Dream On (17 page)

Still chewing on her breakfast, Dilys stood up and walked over to the back door. Standing sideways on to it, she squinted thoughtfully at her outline reflected in the gleaming glass panels that made up its upper half. ‘Will you just look at the size of me,' she marvelled, smoothing down her skirt to reveal what the other two couldn't deny was a definitely swollen middle. ‘I'm like a flaming barrage balloon.'

Pearl leapt to her feet.
‘Look at the size of you? Look at the bloody size of you?
That's the least of your flaming worries,' she hollered. ‘It's hard enough bringing up kids when there's two of you. However d'you think you'll manage by yourself?' Pearl threw up her hands and appealed to Ginny with tears pouring unchecked down her cheeks. ‘Whatever's her dad gonna say, Gin?'

At that totally inopportune moment, George walked into the kitchen. ‘Whatever am I gonna say about what?' he asked with his usual pleasant smile.

‘What are you doing here?' gasped Pearl, turning away and hurriedly drying her eyes on the hem of her apron.

‘Flipping charming, ain't it, girl,' George grinned, winking at Ginny, ‘when a man ain't even welcome in his own home.' He sat at the table and opened his paper.

‘Why ain't you at work?'

‘Blimey, Pearl, I'm sorry if I've come in and messed up your mothers' meeting for you.'

Pearl flinched at the irony of her husband's words.

Completely unaware, George closed his paper and carried on. ‘Didn't get picked off the stones again today. Weren't nothing for me. Still, our Sid and Micky both got picked. That's a blessing.' He lifted his chin with pride. ‘Them boys of our'n, Pearl, they're built like a couple of brick . . .' George checked himself. He was a traditional old East Ender in that way and hated it when men used bad language or off-colour talk in front of the ladies.'. . . warehouses,' he continued primly. ‘Strong as lions, the pair of 'em. A ganger'd have to be mad not to pick our lads for his crew.'

To Pearl's dismay, George folded his arms across his chest and leant back in his chair. He was obviously warming to his subject and was keen to share his thoughts on it.

‘You know, I reckon they think I'm a bit too long in the tooth to pick me out these days,' he continued, oblivious of the increasingly tense atmosphere in the cramped little room. ‘They either have to have a mountain of work on, or be desperate, to pick an old boy like me.' He smiled good-naturedly at Ginny who tried, but failed to smile back at him.

‘I'll be retiring soon, won't I. Be a gentleman of leisure. And I can't say I'll mind too much neither, especially not on a lovely August morning like this, when I could be along the road having a natter with my old mates and then popping in to see Bob for a swift one.'

He lifted the teapot and weighed it in his hand to see if there was any left. ‘I dunno, girls, it don't seem like no time at all since I first started down them docks. Hardly five minutes ago, if I was truthful. Funny, ain't it, how time flies by as you get older? I was a cheeky little so-and-so then, but when I went there on that first day with me old dad, God rest his soul, terrified I was.' He shook his head. ‘Seems just like yesterday. But before you know it, that'll be me, finished.'

To George's astonishment, Pearl snatched the teapot from her husband's hand. ‘Well you ain't no gentleman of leisure yet, George Chivers,' she snapped. ‘And if you ain't got nothing better to do with your time, you can get yourself down the Roman and get me some potatoes and greens.'

George blinked in surprise at his wife's outburst. ‘Do what?'

‘Potatoes and greens,' Pearl hissed through her teeth.

A look of realisation came over George's face. Thinking that his wife was trying to get him out of the house because there was something up with Ginny again – the poor kid had had so many problems with her useless waste-of-space of an old man over the years that George was used to the sight of her crying in his back kitchen – he leapt from his chair as though he'd been scalded. If there were women's problems going to be discussed, George didn't want any part of it.

He grabbed his cap and pulled it firmly on to his head; it might have been over seventy degrees outside, but George would have felt naked going out without his cheese-cutter – and he was definitely going out.

He strode hurriedly over to the kitchen door, but then paused and turned round to snatch a surreptitious look at Ginny for signs of bruises. He could see it now: she looked upset about something all right, but there were no obvious cuts or anything. Not on the poor little love's face anyway.

