East End Jubilee (38 page)

‘Ah!’ Anita wagged her finger. ‘But you didn’t want to know, did you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Eddie wasn’t allowed to bring his business home, was he?’

‘But that was different.’ Rose was beginning to get upset. ‘Street trading is legal.’

‘Maybe it didn’t pay.’

‘Then why didn’t he tell me?’

Anita shrugged. ‘I dunno, love.’

‘It’s not as if I badgered him for more than he gave me. I thought we were happy as we were.’

‘But perhaps he wanted more,’ Anita suggested. ‘There’s a lot to your old man, girl, more than you think.’

Rose frowned. ‘Such as?’

‘Well, he married you for a start,’ Anita leered. ‘He backed a winner there.’

Unaccountably, tears pricked in Rose’s eyes. ‘If I’m so special, why did he get himself nicked?’ Her voice was getting high and wavery. ‘He wouldn’t have told
me all those lies neither.’

‘Hang on, love.’ Anita stared at her. ‘That’s a bit out of order. Eddie didn’t go down specially to piss you off. And he never told any lies to speak of. Just left
a bit out, that’s all.’

‘Yes, like what he’s really been up to for the last five years.’

Anita reached across to grasp her wrist. ‘Come on now, you’re just upset. You’ve bottled everything up when it might have been healthier to scream at him or clock him
one.’

‘How could I? He’s in prison.’

‘Well, I’m willing to bet a lot of them women don’t let prison stop them saying their piece.’

Rose couldn’t deny that she’d often heard raised voices, especially in Brixton. But she and Eddie had always tried to be civilized and not let their emotions overwhelm them. Perhaps
she had, as Anita suggested, bottled up her feelings to such an extent that it was unhealthy.

‘Eddie’s the man he always was,’ Anita reminded her firmly. ‘He loves you and the kids to distraction. You mean the world to him. He ain’t perfect that’s
true, but no man is. Now, you gonna help me get this lot out in the yard and forget all those morbid thoughts?’

Rose sniffed and stood up. ‘Sorry. It must be this dress.’

Anita laughed. ‘Well, if you feel like that, go and change. Put on something nice and cheerful. And a word to the wise – let your hair down – literally, tonight, won’t
you, girl? To put it bluntly, you ain’t had a good rough and tumble for the past twelve months and since you and your old man were as regular as clockwork on Friday nights, it ain’t no
wonder you’re edgy.’

Rose felt her cheeks crimson.

Anita burst into laughter. ‘Well, it’s true. Made Benny and me quite randy when we heard you through the wall, at it like rabbits you were.’ She raised an eyebrow.
‘’Spect you hear us an’ all?’

Rose nodded. ‘Only when your window’s open and the wind’s in the right direction.’

The two friends looked at each other and burst out laughing. By the time Rose went home to change, the sherry was working wonders.

Rose hadn’t seen Benny quite so drunk before. He was sitting in between his mum and dad, Mary and Luis Mendoza, his cheeks aflame under his dark skin, an almost identical
expression of mirth on his face to his father. They were singing a Guy Mitchell number called ‘She Wears Red Feathers and a Hula-Hula Skirt’ and every time it came to the chorus, the
two men would stand up and wiggle their wide hips, causing Mary Mendoza to shake her head in hopeless exasperation at the pair who might have been identical twins had not Luis lost almost every
strand of his curly, dark hair.

The record player was being operated by David who, Rose thought, had grown very handsome in the last six months, springing up from a boy into a young man. At fifteen he was as tall as Alan and
had a confident smile, all set to eclipse the charm of his brother. The two Travers sisters had been invited to the party and Iris was curled up on the floor beside David. She wore blue jeans and
plimsolls and had looped her glossy dark hair in a ponytail.

Rose was sitting with Matthew on her lap on a chair brought in from her kitchen; Bobby, who was attempting to attract Em’s eye as she offered round the sandwiches, sat next to her. The
small space in the middle of the room had just been vacated by Alan and Heather Travers who had performed the jitterbug, young arms and legs swinging precariously. But as soon as David played
Johnnie Ray’s ‘Faith Can Move Mountains’ at a much slower but stronger tempo, they disappeared.

‘A bit rich for me too,’ Bobby shouted as Em squeezed her way out of the crowded room and Johnnie Ray’s voice crescendoed. Bobby’s eyes swung disappointedly round to
Rose.

