London Pride (29 page)

‘Come along then, Joan,' Uncle Gideon said, looming upon them red-faced and glistening with sweat. ‘Time fer yer Mum. Coming with us, Peggy?'

‘Well … ' Peggy said. She didn't want to witness this meeting at all but she couldn't think how to extricate herself.

‘Time to cut off an' get the shrimps, Peggy,' Jim Boxall said, squeezing into the space beside her.

‘Oh yes,' she said gratefully. ‘I
did
promise, didn't I?' It was the first she'd heard about cutting off to get shrimps but she told the lie easily and Joan accepted it.

‘See you when we all get back then,' she said as they went their separate ways from the doorstep.

The street was in semi-darkness, patched with shadow between the golden blooms of gaslight at each end of the terrace and the pulse of light and sound from Mr Allnutt's raucous front room, their flat-fronted houses reduced to monochrome by the half-light, yellow bricks grey, green paintwork black. But above the little white dome that topped the spire of St Alphege's church the sky was still pale green with light, and when Peggy looked back over her shoulder to watch the deputation jostling into number six, she found she was looking straight into a blaze of colour. The western sky was streaked with fire and burned red and orange and rich gold above the shabby dullness of the long slate roof of the terrace.

The savagery of such a sky on this particular, peculiar
evening was disturbing. Life had been so muddled since Mum took ill. That awful screaming fit had been savage too, like an explosion. It was as though it had broken them all open, wrecking the order of their nice ordinary lives, making a nonsense of what they thought they knew. She felt she'd been picking up the pieces ever since, and none of them made sense. Just at the very moment when she'd been planning to get herself a better job she had to stay at home and look after Mum. She didn't complain, of course, because someone had to do it, but it was hard just the same. And it was hard to understand all sorts of other things too. It was summer and yet there were men lurking on the street corners looking cold and depressed. Three million men on the dole according to Mrs Geary's
Daily Herald
, ‘bright young things' spending more on one party than she could earn in a year, shops going bust when they were full of things people would rush to buy if they only had the money, Mum keeping to her bed when she wasn't ill, Joan marrying Sid when she didn't love him. And Sid himself.

‘Penny for your thoughts,' Jim said as they walked companionably up the street towards the Mitre and the shrimp stall.

She didn't know what to say to him. She couldn't lie, not to Jim Boxall, and it would be disloyal to tell him she was thinking uncharitable thoughts about her sister's young man.

‘You don't like him,' he said easily, striding along beside her.

That surprised her. ‘How do you know?'

‘It was written all over your face. That's why I rescued you.'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘Thanks.'

‘What are friends for? So go on, admit it, you don't like him.'

‘Well no,' she admitted, ‘I don't really. Not much.'

‘Why not?'

She thought for a while before she answered. ‘He looks as if he's got a temper,' she said. ‘As if he could hurt you if he wanted and he wouldn't care.' It was the arrogant tilt of that square head, the way he bunched his fists. Then she
corrected herself. ‘No, that ain't fair. I don't know nothing about him. I didn't ought to say things like that.'

‘That's the sort he looks to me,' Jim said. ‘We got a bloke at the works just the same. Punch you soon as look at you. Oh well, let's hope we're wrong. What does your mum think?'

‘She ain't met him yet,' Peggy said. Then she realized that was no longer true and she wondered what was being said back at number six. And that stopped the conversation because, once again, she couldn't say what she was thinking without being disloyal. So she walked on in silence. One of the nice things about Jim Boxall was that you didn't have to talk if you didn't want to. I'll bet Mum has an attack of nerves, she thought, as they turned the corner together.

In fact, having been provided with an audience Flossie was taking the news quite well.

When her visitors first arrived in her sickroom, she was tossed through a succession of conflicting emotions, blushing embarrassment at being caught in bed, irritation at Joan for bringing Gideon along without warning her, anger because it was such a smack in the eye to be presented with a
fait accompli
. ‘We're going to get married' indeed! The effrontery of it.

