Poppy Day (7 page)

Olive left a beetroot-faced Ronny trying to hurl himself out of Agatha’s arms. She made it out of the yard, but down the entry stopped and leaned against the wall, all the old fear flooding through her. She bowed her head, closing her eyes, sweating inside her thick coat. Her hands felt clammy, and for a few moments she was panting in panic.

Oh pull yerself together! she gasped to herself, scared stiff someone’d see her. She straightened herself up and walked on weak legs towards the street.

It had only got this bad since Jess arrived. She knew that was what it was. Seeing her that evening, that copper beside her. Gave her the shock of her life. All these years she’d kept it at bay. And borne so much alone. No old man to tek care of ’em. No Charlie. He kept her steady when he was alive, those years they had together.

Taking deep breaths she turned down Allison Street. Immediately she spotted Bertha Hyde at her window across the street, like a ghost between her twitching net curtains. Olive’s fury at her restored her a little and she gave a mocking wave.

There’s nowt to be afraid of. Nowt. Just keep walking. Down to the main road – morning, Mrs Eldon, awright? A smile, that’s it. No, I don’t see you out often either . . . that’s it, round the corner.

Digbeth and the Bull Ring were packed with shoppers. Her fear began to subside a little in the anonymous bustle. She enjoyed the smells of the market, music from someone playing a French horn, felt the early summer sun on her face.

Ain’t good to be cooped up inside all day long, she thought. I ought to do this all the time, silly old woman I am.

Stepping into the first shop was a relief though. As if she’d been washed up on a rock. She felt her body relax, and only realized then that she’d been clenching her teeth hard.

But then she saw one of her neighbours from down the road was just turning from buying her bread as Olive’s turn came.

‘Mrs Beeston, ain’t it?’ the woman said, not troubling to keep her voice down. ‘Don’t see yer about much – yer been bad or summat?’

Olive’s jaw tightened again. Mind your own cowing business! a madwoman’s voice shrieked in her head. Don’t go nosing into my business, yer upstart busybody you!

She forced a tight smile. ‘My daughter likes to do the shopping as a rule.’ She turned away. ‘I’ll ’ave a large cottage and a bag o’ cobs, ta.’

She moved carefully from shop to shop for what she wanted: tins of Handy Brand milk, a quarter of Typhoo Tipps, a pound of cheap mince, onions, spuds and carrots off the Bull Ring. They slung them straight into her carrier for her. Triumphant, she gathered up her purchases and headed across towards Digbeth. Straight home and get the kettle on. She could leave Ronny with Agatha a bit longer and have a morning’s peace. She’d done it! It had only taken breaking the habit . . .

A tram was lumbering down the road and she glanced to one side, half looking at it. There was an advertisement for Hudson’s Soap plastered along the side of it. She was none too keen on trams passing too close to her. All those faces behind the glass staring down at her. Made her prickle all over. She avoided looking at the windows, and the tram rattled past.

And then she saw it, across the street. Her insides gave a violent lurch of shock so that for a moment she thought she was going to be sick right there in the gutter. Among all those people milling along there, that face turned towards her. The face she lived her life in dread of seeing, eyes staring straight at her from under the brim of a black hat . . . It happened in a second and Olive spun round, pressing herself against the sooty wall of St Martin’s. After a moment she turned back, searching the crowd, but there were so many hats, so many people in drab clothes, and her eyesight was not all it might be. She dropped her bag and onions rolled out across the pavement. A woman stooped and helped her pick them up.

She almost fell through her front door, her face wet with perspiration, hands trembling so that she could barely unbutton her coat. She put the kettle on the hob and sank down at the table, panting as if she’d run all the way home.

Everything led back to that house. That room where she’d been found. They’d come towards her, approaching her slowly as if she was diseased or dangerous, leading her away by the hand . . . away . . .

‘Oh God in heaven,’ she whimpered. ‘Oh Louisa . . .’

She sat for a long time, staring across the room. Steam gushed unheeded from the kettle’s spout.

‘We’ve got to move on.’

