Secrets of the Singer Girls (5 page)

‘But how will I know?’

‘Trust me,’ winked Sal, ‘you’ll know. You’ll be sent to Coventry.’

‘But I’ve only just got to London,’ Poppy pleaded, but Sal was no longer listening.

Sitting back in her chair, Sal sighed contentedly. ‘Can’t beat this,’ she said. ‘It’d be perfect right now if only my boys were here. I don’t know why you
want to leave, Daisy. I’m going to end my days here.’

‘Couldn’t agree more,’ piped up Vera. ‘Everything we need is right here.’

Daisy laughed with scorn in her voice. ‘No imagination – that’s your problem,’ she said, shrugging her delicate shoulders. As she spoke, Poppy noticed how, nearby, a
table of men were gazing rapt at Daisy, hanging on her every word. Her beauty had that effect on people. The tumbling raven curls, sensuous, inviting mouth and glittering emerald eyes gave her an
almost cartoonish beauty, which seemed exaggerated next to the stout, matronly figures of Pat, Doris and Ivy.

What must it be like to be the most beautiful woman in any room you walk into? Poppy wondered.

‘I may be an East End girl, but I got big aspirations, see,’ Daisy went on in her wonderful breathy voice. As she spoke, she absent-mindedly played with the hem of her red dress, her
fingers seductively toying with the silky folds of the gown. The men on the neighbouring table looked like they were about to expire.

‘I want an inside toilet, a proper garden, hot running water. My old mate Sandra’s family upped sticks to Jaywick Sands. Expect she’s living the life of Riley. Eighteen
thousand people have left Bethnal Green in the last ten years alone, they reckon. I just wish I was one of ‘em.’

‘Yeah,’ interrupted Vera. ‘And you know how many have come back?’ Without waiting for anyone to answer, she went on, her scarred chest heaving with indignation. A third,
that’s how many. And I’ll tell you for why – there’s no community. An inside toilet can’t compensate for not being with your own.’

‘That’s right,’ agreed Ivy, while Sal nodded.

‘Where’s the markets, the pubs and the music halls in the suburbs?’ Vera said. ‘Who’d look after your kids if you were ill, or run stuff down the
pawnbroker’s? You pay a high price for indoor plumbing.’

‘But that’s the point,’ protested Daisy. ‘I want to look out at green fields, not pawnbrokers. As soon as this war’s over, I’m making a better life for
myself. I want to raise my nippers out in the fresh air, do a proper job of it.’

Vera stared hard at a puddle of beer that was creeping towards the side of the table, dangerously close to spilling over the edge.

Poppy watched the older woman’s face flicker with emotion. Vera fished out a hanky and furiously wiped at the mess on the table.

‘You don’t know you’re born, young lady,’ she spat. ‘You’re too young to really remember the days before this war changed our neighbourhood.’

Daisy tutted and rolled her eyes.

Sensing that the sisters were about to engage in round two, Poppy focused her gaze on Sal.

‘You mentioned your boys, Sal,’ she ventured sweetly. ‘I’d love to hear about them.’

Sal’s expression changed in a heartbeat. Her mouth stretched into a dazzling smile. Even her halo of copper hair seemed to shine more brightly at the mention of her sons.

‘Well, there’s Billy – he’s seven – and Joey, who’s five. Lil’ bleeders they are,’ she said.

‘Don’t listen to her,’ chuckled Daisy. ‘She loves the bones of them. Don’t you, Sal?’

‘That I do,’ she grinned. ‘I might be biased, but they are gorgeous. You want to see?’

‘Oh yes.’

Placing her glass down, Sal pulled a crumpled black-and-white photo from inside her blouse and proudly thrust it at Poppy. Staring back at her were two adorable little boys. They had quite the
grubbiest faces she had ever seen – street urchins, Cook would have called them – but beneath the dyed-in grime shone a sweetness and intelligence. At least they have a mother who would
quite obviously fight like a lioness if anyone so much as harmed a hair on their heads, thought Poppy. More than could be said for her own mother, who had spent every day of Poppy’s childhood
scrubbing her with carbolic soap and washing the fun clean out of her life. And when danger had come knocking, how had her mother helped her?

‘They’re beautiful, Sal,’ said Poppy, as she carefully handed her back the photo.

Sal took her picture and traced her finger down it with a touching fervour, as if she was stroking her sons’ warm cheeks and not just a faded black-and-white image of them. Her mothering
instincts were beyond reproach and Poppy felt humbled by such a strong love, displayed so honestly.

