PAT SET THE chair he had carried outside for Nora on the pavement by the front door. He glanced along the street and saw his two youngest children in the middle of the road, engaged in a rowdy, knockabout game of football with a crowd of assorted Miltons and a whole throng of other kids he didn’t recognise. He laughed out loud as Michael threw himself to the ground, grabbing the ankles of a much taller boy, dragging him down on top of him, whilst protesting loudly that it was he who was being fouled.
‘That Michael!’ he said to Danny before straightening his cap and striding off along the road to the Queen’s.
Danny just nodded. He wasn’t in the frame of mind to be amused by his little brother, or by any of his brothers for that matter. He and Molly should have been off long ago, but there they were, still standing by the street door, trying to prise out of the gloomy-looking Sean exactly what his plans were for the rest of the evening. And they weren’t getting very far.
‘Look, yer welcome to come with us, yer know that,’ Molly said with more patience than she was feeling. ‘But I mean it, Sean. We ain’t gonna stand here all night begging yer to come with us.’
‘What makes yer think I’d wanna go anywhere with you pair?’ Sean leant back against the grimy brick wall, his hands sunk deep in his trouser pockets. He glared down at his feet and kicked hard at a stone, sending it spinning into the gutter. ‘Walking up and down the flaming street with a bunch of idiots. What’s the point of that?’
‘So what are yer gonna do then?’ As much as Danny wanted to be off, he, like Molly, felt obliged at least to try to find out what Sean was up to; their mother would expect it of them and it was always wise to attempt to keep her happy. ‘Are yer meeting yer mates or something? Is that what yer doing?’
Sean lifted his chin and stared arrogantly at his brother. ‘What’s it gotta do with you?’
‘Bloody hell, Sean, I only asked.’
‘Keep it down, boys,’ said Molly through her teeth. She looked anxiously at the open street door for any signs of their mother appearing from the passage.
‘But it ain’t none of your sodding business where I’m going, is it?’ Sean sneered contemptuously at them. ‘I’m fed up with having to tell everyone what I’m up to all the time. Can’t yer get that into yer thick heads?’
That was too much for Molly. She stuck her fists into her waist, just like her mother did when she was angry, and pushed her face close to Sean’s. ‘Now look here, you. Me and Dan couldn’t give a tinker’s cuss what yer up to, if yer really wanna know. It’s just that Mum worries about yer. Just like she worries about all of us. And we should think ourselves lucky that she does, and all. There’s plenty of kids round here who’d give anything for, a mum like our’n.’
Sean turned his head away. ‘Piss off, can’t yer? That’s all I get from you lot. Treating me like a kid.’ He twisted back round to face her. ‘Well, I ain’t a kid no more, am I? I’ve left school now and, even if that geezer has let me down, I’m gonna be earning soon, you just see if I ain’t. Independent I’ll be, and I’m gonna make meself a packet. And you all wanna remember that.’
‘Sean,’ pleaded Molly, ‘don’t start. We only wanna know where yer going so’s we can all meet up after and come home together. Then Mum won’t know we ain’t all been out like a nice happy family. And she won’t have nothing to lead off about, will she?’
Sean repaid her concern with a look of total disdain.
Molly threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘I can’t stand this lark, Dan. You’ll have to do something with him.’
‘What can I do?’
Whether Molly could have told Danny what to do or not didn’t matter; it was too late. Sean wasn’t going to listen to anything either of them had to say. He pushed himself away from the wall and disappeared at a fast trot round the corner of the house and was off along Grundy Street before either of them could stop him.
‘Aw wonderful, now yer’ve done it, ain’t yer?’
Danny’s mouth fell open. ‘Me? What did I do?’
‘Nothing. That’s the trouble. Yer know what he’s been like lately. He’s had the right devil in him. Gawd alone knows what he’ll get up to. We’ll never find him now. Yer could have tried to stop him, Dan.’
Danny didn’t bother to disagree with his sister. Molly could be as stubborn as their mother, and also like her, she could out talk him any day. Since they had been tiny Molly had been able to tie him in knots with her arguments. So, instead of wasting his breath, Danny decided that action was called for. He tipped his head towards the other end of the road, the end that was blocked off with a six-foot-high brick wall, and began walking slowly backwards in that direction. ‘Shall we get going then? Before Mum and Nanna come out and wanna know where that little sod’s taken himself off to?’
Molly didn’t move.
Despite his mounting frustration, Danny tried an encouraging smile, but still she didn’t budge. She just stood there by the street doorstep, her eyes fixed on the wall at the end of the turning – the wall that made Plumley Street different from every other street in the neighbourhood.
In all other ways, Plumley Street was exactly like the rest of the little turnings in that part of Poplar, that either ran parallel to, or led off the market in the road known to everyone locally not by its proper name of Chrisp Street, but as Chris Street. Just like its neighbours, Plumley Street was home to a tight-knit community that saw its fair share of births and deaths, rows and feuds, friendships and marriages, tragedies and laughter. But when the two-up, two-down terraces of Plumley Street were being built over forty years ago – not long before Katie’s and Pat’s parents had arrived from Ireland and had moved in next door to each other in numbers ten and twelve – the builder had intended that the far end of the street should open out on to the busy East India Dock Road. It was with the potential passing trade on that bustling, major thoroughfare that linked Barking in the east to the Commercial Road, and beyond to the City of London in the west, that the builder had in mind when he built the little general shop and the pub, the Queen’s Arms, at that end of the street. But, before the project was completed, the builder had disappeared.
