SINCE KATIE HAD come home from hopping, the atmosphere in number twelve Plumley Street had been going from bad to worse; as the days grew shorter so, it seemed, did Katie’s temper. She really was beginning to feel desperate. It was as though she was not only losing control of herself – moaning and shouting all the time – but also of her family.
The situation had become progressively worse since that first Sunday afternoon when she had arrived home in Poplar with a bit of money in her purse, her head full of stories from Kent, and happy plans as to how she would make them all laugh with her tales. She was going to have them in stitches over the things that Phoebe and Sooky had got up to, make them gasp at all the strokes that Timmy and Michael had pulled, and have them giggling, and a bit shocked, at the scrapes Nora had wound up getting herself involved in. But Katie quickly realised that her homecoming wasn’t going to live up to her expectations. Instead of the gales of laughter and spluttering, disbelieving chuckles she had hoped for, she was met instead with solemn faces, and a whole series of feuds, battles and sulks, most of which she couldn’t understand, even though they were going on under her own roof.
There was Pat and Molly: they had been rowing over something or other that had left them barely able to look at each other, let alone speak, but neither of them would tell her what it was all about. Katie had decided to ask Danny what was going on, but he was never around long enough for her to corner him; he was either out with Liz Watts, which seemed fine with everyone, thank goodness, or he was disappearing off with his new friends, which definitely wasn’t all right with Pat. The very mention of Danny’s pals set Pat’s teeth on edge; again no one was prepared to explain why. And as for Sean, he still hadn’t found himself a job and was acting just as rudely as before, but, if it were possible, he was being even more secretive about where he took himself off to all the time and was more cranky than ever when confronted.
Then there was the money Katie and Nora had earned hop picking. Instead of being able to put it by for Christmas, as they usually did, they soon realised that every penny of it was needed to make up the housekeeping. Pat hadn’t been exaggerating the problem after all; the reality of the slump was now biting deep, snapping away at even supposedly indispensable workers like him.
To put the tin lid on the whole sorry mess, the very day after Katie had got back, Frank Barber had come over to see her. Unluckily he had chosen to turn up at the house before Pat left for what he had convinced himself would be another pointless journey to the docks.
Frank had come to ask Katie if she would do him a favour. He knew how busy she was, but someone had given him a winter coat for his little girl, and, if it wasn’t to drag round her ankles like a pair of drawers with no elastic, it needed altering. He had been going to ask Peggy Watts, he explained to Katie, but she had done so much for him lately, he didn’t like to impose on her again – not for a while anyway. Katie had told him not to worry, it was no problem at all, and she would willingly do what she could with the coat as soon as she had a spare moment.
Pat had said nothing while Frank Barber was in the kitchen talking to his wife, he just carried on staring into the mirror by the sink, shaving his chin and neck with slow deliberation, swishing the soapy razor around in the basin of hot water. But once Frank had left, the flare-up came. Pat had barely started shouting at Katie when everyone else in the kitchen – Rags included – made a hasty exit.
‘That bastard must’ve been hanging out of that window of his just watching for yer to get back home,’ Pat hollered, dashing his razor into the sink.
Katie folded the child’s coat over her arm, and took it over to the dresser, brushing past Pat without a glance or even an excuse me. ‘Don’t be so pathetic.’
‘Well, you tell me how else he knew yer was back.’
Katie turned round and looked at him. Very calmly, she said, ‘Are yer gonna stop shouting at me?’
‘I don’t believe this. Yer actually gonna start having a go at me?’ He jabbed himself hard in the chest.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’d be worth it. Yer never listen.’
Pat loomed over her, but, big as he was, Katie refused to be intimidated; she stood her ground. ‘I must have been stupid,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘I couldn’t wait to get home to yer. I honestly thought yer’d be right pleased to see me.’
‘Well, I was, wasn’t I?’ Pat was now shaking with temper. He grabbed her, his big docker’s hands circling the tops of her arms. ‘What d’yer think we did upstairs last night? D’yer think I could do that if I wasn’t pleased to see yer?’
She tried to pull away from him but his grip was too tight. ‘Yer talking rubbish, Pat.’ Her voice wasn’t as steady now; he was really hurting her.
‘Talking rubbish, am I?’
‘Yeah.’ She made another, tremendous effort and pulled away from him, stumbling backwards into the dresser, knocking Theresa’s coat to the floor. She bent down to pick it up, then held it in front of her like a shield. ‘I told yer once before, Pat, if you ever raise your hand to me, I’m leaving yer. I mean it.’
His face contorted with dark fury. ‘You gonna leave me, are yer? Well, perhaps it should be me what leaves you.’ He smacked the flat of his hand hard against the wall. ‘I mean, why would yer want me round yer? I talk rubbish, I can’t earn enough to pay you yer wages, and let’s face it, yer wouldn’t miss me, now would yer? I mean, yer’d have plenty of bastard company.’
He shoved past her, stormed out of the kitchen and along the passage.
Katie stood there, stunned. Had she gone too far this time? Why hadn’t she listened to her mum? She threw the child’s coat on the table, snatched up the packet of sandwiches she had made, and ran after him. ‘Pat,’ she called, ‘stop. Come back. Please. Yer can’t go out without drinking yer tea.’
He grabbed hold of the door latch, waited a moment, then looked over his shoulder at her. Tears were running down his cheeks.
Katie held up the sandwiches to him. ‘Yer left yer dinner on the table,’ she whispered.
He turned his back on her, stepped out of the house and slammed the door in her face.
It was a frosty, Saturday morning in December, with only nine days left before Christmas, but Katie wasn’t exactly in a festive mood. Stern-faced and silent, she was clearing away after breakfast, stacking the dirty bowls on to the scrubbed wooden draining board ready for washing up.
Katie Mehan’s family had always been everything to her, and yet most days lately she felt as though she was in the middle of a battle ground with her as the enemy. In fact, bitterly cold as the weather had turned, Katie was so fed up that, more than once, she’d wished she could have gone back to Kent, to have been miles away from the whole rotten lot of them; she would have preferred to freeze in the mean little corrugated iron hop hut than have to keep putting up with all this.
Although the meal was over, everyone else in the family, excepting Nora, who was having her usual lie-in to avoid the dreaded porridge, was still sitting around the table. And from the look of them, nobody felt inclined to move, for despite the mood in the kitchen being decidedly chilly, compared to the icy weather outside, at least the range kept the room warm.
Molly, however, knew she really should make an effort and get up off her backside a bit sharpish and help her mum before she was asked. Still having failed to do what she knew she really should – choose between Bob and Simon – Molly had enough potential trouble brewing without adding to it by being lazy, further antagonising her mum and risking being kept in over the weekend. That was a complication she didn’t need. So Molly hauled herself up from the table and went over to the sink where Katie was digging away at the porridge-encrusted bottom of the big black enamel stew pan.
‘Shove over, Mum,’ Molly said. ‘I’ll do that.’
‘I’d rather yer went down Chris Street for me,’ said Katie wearily, her words coming out in jerks as she dug at the pot.
‘Course,’ Molly said, putting on a smile. ‘I’ll get Liz to come with me, we’ll get it done in no time. And tell yer what, we’ll take them little ones with us and all. Get ’em out from under yer feet for a couple of hours.’
‘I ain’t going shopping with no girls,’ Michael sneered indignantly.
‘Good,’ puffed Katie, still trying to loosen the hardened oats. ‘That means you and Timmy can go and fetch the coke from Levens Road for me. We’re down to the last few bits and I don’t want that Kitchener going out in this freezing weather.’