Polly was greeted by these words as she got in from work that night. Olive was huddled up in the little room which seemed very dark after the light evening.

Polly put her bag down, looking round for Jess or Sis. ‘Where are the others?’

‘Jess ain’t back. Sis’s round at Enid’s.’

Carefully, Polly said, ‘What’s ’appened, Mom?’

‘I saw ’er.’

‘Saw who?’ Polly sat down at the table, rubbing her hands over her pale face. ‘What’re yer talking about?’

‘I went up the Bull Ring. I ’ad to get . . .’

‘You went up the shops?’ Polly sat up, smiling. ‘Did yer manage by yerself? That’s really good, Mom, ain’t it. Yer could get out more now . . .’

‘But I saw – this woman. Lived round Saltley when Louisa and me lived with yer Dad . . .’ Polly could hear the tightly strung emotion in her mother’s voice. Olive couldn’t seem to stop talking, thoughts which had been pressing in on her all day, rushing out, even though Polly didn’t know, wouldn’t understand. ‘She’s aged a bit of course, but it was ’er awright. Oh Poll, I thought my ’eart was going to stop she gave me such a shock. She’s after me again, coming to find me . . .’

‘Mom, stop it!’ Polly shouted. She grabbed Olive by the shoulders, starting to shake her. ‘I don’t know what yer going on about. What woman? Why’s anyone going to be after yer? Yer ain’t done nothing, ’ave yer?’

Olive’s face was crumpling like that of a terrified child.

‘Don’t!’ Polly cried harshly. She released her mother, frightened by the look in her eyes. ‘This’s got to stop, Mom. I can’t stand any more of it. Yer making a nervous wreck of me an’ all. Yer not making any sense.’

‘I’m sorry, Poll—’ Olive started crying, sobs breaking out from her throat. ‘I just can’t go on living round ’ere if she knows we’re ’ere. She’s wicked – evil . . .’

Polly was close to tears herself. ‘Mom, I don’t know what all this is about. I’m worried about yer – yer don’t seem yerself at all lately. Please don’t talk like this. You’re frightening the life out of me. There’s no one after yer, is there? Why would there be?’

As she spoke, Ronny came bumping down on his bottom from upstairs, took one look at his mom and started wailing in alarm.

‘Come up ’ere, bab.’ With a huge effort Olive rallied herself, sat Ronny on a chair and wiped her eyes and nose on her apron. ‘Don’t cry, son. I was just telling Poll ’ere that we’re going to move to a bigger ’ouse soon. Yer’d like that, eh?’

Polly was protesting that they didn’t need to move anywhere when the door opened, setting the coats on the back of it swinging. The two of them froze. Jess walked in, preoccupied until she saw her aunt’s tearful face.

‘What’s going on?’ she spoke cautiously.

Polly and Olive looked at one another. Olive stood up. ‘Nothing for you to worry about.’

Jess felt about as welcome as a fox in a chicken run. She couldn’t get another word out of them, so she asked Polly later, upstairs.

‘She’s been acting real funny lately.’ Polly sat on her bed, twisting the sleeve of her cardigan round and round. ‘I’m bothered about ’er, Jess. The last couple of months – not going out, and now she’s on about seeing some woman who’s scared ’er half to death and she wants to move ’ouse. She won’t say why. I’m worried she’s going a bit, well, you know . . .’

Jess sat beside her in the half-light. ‘She seems awright in ’erself – you know, not sick or anything. But you’re right – she does seem to be acting funny. I saw ’er the other morning looking out the window – up and down the road, worried like, as if she thought someone was coming. Who does she say this woman is?’

‘She don’t—’ Polly looked round at her, wide-eyed. ‘I’ve never heard ’er talk about this woman before. And the worst of it is, Jess – I’m not at all sure there is any woman!’

Jess caught the hem of her dress on her heel as she stood up from bending to wipe Ronny’s face. She heard the waistline rip.

‘Well it’ll have to stay like that – I ain’t got time to mend it now.’ More sewing, she thought grumpily. On top of all the mending she was doing for the family.