It was a complete mystery as to where he had gone. Some said that his money had run out, others that he had been put into prison, some even claimed that they knew he had been murdered in Stepney in a drunken fight with the landlord who employed him, and had been buried in the foundations of one of his very own building sites. But, whatever the reason for his disappearance, Plumley Street was left as it was: blocked at one end by the solid brick wall that had been erected during building to stop through traffic from interfering with the work. So, instead of being on the busy corner of East India Dock Road, the shop and the pub stood at the far end of a cul-de-sac with a blank, six feet of wall between them, and the only way in and out of the turning was at the other end, where Plumley Street butted on to Grundy Street. It was at that open end that number twelve Plumley Street, the Mehans’ home, stood on one corner, facing number eleven where a widower, Frank Barber, and his little daughter, Theresa, lived downstairs, and upstairs was ‘Nutty’ Lil Evans.
Having the wall at the other end of the street had never been seen by the residents as a hindrance. Instead they thought that it made their turning special, different, because it was back to front, what with the shop and the pub being at the ‘wrong’ end. And the wall had its practical uses too. It had served generations of local children as a football goal, a wicket, a blackboard to scribble on, a target to pelt stones and tin cans at, and something just to clamber over for the sake of it. It also kept the street free of carts and lorries cutting through from the market, making it a safe playground.
Strangely, the back-to-front nature of the street hadn’t harmed trade for the general shop or the Queen’s; both were as busy as any similar establishments in the East End, even though there was plenty of competition in that area, particularly from Chrisp Street and Upper North Street. The neighbourhood looked affectionately on Plumley Street as a cherished oddity, and the cheerful, friendly personalities of Mags and Harold Donovan, who ran the pub, and Edie and Bert Johnson, who owned the shop, hadn’t done any harm to that reputation either. Plumley Street had the added advantage for people using the pub and the shop that they knew their kids would be safe playing in the street outside. It didn’t occur to them that a mere six foot of wall was no barrier to a child determined to find its way on to the East India Dock Road; and it was that very route that Danny, despite his comparatively mature eighteen years, was impatient to take.
He walked back to his sister and leant close to her, trying to figure out what she was staring at. ‘Oi, Molly, wake up, will yer? You coming or what?’
She flicked her thick auburn hair away from her eyes. ‘I was thinking.’
‘Blimey, mind yer don’t give yerself a headache.’
Molly either didn’t notice, or, more likely, she chose to ignore her brother’s sarcasm. ‘I was thinking,’ she said slowly, ‘that I might walk round, go through Chris Street, so’s I can have a nose at the stalls.’
‘But, Moll, we’re late enough as . . .’ Danny began, then a look of realisation gradually dawned on his face. ‘Stalls, my eye,’ he jeered. ‘Nanna’s right, you have, haven’t yer? Yer’ve turned into a right young lady.’
This time Molly took the bait. Her cheeks reddened. ‘No,’ she snapped, ‘I have not.’
‘Well, what’s up with yer then? Yer always go shinning up and over that wall like a good ’un. You gone soft, have yer?’
Molly pursed her lips indignantly. ‘I’m too hot to go clambering about, all right?’
‘You go whichever way you like, big mouth. I’m walking round through the market.’
‘Well, I’d better come with yer then, hadn’t I?’ Danny couldn’t resist taking another dig at his sister. ‘I mean, I don’t want a delicate little flower like you to go tripping over no match sticks or nothing, now do I?’
Danny took one look at his sister’s face and took off as fast as his legs could carry him. Molly immediately took up the chase, yelling for revenge. Despite the skirt of her cotton dress flapping round her legs, she pursued him round the corner and along Grundy Street, and managed to catch hold of him just as they skidded into the crowds who, even at that time of the evening, were milling around the stalls in Chrisp Street.
‘Yer can still run then, sis?’ he grinned, pulling away from her.
She punched him hard in the shoulder. ‘Yeah, and I can still fight and all, so yer’d better watch it.’
‘Mind how yer go,’ Danny complained. He circled his arm and rubbed at his stinging shoulder. ‘That ain’t very ladylike behaviour, now is it?’
‘No, but it’s very Mehan-like,’ she said, grabbing hold of his shirt sleeve again. ‘Now let’s walk nice and slow, all right? I wanna have a look.’
‘Don’t you girls ever get fed up, gawping at flaming stalls?’
‘No,’ she said with a challenging stare. ‘Why? You got something to say about it?’
Danny shrugged. ‘Well, don’t be too long,’ he said importantly. ‘I’ve got someone to see about a bit of business.’
Molly didn’t give her brother the scornful answer he more or less expected, she was far more interested in one of the stalls. It was piled high with toppling towers of vividly coloured bales of dress material. There was one pattern in particular, an intense cornflower blue with sprigs of tiny yellow flowers, that she knew would be just right for flattering her blue eyes and her auburn hair.
She ran her fingertips over the smooth, crisp cotton; with her slim build, she would only need a couple of yards for a frock, even for the new longer length, and she was sure she could persuade her nan to make it for her, or better still, Liz Watts’s mum, Peggy, who was a dab hand with a needle. But material cost money and even if skirts whizzed right up to her thighs – which they might well do the way the fashions they showed on the newsreels kept changing – Molly still couldn’t afford to buy half a yard, even at market prices, let alone enough for a dress. Much as she would have loved to spend something on herself, she knew that with the way things were, it was only fair to hand over most of her miserable wages to the family kitty each week; but that didn’t stop her looking. She hadn’t had anything new for ages, and it was such a lovely colour. Still, it was no good dreaming. Things would have to get a lot easier in the docks for her dad before she could start spending money on bits of material again, whether it was cornflower blue with yellow flowers, or sky-blue pink with purple spots.
