IT WAS LATE Friday afternoon, the end of the first really nice spring day of 1934, and it seemed that many of the residents of Plumley Street were determined to make the most of it, sitting outside their houses, enjoying warming their bones after the long cold winter they had all had to endure.
At one end of the street, Nora, Katie, and Peggy Watts from over the road, were sitting on kitchen chairs they had parked on the pavement between numbers ten and twelve, catching up with the bits of mending and knitting that seemed so much less of a chore now they didn’t have to do them indoors in the gloom of artificial light.
At the other, blocked end of the street, Edie Johnson was also outside, but she was standing on her chair. Balancing precariously on her stout legs, she was giving her shop window its first thorough clean of the year. She had caught a shocked glimpse of the state of the glass when the spring sunshine had filtered through the grime that had accumulated there during the wet, foggy winter, and had decided to do something about it there and then. Bert had tried to persuade her to leave it, telling her that when his leg was feeling a bit better he would do it for her, but Edie had refused, insisting that he had enough to do, before getting on with the job herself. She had refused his offer very gently; her Bert was a proud man and she knew that his injury from the Great War was not only a constant source of physical pain to him, but also of regret, as it meant that he could not do what he thought was a fair share of the work it took to run the shop, and that hurt him almost as much as his damaged leg.
Next door to the shop at number three, there was no sign of Mr and Mrs Milton; they weren’t outside the house enjoying the sunshine, nor was there any clue as to whether they were at home, as the front room curtains were tightly drawn even though it was still broad daylight. But in the gutter outside the house, there was plenty of evidence of the Milton kids. Barefoot and dressed in an ill-fitting assortment of hand-me-downs supplied by Katie and the church jumble, they were playing with Timmy and Michael at a complicated game involving stones and bits of knotted string.
The youngsters and their doings were being closely observed by Phoebe Tucker. She was just waiting for any behaviour that could in any way be described as a nuisance, so that she could knock on the Miltons’ door or go over to the Mehans’ to complain about them. She was accompanied at her post outside number seven by Sooky Shay, who had fetched her own chair from number five next door.
The two women, with their shoulders hunched and eyes narrowed, were like a pair of dusty old crows, as they sat there in their dark frocks, their crossover aprons, rolled down stockings and ever-present slippers, drinking tea and smoking foul-smelling roll-ups. The pair of them disapproved of just about everybody and everything, but they saved their most spiteful venom, as they gossiped and chattered, for their husbands. But Albert and Jimmo were used to it and, as soon as they saw their wives setting their kitchen chairs on the pavement, they made themselves scarce by sloping off to Ricardo Street to pass an opinion on an old pal’s newly painted pigeon loft. If they had have hung around, they knew what they were in for: Phoebe with her talent for conjuring jobs out of nothing, would have them limewashing their backyard walls, or replacing the putty in the front windows, or some other such nonsense just to get them at it, while she and Sooky supervised and complained and told them how useless they both were.
Further up the street, Frank Barber had come home early when he’d been told there was nothing down the docks for him. He and Theresa were in the back kitchen, getting their tea ready. Frank had, as usual, offered to share their meal with Nutty Lil from upstairs, but, also as usual, she had merely shaken her head and carried on singing her hymns in her high warbling falsetto.
Frank felt bad that Lil would never accept his invitation to eat with them, but he knew she got by well enough and he would never intrude. But that didn’t get away from the fact that he would have liked to have done something for her, if only because he felt it would have made up in some way for how good people had been to him since he had lost his wife. Sarah Barber had died less than an hour after giving birth to their baby son. Their little boy had survived for just a few moments longer. It had been a terrible time, but it would have been a whole lot worse without his neighbours; he wouldn’t even have been able to go to work if it wasn’t for Peggy Watts from next door, keeping an eye on little Theresa when she came home from school until he got in of a night.
Back on the other side of the street, next door to Nora’s, Joe and Aggie Palmer were out in the yard. The yard took up the whole downstairs of number eight, as well as a narrow strip of ground that ran along behind the Lanes’ house and the Queen’s Arms. Joe had finished work for the day, but he was still busily polishing his precious truck, while Aggie fussed around with her hens and rabbits, and Duchess, the little grey pony that she had persuaded her husband not to part with, even though she no longer earned her keep since Joe had bought the truck and his haulage business had gone motorised.
Joe often joked with Aggie that she and her menagerie were taking up more and more of his yard every year, and how it was all because she preferred pottering around with her dumb creatures to being stuck upstairs in the flat with dusters and floor polish. But Joe would never really have complained about her. Aggie was everything to Joe, and if she had wanted the whole of the downstairs and the upstairs rooms as well turned into a farmyard, he probably would have gone along with it. He loved her, not just because she was a kind, caring woman, but because she was the one who had convinced him that he could make something of himself. Aggie had taught Joe to read and write; she had shown him that he could settle down and earn a bit of respect from decent neighbours; and had made him see that he didn’t have to stay an illiterate tearaway all his life. When he thought back to what he’d been like as a kid, and how his life could have turned out, Joe Palmer had every reason to be grateful to his beloved Aggie.
Next door to the Palmers was number six, a house that looked as lifeless as the Miltons’. But the Lanes certainly weren’t hiding themselves away. They had arrived home very publicly in a cab less than an hour ago, having been out all day. From the posh names on the armfuls of boxes and bags that the cabbie had helped Arthur carry indoors, it was obvious that they had been on a huge shopping spree up West. Or at least, that’s what Phoebe had reported to Sooky when she had fetched her kitchen chair out to join her. Sooky had lapped up Phoebe’s lurid description of Irene’s painted face, and joined in her spiteful laughter when Phoebe bragged about how she had turned the other way when Irene had waved to her.
They were all still outside when, at just gone a quarter to six, Pat appeared from round the corner.