No one took any notice. They were all rushing to get to work. Jess was in a bad mood because yesterday Mr Mather had announced Mrs Mather would be taking over again in the Coffee House and that she was no longer needed. Having seen Mrs Mather, a terribly thin, sallow woman, with a robust infant who looked as if he’d sucked the very life out of her, Jess had thought she’d be there for some time to come. But no. She’d have to look for a new job.

‘Yer’ve been a good worker,’ Mr Mather said. ‘If yer do want any of them references anywhere like . . . only yer’ll ’ave to write ’em. I’ve never writ well meself.’

‘I know where I’m going to look for a job,’ Jess told them at home. ‘The Jewellery Quarter.’ If that Mary could get a job there, she thought, I don’t see why I shouldn’t. ‘I like the sound of it.’

‘Well there’s always girls wanted,’ Olive said. ‘But you’ll ’ave a walk – that’s the other side of town.’

‘It’s not that far – I could walk it in a half hour if I hurry . . . I’m going early.’

She downed a cup of tea and a quick bite of breakfast.

‘T’ra then!’

‘Tara-abit,’ Sis called to her.

Jess walked briskly but despondently through town, joining the early morning hurly-burly of people scurrying to work. It was an overcast morning, the ground wet. Soon she felt water seeping in through the sole of one of her shoes.

Darn it, she thought. I’ve not enough for another pair. I’ll have to stick some paper in the bottom. The morning suited her mood. Here she was in this smoky grey place, away from home, no job and now to cap it all, she had holes in her shoes! She felt very glum, as if all the world was against her.

She didn’t even see the horse bus coming until someone shouted. It was almost on top of her and she dashed to avoid it, tripping over a tram track and falling on her face in the road. She felt the cobbles scrape along her cheek, heard a horse screaming above her as the driver reined it in to avoid her, prone on the ground. Jess curled up, covering her head as the hooves clashed and scraped round her. All was confusion and the first thing she was properly aware of was a man’s voice shouting,

‘What in God’s name d’yer think yer was doing! I could’ve bloody killed yer!’

Things gradually stilled. Slowly, dazed, Jess raised her head. Her hat was lying crushed in the road in front of her. She sat up and looked round. There was a crowd of murmuring faces round her, the bus stationary on her left, its horse still jumpy, the harness frothed up round its mouth.

‘So – are yer awright or what?’ The driver squatted in front of her. Jess stared at the buttons on his uniform.

‘Yes. Think so.’ She felt giddy, knocked out of shape. Her head was throbbing. ‘Sorry. I never saw yer.’

‘That’s ’cause yer weren’t even flaming looking!’ He seemed to be calming down now, having seen there was little damage. ‘If yer can get yerself up, all these good people and myself can get on.’

‘It’s all right. I’ll take care of ’er.’

Blearily, Jess found herself looking at a pair of heavy black boots. She followed the line of them up, black uniform, brass buttons. He knelt beside her.

‘Jess? You awright?’

‘Ned?’ For a crazed second she wondered if the tram had hit her and she’d died, and was this what heaven would be like.

‘Let’s get you off the road . . .’ He helped her stand, taking her hand with a firm gentleness she noted, even in her stunned state, and led her through the staring people to the pavement and a little way up the sloping street opposite. Her left shoulder and her knees were hurting, and her right cheek stung, bringing tears to her eyes.

‘Can yer make it up ’ere? There’s a churchyard where yer can sit down.’

Jess nodded, and without a word he offered her his arm and they walked together until they reached the graveyard of a blackened church. Ned held on to her until they reached a bench and sat down. Jess rubbed her shoulder, trying to ease it.

‘Is my face a mess?’

‘’Tis a bit, yes. Sorry – I’ve got no hanky, nothing like that.’

‘Nor me.’

‘Yer going to be awright?’

‘There’s not much wrong. I just feel all shaken up, that’s all.’

‘Couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw yer. What’re yer doing over this way? I thought you worked in town?’