Reluctantly, Molly moved away from the stall, but she wasn’t miserable for long. There were, as always, enough things in Chrisp Street market to distract anyone. It was a noisy, exciting, kaleidoscope of a place, full of tantalising smells and seductively presented goods. There were toys and cups and plates and shoes; huge, engineered items of salmon-pink satin ladies’ underwear; make-up and hair brushes; dresses and little boxes full of tonic powders that guaranteed to improve everything that could possibly need improving; food stuffs and stockings, pot scourers and great slabs of dark green soap. Each stall had its own enticements and never-to-be-beaten prices. And the crowds loved it, as they strolled along, stopping to barter and buy, or just to look while enjoying the warm evening air.
Even though it was almost seven o’clock, the sky was still clear and bright with summer sunlight, and while the stall holders might not have had their naphtha lamps burning yet, the summer fruits and vegetables, piled in drifts and pyramids of colour, on carpets of luridly green straw grass mats, glowed as brightly as any lantern. It being a Saturday night, the market would be busy until at least ten and even then there would still be customers eager to get any last-minute bargains before the stalls were packed away.
Back from where the stalls were jammed together along the roadside, Chrisp Street had another line of activity, centred around the shops which were all as busy as the barrows. Woolworth’s in particular was chock-full of people looking for anything from household goods to cheap trinkets, or just hanging around listening and swaying in time to the latest sixpenny records. Then, when the browsers had had their fill of the sights and sounds of the shops, they could go back to the market and refresh themselves at the coffee and food stalls. Wherever one of these stood, there were as many dogs hanging around as people; each mutt sniffing under the canvas side flaps, whining in the wistful hope that someone just might drop a bacon sandwich or a slice of dripping toast – or even better, one of the greasy saveloys or savoury faggots – right there on the ground before them.
But for anyone Molly or Danny’s age, Chrisp Street market, with all its attractions, couldn’t begin to compete on a Saturday night with the appeal of what awaited them just around the corner. For Saturday night on the East India Dock Road meant the Monkey Parade, the weekly promenade attended by what seemed to be all the young people from Poplar and the surrounding neighbourhoods. They strolled along in groups, gossiping and laughing, cheye-eyeking and yelling at one another, checking to see who was walking with whom, giving what they were wearing and how they had their hair done the once-over, and generally commenting on everything and anything about them. But what was most important of all about the Monkey Parade was the sorting out of who you did or didn’t take a fancy to, and, with everyone knowing everyone else, there was never much of a secret about it. The Monkey Parade was the reason that Danny and Molly had been so keen to get out of the house, even though Molly had insisted on taking the roundabout route.
As soon as they turned into the East India Dock Road someone was calling out to them.
‘Danny!’ They stopped on the corner and waited while the stockily built, brown-haired boy, who looked to be about Danny’s age, came trotting over to them. He smiled at Molly. ‘Hello,’ he said, looking her directly in the eyes.
Molly tilted her head to one side. ‘Hello,’ she answered, looking up at him through her lashes.
Danny punched him matily on the shoulder. ‘Bob Jarvis, you old sod. What you doing here? I thought we was gonna meet up later, after yer’d seen them blokes yer was going on about.’
Bob held out his packet of Woodbines. Molly shook her head but Danny took one. ‘I was on me way when I saw you two. So I thought, here’s me chance. I’ll see if Danny fancies coming with me to meet the chaps, and I can get him to introduce me to that beautiful sister of his at the same time.’ Bob stuck a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and put the packet back in his coat pocket. ‘Two birds with one stone, see. Here, you are his sister, ain’t yer?’
Molly lifted her chin. ‘I might be.’
Danny squinted as he lit his cigarette and then held out the match for Bob. ‘Yer know she’s me sister. Yer’ve had yer eye on her since I’ve known yer.’
Molly’s expression hardened. ‘Well, I ain’t never seen, you before. You been talking about me behind me back, Dan?’ She turned on Bob. ‘If there’s anything yer wanna know about me, you ask me yerself, all right?’
Bob gave an amused nod, but Danny sounded rattled. ‘Blimey, Moll, give us a chance. I’ve only known the bloke a couple o’ weeks. I ain’t had time to say nothing about yer.’
Molly stared at Bob, daring him to lie. ‘That true?’
‘Yeah.’ He leant towards her and held his hands melodramatically to his heart. ‘I have had to be content with admiring you from afar, but with knowing nothing about yer.’
‘That’s all right then,’ she said haughtily. ‘And, anyway, if I’m being truthful, I have seen yer around. Once or twice maybe.’ She stuck out her hand, as Danny always did when he met someone new. ‘Molly Katherine Mehan. How d’yer do?’
Bob took her hand, but instead of shaking it as she had expected, he raised it gently to his lips. He looked along her arm to her shocked face. ‘Bob Jarvis. Pleased to meet yer, Molly Katherine Mehan. Yer a very lovely young lady. Very lovely indeed.’
Molly snatched her hand away and wiped it on her skirt. ‘You fancy yerself, don’t yer?’