‘Hello, love,’ he said, bending down to peck his wife on the cheek. ‘All right, Nora? Peg?’
Katie looked up at him, shielding her eyes against the final, slanting rays of the afternoon sun. ‘Hello, sweetheart, you’re home early.’
Pat nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s been a bit quiet at work again today. Well, more than a bit quiet, to tell yer the truth; there was a bit doing for me and another couple of the chaps, but not enough. Not nearly enough. Still . . .’ He pulled off his cap, stuck it in his pocket and asked his usual question. ‘Where’s the kids? What they been up to today?’
‘Danny’s just rushed in from work, got ready and rushed out again. With Peggy’s Liz,’ Katie added with a knowing smile at Peggy.
‘For a change!’ Peggy joined in.
‘And our Molly got in – when was it, Mum, five minutes ago? Then she was straight out again and all.’
Nora shook her head. ‘It was less than five minutes ago. I’m surprised yer missed her, Pat.’
‘Right hurry she was in and all. Her and Danny both didn’t bother with nothing to eat.’
‘Yer can’t tell ’em,’ said Peg, squinting at her knitting as she counted the rows.
‘Where was she off to this time?’ asked Pat, leaning back against the sun-warmed bricks and rolling himself a cigarette.
‘Going to meet some friend or other, from the tea factory, I think she said, didn’t she, Mum?’
Nora said nothing, she just carried on with her darning.
‘She was in that much of a rush,’ Katie went on, ‘I never really caught what she said.’
‘How about our Sean? If that ain’t a silly question.’
Knowing that Sean wasn’t exactly an easy topic of conversation for her neighbours lately, Peggy went to stand up. ‘Time I was going, I reckon,’ she said cheerfully.
‘No, Peg, yer all right.’ Katie sighed. She leant back in her chair and spoke softly, so that Phoebe and Sooky couldn’t make out her words from across the street. ‘He went off early this morning, just after you left yerself, Pat. To see this bloke from Stepney who he says has been paying him to do these odd jobs, whatever they might be. Mind you, at least he’s got a few bob in his pocket. Even left a dollar on the kitchen table for me before he went out.’ Katie shook her head wearily. ‘I don’t even like to think what he’s up to.’
‘Don’t worry yerself, Katie, girl,’ Nora said airily. ‘He’ll be doing a bit of labouring for someone. I told yer, worrying’s no good to yer.’
‘It’s all right for you, Mum—’ Katie began.
‘All right, all right,’ Pat interrupted her. ‘Don’t get yerself all worked up. You know what lads of his age are like. Slippery as eels, the lot of ’em. Never know what they’re up to. Like yer mother says, he’ll be doing a bit of labouring for someone what don’t fancy paying a grown man a full wage.’
Katie shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘And he’s never brought no trouble home, now has he? That’s what yer wanna be thankful for.’ Pat licked the cigarette paper and stuck the finished roll-up in the corner of his mouth. ‘Now, where are them two young ’uns of our’n?’
Katie pointed across the street with a lift of her chin. ‘Over there with the Milton kids.’
Peggy smiled wistfully. ‘Look at ’em, love their little hearts. Happy as pigs in muck playing with your two. They’re poor little so-and-sos. Ain’t got ha’penny to bless ’emselves with. Never have nothing, but they don’t complain.’
Pat held up the coil of thick, tarred barge rope that he had looped over his arm. ‘This’ll please ’em. I fetched it home so’s they can all have a game with it.’
‘I wondered what yer were thinking of doing with that,’ said Nora. ‘I thought yer might be planning to string up the rent man from the lamppost.’
Pat laughed. ‘Not a bad idea, Nora, but I think it might be better if I tie it round the lamppost and make a swing out of it for the kids. Remember how we used to when we was little, Kate?’
‘Are you crackers?’ Katie was on her feet. ‘Tying it to the lamppost? What, d’yer want ’em to go hanging their flaming selves? That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Me having Ellen Milton over here shouting the odds that we’ve strangled all her nippers to death.’
‘We never come to no harm playing with ropes when we was kids,’ said Pat. He shook his head at Nora for putting such a stupid idea into his wife’s head. He sounded and looked hurt; he and Katie had been getting on so well lately, but here she was, throwing his surprise for the kids back in his face, and in front of people too.
‘Yer just don’t think, do yer, Pat.’ Katie looked at Peggy then at Nora, appealing to their better, female, sense. ‘Men,’ she tutted, ‘they just don’t see no danger, do they? Hopeless.’
Neither of the other women said a thing; they knew better than to interfere in a disagreement between a married couple.
Katie turned back to her husband. ‘It’s just like them stilts yer made at Christmas for our Timmy and Michael.’
Pat flicked his cigarette butt into the gutter and pushed himself away from the wall. ‘I thought they really liked ’em,’ he said flatly.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Katie. ‘Course they do. ’Cos they’re rotten dangerous and they worry the life out of me every time they go out on ’em. I can’t count how many times they’ve nearly broke their flipping necks on ’em. Flaming things. Might as well give ’em a carving knife to play with – and a saw and all while yer at it.’
Pat stared down at his boots. ‘It must be me, I reckon. I can’t do nothing right. It’s like down the docks; I’ve had a right pig of a day. I was trying me best to explain to the blokes, as honest as I could, that there just weren’t enough work for everyone again. And what do they do? They all act like it’s my bloody fault. Now I come home, just trying to do something nice for me kids, and you start on me.’
