The Bells of Bow (18 page)

Albie had been sitting in his car in Darnfield Street, waiting for opening time, when he knew Georgie would be leaving the house. He checked his watch. Any minute now.

Inside number six, Georgie had also just checked the time. The Drum would be open in a couple of minutes. He made sure his overcoat was tightly buttoned up to his neck and then slipped behind the blackout curtain that shielded the street door. Practice and Frankie Morgan had made all of Darnfield Street experts at ducking out of their houses without breaking the blackout, but even he hadn’t managed to solve the problem of bashing into people and things in the time it took for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness.

‘Bloody hell! Yer nearly give me a heart attack.’ Georgie stumbled back into the passage. ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s me.’ Albie stepped into the passageway and shut the door behind him.

‘Stupid sod,’ muttered Georgie. ‘Yer should look where yer going.’

‘How did I know yer’d be coming through the street door just as I was knocking?’ Albie winked. ‘Here y’are, Georgie boy, perhaps these’ll make up for yer shock.’ He dangled two plucked chickens by their legs, holding them up to Georgie’s eye level. ‘I know a feller down Laindon way with a smallholding, what owes me a few favours.’

The sound of Evie giggling made both men look up the stairs. ‘I bet you do,’ she said. ‘Yer know everyone, don’t you, Al?’

‘Sure do, babe, and with me around you won’t have to worry about no rationing.’

‘You make me sick, Denham,’ sneered Georgie, shoving his way past Albie. He opened the door and was just about to go into the street when he turned round and said, ‘Yer know what yer have to do with chickens, don’t yer? Stuff ’em. And that’s exactly what you can do with ’em. Stuff ’em right up your arse.’ With that he slammed the door behind him.

Evie ran down the stairs and threw her arms round Albie’s neck. ‘Hello, Al,’ she said, her eyes shining.

‘I don’t think your dad likes me,’ grinned Albie.

Evie snuggled into his chest. ‘He’s jealous,’ she whispered. ‘Just like everyone else is, ’cos yer so big and handsome and rich.’

Albie lifted Evie’s chin with his finger and looked into her face. ‘We ain’t gonna have no more o’ that old jealousy nonsense again from
you
though, are we?’ His voice was cool, menacing.

Evie shook her head. She knew better than to speak when he was like that.

‘’Cos I told yer, didn’t I? I don’t like no one telling me who I can talk to or who I can look at. Right?’

Evie nodded again.

‘Good. Now stick these somewhere and we’ll be off.’

Evie took the chickens into the kitchen where Babs was leaning over the sink pouring a jug of rinsing water over her hair.

‘Do something with these, Babs,’ Evie commanded her.

‘What? I can’t hear yer.’ Babs peered round, her soaking wet hair over her eyes.

‘Nothing,’ Evie called. ‘See yer later.’

Babs groped on the draining board for the towel and wrapped it round her head. She rubbed her eyes dry with the flannel. ‘Now, what were you saying?’ She looked round but there was no one else in the kitchen. She heard the street door slam shut. ‘See yer,’ she said to herself and dropped down onto one of the wooden kitchen chairs. ‘And what the hell’re these?’ She stood up and carried the two chickens to the back door, intending to put them in the meat safe in the yard. She only opened the door a crack and a swirl of snow flew in. ‘Blimey,’ she said to the two plucked birds as she put them back on the table. ‘Yer’ll have to wait till I’m dressed before I put yer out there.’ She looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece – seven o’clock, and Lou wasn’t coming round until eight. She lit the two front gas rings, one to boil the kettle on and one to warm herself by, and pulled a chair over to the stove. Then she sat down again and began lethargically towelling dry her hair.

She again looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece – nearly a quarter past seven. Listlessly she poured herself another cup of tea. She could just about be bothered to drink it. She stared at the chickens. She’d have to shift herself and get dressed soon or they’d start cooking right there on the table, the stove was making the kitchen so warm. Babs sighed to herself; it wasn’t just the heat that was making her feel listless, it was everything. Everything seemed so pointless. She and Lou had been out with so many fellers lately, some really nice ones, but they’d all been on their way somewhere, not staying or coming, but going, every single one of them. She sipped the tea. It was nearly cold. She got up to refill the kettle. Just as she turned on the tap, there was a knock on the door. She looked at the clock – twenty past. Surely it couldn’t be Lou already.

‘Hang on,’ she called as she took her coat off the banister and slipped it on over her underclothes.