‘Yeah, and I fancy you and all.’ Bob winked at her, then turned to Dan who, to Molly’s intense annoyance was now grinning like a fool. ‘So, what d’yer think, old son? Yer wanna come with me to meet these blokes I was telling yer about? Yer’ll like ’em.’
‘I would, Bob, but . . .’ He hesitated before adding wistfully, ‘. . . there’s Molly here to think about.’
‘They wasn’t expecting me to bring no one else, Dan.’ Bob blew his breath out noisily between pursed lips and slowly shook his head. ‘I’m gonna have to explain how I bumped into you as it is. I dunno how they’d react if I had the two of yers tagging along.’
‘Well I can’t just dump her, can I?’
Molly folded her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. ‘Yer don’t have to worry about me, Dan.’ She was doubly annoyed – her brother was not only making a very good job of showing her up by talking about her as though she were a bag of dirty laundry he was having to cart about, but worse still, his friend already seemed to have lost any interest he had in her. She could have kicked herself for the way she’d acted all stupid and flattered; it had obviously put him off. The trouble was, she told herself, this was all so new to her, all this caring about what a feller thought about her. And there was something about Bob, something about the way he looked at her and the way he had kissed her hand. She couldn’t explain it, but he made her feel as though she were ready to do whatever he wanted. It scared her. Now she’d made enough of a fool of herself, and she was blowed if she’d let him know what effect he’d had on her.
She shrugged carelessly. ‘It’s all right with me if I ain’t invited. There’s plenty of people round here to keep me busy.’ With a pointed smile Molly waved cheerfully at a noisy group of boys who were strutting past on the other side of the street. ‘And anyway,’ she added, looking slyly at her brother, ‘I’m meeting Lizzie Watts, ain’t I?’
Molly could barely disguise her pleasure at seeing that it was now Danny’s turn to look disappointed with the arrangements.
All thoughts of teasing his sister in front of Bob were gone from his mind. ‘Yer meeting Liz? Yer never said. When?’
‘Soon as she gets here.’
Bob smiled at Molly. ‘I reckon he likes this girl, whoever she is.’
Molly smiled sweetly. ‘Reckon he does.’
‘Tell yer what, how about if me and Danny nip off for a while to see these fellers. It won’t take long. Then, when we get back, us three and this Lizzie can all go off to the pictures together. How’d that suit yer?’
Determined not to sound too eager, Molly looked casually around her. ‘I don’t mind,’ she said lightly. ‘I’m easy. But here’s Liz now.’ She pointed. ‘You can ask her yerselves.’
The two boys turned and looked back along the East India Dock Road. Liz Watts, Molly’s best friend, was walking towards them. She was brushing the dust off her dress, a sure sign that she had just shinned up over the wall at the end of Plumley Street.
Whereas Molly was vivacious and good-looking in a striking, red-haired way, Liz Watts was softly pretty with fair hair gently curling around her pale pink cheeks. Like Molly she was sixteen years old and worked in Terson’s, a warehouse near the docks, packing tea. She and Molly had grown up together and, everyone in the street said it, they were so close that they were more like sisters than friends.
Molly, emboldened by the sight of her ever-faithful ally, called out loudly, ‘Wotcher, Liz.’
‘Hello, Moll, Dan,’ she answered, as she looked their brown-haired companion up and down. ‘So who’s this then?’
‘His name’s Bob Jarvis,’ said Molly, standing next to her friend and joining her in her appraisal of Bob’s looks. ‘Mate of Dan’s. What d’yer reckon?’
Liz cocked her head to one side and considered. ‘All right if yer like that sort of thing, I suppose.’
‘Does your mother know yer out?’ Bob asked with a cheeky wink.
‘Yeah,’ Liz snapped back, with a wink of her own, ‘and she give me a farthing to buy a monkey – you for sale, are yer?’
Bob shook his head. ‘Here, Dan, these two off their heads or what?’
‘Just a bit,’ said Danny, smiling soppily at Liz.
Molly noted the expression on her brother’s face; he looked like Rags dribbling at the marrow bones in the butcher’s shop window. Molly narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, nudged her friend and said something to her quietly behind her hand. Then, continuing in a mock whisper so that Danny and Bob could hear every word, she said, ‘He mentioned us all going to the pictures together, Liz. What d’yer think? D’yer think yer could stand it?’
Liz wrinkled her nose flirtatiously at Danny. ‘Wouldn’t mind. But only if Danny’d sit next to me. Would you like that, eh, Dan, sitting with me? ’Cos I’d really like yer to. Especially as it’s so dark in the flicks. I get really scared when the lights go out, but I’d feel all safe if I knew yer was sitting there next to me.’
Danny eyes widened. What should he say? He coughed exaggeratedly into his hands, hoping his seizure looked convincing, while he desperately tried to think of something clever.
Molly didn’t seem very concerned about her brother having a turn. She took her purse out of her dress pocket and began raking through the farthings and ha’pennies. ‘How much yer got?’ she asked Liz.
‘Enough. Mum let me keep a bit extra this week.’
‘Lucky cow,’ said Molly, clearly unimpressed by her own total wealth. She shoved her purse back into her pocket. ‘You wanna have five kids and a nan in the family like us, that’d teach yer.’
Liz put her finger on her chin and flapped her eyelashes. ‘Yer should have been the baby of the family like me.’
