London Pride (28 page)

It was a disappointment to discover that his patient was nothing more than a foolish woman who'd lost her temper and been screaming too much. She had her eyes tightly shut, her face was swollen and blotchy and when he spoke to her she gave a dramatic shudder and began to sob, but her pulse was slow and steady and there was no sign of any medical abnormality whatever.

Her three daughters stood at the foot of the bed and watched him anxiously. When he first saw their three pale faces grouped together against the dark green of the wallpaper he was reminded of the three graces, but he revised his opinion on second glance because it was only the eldest who had any looks. She was a willowy young woman with a foxy face and sandy-coloured hair, quite charming in a raffish sort of way. The other two were distinctly ordinary.

‘Is it a brainstorm, doctor?' the middle one asked anxiously.

‘No, my dear,' he said kindly. ‘It is not. Just a
temporary upset, that's all. Your mother will recover in an hour or two, you have my word for it.'

‘Only she
does
suffer with her nerves you see,' she confided.

‘I don't doubt it,' Dr Thomas said. She looked just the type. ‘I will ask my dispenser to make up a sedative for her. Call round to the surgery in half an hour and he'll have it ready for you.'

‘Should she stay in bed?' the pretty one asked.

‘Keep her quiet for a day or two,' the doctor temporized. The poor creature probably needed a rest and if he gave his permission now, she would be allowed to take one. It was a situation he'd often encountered. ‘One of you could look after her, I dare say?'

‘I'm out at work all day,' the pretty one said quickly. ‘I'm the breadwinner.'

‘I couldn't,' the youngest said, assuming a pathetic expression that made her look half-witted. Not a prepossessing child. ‘I've only just started work. This week. At Dodds the outfitters. I'm a telephonist. They wouldn't like it if I was to stop, would they?'

‘What about you?' Dr Thomas asked the middle one.

She thought for a second before she agreed and the little delay annoyed the doctor. What was there to think about? You'd imagine she'd jump at the chance to get off work for a while and stay at home with her mother, especially with two sisters around to earn her keep. Some of these working-class girls simply didn't know what was good for them.

‘I will send you my bill in due course,' he said, shutting his bag. It had been a waste of his time and he would charge accordingly.

‘Well?' Mrs Geary said, hobbling out of the kitchen as soon as Peggy had closed the door on his departing back.

‘I'm to stay in bed,' Flossie said, in a new weak voice. ‘It's brain-fever, Mrs Geary. Brain-fever! Oh my poor girls! How will they manage?'

They managed because Peggy gave up her job and took over the running of the house. And very difficult it was without her earnings. Even when Baby finished her four week training and brought home a proper wage packet
they were still short of money. Finding two guineas to pay the doctor was a nightmare. And Mum was so demanding, always calling her for something or other, a fresh glass of water, her pills, her nerve tonic, to be helped out to the lavvy. Sometimes it was difficult to keep even tempered, especially as she never got any respite from it.

Megan called round on what would have been their afternoon off, all prettied up and ready for their trip to the market. It was quite a shock to Peggy to realize that since the row she'd hardly given Megan a thought, and, what was worse, she'd forgotten about her handsome Tom altogether. In fact it was a few seconds before she could remember what he looked like.

‘Come out for half an hour,' Megan urged. ‘Just to the market an' back. You know. It'ud do you good. You look awful.'

‘I can't,' Peggy said. ‘Who'd look after Mum? Mrs Geary can't. Not with her legs.'

‘You could leave her for half an hour, surely to goodness.'

‘Well I could but what if she took another fit?'

‘You ask me there ain't a lot wrong with her,' Megan said trenchantly. ‘She's got a lovely colour. Better than yours.'

But Peggy didn't think it was worth the risk. So Megan went a-marketing on her own. She was back within twenty minutes, awash with tears.

‘He's gone,' she sobbed. ‘Oh Peggy, he's gone. His family's up an' done a bunk. The salad woman said. All in the middle of the night. Nobody knows where to. I asked an' asked an' nobody knows. Oh Peggy, Peggy, I shall never see him again.'

‘He'll turn up somewhere else,' Peggy comforted. ‘He's bound to try for another job.'