‘Aw, Mum!’ Michael wailed. ‘Yer know I hate going down Levens Road.’
‘Cheek yer mother and yer’ll be sorry,’ said Pat, snapping his morning paper back into a neat fold. Just because he and Katie weren’t exactly on good terms, didn’t mean he’d tolerate the kids being lippy to their mother.
Michael paid no heed to his father’s warning. ‘Why can’t Sean do it?’
‘Because she didn’t ask me, that’s why,’ Sean snarled.
‘Who’s she, the cat’s mother?’ Michael replied, adding a curl of his lip at his big brother for good measure.
Michael would have been better served keeping his eye on his dad, because then he might have dodged in time to avoid Pat’s hand as it flicked across the table and caught him squarely on the ear.
Molly rolled her eyes at her mum in a gesture that she hoped would unite them against all the male bickering that was going on, then she turned to face her brothers and proclaimed nobly, ‘I’ll get the coke for yer, Mum, when I’ve finished the shopping.’
Katie frowned at this sudden spate of goodwill. ‘What you after?’
‘Do I have to be after something, just ’cos I’ve offered to run a couple of errands for yer?’ Molly asked without a trace of shame.
Katie was going to reply that from her experience lately it seemed more than likely, but she was interrupted by the kitchen door being opened and Nora walking in.
‘For goodness’ sake,’ Nora said, throwing up her hands in a dramatic double wave. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll go to Levens Road for yer.’ She sat herself down at the table and weighed the teapot, checking if there was enough left in it for a decent cupful. ‘Yer do know I could hear all yer rowing from next door, don’t yer? And me doors and windows are all shut tight against the cold. Thank God yer live on the corner and have got no next-door neighbours but me.’ She emptied the grounds from Timmy’s cup into the saucer then filled it with tea for herself. ‘Now, how much will yer be wanting, Kate?’
Katie gave a warning glare at Michael. ‘You don’t wanna be pushing that old pram full of coke round the streets, Mum. Michael’s gonna do it.’
It wasn’t Michael who protested this time, it was Nora. ‘I’m in me fifties, me girl, not in me nineties.’
‘I didn’t mean nothing like that, Mum. I just thought—’
‘I know what yer thought, yer thought that I’m incapable. What d’yer want, for me to wind up all old and bent like Phoebe and Sooky? Old and cranky before me time? Creeping about next door like an old crone? That suit yer, would it?’
Katie slapped her dishcloth into the basin of water, sending a shower of greasy bubbles splashing up into the air, then spun round and addressed her suddenly quiet and attentive family. ‘For Christ’s sake,’ she yelled, ‘what’s wrong with everyone in this house? Can’t we stop rowing and squabbling and going on at each other for just five minutes? Can’t we have our breakfast in peace? Maybe talk to each other instead of screeching at the top of our lungs? Be like normal people?’
Molly held out her hands to the two youngest. ‘Come on, Michael, Timmy. You two are coming with me to get the shopping. Now.’ She grabbed hold of their wrists in a tight, relentless grip then nodded at Sean. ‘And you,’ she said, ‘if yer’ve got any sense, yer can go and fetch the coke for Mum. And without being asked again.’
Sean let out a loud puff of air. ‘Not me,’ he said and was gone from the kitchen, off down the passage and out of the front door.
Molly turned to Danny who shook his head and shrugged. ‘Sorry, I’ve gotta see someone.’
Pat very deliberately and very noisily shook out his paper before rolling it into a tight cylinder and whacking it down on the table. ‘I’ll get the sodding coke,’ he said, shoving back his chair. ‘Happy?’
Katie said nothing as she turned back to the sink to get on with the washing up, but she listened to Pat as he stomped out into the passage and then swore angrily to himself while he fought through all the old shoes and coats and boxes and bags that filled the toot cupboard under the stairs, struggling to drag out the old pushchair from all the accumulated junk.
Michael went to say something but Nora shook her head, warning him to be quiet. ‘You lads had better run back in next door and get your coats and mufflers,’ she said to her grandsons. ‘It’d freeze the drippings off yer nose out there.’
Despite their disinclination to go shopping with their sister – they could just guess what their friends would say if they saw them – Michael and Timmy had the sense to hurry off to get their things. They were back in less than two minutes and while Katie went over what shopping was wanted with Molly, the boys stood with their backs to their nanna while each of them went through the humiliating process of being ‘got ready’ to go out.
First they had their coats pulled on over the already thick layers of shirts and coarse, hand-knitted jumpers, then Nora wound each boy’s bulky scarf tightly around his neck, before crossing the scratchy wool over his chest and finally fastening the ends tightly behind his back with a safety pin. She then jammed each boy’s cap hard down over his ears, so he could barely see out from under the peak, and leant back to appraise her work.
‘Right. Off yer go,’ she said to the two squat bundles that only moments before had been a pair of lively, slightly skinny boys. ‘Yer ready for anything now.’
‘I’d be better off in longs,’ grumbled Michael, in what had recently become his ritual whine about being too old for short trousers.
‘Go ’way with yer,’ roared Nora, pinching him affectionately on the little bit of cheek that still showed between his scarf and cap. ‘Sure, yer barely out of calico gowns with lace frills on. Now kiss me and yer mammy byebye or Molly’ll be fed up of waiting for yers.’ As she leant forward and kissed the now puce-faced Michael, she slipped a coin into his hand. ‘Don’t tell yer mam,’ she whispered with a wink, ‘but tell Molly there’s a good show on at the flea pit that you and young Timmy might like to see this morning while she does the shopping.’
Molly was surprised at the sudden change in Michael’s attitude as he practically dragged her into the passage to get her coat, then steered her out of the house and raced across the street to number nine, where he hopped around impatiently as they waited inside the doorway for Liz Watts to put on her outdoor things.
It all became clear when Michael whispered to her about the money. Molly was relieved. She had only said she’d take them with her so they’d be far enough away to ensure that they wouldn’t upset their mum; the last thing she had actually wanted was for them to be trailing along after her moaning and fighting all the time.
As they left the boys to join the rowdy gaggle of youngsters queueing outside the flea pit for the Saturday morning programme that promised two films, a newsreel, the weekly serial and a cartoon, all for a threepenny ticket, Liz didn’t seem unhappy either.
‘Good, now we can have a chance to talk without them two earwigging,’ said Liz, slipping her arm through Molly’s as they walked back towards Chrisp Street market.
‘If this is gonna be about what I think it is, Lizzie Watts, yer can save yer breath.’ As she spoke, Molly looked fixedly in front of her, spurning Liz’s every attempt to catch her eye. ‘I have enough of you going on every day on the way to and from work without having it at weekends and all.’
Liz yanked Molly to a rough halt, making her face her. ‘What exactly d’yer reckon I’m gonna say then, Moll? What is it yer don’t wanna hear, eh?’
Molly pulled her arm away from her friend and stuck her hands into her waist, not caring that she was blocking the pavement and causing passers-by to step into the busy traffic on the East India Dock Road. ‘You know very well. It’s all I hear from yer. Yer’ve turned into a proper nagging old bat. I dunno how our Danny puts up with yer.’
Liz took a deep breath, linked arms with Molly again and led her gently but determinedly on. ‘The way yer acting, Moll, yer’d think I was enjoying it. D’yer really think I wanna waste me time going on and on at yer?’
Molly shrugged non-committally.