He switched his attention to Pearl. ‘Righto then, darling,' he said, with a brief nod and the barest hint of a wink, ‘I'll go and get the spuds and that for you. But don't expect me back right away. I've got a feller I've gotta see about a dog, so I'll be a while.'

The three women stood in silence as they waited for George to leave. The moment they heard him call a cheery goodbye and the sound of him pulling the street door shut behind him, the crying, recriminations and disbelief began all over again.

‘You must have made a mistake, Dilys. You must have. You can't be expecting.' Pearl was shaking her head as she spoke, as though denying it would make it all go away. Then, in complete contradiction she added, ‘You know when your dad finds out he'll go stark raving mad. He'll bloody well kill you.'

Ginny couldn't take it in, all she could think of was what had happened to her in Jeannie Thompson's disgusting house. And what she had let that woman do to her. And all the blood . . .

‘I've decided I'm gonna keep it,' Dilys announced blithely.

Ginny's head snapped up in amazement. ‘But how can you?' she gasped.

It wasn't something that she would be proud of later, but at that moment Ginny felt outraged, betrayed even, that Dilys – her best friend – could even think about keeping her child after what she had seen Ginny go through at that woman's hands.

Dilys misunderstood Ginny's question. She opened her eyes wide and stuck out her bottom lip in a casual gesture of speculation. ‘The father'll have to give me money, won't he?'

‘What, you mean—' Ginny shut her mouth as if it were a trapdoor. She was about to say: What, you mean the
married
feller you told me's been keeping you on and off for the last few years? But I wasn't talking about money, Dilys. I mean how can you do this
to me?
But Ginny didn't say anything of the sort. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Pearl.

There was a long moment's silence, then Pearl, in a voice husky with tears, asked flatly, ‘What feller, Dilys?'

Dilys stared brazenly at Ginny. ‘I met a GI. In a club.' She was rather pleased with herself for coming up with that so quickly.

Ginny frowned. It was the first she'd heard about any GI.

‘Up West it was,' Dilys offered without prompting. ‘Lovely place. Makes round here look a right slum.' She sniffed haughtily. ‘But then that's what it is round here, ain't it? A slum.'

‘A GI.' Pearl uttered the words in a monotone.

‘That's right,' said Dilys brightly, ‘a GI.'

What Dilys didn't say was that although she had indeed met an American soldier, it had been only about a month ago – far too recent to account for her current condition of being almost five months pregnant. And the meeting had hardly been intimate.

It had happened one evening when Dilys had gone to meet Ted outside Leicester Square tube station. As usual, she hadn't wanted to risk Ted getting there first, becoming bored and leaving before she arrived, so she had turned up almost fifteen minutes early. As she had crossed the Charing Cross Road, she was more than surprised to see him standing there already. And that he wasn't alone.

But, for once, he wasn't chatting up another woman, he was talking to a good-looking, broad-shouldered man, made even more handsome by his stylishly cut American military uniform. Dilys was quite excited by the thought of being introduced to the man with the movie-star looks, as she'd always rather fancied the idea of going out with an American, but any such hopes were dashed. Ted was doing business.

After a brief, low-volume exchange of words, then a nod, a firm shake of hands and the passing over of a tight roll of banknotes, the serviceman flashed her a quick salute, then disappeared into the West End's Saturday evening crowds.

So, Dilys
had
met a GI and it wasn't too much of a lie for her to claim she'd met the man in a club, because Ted had taken her to a sort of club that very night. It was actually more of a drinking den, and it was a good half-hour after the soldier had left them, but she'd really enjoyed herself. Even though it wasn't much like the glamorous cocktail lounges she'd seen in the films, it was still a club. And there had been a GI. Sort of. It all suited her very nicely.

Just as being pregnant suited her; just as did taking Ginny to see Jeannie Thompson. Dilys knew what she wanted and she knew exactly how she was going to get it. If her plans continued to fall into place as neatly as they seemed to be doing up until now, then she would be very happy indeed.

Pearl heaved herself up from the table and went to the sink to fill the kettle. ‘So, where is he now then? This GI?'

