Cockney Orphan (24 page)

But by one o’clock, Ada hadn’t arrived. Mr Burns appeared at Connie’s side, a deep frown on his face. ‘Miss Marsh, do you know what’s happened to Miss
Freeman?’

‘No, I’m afraid I don’t.’

‘Was she feeling ill yesterday?’

Connie turned red as she recalled their cold behaviour towards one another. ‘I don’t know, Mr Burns. She didn’t say.’

He hesitated and Connie knew that he wanted to ask her what was wrong between them. But, being the reserved man he was, he gave an abrupt nod and walked away.

‘Where could she be?’ Len asked as he joined her on their way out of the office.

‘I don’t know,’ Connie replied anxiously. ‘I’m worried, Len.’

‘She doesn’t usually have time off without saying.’

‘No.’ Connie stood undecidedly at the foot of the staircase. ‘I’ve got to go and fetch Lucky now, but I could put him in the pram and walk over to Blackwall
after.’

‘It’s a long way, Con, in this fog.’

She bit her lip as she nodded, having decided earlier that it was too foggy to walk to Gran’s this afternoon. If it didn’t clear, she would stay home in the warm. Lucky had been
chesty last week and the fog would only aggravate it.

‘Tell you what, I’ll go on my bike tomorrow,’ Len said as he pulled up the collar of his navy blue coat.

‘What about your mum?’

‘I’ll lock her in the cupboard again.’ He laughed. ‘Or get Mrs Next Door to come and sit with her. She won’t mind on a Sunday. It gets her out of her old
man’s way when he comes back from the pub.’

‘Oh, thanks, Len. I feel awful that we quarrelled now.’

‘It’s not your fault. She’s probably got a cold what with this weather and all.’ He patted her arm. ‘Go on and read your letter now.’

Connie nodded slowly. ‘Bye, Len. Oh, and if you see her, tell her I send my love, won’t you?’ She paused. ‘And that I miss her.’

Len grinned at they walked out of the gate. ‘I’ll tell her.’

Connie watched him stride off, his head down against the swirling mists. She was in half a mind to catch a bus, but she wanted to read her letter. Once she had Lucky in her arms, there would be
no time to digest the details until after he was in bed tonight.

Connie slid the letter from her bag and made her way round to the wharf. The river lapped against the stone and the smell was potent. A cold, ripe aroma of salt and smoking chimneys, and the
water itself was grey and murky. She sat where she always sat with Ada, on the wall, and opened her letter. Vic’s bold handwriting gave her butterflies.

Eagerly her eyes went to the top right-hand corner of the page expecting to see what she always saw. ‘Care of the Fleet Mail Office, Great Britain’. But she took a shocked breath as
she read, ‘Care of the Fleet Mail Office, New York.’

‘Sweetheart, we sailed in September on the
Queen Mary
herself. What a ship she is! Arrived in New York at 30 breathtaking knots! The Americans are wonderful people. We have been
billeted on 6th Avenue at the Barbizon Plaza, a famous hotel! All of us are still in shock at the warm hospitality. As to our mission, it’s still hush-hush, but I can tell you that
we’ll be part of the “Big Push” against the Axis. Are you well and taking care of yourself and Lucky? How is the family? I have written to Gran and Pat. Christmas will be very
lonely without you in my arms. As ever, you have my love and all my thoughts. P.S. Keep writing (even if you don’t hear from me).’

‘Oh, Vic, I miss you.’ She read the letter again. What was it like in New York? The hotel sounded very grand. Was his mission dangerous? Were the American women as glamorous as the
GI’s in England? She felt a wave of dismay as she thought of Vic wearing his officer’s uniform. He was so tall and handsome he would stand out from the crowd.

Miserably, Connie turned the corner of Kettle Street. Sixth Avenue and the Barbizon Plaza! Names that she had only ever read about in papers and magazines. She was relieved that the British
sailors were so warmly regarded. But she was also a little jealous.

A movement ahead caught her eye. The fog was yellow now. Out of the centre of it walked a lone figure.

‘Hello, love,’ said the man, as he pulled up his collar. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

Connie stood still. The chill that came over her nothing to do with the weather as Gilbert Tucker approached.

‘W
h . . . what do you want?’

‘A little chat, that’s all.’

Just then the door of number eighteen opened. Two tall figures hurried out. ‘Connie, is that you, love?’ Nan made her way slowly towards them. ‘Can’t see a foot in front
of me in this muck. Lofty was just coming to look for you.’ She stopped when she saw Connie was not alone. ‘Oh, you’ve got company.’