‘Course I don’t, and you know it. It’s just that I’m worried about yer. This Bob and Simon business, it’s getting ridiculous. Yer’ve been playing this game for nearly six months now.’
She felt Molly stiffen beside her.
‘I know yer think it’s nothing to do with me, but yer me mate, and I care about yer. I just don’t wanna think of yer letting either of ’em . . . well, let’s put it like this, I don’t want yer to let either of ’em take yer for a mug ’cos then yer’d be in a right state, wouldn’t yer, with two of ’em to sort out?’ She paused then added quietly, ‘Yer won’t, will yer, Moll? ’Cos the way yer acting I ain’t sure what to think no more.’
‘I ain’t stupid, Liz, no matter what yer think. And I mean it, I honestly don’t know why yer keep going on about it all the time.’ She shrugged casually. ‘Me nanna thinks it’s all a bit of a laugh.’
Liz was stunned. ‘You told yer nanna about ’em?’
‘Yeah. She’s known for ages.’ She paused then added pointedly, ‘She won’t split on me.’
Liz shook her head in wonder. ‘When yer say yer told her about ’em, did yer tell her all about ’em?’
‘What you on about now, Liz?’
‘Well, neither of ’em’s a Catholic for a start, now is he? I’d have thought that that might be a little point yer might not have felt like mentioning.’ Liz shook her head again at the very idea of what she was about to say. ‘I can just imagine how yer mum’d be if she found out.’
‘Just leave off, can’t yer, Liz?’ Molly snapped angrily. ‘I ain’t exactly planning on marrying either of ’em, now am I?’
‘There’s no point shouting at me, Molly.’
‘Nanna’s even said she wants to meet ’em,’ Molly added with tight-lipped defiance.
‘I just hope yer know what you’re doing, Moll, that’s all.’
Without any notice, Molly’s mutinously aggressive expression was suddenly transformed into a broad, self-satisfied smile.
‘I don’t see anything to laugh about.’
‘Don’t yer? Well, do yerself a favour and have a look at his boat.’ She nodded along the street at Danny who was walking towards them from the Barking Road. ‘He looks even humpier than you, and that’s saying something.’
They waited on the corner of Chrisp Street – Liz straight-faced and Molly grinning – for Danny to reach them. When he did so, he bent forward and pecked Liz on the cheek; neither of them smiled. Molly on the other hand laughed out loud.
‘Blimey, what a pair. You just suit one another, you do. Miserable buggers.’
Still Danny didn’t smile. ‘Good job some of us take the world seriously, Moll.’
Molly’s eyes widened and she spluttered all over him. ‘Hark at you. You’ve changed your tune lately, ain’t yer, Dan? Taking the world seriously, my eye!’
‘It wouldn’t hurt if you was a bit more serious at times, Moll,’ Liz said, clasping Danny’s hand.
‘Lizzie’s right,’ Danny agreed. ‘I was only thinking that meself. The way you act – I dunno, it ain’t right.’
‘What?’ Molly didn’t understand.
‘It’s like with Bob,’ Danny said. ‘There’s a good bloke yer’ve got there, but the way you fart about, it’s a wonder he can put up with yer. It’d be a shame to lose him ’cos yer was always playing the fool. Blokes like him don’t take kindly to having their girl making a show of herself.’
‘I don’t believe this. What, am I on trial for smiling or something?’
‘Just don’t mess Bob around, that’s all. He’s a mate, a good mate. And, like I said, I don’t want yer upsetting him. Gawd knows why, but he really likes yer. He likes yer a lot. All right?’
Molly flashed a worried glance at Lizzie. She hadn’t said anything to Danny about her seeing Simon, surely? Her friend’s stony stare was giving nothing away. If Liz had already split on her, Molly knew there was nothing she could do about it; but if she hadn’t – and Molly hoped and prayed that was so – then Molly definitely wasn’t going to give her the opportunity to say anything now.
‘Come on, Lizzie,’ said Molly hurriedly, pulling her away from Danny. ‘We’ve gotta go.’ She held her basket up to show her brother. ‘We’ve gotta get all this shopping done for Mum, and then go and fetch the boys. And we don’t wanna take all day about it, now do we?’ She dragged Liz towards the market. ‘Some of us take our responsibilities seriously. See yer later, Dan.’
Molly and-Liz did the shopping in, what was for them, record time, and in almost complete silence. Molly was too busy worrying whether Danny knew about Simon to bother herself with browsing around the market, cracking jokes with the stall holders. She desperately wanted to know if Liz had said anything to him, but Liz was her best friend, so how could Molly ask her that? It would be like accusing Liz of letting her down, of splitting on her.
It was obvious to Liz that there was something up with Molly, but she thought it best to keep quiet and wait for Molly to speak when she was ready, otherwise Liz might go and say the wrong thing. Knowing Molly as she did, Liz knew she was quite capable of flying off the handle and making a loud, crowd-pulling scene right there in the packed market, in front of everyone, and Liz, coming from a much quieter lot than the Mehans, couldn’t cope with that sort of thing.
It wasn’t until they were almost back at the pictures to collect the boys, that Molly eventually spoke.
‘Have you mentioned anything to our Dan, Liz? Anything, say, like about me seeing Simon? Anything that would, you know, make him wild with me?’
‘So that’s what’s up with yer.’ Liz turned to face her friend. ‘Molly, I’m yer mate, ain’t I? I’d never do anything I thought would hurt yer or get yer in trouble. Yer know that.’
Molly shrugged, ashamed that she had even said it. ‘I just thought, sort of, well, what with you and Danny getting so close lately, yer might have mentioned it, like.’
‘Molly, I ain’t said nothing. Not to no one.’
‘Well, what was Danny going on about then?’
‘You know how Bob feels about yer, Moll. Right stuck on yer, he is. And Danny’s his mate. You know how fellers stick together.’
‘He wants to mind his own business.’
‘That ain’t the point, is it, Moll? The point is what you think yer up to and whether yer can handle all this, ’cos, d’yer know something, I don’t think yer can. I think yer getting in a right mess, and yer won’t admit it to no one, not even yerself, ’cos yer such a stubborn cow. You always have been. And if you ain’t careful, yer gonna find yerself in so deep, you ain’t gonna be able to do nothing about it.’
‘Shut up, can’t yer, Liz. I wish I’d never said nothing.’
‘So do I,’ Liz snapped back at her.
They walked the rest of the way to the flea pit in an even uneasier silence. To make matters worse, when they got there, the boys weren’t waiting outside as arranged.
‘Well, this is fair, innit?’ fumed Molly, looking up and down the street for any sign of her two little brothers. ‘This’ll all be Michael’s fault. Yer can’t trust that little sod as far as yer can throw him. Always up to something. I’ll skin him when I get hold of him. I swear I will.’
While Molly worked herself up into a knuckle-whitening temper, Liz did something more practical.
Grabbing hold of a startled-looking boy as he stepped out of the darkened cinema into the bright December sunshine, Liz stared down at him. ‘You seen Timmy and Michael Mehan?’ Her intentions might have been sensible, but, unlike Molly, she wasn’t used to dealing with youngsters, and the child, terrified that he would somehow be involved in whatever no good the Mehans were up to this time, gave a single turn of his scrawny body and wriggled easily out of her grip. He would have made a clean escape, had it not been for Molly’s more experienced hand reaching out and snatching hold of his collar.
‘Not so fast, you,’ she told him, giving him a shake for good measure. ‘Now, let’s start again, shall we? Have you seen Timmy and Michael Mehan?’
