Eight months later, August 1942
It was a hot August day late in the month and the warning siren had just sounded. All Molly’s customers had scuttled from the shop, cursing the Luftwaffe for its untimely appearance once again. The Baedeker raids in the spring, so called because the enemy had vowed to bomb every historic building in Britain marked with three stars in the Baedeker travel guide, were still fresh in everyone’s mind.
Molly turned the sign to CLOSED and hurriedly locked the doors. She and Cissy chose to remain at home now, rather than go to Jean’s Anderson. Mr Stokes had installed a Morrison shelter upstairs in the front room. Not that they’d used it much. Neither of them liked being squashed flat in the long, narrow wire-mesh cage with the reinforced steel top.
‘Hurry up,’ called Cissy as Molly bolted the back door. ‘I’ve made us a cuppa. Let’s drink it before those swines fly over.’
Molly hurried up the stairs. Infrequent daylight raids had disrupted life again and the wireless reports were still frightening to listen to: repeated warnings that there could be more intensified attacks on the East End.
‘Can’t hear any planes yet,’ Cissy said as Molly entered the kitchen. ‘Should we go down and fetch the kids from Jean’s?’
‘No. They’ll all be in the Anderson. Safer there than here.’
‘Let’s drink our tea, then. I’ve got something to tell you.’
Molly sat at the kitchen table. On it were two mugs, filled with steaming brew, and in the middle of the table was a pre-war shoebox in which all the letters were kept. Two were from Andy and very short. He wrote that he was safe but didn’t hold out much hope of having any shore leave as he was so far away. He’d received Molly’s letters and said how relieved he was the children were in her care. That was all, so Molly assumed that some of his letters had been censored. Another letter was from the Denhams giving an address in Cardiff. Several more were from Bill and Lyn.
As the post was so infrequent, Molly kept them all in the shoebox just to remind them how lucky they were that there was still a postal service, however irregular.
‘So, what is it?’ Molly said as she sat anxiously listening for the ominous drone in the sky. She didn’t like being separated from the kids when the sirens went. In term time, the school took them into the underground shelter, but hopefully this was a false alarm, when the bombers flew in another direction.
‘Have you noticed anything lately?’ Cissy said, with a faint blush on her cheeks.
‘Like what?’ Molly asked.
‘I dunno. Just anything.’ Cissy wore an impatient expression.
‘Well . . .’ Molly hesitated, her thoughts still on the children. ‘Mark is growing so fast, he’ll be up to my shoulder soon. Simon’s cast-offs don’t fit him any more. I really should get him new clothes for school next week. I thought about going to the market—’
‘It’s not about Mark,’ Cissy interrupted sharply.
‘Well, Evie is still tiny—’
‘It’s not about Evie, either.’
Molly frowned. ‘What is it, then?’
‘I’ll give you a clue. You’re looking right at it.’
Just then, the noise everyone dreaded, of approaching aircraft, sounded in the distance: a faint rumble turning very quickly into thunder. Both women glanced up and, abandoning their tea, made a dash to the front room.
Sweeping the green chenille tablecloth from the solid steel top of the Morrison shelter, Molly and Cissy climbed inside. They lay next to each other, listening to the roar of the Luftwaffe’s engines and the fire of the British guns beneath. There were distant explosions, all vibrating through the wire mesh of the cage.
Molly thought about the children in the Anderson and wished she had run down to Jean’s to be with them. It seemed their lives were constantly ruled by the warning siren and the threat of bombardment.
As the fleet of planes passed over they lay as still as possible, every nerve tensed as the ground trembled and shook. Cissy let out a stifled groan.
‘What’s up?’ Molly asked in concern.
‘Dunno.’ Cissy squirmed and wriggled and eventually snatched at the wire mesh, trying to get out of the shelter.
Molly called after the disappearing rear end. But all she saw was a pair of flat lace-ups running towards the door. She knew her friend hated the Morrison, but to deliberately leave it during a raid was reckless.
Scrambling out of the cage, Molly hurried along the passage to Cissy’s bedroom. Her friend was on her knees hanging her head over a pail. She retched and heaved, then looked up at Molly.
‘Pass me that towel, will you?’
‘Are you ill?’ Molly was bewildered.
Cissy rolled her watery eyes. ‘Here’s another clue, I’m busting out of all me clothes.’