But just as she was drawing breath to say something biting, the young man made eyes at her and told her she was even prettier than her daughter, and that mollified her and helped her to keep control of herself in front of Gideon and Ethel. It was nice to be admired, and specially by such a handsome young man. It made her feel better in herself than she'd done for days. Oh much better.

Gideon was being very jolly, talking about the wedding and where it was going to be and how he'd have to give the bride away, and Joan and the young man were laughing and teasing and saying they really wanted a quiet wedding – the very idea! – so Flossie didn't need to say anything very much. But as the cheerful banter went bubbling on, it suddenly occurred to her that this news was a heaven-sent opportunity. Ever since she'd had what she called her ‘little fit' she'd hidden away indoors, too ashamed to face her neighbours after making such an exhibition of herself,
and the longer she hid the more difficult it was to contemplate getting out and about again. Now she had an excuse.

‘I can see I shall have to get better in double quick time now,' she said to Sid.

‘Don't you do no such thing,' he said, feigning distress.‘I wouldn't want that on my conscience. Well I mean ter say, what'ud my mates say if they knew I'd been the cause of dragging a pretty lady out of her bed? I'd never hear the last. Into it maybe. Out of it! Never!'

‘You bad boy,' she pretended to scold. ‘What a thing to say to an old, married woman!'

‘Never old!' he said gallantly. ‘Old I won't have, not with your pretty face an' all. No, no, you stay where you are, Mrs F. We can't have you running round after us, can we, Joanie?'

‘I shall get up for dinner tomorrow,' Flossie decided. ‘Then we'll see how we go on.'

It was an excellent excuse, and what was even better it brought her the instant and gratifying status of a martyr.

‘Such a good woman,' Mrs Roderick told their neighbours. ‘She was that ill you'd never believe – brain-fever you know – oh yes, terrible – and yet here she is working all hours for this wedding and never a word of complaint. Such a good woman.'

‘Well you have to make an effort, don't you,' the good woman said with modest self-deprecation. And her opinion was applauded too.

Actually apart from sending out invitations to her family and Sid's father, who seemed to be the only relation he possessed, poor boy, she wasn't doing very much. All her neighbours rallied round with offers of help. Mrs Roderick was making the bride's dress and two beautiful bridesmaids' gowns for Baby and Peggy, Mr Cooper would provide the music, and she could get lots of cheap booze from the Earl Grey. Old Mr Allnut said he'd run up a few trestle tables, and young Mr Allnut promised to check them on the quiet. ‘Can't have the food collapsing on us, can we, Mrs F?', and she had so many offers of help with sandwiches and jellies she could have fed a regiment. Even Mrs O'Donavan offered, poor woman, although with
all those kids of hers, and another one on the way, they all know she'd never have the time to do anything. Still, as they all said, it's the thought that counts.

There'd only been one sticky moment and that was when Mrs Roderick discovered that Gideon was giving the bride away.

‘Gideon Potter?' she said in disbelief. ‘That awful butcher!'

‘I'm afraid so,' Flossie confessed, looking shame-faced. ‘I don't see how I can avoid it. He's – um – related to them you see, so naturally…'

‘Ah!' Mrs Roderick said. ‘That accounts. I wondered why they would keep calling him uncle. It's not just a courtesy title then?'

‘No,' Flossie said. ‘So you see … '

Mrs Roderick decided to be charitable. ‘Ah well,' she said, ‘if he's their uncle there's not very much you can do about it. We have to stick to protocol when it comes to weddings and we can't be held responsible for the shortcomings of our in-laws. I daresay there's some good in the man. He's always seemed very fond of your girls.'

‘Oh yes,' Flossie agreed, much relieved to be let down so lightly. There was no need to explain exactly who Gideon was. ‘He's a rough diamond but he's got a heart of gold.'

‘Quite,' Mrs Roderick said.

So Gideon was accepted and now it was only Peggy who was being rather a disappointment to her. And that was because that wretched Megan Griffiths had led her astray again. She'd come giggling round to the house early one Monday morning just as Mrs Geary was filling the scullery with her washing, and off they'd both gone in those silly hats of theirs, chattering like monkeys and leaving her all on her own. And nearly two hours later they'd come giggling back to tell her that they'd both got jobs at Aimee's, the posh haberdashers in Nelson Road, and they were starting that afternoon.