She opened the door and peered round the blackout curtain. ‘Bloody hell, what are you doing here?’

‘Charming. Ain’t yer gonna let us in then?’ It was Blanche standing there on the doorstep, her head and shoulders gradually being coated with a layer of snow.

‘Course, come in.’ Babs practically dragged her in by the arm. ‘You’re a real sight for sore eyes, Blanche Simpkins. I’ve been that fed up about everything.’

Blanche kissed her on the cheek and laughed. ‘So you ain’t pleased to see me but just glad I’m here to sort yer out and tell yer yer fretting about nothing as usual. Right?’

‘Right,’ said Babs with a grin and took Blanche’s and her own coat and threw them over the banister rail. ‘Come in the kitchen and have a cuppa and tell me all about it.’

When they’d settled down at the table, Babs pushed a cup of steaming, freshly brewed tea towards Blanche. ‘So? Get talking.’

Blanche blew across the top of her cup then sipped gingerly at the scalding brew. ‘Handsome.’ She set the cup back in its saucer and stared down at her feet. ‘Where shall I start? The people down there was such snobs. They didn’t like us Londoners at all. No, that’s not fair, it wasn’t all of ’em. The people we was staying with, they was all right – well, in their way. But some of the others …’ She pulled a disgusted face. ‘Right lot they were. And, I’ve gotta be truthful, there was fault on my side as well. I hated the countryside. The animals stink and make funny noises.’ She took another sip of tea. ‘It ain’t like hopping when you’ve got all your mates with yer and yer sharing and that. It’s like yer the odd ones out, a freak or something. When we got there, to the station, we was all right ’cos, as yer know, our Ruby’d already sorted out somewhere for us to stay. And I’ve got a few things to say to her and all when I catch up with her.’

Babs nodded. ‘I’ll bet.’

‘But I wouldn’t leave the station till all these little ones had got sorted out. There was a bunch of ’em, tiny little nippers some of ’em were, standing around waiting to be chosen. Like dockers waiting on the stones to be called for work, they was, poor little devils. Terrible it was. I could have cried for ’em. They stood there, all scared without their mums, with little labels on their coats, and little brown paper parcels with their bits and pieces. And these old girls come and looked ‘em over like they was cattle or something. Should have seen ’em, the old bags. Like bloody schoolteachers they looked. One or two of the kids was really sad to see. Yer can imagine, them – what had the scabby knees and runny noses, yer know what I mean?’

Babs nodded over the rim of her cup.

‘They got left till last, of course. None of the old cows wanted to take
them
home. Poor little sods.’ She shook her head at the thought of it. ‘But it was funny, yer know. Our Len, he loved it down there. I don’t think he was all that keen to come home.’

‘He’s always been a bit different to the others, ain’t he though, Blanche? How he likes animals and reading books and that.’

‘Yer right there. He really got on at the little school down there. Loved it, he did. Mind you, he ain’t best pleased that the schools are open up here, he was positive they’d still be shut. He hates going to Olga Street.’

‘Can’t blame him for that.’ Babs ran her fingers through her hair and was surprised to find that it was bone dry. ‘But I bet your Mary’s delighted, ain’t she, being back near her Micky?’

‘You ain’t kidding. Straight round his she went, didn’t even take her coat off, just kissed her dad and legged it.’

‘She wants to be careful in the blackout, there’s been so many accidents on the roads.’

‘Call this a blackout? Yer wanna see it down there. Can’t see yer hand in front of yer face, yer can’t. She’ll be all right.’ Blanche smiled wistfully. ‘Yer forgetting how grown up she is, Babs. She’s left school now, yer know.’ Blanche drained her cup. ‘Now, there is something yer don’t know. She’s only gonna start in the bloody munitions with that stupid sister o’ mine Ruby. As if she ain’t caused us enough aggravation already, sending us down to that hole. She has to bloody interfere. I could have killed her when she kept going on in all her letters about how much Mary could earn at the factory with her.’

Babs poured more tea into Blanche’s cup. ‘Mary could have earned herself a fair bit at Styleways and all. What with the piecework we’re doing, we’re earning a fortune compared to our usual money.’

‘So something good’s coming out of all this war lark then?’

‘I suppose there’s always a good side to everything.’ Blanche’s eyes opened wide and she snorted. ‘I can’t see nothing good about being bloody evacuated.’

By the time Blanche had launched into another round of stories about the horrors of rural living, Babs had topped their cups up for the third time. ‘It really was that bad then?’

