Eve of the Isle (30 page)

‘No, Charlie – no!'

‘Have I offended you?'

She put her hand up to her cheek. ‘It's just that . . . that . . . I haven't kissed a man in a long while. In fact I've only ever kissed one and that was Raj.'

‘Eve, I understand. But I was watching you in there and felt protective.'

‘Charlie, you're a good man—'

‘Don't say any more,' he broke in, placing a finger to her lips. ‘I can hear a “but” coming on. Just give me – us – a chance. Please.'

Just then, the noise of the yard door crashing open made Charlie jump back. A long line of children ran up the stairs.

‘Is the grub up, Uncle Charlie?'

‘Is it time for tea?'

‘We're hungry!'

‘Has Grandma got lemonade?'

Finally Samuel and Albert came rushing up. Charlie tousled their heads as they too flew past. He saw that Eve was watching them uneasily until Samuel stopped at the top of the staircase and looked back. ‘I don't half like it 'ere, Mum. They got a big net out in the yard and we played football.'

Charlie watched Eve smile as Samuel disappeared into the living room.

Charlie smiled too. ‘You see, your boys aren't having any difficulty in making friends,' he told her softly.

‘Them all seem like nice kids.'

‘They are.'

Eve gazed up at him and once more he had to fight the desire to take her in his arms. She looked like a frightened deer, ready to bolt at the least unexpected movement. He knew that this was a difficult experience for her and his heart went out to her. But he hoped and prayed that she would agree to see him again. And the next time he took her out with the two boys, he was going to make sure it was just by themselves.

He tilted his head towards the bakery. ‘Now, let's go
down and get the bridge rolls, and by the time we return Mum will have the kids all washed and spruced up ready for tea.'

He waited for her to pass him, aware of her every movement, the delicate, upright posture of her small body, her beautiful skin and lustrous hair and her wide, almost innocent marmalade-coloured eyes. Yet he knew that inside her was a strong and determined spirit. He had never met anyone like Eve before.

He doubted he ever would again.

That evening, when the twins were asleep, Eve knelt at Joan's feet in the front room. Her leg was supported by a stool, her stocking pulled down and the ankle wound revealed.

‘Don't press too hard, it hurts.' Joan made a face as she gripped the arm of the chair.

‘It's much better than it was.' Eve smoothed the reddened skin with another application of puréed carrot and roasted onion.

‘Don't reckon vegetables can cure me.'

‘It's an old remedy, Joan. I've used it meself and on the boys.' Eve waited as the vegetable poultice used as antiseptic took effect.

‘I ain't a flamin' 'orse.'

‘Sit back and be quiet you daft 'aporth,' ordered Peg who entered the room with a small bowl of warm water. Placing it beside Eve, she folded her arms and gazed down at her sister. ‘You should be grateful Eve
got you walking again. Three weeks ago you couldn't 'obble let alone gad about as you do now.'

‘What's in the bottle?'

After cleaning off the poultice, Eve unscrewed the top. ‘A remedy I made meself.'

‘What's in it?'

‘Amongst other things, a herb called thyme. It grows wild and prevents infections.'

‘There's only weeds round here, ain't there? Are you trying to polish me off?'

‘No, 'course not. I'd use something else on you if I wanted to do that.' Eve laughed as she cleared away her things. ‘Now, do you both want some cocoa?'

‘That'd be nice,' said Peg as she sat down by her sister.

‘Ain't we got something with a bite to it?' asked Joan.

‘No,' answered Peg sharply. ‘We ain't letting you go back on the booze whilst you're under this roof. And don't pull a boat race! Think yourself lucky you ain't got a bad back no more, nor a dodgy ankle and you ain't 'omeless.'

‘No, instead I'm forced to share that rotten old mattress with you and your snoring.'

‘You're lucky to have somewhere to kip!'

‘Don't start you two,' said Eve.

Peg smiled. ‘Go on, love, get the cocoa. And when you come back you can tell us all about what it was like at Charlie's.'

