Gaslight in Page Street (39 page)

‘That’s ’ow they start though,’ she complained. ‘That’s ’ow Billy Sullivan started, an’ now look at ’im. I saw ’im the ovver day - ’is face was all bruised an’ ’e ’ad a nasty black eye. Is that ’ow yer wanna see Danny turn out?’

‘Billy’s gonna fight fer the area title next week,’ Danny said loudly. ‘’E’s gonna be the champion soon.’

‘See what I mean?’ Nellie groaned. ‘Mind yer, I blame meself. I should ’ave stopped ’im ’angin’ around wiv that Billy. The way it is now ’e finks the sun shines out of ’is arse. Gawd, as if it wasn’t bad enough nursin’ ’im frew that bronchitis an’ pneumonia! Now ’e’s gonna be knocked stupid as well.’

James had been listening to the argument. He pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘’E’ll be all right, Muvver. It’ll knock some sense into ’im,’ he said, winking at Danny.

‘That’s it, take ’is part,’ Nellie stormed. ‘Ain’t you got anyfink ter say?’ she rounded on Charlie.

The quiet lad looked up, surprised at his mother’s anger. ‘I reckon in the end it’s up ter Danny what ’e wants ter do, Mum,’ he said. ‘If ’e takes up boxin’, at least nobody’s gonna pick on ’im.’

Nellie picked up the plates and hurried out of the room, sighing loudly. Once she had gone, William turned to his youngest son. ‘Look, yer shouldn’t keep on about that boxin’ club in front of yer muvver,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Yer know ’ow she feels about it. If yer wanna go, then go, but keep quiet about it. She’ll get used ter the idea, but give ’er time.’

Danny’s face brightened a little. He turned to Carrie who was folding up the tablecloth. ‘Will yer come an’ watch me when I ’ave me first fight?’ he asked, grinning.

‘Only if yer promise ter win,’ she said as she hurried out to the scullery.

Nellie was scraping the plates as Carrie entered. She cast an anxious glance at her daughter. ‘P’raps I worry too much about that boy but I can’t ’elp it,’ she fretted, wrapping the leavings up in a piece of newspaper. ‘Especially after that illness ’e ’ad. It leaves yer chest weak.’

‘I shouldn’t worry too much, Mum,’ Carrie replied. ‘Danny’s as strong as an ox.’

Nellie took the kettle from the gas-stove and poured hot water into the enamel bowl. ‘I s’pose I shouldn’t ’ave jumped at yer farvver the way I did,’ she said. ‘’E’s worried enough the way fings are goin’ at the yard. What wiv Soapy puttin’ ’is notice in, an’ Galloway talkin’ about gettin’ rid of ole Sid Bristow. The way fings are goin’ yer farvver could be next.’

Carrie took a wet plate from her mother. ‘Galloway wouldn’t put Dad off, surely,’ she reassured her. ‘Dad’s savin’ ’im a fortune the way ’e cares fer those ’orses. There’s the men too. Dad knows ’ow ter ’andle ’em an’ they respect ’im. No, I can’t see ’im puttin’ Dad off.’

Nellie rinsed the last plate and passed it to Carrie. ‘Don’t yer be so sure,’ she said. ‘Galloway wouldn’t fink twice if it suited ’im. ’E’s ’ard, take it from me.’

‘But who’s gonna look after the animals if Dad goes?’ Carrie asked, putting the stack of plates in the cupboard.

‘Fings are changin’ fast,’ her mother replied. ‘Young Geoffrey’s got ideas of ’is own. ’E wants ter bring in lorries ter do the cartage. A lot o’ firms are changin’ over now. In a few years’ time yer won’t see ’alf the ’orses yer see on the road now, mark my words.’

Carrie leaned back against the copper and folded her arms. ‘What would ’appen if Dad did get the sack? Would we ’ave ter leave ’ere?’

Nellie shrugged her shoulders. ‘I can’t see Galloway lettin’ us stay.’

‘But we could pay rent like the rest o’ the tenants,’ Carrie said.

‘It’s not as simple as that, luv. If they did change over ter motors, they’d need somebody ter look after ’em an’ ’e’d ’ave the ’ouse. It’d go wiv the job,’ Nellie told her.

Carrie blew out her cheeks. ‘No wonder Dad’s worried. Why can’t fings stay the same? Why does everyfing ’ave ter be so complicated?’

Nellie laughed resignedly. ‘Life’s complicated, Carrie. Nuffink’s simple fer long. One fing’s certain though - we’ll manage some’ow. We always ’ave.’