She was touched that he remembered. ‘I did. Lost me job yesterday. So I come over ’ere to find another one. Only I seem to be making a hash of it so far.’ She started laughing until he laughed as well. ‘Sometimes I don’t think I’m cut out for living ’ere.’

‘You’ll get used to it. We’re awright really, yer know, us Brummies.’

Jess smiled. ‘I know. Didn’t mean it like that. Shouldn’t you be going to work?’

‘Just finished. I was sent to run an errand to Newhall Street before going home. I work over in Albion Street.’

‘Yer must be tired.’

‘Not yet. Takes a while after a night like last night to unwind, like. There was a blaze over in Hockley – not far away.’ Close to him now, she saw streaks of grime on his face. ‘Listen – if yer want to find a job I’ll ’elp yer. I know these streets like the back of my hand.’

‘Would yer? I don’t know where to go to start. Only – aren’t I too much of a mess?’

‘No, that don’t matter. There’s loads of jobs round ’ere. We’ll find yer summat.’

He led her through the narrow streets of the Jewellery Quarter, lined with narrow old buildings which had once all been houses, but had gradually been taken over by many different little businesses. Graham Sreet, Vyse Street, Vittoria Street. They walked along, reading the signs over factory doorways. Ned pointed to one: ‘Griffiths . . .’

‘That’s where Mary works.’ Jess noticed he didn’t suggest she work there, although there was a sign outside saying, ‘Girls wanted’. ‘Shall we walk on a bit, show yer the lay of the land?’

There was silence for a while as they walked along.

‘Did yer really do what yer said?’ he asked suddenly.

Jess frowned up at him. ‘What?’

‘Run away from ’ome – cut up yer wedding dress . . . Only it’s not every day someone tells yer summat like that.’

‘Who told yer that – about the dress?’

‘Sis.’

Jess was silent.

‘’Ave I put my foot in it?’

‘No – I don’t mind yer asking.’

‘So, why?’

‘I told yer why. They wanted to marry me off to someone I couldn’t stand for more than five minutes, let alone a lifetime.’

‘Oh. I wasn’t sure if you was ’aving me on, that’s all.’

‘Why would I be ’aving you on? ‘S’not the sort of thing yer just make up off the top of yer head, is it?’

‘I s’pose not. Sorry for asking.’

‘S’awright.’

‘Look—’ He stopped. ‘What about this? “Blake’s Brooches and Badges.”’

Jess looked at him, eyebrows raised.

‘They might ’ave summat. Enamelling job. Let’s go and ask.’

To get to the entrance they had to go down a narrow alley at the side. Jess followed Ned, feeling as if she was in a dream. With him, she thought, everything felt right. As if she’d come home. The realization was followed by the pain of reality. No! Of course not. She could not think like that. He could never be hers.

‘What d’yer want?’ a woman’s voice said.

‘You got any vacancies?’

‘Depends what for.’

‘My er . . . Miss Hart wants to learn a trade.’

‘Miss Hart does, does she?’

‘Jess,’ Jess said.

The woman’s shrewd eyes looked her up and down. ‘Where’ve yow worked before?’

‘On a farm and in Mather’s Coffee Shop, in the Bull Ring,’ Jess told her.

The woman rolled her eyes. ‘Well that’s gunna be a lot of use to us, ain’t it? Yow can only come and start laying on if yer want. That’s all I’ve got if yow’ve got nothing previous. What’s amiss with yower face?’

‘I fell over.’ Jess looked at Ned. He gave a tiny nod. ‘Yes – I’ll come and do . . . laying on.’ She hadn’t the remotest idea what this meant, but if Ned thought it was right she’d do it.

‘Yow can start tomorra. Can’t be doing with it today. Get a note from yower doctor to say yer fit for work. Yow’ll be on ten shilling a week minus stoppages.’

The door slammed shut.

Outside, Jess laughed with relief. ‘Well – thanks a lot! I thought that was going to take me all day.’