He knew when he was beaten. ‘Micky’s fighting in the lavs,’ he answered sulkily, his shoulders hunched up round his ears.
‘He’s what?’ demanded Molly.
‘With that kid from Upper North Street again.’ The boy flinched, half expecting Molly to clout him one for being the bearer of bad news, but, much to his relief, she let him go.
The girls didn’t say anything to each other. They just stormed straight inside the cinema through the filthy, fingerprint-smeared, glass panelled doors – it wasn’t called the flea pit for nothing – dumped their shopping at the feet of the elderly, scruffily uniformed commissionaire with an order to keep an eye on their bags, and headed for the foul-smelling men’s lavatories at the front of the tatty little auditorium.
Inside, a gaggle of boys was standing by the single cracked sink cheering, as Michael and his adversary pummelled and kicked one another around the wet, tiled floor.
‘Right, you lot, out!’ commanded Molly. ‘And I mean the lot of yer.’
The fight halted immediately, as did the roaring of the audience. As one, the boys made for the safety of the door.
‘Not you, Michael Mehan,’ boomed Molly, blocking his way. ‘Or you,’ she said, pointing at Timmy who was sneaking forward behind the crowd. ‘Stop him, Liz.’
When all the others had left, Molly and Liz frogmarched the two boys out of the lavatory, through the musty aisles of the cinema and out into the street, collecting their shopping as they went, without a word to, or from, the doorman.
They didn’t notice, but the elderly man treated them to a smart salute; minding shopping bags was a small price to pay for being saved the job of emptying the cinema of a bunch of over-excited, toffee-covered little boys, determined to lie low until the next house began.
Squinting in the bright winter sun, Molly ran her hand distractedly through her hair. ‘Will yer look at the state of yer, Michael. As if Mum ain’t got enough of the hump with us all as it is. And fighting in front of Timmy and all.’ She rapped her knuckles on his skull. ‘Whatever’s got into that stupid head o’ your’n?’
‘You wouldn’t wanna know if I told yer,’ shouted Michael defiantly. ‘And anyway, Timmy was telling me to. Bloody girls, yer don’t know nothing. Nothing.’
Well, I might be a girl, but I know something. I reckon Mum’s had enough of you two. And I tell yer what, I think she should put the pair of yers in one of them homes, that’s what. That’d teach yer. And, when I tell her what yer’ve been up to – and I just might, yer know – well, I wouldn’t bank on getting nothing on Christmas morning, either of yer.’
The thought of a toyless Christmas made Timmy burst into self-pitying tears.
‘Aw, shut up can’t yer?’ Molly shoved a handkerchief at him. ‘What a flaming day.’
‘It was over you anyway,’ said Michael, with a recklessness he immediately regretted.
‘Do what?’ Molly grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘How d’yer mean, over me?’
He’d done it now, he might as well tell her everything. ‘He reckoned he’d seen yer. With a boy. Over Greenwich. And he said yer was kissing him. In front of everyone. So I bashed him up.’
‘And I told him to and all,’ wailed Timmy, wiping his snotty nose on the back of his arm, leaving a silvery trail on his sleeve. ‘They was laughing at yer, Moll. And saying things. I didn’t understand ’em, but Michael said they was rude.’
Molly looked at Liz, silently asking with her eyes if she was really hearing this.
Liz rolled her own eyes in reply then turned to Michael. She flashed him a winning smile and asked softly, ‘It was that kid from Upper North Street yer was walloping, wasn’t it, love?’
Michael nodded miserably. ‘Yeah. I hate him.’
‘Fancy you listening to stories like that,’ she went on. ‘As if your Molly’d be daft enough to go kissing boys right in front of anyone, especially the likes of him.’
Molly felt herself flush crimson as Michael thought about what Liz was saying; his usually cheeky face was pulled into a tight frown of concentration.
After what seemed to Molly like an age, he said, ‘But he’s said it before. And he said it was true.’
Liz laughed lightly as though it were all one big joke. ‘Course he did. He was trying to get yer at it, wasn’t he? Yer know what he’s like. Little sod.’ She brought her hands together in a loud clap. ‘Here, tell yer what, I bet if you and Timmy promise Molly that yer’ll both be good and that yer’ll say no more about it, I’ll bet she won’t say nothing to yer mum about yer fighting. And yer know what that’ll mean, don’t yer?’
‘We’ll get our Christmas stockings?’ sniffled Timmy, his big blue eyes wide and watery. ‘And we won’t go to no home?’
Liz ruffled his red curls. ‘Yeah, that’s right, darling, course it does.’
‘We won’t say no more, will we, Mick?’ Timmy said anxiously.
Michael nodded grudgingly. ‘I was only doing it for you, Moll,’ he muttered.
‘That’s all settled then,’ said Lizzie, handing some of the smaller bags to Michael and Timmy. ‘Now come on, yer can help us carry this shopping home. Yer mum’ll be wondering where we are.’ The boys took their loads and walked ahead, whispering to one another so that Molly and Liz couldn’t hear them.
‘Ta, Liz,’ said Molly, letting out a long slow breath as she heaved the heavy bag of potatoes on to her arm. ‘I really thought I’d had it then. Yer know, my life is definitely getting too complicated for my liking.’
‘Well, you’re the one who knows what to do about it,’ Liz replied wearily.
‘To be truthful, Liz, I’ve known I’ve gotta finish with one of ’em for ages now, ’cos yer right what yer said before: if I don’t, I’m gonna get meself in all sorts o’ trouble.’
‘How, Moll?’ chipped in Michael, stopping and looking over his shoulder, his nosiness overcoming his common sense that had told him to keep his head down and his mouth shut. ‘How yer gonna get yerself in trouble?’
He ducked just too late.
Molly might have done better to have tried slapping some sense into herself rather than into her little brother, because that night when she met Bob, just as she had done every Saturday for nearly six months now, all her good intentions went straight out of the window.
Her plan, worked out in her bedroom while she was getting ready, was to tell Bob she wouldn’t be able to see him for a few weeks. She would then say the same thing to Simon the next day. Her idea being that she would find out which one she missed the most, and that would be the one she really wanted to go out with. Simple. But when she saw Bob she forgot all about her plan.
The trouble was, he hadn’t only smiled at her in the special way that he had when they met up that night, he had also told her what he was getting her for Christmas.
Bob had paid for her, Molly Katherine Mehan, to have a proper sitting at Griffiths’, the portrait photographer’s studio in Armagh Road. Then, to top it all, he had said that he wanted her to have her photo done, so that he could show everyone a picture of her, his girl, then they could see for themselves how beautiful she was. After that, she could hardly tell him she didn’t want to see him for a while, could she? She didn’t even slap down his hand, as she usually did, when he cupped it over her breast while they were kissing and cuddling in the back row of the pictures. And she was glad she hadn’t . . .
That night, as Molly turned off her little bedside lamp, pulled the covers up over her shoulders, and closed her eyes, she could still feel Bob’s hand caressing her. Even though she was alone, she smiled shyly at the thought of it; no one had ever done that to her before. A wave of pleasure flooded through her body.
She sighed with contentment: her worries were over. Why shouldn’t she go on seeing the pair of them, she reasoned to herself, if nobody found out and nobody got hurt? Liz had sworn she hadn’t said a thing to Danny, and Nanna always kept her secrets. And anyway, if things ever did become difficult, or maybe if Bob wanted to see more of her – and who could say he wouldn’t now that she had let him touch her like that – she could always tell Simon that she couldn’t see him any more. And the way she was feeling about Bob right now, it wouldn’t be much of a hardship dumping Simon.