‘Don’t I wish.’ Molly pulled a face at her brother. ‘In fact, I wish I was an only child sometimes. One of them little spoilt brats with ribbons and shiny shoes and all the frocks I could ever want. And just laying in bed until I felt like getting up.’
Danny, his composure miraculously recovered, raised his eyebrows. ‘Girls, eh, Bob? She’s getting mixed up with the films, ain’t she? I ain’t never seen no one like that round here.’
Molly pouted. It wasn’t an expression she usually favoured but, what with Bob being there, she didn’t want to start a slanging match with Danny; she felt she should try and hide her usually loud and mouthy self and act how her mum would call ‘nicely’ instead. ‘Shut up, Dan,’ she said quietly, but she still couldn’t resist adding, with a meaningful curl of her lip, ‘or yer’ll start that cough of your’n off again, won’t yer?’
In complete contrast to his sister’s sudden venture into demureness, Danny had overcome his earlier reticence and was now more than happy to be loud. He flicked his jacket back over his shoulder and then jabbed his finger at his sister. ‘You reckon yer’ve got it hard, do yer? Yer don’t know yer born, Moll, yer’ve got life so easy. You girls don’t have no trouble getting work, not like us blokes. Yer cheap labour.’ He looked shrewdly at Bob. ‘And yer don’t cause no trouble for yer governors neither. And yer don’t have to go breaking yer back doing poxy labouring jobs ’cos there’s nothing else.’
Molly’s girly pout disappeared. She stuck her fists into her waist. ‘Didn’t you listen to a word Dad said, Danny Mehan? Everyone’s having it hard now. Everyone.’
Liz rolled her eyes. ‘Here we go. Saturday night and the battling Mehans are still at it. Don’t you lot ever take a day off?’ She shook her head knowingly at Bob. ‘I’ll guarantee that neither of ’em’s got a clue what they’re on about. Just any old excuse for a ruck’ll do.’
Bob smiled at Liz as he pulled a wallet from his inside pocket. ‘Typical brother and sister, eh?’
Molly’s rage with Danny was instantly forgotten. Like Danny and Liz, she was far too busy staring at Bob’s hands. No one from round their way even owned a wallet, as far as they knew, let alone a flash-looking leather one like Bob was waving about.
He cracked it open and took out a ten-shilling note. ‘Tonight’ll be my treat, if that’s all right with everyone.’
Liz and Molly gawped at each other.
‘Fine by me,’ giggled Molly.
Danny stuck out his chest, proud to be friends with such a man of the world.
Bob slapped him chummily on the back. ‘Well, Danny old son, if we’re going, we’d better get a move on. You on?’
‘I’m on,’ Danny agreed with a nod. ‘Now, how about if we meet you two in, say, half an hour?’ He looked at Bob for approval. Bob dipped his chin to give him the go-ahead. ‘In Commercial Road?’
Molly linked arms with Liz. ‘That’ll do us fine. We’ll see yer near the Eastern.’
Bob frowned. ‘No, yer don’t wanna hang around near no pubs by yerselves. Couple of pretty girls like you – yer’d get bothered by all sorts of creeps and no-goods. No, you walk along a bit and we’ll see yer on the corner of Three Colt Street.’
Molly raised her eyebrows at Liz. ‘Ain’t he the bossy one?’
Bob chucked Molly under the chin. ‘Yer’d better remember it and all. And if yer a good girl, I’ll get yer a nice marzipan fish in the interval.’
Molly wrinkled her nose. ‘Yeeurrr, no thanks. I hate the taste of almonds. But I tell yer what, yer can get us a big block of honeycomb to nosh. Something nice and sweet.’ She shoved Liz so hard that she stumbled sideways. ‘We like that, don’t we, Liz, something nice and sweet?’
‘Don’t get me involved,’ said Liz testily, rubbing her side.
‘You can have whatever you fancy, darling,’ said Bob with an exaggerated wink, ‘’cos I’m the man to get it for yer.’ He reached out and ran his finger slowly up and down her cheek. ‘You just remember that.’
Open-mouthed at such familiarity, the girls were still speechless as they watched Bob lead Danny dodging across East India Dock Road and down one of the turnings that led onto Poplar High Street. They waited until they had disappeared from view, and then strolled along arm in arm in unspoken but agreed progress towards the place they had arranged to meet them in half an hour’s time.
They were intrigued by what the exchange with the boys had revealed. Both girls had been fancied, and both girls knew it – that was more than clear – but what was keeping them silent was the possibility that they’d make fools of themselves, if they had over-estimated the boys’ interest in them. For all their bravado and cheek, they knew they were dangerously close to being out of their depths; Molly and Liz had never actually had boyfriends before, and weren’t really sure what they should expect to happen next.
But by the time they had walked just a few yards further along the crowded pavement, Liz could keep quiet no longer. ‘So, what d’yer know about this Bob Jarvis then?’ she asked, trying to sound as though it was of less interest to her than what Rags had had for his tea.
Equally casually, Molly ran her fingers through her hair. ‘I’ve seen him around,’ she said, ‘but it’s the first time I’ve met him proper, like. Seems all right, I suppose. Bit flash though.’ She waved hello to a giggling girl who was dashing across the road between the traffic to join a crowd of her friends. ‘Look, there’s old Phoebe Tucker’s granddaughter. She’s got herself done up a bit lairy, ain’t she?’
