‘’Ere, drink this, it’ll make yer feel better.’ Dot held a mug of steaming tea to Nellie’s trembling lips. ‘Gawd help us, Nellie, why don’t yer shop him, or if yer don’t want ter do it, there’s plenty round here who’ll do it fer yer, me included.’
Weakly Nellie shook her head, much to the frustration of her neighbour. ‘I can’t, Dot,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s my husband, when all’s said and done, and I can’t turn him in to the authorities. Besides…’ she added lamely, ‘he’s not always like this…’ Her voice trailed off miserably as she realised how inane her words sounded.
Dot stared at her friend, then blew her cheeks out in exasperation. She couldn’t for the life of her understand why Nellie refused to talk about her troubles, even going so far as to deny there was a problem, when the whole street knew what was going on. Knowing it was useless to pursue the conversation, Dot slurped noisily at her mug of tea and asked, ‘When’s yer Emily coming ’ome?’
At the mention of her daughter’s name, Nellie’s face broke into a smile.
‘This afternoon, probably about two. Oh, Dot…’ she sighed heavily, ‘I really miss her, but she’s better off where she is. The Winters are a nice old couple, and kind with it. Miss Rose is always giving Emily her old clothes. Well, I say old, but some of the stuff is almost brand-new, hardly been worn some of it. And Mr Winter is always giving her books to read. Good books too, not those dreadful, cheap novelettes you can buy for a penny, but Dickens, Thackeray and Tolstoy – all the books I read as a child, but I never thought Emily would have the chance to read them. Dot, about Emily coming home…’ Nellie hesitated for a moment before carrying on. ‘The thing is, she doesn’t know about my problems, and I’d rather she didn’t find out. She’s already talking about leaving the Winters and coming back home for good, and… and as much as I’d love to have her by me every day, well, like I said before, she’s better off where she is.’
Nellie’s anxious eyes strayed to the stout woman, as if begging her to agree, and Dot, a loyal friend for nearly twenty years, forced a smile to her lips and replied gently, ‘I know what yer mean, Nell, I know what yer mean.’
Inwardly, despite her soothing words, Dot was seething. That bit about the books had brought it home to Dot just how different their upbringing had been. She, like most of the women in the street, had attended the local school, but Nellie had been taught in a convent school. She wasn’t one for confidences or gossip, but she had told Dot about her parents dying when she was very young and being brought up by two maiden aunts. The women had been Catholics, hence the convent-school education.
When the Fords had first moved into number fifteen, everyone had taken to the young, affable cockney man, while steering clear of his quiet, well-spoken wife. A lot of the women had unfairly classed Nellie as being stuck-up, declaring that she wouldn’t last long around these parts. But they had been proved wrong. In all the years Dot had known her, Nellie had never tried to lord it over anyone in the street – not like some, she thought darkly, like Ida Wilson at number nine, before her thoughts returned to Nellie. In fact today, by mentioning the books, was the first time in a long while that Nellie had referred to her background. It was funny, really, how both Nellie and Emily spoke so nicely, while Lenny was a true cockney, just like his father. Though that was the only thing that father and son had in common.
Still, it wasn’t to be wondered at. Emily had been with the Winters since she was fourteen, while Lenny had been brought up with the market traders in the East End. Draining her mug, Dot looked with pity at her friend. She looked worn out, poor cow, but what woman wouldn’t be, married to that pig of a man?
Alfie Ford wasn’t one of your usual wife-batterers – at least those sods were open about what they did. No, Nellie’s husband did it on the sly, when there were no witnesses to his brutality. The vicious bastard always made sure he didn’t mark Nellie where it could be seen. And though Dot herself had never actually seen any bruising, she’d heard enough over the years through the thin terrace walls to know that her friend was being abused, and she’d made sure the rest of the neighbours knew too. She’d like to bet that beneath her clothes Nellie was black and blue. But what could Dot do about it? If only Emily would come home for good, that would put a stop to the beatings. For the nineteen-year-old girl would never put up with her father’s brutal treatment towards her mother. And poor Lenny, bless him, didn’t seem to have a clue about what was going on, though Dot sometimes thought that he wasn’t quite as simple as Nellie imagined.
Any further speculation was cut short as the front door banged open to emit a smiling young man, his arms filled with a large cardboard box from which the browning stalks of an overripe cabbage was hanging. At the sight of his mother and neighbour sitting so quietly by the roaring fire, Lenny Ford came to an abrupt halt, the smile sliding from his open, handsome face. At seventeen, he was a tall young man, his body, like his father’s, thickset and muscular, but here the similarity ended. There was a gentleness about Lenny that was completely lacking in his father. Now, looking at the surprised faces of the two women at his entrance, his lips began to tremble as the familiar feeling of inadequacy hit him like a physical blow. Slowly lowering his precious gift onto the table, he turned to the two women and said in a trembling voice, ‘He’s hit you again, ain’t he, Mum?’