‘What sort of music do you like?’ She felt a little sorry for the young man who was now a regular visitor to Ruby Street. The washing machine had never lacked for an overhaul, the
yard was dug over at the end and grass seed laid, though it had never dared to mature. Will’s tent, her nephew’s new bedroom, was inspected regularly for leaks or rips and the guy ropes
adjusted. The crumbling bricks on top of the wall at the bottom of the yard that backed on to the lane had been replaced with new ones. The shooting brake was always to hand, Rose’s bike
frequently oiled and the chain repaired. The children accepted him without question and Rose noted, as she looked at her son, Matthew was giving him a wide, bubbly smile.

Bobby grinned back, catching the baby’s hand with his finger. ‘Me favourite’s Doris Day. But I like Dean Martin and Nat King Cole.’

Rose nodded. ‘“Because You’re Mine” is nice.’

‘Do you and Em ever go to the pictures?’

Rose shook her head. ‘No. But me and Eddie did once in a while. He likes Bogie and I like Ingrid Bergman. Our favourite was
Casablanca
, of course.’

‘Have you heard about these 3D effects? You wear red and green glasses that give you a bit of a fright as if the things were right in front of your face. Me brother took his three kids to
a horror film called
House of Wax
, and really rated it.’

‘I didn’t know you had a brother.’

‘Yes, Ted. He’s thirty-eight, two years older than me. They live in Norfolk. I only see them at Christmas. They’re smashing kids. And I get on well with Nancy, his wife.’
Bobby softened his voice as the record ended. ‘I’d like it if they lived closer, really.’ Matthew blew more bubbles and Bobby laughed. ‘He’s a lovely baby,
Rose.’

‘I think so,’ she agreed, drawing her hand softly over the thick, dark cap of baby hair. ‘Would you like a family?’ she asked as she watched Bobby’s eyes drink in
Matthew’s cherubic face.

‘You bet I would.’ Bobby’s soft blue gaze lingered on the baby. ‘Trouble is, all my time has been taken up with building the business. At the end of the war, I had plenty
of ambition and no responsibilities, so I gave it me all. But it does get a bit lonely at night when I finish for the day.’

‘You’ll have to get out more,’ Rose advised. He was a good-looking young man and if her sister didn’t snatch him up, someone else would.

‘Yeah, but who with?’ Bobby grinned, and Rose fancied she knew the answer but guessed Bobby’s courage failed him when it came to asking Em for a real date.

‘You know, in five years’ time, white goods are gonna be big business. I told you once a woman deserved as much help in the house as she could get. And I’ve been proved
right,’ he said as another record hit the turntable.

‘Are you trying to sell me a vacuum cleaner now?’ Rose kept a straight face as Perry Como’s ‘Don’t Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes’ drifted smoothly over the
room.

Bobby looked at her startled. ‘No of course not—’

Rose laughed. ‘I’m only teasing. We’re very grateful for the washing machine. I don’t know what we’d have done without it.’

‘I could sort you out a second-hand Hoover—’

‘I was joking, Bobby.’

‘But I want to help,’ he said raising his voice above the music. ‘I’d like to do more, but I don’t want to make a nuisance of myself.’ At that moment, Em
entered the room and Rose saw Bobby’s face brighten. Eagerly he followed her passage through the crowd, his conversation with Rose forgotten.

She lifted Matthew into her arms and decided it was about time her sister did something other than hand round sandwiches. She made her way to where Em was bending, offering sausage rolls to
Mabel and Fred Dixon who had just parked themselves on the wooden chairs by the door.

‘Em?’

Her sister turned round. ‘Oh, Rosy, would you like one?’

‘No. But Bobby would I’m sure.’

Her sister, looking flushed and attractive in a peach-coloured, slim-fitting dress with a white belt, glanced across the room. ‘I . . . I—’

‘Just go over and talk to him, won’t you?’

‘But I’m helping Neet to—’

‘No, you’re not. I am now. Take two sausage rolls and I’ll keep the plate.’

‘But you’ve got Matthew.’

‘He’s due for a sleep in his pram. I’ll put him under the stairs and he’ll go off.’

‘Well, I—’

‘Em!’ Rose grabbed the plate, balancing Matthew in her other arm. ‘Do as you’re told, won’t you?’

The two women looked at one another, then Rose began to smile, the twinkle in her eye enough of a message to send Em on her way, if rather reluctantly. Rose deposited the plate with Mabel and
told her to pass it round, then trod over the legs and feet that lined the way to the space in the corner where Iris and David were squatting by the Dansette record player.

‘Have you got something by Doris Day?’ she asked, and David nodded.