The next morning, Molly was up and dressed for Mass before anyone else was even awake. Bob Jarvis wanted a photograph of her because she was beautiful and he wanted to show his friends!
She felt so full of herself: happy and glad to be alive. She was bubbling over with energy and had peeled a saucepan full of potatoes and had almost finished preparing a basin of sprouts by the time the others dragged themselves, yawning, into the kitchen for their breakfast.
As far as Molly Katherine Mehan was concerned, all was right with the world, and, amazingly for once, it seemed that the rest of her family felt the same way. Sean, of course, was a little bit humpy, but the others were as chirpy as a cage full of canaries.
Molly smiled to herself as she pulled on her coat and hat ready to leave for Mass; she had known there was nothing to worry about. Things really did have a way of working themselves out for the best.
When they got home from church, the improved mood, even more remarkably, continued.
As the family sat round the kitchen table waiting for Pat to get home so that they could eat their Sunday midday meal together, Katie sang to herself. Taking a dish full of crispy golden roast potatoes from the oven, she didn’t care that she didn’t have a huge joint of sirloin to carve up for her family, there were plenty of vegetables to fill their plates and to stretch what meat they did have. She was just pleased as punch that, for whatever reason, things seemed to be like they used to be: the little ones chattering away and laughing, Molly having a joke with Nora, Danny with his nose stuck in the paper – at least he wasn’t moaning! – and Sean playing with Rags, teasing him with a block of wood on a piece of string. Katie presumed it was the Christmas spirit getting into everyone; even the most miserable of souls couldn’t resist Christmas.
As she put the roasting dish on to the table, Pat arrived home, looking tired out but happy, and red-cheeked from the cold December air. He hadn’t been to Mass with them, but had been pushing his way though the crowds in Club Row, as he did every year, in his search for bargain bits and pieces to put in his family’s Christmas stockings. As well as the bags full of secret things he was carrying, he had a huge aspidistra in an elaborately painted china art pot propped in the crook of his arm.
He bent down and, putting the enormous plant on the table in front of where Katie was trying to dish up, he kissed her noisily on the forehead.
‘I was gonna save this for Christmas morning, darling,’ he said, pointing proudly at the glossy, dark green leaves, ‘but I didn’t think I could hide it from yer.’
‘I think I might just have noticed it,’ grinned Katie, peering through the foliage at her family. ‘But yer shouldn’t have wasted yer money on me.’
‘What’s the loan club for if it ain’t for splashing out at Christmas?’
Pat kissed her again, this time gently on the tip of her nose, making Timmy and Michael slide under the table with embarrassment, then disappeared upstairs on the pretext of putting his coat and cap away in the wardrobe, which was something he never did, so everyone, except young Timmy, knew he was actually hiding their presents.
Katie continued dishing up slices of greasy, stuffed breasts of lamb that she had spent the afternoon before boning out, rolling and tying with lengths of string.
‘Cor,’ said Pat, coming back into the kitchen, settling himself at the table and pulling his plate towards him. ‘I could smell this right upstairs. Handsome.’
‘When yer was upstairs hiding our presents, d’yer mean?’ beamed Michael.
Timmy frowned at his brother then turned to his dad. ‘What’s Michael mean, Dad?’
Pat looked puzzled. ‘Dunno, little ’un.’ He turned to Michael. ‘Presents, yer say? How d’yer mean, Michael? Father Christmas is the one what does all that.’ He held his hand to his face, hiding his eyes from Timmy and then winked at Michael. ‘Ain’t that right, son? Ain’t that what yer mean?’
Michael copied his father, hiding his face from Timmy and winking broadly, something he had only recently learnt how to do without holding his eyelid down with his finger. ‘That’s right, Dad. I was only having a laugh.’
Timmy looked relieved; he didn’t even lose his happy smile when Sean tutted bad-temperedly at all the foolishness, but at least, Katie was glad to note, he had the decency not to say anything and ruin it for Timmy.
Surprisingly, it was Danny who infuriated Katie, by spoiling the happy atmosphere.
Timmy had just done as his mother had asked, and had said grace, remembering to speak nicely and not to sniff once, and Pat had commented on how lucky they should count themselves to have a good meal on their table and a loving family to share it with during times that were still hard, if not worse, for so many.
‘Lucky?’ Danny said, shaking his head as though his father was an ignorant child who knew nothing of the world. ‘How can yer say we’re lucky? We’re having to struggle every single day just to try and keep things together. What sort o’ luck d’yer call that?’
Pat finished chewing his mouthful of lamb, then said slowly, ‘We’re more fortunate than most round here, son.’
‘What, you only working every other day, if it’s a good week. You call that luck?’
Nora nodded and crossed herself. ‘We should thank God for what we have, Danny. Sure, have yer seen the look of that poor Mr Milton?’
‘Huh!’ sneered Danny. ‘Bring it on ’emselves, their sort.’
Katie stopped eating and stared at her son. ‘Would you get on with that dinner?’
Pat was frowning. ‘“Their sort”?’ he said, as much to himself as to Danny.
‘Yeah, their sort. The sort what won’t help ’emselves by getting up off their lazy . . .’ Danny nearly said arses, but changed his mind. ‘. . . backsides and get things moving. I’ve said it before but people are too stupid to listen. We wanna start copying Germany or this country’ll never get back on its feet. They’ll have everything, and what’ll we have? Nothing, that’s what. And unless we do something about it soon, that’s all we’ll deserve and all.’
Pat wasn’t sure where to start; not only was his son talking the rubbish he knew drove his dad to distraction, but he was interrupting the Sunday dinner after his mother had gone to so much trouble for them all. And she had been so happy. It was for Katie’s sake that Pat did his best to control his temper.
‘There’s proper ways for people to go about getting what they want, boy,’ he said.
Danny threw up his hands. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. We’ve been sitting back for too long. Things have gotta change in the East End. We’ve let ’em get away with it for too long. We’ve gotta act. Now.’
Katie was more than ready to put in her own two penn’orth to the argument, whether it meant spoiling the Sunday dinner or not, but Pat beat her to it.
‘Exactly how d’yer mean?’ he asked.
‘There’s plenty can be done.’
Sean, without saying a word, stretched his arm out between Danny and his dad and reached for the potatoes.
Pat pushed the pan roughly towards Sean with the back of his hand, as he continued to speak to Danny. ‘What sort of things? Having another general strike, maybe?’
‘Do me a favour,’ Danny sneered contemptuously. ‘You and yer union meetings. What good does all that do? Proper action, that’s what’s needed. Real politics. Getting rid of the people what cause all the trouble in the first place.’
‘And what people would they be then?’
‘Scum.’
Slowly, Pat put his knife and fork together on his plate. ‘I asked yer what people yer meant. Yer wouldn’t mean the people they write about in them leaflets, would yer? The leaflets what them no-good filth hand out about Jewish people?’
Danny lifted his chin and looked challengingly at his father. ‘I bet you ain’t even seen ’em. That’s you all over, that is, talking about things yer know nothing about.’
‘And what you’re talking about ain’t nothing to do with no politics, boy.’
‘Ain’t it?’ Danny asked insolently. ‘What would you know? You don’t know nothing. I’ve been talking to a bloke who knows more’n you’ll ever know.’
Katie could hold her tongue no longer. ‘Danny! That’s enough. That’s no way to talk to yer father. I won’t have it. Especially at me own table.’