‘You must be very proud of them – angels with dirty faces,’ she blurted, so moved she couldn’t stop herself speaking her mind.

‘Angels with dirty faces? I like that, Poppy.’

‘So where are they now?’

‘I had them evacuated a year before the Blitz began, as soon as the first wave of evacuations started,’ Sal replied. ‘It made sense. And I’m glad of it too. They’re
safe now, staying with a postmistress down in Devon.’

‘You must miss them very much,’ said Poppy.

‘You have no idea. But I know it’s the right thing for them. And I know I’ll see them again.’ Her voice cracked and Sal allowed Daisy to fold her into a hug.

Poppy watched the touching scene in awe. Gently, Daisy rocked her like a mother might a sick child.

‘It’s all right,’ Daisy soothed. ‘Better out than in, I always say.’

And there they remained, wrapped in a cuddle, bound by deep ties of care and loyalty that Poppy could never even begin to fathom. Their friendship left her breathless with admiration and envy.
East End women clearly made friends for life. What real friends did she have back in Norfolk? None that she knew of. And her mother? At least Sal had sent her boys away to keep them safe; her mum
had got shot of her the first chance she had simply to save face.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sal sniffed, composing herself. ‘It’s like a part of myself has gone. And every single day I wonder what it is they’re doing, what I’m
missing. Joey lost his first tooth the other day and it wasn’t me pretending to be the tooth fairy. But I don’t regret it,’ she blazed. ‘Oh no. Three days after the Blitz
began, a junior school over in Canning Town, near the docks, copped it. Hundreds of poor souls buried alive. The East End was ringed with fire that night, wasn’t it, girls? We saw the flames
billowing up into the night sky from the top of Trout’s.’

Daisy nodded sadly. ‘They were piling the dead up in the street. Those poor little kiddies.’

The table fell silent. Even Vera’s usually brisk expression seemed haunted by the memory.

‘That day changed the East End forever,’ murmured Pat.

‘So you see why I sent them away, Poppy?’ said Sal.

‘I do,’ Poppy replied softly. ‘Sounds like you’ve done the right thing. At least you evacuated your kids out of London. My mum evacuated me
into
London.’

Sal screamed with laughter and slung her arm around Poppy. ‘I like you, Poppy Percival. I reckon you and me are going to be all right. What do you reckon, girls?’

She turned to the rest of the Singer Girls, who Poppy realized were all staring at her curiously. She found she was holding her breath as she waited for their response. She yearned for the
approval of her new workmates. Suddenly, it seemed to matter very much what they thought of her.

‘I think she’s the prettiest, sweetest little thing I ever saw, Sal.’ Daisy grinned and a deep ripple of warmth spread through Poppy’s stomach, this time not caused by
whisky. Even Vera was smiling warmly at her from across the pub table.

By the time the last-orders bell sounded, Poppy was happy but plainly exhausted.

‘You look dead on your feet, Poppy,’ remarked Vera. ‘Tonight you will stay with me. It’s too late to find your new lodgings now.’

‘I don’t wish to be a burden, Mrs Shadwell.’

‘Nonsense. I promised Mr Gladstone I would look out for you and that’s precisely what I intend to do,’ she said, and then as an afterthought she added, ‘I just hope
he’s out tonight on a night shift.’

Poppy was about to enquire who
he
was when she noticed the smile had frozen on Vera’s face and she was staring hard at something.

‘Talk of the devil and you summon him up,’ she muttered, hurriedly draining her drink. ‘Come on, Poppy, let’s go.’

Poppy turned and found herself staring up at the face of a strange man.

‘Well, this is a cosy scene, ain’t it.’ He grinned, revealing a set of cracked yellow teeth. It wasn’t a warm smile, more of a sneer, and judging by the way he was
swaying, he was full of drink. Instinctively Poppy drew her arms around herself.

‘Evening, ladies,’ he said, nodding to the rest of the Singer Girls. ‘How’s my favourite girl?’ he said to Daisy, completely ignoring Vera.

‘Dad!’ Daisy gushed.

Poppy was flabbergasted. This drunk man was Vera and Daisy’s father?

‘Sit down, Dad,’ Daisy smiled. ‘Make room, everyone.’

Everyone begrudgingly shifted up. The atmosphere had changed from one of easy warmth to a strained silence.

‘Don’t worry,’ snapped Vera, reverting back to the prickly woman Poppy first met in the factory earlier that evening. ‘We’re just leaving, aren’t we, Poppy?
Have my seat, Frank.’

How odd, thought Poppy, that she referred to her father by his name, unlike Daisy. There was clearly no love lost between her and Frank.