‘Don’t change the subject, Moll,’ said Liz, waving too. ‘I reckon he’s nice. Bob, I mean. Well, not nice exactly, more sort of, I dunno, exciting, like. How about the way he touched yer?’ Despite her resolve to remain cool, she chuckled suggestively. ‘It was obvious what he had on his mind. Made me go all funny, it did.’
‘Made you go funny?’ Molly put her hand to her cheek where Bob had touched her ‘How about what it did to me? All goose pimply I was. Anyway, you’re one to talk. How about you and our Dan? First time you two ain’t just talked about football.’
‘He was a bit of a giveaway, wasn’t he? Did yer see his face when I asked him if he’d sit next to me in the pictures?’
Molly joined in with her laughter. ‘No wonder. You was a bit forward, yer know. Right quick off the mark.’
‘You told me to say it! Anyway, you can talk. You was as bad, way you dived in with that Bob. No wonder he got going. Mind you, he ain’t bad-looking, is he? Quite handsome really. And lovely big shoulders. Bit like Clark Gable.’
‘Yeah, if yer squint yer eyes and stand on one leg, he’s a dead ringer.’
‘Silly mare,’ she said, squeezing Molly’s arm affectionately.
‘You thought any more about going hopping this year, Liz?’ Molly asked, stepping off the kerb, ready to cross Upper North Street. ‘Mum’s thinking about going with Nanna and the little ’uns, and I think she expects me to go and all. I ain’t that keen though, to tell yer the truth.’
Hauling Molly back on to the pavement to let a van pass by without running her down, Liz said nonchalantly, ‘Only the little ’uns going, yer say? So Danny ain’t going for the pole-pulling this year, then?’
‘No. He was gonna go, but now Joe Palmer’s promised to keep him on regular like, he’s staying home with Dad.’
‘I think I’ll be staying home and all this year.’
‘Here, I thought I was having yer lead our Danny on for a laugh, but you fancy him, don’t yer? That’s why you don’t wanna go, ’cos Danny ain’t going.’
‘No,’ said Liz indignantly. ‘You was right what yer said before. Jobs are getting harder to come by. Even for girls our age.’
Molly sighed and nodded, suddenly serious. ‘That’s what Dad reckons.’ But, as usual, her sober mood was as short-lived as a soap bubble. ‘Here, Liz,’ she said, prodding her friend, ‘look at them blokes over there. They’re only doing that hand thing.’
‘What hand thing?’
‘Over there, look.’
Liz looked across the road towards Saltwell Street where Molly was pointing. There she saw a group of four boys, all about fourteen years old, slapping anyone who passed them on the back as though they were old friends. ‘What?’ she said. ‘What am I looking at?’
‘Look at the state of their shirts and dresses when they’ve gone past ’em,’ Molly explained.
Liz looked again. Everyone who received the friendly greeting was left with a black sooty impression of a hand marked clearly on their back.
‘Little sods,’ laughed Molly.
‘You can say that again,’ said Liz, biting her lip to stop herself from laughing. ‘Look a bit closer, Moll. One of ’em’s got red hair.’
‘Red hair?’ Molly took another look, then, with an angry tutting, she put her hands either side of her mouth to make her voice carry. ‘Sean Mehan!’ she screeched. ‘You just wait till I get my hands on you.’
The four boys scarpered before Molly could cross the busy road, leaving her fuming helplessly on the pavement.
‘I’ll swing for that flaming Sean one day, you just see if I don’t. I’ll have to stop the little bugger before he gets himself in trouble, or Mum’ll do her pieces. And yer know who’ll be to blame.’
Liz’s shoulders slumped. She was used to the Mehan temper and the family’s talent for flying off the handle, and knew what to expect. The prospect of an evening spent trailing along behind Molly while she shouted the odds as they searched for the wayward Sean, presented itself in all its miserable likelihood. And Liz had really got used to the idea of going to the pictures with Danny, as well.
Molly was about to drag her across the street in a gap in the traffic, when an opportunity for Liz to distract her friend presented itself right on cue. Coming towards them, in one of the big huddles of young men and women who were milling about on the pavement, was a girl they both knew. She was a very obviously bottle-made blonde, who, whenever Molly and Liz saw her, always seemed to have the latest length skirt, too much red lipstick, and a new boy on her arm. And she was a girl, they also both knew, who had her eye on Danny.
‘Get a load of her,’ hissed Liz, as they neared the group she was with.
‘Yeah,’ Molly sneered supportively. ‘All cased up as usual. Thinks she’s flipping Joan Blondell, that one. She wants to get herself a mirror, ugly mare.’
‘She’s a flashy-looking cow, all right,’ Liz agreed. ‘But I reckon she could be in the films, if she wanted, yer know.’
Molly was shocked into silence. Stopping dead in her tracks she eventually managed to blurt out. ‘What? Her? In the films? You been on the turps, Liz?’
Now she had her attention, Liz started walking again, dragging Molly along beside her. ‘No. I mean it. Just think. Once them Indians have finished with ’em, I reckon them cowboys could always do with a few more horses. And with a face like her’n, she’d be perfect with a saddle on her back.’
When Molly burst out into loud, coarse laughter, Liz grinned happily with relief, all her friend’s thoughts of hunting for Sean seemingly forgotten – for the meantime, at least. It looked as though they would be going to the pictures after all.