Molly’s eyes dropped to where Cissy’s overall was straining across her stomach. It was true, she had put on weight recently.
Cissy wiped her mouth with the towel and raised her heavy dark eyebrows questioningly. ‘Well, it must have sunk in by now.’
Molly swallowed. ‘You’re not—’
‘I am.’
‘Oh, Cissy!’
‘You know who the culprit is, of course.’
Molly nodded slowly. ‘Spot.’
‘The bastard.’
‘Why? Doesn’t he want the baby?’
Cissy leaned over the pail again. It was some while before she was able to turn her attention back to Molly. ‘He wants it, too bloody true he does.’
‘Then what’s the problem?’
‘He took me unawares.’
Molly began to laugh. Very soon Cissy was laughing too. And despite the roar of low-flying aircraft and the shuddering of the whole building, they both had tears of joy in their eyes.
‘I ain’t living over no pukka-poo den,’ Cissy declared as she burst in through the shop door a fortnight later.
Molly was serving Liz and they both turned to look at Cissy and Spot.
‘There’s no gambling at Narrow Street, love. The Chinese are very hard-working.’
‘Limehouse don’t get its reputation for nothing.’
‘Everywhere’s got good and bad,’ Spot protested. ‘Just come and have a look.’
Liz heaved her shopping bag onto the counter. ‘Hello, Cissy, gel. Spot. What’s all the fuss?’
There was a look of desperation on Spot’s face as Cissy folded her arms over her full chest. Molly noticed that at six months, having added a good few pounds, her bump was showing noticeably under her coat.
‘Hello, love,’ Spot said politely, and glancing at Molly he raised his eyebrows. ‘I was telling Cissy about me rooms in Narrow Street. I lived there as a kid and me mum and dad never had a moment’s bother. They used to take in seafarers, made a nice living an’ all. There’s five big rooms, a kitchen and—’
‘A dosshouse on the other two floors,’ Cissy interrupted with a frown.
‘Cissy,’ returned Spot patiently, ‘it’s a boarding house. People rent the rooms, decent folk with families and so forth.’
‘Does this mean you’re tying the knot?’ Liz asked, interrupting their quarrel.
Spot nodded. ‘That we are, ducks.’
‘When’s the big day?’
‘Tuesday, 10 November. It was the quickest we could be fitted in.’
‘What about the new arrival?’ Liz looked at Cissy’s stomach.
‘What about it?’ Cissy demanded offendedly.
‘Just wondered, that’s all.’ Liz looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, congratulations to you both. And the little’n. Have you got a ring yet, gel?’
Spot nodded, nudging Cissy’s arm. ‘Go on, Cissy, give her a butcher’s,’ he urged.
Molly had seen the engagement ring already. It was lovely: a tasteful diamond set in a cluster of coloured stones.
Reluctantly Cissy stretched out her hand. The ring glimmered on her finger and Liz gasped.
‘Oh, bless you, it’s a beauty.’ She leaned forward and hugged Cissy, then Spot. ‘And now you’ve got your first tiff over, you can enjoy the making up.’
‘Humph,’ muttered Cissy, snatching back her hand.
‘Ain’t she lovely?’ Spot chuckled, sliding a hand around his fiancée’s thick waist. ‘I’m a very lucky man.’
With that, Cissy stalked off upstairs, leaving Spot looking dejected.
‘Never you mind,’ Liz said to Spot as he held the door open for her to go out. ‘Remember what they say: the course of true love never runs smooth.’
When they were alone, Spot said in a quiet voice to Molly, ‘Could you have a word with me girl? She takes notice of you. Sort of speak on my behalf?’
Molly agreed, but it wasn’t until after the shop was closed that night and the children were in bed that she had the chance to sit down beside Cissy in the front room and ask why she was so upset.
‘I don’t want to live anywhere iffy,’ Cissy explained as her fingers played nervously in her lap. ‘I’ve kipped in slums and dives all me life. I want better for my kid.’
‘What’s wrong with Narrow Street?’ Molly said in surprise. ‘Spot says there’s never been any trouble there. And it’s a nice large flat.’
‘Yeah, but they all speak double Dutch in Limehouse.’
‘Don’t you mean Chinese?’ Molly giggled.
This brought a reluctant smile to Cissy’s face. ‘What am I gonna do if I don’t understand their lingo?’
