Dream On (20 page)

George said nothing, he just stared unseeingly at the floor as though watching some distant episode playing in his head.

Sid came up behind Ginny, tapped her on the shoulder and whispered quietly into her ear, asking her if she'd help him start getting people to make a move so that he could get his dad home before he drank himself into a stupor.

Ginny nodded and went to find Ted, who had actually turned up for the funeral just as she had asked him.

She found Ted at the other end of the pub. He was sitting next to Dilys. He had her child on his lap and was singing to her, a happy little nonsense ditty that he seemed to be making up as he went along. It was about a pretty canary bird called Susan, and he was smiling blissfully.

Ginny stood there watching him, not caring that she was being buffeted about by the crowds of increasingly drink-enlivened mourners.

As he continued with his song, Ted was so entranced by the beaming toddler that he was completely oblivious of Ginny's presence.

The tender intimacy she was witnessing felt like a knife in Ginny's guts. Could this sensitive, affectionate man really be the same one who had refused even to discuss having a child? The same one who had kicked her in the stomach as she lay on the floor begging him to stop just because she'd mentioned it?

‘Ted.' Ginny's voice sounded strange even to her.

Ted looked up, the enchanted smile still on his handsome face; an expression he hadn't deigned to share with his wife in a very long time.

The moment he realised who had spoken to him his smile melted away like snow on top of a chimney pot.

‘I didn't realise you even knew Dilys had a baby,' Ginny said quietly. ‘Let alone that you knew her name.'

‘Here, Dilys,' he said wearily. ‘You take her.'

Ginny flinched as she saw how he handled the little girl: not clumsily, but in an experienced, easy sort of way, as though he cherished the very bones of her.

Ginny tried to stop herself even beginning to think it, but her thoughts were galloping ahead of reason. Ted and Dilys? Surely even Ted wouldn't do that to her?

He stood up. ‘You ain't gonna start, are you, Ginny?'

‘No, Ted,' she said, her voice flat. ‘I'm not starting. I've just come to tell you that Sid and Micky asked if we'd all start making a move. George is getting slaughtered and they wanna get him home.'

‘Shouldn't a man expect to get pissed at his wife's funeral?' someone behind her asked.

Ginny closed her eyes and groaned inwardly. It was George. She hadn't realised he was standing there.

She twisted round, ready to apologise, but George wouldn't let her. He held up his hand and shook his head. ‘It's all right, Gin, I ain't blaming you,' he slurred. ‘I heard what Sid said to you. But just leave me be, eh?'

With that, he shoved his way back towards the throng at the bar, leaving her standing there, red-faced and more distraught than ever.

She turned back to Ted.

He stared levelly at her. ‘Me mother's not got a drink,' he said, sitting down next to Dilys again and taking Susan back on to his lap. ‘You'd better go and get her one. Go on.'

Ginny said nothing. It wouldn't be right starting anything, not on a day such as this. So, as she had so often done in the past, she just did as she was told.

‘All right, Nellie,' Ginny said by way of impassive greeting, as she handed her mother-in-law a glass of port and lemon.

‘How about Florrie?' Nellie barked. ‘How about one for her?'

Ginny didn't rise to Nellie's nastiness. Not only did she not want to row in front of everyone, but she was too distracted by the image of Ted and little Susan to bother.

‘I'll get her one, Nellie, and I tell you what, I'll even fetch you a few rounds of sandwiches an' all. That do you, will it?'

‘We don't want nothing hard mind,' Nellie called after her. ‘Florrie's had all her teeth pulled out like me and she ain't got used to her false ones yet neither.'

Ginny was fed up with hearing about Nellie's new National Health choppers. Yes, she had agreed, over and over again, it was a wonderful thing that such luxuries could be had by anybody now, and for free, but if she'd to express her amazement at the sight of the bloody things once more she'd grab them from the old trout's mouth and dance up and down on them until they crumbled away like a stick of stale seaside rock.

And not only was she sick of Nellie's sodding teeth, if she or Flo said one more word about their made-to-measure Health Service glasses and how they beat the ones you bought lucky-dip style from the counter at Woolworths, Ginny would not be responsible for her actions.

She could feel herself coming very close to the edge and Nellie was just the person who could push her over.

