Trinidad Street (43 page)

‘It was –’ Harry said at the same time.

They both stopped.

‘Go on.’

‘No, you.’

She waited.

‘It was the stupidest thing I ever done in my life, letting her stay that day,’ Harry said. ‘I don’t know why I did.’ He paused, getting his thoughts in order.

Ellen waited, hardly daring to breathe.

‘When – when I said she was poison, that wasn’t quite right. She’s more like – you know, people who drink, I mean really drink, the ones who can’t do without it. It’s like being that way. You know you shouldn’t, and it won’t do you any good, but you can’t stop yourself. That’s how it is with her. But I never liked her as a person, or even as a woman. Not like with you. It was quite different with you.’

‘I see,’ Ellen said.

But she didn’t. She just saw that he found Siobhan more attractive than her.

They were both gazing unseeing at the panorama, neither risking looking at the other. Revelations were easier that way.

‘There was a baby, so she said.’

‘
What
?’

‘She told me, about six weeks after. That’s why I had to ask her to marry me. At least I was spared that. She disappeared right after.’

‘Oh.’ Ellen could hardly take this one in. It was a total surprise. ‘But what happened? I mean, she didn’t have it?’

‘She lost it. Miscarried. Least, that’s what she said. That’s what she was telling me today, on the boat.’

‘Oh.’ Despite herself, a shadow of sympathy crept in. She thought of losing Jessica. ‘Poor thing.’

‘Ha!’ Harry gave a snort of derision. ‘Poor thing, my foot! She never wanted a baby. She was off the moment she got rid of it, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes, she was,’ Ellen agreed, and was profoundly glad.

Behind her she could sense Harry’s arm on the seat back. His fingers brushed her neck, sending fiery threads of pleasure through her. She stared very hard at her hands, gripped together in her lap.

‘There ain’t a day goes by when I don’t regret that time with her,’ Harry said.

Ellen’s throat was very tight. ‘It was my fault and all. I didn’t ought to have gone off with Gerry right away. I should have given you a chance.’

Harry’s arm wrapped round her shoulders. She turned to look at him then. For a timeless space they gazed deep into each other’s eyes, then slowly, inevitably, their bodies drew together, their lips met. In that long melting kiss they rediscovered the joy and tenderness they had once known, held on to it, made time stand still.

‘You know I still love you,’ Harry said.

In answer Ellen slid her hand round his neck, running her fingers into his close curls. She pulled his head down so that his mouth found hers again. There was no more talk of Siobhan or Gerry from then on, just a blissful reawakening of everything they had once been to each other. For a while they forgot about the rest of the world. There was just the two of them, cut off from real life.

It was the tingling in her breasts as the milk came in that called Ellen back to her responsibilities.

‘I got to go,’ she said, stricken. ‘Jess’ll be hungry. Oh, Harry, what are we going to do? I can’t leave you now. I love you.’

‘Ain’t nothing we can do. You’re married to Gerry now.’ His voice was flat with finality.

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

He held her face in his hands and gave her one last tender kiss. ‘Come on.’

They walked back through the gardens until they were close to the pier.

‘You go down that way and come along like you been the other side all along,’ Harry said. ‘I’ll wait here a while then walk in from this way.’

Ellen nodded, fighting back the tears. Already the magical afternoon was being tarnished by this deception.

‘Be brave.’ Harry squeezed her arm.

‘I’ll try.’

She turned and walked unsteadily away, not daring to look back.

It was a rowdy party that travelled back on the
Clacton Belle
that evening. Everybody told everybody else where they had been and what they had done, all talking and nobody listening. There was a permanent queue for the bar, and those who still had money left bought rounds for those who hadn’t. Several children were sick with excitement and too much sticky food.

The couples who had paired off during the day wandered out on to the lamplit decks and watched the lights of the shore passing by. Toddlers fell asleep in their mothers’ laps or curled up on the deck. In the packed, smoky forecabin, Alma started the singing. Red in the face, cheerfully tipsy, she raised her loud and surprisingly tuneful voice in a chorus of ‘I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside’. Before she was two lines into the song, everyone else had joined in. Between them, they knew enough songs to carry them halfway home, and when they had run through the lot, they started again. What with the noise and the alcoholic haze, no one noticed that both Harry and Ellen were exceedingly quiet.