They were now nearing the big intersection where West India Dock Road peeled off towards China Town, Burdett Road led away to Mile End, and Commercial Road followed the route into the City – not far from where they had arranged to meet Danny and Bob – but Molly again came to a sudden halt, jerking Liz to a standstill beside her. ‘Cor, I could take a fancy to him, Liz,’ she breathed, her voice full of undisguised admiration.
‘I don’t know what’s got into you,’ Liz said primly, looking around for the object of her friend’s attentions, ‘but don’t let that Bob hear yer.’
‘Ne’mind Bob Jarvis,’ Molly whispered. ‘Just have a look at him, will yer?’ She nodded over the road to where a handsome, black-haired young man of about twenty was coming out of a side street. He had clear, olive skin and, even from that distance, Molly could see that his eyes were so deep brown they were almost black.
‘I know him,’ said Liz.
‘You what? Call him over then.’
‘Well, not exactly know him.’
‘That don’t matter. You just call him.’
Liz sighed in resignation. Like Danny, she knew she would never win in an argument with Molly, so she put four of her fingers between her lips and let out a piercing whistle. Several people looked round, some even smiled hopefully at the pretty blonde girl, wondering if it was their attention she was trying to attract. But the dark-haired young man was one of the few who ignored the shrill signal and he carried on walking away along Commercial Road.
‘Too late,’ said Liz.
Molly nudged her hard in the ribs. ‘Lizzie Watts,’ she said threateningly.
Liz knew when she was beaten. ‘Oi!’ she hollered. ‘Simon. Simon Blomstein. Over here.’
As several disappointed young men turned away, Simon Blomstein stopped and looked round. He seemed puzzled. Tapping himself on the chest, he mouthed, ‘Me?’
‘Yeah, you.’ Liz nodded and beckoned him over.
Molly kept her eye on Simon Blomstein as he did his best to get safely across the busy junction. ‘Quick, tell me what yer know about him.’
As he drew closer to them, Liz automatically patted her fair curls. ‘Not much really. I took in some printing what he delivered to the warehouse the other day and we got chatting. He ain’t got no mum or dad. He lives with his Uncle David’s family but used to live with his auntie somewhere – North London, I think it was – can’t remember now. And he works for him, his uncle, I mean, at his printing works off Cable Street. Aw yeah, they’re Jewish and they live up Whitechapel way and all. Him and his uncle’s family.’
‘What, don’t tell me you don’t know his collar size,’ Molly said, tearing her eyes away from Simon – who by now had almost made it to the pavement – and turning to stare at her friend. ‘How d’yer know all this?’
Liz winked broadly and tapped the side of her nose with her finger. ‘Psychic, ain’t I, just like Nutty Lil.’
‘Liz!’
‘I told yer, he come into the warehouse the other day to deliver some printing, and we had a little chat.’
Molly grinned and shoved Liz sideways. ‘Some little chat.’
Liz signalled with her eyes for Molly to shut up as Simon Blomstein finally arrived beside them. His face lit up with a smile of recognition. ‘Terson’s Quality Teas,’ he said, snapping his fingers.
Liz returned his smile. ‘That’s right. Lizzie Watts, remember?’
‘Of course.’ Simon held out his hand.
Molly grabbed it before Liz had a chance. ‘Molly Katherine Mehan,’ she said, noticing the softness of his long pale fingers, so different from the big rough hands of the men in her family.
‘Hello, Molly,’ he said with a nod.
There was a moment’s pause and then Molly opened her mouth and out it came. ‘We was thinking of going to the pictures. Fancy coming with us?’
At first, Simon looked a bit taken aback and Molly was convinced that this time she and her big mouth really had gone too far, and that she had scared Simon off before she had even had a chance to get to know him. Despite her protests about what her nanna and Danny had said earlier, now she could have kicked herself for not being a bit more ladylike.
But Molly was wrong. Simon hadn’t had very much to do with girls outside of his family, and the enthusiastic, fox-haired Molly Katherine Mehan seemed so exotic compared to his quiet dark-haired cousins that he couldn’t help but be charmed by her.
‘I’d like that very much,’ he said.
Molly turned to Liz and raised her eyebrows with a surprisingly nervous grin. ‘He’s all right, ain’t he, this Simon Blomstein?’
For want of something better to do, Liz grinned dumbly back. She didn’t like even to think what Bob Jarvis might have to say about this unexpected addition to their party.
‘But,’ Simon added with a shrug, ‘I’m really sorry, I can’t. Not tonight.’
Molly echoed his shrug, swallowing down her disappointment before she spoke. ‘It’s all right. I just thought yer might like to, that’s all.’
‘I would, truly, but I’m meant to be somewhere else. I really have got to rush.’ He began walking quickly away, but then stopped and turned round. ‘Look, I’m sorry about tonight. Really. But it’s family. You know.’
Molly did her best to sound uninterested. ‘Family, yeah, I know.’
‘But, how about,’ he continued, ‘if we meet up tomorrow?’
Molly’s mask of unconcern slipped and she beamed like an electric light bulb. ‘Yeah, I’d like that. When?’
‘During the day sometime? Would that be all right? I have to get up early for work, you see.’
‘Me too.’ Molly was bubbling. ‘Tell yer what, I’ve got to go to church, then have me dinner, but after . . .’
‘Church?’ Simon asked.
‘Yeah,’ laughed Molly. ‘Same problem as you: family. Me mum’d kill me stone dead if I missed Mass, and then I wouldn’t be able to give you the pleasure of me company, now would I?’