Taking a deep breath, Ginny carried on towards the buffet table at the far end of the counter, keeping her chin in the air and her eyes fixed in front of her so that she didn't have to look at Ted and Dilys who were still sitting together in the corner right opposite the food.

With a weary sigh, Ginny began piling up a plate with anything and everything even vaguely soft-looking. Maybe if the old bats had their gobs full of food they'd give everyone a bit of peace for five minutes.

Ginny was just about to carry her load back to Nellie and Flo when someone rammed into her back with such force that the loaded plate was sent flying from her hand. It sailed through the air like one of the lethal tin-lid discuses the mums had barred the kids from playing with in their Bailey Street Olympics and landed with a resounding crash against the edge of the polished counter top, sending the sandwiches arcing across the bar in the direction of Martha, who had her head down pulling a pint of best.

‘What the bloody hell?' yelped the landlady, as a slice of bread, butter-side first, landed with a slap on the side of her rouged and powdered cheek and slowly slipped down towards her bosom.

Ginny spun around to confront the idiot who had pushed her, her mouth open ready to ask the clumsy so-and-so what exactly he thought he was up to. But when she saw George standing there, swaying alarmingly from side to side, she was more concerned than angry.

He was jabbing his finger at Dilys and muttering furiously to himself, ‘It was her what killed you, Pearl. Her. The shame of it. Bringing trouble home like some little tart.'

Dilys ignored him and carried on talking to Ted.

‘Come on, George,' Ginny coaxed him, ‘it's time we was all going home.'

George twisted round and tried to focus on Ginny. ‘Pearl?'

Ginny swallowed hard. ‘No, George, it's me. Ginny. Ginny Martin.'

‘Ginny?' George stared at her as though he was trying to make sure that it really wasn't his wife.

‘Yeah, that's right, George.'

George's lip trembled and his head lolled forward. ‘Well maybe you can tell me what Dilys is doing with your old man. Ain't she in enough trouble with blokes?'

Ginny closed her eyes and bit back the tears that were threatening to start again. ‘Come on, George,' she said, doing her best to keep her voice under control, ‘let's be off, eh?'

‘But look at her encouraging him,' George persisted. ‘She's letting him sniff around her like a bloody bitch on heat.'

‘Please, George.' Ginny grabbed his arm. ‘Don't. Don't do this.'

George lifted his chin. Looking at Ginny as though he were seeing her for the first time, he nodded meekly and let her lead him through the mass of mourners towards the door.

Dilys watched their slow progress with unconcealed venom, sneering as people stopped him to pledge their promises of help and support.

‘Just look at 'em,' she hissed. ‘All fussing around him. They ain't got a clue how I'm suffering.'

She altered her tone to a pitiful whine. ‘It's terrible indoors, Ted. Really terrible. Him and the boys sitting around with faces like fiddles, with not a thought of what I'm going through now I've got no one to help me. I hate it living there with them. Really hate it. I told Dad I should have the big bedroom now, but he wouldn't even hear of it. And you should hear the things he says to me. And you can't imagine what it's like, Ted, having to push that bloody pram in and out of the passage with Dad's bike to get past.'

‘You finished moaning?' Ted asked, smiling down at Susan as he chucked her under the chin, making her giggle happily.

Dilys shrugged. ‘You do want me to be happy, don't you, Ted?' She sipped her drink daintily. ‘Just look at him.' She jerked her thumb towards her dad, whom Ginny had propped against the wall while she opened the door. ‘Fancy having to live with that. I can't stand it no more, Ted. I really can't.'

She grimaced with revulsion as Sid looped his arm affectionately round his dad's shoulders. ‘Pathetic.' She dropped her chin and made miserable little sniffling noises. ‘You've gotta do something, Ted. You've just gotta.'

Slowly she raised her eyes and blinked pitifully at him. ‘If not for me, then for this poor little love.'

‘Thanks, Gin,' Sid said, letting the pub door close with a slam behind them. ‘Me and Micky'll see to him. And I'm sorry about what he said just now.'

‘It's all right. I know he's had too much to drink.' Ginny stepped aside to let the two burly young men take over.

‘What did he say to you then, Gin?' Micky asked, as he took George's weight against his shoulder.

