Chewing on her thoughts, Marie arrived at Patience’s house and her knock was answered by the lady herself. Patience O’Brian was a petite, smart-looking woman in her late fifties. Her deep-set blue eyes looked out of a tiny, well-moulded face and her hair was raven without a trace of grey. She beckoned her friend in.
‘I’ve got the kettle on, Marie,’ she said. ‘Put yer bag down in the passage, it looks ’eavy.’
They had sat together sipping tea for some time before Marie brought up the subject. ‘Patience. I’m worried about my Toby.’
‘What’s wrong, Marie. Is ’e ill?’ her friend asked.
‘No, ’e’s as fit as a fiddle,’ Marie replied, dabbing at her eyes.
‘Whatever’s wrong, girl?’
‘I fink ’e’s got anuvver woman.’
‘I don’t believe it. Not your Toby.’
Marie nodded. ‘’E ’as, Patience. I’m sure of it.’
‘What makes yer fink ’e’s playin’ around then?’
‘Look, luv. My Toby was never one ter wear out me block o’ Sunlight soap, an’ I used ter get on to ’im every week ter change ’is socks. It was the same wiv ’is underclothes, but since ’e’s ’ad this job e’s a changed man. ’E goes out every mornin’ smellin’ like a Lisle Street whore, an’ ’e smacks brilliantine on ’is ’air an’ stands in front o’ that mirror lookin’ at ’imself until I feel like crownin’ ’im.’
‘Well maybe ’e likes ter look smart when ’e goes ter work, Marie. Lookin’ smart goes a long way, girl.’
‘Patience, ’e’s a bloody barrel-washer, not a bleedin’ penpusher. Barrel-washers don’t wear collars an’ ties.’
Patience smiled. ‘Well, I fink yer makin’ too much out of it. Lots o’ men start ter smarten themselves up as they get older. My Frankie did, Gawd rest ’is soul.’
Marie screwed a handkerchief up around her fingers. ‘There’s somefink else.’
‘Oh, an’ what’s that?’
‘’E’s got more darin’ lately.’
‘Darin’?’
‘Well, we ’ad a row the ovver mornin’ an’ ’e told me straight ’e’s bin goin’ up the pub on Friday nights when I’m out. When I asked ’im what pub ’e uses ’e told me ter mind me own business.’
‘Why don’t yer say yer’ll go out wiv ’im, Marie? P’raps ’e’d like yer to?’
‘I already did.’
‘What did ’e say?’
‘’E told me ’e wants ter be on ’is own ter fink. That ain’t like my Toby.’
‘Well, I did warn yer, Marie. I told yer not ter be too ’ard on’im.’
‘I’ve bin a good wife,’ Marie sobbed. ‘I might ’ave got on to ’im at times, but it was fer ’is own good.’
‘C’mon, yer do go a bit strong. What about when Toby lost the pram. Yer took the poker to ’im, yer told me yerself.’
Marie did not answer but continued to twist the handkerchief around her fingers.
‘Then there was the time ’e brought that dirty ole carpet’ome. What did yer do then?’
‘I made ’im take it out in the yard an’ scrub it,’ Marie sobbed, feeling suddenly very sorry for her wayward husband.
‘There yer are then. That’s what I mean. Listen, Marie. A man’ll work ’ard an’ give up all ’is wages, an’ e’ll go wivout’is pint o’ beer, just as long as yer give ’im yer respect. Do that an’ yer ’ome an dry. Trouble wiv you is, yer ain’t give ’im no respect. All yer do is ruck ’im. No man’s gonna stan’ fer that. It don’t matter ’ow meek an’ mild they are, sooner or later they’re gonna turn, an’ when they do, watch out.’
‘What am I gonna do, Patience?’
‘I’ll tell yer what yer gonna do. Now listen ter me.’
Toby Toomey walked home on Friday evening feeling rather low. Friday evening was normally his night out with Iris, but tonight she was taking Monty to the vet to get him neutered. She had said that poor Monty would want a bit of nursing after all that pulling about and she ought to stop in with him until he perked up a bit. They had arranged to change their evening to Monday and Toby did not feel like having to wait until then. As he walked home he wondered what neutering was. Maybe it was something to do with worms, he thought. Mrs Adams bought dozens of worming powders for her cats. He’d seen her buy them at the cats’ meat stall in the market. Perhaps Iris didn’t know about worming powders. He would have to remember to tell her on Monday.
When Toby put his key in the door he could smell steak and kidney pudding. It was years since Marie had cooked steak and kidney pudding. He was licking his lips as he walked into the parlour and his eyes opened wide. A clean tablecloth had been spread over the rickety old table and Marie was standing in front of the freshly laid grate. She wore a new apron and her hair was out of curlers.