‘No he won't,' Megan wept. ‘They went out the district. The salad woman said. They owed to everybody. I shall never see him again. Never.'

Peggy sat her down in the kitchen, offered strong tea and let her enjoy a good cry. It wasn't until long after her heart-broken friend had been comforted and gone home and she was busy remaking her mother's bed for the
second time that day that she realized that she hadn't thought to ask whether her own beloved was still working in the market. But by then she was too tired to care. You get over love pretty quick, she thought, stooping to tuck in the covers. After the impact of that awful row her grand passion seemed a trifling thing. It was rather sad, or would have been if she'd had the time to think about it.

‘Hop in,' she said to Flossie.‘That's all nice and comfortable now.'

‘You're a good girl,' Flossie said leaning forward out of her chair to kiss her. ‘I don't know what I'd do without you an' that's a fact.'

But it was poor consolation for the ending of her first ‘pash'.

For the next three weeks Peggy struggled on, doing the housework and the shopping, cooking the meals, washing the clothes, and waiting on her mother hand and foot. On 4 August her birthday came and went unremarked. Occasionally Baby would offer to help with the washing-up or the ironing or the mending, but Joan was no help as all. She was rarely in the house except to sleep and eat her meals. She left earlier than usual in the morning and as soon as supper was over and the dishes were done she was off out again.

‘Got a young man,' Mrs Geary said nodding sagely. ‘That's what it is. You mark my words.'

But Peggy didn't think that was the explanation. There was something hard and determined about her sister these days that didn't fit in with a girl who was being courted.

‘We'd know if it was that,' she said.

‘How would you know?'

‘She'd be happier.'

‘Not necessarily,' Mrs Geary said, biting off her thread. ‘Love's a funny business. Takes people all sorts a' ways. Don't it, Polly?'

‘Bugger, bugger,' the parrot agreed. ‘Star-new-standard!'

‘He's a caution,' Mrs Geary said. ‘You coming to the ding-dong termorrer?'

‘If Mum's up to it.'

‘She'll be all right,' Mrs Geary said.'We can nip up an' down. Yer uncle can sit with her fer a bit. He said he'd be coming. You've missed three weeks on the trot now an' last Saturday was a corker.'

But in the event they didn't nip up and down to Flossie that Saturday evening, because Joan arrived about an hour after the singing began, arm-in-arm with a stocky young man, and once she'd gathered eveyone's attention she had an announcement to make.

‘This is Sid Owen,' she said, and to Peggy's eyes her expression was hard and bold and rather alarming. ‘We're going to get married.'

The news caused an immediate stir. Nonnie Brown staggered across the room, spilling half her brown ale on the way, shook Sid's hand for such a long time that they wondered when she was going to stop, and then insisted that Cyril should play the wedding march in their honour. And while it was being sucked to tunelessness, the rest of the ding-dong flocked to congratulate them.

The four O'Donavan girls were shining eyed with the wonder of it. ‘Will you wear white, Joanie?' the eldest asked. ‘Are you having bridesmaids?'

‘Gosh!' Baby said. ‘Fancy you getting married, our Joan. I'll be a bridesmaid won't I?'

Gideon was delighted. ‘I love a good wedding,' he said. ‘When's it going to be?'

It was all worked out, Joan told him, ‘Sid's got a job as assistant baker in the Deptford branch,' she said proudly. ‘Starting September. Assistant baker with two rooms over the shop.'

‘Lucky you,' Lily Boxall said. ‘So will it be September?'

‘Third Sat'day,' Sid told her. He looked very full of himself, like a tightly-blown balloon, and he felt very full of himself too, now that he'd got his nerve back. On that amazing evening when Joan first told him she'd like to get married he hadn't known what to do or say.

They'd been up on the common, necking the way they usually did, and he was just letting his hands wander in a hopeful sort of way, when she caught hold of them and squeezed them and gave him one of her bold grins.

‘D'you know what, Sid Owen,' she said, ‘I think we
ought to get married.'

He was so surprised his mouth fell open and he forgot to shut it again. ‘What?' he said.

‘Married. You know, wedding-bells, bride and groom, confetti.'