Immediately, all her pain was forgotten as a wealth of emotion rose in Nellie’s breast at the sight of her son’s distress. How long had he known what was going on? Dear Lord, what could she say to take that look of pain and helplessness from his eyes? Putting aside all other thoughts but her son, she came towards him briskly, saying, ‘Don’t be silly, Lenny, nobody’s hit me. Whatever put that idea into your head?’ Her eyes held his anguished gaze steadily.
Behind her she could sense Dot fidgeting angrily in the chair, clearly bursting to refute the outrageous lie. Ignoring her friend’s agitated state, Nellie walked towards the table. Picking out the mouldering cabbage, she lifted up two large oranges, also the worse for wear, and peered in obvious delight into the interior of the box.
‘Oh, Lenny, you clever boy. You must have worked hard this morning to get this much.’ Glancing over to where Dot was still glowering, she called out cheerfully, ‘Look, Dot, look what Lenny’s brought home for us. There’s oranges and some apples. Oh, and see here, there must be about three pounds of potatoes at the bottom of the box.’ Beaming up at her son, she touched his arm lovingly.
‘You’re a good lad, Lenny. Now, why don’t you go upstairs and have a little nap. You must be tired, you’ve been up since five. I’ll bring you up a mug of tea and a sandwich before I leave for work.’
His face dejected, Lenny pulled his arm away, all his earlier happiness evaporating. Walking slowly over to the door, he hung his cap on one of the four pegs, together with his jacket, and then, his face set, he said stiffly, ‘I might be a bit slow in the head, Mum, but I ain’t stupid.’ Before Nellie could respond, Lenny turned his head towards Dot and said, ‘He did, didn’t he, Mrs Button. Me dad’s been getting at her again, ain’t he?’
Disconcerted by his straight talking, Dot was momentarily lost for words. But not for long. Gathering up her shawl from where it had fallen to the back of the chair, she eased herself to her feet and looked the young man straight in the eyes.
‘Yer know, Lenny, I’ve always said yer wasn’t as daft as people make out. Now I know I was right. An’, yes, yer dad’s been at yer mum again, the bleeding swine… An’ it’s no use yer trying ter shut me up, Nellie Ford,’ she shot out fiercely as Nellie made to interrupt. ‘The lad’s got a right ter know what’s going on in his own house.’ When Nellie continued to stare at her with mournful eyes, Dot became uncomfortable, but she wasn’t sorry for speaking out. Someone had to look out for Nellie, because she wouldn’t do it for herself.
Hugging the shawl tighter around her shoulders, she determined to say one last thing before leaving. Addressing herself to the tall young man, she said firmly, ‘Now look here, Lenny. Your Emily’s coming home today. You tell her what’s been going on, an’ between the two of yer, yer should be able ter help yer poor old mum, ’cos I tell yer this. If someone don’t stop that pig of a father of yours, he’s gonna end up doing yer mum some serious damage one of these days.’
Still neither Lenny nor Nellie made any reply, both of them feeling out of their depth at the unexpected confrontation forced upon them by their determined neighbour. When the front door had banged shut and they were alone, Lenny slumped into the armchair, his face contorting as his immature mind tried to grapple with the problem that had been thrust into his lap. Watching him, Nellie had to restrain herself from pulling him into her arms, much as she had done when he was a small boy. In spite of his bulk, he was still that same boy, despite his desperate attempts to act like a grown man. He had even gone so far as to beg her to let him join up, as if, by putting on a uniform, he would magically be transformed into the man he craved to be. Oh, the times he had come home nearly in tears because someone who didn’t know him had called out after him in the street, cruelly deriding him for being safely tucked away at home, and he, poor soul, had been unable to defend himself. Aware that she was becoming maudlin, and suddenly remembering the job waiting for her, Nellie said briskly, ‘I’ve got a cleaning job to go to, Lenny. I’m late enough as it is. Now look, you get yourself up to bed while I fix you something to eat. And don’t worry about what Mrs Button said, she’s only being over-protective. She’s a good friend, is Dot, none better, but she’s a habit of poking her nose into other people’s business. Go on now, get yourself up the stairs…’
‘Mum, you can’t go on letting him treat you like this…’
Angry now, Nellie whirled on him.
‘That’s enough, Lenny. I don’t want to hear any more about it. Now then, Emily should be here about two, and with a bit of luck I’ll be back home before her. And listen, Lenny,’ she took hold of his hands firmly, ‘not a word about what Mrs Button said. Do you understand me, son? Not a word; promise me.’