‘Pleased to meet you.’ Gilbert Tucker touched the brim of his hat. ‘I’m er – a friend of this young lady.’

Nan stood looking puzzled. She pulled her coat around her and frowned. Connie was silent. She didn’t know what to say to Nan. Where had this man sprung from after all this time?

‘You’d better bring yourselves in sharpish,’ Lofty shouted from the doorstep as the fog thickened. ‘No sense gossiping out there.’

Nan peered into the stranger’s face. ‘If you’re a friend of Connie’s then you’re welcome to take shelter with us for a bit.’

Gilbert Tucker accepted quickly. ‘I’m much obliged.’

Reluctantly Connie followed. ‘Hello, sunshine!’ She smiled as Lucky ran along the hall and into her arms.

‘Con-Con,’ he gurgled, burrowing his face in her hair.

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Lofty said once they were all in the front room. As he left the room he touched Connie’s elbow. ‘We was worried about you, love, seeing
the time. I was just going to put me coat on and walk to the end of the street, see if I could see you.’

‘I’m sorry I was late,’ Connie apologized. ‘I had a letter from Vic and stopped to read it on the way.’

‘Well, you’re safe and that’s what matters.’

Connie sat stiffly on one of the dining chairs. She watched Gilbert Tucker remove his hat and make himself comfortable in front of the fire. ‘I don’t want to put you to any
trouble,’ he said meekly, smiling at Nan.

‘No trouble. A friend of Connie’s is a friend of ours. I’ll see what Lofty’s doing in the kitchen.’

‘So this is my grandson,’ he muttered when they were alone. He reclined back in the chair, staring at Lucky.

‘How do I know you are who you say you are?’ Connie asked suspiciously.

‘I showed you the photo of Rita, didn’t I? Look, I’ll show you again.’ He took out his wallet. ‘See?’

‘It just shows a young girl, that’s all. You could have found it anywhere.’

‘Trusting sort, ain’t you?’

‘Do you have her birth certificate, or Lucky’s?’

He laughed. ‘I don’t even have my own, love. I lost them all in the bombing.’ He smiled curiously. ‘Is that what you call him – Lucky?’

Connie nodded slowly as Lucky wriggled in her arms and slid to the floor. Looking cautiously at the older man, he picked up his toy train and began to play with it.

‘He’s a good-looking kid. Got nice hair. Very nice hair.’

‘What to do you want, Mr Tucker?’

‘Just to see my family, that’s all.’

‘If you wanted to see him so badly why did you disappear for two years?’

He shrugged. ‘I was trying my luck up north. In my line of business you move about, see, where the trade is. With the war an’ all, there’s not a lot going for a bloke of my
age. I won’t see fifty again.’

‘What work do you do?’

‘Pubs now, but it was hotels. Good ones an’ all. Doorman up West I was, had all the clobber, white gloves and topper, and the tips alone could have kept body and soul together. Now,
o’ course, they want the young ones, the good-lookers and quick on their feet when the bombs drop.’

Connie observed him as he leaned close to the fire. He must have been a smart man in his day and he still wore a suit and tie. But he didn’t look quite as smart as when she saw him last.
What could he want with Lucky? Was he really who he said he was? If so, he had every right to see his grandson. But without proof, he could be anyone.

‘There now, here’s a nice hot cup of rosie,’ Nan said as she entered the room holding a tray full of mugs; tea for the adults and orange juice for Lucky.

Gilbert Tucker rubbed his hands together. He drank the offered tea down in big gulps, as hot as it was.

‘Well now, Mr –?’ Lofty prompted. ‘I didn’t catch your name?’

‘Tucker. Gilbert Tucker.’

Nan folded her arms slowly. ‘So how do you know our Connie, then?’

He looked slyly at Connie. ‘We got a mutual acquaintance, haven’t we?’

Connie turned to Nan and Lofty. ‘Mr Tucker claims to be the father of Lucky’s mum.’

Nan’s jaw dropped. ‘What!’

‘She was my girl all right,’ Gilbert Tucker added quickly. ‘Her name was Rita.’

‘Your daughter?’ Lofty and Nan spluttered together.

‘She was all I had left in the world after my dear wife died. But Vera’s death upset her and she ran away from home.’

‘How old was she?’

‘Fifteen.’

‘Didn’t you try to find her?’

