Gaslight in Page Street (37 page)

Tommy laughed. ‘I was at one of ’em, remember?’ Then his face became serious. ‘Is that right they force-feed suffragettes in prison?’ he asked with a frown.

Carrie nodded. ‘My mate Mary knew a woman who was force-fed. She said this woman ’ad a steel clamp put in ’er mouth an’ then a tube pushed right down inter ’er stomach. All ’er gums were cut, an’ when they fed ’er some o’ the food went inter ’er lungs. She got pneumonia an’ nearly died.’

Tommy looked shocked. ‘That’s terrible. I reckon women should ’ave the vote anyway. I bet my old mum would vote if she got the chance. She’s always goin’ on about ’ow unfair fings are fer women. Mind yer, she ain’t ’ad much of a life what wiv the ole man pissin’ off - sorry, runnin’ off - an’ ’avin’ ter look after all of us kids. That’s why I didn’t get married when I ’ad the chance.’

The tram was slowing to a halt and Carrie had to wait until they were aboard before she could satisfy her curiosity. ‘Yer was sayin’ yer ’ad the chance ter get married,’ she reminded the young man. ‘Was she nice?’

Tommy nodded. ‘Yeah, she was nice. We was courtin’ fer two years an’ she wanted ter get married. It was ’ard at the time. Me muvver was ill an’ there was no one but me ter look after ’er. Fings jus’ got impossible.’

‘Did she leave yer?’ Carrie asked, forgetting herself as she became intrigued.

‘No, not really. She was seein’ anuvver bloke while she was goin’ wiv me an’ I found out. I caught ’em tergevver one night an’ there was a big fight. After it was all over she came back ter me pleadin’ ter start again, but I couldn’t. Fings would ’ave stayed the same, an’ it wasn’t fair ter ’er. She went back ter the other bloke an’ last I ’eard she’d married ’im an’ ’ad a kiddie.’

Carrie felt a sudden wave of pity for the young man. ‘Yer must ’ave bin very young,’ she remarked.

‘I was nineteen at the time we broke up. That was ten years ago this November,’ he answered.

They lapsed into silence as the tram carried them towards the Elephant and Castle and Carrie could feel the pressure of Tommy’s shoulder against hers and sense the faint smell of the toilet water which he had dabbed on his clean-shaven face. She was relaxed now that they had got over their initial awkwardness. Tommy had spoken of his earlier romance and how it had failed without sounding bitter or sorry for himself, she thought. When he answered her questions he didn’t seem to be looking for any pity, although he could not quite conceal the sad look in his eyes. Carrie was feeling mixed emotions. Tommy was a good-looking young man and it was sad that he had loved and lost, but he would surely have no trouble where finding lady friends was concerned. Apart from his good looks, he had charm and a sense of humour. Why had he suggested she go out with him for the evening? Carrie began to wonder. Perhaps he wanted to start a new relationship, or then again maybe he was just feeling lonely. She must be careful, she told herself. It would be easy to fall for someone like Tommy. Her lack of experience would go against her if she found herself in a tricky situation with him, and she could quite easily be overwhelmed by his charm and persuasive behaviour. It had been difficult that time with Billy. Rejecting his advances on that one occasion had obviously cooled him as far as she was concerned.

Carrie realised she was clenching her hands into fists as she sat beside Tommy. She was silly to take the blame, she told herself. Billy Sullivan was now making his name as a professional boxer and his sole ambition was to fight for the championship one day. Their brief time together had meant nothing to him except a chance to prove his manhood. With Tommy it might be different. They had met by chance and become attracted to each other. She was determined to let things progress slowly between them, and quietly resolved that she would not be carried away by his attractiveness and his debonair ways.

The tram squealed to a halt at the Elephant junction and they climbed down and crossed into London Road. Crowds were milling around outside the music hall and Carrie felt excited as Tommy took her arm. She had only ever been to the South London Music Hall on one occasion when her parents took her to see a pantomime, and could remember very little about it. As Tommy led her into the main hall Carrie looked about her and saw the well-dressed couples who stood around waiting to go into the stalls and the more soberly dressed people, some with young children, who milled around by the entrance to the gallery. Tommy led her up to a kiosk and bought her a tube of Nestlé’s chocolates and then they climbed the wide staircase to the circle.