OUTWARDLY,
EVERYTHING WENT
on as before. People worked long and hard, ate poorly and made love to forget these things. Young people fell in and out of love, babies were born, babies and old people died of natural causes. There were accidents, one fatal and two crippling, the usual run of illnesses, one miscarriage – Maisie’s – and one wedding.

When people got together at the Rum Puncheon or on the doorsteps, talk often turned to the trip to Southend. Every detail was gone over time and time again, and the conclusion was always reached that it had been the best day out ever, even though for some individuals it had been more of a trial than a pleasure. (Nobody was going to admit that they had not enjoyed it when everyone else seemed to have had such a good time). Even so, there were no moves towards planning another one, since many of them were still paying off debts from scraping the fare and spending money together last year.

Ellen became pregnant again and in the early autumn gave birth to a boy, Edward, named after Gerry’s long-dead father and known from the first as Teddy. The breach between Billinghams and O’Donaghues was healed well enough for Ellen to be able to ask Clodagh to assist at the birth. The only person who was not pleased about all this was Jessica, who found herself ousted from her position as only, adored baby. She let her displeasure be known by throwing temper tantrums and attempting to hit the baby, until appeased by the rag doll that her father brought home one day. This unfortunate toy, alternately loved and abused, soaked up much of her jealousy.

Next door, Harry still lived uneasily with his family. Many a time he thought about moving out. There were plenty of people more than willing to take him in as a lodger. But he knew that his money was needed and he feared for his mother’s safety if he left. His father had now given up all pretence of supporting his family. Even Johnny, still at school but selling papers in the streets morning and evening, was adding his pittance to the household, along with Florrie and Ida. Archie worked only enough to supply his drinking habits.

‘Good thing,’ Florrie commented sourly. ‘He’ll drink himself to death all the sooner. It’s the only way she’ll ever get rid of him.’

‘If I don’t kill him first,’ Harry said, before he could stop himself.

Brother and sister looked at each other.

‘It frightens me sometimes. I could do it,’ Harry admitted.

‘I’d help you finish him off,’ Florrie said.

They were silent, half horrified, half elated by the relief of confession. Both knew without saying that it was a secret of the deepest kind between them.

‘Why do we care so much? There’s plenty more like him. Their families manage,’ Harry said.

‘Because we’re us,’ Florrie said, which was probably as near to the truth as anyone would get.

More than ever, Harry was out of the house. His work demanded long hours, sometimes with early starts, sometimes requiring him to be away all night on a trip upriver. Saturday night was always music-hall night with a bunch of friends. But on Sundays he was part of the street again, and could hardly miss seeing Ellen out with her babies or talking to the other women. When they met they spoke only briefly, avoiding each other’s eyes. It was difficult to keep up the pretence of being nothing more than neighbours.

He watched her covertly, concerned for her welfare, yet in one corner of his heart hoping she was not happy with Gerry. She always looked well enough. Looking after a home, a husband, two lodgers and two children was a heavy task, but she was young and strong and Gerry was a good provider. They ate better than most in the street and always had enough for fuel for fires and cooking. To a partial observer like Harry, though, there was a difference in her. The light had gone out of her, the warmth and sparkle that he had once known. Only when she was holding one of the children did it come back, that glow of possessive love. In the night he found himself listening, almost hoping for the sound of raised voices, ready to rush in and defend her. But Gerry would never dream of laying hands on his wife and all Harry ever heard was the wail of hungry infants – Gerry’s children.

One Saturday night not long after the birth of Teddy, Harry was out as usual with half a dozen of his friends. He had almost not gone with them that evening, for the hall they had chosen had Siobhan on the bill and he had no desire to go and see her perform. The others all went on at him to come, and in the end, as the alternative was an evening in the Rum Puncheon watching his father get drunk, he agreed.

‘Wouldn’t mind a bit of that,’ one of them commented as Siobhan came on to the stage.