The evening air was chill and the sky a mass of dark brooding clouds as the young couple walked through the infirmary gates and along the gravel path to the main building. Carrie was holding on to Tommy’s arm and they were both silent. She had never been inside the building but the stories she had heard about the place filled her with dread.

‘They go there from the work’ouse,’ her mother had said. ‘They send ’em there when the poor bleeders are too old ter work an’ when they start goin’ orf their ’eads.’

Carrie gripped Tommy’s arm tightly and he smiled encouragingly as they climbed the stone stairs to the second floor. The walls were tiled in brown and cream, and the stone floor scrubbed clean. The nurses they passed were wearing long dark uniforms with white, starched hats that covered their foreheads and hung down their backs triangular fashion. Their clothes rustled and keys hanging from their black canvas belts jangled as they hurried by. Carrie shivered inwardly as they entered the dark ward and walked past the rows of beds along the walls. Hollow eyes followed them as they passed. When they reached the last bed on the left, Tommy leant over the frail figure lying there and kissed her forehead gently.

‘I’ve brought somebody ter see yer, Mum,’ he whispered.

Carrie leant forward and smiled at the vacant-eyed old lady. ‘’Ello, Mrs Allen. ’Ow are yer?’ she asked in a low voice.

A long, bony hand slipped out from beneath the bedclothes and gestured feebly.

‘Jack? Is that Jack? I got the ticket. I’ll get yer suit out on Friday. I’ll ...’

The croaky voice trailed away and the bony hand dropped limply on to the bedclothes.

‘She finks it’s me farvver,’ Tommy whispered as he pulled up a chair for Carrie. ‘She’s on about the pawn shop again. It was the same last time I come in.’

Carrie looked down at the white-haired old woman. She could see the faint pulse beating in her thin neck. The woman’s eyes were closed but they seemed to be moving beneath her dark eyelids. Carrie could not think of anything to say and looked up at Tommy. He was standing over the bed holding his mother’s hand. He bent down to stroke her forehead gently with his other hand. ‘It’s Tommy. It’s yer son Tommy, Ma,’ he whispered. ‘Open yer eyes, Ma.’

The old lady’s eyes flickered and closed again. ‘Tommy?’ she murmured hoarsely. ‘Yer a good boy ter yer ole mum. Tell yer farvver I’ll be ’ome soon. Bring me clothes in next time, Jack. I can’t stay in ’ere.’

Tommy looked at Carrie and shook his head. ‘It’s no good, she keeps wanderin’,’ he said softly.

Carrie looked around the ward. Like the long corridor, the walls were tiled in cream and brown and the highly polished floor smelt of carbolic. Here and there a few wilting flowers stood in glass vases beside the beds, and in the centre of the ward there was a polished wooden table where the ward sister sat writing. Beside her was a large vase containing a spray of bright yellow chrysanthemums. They seemed out of place in the drab, sterile surroundings.

Tommy stood over his mother, whispering to her and squeezing her limp hand for a while, then straightened up and turned to Carrie. ‘I fink we should leave now,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t know us.’

Carrie got up and stood at the foot of the bed while Tommy bent over and gently kissed his mother’s lined forehead, then took his arm as they walked quickly from the ward and along the gloomy corridor.

They walked in silence until they had crossed the quiet thoroughfare and then Tommy turned to her. ‘Would yer like a drink?’ he suggested. ‘I need one.’

Carrie looked at him rather apprehensively. ‘In a pub?’ she queried.

He nodded. ‘’Ave yer never bin in one?’

She shook her head. ‘Will they let women in?’

‘It’s all right. This one does,’ he laughed. ‘Long as yer wiv somebody.’

Carrie soon found herself sitting in a small public house in Jamaica Road, sipping a ginger beer and gazing wide-eyed around the bar. Most of the customers were men but there were a few women sitting in secluded corners with their escorts. A fire was burning in a large open fireplace, and around the papered walls hung ornaments of pewter and brass alongside dark-coloured pictures of river scenes.

Tommy took a large draught from his pint of ale, afterwards wiping his mouth. ‘I shouldn’t ’ave let yer come wiv me,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s a depressin’ place. It gives me the creeps every time I go in there.’

Carrie tried to comfort him with the ghost of a smile. ‘I’m glad I did come wiv yer,’ she said. ‘The place doesn’t seem so frightenin’ ter me now. It’s jus’ so sad ter see all them old people lyin’ there.’