Katie felt her cheeks grow warm. She bowed her head for a moment and looked through her lashes at Peggy and Nora who were pointedly concentrating on their handiwork. Then she looked up at her husband again, her angry scowl softened into a smile. ‘Hark at me, leading off. I’m sorry, Pat,’ she said, knowing how he hated having a show made of him in front of anyone. ‘I’m really sorry. It must be all this sunshine getting to me. We ain’t used to it, are we?’ She reached out and touched him on the cheek. ‘Why don’t yer go down the Queen’s and treat yerself to a drink? I wasn’t expecting yer in so early so I ain’t even got yer tea on yet.’
‘My Bill’s had a walk down there, Pat,’ Peggy said pleasantly. ‘He’ll appreciate a bit of company.’
‘I could go a pint,’ Pat nodded, glad of a reason to get away. ‘Is Stephen about? I’ll see if he fancies a quick one and all.’
Katie sat down abruptly, snatching up her darning from her chair. ‘I dunno where he is,’ she answered tartly. ‘Yer’ll have to ask Mum. Not that I suppose she knows either. Right man o’ mystery, he is.’
Nora rolled her eyes at Peggy Watts, who held up her hand and shook her head as much as to say, ‘Don’t involve me, Nora,’ and got on with her knitting.
Nora thought for a moment, then looked up at her son-in-law. ‘You go and enjoy yer drink, son. When Stephen turns up, I’ll send him down to yer.’
‘Okay, Nora. I’ll just give the boys their rope first.’ He raised a questioning eyebrow at Katie. ‘If that’s all right with you.’
‘Just tell ’em to be careful, eh, Pat?’
Pat had been over at the Queen’s for less than ten minutes when Stephen Brady came haring round the corner and skidded to a halt in front of Nora, Katie and Peggy Watts. He might have been getting on for sixty years of age but he was still as lithe as a fit forty-year-old.
‘Yer’ll never guess what,’ he gasped, his usually soft Irish brogue made raucous with a combination of breathlessness and enthusiastic glee.
Katie sat stony-faced, not charmed in the least by such behaviour, but Peggy smiled, amused by his childlike excitement, and as for Nora, she beamed with proud pleasure at her husband’s high spirits.
‘And what’s that, that I can’t guess, me darling?’ Nora asked him.
‘Up the road,’ he said, bending forward and grasping his thighs as he tried to steady his breathing. ‘There’s something right peculiar going on, Nora. Yous’ll never believe it; yer’ll have to come and see for yerself.’
‘Peculiar eh?’ Nora said, impressed by the idea. ‘Now calm yerself down, Stephen, and tell us all about it.’
‘There are these men,’ he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the end of the street, ‘on the corner of Guildford Road. By the pub there. Yer know where I mean? It’s by—’
‘Yeah, yeah, we know, we know,’ Nora interrupted, impatient to hear his story.
‘Well, I’m telling yer, yer’d not believe it unless yer saw it with yer own eyes. A barrel organ, they’ve got, and they’re singing and they’re dancing, and aren’t all the kids from round there sitting along the kerb and clapping and laughing, and the fellers from the pub are throwing pennies and—’
‘What’s so special about that?’ Nora butted in again, disappointed that her husband’s story was so ordinary.
Stephen leant close to them and put his hand to his mouth. ‘Sure,’ he whispered, ‘aren’t they all dressed up as ladies? With frocks, lipstick, the lot!’
Nora burst out laughing. ‘That’ll be the Nancy Boys or the Jazzers, yer daft eejit.’
Now it was Stephen who was disappointed. ‘So they’re nothing special then, these Nancy Boys and Jazzer fellers?’
‘Course they’re special,’ Nora reassured him. ‘Don’t the kids just go crazy for ’em. Tell yer what, why don’t yer take Michael and Timmy round to see ’em? They’d love it.’
Momentarily unsure as to whether Nora was just humouring him, Stephen stared uncertainly at his wife, but he quickly recovered and was off across the street to tell Timmy and Michael the good news. He asked the Milton youngsters if they’d like to go too, but, like wild animals scared by a predator, the hollow-eyed, scrawny-looking kids shook their heads and scampered off along the passageway of number three, calling behind them that their mum had told them to stay close to the house.
‘I didn’t mean to frighten yer mates, Micky,’ said Stephen.
‘That’s all right, Farvee,’ Michael answered in the matter-of-fact tone that only a child familiar with such deprivation could use. ‘They ain’t got no money or nothing so their mum and dad don’t let ’em do nothing ’cos, you know, they can’t give nothing back and they’d be right embarrassed. See?’
Stephen nodded. He saw all right, of course he did. As a little boy his parents had taken him to live in Cork City, escaping from a starved and barren part of the west coast of Ireland, where the success or failure of the potato crop had meant the difference between whether a family would have enough stodge to fill their bellies, or would fade away to life-sapping sickness.
‘Come on then,’ he said, ‘we’ll tell yer mates all about it later. And, I know what, when we get back, I’ll buy yers a farthing’s worth of odds from Edie and Bert’s to share with ’em. How’ll that be?’
‘That’ll be smashing, Farvee!’ Timmy was almost beside himself. Not only was his granddad taking him to see the Nancy Boys, but he was buying him and his mates a bag full of all the bits from the bottoms of the sweet jars that Edie poured into a special jar she kept on the side of the counter by the till. ‘I hope there’s plenty of pear drop crumbs in it.’
‘Don’t you go spoiling yer teas,’ said Katie, obviously not quite so impressed with her father’s promises. ‘And you be careful, Timmy, and keep hold of Michael’s hand.’ She was still hollering instructions after them as, stern-faced, she watched her two youngest sons disappear around the corner into Grundy Street, dragging the heavy, tarred rope behind them, trotting to keep up with the man they had so easily come to call Farvee, but who she still could not bring herself to call Dad.
‘It’s amazing having that man back with me,’ Nora sighed contentedly, folding her arms across her aproned chest. ‘Yer know, it feels like only yesterday . . .’