Gilbert Tucker nodded indignantly. ‘Course I did. And it was the shock of my life when I discovered what she was up to.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I know a tart – excuse my
language – when I see one. And there was my own daughter, mixing with ’em up in the city as if they was best friends. I tried to get her to come home to Mile End, but all she wanted was
money.’

‘Did you give her any?’

‘Course I did. My poor Vera must have turned in her grave listening to some of the things our daughter come out with. I lost track of her until the Blitz, when she wrote telling me she was
pregnant, didn’t know who the father was and wanted to get rid of it. All I can say is, looking at the boy now, thank God she didn’t.’

Connie, Nan and Lofty stared at the man, who had tears in his eyes. They were silent until Nan said slowly, as though she didn’t understand what she had just heard, ‘So your daughter
was definitely that poor girl – the one that Connie tried to help, who died in Haverick Road? Is that what you’re saying?’

Gilbert Tucker nodded. ‘Which makes this little lad my grandson, and the only member of my family that I’ve got left to turn to.’ He stood up and got out a grubby handkerchief.
‘Well, I’d better not wear out my welcome.’

Nan gave him his coat and hat.

He bent down to Lucky. ‘Goodnight, son. Your old grandad is happy now he’s found you.’

‘Did you believe him?’ Nan asked Connie when he had gone.

‘I don’t know, Nan. What do you think?’

‘Search me, love. He sounded genuine enough.’

Connie rinsed out the mugs and placed them on the wooden drainer. ‘When I first met him he said he could tell me a few things about Rita that would make my hair curl. Now, what kind of a
father would say that about his daughter, even if she was doing what he said she was doing?’

‘Not a very nice one,’ Nan agreed. ‘How long ago was this?’

‘Two years.’

‘But why didn’t you tell us then?’

‘I didn’t want to upset everyone. I know it’s no excuse but I hoped he’d go away.’

Nan dried up the last mug and placed it in the cupboard beside the others. ‘I can’t see why he’d make such a claim if he wasn’t Lucky’s grandfather. What can he
hope to gain? He seems to know a lot about this girl. Did you recognize her in the photo?’

Connie shrugged. ‘I thought it might be her, but I couldn’t tell for sure.’

‘He’ll have to prove it with more than a photograph.’

‘What shall I do if he wants to come round home? Mum doesn’t know about him yet.’

‘You’ll have to tell her. Let’s go and see what Lofty thinks.’

‘Could smell the drink on him,’ Lofty said as he lifted Lucky on to his knee. ‘P’raps he’s just a lonely old sod looking for company.’

‘Can’t help feeling a bit sorry,’ admitted Nan as they sat there.

‘Yeah,’ agreed Lofty. ‘The war’s crippled people in different ways.’

Nan straightened the arm covers on the recently vacated chair. ‘We won’t make any assumptions till we know the truth. He seems harmless enough. And in his state he can’t even
look after himself, let alone a kiddie. Probably disappear again in a few days like he did before.’

But as Connie put on Lucky’s little red siren suit, she felt worried. Alarm bells were ringing inside her head. And, unlike two years ago, she wasn’t going to ignore them.

The following afternoon, she told her parents. Olive was upset. The questions came fast and thick, and by the time Connie had finished trying to answer them Olive had developed
a headache.

‘Why didn’t you tell us two years ago?’ she demanded, pink in the face. ‘I can hardly believe you kept the man a secret. What would we have said to him if he’d
knocked on our door?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Connie said miserably. ‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

‘That’s not the point,’ her father grumbled. ‘He says he’s the boy’s grandfather.’

‘We don’t know that he is.’

‘What reason has he got to lie?’

‘I don’t know, Dad.’ Connie was tired of trying to give explanations when she didn’t even know them herself. She realized that this was why she had wanted to keep Gilbert
Tucker’s existence to herself. His presence was disruptive and her parents hadn’t even met him yet. Also, his story put Rita in a bad light. That was, if she was called Rita. It made no
difference to Connie what she had done or been. She was still the mother of Lucky and had given her life to save him. If Gilbert Tucker had shown remorse at her death, she might have softened
towards him. But the tears he had shed when telling his story had seemed to be for himself and for his lonely situation. What would Rita say now if she was sitting here and could tell her
story?

As Olive took out her hanky and blew her nose, there was a knock at the door. Connie went to answer it. Len’s thin face was pale and he was breathing hard. ‘Len, what are you doing
here?’

‘I’ve just been over to Ada’s.’

‘Oh, I’d almost forgotten!’ With all that had been going on, Ada’s absence from work had escaped her mind. ‘Come in.’ She opened the door wider, expecting him
to enter.