‘No, yer all right, Katie. Let him speak,’ Pat insisted, still sounding calm. ‘I’m interested in hearing what he’s got to say.’ He held out his hand, gesturing for Danny to speak. ‘Well? Come on then, who is this bloke who knows so much?’
All eyes were on Danny. ‘That don’t matter,’ he said, smiling knowingly. ‘What matters is that I’m seeing things straight for the first time.’ He gave a sneering little laugh. ‘I thought yer’d be pleased. It was you what always wanted me to take an interest in things. So I have, and now I’m just speaking out about what’s right, that’s all.’
Michael opened his mouth to say something, but Nora stopped him; she jabbed her finger towards his plate. ‘Just eat,’ she said under her breath. For once, Michael was sensible enough to do as he was told.
‘I’d be right interested to know what yer’ve got to complain about.’ Pat was leaning right across the table. ‘Joe Palmer’s done you proud. He’s given yer every opportunity a young feller could want. He’s made himself a good business out of carting, even during hard times like these, and if yer play yer cards right and keep yer trap shut so that yer can learn something from someone with a bit of sense, yer might be able to do the same one day.’
Danny leant back in his chair and folded his arms defiantly across his chest. ‘I’ve been thinking about turning me job up, if yer must know.’
‘You what?’
‘I don’t like the idea of working for a didicoy.’
Pat whacked his hand down on the table, making them all flinch, but no one except Danny said a word. They just listened, shocked at what they were hearing as, eyes shining, Danny launched into a speech about what was wrong with the East End and how it was all the fault of people he described as ‘filthy outsiders’.
What Danny said was completely at odds with everything that the Mehan children had been brought up to believe in by their parents and their nanna, but it was the way in which he was speaking that really bewildered them all. He was talking as though he had learnt a speech in the schoolroom, repeating it as though it was the five times table. But his words were nothing to do with how many fives made fifty; these were words of hatred.
Molly felt sick; unlike her dad, she knew exactly from whom Danny, the brother she had always idolised, had got these terrible and frightening ideas. They were all too familiar. She could hear Bob speaking in her head, as clearly as though he were standing there next to her, when he had accused her of speaking to a Jew; she could feel his hands gripping her, hurting her . . .
Nora couldn’t care less where her grandson had got his ideas from, she just knew she had to make him shut up. ‘You,’ she shouted, standing up and pointing at Danny, ‘are a complete disgrace to yer mother’s table.’
Danny lowered his gaze, unable to face his grandmother, but his words were still defiant. ‘I’m only saying what I know’s true.’
‘True?’ demanded Katie. ‘I won’t have this sort of talk in here. And yer won’t be giving up no job neither. D’you hear me?’
Danny shrugged moodily.
‘And another thing, what’s all that about the Miltons? You know better than to turn on people, especially people what ain’t as fortunate as yerself. Us Mehans help people, we don’t kick ’em when they’re down.’
‘Yeah, Dan,’ Michael butted in, his mouth full of potatoes and gravy. He gave a sly sideways grin at Timmy, who was sitting next to him, wide-eyed with alarm, wondering if this latest scrap would mean that Father Christmas’s visit would really be cancelled this time. ‘Just think,’ Michael went on, nearly bursting from the effort of stopping himself from laughing out loud, ‘how Phoebe Tucker always goes on about how Mum helps Mr Barber.’
Pat shoved back his chair and stood up. ‘I’m going over the Queen’s. I’ve had enough.’
Katie glared at Michael, then at Danny. She could have bashed their heads together. If Pat reckoned that he’d had enough, how did he think she felt? But she didn’t want any more trouble, not at Christmas, so instead of hollering at her husband, she said quietly, ‘How about yer meal, Pat?’
‘I ain’t hungry,’ he said stiffly, pulling open the kitchen door and letting in an icy blast from the passage. ‘You go and find one of yer friends from round the church to give it to. I’m sure they’d appreciate it more than me.’
Forgetting her resolve to keep the peace, Katie hollered at him as she chased him out into the passage, ‘And who did you have in mind, eh?’
Pat didn’t answer; he pulled open the street door, slamming it back on its hinges.
‘I’m talking to you, Pat!’
He turned round very slowly and looked at her. ‘I can’t take much more, Kate,’ he said slowly.
‘You can’t?’ she shrieked. ‘I’ve had it with you. You and yer accusations. D’you know something, it’d be your fault if I ever did go off with someone, ’cos you’ll drive me to it, the way you’re going.’
‘You bitch,’ he breathed.
‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that.’
‘When yer say things like that? Why shouldn’t I?’
‘’Cos if you do, you can get out.’
‘I’ll do exactly that if you push me any harder, Kate, I swear I will.’
‘Well, go on then, bugger off!’ screamed Katie at the top of her voice. ‘Yer’ve threatened it enough times lately. Why don’t yer just do it?’
When Katie came back in the kitchen, Michael giggled nervously, nudging Timmy in the ribs to join in.
Katie turned on Michael. ‘And as for you!’
‘Me?’ asked Michael, a picture of puzzled, injured innocence. ‘What have I done?’
‘You’re old enough to know better, that’s what.’ Katie bit the inside of her cheek, doing her best not to cry in front of her children.
Timmy wasn’t so successful in hiding his tears; his bottom lip trembled as his mind whirled, and he tried to think of something, anything, that might salvage the situation and guarantee his Christmas stocking being filled.
‘Now, all of yer, get on with yer dinner,’ sniffed Katie, waving her fork at her children.
‘It’s lovely, darling, just right,’ said Nora gently.
They ducked their heads and returned quietly and without appetite to their food, but the silence was shattered as Timmy, an idea suddenly coming to him as to how he might take his mum’s mind off the row, yelled excitedly, ‘I never give yer this!’ He leant back in his chair and dug deeply into the pocket of his shorts. ‘I forgot. It’s been in me pocket for ages and ages.’ He handed her a screwed up piece of paper across the table.
‘What is it?’ asked Katie.
‘I dunno. Teacher give it to me.’
‘When? When did you see your teacher?’
Timmy couldn’t think back beyond what he had been doing that morning. ‘I ain’t sure.’ He frowned with the effort of trying to remember. ‘It must have been before we broke up.’
‘Course it must, stupid,’ sneered Michael. Then a horrified look of realisation came over his face. ‘You big girl,’ he hissed at his brother. ‘That was when the nit nurse come round the school, wasn’t it? I told yer to chuck it away. I told yer.’
‘Timmy?’ Katie confronted him. ‘Is this true?’
‘Yeah,’ Timmy nodded gloomily as he too realised what he had done: his hoped for distraction from the row had become just another nightmare. ‘I’m cootie. She said I had to have me head shaved, but I run off while she wasn’t looking. And ’cos it was the last day—’
Timmy never had the chance to finish his tale of how he had escaped the nit nurse’s clippers.
‘Right,’ said Katie, snapping into action, ‘dinner’s over. Molly clear that lot away. And you two,’ she pointed at Timmy and Michael, ‘yer not going out to play, right. Yer gonna help me fill that bath up and I’m gonna scrub yer from head to toe and I’m gonna go through every one of them red curly hairs o’ your’n with that steel comb.’
Sean couldn’t be bothered to sit through any more of this; without saying a word, he stood up, tucked Rags under his arm and walked out of the back door. Timmy started crying again and Michael, looking as though he was ready to kill his little brother, was whispering something threatening to him under his breath. Molly and Nora began clearing the table. Only Danny sat still, apparently calmly finishing off his lamb.