‘He ain’t changed a bit, Kate,’ Peggy said, peering closely at her knitting, as she tried to hook up a dropped stitch. ‘Still a good-looking man. I remember when I was what, about eight years old, must it have been, Nora, when we first moved here?’
Nora considered for a moment. ‘I reckon you was about that,’ she said. ‘Yeah, I’m sure, ’cos what, I’m nearly eight, nine years older than Peggy, ain’t I, Kate?’
Katie nodded stiffly. ‘That’s about right.’
‘Yeah, that is right,’ said Peggy. ‘Me dad was still alive, God rest his soul, so I must have been about that age.’ She let her knitting fall into her lap. ‘I used to watch your dad, Katie, as he strolled along to the Queen’s of an evening.’ She laughed at the memory. ‘I loved my dad, no one could have loved a man more, but he wasn’t a match on Stephen when it came to having a bit of style and swagger. He was a dandy, that man.’
‘Yer must have a flaming good memory,’ Katie snapped, roughly shoving the sock she was mending into her apron pocket. ‘He was only here five minutes before he buggered off, leaving Mum six months gone and no one to turn to.’
‘Yer mustn’t blame him,’ Nora said defensively. ‘He was only a boy himself. And anyway, he used to send me money whenever he could find work.’
Katie stood up. ‘If it hadn’t have been for my Pat’s mum and dad, me and you would have starved and you know it. Now, I’m going in to make a cuppa tea. Want one, you two?’
‘Yes please, love,’ said Peggy quietly.
Nora waited until her daughter had gone indoors. ‘Yer know, Peg,’ she said reflectively, ‘my Katie’s a clever girl, always has been. But she doesn’t understand about her dad and me. And she never will if she won’t listen.’
Nora shifted in her chair, all too aware of Phoebe and Sooky sitting across the street, straining their ears to twig what was going on. ‘When we came over from Ireland, a pair of kids we were. No idea of the world or what we should do or what anything meant. We was just trying, trying our best to make a life for ourselves and the baby I was going to have.’ Nora dropped her chin, suddenly fascinated by a loose thread on her apron. ‘Yer know, I wish Katie would just try and forgive him, Peg. Call him Dad maybe. Just for me. But it’s as though she’s so set on what she thinks is right, that that’s it. She’ll not bend an inch. It’s like the way she was talking about Pat’s parents like they was saints. Yes they helped us, they helped us a lot, but she knows as well as us what went on in that house between those two. What with Pat’s mum off with the fellers and his dad mad blind with jealousy.’ She lifted her head and turned to Peggy. ‘Everyone has their problems, Peg, don’t they? She should see that, surely?’
Peggy nodded. ‘We all have our problems all right, Nora.’ She finished the row she was on and then folded the knitting round the needles before sticking the points into the fat ball of wool. ‘Look, I know your Katie ain’t a little girl no more, but she’s still your baby, Nora, and yer know how kids get with their mums, even at her age. Stubborn. And they think feelings haven’t been invented until they have ’em ’emselves. They can’t understand that their mums have feelings and all.’ She hesitated. ‘Or that they have needs. If yer know what I mean.’
Nora sighed loudly. ‘Aw, I know what yer mean all right there, girl.’
They sat there in silence for a while, watching Phoebe and Sooky whispering behind their hands and pointing occasionally across at them. Neither Peggy nor Nora bothered to speculate as to the object of the old women’s gossip. It was bound to be something bad about someone or other. Then Katie came back out, carrying a battered tin tray with three cups of tea on it.
‘Give us that here, love,’ said Nora, standing up and taking it from her. ‘Now you sit down and drink yer tea and tell yer mum why yer looking so fed up.’
Katie sipped at her tea. Determined as she had been not to say anything – she had always prided herself on sorting out her own problems – it all suddenly came tumbling out. ‘Look, I know it’s hard for everyone, all this worrying about work and money all the time, and I know we’re better off than we might be if Danny and Molly weren’t both earning, even if they are fetching in kids’ wages and eating like adults. But it’s the way things have got so much worse lately. It’s like nothing goes right – nothing.’
Peggy swallowed her tea, almost scalding her throat in the process, stood up and said, ‘This sounds like family business to me. I’ve gotta be getting off anyway.’
‘No, Peg. Please,’ Katie said, touching her arm. ‘Sit down. I could do with you two telling me if I’m just letting things get to me.’ She laughed mirthlessly. ‘Maybe it’s me age. Maybe I’m going a bit doolally, eh? But it was like with Pat just now and that stupid rope. I shouldn’t have had a go like that. He’s as good as gold to me, that man, and I have to start hollering at him.’
Peggy exchanged a brief knowing look with Nora, and then sat down again.
‘See, part of it’s all this bad feeling between Danny and Molly. It’s really been upsetting me.’ She glanced sideways at her mum. Katie was sure Nora knew what was going on – she was always whispering to Molly about something or other lately – but there was no getting anything out of her, no matter how hard Katie tried. ‘I don’t know if Liz has mentioned anything, Peg, but the atmosphere round that table in there when the pair of them do decide to sit down and eat with us, well, yer could cut it with a flaming knife. Danny’s only gotta look at her the wrong way and Molly’s up in the air like a flipping rubber balloon.’
Peggy opened her eyes wide and exhaled loudly. ‘I don’t like to say nothing, Kate, but Liz has mentioned that there’s something going on.’
‘What?’ Katie was on the edge of her chair. ‘What is it?’
‘Look, all I know is my Liz was saying the other night how she feels torn between the pair of ’em. Don’t know what to do for the best, she don’t. But as to what it’s all about, she ain’t said, and that is the truth, girl. I really don’t know. And, to be honest, I didn’t think it was my place to ask. I reckon she’d have told me if she thought she could.’ Peggy patted Katie’s hand. ‘But yer don’t wanna worry yerself, Kate. Yer know what kids are like, rowing one minute and then best mates the next.’