‘Yeah,’ he grinned, shuffling through the pile of large plastic records. ‘“Secret Love”. It’s brand new.’

‘Perfect,’ Rose smiled. ‘Play it next, will you, love?’

Rose danced her feet off that night. Alan taught her new steps to the jitterbug and Benny, despite falling over twice, managed a cha-cha, whilst Len Silverman waltzed her round
the house and out into the yard. She stopped for a sherry only to be pulled up by David and Iris who started a conga. They made a human snake, hopping and kicking out into the road and around the
houses, knocking on the doors in the twilight. The Pipers and the Prices and the Greens all came out and the kids and the dogs ran riot the length of Ruby Street. Someone brought out a harmonica
and played it to perfection as the stars twinkled above. Cissy and Fanny plundered the food and drink then sat on their chairs outside Anita’s in their winter coats and scarves, though it was
a warm and sultry evening.

Luis Mendoza finally collapsed, though not as spectacularly as was expected. He lay full length in the yard, his head propped by a tyre, his mouth open and his fingers entwined across his chest.
Benny sobered up, drowned in tea by Anita and lectured by his mother. Their two boys and the Travers girls were still dancing and smooching in the front room.

Rose accepted her third glass of sherry at eleven o’clock as Matthew slept through all the racket. The children played in Will’s tent and spied on the grown-ups over the fence.

By midnight, only the youngsters were still on their feet. Rose, Anita and Benny sat in the yard, reminiscing and singing poignant songs: ‘The White Cliffs of Dover’,
‘We’ll Meet Again’, ‘A Nightingale Sang’ and ‘Lili Marlene’, all accompanied by Luis Mendoza’s rhythmic snoring. They talked of the war days and the
people they had known and catchphrases that still stuck in their heads ten years down the line.

‘Lend a Hand on the Land.’

‘Keep the Flag Flying.’

‘Your Country Needs You.’

‘Dig for Victory.’

‘Adolf in Blunderland,’ shouted Luis and everyone laughed.

At midnight, they looked up into a dazzling sky and Rose inhaled the sweet air, thinking of Eddie. She’d missed him, but she’d let down her hair and forgotten her troubles for the
time being. The brown car and Eddie’s debt and the shoebox, even the back-breaking hours in Kirkwood’s canteen were a distant memory. She had almost forgotten her sister too, until she
peered over the Anderson fence and into her own kitchen window.

A dim light burned there and two figures were silhouetted in the pale light. Rose smiled; if Em was wise, she’d grab Bobby Morton whilst she had the chance. He was a good man and patient
too. But he wouldn’t wait forever.

Rose carefully examined the saucepans and utensils returned to the cupboards at the end of the day. After which she would walk slowly past the worktops, running her fingers
along their edges to check for grease.

Though she no longer sweated at the big double sink she couldn’t break the habit formed over the last five months. A habit that gained her favour with Gwen House, allowing the supervisor a
swift departure.

Rose loved these last few moments before she left for home. There was something special about the kitchen at the end of a busy day when all the staff had gone. After folding her overall into a
locker, she would cast her eye over the clean surfaces and tiled floors for the last time and, when satisfied, exit by the back door, quietly closing it, as if leaving a sleeping child.

The bike shed was deserted when she left; saucer-sized pools of dog-ends swam in the gutters fuelled by a leaking overflow pipe from the outside wall. These were often accompanied by sweet
wrappers or bus tickets and would remain there until George, the caretaker, pushed his broom along the concrete path, adding his own spent Woodbine to the soggy piles.

Tonight, at five-thirty on a cheerful Thursday, Rose thought the September evening could have been spring. The air was fruity and ripe and birds were singing from the smoke-soiled rooftops and
the factory eaves. Gulls called noisily, searching for an uncovered dustbin that would provide supper. A few late sirens wailed into the mellow autumn air. Tomorrow was Friday and the weekend
approached!

Rose always enjoyed her bike ride home. She took a blouse and trousers to work into which she was now changed and at the end of the day, when she could still smell the fried fish or the onions
in her long hair, the breeze blew it out as if by magic. The unflattering round hats that all kitchen employees were required to wear did little to keep out the smells that clung stubbornly to
skin, hair and clothes.

More often than not throughout the summer a kind, southerly breeze had almost blown her home. Her journey took less than twenty minutes, but on sunny days she cheated, cycling a longer route,
past the Mudchute and up East Ferry Road, adding another glorious five minutes of fresh summer air.