‘That’ll be mixing with them Miltons,’ he said, sopping up the fatty gravy with a piece of dry bread. ‘Dirty buggers, they are. Yer can see how they live. Just like pikeys. And I’m sure that Milton’s a foreigner.’
Katie sighed, a mixture of tiredness, anger and sadness almost overwhelming her. She had been hoping, praying, for a nice quiet Sunday and it had seemed, for just a while, that she was going to get it. She had been so confident that Pat had got over all his nonsense about Frank Barber at last, and that maybe even Sean was beginning to grow out of the miserable, horrible phase he had been going through. But now, without warning, Danny had caused all this – Danny, whom, out of all of the boys, Katie had thought would never cause her any trouble.
She stood up and took her apron down from the nail behind the door. ‘You seem to have forgotten, Danny,’ she said, her tone cold as ice as she wrapped the strings twice around her and tied them in a tight, waist-pinching bow, ‘yer own grandparents were foreigners. People in trouble they were, and made welcome in this country when they needed a place to go to.’
‘They wasn’t foreigners,’ grimaced Danny. ‘Them Jews, they’re the foreigners.’ He looked about him, gesturing with his hands as though he were addressing a meeting. ‘Ain’t none of you lot heard how they treat decent English girls what work for ’em in them sweat shops? They want kicking out of this country, the lot of ’em.’
‘They pay good money, so I’ve heard,’ Nora answered.
‘Me too,’ said Molly, quietly.
Danny opened his mouth to speak, but Katie would have no more of it. She slammed her hand down on the table. ‘Just shut up, can’t yer? All of yer. And you, Danny, you get out of my sight before I do something I’d regret.’
‘I’ll be glad to.’ He scraped his chair back across the lino. ‘I wanna be with people who talk sense, not through their arses.’
Katie dropped her chin, but she just didn’t have the energy to reply. She waited until she heard the front door slam, then said with as much dignity as she could muster, ‘Timmy, you help Molly and your nanna with that clearing up, while I fetch the bath in from the yard.’ She pulled open the back door, ignoring the freezing wind. Looking over her shoulder she added, ‘And don’t get yer head near yer sister’s, we don’t want her getting ’em and all. And you, Michael, you can get out here and chop some kindling for the copper.’
Katie dragged the big tin bath inside the kitchen and manoeuvred it past the table, positioning it in front of the Kitchener. Then she straightened up, tucking a curl of her thick auburn hair behind her ear.
‘Why can’t we be a family like we used to be?’ she asked. ‘I know times are hard, but ain’t that all the more reason to stick together?’ She snatched up the kettle from the stove. ‘Let’s get to the tap, Mum,’ she said to Nora, reaching across her. ‘I mean, just look at them Miltons. What have they got? Nothing. Potless. But you don’t hear them rowing all the time, do yer?’
‘They had the school board man round before we broke up,’ Michael piped up as he came back into the kitchen carrying a bare handful of sticks that he held out to his mum for approval. ‘All staying off school again, they was.’
Katie set the filled kettle back on the gas stove and, taking the kindling from Michael, she shook her head disgustedly. ‘Don’t you start sounding off like Danny. The only reason them poor little devils never go to school is ’cos their boots’re always in pawn.’ She carried the pathetic bundle of sticks over to the back door. ‘I’m going out to light the copper now and when I get back in here I don’t want another word out of any of yer ’cos I mean it this time, any more rows and all the bits you was gonna get for Christmas are going straight over to the Miltons. This is yer last chance. Yer very last chance.’
As she pulled the door to, she said to herself, ‘Now there’s a bunch of kids who’d appreciate getting something for Christmas, let alone the stuff this lot expect.’
She shivered and pulled her cardigan round her shoulders as she ducked inside the little flagstoned scullery and bent down to set the wood under the copper. It felt cold enough for snow. ‘It’s my fault,’ she went on to herself as she fiddled with the matches. ‘I’ve ruined them kids o’ mine.’
Later that afternoon Molly gingerly opened her bedroom door and poked her head out on to the narrow landing.
Hardly daring to breathe, she listened for sounds from her parents’ room. She couldn’t believe how long it had taken them to stop shouting at each other after they had gone upstairs, when her dad had got back from the pub.
For a while she had really thought she would have to miss seeing Simon, and just leave him standing waiting for her outside Stepney East Station. But, if her dad’s snores were anything to go by, they had exhausted themselves at last, and were having a Sunday afternoon sleep.
Molly was just about to close her bedroom door and sneak off when a loud crash at the back of the house made her nearly stumble backwards down the stairs.
‘What the hell was that?’ she whispered to herself. She threw down her bag on the floor and crawled across her bed to look out of her bedroom window. She pushed the frame up to the top of the sash and stuck her head outside into the cold air.
‘I might have known it was you two,’ she said at the sight which confronted her – Timmy and Michael climbing out of the back bedroom window of their nanna’s house on to the ice-covered, corrugated iron lavvy roof.
‘Yer’ll wake everyone up in here. And yer’ll be skinned alive when Mum catches yer.’ Remembering she was dressed to go out, Molly whipped off her hat and hid it behind her back. ‘Yer know she told us all to stay in our rooms till tea time.’
Michael grinned saucily. ‘We won’t tell on you if you don’t tell on us.’
‘What d’yer mean, tell on me? Yer cheeky little bugger!’
‘Here, listen to her language, Tim,’ grinned Michael. ‘Mum’d love that, and she’d love yer sitting in yer room with yer hat on and all. Or maybe yer was thinking about going out somewhere?’ With that, the boys waved to their sister and skidded down the lavvy roof on their backsides, and disappeared over the wall.
Molly could have spat; that bloody kid from Upper North Street, had he seen or said something else?
Whether he had or not, it was too late to worry about that now; if she didn’t get going right away she might as well not bother going at all. Without even stopping to check in the glass if it was straight, Molly stuck her hat back on her head and rushed down the stairs. When she eventually arrived at Stepney East Station, Simon was standing there waiting for her, shivering like a half-set jelly. She looked round to make sure that there was nobody passing by who knew her, then she pecked him hastily on the cheek.
‘It was easier meeting in the summer, wasn’t it?’ she said, clapping her gloved hands together. ‘One of us is gonna freeze to death at this rate.’
‘I know a way to keep warm,’ said Simon, his dark eyes shining out from beneath the snap brim of his hat.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Aw yeah, and how’s that then?’
He laughed ironically. ‘It wouldn’t be my first choice, but how about if I take you for a slap-up tea.’
Molly sighed and clutched her heart dramatically. ‘I suppose that’ll have to do.’
They didn’t link arms as they walked off in the direction of Aldgate, where they knew they would find plenty of cosy little coffee shops and cafés open on a Sunday, but walked along side by side. They never discussed it, they just had the awkward understanding that they kept their distance when there was any chance of being seen by anyone they knew.
That afternoon, as they had done so many times before, they talked almost non-stop, pausing only to swallow cup after cup of stewed brown tea to wash down thick sandwiches of hot salt beef and mustard, and quivering slabs of sultana-dotted cheesecake. They always had so much to say to one another, that the hours just slipped away, and, all too soon, it was time to go.
As Simon walked Molly back towards the corner where he would leave her, they were still talking.
‘You’ve given me so many things to think about, since I’ve met you, Simon,’ she said. ‘And you always give me the feeling I wanna know more.’