‘But they ain’t babies no more, Peg,’ Katie said bleakly. ‘Molly’s seventeen and Danny ain’t far off nineteen. And anyway, all this is hardly a five-minute wonder, is it? It’s been going on since Christmas time.’
‘Well, if that’s all yer’ve got to worry about,’ said Nora, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms, ‘I think yer should count yerself a lucky woman.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ snapped Katie. ‘Yer making me sound a right idiot, like I’m worrying over nothing.’
‘Well, what have yer got to worry about that’s really so terrible?’
‘D’yer want me to list all the things I’ve got on me mind?’ Katie stuck out her hand and began counting them off on her fingers. ‘There’s Sean up to Gawd knows what. There’s the little ’uns growing up into a world where it don’t seem there’s gonna be no future for no one.’ She dropped her hands and leant forward, looking directly into her mother’s face. ‘You tell me how to explain to kids about them marchers? I didn’t know what to say when they asked me about that last lot, them poor buggers from Newcastle, what was staying in Poplar a few weeks back.’ She leant back in her chair again. ‘Then there’s all the stuff on the wireless about all them horrible things happening abroad.’
‘The Good Lord help us and save us, girl,’ said Nora. ‘Sure, yer can’t go taking the troubles of the whole world on yer shoulders. Tell her, Peg.’
Before Peggy had the chance to tell her anything, Katie, quite unexpectedly, began crying. ‘And you,’ she snapped tearfully at her mother, ‘you’re worrying me to a sodding frazzle and all, what with him hanging around the place. I know the bastard’s gonna let yer down again.’
Peggy glanced across the street at Phoebe and Sooky, who were obviously enjoying every minute of this unscheduled entertainment, especially hearing Katie using bad language.
‘All right, Katie, love,’ Peggy calmed her. ‘Don’t give them old bags the satisfaction of seeing yer upset yerself. It’s all this trying to make ends meet all the time. That’s what it is. It’s getting yer down. And Pat’s a good feller, he does what he can.’
‘I know he does, Peg, but it ain’t that,’ sniffed Katie. ‘I’m worried what’s happening to me family. I told yer.’
Nora shook her head in wonder. ‘I don’t know why yer just don’t come out and ask me straight,’ she said calmly. ‘If yer must know, the boys are fine upstairs in their bedrooms and I’m just fine sharing me front parlour and me bed with yer dad.’
If it hadn’t have been for Phoebe calling across the street to them, Katie would have run indoors to hide from the shame of her mother speaking like that, and in front of Peggy Watts of all people, a good Catholic woman whose daughter was seeing their Danny. As it was, Katie’s embarrassment was rapidly transformed into anger.
‘Getting all upset, are yer, Katie?’ Phoebe shouted. She nudged Sooky and jerked her head towards Frank Barber’s house on the corner. ‘What is it? Not seen yer friend for a while? Or is it that girl o’ your’n yer worried about? Been seen around with a strange boy, so I hear. Ain’t from round here apparently. Very dark he is. Looks foreign by all accounts.’
‘And yer’ll be looking at my hand across yer face if yer don’t shut up, you old cow,’ Nora shouted, launching herself off her seat.
Katie grabbed her mother by the arm. ‘Sit down, Mum,’ she hissed. ‘It’ll only give her more to talk about.’
Phoebe wasn’t in the least perturbed. ‘And as for your young Danny, I’ve heard how he’s spending a lot of time hanging around with that Jarvis boy and his cronies. They’re the ones what give out them leaflets, so they say. Them ones that are against the Jews. I’m surprised. “Red Pat”, ain’t that what they call his father down the docks? And yet your Danny’s hiked up with that mob.’ Phoebe gave Sooky a sly grin. ‘I’d have thought that would’ve concerned you, Peggy Watts, ’cos your girl’s seeing Danny, ain’t she? I mean, I wouldn’t fancy no daughter o’ mine getting mixed up with none of them riots they start or nothing.’
‘For Gawd’s sake shut your flaming gob, Phoebe.’ It was unusual for Peggy to raise her voice, but anyone talking about her Liz was pushing their luck too far.
‘See, Sook, they don’t like the truth, some people. But let ’em put that on their needles and knit it.’ Phoebe was suddenly on her feet, pointing animatedly to the end of the street. ‘And what’s this coming along? Will yer look at the state of him? He’s been up to no good, you mark my words.’
The new object of Phoebe’s attention was Michael. He had just turned into Plumley Street; head bowed, shoulders stooped, and his clothes soaking wet. As he squelched towards her, Katie could see he had bits of twig and weed in his hair.
‘You was meant to be watching the Nancy Boys,’ said Katie in a slow measured tone, as she rose from her chair.
‘We was,’ he said sheepishly. ‘At first, like.’
‘So tell me – I’d love to know – where’d yer go afterwards?’
Michael shrugged and breezily raised his hands, every movement leaving a wider puddle of evil-smelling water at his feet. ‘Nowhere really.’
Katie went to grab him by the shoulders but had second thoughts when she caught a whiff of whatever was dripping from him on to the pavement. ‘Michael, I am losing my temper. What exactly have yer been up to?’
‘Give the boy a chance.’ It was Stephen. He had just appeared with Timmy, who was grimly gripping his grandfather’s hand; both of them were as soaked as Michael.
Katie was momentarily speechless; she flapped her hands ineffectually at the gall of the man. When she had finally composed herself enough to speak, she said weakly, ‘You just shut up. Do you hear me? Shut up.’ She poked herself rhythmically in the chest as she said each word: ‘I am talking to my son. The son that I bothered to stay around to bring up.’ She turned her finger on Michael, waving it in his face. ‘I know what yer’ve been doing, you’ve been swimming down that Cut again, haven’t yer? When I told yer yer wasn’t even allowed near there.’ She jerked her thumb at Stephen without looking at him. ‘And he took yer, didn’t he? There’s no point lying to me, Michael.’