‘What you an' me?' They were much too young. They couldn't get married yet, could they?

‘Why not? You've got a new job, I've got a bit put by. I'll bet you could get a couple of rooms over one of the shops, a fine baker like you.'

‘Well… ' he wondered.

‘Be a cut above the rest of 'em,' she urged. ‘Married man, home of your own. You think. An' I bet he'd give you a raise an' all if you was to ask for it.'

The idea took hold, a wife, a raise, a home of his own. ‘Are you perposin' ter me?' he said. ‘Didn't you ought ter wait for me ter perpose?'

‘Go on then,' she dared him.

‘Well all right,' he said. ‘I suppose we might as well.' But despite the reward of her kiss it all seemed very unlikely.

He was very surprised when everything fell into place exactly the way she'd predicted, and now, standing here in the midst of their admiration, full of importance and desire and pride of ownership, he was pleased to think he'd made his decision. He'd be twenty-one in September, twenty-one and an assistant baker and a married man. Better than any of this lot, and a bloody sight better than his miserable father.

‘You'll give me away, won't you Uncle Gideon,' Joan said.

‘Glad to,' Gideon said. ‘What's yer Ma say about it, eh? I'll bet she's tickled pink.'

‘We ain't told her yet,' Joan confessed. ‘Have we, Sid? We thought it'd be nice if we all went down tonight and saw her together. A sort of family party, me an' Sid an' you an' Aunt Ethel.'

‘Cours,' Gideon agreed, understanding what she was up to, but keeping his thoughts to himself. ‘After the next song, eh? When I've finished me pint.'

None of them noticed that the only person who hadn't
rushed forward with congratulations was Peggy. She'd been sitting on the stairs when Joan came in, and the news had surprised her despite Mrs Geary's warning, so she'd stayed where she was, hidden by the shadow of the half wall. But when the next song began, which was ‘Knees Up Mother Brown', naturally, to match their high spirits, she threaded her way quietly through the bouncing mob to put her arms round her sister and give her a hug.

‘Hello Peg,' Joan said, hugging her back. ‘He's just gone to get a drink. What d'you think?'

‘Have you known him long?' Peggy said, speaking close to her sister's ear. She didn't shout because Mrs Roderick was sitting on her bench immediately behind them, listening for all she was worth, and she didn't want Mrs Roderick to know their family secrets. But the question had to be asked nevertheless. She couldn't believe that their sensible Joan would have made a decision like that in a rush. She must have thought about it.

‘Since Christmas,' Joan said into her ear.

‘And you kept it secret all that time.'

‘Till I was sure. Yes.'

‘And you're sure now?'

‘Yes,' Joan said. But there was no happiness in the word. It was just a flat affirmative, spoken without feeling, dropped into the babble of the song like a pebble in a pool.

‘Do you love him?' Peggy ventured when the next great roar of song gave her the necessary cover.

That was answered almost flippantly. ‘He'll do.'

It wasn't very reassuring, but by now Peggy couldn't think what to ask next.

‘Tell you what,' Joan said, putting her head close to her sister's ear again and speaking quietly. ‘Come September I shall be my own boss, my own house, money for my keep. Think a' that. I shan't have to go to work no more, shan't have to watch Mum spending my wages on Baby, nothing like that.' And now there
was
passion in her voice and her eyes were gleaming.

‘You deserve it,' Peggy said affectionately, ‘after – all that – you know – in Tillingbourne.'

Sid was elbowing his way back towards them with an overflowing glass in each hand. There were other things
that had to be said before he reached them.

‘Don't say nothing about it to …' Joan began.

‘Course not,' Peggy reassured. ‘As if I would.'

‘There y'are,' Sid said, giving them both the benefit of his daring eyes. ‘One for you an' one for your pretty sister.'

To Peggy's surprise Joan changed from her serious mood into instant teasing. ‘How d'you know she's my sister?' she said.'You ain't been introduced.'

‘She is though, ain't she?' he answered. ‘You're Peggy, aintcher? Have a beer.'

‘No thanks,' Peggy said. ‘It's very kind but you have it. I got mine on the stairs.'

The song and dance had bounced to a halt.