‘Some people . . .’ she began, thinking of the scene around the dinner table, with Danny shouting the odds, and about what Bob would have to say if he could see her now. ‘Some people say some really stupid things. But I reckon it’s not always because they’re bad. I reckon sometimes it’s because they’ve just listened to the wrong people and haven’t had the chance to know any better. I reckon anyone could learn to think the right way if other people took the time to explain things to them, don’t you?’
Simon nodded. ‘I think you’re right. But in the end, we all have to make up our own minds about things, no matter what other people say.’
She thought for a moment. ‘I’ve been thinking about joining the library in Poplar High Street. There’s some things I wanna get straight. To understand more.’
‘Good idea. I was going to join one myself but my uncle stopped me. He won’t let me use the public library.’
‘Why not? You love reading. That’s what gave me the idea to join.’
‘My uncle says the books are contaminated,’ Simon said sheepishly. ‘You know, not knowing who’s been touching them.’
‘He sounds a bit barmy to me. Or a right snob more like.’ Molly stopped in her tracks and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, me and my big gob. That just sort of slipped out.’
‘Don’t worry. Anyway you’re right.’
‘What, he’s barmy? Or he’s a snob?’
‘Let’s just say he’s not barmy. And he’s not really a snob either. He just has very set ideas about what’s right and he sticks to them. He likes things to be the way he thinks they should be.’
‘What, like Jewish boys having Jewish girlfriends?’
Simon laughed sardonically. ‘Come on, time’s moving on.’
He placed his hand on Molly’s arm to guide her forward, but she didn’t budge. Instead, she dipped her chin and said quietly, ‘I do love being with yer, yer know, Simon.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘But . . .’
‘But?’
She lifted her eyes and looked directly at him. ‘Do you honestly think we can go on like this?’
‘I knew this would happen.’ He pulled off his hat and ran his hands distractedly through his hair. ‘I suppose I should just be surprised it’s taken this long. Look, Molly, I’m not making any excuses for my uncle, it’s just that I owe him so much. I don’t know what would have happened to me if his family hadn’t taken me in.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ Shivering, Molly pulled her collar up around her ears. ‘And that’s why it’s never gonna work, is it? He’s never gonna approve of me in a million years.’ She hesitated, half turned away from him. This was her chance to sort it all out. ‘I don’t think I should see yer any more, Simon. I mean, there’s people round here who don’t like what we’re doing, people who stop us from even having a cuddle, ’cos we’re scared they might see us. People who could hurt yer, Simon.’ She started sniffing. ‘I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to yer.’
‘Molly, don’t, please.’ He looked up and down the cold street. In the miserable half-light of the late winter afternoon he could see that apart from the two of them and a man rushing past with his head down against the icy wind, it was deserted.
Simon swallowed hard, pulled Molly towards him and kissed her full on the mouth.
Molly reeled backwards. ‘Blimey.’
Simon looked grave, not at all like a young man who had just acted so impetuously. ‘Now, is there anything else you feel you’re missing out on when you’re with me?’
The tears spilled from her eyes as she whispered, ‘The other night, I dreamt me and you was dancing. We was twirling around and around. In front of everyone. And we didn’t care who’d see us.’
He took out his handkerchief, wiped her face dry and then kissed her eyelids. He laughed mirthlessly. ‘I make you cry and, pathetic as it sounds, I can’t even dance.’ He stuck his handkerchief back in his pocket. ‘In fact, I’m totally useless to you.’
‘Don’t say that. Please.’
He pulled her close to his chest again. ‘Then say you won’t leave me, Molly.’
‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘I won’t leave yer. I don’t reckon I’d know how to.’
He closed his eyes and let out a loud sigh of relief. Then he held her away from him. ‘Come on. We really had better be going.’
They walked along the icy street, clasping each other’s hand as though that was the way they always walked along together.
‘Least it ain’t boring,’ she said, blinking back her tears and trying to smile at him. ‘I mean, how many girls have got a secret boyfriend?’
Simon squeezed her hand. ‘Wouldn’t you rather have a nice, easy, boring boyfriend you could take home to tea and go dancing with?’
‘No fear,’ she sniffed. ‘I think it’s the worst thing in the world being bored. All our family’s the same. It’s our wild Irish blood, see?’ Tears were running down her cheeks again. ‘None of us ever really thinks things through. We just jump in with both feet. Trouble is, sometimes we’re in too deep before we realise it.’
They were still holding hands as they reached the corner of Stainsby Road, where Simon was going to leave Molly. But instead of the whispered goodbyes and the promises to meet next week that she had expected, Simon grabbed her roughly by the arm, and dragged her back against the wall. ‘Look at that!’ he gasped, pointing along the street.
Smoke was pouring out of the windows of one of the houses. People were milling around outside, shouting, panicking, giving orders and crying out. Someone had organised a chain of buckets to try to quench the flames but they seemed to be having little effect.
A woman was pointing to the upstairs and screaming, ‘Help her, someone! Help her! She’s only a kid!’
Simon ripped off his overcoat and hat and thrust them at Molly.
‘What yer doing?’
‘Someone’s got to climb up there, and none of those seem very keen.’
‘I’ll help yer.’
‘No, Molly. Stay here. Please, I mean it. I need to know you’re safe. I can’t be worrying about you as well.’
‘All right.’
‘Promise?’
She nodded, kissed him hurriedly on the lips, then watched as he ran along the street towards a group of men who were arguing loudly about how best to reach the upstairs rooms.
She honestly intended to wait there as he had asked, but the feeling that she shouldn’t be letting him take such a risk by himself got the better of her. She had to do something to help.
With Simon’s coat flapping around her legs, she ran over to a huddle of women who were standing across the street, opposite the house.
‘Can I do anything?’
‘Do?’ one of the woman snapped at her. ‘Shoot that bastard landlord, that’s what yer can do. That girl’s gas stove ain’t been working right for weeks, has it, Flo?’ she said to the woman next to her. ‘But would he do anything about it? Course not. Yet what d’yer think would’ve happened if she hadn’t paid her bloody rent, eh? I’ll tell you, he’d have been round here a bit sharpish then all right. And had her right out on her ear’ole. Now her little kiddy’s up there in all them flames.’
‘Look,’ shouted the woman called Flo. ‘That feller. He’s only climbing up the drainpipe. That’ll never hold his weight.’
Molly looked on in horror as she saw Simon, his shirt sleeves rolled up above his elbows, inching his way up from the downstairs window ledge, the rusty-looking pipe his only support.
He had reached a join in the pipe, just above the street door, when another man scrambled on to the window ledge behind him and started shouting.
‘We don’t need the likes of you helping decent people like us,’ he hollered, dragging Simon backwards by his trouser leg. ‘Now, get down, Jew boy, and clear off back where yer come from.’
Molly could hardly believe it as the woman standing next to her joined in. ‘Yeah,’ she shouted, ‘piss off out of it, Yiddle. We don’t need the likes of you round here helping us.’
As Simon dropped on to the pavement, the man who had dragged him down turned to face the others. Molly shrank back against the wall. It was Bob Jarvis.
‘Let’s get some decent Englishmen up here,’ ordered Bob, obviously not intending to climb the pipe himself.
Molly turned her back on the scene and ran, head down, back to the far end of the street where she hid round the corner like a criminal, and waited as Simon made his way back to her, accompanied by a barrage of humiliating catcalls and foul language.
Her decision had really been made this time. Molly was no longer seeing two fellers. She might have let Bob Jarvis touch her in a way that she had never let anyone else touch her ever before, and he might have been Danny’s friend, but he was no longer any friend of hers.