‘Sit down, luv. Yer mus’ be fair worn out,’ she said sweetly.
Toby looked behind him, and then back to Marie. ‘That smells nice. Is it . . .’
‘Yes it is, Toby. I know it’s yer favourite. I thought it was about time I did a nice steak an’ kidney pudden.’
Toby sat down at the table. Something was wrong, he thought. Maybe Marie was going a bit funny in the head. No it wasn’t that. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. It must be something else. Maybe she intended to poison him. Christ! She’s poisoned the dinner, he decided. No, he was being silly. Marie would be more likely to throw him out if she wanted to get rid of him or even just smash him over the head. It must be something else. That was it! She was going to ask for a rise. Well she was going to be unlucky. The pocket money she gave him just about stretched to a couple of pints and a sherry for Iris and now that old misery-guts had got Iris transferred from the packing department the supply of illicit jars of pickles had dried up. It was going to be a tight squeeze as it was.
Toby finished his meal and Marie brought in a large chunk of suet pudding smeared with golden syrup. Finally he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his middle contentedly. ‘That was really ’andsome, girl,’ he said stretching. ‘I fink I could just about manage anuvver cuppa.’
Marie tripped out into the scullery and fetched the tea. She sat opposite him, a smile forming on her lips, and when he drained the cup she motioned to the easy chair. ‘Yer look tired. Why don’t yer put yer ’ead back fer ’alf an ’our? By the way, I’ve got the evenin’ paper. It’s down by the chair.’
Toby looked at her closely, expecting the worst, but she remained quiet. He went over to the chair and settled himself down for a snooze.
‘D’yer want me ter wake yer up later, Toby?’ Marie asked. ‘I know yer go out on Fridays.’
‘No, dear. I fink I’ll stay in ternight.’
She sat sewing in the chair opposite him, occasionally looking over. Toby was snoring lightly, his mouth opening and shutting at regular intervals. The wireless was playing softly and Marie hummed to herself contentedly. Patience was a wise old owl, she thought.
When Toby climbed into bed and made himself comfortable he was still puzzling over Marie’s sudden change of mood and, when she slipped in beside him and laid her arm on his stomach, Toby really began to worry.
The weekend was free of arguments. The meals were on time, and Marie remained very attentive. On Monday morning Toby got ready for work quickly. He felt he should not spend too much time in front of the mirror. He didn’t want Marie to get upset and slip back into her old ways. When it was time for him to leave for work Marie kissed him on the cheek and he walked towards the pickle factory deep in thought. Iris wouldn’t like to hear about Marie’s change of mood, he mused. Better if he kept quiet about it. He spent the day worrying and, when he got home that evening, Marie was more than usually attentive. Toby had eaten his fill and was settling down for a quick nap when she sprang it on him. ‘I was wonderin’ if yer’d like an’ early night, luv?’
‘Sorry, Marie. I’m goin’ out ternight.’
When he had left Marie kicked the cat and threw two of her best plates against the scullery wall. ‘I’ll be ’avin a few words wiv Patience termorrer,’ she grumbled aloud.
Chapter Forty-Three
Jennie was feeling as though she had not slept a wink. She cut two thick slices of bread and put them under the gas-stove grill. It had been well after midnight when she got in, and then the sound of a taxi drawing up in the early hours and the door slamming had awakened her. She poured herself a mug of tea and dropped three spoonfuls of sugar into it, then walked back into the parlour and sat down wearily at the table. She had had a few heated words with Steve the night before and as she slowly stirred her tea and went over the argument in her mind the smell of charred bread drifted in. She got up quickly and swore violently as she stubbed her toe hurrying out to the scullery. She cut two more slices and slipped them under the grill and this time she stood over the gas stove, yawning widely. Monday was always a bad day for Jennie and this Monday was going to be a bad one, she knew. It was always the same when she and Steve rowed. It upset her for the whole day and, as she buttered the toast, she vehemently cursed Monday mornings.
She had finished her breakfast and was pouring her second mug of tea when Connie walked in, still clad in her dressing gown. Her eyes were swollen and her face ashen.
Jennie filled another mug. ‘Yer late, Con,’ she said. ‘I thought yer’d be dressed by now.’
Connie sat down heavily in a chair and sipped her tea. ‘Tell’em I’m sick, Jen,’ she said in little more than a whisper. ‘I can’t face it this mornin’.’
Jennie grinned. ‘Late night was it? I ’eard the taxi draw up.’
Connie made no reply and Jennie’s face suddenly became serious. ‘Yer really do look sick, Con.’ she said, standing over her friend.
Connie looked up quickly, a hard glint in her eye. ‘I’m sick of work, sick of men and I’m sick of workin’ be’ind that bar every night,’ she said bitterly.