‘You understand Spot and he says he grew up there.’
‘Yeah, but is he spinning a yarn?’
‘What would he do that for?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Cissy, it’s not as if he’s dragging you off to the other side of the world.’
‘Wouldn’t mind Australia. They speak the King’s English.’
‘Well, you’ve got Limehouse instead. And it’s not so far from here. I’ll easily be able to come and visit you.’
Cissy looked under her long eyelashes. ‘Would you?’
‘Course I will! Me and the kids will be over on the bus the day you move in.’
Cissy nodded sadly and looked around the room. ‘The thing is, I like being with you all, as though I was one of the family.’
‘Oh, Cissy, you are.’
‘I know I can’t stay here forever.’
‘I’ve told you a hundred times, this is your home for as long as you want it. You’ll always have a roof over your head.’
Cissy’s eyes grew misty. ‘I’m scared, Molly. What if it don’t work out with me and him? And I’ve got another bun in the oven?’
‘Do you really love Spot, Cissy?’
‘I – well, I ain’t sure what love is.’
‘It’s what Spot feels for you.’
Cissy quickly wiped away a tear. ‘Would you come with us and see his gaff on Sunday?’
‘Yes, course.’
‘I’ll ask Spot to bring the ratter’s cart, then the kids can come too.’
‘I didn’t know Spot had a cart.’
‘It’s the council’s. They use it when they ditch the dead rats. But don’t worry, he cleans it out regular.’
Molly smiled. As usual, Cissy’s down-to-earth attitude was very endearing.
And when Sunday arrived, Cissy and Molly took their place on the top of the ratter’s cart pulled by an elderly black horse. Mark and Evie, dressed in their best clothes, sat in the rear of the cart with their boots dangling over the tailboard.
As it was a warm September’s day Molly wore a light jacket with a black velvet collar and scooped her long chestnut waves into a plait at the back of her head. Cissy had put on a well-ironed blouse and full skirt to camouflage the baby and added a straw hat to her newly washed hair. Though she showed little enthusiasm to Spot, Molly could see the excitement brewing in her eyes.
When Spot pulled the cart into Narrow Street, groups of people came out of their front doors and surrounded them. Spot jumped down and shook their hands. Some men, with moustaches and pigtails, even made a bow. Others, who came with their wives and families, apart from their oriental looks were dressed like any other East Enders.
‘I told you so,’ whispered Cissy. ‘There ain’t no English in sight.’
‘As good as,’ corrected Spot, overhearing her as he returned to help them down. ‘These people have lived here most of their lives. And many were born in these streets, just like I was.’
‘Christ, you never told me you was Chinese,’ spluttered Cissy.
‘I ain’t,’ admitted Spot with a grin. ‘But me gran was. Half, anyway.’
Cissy gawped. ‘Was this your gran’s place, then?’
‘Yes, handed down to Mum and Dad. But when they popped their clogs, I moved to the island. Wasn’t the same without them. I let the place idle, I’m afraid. But it could easy be done up.’
Molly smiled at all the nodding heads. The men, women and children followed them to a door next to a small restaurant with little golden lanterns hanging in the dark window.
‘Follow me,’ said Spot, turning the key in the door.
Molly half expected the curious crowd to accompany them, but by the time they had climbed two flights of stairs they were on their own and Cissy was puffing.
Spot unlocked another door. Nibbles ran out, barking loudly around their feet. ‘Come here,’ Spot said to Cissy and lifted her into his arms. ‘I’m carrying you and me heir over the threshold a bit early, but it don’t matter.’
Molly laughed at Cissy’s embarrassed expression.
When they were inside Molly and Cissy inspected the dirty but extremely spacious rooms. They all had a faint smell of cooking from the restaurant below. The ceilings were hung with cobwebs and the bare boards needed mending. Evie and Mark raced ahead of them with Nibbles, inquisitive to know what came next as they tested the old chairs and searched the cupboards. Spot took them all to a large window on a landing overlooking the back yards.
‘You can just see the water,’ he said proudly. ‘Imagine looking out on the river every morning. The gateway to London in all its glory, and the tugs and little ships. You’d be hard pressed to find a better view than this.’
Molly cast her eyes back to the room they were standing in: dusty, dark, but extremely large and accommodating. She could see Cissy and her child here, and when she looked at her friend, whose gaze was centred on the gleam of dazzling water reflected off the docks, she knew Cissy could see the same vision too.