Eve stood in the kitchen, listening to the echoes of the argument in the front room. Their quarrelling didn't seem to irritate her so much tonight. Her mind was full of what had happened today and Charlie's kiss. When she'd pulled away, her heart had been beating a tattoo inside her chest. She knew he was embarrassed by his actions and they had only parted just in time before the children ran up the stairs. What if they'd seen them and told their mothers? A slight smile played on her lips as she thought of Pamela and Eileen's reaction.

‘What did yer 'ave to eat?' Joan asked immediately as Eve returned with the mugs of cocoa. ‘Was they a stingy lot?'

‘No, quite the opposite.' Eve was happy to tell them about the bakery food as she sat down by the window. ‘There was everything you can think of. Cup cakes, Dundee cake, small sandwiches without crusts with finely sliced cucumber. And Mrs Merritt opened a box of buttered Brazils and Turkish Delight, whilst the kids had toasted marshmallows.'

‘Cor blimey, what a feast,' sighed Peg, slurping her drink. ‘Did they give you anything to bring 'ome?'

‘No, and it wasn't expected.'

‘Some of them Brazils wouldn't go amiss.' Joan narrowed her small eyes. ‘Ain't had nothing like that since Harold's old girl died.'

Eve took the opportunity to change the subject. ‘Did Mrs Slygo like sweets then?'

Joan sniffed loudly. ‘Used to sit in front of me with
a bag of 'em. Put 'em in her mouth all slow like, licking her lips and crunching loudly without ever offering me one. It was torture, just to watch her. And so when she had her kip of an afternoon, I used to pinch one. When I cleared her room I found more sugared almonds and crème de menthe in her chest than she had pairs of drawers.'

‘Why didn't she share her sweets?' asked Eve.

‘'Cos she was tight, that's why. Wouldn't give anyone the droppings off her nose let alone something of value. All that stuff in the room you slept in, it was her world, her beloved possessions that she thought was worth a bob or two. Including that flamin' animal fur. She used to sit in the chair strokin' it around her neck.'

‘She never!' exclaimed Peg.

‘You've no idea what I had to put up with. I looked after her like me own mother before she died. And never got a word of thanks. Nor a penny, neither, not even a farthing.'

At this, Eve remembered what she had long promised herself to do. She went out and got her purse. When she returned she dropped five shillings into Joan's lap.

‘What's that for?' screeched Peg, glaring at the money.

‘It's what we owe Joan for our keep when we stayed with her.'

Peg looked disapproving, but Joan picked up the shiny coins and spat on each one. ‘Thanks, gel. But I did it out the goodness of me heart.'

Eve kept a straight face and went out to the kitchen
to wash the mugs. But at the sink she allowed herself to smile. What a day it had been! There was Mrs Merritt, Pamela and Eileen, all speaking the King's English, drinking Lyon's best tea out of bone china cups and eating with little fingers crooked. And then there was her and Peg and Joan, drinking cocoa from chipped enamel mugs, the air blue with Cockney and stories that could make the hair on your neck stand on end.

The two worlds couldn't be further apart. How long would it be before Pam or Eileen discovered she was a flower-seller? Did Dulcie and Edwin Merritt know? No one had enquired about her dead husband, they had been brought up too well to ask outright on the first time of meeting. Samuel and Albert's darker skin indicated their bloodline, despite their accents being pure Cockney. How would the family react when they knew Raj was a lascar seaman?

Eve recalled the moment they had all gathered in the living room and the adults and children had played charades. Samuel and Albert were very good at pretending to be Laurel and Hardy whose black and white films they loved. The other children had fallen about laughing at their antics. But Eve had watched Pam and Eileen's faces. Their expressions were a mixture of curiosity and confusion. And when Charlie had slipped his hand around her waist, Eve had felt Pam and Eileen's eyes on them. Had Charlie done that deliberately?

Eve stared into space as she washed up the mugs. Charlie had asked if he could come to complete the
roof repair. She had agreed but was still uncertain. Not because he was a policeman, because now she didn't care that he was. But she was worried she could never fit in with his family, and she would hate it if Charlie felt ashamed of her.