Sid flashed a look of warning at his younger brother. ‘Can't you keep your gob shut just for once, Micky?'

‘What? I never heard what he said, that's all.'

‘I didn't mean to upset you, Ginny love,' George slurred. ‘I never meant nothing.'

‘What you upset about then, Gin?' Micky asked.

‘Micky, are you gonna belt up?'

Ginny could see the anger flaring in Sid's face. She laid her hand gently on his chest and said quietly, ‘Leave him alone, Sid. I don't want no rows started on my part. Just get George off home, eh?'

‘All right. Thanks.'

Sid and his brother stood one on either side of their now weeping father and gently guided him along the street, leaving Ginny in the doorway, watching them make their way back to the emptiness of number 11.

Without warning, George stopped dead in his tracks, threw back his head and a great shuddering sob shook through his body. ‘It
was
her getting herself into trouble what caused all this. My Pearl wouldn't be laying in that cold ground if it wasn't for her.'

Sid squeezed his arm, encouraging him to start moving again. ‘It was an accident, Dad, you know that.'

George shook his head, as he reluctantly shuffled forward between his sons. ‘Your mum never said nothing to no one, but I could tell. I knew what she was thinking. She had it on her mind all the time. Every minute of the day. Day in day out. She wasn't concentrating when she crossed that road. I'm telling you, it would never have happened otherwise.'

He flicked his tongue at the trail of snot that dripped from his moustache. ‘If I ever find the bastard what got that girl pregnant I'll kill him. I swear on my Pearl's grave, I will.'

Micky's chin was set with fury. One way or another, whoever it was who had made his dad cry – his dad whom he had never seen shed so much as a single tear – was going to pay. ‘You don't have to worry yourself about that, Dad,' he said through gritted teeth. ‘Me and Sid'll sort the whoreson out good and proper.'

If they hadn't been holding up their dad between them, Sid would have grabbed Micky by the throat and shaken the silly little sod till his teeth rattled. ‘Think before you open that cakehole o' your'n for once, can't you, Micky?'

It wasn't the first time that Sid had felt like thumping his little brother. Micky was so hot-headed, Sid was sure it would land him in real schtuck one day. All right, so they'd discussed between them, plenty of times, what they'd do to the lousy no-good who'd dumped their sister – and Sid was growing more and more convinced that he knew who the bastard was, and it wasn't some American soldier – but mouthing off about it in front of their dad, especially just a couple of hours after their mum had been laid to rest, well, that was just about the last thing any of them needed.

Sid would bide his time and he just hoped that Micky would do the same.

‘So it's like this see, now I'm getting this new motor, I won't be needing this one no more.' Ted patted the bonnet of the Talbot as though it were a much-loved family pet. ‘And I thought, I know, it might come in handy as a runabout for Mr Roberts and his good lady. You are a married man, aren't you, Mr Roberts?'

The man in the cheap-looking brown suit rubbed his sweaty palms dry on the seat of his trousers, leaving a greasy slick on the already shiny cloth. ‘I am indeed, Mr Martin. And am proud to be the father of two lovely little girls into the bargain.'

Ted smiled beatifically and slapped the man on his skinny shoulder. ‘Two little girls, eh? You are a man truly blessed. And, I'm sure you have to agree, this here vehicle could only add to those blessings.'

Mr Roberts looked warily over his shoulder. They might have been standing well away from the street light, in a rain-slicked, deserted back-street in Hoxton, but a man in his position, a council officer, could not be too careful. Everyone in the town hall knew that everyone else was on the make, ready to take a bung or a backhander for all sorts of little favours, it was common knowledge, but proving it was another matter and there was no point in handing it to them on a plate.

He licked his lips anxiously, his wet tongue flicking around his narrow mouth in a curiously obscene display of intimate bright-pink flesh. He knew what he had to ask next, but how to phrase it?

‘What sort of cost would that entail then, Mr Martin? Buying a fine motor vehicle such as this? Probably out of my sort of price range, I shouldn't wonder. But who knows, eh? Trouble is, a chap like me might have excellent job security and a fine pension plan – a very fine pension plan, in fact – but I'm afraid the actual wages are a very different matter.'