‘Well, it ain’t bad, I suppose,’ Cissy agreed. ‘But I’ll have to think about it.’
‘You do that,’ said Spot, plonking a kiss on her cheek. ‘You’re my lovely thinker.’
Just then, Mark and Evie ran in. ‘Can we go down and play with them kids in the street?’ asked Mark.
‘No, cos you won’t understand ’em,’ retorted Cissy.
‘I fink I will,’ said Evie. ‘Cos I can pull me eyes back same as them.’ She pushed up the corners of her eyes with her grubby fingers.
Everyone laughed so much that Molly made no objection when, together with the dog, they bolted off down the stairs to a babble of welcoming voices beneath.
The days leading up to the wedding were filled with excitement. Molly, the children and the Turners were invited. All were to have new outfits.
As Cissy was getting rather large and her back ached continually, she couldn’t stand for very long, so Liz came into the shop and helped out.
It was the first Monday in November when the arrangement took effect. After leaving the children at Jean’s, Molly and Cissy caught the bus to Cox Street market.
Cissy purchased a second-hand coat in dark-blue wool and a matching blue hat. The parcels were left with the stallholder for Spot to collect. The coat was as large as a tent, but disguised Cissy’s bump. She also bought a pair of patent shoes, low courts in size seven that hadn’t been worn down to the heel.
‘You know what,’ Cissy said, as they walked arm in arm through the crowds, ‘I wish Andy was home. If he was, I’d ask him to give me away.’
‘That’s a very nice thought,’ Molly said, wishing Andy was home too. Their shared kiss seemed so distant that sometimes she wondered if it had happened. Had their kiss meant anything to him? Or was it all just in her imagination? His letters had been grateful that she was looking after the children, but other than that, she couldn’t read anything intimate into his words.
Yet her thoughts were often with him. A day didn’t go by without the children talking about their dad. They believed so confidently that he would return safely – even Mark, who was once plagued by doubts about his father’s welfare – that it kept them all going. And Cissy saying that she would like Andy to give her away made him feel closer, even though he was hundreds, perhaps thousands, of miles distant.
‘This bloody war puts the mockers on everything,’ Cissy continued as they paused by the bric-a-brac stall.
Molly agreed. ‘It’s certainly changed the course of our lives. I once thought Ted and me would grow old together. And look what happened.’
‘But now you’ve got a new life,’ Cissy said as she picked up a little half-moon brooch attached to a blue ribbon. ‘All I hope is Andy don’t get torpedoed again.’
Molly’s heart dropped. Cissy’s bluntness was always disarming. She quickly changed the subject. ‘I’ll buy that for your wedding present.’ She took the brooch from Cissy’s grasp. ‘You’ve got to have something borrowed and something blue on your wedding day, to bring you luck.’ Molly paid the sixpence and then pinned the little half-moon and its ribbon on Cissy’s collar. ‘Now we can buy a few bits and pieces here for your bottom drawer. P’raps a sheet and a pillowcase over on the bedding stall, and then—’
‘Molly, I’ll have to sit down.’
‘Is it your back?’
‘No, me stomach.’
Molly froze as Cissy bent over, wincing. She put her arm around her and guided her to the benches outside the stall selling hot drinks.
They sat down and she felt a dart of fear. Cissy was looking grey. Molly glanced anxiously around. Cissy had insisted on catching the bus here, but it was out of the question when it came to the return journey.
‘What’s the matter, love?’ yelled the man wearing a peaked cap and white apron, serving teas.
Molly left Cissy and hurried up to the counter. ‘My friend’s expecting and she’s not feeling very well.’
‘When’s it due?’
‘January.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ He came down the steps. ‘Leave it to me.’
Half an hour later a large saloon car pulled up, with its rear end cut out and a big red cross painted on the back. A young woman driver climbed out wearing blue overalls and, with the aid of several traders, Cissy was hoisted into the back.
Molly squeezed in and the woman rolled down the canvas flap.
‘My name’s Mary,’ she said, bending over Cissy. ‘I’m just the driver but I work with the ARP ambulance service. I’m afraid we’re short of volunteers at the moment, as after the blitz many drivers and first-aiders were called back to their trades.’