His eyelids flickering rapidly, his shoulders hunched in defeat, Lenny shook his hands free and made for the stairs. Mrs Button was right. Someone had to help his mum, and he couldn’t do it, but Emily would know what to do. Emily wasn’t afraid of anyone, least of all their dad, whereas he… Tears of shame stung at his eyes as he climbed the wooden stairs to the small bedroom he had shared with his sister, until Nellie had decided they were getting too old to share the same bed and had bought a second-hand truckle-bed from the market. How he and Emily had fought over who would keep the bedroom, but it had been Lenny, always the first to capitulate in an argument, who had ended up sleeping on the rickety bed in the farthest corner of the living-room. Which was the safest place to be, with his father coming home stinking drunk at all hours of the night, cursing and shouting as he crashed and bumped his body against the furniture in the darkened room, while the young boy huddled further down under the threadbare blankets, praying that he would escape his father’s attention, until his mother came down and helped the belligerent, staggering figure up the stairs.
He had been so excited when Emily had told him that she was going into service. All he could think of at the time was that he would at last have a room to himself. But, like most things in life, the reality was rather different from the day-dream. For a start, he hadn’t realised that he would miss his older sister so much. The small house had seemed even smaller without Emily’s presence, and what little laughter there had been in the fraught atmosphere of his home had disappeared completely the moment Emily left it. Then there were the noises and muffled arguments coming through the paper-thin wall of his parents’ bedroom every night, always ending with the sound of a hand or fist connecting with bare flesh, and then silence.
The first time he had run away, Lenny had been caught by the local bobby and hauled back home. That escapade had earnt him a thrashing from his irate father, and it was only the intervention of his mother and Mrs Button that had saved him from serious injury.
The next time he had left home, he had been more careful, keeping a watchful eye out for the sight of a blue uniform. For three days he had wandered the streets, picking up a few pennies from stall-holders and shop-keepers by running errands, and curling up on a bench in Victoria Park at night, until guilt at knowing how his mother would be worrying, plus an empty belly and stiff joints from sleeping rough, had driven him home again. That time his father had merely given him a hefty clout round the head, which had knocked him off his feet and halfway across the room, before the burly figure had stomped off down to the pub.
Over the years there had been many more occasions when the young boy, unable to cope with the tension and the presence of the surly brute who was his father, had packed a few things into a carrier bag and taken off without a word. He soon became quite adept at looking after himself. During the day he would find a few hours’ work at one of the various markets, and at night there were plenty of run-down hostels where you could get a bed for a couple of coppers – that is, if you weren’t too fussy about the company, or the filthy mattresses strewn around the hard, dirty floors. For an extra penny, you could get a lumpy pillow and a moth-eaten blanket, but Lenny never bothered with those so-called luxuries. Inevitably, though, the novelty would wear off and he would start to miss his mother, so back home he would go, until the next time.
But he couldn’t spend the rest of his life running away every time things got too much for him to cope with. He was a man now… But that was the trouble – he wasn’t a man, he would never be a man, not in the proper sense of the word.
Slumping onto the single brass bed, Lenny stared down at his hands, his whole body churning with emotion. It wasn’t fair. Why was he like this? He had tried to act like an adult – nobody would ever know just how hard he had tried – but he just couldn’t do it. His sister was the one who possessed all the courage and gumption that were lacking in himself. He knew it, everyone in the street knew it. Brushing back a lock of fair hair from his eyes, he looked at the open door. Down below he could hear his mother bustling around the scullery preparing something for him to eat before she went out. In his mind he pictured his father’s big fists punching that frail, defenceless body and he shuddered. He hated him… hated his dad with a force that frightened him. And yet, sometimes, when he was in a good mood, his dad was kind, and then Lenny loved him. Confused and tired, he tried to grapple with his tortured emotions. You couldn’t love someone and hate them as well, could you? Wearily he shook his head. There was nothing he could do at the moment. He’d just have to wait until Emily came home. Emily would take charge… Emily always took charge. A sudden thought came to him, bringing his back up straight. He could go and meet her from the house where she worked. He knew the way. He’d been there on several occasions, when he’d helped out in the gardens for a couple of bob. A smile lit up his face. That’s what he’d do. As soon as his mum left for work, he would go and meet his sister and tell her what was going on. Like Mrs Button said, someone had to look after their mum. Excited now that he was going to do something positive, he waited until Nellie had brought him a sandwich and a mug of tea. Gulping down the last dregs from the mug, he finished off the cheese sandwich and laid down on his bed, his ears pricked for the sound of his mother’s departure. In his mind he went over the quickest route to his sister’s place of employment.
If he cut through the back turnings and across Victoria Park, he could reach Gore Road in about twenty minutes. Comforted by his plan, his eyes began to flicker with tiredness and, somewhere between listening for the front door to bang shut and working out what he was going to say to his sister, he fell into a deep sleep.