Stephen winked supportively at his grandson, egging him on; he was lucky that Katie never saw him.
‘We was only jumping off Stinkhouse Bridge, Mum,’ said Michael in a bored, matter-of-fact sort of way. ‘Swinging on that rope what Dad got us.’ He elbowed the stricken-looking Timmy in the ribs. ‘It was a right laugh, weren’t it, Tim?’
‘A right laugh?’ Katie could hardly believe her ears.
‘We never meant to fall in or nothing.’
Her distaste for his foul, stinking, slime-covered clothes forgotten in her anger, Katie grabbed hold of Michael by the jacket, but she quickly withdrew her hand. ‘And what’s this sticking out of yer pocket? It looks disgusting.’
Michael pulled out the object of his mother’s revulsion. ‘It’s cold fish.’
‘It’s what?’
‘Cold fish. You know, what yer get in the chip shop from the day before. Farvee got it for us. He’s gonna make me and Timmy and him some sandwiches with it. ’Cos swimming makes yer right hungry, don’t it, Farvee?’
Katie took the filthy lump of fish from her son and gingerly peeled back the sopping wet batter so that she could examine the inside. Her nose wrinkled. She held it out for Peggy and Nora to see. ‘Look at it. Just look. It’s grey. He’d have poisoned ’em. It must be at least a week old.’ Katie glared at Stephen.
Peggy was out of her depth, she really did want to go home, but as she rose from her chair, Katie would have none of it.
‘No,’ said Katie, ‘you stay where you are, Peg. Don’t let him . . .’ She jabbed an accusing finger at Stephen. ‘. . . drive yer away. I’m gonna get these two in the kitchen, give ’em a good scrubbing. And yes, Michael, with the nail brush. Then I’ll make us some more tea.’
Stephen raised his eyebrows and tutted at his grandsons in recognition of the fact that there was no understanding women, then he put on what he thought was a winning smile and turned to face his daughter. ‘So, if there’s no fish sandwiches about, Katie love, is there anything else for us to eat for our teas?’
Katie’s mouth dropped open at such gall. ‘I can’t believe you, I really can’t. Yer’ll get me flaming put away for what I’d like to do to you. I’d like to get my hands round that stupid neck o’ your’n and—’
‘Yer telling me yer’ve not got our tea on yet, then, are yer, darling?’ Stephen said with another wink at Michael.
‘That’s right. In fact, there’s no cooking gonna be done by me in this house tonight. None at all. So yer can just go and fetch us all some fish and taters – fresh ones, not flipping three days old. And yer wanna be quick about it and all. Pat’ll be back from the Queen’s expecting his tea any minute now.’
With that Katie stormed inside, dragging Michael by the ear and Timmy by the elbow. She paused in the doorway just long enough to say to him, ‘You might have got round Mum, but you ain’t getting round me. Now you two, in, and don’t you dare drip on my clean floor.’
Stephen chucked Nora under the chin. ‘So, that son-in-law of ours is over in the pub, now is he? Sure, I’d better go and have a quick word with him, see if it’s rock or cod he’ll be wanting.’
Phoebe was barely able to contain herself with delight at the spectacle she and Sooky had witnessed, and even though her neighbour could see just as well as her, Phoebe gave Sooky a running commentary on her interpretation of events.
‘Look at him,’ she said, nodding towards Stephen. ‘Off down the pub, he’ll be. He won’t be getting any supper tonight, you mark my words. And as for her, that Katie, what a right madam! Always acts likes she’s good enough to put ten bob on herself in the three thirty, that one. But now she’s so ashamed she’s had to have it away indoors. Wants to be out of sight, see. Pride comes before a fall, they say, and I reckon they’ve got that just about right. Like I told yer, they don’t like the truth, some people. Soon as I mentioned him from the end, that widower, Frank Barber or whatever he calls himself, she had to change the subject. Churchgoers. Don’t make me laugh. And they want to keep an eye on that Sean and all. I’ve seen him going in that Laney’s. And when the old man’s out. That’s the one they should really be worried about, if you ask me.’
Nora got on with her sewing, but all the while she listened while Phoebe rattled on. When the old gossip eventually paused to draw breath, Nora stood up.
‘Peg, I don’t wanna be rude, love, but I think I’ve heard more than enough of them two. I’m going in to help Katie with the boys. That be all right with you?’
‘Course, Nora,’ Peggy said, hooking her knitting bag on one arm and picking up her kitchen chair with the other. ‘I’ll have to be seeing to my Bill’s tea before he gets back from the Queen’s anyway, or there’ll be another row for them spiteful old biddies to get their mouldy rotten gnashers into.’
Nora chuckled. ‘What a turn out, eh, Peg?’
‘Never a dull moment in this street, eh, girl?’
When Katie and Nora eventually came back outside with the boys, who were now clean, dry and looking really sorry for themselves, daylight had faded into a pleasant, early spring evening. As the streetlights had been lit, Nora repositioned her chair by the lamppost, and sat herself down to get on with her mending.
Before Katie sat down with her, she bent forward and wagged her finger close to Michael’s face. ‘Now, if yer don’t wanna be sent up to bed without yer tea, yer can play with yer glarneys right there,’ she pointed to the pool of gaslight shining on the pavement in front of the house, ‘where I can keep me eye on yer.’
‘Why is it me yer telling? Why don’t yer tell him?’ demanded Michael. ‘Timmy never gets told off.’
‘Not that I should have to answer such a rude little boy, but it seems to me that it’s always you what’s in the middle of whatever’s going on when there’s any trouble. And that Timmy, daft idiot that he is, just follows yer.’