‘I’m Molly and this is Cissy,’ Molly hurriedly explained, as Cissy writhed on the mattress covered by a ground sheet. ‘My friend’s due in the new year, but she started having pains as we walked round the market.’
‘Have your waters broken?’ asked Mary, pulling up Cissy’s coat and skirt and feeling round her stomach.
‘No, course they bleeding haven’t,’ Cissy shouted as Molly held her hand.
‘Well, unless you sat in a puddle, I think you’re well on your way.’
‘It can’t come,’ protested Cissy. ‘I ain’t married yet.’
‘Are you sure of your dates?’
Cissy squealed and pulled up her knees.
‘I’m no expert but this baby feels very low, as if the head was engaged. When did you last see the doctor?’
‘A couple of months back,’ Cissy lied. ‘He ain’t no bloody good anyway. The last time I went he said I’d got me dates wrong.’
‘Well, he may have been right.’
‘Oh, my Gawd!’ screamed Cissy. ‘I don’t want to drop it here!’
‘The new East End Maternity Hospital’s not far away. I’ll drive as quickly as I can.’
Once more Cissy let out a howl and Molly tried to take a deep breath, but she could barely think straight. Could Cissy be wrong on her dates? Even so, if it arrived now, the baby would be very early.
Cissy opened her eyes and looked around. She’d been fast asleep, exhausted from the events of the last twenty-four hours. She couldn’t see much, as the nurses had pulled the screens around her. But she could hear voices. Then she remembered yesterday, the trip to the market and the acute labour pains that had come on without warning. Mary, the ambulance driver, had been right. Her waters had broken and the baby was struggling to come. Cissy sniffed at the thought. The pain that had gripped her as she swung in and out of consciousness had been agonizing. But just in time, the doctors had saved her child’s life.
The thrill of holding this tiny mite against her had been worth all the pain.
She closed her eyes, wanting to feed him again and feel him close. He had weighed just over five pounds. He was so small that she had doubted he was even breathing. And yet, please God, they said he was perfectly formed.
She was jarred from her thoughts by the sound of a familiar voice. She tried to sit up, but she was still very sore. Tears were on her lashes as the screen moved and Spot appeared.
In seconds he was comforting her, and choking back his own tears. She felt his deep emotion and for a moment ran her fingers through his thick, wiry hair.
‘That’s enough now,’ she croaked, pushing him away. ‘Or you’ll get me going as well.’
‘Cissy, gel, I’ve missed you.’
‘I ain’t been gone long.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah, the poor little bugger had a rough passage. But they tell me he’s going to be all right.’
‘Thank Gawd for that.’ He nodded over his shoulder. ‘Molly’s outside.’
‘Why ain’t she come in?’
‘They won’t let her, cos of the germs.’
‘Tell them Cissy will kick up a stink if the poor cow ain’t allowed in.’
Spot chuckled and went out. Cissy quickly wiped away her tears, and by the time Spot reappeared with Molly, she had composed herself.
‘Oh, Cissy!’ was all Molly kept saying as she bent to embrace her. ‘Oh, Cissy!’
‘Give over,’ she mumbled eventually. ‘I’ve only had a baby, not died. Sit down, both of you.’
She smiled as they meekly sat on the chairs provided, one either side of the bed.
‘Well, what’s our son like?’ Spot asked after a while, leaning forward to take her hand.
‘A cracker, though I say it myself.’
‘The nurse said he’s small,’ said Molly, her brown eyes wide in concern. ‘Did you get your dates wrong?’
‘Must have,’ Cissy said, grinning at Spot. ‘Trust the little bugger to come when I was out enjoying myself. I thought that driver, Mary, was off her rocker when she asked me if my waters had broke. Then I realized me knickers was drenched!’
‘I’ve brought a change with me and your nightdress too,’ said Molly. ‘The nurse took them.’
‘Thanks.’
‘What about you? I hated leaving but they wouldn’t let me stay. Spot and me have been up all night pacing the floor.’
Cissy giggled. ‘I must have screamed blue murder. The doctor said the the baby was in distress. Had I known that, I’d have screamed even louder. But when they finally got him out and cleared off the mess, he didn’t half yell too. All I saw was these big blue-grey eyes under all the wrinkled red skin. And you should see his hair. It ain’t really hair, just bumfluff.’
‘Like his dad’s,’ said Spot with a smirk as he drew his hand over his thick head of hair.