‘He's had to go back to America. But he's promised he'll look after me. Gonna send me all the money I need, he is.'

‘You know if he don't, and if your dad takes against you, you'll have to go into a mother and baby home, don't you?'

Dilys snorted with contempt. ‘Don't you worry about me; I won't have to go into no home.'

Pearl put down the kettle on the wooden draining board. It was as though she didn't have the energy or the will to carry it over to the gas stove. ‘I'll do me best for you, Dilys. But you know how your dad feels about girls getting into trouble. I'm telling you, this'll kill him. You know you've always been his baby girl.'

Gripping the side of the butler sink, Pearl started to cry again. ‘But he'll wanna wring your neck for you when he finds out.'

Dilys sighed irritably. ‘No he won't.'

‘Maybe not,' sniffed Pearl, ‘but when your brothers find out they'll bloody well wanna kill the bastard. No matter who, or where, he is.'

It was one of those miserable November days when night seemed to have fallen before it had ever really got light; rain had been bucketing down solidly for a week and Ted was just about pissed off.

A wet Wednesday night in Upton Park. Definitely not his idea of a good time. There he was with a suitcase full of gear to flog, but every pub he's been in was almost empty. At this rate, he'd be going home before closing time with less in his pockets than he'd come out with.

He leaned miserably against the polished mahogany bar of the Boleyn, nursing his almost empty glass, debating whether to have another scotch, when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

‘Ted Martin?'

He stuck a smile to his lips and twisted round to see who wanted him. With a bit of luck, it might be a customer just wetting himself to buy a caseload of bent watches, or wanting a nice fat loan.

‘Who wants to know, mate?' he asked, the perfect image of the chirpy spiv.

‘Names don't matter, but you can call me . . . Let's see. Charlie. Yeah, you can call me Charlie.'

‘Charlie' was big, very big. In all directions. He was wearing a dark-blue overcoat that was, Ted noted, of the best quality – the feller obviously had a few bob – but it was so massive it could have served as a tent for a whole boy scout troop and still have had room for the Akala. And he wasn't alone. The man standing with him was almost as big as he was. Both of them had on snap-brim trilby hats pulled down hard so that their faces were in shadow, although Ted could still see that Charlie sported a cauliflower ear that would have won first prize in any sort of contest.

Ted nodded with a grin. Very nice. It sounded like he was about to do a bit of business with Charlie and his mate. Probably not a loan, but definitely some sort of a trade.

Charlie jerked his chin towards the door. ‘Let's step outside, eh?' It was an instruction rather than a question.

Charlie picked up Ted's case and started to walk away. In his great meat plate of a hand the bag looked more like a small portmanteau than a full-sized suitcase.

Ted downed the last of his drink and hurried off after his potential customers.

‘Down here,' said Charlie, tipping his head towards a narrow, unlit pathway that ran alongside the pub and through to the back of the shops. ‘We don't want no one to see us, now do we?'

‘You're right there,' agreed Ted, stumbling his way along the pitch-dark alley. ‘They all love a bit of bent gear, but only if it's them what's buying it. If some other bloke's got a few quid to spend, they come over all moral on you and wind up getting on the trumpet to the law.'

Ted tripped again, this time barking his shin against a pile of crates. ‘Shit!' He sucked his teeth as he bent down and rubbed his leg. ‘Here, you'll need to see what I've got. Either of you two got a torch?'

‘I don't think we need a torch for what we've got in mind,' Charlie said.

‘How d'you mean?'

The men moved very close to him and Ted, realising too late that he had actually been mug enough to go down an unlit alley with a pair of gorillas he had never set eyes on before, flattened himself against the slimy brick wall.

Dark as it was, Ted saw the outline of Charlie's leather-gloved fist quite clearly as it drove towards his solar plexus. ‘Christ!' he gasped, doubling over with pain.

‘We've been waiting quite a while for an opportunity to bump into you on our travels, Mr Martin,' Charlie sneered. ‘And I mean waiting, 'cos let's face it, we didn't wanna waste our energy actually looking for someone as unimportant as you, when we knew we'd see you crawling out from under some rock sooner or later.'