Liz stood beside her friend, watching in awe, as though she were witnessing the theatrical skills of a great actress. It really was quite a performance. Molly wasn’t beautiful in any conventional way but she had a vivacity, combined with the cheek of the devil, that boys, a lot of them anyway, seemed to fall for, and she never ever seemed to notice what effect she was having on them. Well, up until now, she hadn’t, Liz checked herself. Now Molly looked all too aware of the effect she was having on Simon Blomstein.
‘I know what’d be a good idea,’ she said, flicking her thick auburn waves away from her eyes. ‘I can meet you at the top of Preston’s Road. Know it?’ She jerked her thumb back over her shoulder in the direction of the Isle of Dogs.
‘I know it.’
‘Good. Then we can go on to the Island and through the foot tunnel to Greenwich. It’ll be smashing in this hot weather.’
Simon hesitated for just a moment, then smiled and nodded. ‘That sounds nice. Half past two?’
‘Half past two,’ she agreed.
Then, without another word or so much as a wave, Simon trotted off in the direction of Aldgate.
He was still in view, dodging in and out of the increasingly boisterous Saturday evening crowds, when Molly felt someone grab her arms from behind, pinning them to her side. Furious, she twisted her head round to see who would dare take such a liberty. It was Bob Jarvis, his face pale with anger.
‘Good job we finished our business a bit earlier than I thought,’ he said through barely open teeth.
Molly dragged herself away from him. ‘What the hell do you think yer doing?’ She stabbed a finger at Danny who was standing there beside Bob, looking as though he wished he wasn’t. ‘And what’s up with you, letting him grab at me like that?’
Danny stared at the ground, nervously drawing designs in the dust with the toe of his boot.
‘Danny?’ she insisted. ‘Danny, I’m talking to you.’
‘And I’m talking to you.’ Bob said the words quietly but so menacingly that Molly, astonished by his presumption, shut up and listened. ‘I wanna know,’ he went on, ‘what yer thought yer was doing talking to the likes of him?’
Molly frowned; she couldn’t figure out what Bob was going on about. ‘How d’yer mean “the likes of him”?’
‘Him.’ Bob’s jaw was rigid. ‘A Jew.’
Molly was in two minds about what she should say: part of her wanted to shout at him, ask him who he thought he was, bossing her about, and that he could bugger off and mind his own business. But she didn’t. There was something about him, something about the way he was looking at her that stopped her. She was like a rabbit, mesmerised by a stoat. It wasn’t anything to do with his looks, although he was all right in that department, if not as handsome as Simon; no, it was to do with a way he had about him that both repelled and attracted her at the same time. She swallowed hard, as she admitted to herself that she was compelled by Bob Jarvis’s arrogant, domineering attitude; it made him seem superior somehow, gave him a confidence that other boys she knew just didn’t have.
Molly flashed a look at Liz who was silently observing the bizarre scene. Could she really let him speak to her like that in front of her friend, not to mention Danny, who’d never let her hear the end of it? And why should anyone have the right to tell her, Molly Katherine Mehan, who she could or couldn’t speak to? But despite that, and despite the fact that she was going to meet Simon the next day, Molly didn’t want to spoil her chances of going to the pictures with Bob – that was a price she wasn’t prepared to pay.
‘Well?’ Bob demanded. ‘Are you gonna explain yerself?’
‘He was lost,’ she said, sticking her chin defiantly in the air. ‘Wanted to know the way to Aldgate, didn’t he? So I told him. “Up there,” I said. “That’s the way”.’ She stuck her fists into her waist. ‘That all right with you, is it? Or is there a law against it or something?’
Molly sneaked another quick look at Liz. Liz was saying nothing, she just looked straight ahead, wide-eyed and with a half-smile on her face: a convincing picture of pretty, if slightly daft, innocence.
Bob also lifted his chin and stood very straight, looking along his nose at Molly, weighing her up. ‘So long as yer sure. ’Cos I don’t want no girl of mine being mates with no Jews.’
‘Bloody cheek. Who said I’m your girl, then?’
‘I did.’
Molly folded her arms, then unfolded them. ‘I was only telling him the way, all right?’ She turned and looked sheepishly at Liz, but her friend hurriedly averted her eyes. Molly turned back to Bob; she folded her arms again. ‘If it’s anything to do with you.’
‘That’s all right then,’ he said eventually.
‘I am glad,’ said Molly, with a cynical lift in her voice. Then she linked arms with Liz. ‘So, are we going to the flicks or what?’
Bob relaxed. ‘Yeah, course. You girls walk on, I’ve just gotta finish a bit of business, private like, with Danny here.’
Molly and Liz looked at each other and, relieved by the broken tension, they shrieked with laughter.
‘Private business!’ Liz spluttered.
‘Hark at them,’ Molly roared in response.
For all their derision, they walked on ahead exactly as Bob had told them to, so that he and Danny could talk about whatever it was that they considered so important.
Molly pulled Liz close to her. ‘Yer a good mate, Lizzie Watts. Thanks for not giving us away.’
‘Why should I give yer away?’ asked Liz, looking back over her shoulder at Danny and Bob, who were now deep in conversation. ‘Can’t have blokes thinking they own us, now can we?’ she added.
Molly felt herself blush. Had she really acted that stupidly? She lifted her lips into a deliberate smile. ‘What, not even blokes like our Danny?’
‘No good you trying to torment me, Moll,’ Liz sniped straight back. ‘Least I’m only getting meself hiked up with one bloke at a time.’