‘Have you fed him?’ Molly enquired.
‘Once the nurse gets him on, he don’t have no trouble in sucking. And there’s plenty of milk there. I’m as bloated as a pregnant sow,’ complained Cissy, looking down at her swollen breasts.
‘What we gonna call him?’ asked Spot. ‘As long as it ain’t Horace, I ain’t fussy.’
‘Who’s Horace?’ said Molly in surprise.
‘Horace Fryer, to give me full moniker,’ said Spot, looking embarrassed.
Molly grinned. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t boast of a name like Horace, would you?’
Cissy quite liked Horace. It could be shortened to Harry.
Just think. She wouldn’t be Cissy Brown or Lena Cole, but Mrs Fryer. ‘Christ, Spot, we’re meant to be getting married in a week.’
‘We’ll still manage it.’
‘How? I’ve got to stay in here for ten days at least cos of the baby.’
‘They’ll let you out for an hour, won’t they?’ Spot squeezed her hand encouragingly. ‘I’ll hire a cab. You won’t have to walk far, just up the steps to the registry office. I’ll get the Registrar to make it quick while the cab waits.’
‘Blimey, and here was I thinking, this man is going to marry me in style.’
‘And style it will be,’ Spot assured her. ‘But that particular knees-up will have to come later.’
‘I’ll bring your new coat and shoes in to the hospital,’ said Molly. ‘And I’ll help you wash your hair at visiting time the day before.’
Cissy felt the long-held sobs erupt from her chest. She didn’t know why she was so emotional and could do nothing to stop the big, salty tears from cascading down her cheeks. ‘I dunno why I’m being so daft,’ she spluttered. ‘I can’t seem to help meself.’
‘I was tearful too after Emily,’ Molly said, sitting back on the chair. ‘I just couldn’t take it all in.’
Cissy felt ashamed of herself. Here she was shedding tears, when Molly didn’t have Emily to go home to. And never would have.
‘How are the kids?’ she asked instead.
‘Wanting to see the baby you’ve bought.’
‘Bought?’ Cissy laughed. ‘Is that what they think?’
‘I promised we’d buy a lively one,’ said Spot. ‘Give him a few days and he’ll be out in the street playing with ’em.’
Just then, in walked the nurse. She held a tiny package in her arms, wrapped in a hospital shawl.
‘Meet your son, Mr Fryer. But only for a few minutes.’ She slowly lowered him into Spot’s arms. Cissy felt a kind of breeze flow over her body, sweeping up the hairs on her head and whirling into the pit of her stomach. This was her very own child and this was her husband-to-be. She had a family of her own. Once she’d had nothing. Not even a proper name to call herself by.
‘He’s beautiful,’ Molly said, echoing Cissy’s thoughts.
Spot nodded. ‘He’s got Cissy’s good looks and my brains. Well, coming from a long line of Fryers he might even be a genius. Here you are, love, have a cuddle.’
Cissy took her little boy and marvelled at the human being in miniature: his wrinkled forehead and tiny closed lids, the sucking red lips squashed above a dimpled chin, and two tiny fists barely the size of a sixpence.
‘Time’s up, I’m afraid,’ the nurse told them and wafted the baby away.
‘Better go,’ said Spot, bending to kiss her cheek. ‘Keep yer pecker up, gorgeous.’
‘Bye, Cissy. Get your rest, now.’ Molly waved.
Cissy swallowed on the hard lump in her throat. She gazed at the people whom she loved and who loved her. She would never have thought when she was on the run from Ronnie that she would end up like this. Her life had been turned round. Gone was fear and bitter loneliness, to be replaced by peace and motherhood.
If it hadn’t been for Molly and her kindness where would she be today? Not on this earth, came the answer. For after Ethel had died, the only living soul who’d cared about her, she had intended to end it all. As she’d never swum a stroke in her life, it would not have taken much effort to throw herself from the nearest wharf and slip below the murky waters of the Thames.
No one would have missed her. Except Ronnie, perhaps. But for all the wrong reasons.
29 December 1940 was the day her life should have ended. Two years later and at the age of thirty-four, she had just produced the miracle of her lifetime.
In eight days, if Spot was to be believed, she would become Mrs Cissy Fryer, wife to Horace and mother of Harry Junior, of Narrow Street, Limehouse.