When they were seated comfortably Carrie looked up at the high ceiling and gazed at the sputtering gas-jets around the gilded, blue-painted walls. She could smell peppermint and the strong scent of lavender, and sighed with anticipation as the orchestra took their places. Suddenly the conductor raised his baton and loud brassy music filled the auditorium. Carrie sat enthralled as the show began with a dancing troupe. In the darkness she felt Tommy’s hand reach out to hers. She kept her eyes fixed on the stage as the artists followed each other in quick succession, aware of his fingers gently caressing the back of her hand. Red-nosed comics followed the tumblers and jugglers, and when the baritone finished singing and the lights came up for the interval Tommy leaned towards her. ‘Would yer like an orange?’ he said.

Carrie was fearful of marking her new skirt and shook her head.

He grinned and leaned back in his seat. ‘It’s bin quite a while since I was ’ere last,’ he remarked, looking around at the flickering gas-jets and up at the lofty chandelier.

Carrie glanced quickly at him and saw a faraway look in his eyes. This was where he brought his lady friend, she thought. This was where he sat holding her hand in the darkness and whispering words of love in her ear.

Tommy turned towards her, smiling as he raised his eyes to look at her hair and then glanced at the place where her stand-up collar touched the tip of her ear.

‘I must ’ave bin still at school when I was ’ere last,’ he said. ‘I remember sittin’ in the gallery wiv me bruvvers an’ sisters. Eight of us there was, as well as me muvver an’ this smart bloke who said ’e was our uncle. None of us believed ’im, or if any of us did, we know better now. We ’ad a lot of uncles after me farvver left. I don’t blame me muvver. She ’ad a tribe of us ter clothe an’ feed. Fings wasn’t easy.’

Carrie felt she wanted to hug him. He looked so childlike and yet so handsome, and she sighed inwardly as she watched the glint of wry humour flicker in his dark expressive eyes. She wanted to go on talking with him, but the orchestra was coming back and the lights were dimming. She sat quiet in the dark, and as the show resumed felt Tommy’s hand reach out for hers once more.

The orchestra struck up with ‘Has Anybody Here Seen Kelly’ and the star of the show walked out to the front of the stage. He was tall and lean, and when he started to sing his Irish tenor voice carried out to the far corners of the auditorium. He performed his repertoire of popular tunes and received loud applause and cheers from the enraptured audience. When the Irishman finally held up his hands and smiled graciously the audience knew that this was his own song and there was a hush. The orchestra led him into ‘Meet Me Tonight In Dreamland’, and the singer’s silky voice seemed to float out from the stage and linger timelessly in the darkness of the smoke-filled theatre. When he finally reached the end of the song everyone jumped to their feet applauding wildly and Carrie found herself standing beside Tommy, moved with a strange elation by the poignancy of the singing. It was something to remember, she told herself with a thrill of pleasure. A wonderful ending to the show.

After the two young people had left the theatre they soon found a coffee stall at the Elephant and Castle where they stood eating hot meat pies and sipping sweet, scalding tea. Tommy was amused as Carrie tried to keep the soft filling of the pie away from her clothes and held her mug of tea for her while she struggled to retain her dignity.

The night had stayed mild and the sky was filled with stars as they walked slowly along the New Kent Road. Carrie held on to her escort’s arm and they chatted happily about the show. Late trams trundled past and hansom cabs sped by, their large wheels spinning over the cobbled roads as the lean ponies trotted along at a lively pace. Piano music and singing voices drifted out from public houses, and as they reached the Bricklayers Arms a drunk staggered out from a bar and reeled dangerously beside the kerb before recovering himself and stumbling back through the door.

Carrie took a tighter grip on Tommy’s arm as he led her into the warren of backstreets. She could feel his body next to hers as they wound their way through the gaslit turnings. Sounds came from the houses - babies crying, voices raised in anger, and badly tuned pianos playing popular songs - and slowly faded away into the ominous nighttime silence that surrounded them. Drunks reeled past and clung to the lampposts, mumbling and cursing. Carrie felt relieved when at last they emerged from the maze of narrow streets into the brightly lit Grange Road. She was feeling tired now and her shoes were pinching. They had been walking for quite some time and when they finally reached Jamaica Road and turned into Page Street it cheered her to hear the familiar sound of a tug whistle on the river. She saw the light burning in her parlour window and turned to Tommy as they reached her front door.