‘Whatever did you want to go and do that for?' she said when Megan had gone home for her dinner. ‘I'd have thought there was quite enough work for you here without looking for more.'

Peggy's calm was infuriating. ‘We need the money,' she
said. ‘This wedding won't pay for itself.'

‘We shall manage,' Flossie said. ‘We always have.'

‘Not if you keep inviting people,' Peggy said.

‘I don't keep inviting people.'

‘You do,' Peggy said firmly.

And it was true. She'd invited half the street. The quiet wedding that Joan had been hoping for was rapidly turning into an extension of the ding-dong. On the rare occasions when she spoke about it Joan said she didn't mind. If that was the way Mum wanted to go on it was all right with her, providing she didn't have to foot the bill. But the money had to come from somewhere.

All through that August Paradise Row bustled with preparation. It was unseasonably cold and wet but nobody minded. Over in Westminster all sorts of serious things were happening, but they paid no heed to them either. On 23 August the Cabinet resigned because they couldn't agree to go on paying the dole to so many unemployed, and the next day Mr Macdonald formed a National Government, and soon the papers announced the date of the General Election as 27 October.

But as Mrs Geary said to Mr Cooper, ‘I can't see it matters what sort a' government we got, Labour, Conservative, Liberal, none of 'em know what ter do. If there ain't jobs, there ain't jobs.'

And Mr Cooper didn't argue with her because he was trying to tune the piano.

‘Let's have our wedding first,' young Mrs Allnutt said happily. ‘As far as I'm concerned the rest a' the world can go hang.'

So hats were trimmed and flowers were ordered, enough trestle tables were produced to fill Flossie's front room, and finally the dresses were made and tried on to gasps of appreciation.

And a very nice wedding it was, even if it did turn out to be a bit more expensive than Flossie anticipated. Gideon wore his brown boots, his spotted scarf and his best bowler hat, and gave the bride away with a most theatrical flourish, Ethel wept with emotion, and Mrs Geary burped, and the parrot swore so much at the wedding breakfast-cum-ding-dong that they had to cover him up with a cloth
and hide him in the scullery. Joan looked very pretty in her white gown with a crown of orange blossom on her tawny hair, and her two bridesmaids were charming in pink, and whatever anyone's secret opinion of the groom might be he was certainly handsome. His father turned out to be a wizened little man who spent the whole time showing off about how well his son had got on but nobody paid much attention to him. There were far too many other things going on.

Even Grandpa Potter and Aunt Maud attended, although Peggy thought they were a nuisance, because Aunt Maud ate far too much and kept complaining she was feeling sick and Grandpa had to be watched all the time because he sat in the corner all through the ding-dong muttering darkly that ‘no one would ever have married her, oh no, not if they'd known what I know.'

But what was important was that the mystical deed had been done. Joan and Sidney Owen had been pronounced man and wife in the church of St Alphege, had cut their wedding cake together and were accepted as a couple.

It wasn't until the baker's van arrived to drive them off to their two-roomed flat in Deptford, that Peggy realized how final it all was and how much she was going to miss her sister. As the little vehicle clopped round the corner and out of her sight, and Mum and Mrs Roderick were waving tearful farewells, she could feel the atmosphere changing around her. A chill wind had sprung up while they were saying goodbye and the air was decidedly wintry. Shivering she walked back into Mr Allnutt's front room.

Mr Cooper was playing their goodnight song, ‘Memories, memories, dreams of love so true', and some of the guests were already standing round the piano arm-in-arm and singing softly. The room was hazy with blue cigarette smoke and their swaying bodies were wreathed in it as they wallowed in the melancholy nostalgia of the song, remembering childhoods long ago, broken love affairs, and the old old pains of loss and rejection.

The familiar sentimental words brought tears to Peggy's eyes. This won't do, she scolded herself. I ain't been left alone. I shall see her next Saturday. Being married ain't the
end of the world. And it suddenly occurred to her that now Joan was married she could have another baby and this time she could keep it. Suitably comforted and quite her sensible self again she set about gathering up the empties.