Tommy nodded, and then paused for a moment. ‘Look, Carrie, I’ve bin doin’ a lot o’ finkin’ since last Saturday night. I can’t expect yer ter walk out wiv me, not the way fings are. I’ve got me ole lady ter look after an’ it wouldn’t be fair ter yer. We couldn’t go out much an’ I can’t let meself get serious wiv anybody, not fer the time bein’.’

Carrie looked at him with concern in her large blue eyes. ‘Why did yer ask me out in the first place?’ she said quickly.

Tommy looked down at his drink. ‘I was feelin’ a bit lonely, I s’pose,’ he replied. ‘I wanted somebody ter talk to, an’ yer was very nice ter me when I come in the café. Besides, I was curious about yer. Yer a very pretty gel, Carrie, an’ anybody would be proud ter walk out wiv yer.’

‘Curious? Was that why yer asked me out?’ she checked him, a note of anger creeping into her voice. ‘Was yer lookin’ fer a free an’ easy gel who might let yer take advantage of ’er?’

He shook his head vigorously. ‘No, ’course not. I could see yer wasn’t that sort o’ gel the first time I spoke ter yer when yer was strugglin’ wiv that copper, an’ I’ve ’ad no reason ter change me mind since. What I’m tryin’ ter say is, I couldn’t give yer much o’ me time. I’m under the cosh, Carrie, an’ I ain’t gonna expect any gel ter share that wiv me any more. I tried it once an’ it didn’t work out. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.’

‘I’m not any gel,’ Carrie replied with vigour. ‘I can understand fings. I know ’ow it is wiv yer mum bein’ ill an’ yer ’avin’ ter care fer ’er. I’m not stupid.’

‘That’s why I’m sayin’ it, Carrie,’ he said in a tone of despair. ‘I fink yer somefink special an’ I ain’t gonna expect yer ter wait. There shouldn’t be any pretendin’. I wanna court yer but I can’t, not the way fings are.’

‘We could see each ovver now an’ then,’ she said. ‘We could be good friends wivout puttin’ an end to it.’

Tommy looked up at her and his large expressive eyes stared into hers. ‘I want us ter be friends, Carrie, but I don’t want yer ter expect too much. If yer do yer gonna get ’urt. We both will.’

When they left the pub they walked back through the gaslit streets without speaking, mindful that something had grown between them. It was not long before they reached Tommy’s house, and as he opened the door and they stepped into the dark passage she was in his arms, her mouth pressed to his, her body moulded against him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She could hear her own heartbeats and felt a delicious sensation flowing up from deep inside her as his arms enfolded her tightly and he held her close to him in the darkness. He was kissing her ears and her soft white neck. She shuddered as she let him move his hands down along her body, feeling no inclination to deny herself such a pleasurable experience. She was breathing more quickly when Tommy suddenly eased the pressure of his arms around her willing body, tenderly holding her close to him without moving for a while, to temper their rising desire. She clung to him, feeling his chest rise and fall, calmly and deeply. She was near to giving herself to him completely but she knew deep down it would not be now, not yet. Tommy seemed to understand too, she could tell.

‘I’d better get yer ’ome,’ he said suddenly, releasing his hold on her and breathing deeply in an effort to quell his lingering passion.

As they walked quickly to Page Street Carrie held his arm tightly, her stomach fluttering with the delicious feeling that had awoken deep inside her. Their friendship would grow from this night on, she felt sure. Whatever happened, whatever fate had in store for them, there would always be a closeness between them.

Chapter Twenty-three

Will Tanner slumped down at Galloway’s desk in the yard office and clipped the worksheets on to the bundle. Monday mornings seemed to be more difficult lately, he sighed. In the old days the carmen would have their usual moans about the work rotas and then drive out of the yard without more ado, but Soapy Symonds had left now, Sid Bristow was still off ill, and they were the last of the old crowd. The new men were a different sort altogether; casual carmen hired on a week-to-week basis, most of them unfamiliar with the type of carting they were expected to do. Many of them were footloose drifters, scratching a living where and when it suited them. Few of them could competently handle and load the large hop bales or scotch up the rum barrels so that they stayed in place on the cart. Occasionally one of them mistreated a horse and then William would have to make sure he never came back for a day’s work.

George Galloway seemed quite happy with the state of affairs even though it sometimes caused problems with the firms he dealt with. Will had quickly realised the motive behind his employer’s thinking. Carmen were only hired when they were needed and now none of them was ever left hanging about the yard as in the old days. The hire rate was less too, and William could only suspect that contracts with their customers were obtained by undercutting all the other cartage firms. Galloway probably lined the pockets of the firms’ transport managers and still made a good profit, he guessed.