Unsure as to whether he should be pleased or annoyed at being identified as the ring leader, Michael merely scowled in reply, took his marbles out of his pocket and sat down heavily on the kerb.
‘Now,’ Katie said, hands on hips, ‘where’s he got to with our tea?’
Nora looked up from her darning. ‘He popped over the Queen’s first to have a word with Pat about what he wants to eat.’
‘So he still ain’t gone to get it yet, then?’
‘He said he’ll fetch it in a minute.’
Katie slumped down in the chair next to her mum. She felt worn out. ‘The mood he’s put me in, he’d just better, that’s all. I dunno what he was thinking, taking ’em down there. Of all the daft, stupid, thick-headed—’
Nora dropped her sewing on to her lap. ‘Katie,’ she said, sounding exasperated. ‘Sure, all it was was a bit of fun, girl, that’s all. It’s good to have a laugh, you wanna remember that. It’s a while since I saw you even crack a smile across that face of yours.’
‘Aw yeah, there’s so much to laugh about, ain’t there?’
Nora shook her head. ‘Don’t start on that again.’
Katie dragged her own mending from her pocket and started darning furiously. ‘He’d better get back here soon, that’s all I can say.’
It was nearly an hour before Stephen eventually reappeared and, from the way he was weaving along hanging on to Pat’s arm, it looked as though he had spent most of that time pouring booze down his throat rather than enquiring as to the variety of fish his son-in-law fancied for his tea.
As he swayed backwards and forwards in front of Katie and Nora, grinning foolishly, Stephen began a long rambling explanation as to how he had got talking with Harold and how he couldn’t possibly walk out on a man who was seeking his advice on matters of great importance.
‘Advice? From you?’ Katie hadn’t raised her voice but her manner was menacing enough to shut Stephen up immediately.
‘All right, love,’ Pat said, touching his wife gently on the shoulder. ‘He’s just had a few too many.’
‘And where did he get the money from to get in that state?’
‘I treated him.’
‘You what? You paid for him to get plastered?’
‘I think we’d better go indoors if we’re gonna have a row about this,’ Pat said, taking hold of her arm.
‘No, hang on, I wanna get this straight. There’s no work,’ Katie said shaking off his grip, ‘but yer can find money to buy booze for him?’
‘All right, we’re short of money, so’s everyone round here. What d’yer want me to do about it, go around moaning all the time like you’ve started doing? Or causing rows in the street and showing you up whenever I get the arsehole about something, even if it’s nothing to do with yer?’
With a sigh, Nora got up. She went to the kerb and told her grandsons to go indoors into hers. Reluctantly, for it looked as though their parents were brewing up for a really good row, they did as they were told.
‘So I’m moaning all the time, am I?’ Katie shouted. ‘And I have a go at yer for nothing?’
‘Yer wasn’t listening. I didn’t mean—’
‘Aw yes you did, Pat Mehan; that’s exactly what yer meant. Well, I’ll tell yer what. I’m gonna go out and find meself a job and earn some money, that’s what I’m gonna do. Then there won’t be nothing for me to moan about, will there?’
‘I’m the breadwinner in this house. I ain’t having no wife of mine going out to work.’
‘Why not?’ Stephen butted in, his drunken grin still twisting his lips into a lop-sided grimace. ‘Sounds like a fine idea to me.’ He winked, screwing up the whole of his face as he struggled to keep one eye open. ‘All the more money to spend over at the Queen’s, eh, Pat?’
Pat ignored his father-in-law. ‘What sort of a job could you get anyway?’
‘I dunno, but there’s bound to be something. Ain’t it you who’s always going on about women getting jobs ’cos we’re cheap?’ With fists stuck in her waist, Katie glared at Pat, daring him to say another word.
Stephen spoke, or rather mumbled, again. ‘Isn’t that our young Sean up there?’
‘Stephen!’ Nora warned her husband. She was too late.
‘It is, look, going into that moneylender feller’s house.’
Katie’s eyes turned on her father. ‘Eh?’
‘Sean,’ he repeated, ‘going into Laney’s. I saw him. He just jumped over the wall by the pub, and dived into number six. Like a young deer he was, real athletic, just like me when I was a young man. Now did I ever tell yers about the time I ran in that race against Micky O’Halloran on the—’
‘So that’s his game, is it?’ Her row with Pat forgotten, Katie marched along the street and banged on the Lanes’ front door.
Pat went to follow her but Nora stopped him. ‘Pat, don’t. Let Katie sort the kids out. Anyway,’ she said, jerking her head towards Stephen, ‘the state that one’s in, he’s probably talking out of his hat. You just go and fetch a nice bit of fish for us all, and you’ll see, by the time you get back, Katie will have forgotten all about her hollering and hooting at yer, and it’ll be Sean what’ll be copping it.’ She grinned. ‘Poor little devil!’
Pat ran his hands through his hair, shrugged, then, with a loud sigh, set off for Chrisp Street to fetch their supper.
The door of number six was opened by Irene, Arthur Lane’s much younger, bleached-blonde wife. Katie didn’t say a word to her. She just barged past her into the house, shouting at the top of her voice: ‘Sean! Where are yer? You get out here, now! Do you hear me?’
‘Mrs Mehan?’ Irene called after her, in her girly, high-pitched little voice. ‘Is anything wrong?’
Katie didn’t answer her, she was too busy looking in the front room, but it was empty, so she stormed her way along the passage to the back kitchen.
There she found Arthur Lane, the despised local moneylender and, so it was rumoured, fence. Despite his very profitable services being in more demand than ever, since even the work in the docks had become so unpredictable, Lane had the reputation of wringing every last brass farthing out of anyone he could, even the most desperate of women who were struggling just to put a loaf of bread on their table to feed their children. He was sitting at the kitchen table, not wearing a shirt but he had his braces on over a baggy white vest, his big, fat belly hanging in folds over the top of his trousers.