Jennie’s face dropped and Connie sagged in the chair. ‘I’m sorry, luv. I didn’t mean it ter sound like that. You an’ yer family ’ave bin really good ter me, but I’ve gotta get away. I can’t face anuvver night be’ind that bar.’
‘I take it last night ’ad somefink ter do wiv yer decision, Con. Did Derek give yer a bad time?’
Connie laughed bitterly. ‘I got dumped, Jen. Yeah, ’e went off wiv one o’ the women at the party, an’ I got lumbered wiv a no-good bloke who kept tryin’ it on.’
‘Party, yer say? I thought you an’ ’im was goin’ on yer own?’
‘That’s what I thought, but it was all planned. I ended up gettin’ a taxi ’ome from Stepney.’
‘From where!?’
‘That’s right, Stepney. That’s why I was late ’ome.’
‘’Ere, this bloke didn’t ’urt yer, did ’e?’
‘No, ’e didn’t ’urt me,’ Connie lied. ‘’E was just persistent, that’s all.’
‘Did this bloke take yer ter Stepney, Con?’
Connie nodded and stared down at her tea.
‘Why did yer go wiv ’im?’
‘It’s a long story, Jen. I’ll tell yer later. In the meantime, can yer make excuses fer us? Tell the forelady I’ll be in termorrer.’
‘Okay, but are yer really serious about not workin’ be’ind the bar any more, Con?’
Connie pulled her dressing gown tightly around her slim figure and folded her arms. ‘I’m goin’ back ter where I used ter live. One o’ the women in the street said I could always lodge wiv ’er. She’s got a spare room, or she did ’ave. I’m goin’ ter see ’er this mornin’.’
‘I’ll miss yer, Con. Mum an’ dad will too. They fink a lot of yer an’ they reckon yer the best barmaid they’ve ever ’ad. Me dad even reckons yer faster than me wiv the addin’ up.’
Connie gave her friend a wan smile. ‘I can still come round an’ see yer mum an’ dad, an’ we’ll still see each ovver at work, won’t we? It’s just that I mus’ get away. You understand, Jennie, don’t yer?’
‘Yeah, I understand. I s’pose I’d ’ave ter do the same if I was in your shoes. Anyway, I mus’ get ter work or I’ll be late. We’ll talk ternight, okay?’
Connie got up and walked to the door. ‘Ternight, Jen.’
Back in her room Connie got dressed quickly and slipped out through the side door into the street. She wanted to get out before Dora and Bill went down for breakfast. It would be too difficult to talk to them so early in the morning, she thought. She walked slowly into the Old Kent Road and saw that the large clock over the hatters-shop doorway showed a quarter to nine. She ambled along idly, looking in shop windows and gazing at the passing traffic. Last night’s events had shocked and terrified her. She could still remember vividly how frightened she felt when she had found herself in that grimy flat and how disgusted she had been when Arnold had offered her money. The realisation that she had been treated like a prostitute made her feel physically sick. Derek Angelo was as much to blame, she decided. It was he who had told Arnold about her in the first place. She was sure that if she saw him again she would fly at him and tear at his face. Dora and Bill would become involved if she stayed at the pub, and it wouldn’t be fair to them.
She had reached the Bricklayers Arms junction. The sun was climbing and starlings chattered loudly in the tall plane trees which stretched along the New Kent Road. It was still too early to knock on Ada’s door, she thought, and she looked around her. A young woman was pushing a pram through the gates of the memorial gardens which lay back from the main road. Connie followed the woman into the gardens and found an empty wooden bench beneath a tall sycamore. It was peaceful there, the traffic noise deadened somewhat by the high, vine-covered fencing. The woman had walked on along the gravel path and left at the far gate without stopping, and the only other person in the gardens was an old man who sat reading the morning paper.
Connie leaned back on the bench and attempted to get her thoughts together. It had been inevitable that things would go the way they had, she was forced to admit, and there was no one to blame but herself. She had drunk herself almost into a stupor whenever she could and then allowed herself to be manipulated and violated. She had been warned. Jennie and her mother had both tried to spell out the dangers. Then there was Freda Grossman. She had seen the danger at the nightclub and had tried to warn her. Connie realised that she had been stupid and naive. She had thrown caution to the wind and gone like a lamb to the slaughter. The men had seen her as an easy conquest and had exploited her cruelly. She had been called a whore, raped, assaulted and treated like dirt. She felt she had sunk as low as it was possible to get, and she only had herself to blame. She remembered how people had said that she was very much like her mother in looks, and she shivered as she realised how the likeness had become so much deeper. Her mother had been raped and deserted, and she had ended her days in loneliness and misery. Maybe that was to be her own destiny.