‘Don’t go on my account, Vera,’ he said icily. ‘Who’s your new friend? Ain’t you going to introduce me?’

‘This is Poppy Percival and she just started work at the factory,’ Vera said tersely. ‘Now come on, Poppy – we really ought to be getting you home.’

But Frank wasn’t letting them go that easily.

‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Poppy,’ he said slowly, letting his eyes roam unashamedly over her body. Taking Poppy’s hand in his, he gripped it so firmly she felt her
hand begin to tremble.

‘You’re a pretty young thing, aincha,’ he leered, leaning in so close Poppy could smell stale tobacco and sweat. ‘And look at this lovely fresh skin,’ he went on,
clearly revelling in her discomfort. ‘Straight up from the countryside I dare say, by the looks of you. Don’t you be letting these girls corrupt you. You need
anything,
you
just come to your uncle Frank.’

‘Behave, Dad,’ laughed Daisy, seemingly oblivious to Poppy’s unease.

‘You’ve had your fun, Frank. Come on, Poppy, let’s go,’ said Vera, rising sharply to her feet.

Gratefully Poppy stood, her head spinning from the smoke-filled air and Frank’s close attention.

‘I’m just going to nip to the toilet before we go, Mrs Shadwell, if I may.’

‘Of course, Poppy,’ she replied. ‘They’re out back in the yard. Don’t be long. It really is getting late now.’

Poppy went as fast as her feet would take her through the bar and out into the pitch black of the yard, gasping as the fresh night air hit her lungs. Frantically she groped her way through the
darkness until she found the outhouse door. Experience taught her not to hang about too long in outdoor toilets. If the icy cold of the outhouse brick toilet wasn’t bad enough, rats scuttled
about yards like this. Trembling, she made her way back towards the warmth of the pub and gasped as she bumped straight into a solid force.

‘Going somewhere in a hurry?’ rang out a gravelly voice. The tip of a cigarette glowed before her and suddenly Frank’s face was illuminated in front of hers. Had he followed
her outside?

‘F-Frank,’ Poppy stammered eventually. ‘Would you let me pass, please?’

‘Course I will, sweetheart,’ he said, an unnerving softness creeping into his voice. ‘I just wanted to let you know that I meant what I said back then.’

Poppy’s skin crawled as he took a gnarled, tobacco-stained finger and traced it slowly down her cheek. She stood rooted to the spot, her heart thundering in her chest. Her fear seemed to
arouse Frank further, as his breathing grew shallow.

‘You’re a good girl. I like that,’ he rasped, edging closer forward.

In horror, Poppy realized he was about to kiss her; his dry lips were hovering just inches from hers. Frank made a strange guttural sound in his throat as he wiped his mouth with the back of his
hand.

‘I’ll look after you, Poppy,’ he croaked, reaching out in the darkness for her body.

Fear exploded in Poppy’s chest, yet she remained motionless. Why could she not run?

‘That is enough.’ A sharp voice rang out through the darkness and Frank sprang back. ‘For goodness’ sake, Frank, Poppy is young enough to be your
granddaughter.’

‘Oh, piss off, Vera,’ groaned Frank, staggering backwards.

In a flash, Vera was by Poppy’s side. She took her arm and guided her back across the yard. Poppy could feel Vera’s hand shaking on her arm as they walked and suddenly she realized:
Vera was as scared of her father as she was.

‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’ Daisy exclaimed, as they reached the pub table and Vera quickly gathered their bags and coats.

‘Ask him,’ Vera spat, gesturing to the back door of the pub, where Frank had entered. ‘I just caught him trying it on with Poppy,’ she blazed. ‘He’s so full
of drink a barrage balloon couldn’t even hold him up.’

‘Shut your mouth, my girl, unless you want to feel the cut of my hand across your backside,’ Frank muttered as he reached the table.

Poppy felt herself drowning in despair. Oh, please, Lord, not again. Why did trouble follow her wherever she went?

‘You wouldn’t dare, not in public,’ Vera snapped back, hastily fastening the buttons on her coat, her fingers shaking.

The pub fell silent and Poppy wished the ground would open up and swallow her.

‘I don’t want to cause any trouble,’ she said quietly.

‘You’re not,’ said Daisy firmly, glaring at Vera. ‘This is between Vera and our dad. For some reason, she has a real bee in her bonnet when it comes to him.’

‘That’s right, love,’ said Frank, coming up behind Daisy and placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘I was just being friendly to young Poppy here and Vera goes and accuses me
of all sorts of tripe. Ain’t that right, Poppy?’