Katie was so appalled by the sight of him – she had only ever seen him in his expensive suits or his camelhair overcoat – that she didn’t even notice her son standing in the corner, leaning against the wall.
‘What you doing here?’ Sean asked, blowing a stream of smoke from his nostrils.
Katie blinked, as though released from a spell, turned to face her son and strode across the room towards him. She snatched the cigarette from his mouth and threw it in the fireplace.
‘So, this is where you’re getting yer money from, is it, Sean? You’ve been borrowing money from him.’ She moved closer to her son, her face almost touching his. ‘I hope it is just borrowing and you ain’t been thieving.’
She looked over her shoulder at Arthur Lane, who was clearly interested in how Sean was handling himself, and said, very slowly, ‘If you’ve got my boy involved in anything crooked . . .’
The contempt in Katie’s voice made Lane chuckle, sending vibrations of amusement wobbling through his gut, but Irene, who had just appeared in the kitchen doorway sounded more upset than amused by what Katie had said.
‘Mrs Mehan,’ she squeaked, ‘Sean ain’t been doing nothing wrong, have yer, Sean? Tell yer mum. Go on.’
‘I ain’t borrowed nothing off no one,’ Sean sneered. ‘I don’t have to, do I?’
‘So where are yer getting yer money from?’ She lowered her voice. ‘People have started talking, Sean.’
‘I’d be more worried about what they’re saying about you and that geezer over the road, if I was you,’ Sean said, looking past his mother and smiling over her shoulder at Arthur.
‘Sean!’ Irene piped. ‘Don’t speak to yer mum like that!’
The sound of someone else telling her son how to behave had Katie boiling. She raised her hand ready to slap the smirk right off her son’s face, but she stopped. She wouldn’t show herself up in front of the likes of Arthur and Irene Lane. ‘I’ll swing for you, Sean, God help me if I don’t.’ She paused, taking a deep slow breath. ‘Now, get home with yer.’
Sean didn’t move.
‘Do as yer mother says,’ Katie heard Arthur Lane saying behind her. ‘Go on. Get yerself off home.’
As Katie spun round to tell Lane it was none of his business what her son did, Sean levered himself away from the wall and swaggered past her right out of the kitchen.
‘See yer, love,’ Irene trilled after him, ‘and behave for yer mum, eh?’
Katie was beside herself. She launched herself across the room at Lane’s wife, her fists clenched by her side to stop herself from slapping the stupid smile off of her red, painted lips. ‘If yer so desperate for a bit of company closer to yer own age than that fat old pig,’ Katie raged, ‘yer wanna get yerself down St Leonard’s Road to the gin palace. I’m sure there’re plenty prepared to pay for the privilege down there.’
She ran out of the kitchen and along the passage.
Irene caught up with her, just as Katie was about to step out on to the pavement. ‘Yer shouldn’t talk to me like that, Mrs Mehan,’ she said quietly. ‘Yer don’t understand . . .’
Katie didn’t wait to hear what it was she didn’t understand, she was too concerned with getting out of there and catching up with Sean before he had the chance to leg it. As she stepped out of the doorway, she looked about her to see where he had got to. She knew it: there he was clambering over the wall and escaping on to the East India Dock Road. The little so-and-so, showing her up in front of the likes of the Lanes. But before Katie made up her mind whether there was any point giving chase right away – he could be off in any direction by now – or if she should wait up until she heard him creep back into his nanna’s later on and then read the little tyke his fortune, she heard her mum shouting the odds at the top of her voice.
Whatever now? Katie asked herself as she made her way wearily back towards this latest family drama.
Nora was standing on the street doorstep of number ten, apparently rowing with Stephen and a destitute-looking man who was standing, or rather swaying, by his side.
‘What’s all this about, Mum?’ Katie asked, standing well back from the foul-smelling stranger.
Nora, her arms folded tightly across her chest, barring the entrance to the passageway of her house, jabbed her thumb at the man. ‘This one here reckons, if ever yer’ve heard such a thing in the whole of yer life, that yer father issued him an open invitation to come and stay any time he liked. Met him in a boozer over Bow Common, if yer don’t mind.’
Stephen nodded in drunkenly foolish agreement. ‘That’s true. Sure as I’m standing here in front of yers, I said to him, my wife is a good ’un, a real treasure of a woman. She’ll not mind yer coming any time yer need a bed and a decent meal down yer. Them’s exactly the words I said, weren’t they?’
‘They were, lady,’ the man said in support, his boozy breath nearly knocking Nora off her feet.
‘The silly bastard might have promised yer a night in Buckingham Palace for all I care,’ Nora fumed, stabbing her finger into the man’s chest. ‘But so long as I’m the one what cleans this step, I’m telling yer, if yer put one foot across it I’ll take the poker to yer. Now, bugger off!’ With that Nora slammed her street door firmly in their faces.
Almost immediately the letter box flapped open and they heard Nora shout from inside, ‘Katie? You still there?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ said Katie, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at this latest episode.
‘Pat’s gone to fetch some fish and taters for us all, so you can pass mine over the back wall and I’ll feed the boys in here. It’s up to you whether yer feed that drunken swine or not.’ There was a moment’s silence and then the letter box flapped shut again.
Stephen patted his new friend on the shoulder. ‘We’re all right,’ he grinned. ‘My little girl, Katie, wouldn’t turn a man and his pal away, now would yer, darling?’
‘Wouldn’t I?’ she said. Well, that’s just where you’re wrong.’ And, with that, Katie stepped inside number twelve and, just like her mother, she slammed the street door shut behind her.