‘Yeah, she can ring my bell any day.’

They whistled and clapped as she curtseyed to the audience, and fell silent as she began her song. It was another of the sentimental little ditties that she specialized in. She had her act down to a fine art now, teasing, smiling, seeming to be inviting them in, then backing off with a whisk of the skirt and a melting glance over the shoulder.

‘Fancy once living in the same street as that. You ever get a chance, Harry boy?’

‘No,’ he lied. He had never told any of them anything of what had happened. ‘She wasn’t interested in the likes of me. Had her eyes on the stage-door Johnnies even then.’

He watched her move, heard her sing. The whole act was so typical of her it left a bad taste in his mouth.

After the show, they all went off for a drink in a nearby pub. It was a foggy October night, cold and cheerless. The street lights made faint yellow haloes in the grey but did little to illuminate the streets. Harry was a little behind the others, feeling out of tune with his friends’ jokes and laughter. All around him swirled the cheerful audience from the hall, calling out to each other, singing snatches of the songs. Usually he was part of it, bright and happy from the entertainment, ready to down a pint and have a sing. Tonight he felt set apart.

‘Oi, Harry! You coming? We nearly lost you.’

‘You go on,’ he called. ‘I’ll be with you.’

They were swallowed up in half a minute, lost in the sooty blanket of fog. Harry decided to make for the bus stop. He just was not in the mood for it tonight. He crossed the road, dodging between hansoms and buses, carriages and motor cars. The smell of the fumes hung in the stagnant air, catching at his throat. As he walked along close to the shopfronts, hands in pockets, minding his own business, a female figure stepped out of a doorway in front of him.

‘All alone, darling? Want some company?’

He stared at the prostitute in the red feathered hat and yellow fringed shawl. Her pudgy face was painted into a semblance of youth and her mouth was smiling, but the eyes were predatory.

‘No thanks.’

He was about to step round her when a pull of familiarity made him look again, more closely. And as he did so, he saw that she too had recognized him. She whipped round and began to run down the street.

‘Theresa!’

He chased after and caught her easily. He gripped her arm.

‘Theresa, stop, please.’

‘Let go of me! Let go!’

There was an agony of shame in her voice. She tried to wrench her arm away, her head turned to the side so that she would not have to look him in the face.

‘I only want to help, Theresa. I won’t tell anyone, I promise. They’ll never know.’

‘No, no!’

She was twisting and fighting, kicking at his legs. The hard toe of her boot connected with his shin. He got hold of her other arm and gave her a shake.

‘Stop it. Shut up and listen.’

Abruptly, she did just that, though she still did not meet his eye.

‘Look, we can’t talk out in the street like this. Is there somewhere we can go?’

She must have a place where she took people, but he did not want to go there. He had never been in a brothel in his life and he was not going to start now.

‘A pub,’ he suggested.

He had temporarily lost his bearings in the fog. He dragged her along till he saw the bleary glow of lamplight spilling out into the night. Anywhere would do, so long as his friends were not there. The sign was unfamiliar. It would do.

It was crowded and smoky inside. He hung on to Theresa, fearing she would make a run for it if he left her while he fetched the drinks.

‘Gin?’ he asked, and she nodded.

He managed to find a corner table just as its occupants got up to leave and shoved Theresa on to the bench seat and squeezed in beside her.

‘Here.’ He pushed the gin, a large one, in front of her and she downed half of it at a gulp.

‘Better?’

She nodded again.

He took a pull at his pint and decided that he would do the talking first. He started telling her what had happened in the street since she left – the births, the deaths, the marriages. She was listening, he was sure, but she gave no sign of it. She just stared at her drink, and occasionally took a sip. It was half an hour before Harry paused for breath.

‘Another?’ he asked, and took a chance this time, going up himself to get the glasses refilled.

‘Ta.’ Theresa took a sip and fiddled with the glass. Harry waited. ‘I never thought Ellen’d marry Gerry,’ she said at last.

‘No, well – that’s how it goes, ain’t it? Things never do turn out like you wanted, do they?’