‘Well, I suppose I’m exaggerating a bit but, be truthful, Babs, what was the point of being stuck down there when it’s as safe as houses up here? All them rumours about gas attacks and fire bombs – what a load of old rubbish that all turned out to be. Yer dad was right, after all.’

‘And I don’t suppose your Archie being stuck up here in London had nothing to do with yer wanting to come home?’

Blanche laughed. ‘I’m the one who’s meant to be able to read you like a book, not the other way round.’

‘I have me moments.’

Blanche leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. ‘I think it was being away from Archie over Christmas that was the last straw. Even though he got down for a couple of days afterwards, it still didn’t feel right.’ Blanche reached across and chucked Babs under the chin. ‘I hope yer lucky enough to find someone as decent as my Archie to settle down with, Babs. Yer won’t go far wrong if yer do.’

Babs said nothing.

‘I imagined you lot, all in the Drum having a right old knees-up over Christmas, while we was singing bleed’n carols with the old couple what owned the house. Parsnip wine they give us.’ Blanche pulled a face and shuddered. ‘Bloody horrible, it was. They did their best for us, but they were a funny couple.’ She bit her lip, trying to stop herself laughing. ‘Honest, Babs, I couldn’t even understand half of what they said.’

Babs joined in her laughter. ‘You’d have all been talking like swede bashers if yer’d been there much longer.’

Blanche grimaced. ‘Some hopes. Come on, Babs, make me wild, tell me what a good time you all had at Christmas.’

‘Seems a long time ago now.’ She paused then raised her eyebrows. ‘Evie enjoyed herself all right. Got herself a fox fur. And not just a jacket neither. A proper full-length job.’

Blanche’s mouth dropped open. ‘What bank did she turn over?’ She paused. ‘Here, she ain’t still with that Albie Denham, is she? When yer never mentioned him in yer letters I thought he’d moved on to drive the next poor cow barmy.’

‘She’s still with him.’ Babs nodded towards the chickens. ‘I presume that’s where they come from.’

‘I meant to ask yer about them.’ Blanche’s attempt at a smile couldn’t disguise her concern. She took Babs’s hand. ‘Why didn’t yer write and tell me? I bet yer’ve been bottling it all up. I know you.’

Babs looked down at Blanche’s big, work-worn hand covering her own much smaller and softer one. ‘I was trying to take yer advice, Blanche, leave her to it and get on with me own life.’ She shrugged. ‘And Evie ain’t daft.’

‘No, course she ain’t, and neither are you, but …’ Blanche shook her head. ‘Albie Denham.’

‘Yeah, Albie Denham. I’ve tried, Blanche, I really have, but I can’t help fretting about her being with him. I don’t like him, I really don’t. And it’s getting worse. I know I was jealous at first, about him taking her away from me and that, but I got over that part of it.’ Babs lifted her chin and tried to smile but she was too close to tears. ‘You always was good at giving advice, Blanche, but it ain’t always easy for me to take it. I did me best.’

‘I don’t blame yer being worried, darling, but yer mustn’t get yerself all worked up. And like yer said, Evie ain’t daft.’ Blanche stood up and busied herself at the sink, refilling the kettle. Before she turned round to Babs, she fixed a tight smile on her face. ‘Don’t let’s get all humpy,’ she said over her shoulder as she set the kettle down on the stove. ‘I could’ve stayed down in the bleed’n sticks if that was what I wanted. Come on, give us all the gossip about who’s doing what to who. I’ve missed that nearly as much as I’ve missed me pie ’n’ mash.’

Babs managed a smile this time. ‘Well, there’s plenty what ain’t changed, yer’ll be glad to hear. Alice is exactly the same.’ Babs stood up, stuck her fists into her waist and screwed up her face. ‘“My girl wouldn’t have let
her
Micky be evacuated to no strangers if he’d still been at school,”’ she whined in a creditable impersonation of Alice Clarke. ‘“And so long as people like Frankie Morgan do their duty proper, that Hitler’ll never get through.”’ Babs took the cups and rinsed them under the single cold tap. ‘Can you imagine, Frankie Morgan fighting the Germans? He must be ninety if he’s a day.’

Blanche laughed. ‘Well, us lot are back now, that’ll give her something else to go on about.’

Babs wiped the cups dry and put them back on the table. ‘Yer don’t know how good it is to see yer back, Blanche. And I know Minnie and Clara’ll both be right pleased to see the kids around again. They asked after yer all the time.’

Blanche was about to answer but she was cut short by someone knocking at the door.