‘Thanks fer takin’ me ter the show, Tommy. It’s bin a lovely evenin’,’ she said, looking up into his eyes.

He smiled, and without replying bent down and kissed her gently on the cheek. ‘I’d like ter take yer out again soon, if yer fancy it,’ he said quietly.

Carrie nodded. ‘I’d like it very much.’

He stood there while she slipped her hand into the letterbox and withdrew the door key. Then, as he was about to walk away, Carrie quickly stretched up and kissed him on the side of his mouth. Tommy grinned in surprise and stood watching as she hurried into her house, then he turned and walked off, whistling loudly.

On Monday morning George Galloway drove his trap into the yard and strode into the office with a look of irritation on his florid face. ‘The bloody spring’s gone on the trap,’ he moaned to Geoffrey. ‘Get on ter the coachmaker’s right away, can yer? I’ll be needing it this afternoon.’

Geoffrey looked up from his desk, reluctant to impart more bad news. ‘Symonds is leaving, Father,’ he said gently. ‘He put in his notice a few minutes ago.’

Galloway sat down at his desk and swivelled the chair around to face his son. ‘Did Symonds say why ’e was leavin’?’ he asked.

Geoffrey nodded. ‘He’s got a job with Hatcher. He said it’s more money. Oh, and Bristow’s wife called in this morning. He’s down with bronchitis again.’

Galloway puffed noisily. ‘I’ll ’ave ter replace Bristow. I can’t afford ter keep payin’ ’im while ’e’s off sick. I’m not runnin’ a benevolent society,’ he growled.

Geoffrey turned away to use the phone and his father got up and paced the office in agitation. It was bad enough having a broken trap without more problems on top, he groaned to himself. Rose was expecting him to take her for a ride today and he wanted to make a good impression. Her benefactor was out of London on business and he was eager to make the most of his good fortune. Rose had proved to be a very lissom, energetic woman, and she had told him in no uncertain terms that her elderly provider was beginning to flag and she was now looking for a more virile partner. George found her remarks flattering but had no ambition to become sole patron of the woman. She had been set up in a comfortable flat, with a personal allowance to go with it, and he did not intend to make himself responsible for that side of her affairs. Going to visit her during the day while her benefactor was away on business was an ideal arrangement. The old man would not be any the wiser, and nor would Nora.

Geoffrey put down the phone. ‘They’re sending someone along right away,’ he said.

George felt slightly better. He sat down heavily in his chair. ‘Did Tanner fix us up wiv casuals?’ he asked his son.

Geoffrey nodded. ‘We got a couple of decent carmen in but we’ll have to get a permanent man to replace Symonds,’ he pointed out.

Galloway leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair and stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘I’ve bin finkin’ o’ bringin’ Jake Mitchell in,’ he said almost to himself. ‘I ’eard ’e’s moved over this side o’ the water an’ ’e shouldn’t be ’ard ter get ’old of.’

Geoffrey’s face almost paled with sudden alarm. He had never seen Jake Mitchell, but he remembered when he was younger how the name had loomed in his mind, dark and threatening like a spectre. The sinister image of the man had been invoked many times around the meal table when he and Frank were children and their father was in one of his talkative moods. Even now the mere mention of his name conjured up endless tales of wild exploits over the years and Geoffrey wondered whether his father really was losing his powers of judgement and common sense. Jake Mitchell was a vicious brawler. He had a reputation for getting violently drunk and attacking anyone without reason, and he was known for assaulting policemen. As a young man he had fought in the fairground boxing booths, and he was as strong as an ox. Some years ago he had been sentenced to four years’ hard labour after attacking a slightly built man in a public house and almost killing him with his fists. Stories of Jake Mitchell’s evil doings still abounded, and Geoffrey ran his fingers through his dark hair in perplexity. ‘Surely you’re not thinking of letting Mitchell work here, are you, Father?’ he said in disbelief. ‘After what you’ve told Frank and me about him. You said yourself the man’s an animal.’