‘Oh you’ll get on awright. Just need to learn yer way around a bit.’ He smiled at her. Jess thought he looked exhausted.

‘Yer can go and get some kip now, can’t yer?’

Ned hesitated. ‘D’yer fancy a walk?’

‘A
walk
?’

‘You know – yer keep sticking one foot in front of the other.’

Jess tutted, though her heart was going like a drum. Nothing could be nicer than the thought of spending some more time with Ned. ‘What d’yer take me for? I just thought you’d want to get home.’

‘Well – you’ve not got to be at work ’til tomorra and I’ve done for today. And yer look as if yer could do with cheering up. ’Ow about it?’

‘Wouldn’t Mary think it were a bit funny – you taking me out for a walk?’

‘No – course not,’ he said hastily. ‘I’ll show yer Handsworth Park. It’s nice, this time of year. It’s a couple of miles. D’yer want to catch a tram?’

‘No! Oh no – I’ll walk.’ All her aches and pains were nothing compared to the thought of Ned asking her to go with him. No man had ever shown such kindness to her before.

‘I’ll stop yer throwing yerself under any more buses,’ he smiled round at her as they started walking. Seeing his dark, mischievous eyes looking into hers, Jess panicked for a moment and she wished she’d said no. How could she enjoy this time with Ned without it being more agonizing knowing he felt nothing for her but sympathy?

They walked north, out of the city, to Soho Hill and the gracious suburb of Handsworth with its fine villas and wide roads. Ned led her to the gates of the park, where a nanny and two small children were climbing into a trap pulled by a skewbald pony.

‘Oh – look at ’im!’ Jess went up closer. ‘Lovely, ain’t ’e?’

Ned watched Jess as she shyly went up and asked if she could pet the pony. The nanny nodded, reluctantly, and Jess stroked his smooth neck and tickled his nose before saying goodbye. The woman in the trap stared Ned up and down, surprised to see a fireman out strolling the park, helmet under one arm, but saw he was oblivious of her scrutiny. All his attention was taken by the sweet-faced young woman with him. He was so obviously captivated by the sight of her as she petted the pony.

‘I’ll ’ave to bring Bonney out to see yer again, if you like horses that much,’ he said as they walked through the gates together.

‘Oh would yer? I’d love another ride. I’ve always loved horses.’

She told him about the shire horses at the farm. The days they came for shoeing, and how that was what they were doing when her mom died.

‘I can still remember that day – everything was covered in ice, like sugar. Beautiful. But it was the worst day of my life.’

They were walking round the big pond, brown water to their right, grass on the left. A watery sun forced a bright patch through the cloud.

‘What ’appened to her?’

‘She died in childbirth. I’d’ve had a sister. My stepmother – well, later she was my stepmother – told me after.’

‘And you didn’t like ’er – your stepmother?’

‘No.’

‘You don’t look anything like yer auntie – or Polly.’

‘I look like my Mom – Olive says any’ow. I do remember her, a bit, but I wish auntie’d talk to me more about ’er. I can’t get a word out of ’er.’ Jess looked up at him. ‘She thinks the world of you though.’

‘I know – she always has. She and Charlie ran their hucksters shop in Sparkbrook and our mom and dad lived just round the corner, off the Stratford Road. I was in and out of the shop for a penn’orth of rocks and she took a shine to me. Gave me ’em for nothing some of the time. She weren’t so poor then as she was later. Course, I never knew ’ow bad things were for ’er after Charlie died. You don’t see things as a kid, do yer? But she was still pleased when I used to go and see ’er when she lived up by St Alban’s Church. Mom and Dad would’ve helped ’er out if they’d known, but I just said she was all right.’

They strolled slowly round the park talking. Ned told her his mom and dad lived in Selly Oak now: his dad worked for a small firm producing yeast and his elder brother Fred was married with two boys. Jess said she had no one. Told him about her father, and Sarah.

The morning went very fast. After a time they found they had stopped talking, as if something had stalled and they couldn’t get it started again. Jess stopped by the boundary with a church yard and looked across the gravestones. A bird was singing.