Charlie sat down and stared at the pile of paperwork on Sergeant Moody's desk. He was sure it had grown over the past month. He had waded through the case histories, checking, labelling and filing each one in the big wooden cabinet. It was, he thought, ironic, that the Yard was visiting the likes of Limehouse, Ratcliffe, Stepney, Mile End, Bethnal Green, Whitechapel, St Katherine's and Spitalfields' stations in an undercover operation, when every nick knew well in advance when the Met boys were turning up. Did the criminals also know?

Once more he thought about his career. The notion that one day, as a police officer, he would be able to be part of a system that he held in such high esteem had always been something he'd aspired to. As a youngster he had worn the pages thin of his
Strand
magazines, reading over and over again Conan Doyle's adventures of Sherlock Holmes. His love for a good game of football had only been rivalled by his fascination for the practice of investigation. And now what was he doing? Sitting behind a desk, envying the excitement that he could plainly hear outside. The Yard boys were discussing the day's agenda. He could hear the engines of the Flying Squad vehicles.

He returned his attention, with difficulty, to the papers in front of him: the torn and thumb-marked files full of loose papers all browned at the edges; photographs of villainous faces, mostly men and a few women; prostitutes and convicted thieves, even murderers; and descriptions of appearance with crossings out by the hundreds, embroidered by tea spills.

Charlie laboured on, though there was little light relief until he discovered another sighting of Jack the Ripper. He'd found at least ten over the last week. Witnesses testifying that they had seen a tall, cloaked figure in the alleyways of the East End, the top hat and medical bag being the most consistent details. The Whitechapel Murders, as they were known, still drew the public's imagination over thirty years on and Charlie was amused at some of the eyewitness statements he read of this mysterious figure still stalking his prey. Luckily most of the murders that were now committed were not in the gruesome category of the Ripper. It was the myth that had been perpetuated to this day.

Charlie reached down to the pencil drawer and lifted out his mug of strong tea. He'd made it and brought it in here before anyone had arrived. He took a slow sip, enjoying the refreshment when his hand froze in mid-air.

His eyes went over the heading on the sheet of paper he was holding. He read it again. Then he continued to read until he got to the bottom of the page.

A page that was by no means twenty or thirty years old.

He slowly placed the mug on the desk. His breath stilled as his eyes flew over the page. When he came to the last paragraph, he put it down and looked for the next page. He searched through the nearest files and the next and next and found none. Then once more he returned his attention to the heading. He read again the unmistakable words, ‘No Action to be Taken by the Port of London Authority, in respect of the case of the male body recovered from Limehouse Reach on the 9th January 1928 and identified as a lascar by a ship's officer on 18th January 1928. Cause of death a blow to the head possibly the result of a fall from a ship, concussion and drowning.'

Eve was finished for the day having sold all her stock. It was a beautiful June afternoon and the weather had been kind to her all week. Queenie had continued with the deliveries and now Eve returned a third of her profits to Queenie to pay for the next day's delivery. It was an arrangement that worked well and the flowers were always fresh and colourful. Eve knew that both Archie and Queenie had a soft spot for her. Although they were hard-headed business people, they liked to look after their own. Which they now considered Eve to be.

‘Can I give you a hand, Miss?'

Eve was bending over to place one empty basket inside the other. ‘Charlie!' Her heart turned over as she
saw first the black shiny boots, then long, uniformed legs and finally Charlie's wide, handsome smile.

‘Are you packing up?'

‘Yes, I've sold out.'

‘Can I help with those baskets?'

‘I haven't got far to go. A woman down the road lets me leave them in her backyard.'

‘I'll put them on me handlebars.' He lifted them on the bicycle. ‘These aren't light. How do you manage to carry them when they're full?'

‘I don't have to now, as they sell so quickly.'

He balanced the baskets with one hand and as they walked down the road, the sun glinted on the badge of his helmet and the strap underneath made Eve think of the guards outside Buckingham Palace.

‘What do you do in bad weather?'

‘Find somewhere to shelter.'

‘It's a tough job for a woman.'

She smiled. ‘It's better than most. I'm me own boss and I don't have to answer to anyone, like you do.'

He laughed. ‘That's true. But what about running a shop?'

‘A shop? I can't see me behind a counter. And anyway, there ain't none round here.'