frank appearing had started them off again.

‘Did you tell Mrs Price what Billy said?’

Polly shook her head.

‘Why not?’

‘I didn’t want me badge taken away.’

‘But why would she do that?’

‘Because all the Flowerses are Commies.’ Polly blushed.

‘Who told you that?’

Polly looked down. ‘Billy.’

Lizzie lifted her chin. ‘Billy is just a little boy repeating a bad word. He doesn’t even know what it means. He should mind his manners if he doesn’t want to get into
trouble.’

‘So we ain’t—’

‘No we’re not. And if Billy says that word again, tell Mrs Price. She won’t stop you being a monitor. But she will stop Billy from being foul-mouthed.’

Polly grinned. She slid her hand in Lizzie’s. ‘What have we got for tea?’

‘Your favourite. Pie and mash with lots of gravy.’

As they walked home, Lizzie talked to Polly, hiding her growing anger. Billy Roper didn’t know what he was saying. He was only repeating what he’d heard from an adult. But if Frank
hadn’t turned up at school, Polly wouldn’t have been upset.

She decided that, after Polly was in bed that evening, she would cycle up to Poplar and make her feelings clear to Bill.

‘Come in, love, you sound out of breath.’ Gertie indicated a vacant spot by the wall where Lizzie could leave her bike. ‘What brings you out this time of
night?’

‘Is Bill up?’

‘Yes. He’s in the parlour. I’ll make a cuppa.’

Lizzie caught Gertie’s arm. ‘Don’t trouble, Gertie. I can’t stay long. I’ve left Polly with Bert.’

Pulling her cardigan round her, Gertie led the way to the front room. ‘Bill, it’s Lizzie.’

‘Hello, gel.’ Bill lowered his feet from the pouffe. Lizzie was pleased to see he looked well.

Lizzie sat on the sofa. The parlour was stuffy and the coal fire was still burning, even in April. Bill and Gertie had certainly changed their ways, Lizzie thought. Once upon a time, they were
hardy mortals. But with ill health, Lizzie supposed, all that had changed.

‘Everything all right?’ Bill asked.

‘Well, yes and no.’

‘Don’t like the sound of that.’

‘Polly told me Frank went to the school today.’

Bill scratched his whiskers. ‘He said he’d walked by. He only stopped to say hello.’

‘One of the kids told Polly he was going to put a bomb in the shop again.’

‘Did you put her right?’

‘Yes, but she was frightened.’

‘It was a one-off,’ Gertie interrupted, glancing at Bill. ‘Frank was only passing. Didn’t cause no trouble.’

‘I don’t want it happening again.’

‘Look, love,’ Bill said, sitting forward. ‘Ain’t this all a bit daft? She is his kid after all.’

‘We don’t know for sure.’

‘You only have to look at her to see. The colour of her hair is your Babs’s. But the blue of them mince pies is Frank’s. She should be told he’s her dad.’

Lizzie had made a bargain with Bill but he seemed to have forgotten it. Besides which, the decision to tell Polly about her father was Babs’s and Babs’s alone.

‘By the time we see your sister again, Polly could be sixteen, not six,’ Bill replied light-heartedly.

‘When the time comes I’ll tell Polly the same as I told you. It’s only her mother who can answer her questions.’

‘And what about Frank?’ Gertie asked shortly. ‘He’s doing his best to do right by you and Pol. After all, your sister hasn’t shown up in almost a year. Didn’t
even say where she was going. She might never return. Have you considered that?’

‘Yes, but I’m hoping she’ll be back some day. Until then, I’ll look after Polly, same as I always have.’

‘And Frank?’ Bill asked. ‘If you won’t let him see the child, then what has he to strive for?’

‘He never cared for her before.’

‘A changed man is my son, Lizzie. You understand he’s trying to make amends.’

‘Have you heard about Danny’s garage?’

‘No.’ Bill looked up sharply.

‘He had a burglary. All his tools were stolen.’

‘He ain’t blaming Frank for that, is he?’ Gertie demanded.

‘You’ll have to ask Danny about that.’

‘We would. But he don’t come round.’

Lizzie stood up. ‘Please ask Frank not to go to the school again.’

‘Don’t cut him off without hope,’ Bill pleaded, trying to get up from the chair. He reached out in an effort to stop Lizzie from leaving. For a few seconds he swayed, then, as
Lizzie rushed to his aid, he slumped back. His head fell against the cushion and Gertie quickly took a small brown bottle from the mantel. Pouring a thimbleful of its contents into a tumbler, she
handed the glass to Bill.

‘What’s that?’

‘For the ticker,’ Gertie said quietly.

‘I didn’t think he still had these turns.’

‘Only when he gets agitated.’

‘Bill, I’m sorry. I’ve upset you.’ Lizzie sat down again. Once more she saw it was the old man sitting there, frail and feeble. The man who had supported her through
thick and thin in the years when Frank had bullied and threatened her, draining the money from the business and wasting it.

‘No, my dear. I’m just a little lacking in breath.’ Bill forced a smile and took her hand. ‘What do they say? It’s always the creaking gate that lasts
longest.’

‘Is there anything I can get you?’

‘Just your attention for a few minutes longer.’

‘Bill, I know you believe Frank when he says he’s changed,’ Lizzie said soothingly. ‘I want to believe that too. And I trust your judgement more than I trust
anyone’s. But I can never allow Frank back into my life. Too much has happened between us.’

‘Yes, but what if he could win your respect? Just that. Nothing more.’

‘My respect?’ she repeated doubtfully.

Bill gave a laboured intake of breath. After a few seconds, he said in a heavy voice, ‘He wants to prove his worth to you and to the world. It’s not in his interests to nick from his
brother or upset his kid. It’s his family he’s trying to win back. Think about it, Lizzie. He’s been a fool. But he ain’t that much of a mug to say one thing and do another.
Not in the East End where everyone knows each other’s business.’

‘So what are you saying, Bill?’

‘Let him see Polly every so often. With your blessing. It’ll help keep him on the straight and narrow.’

‘But Polly was afraid today,’ she protested, feeling Bill’s argument drawing her in. ‘Billy Roper called the Flowers family Commies. Even if Frank’s intentions were
innocent, children can be very cruel.’

‘Then she should hear the truth for herself.’

‘Please, Lizzie,’ Gertie said and came to sit on the sofa. ‘Polly will hear things, it’s on the cards. Frank ain’t invisible and people will point the finger. If
Polly sees for herself that he means no harm, it don’t matter what any kid says.’ Gertie smiled encouragingly.

Lizzie shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘There’s just a couple of weeks till Easter. Bring Pol round. An hour, that’s all. We’ll have something nice for tea. She knows no harm will come to her at her
Granda’s house. Frank will make an appearance, be on his best behaviour, and that’s a promise.’

Lizzie looked into Bill’s anxious face. The lines were deepening around his eyes and his hair was almost silver white. She loved him deeply and admired his sense of loyalty to Frank. But
this was asking too much.

‘Ain’t it worth a try?’ Bill persisted. ‘Better the child don’t live in fear and can answer up for herself at school. Frank’s back on the island with a view
to staying, Lizzie. He was born and bred here and is as much part of the Smoke as we are.’

‘As is Danny,’ Lizzie said pointedly. ‘This ain’t easy for him, Bill.’

The old man nodded patiently. ‘Danny should speak to his brother. Know his brother wouldn’t cross him.’

Lizzie sat with a heavy heart. Bill wanted the best for both his sons, but had too much happened in the past? Danny was in no mood to forgive and forget.