The Girl from Cotton Lane (2 page)

Carrie sighed to herself as she threw the soiled towelling napkin in an enamel bucket at her feet and placed the clean and folded napkin under the baby’s bottom. The tiny child’s pale blue eyes stared up at her appealingly and she could not help feeling guilty. She had married Fred Bradley without being in love with the kind and considerate man who was employing her. She had entered into the union for her own reasons and she had taken her marriage vows with no thoughts other than to be a dutiful wife to him and to give him the happiness he deserved. From the beginning she had never tried to pretend that she was in love, although she was very fond of him, and Fred had told her he was happy that she cared enough for him to become his wife. He had hoped that in time she would have his children and one day she might come to love him.

Carrie cooed softly as she fixed the large safety pin to the napkin and wrapped the child in a small flannelette sheet, tucking the edges under her chin as she cuddled the soft, sweet-smelling bundle to her. Fred was a good husband to her and the difference in their ages did not matter to Carrie. Her mother had pointed out to her that being married to an older man had its advantages. She had said there was less chance of being burdened down with a large brood and less risk of losing the husband to another woman. Her father, himself ten years older than her mother, seemed more concerned about his daughter marrying a man who was seventeen years older than her, and had felt that she was entering into the marriage largely because of the misfortune that had afflicted her family. He was right of course, Carrie thought, and as she nestled the child to her and placed the teat of the bottle against the child’s searching mouth she bit on her lip and tried to suppress the anger which welled up inside her.

In the warm and cosy sitting-room Fred Bradley put down the evening paper and stared moodily into the bright fire. He had begun to feel that Carrie was really growing to love him, and having borne him his first child the future had seemed so promising, but now today he had been reminded that everything he had hoped and prayed for could so easily crumble into dust. Perhaps he was making too much of it. Tommy Allen was married now and it was not unnatural that he should have a conversation with Carrie, but the nagging feeling would not go away. Fred knew that his young wife and Tommy were once lovers and Carrie had been very upset when they parted. Perhaps she still yearned for him, he thought with a pang of anxiety. Maybe she wished it was still the young man who shared her bed instead of a man who was almost old enough to be her father. Maybe the young man was unhappy in his marriage and had made his feelings known to her. Maybe he and Carrie had discussed her marriage and she had told him things, secret things that were intimate to the marriage bed. They might have joked about his shortcomings as a husband and lover, he thought with anger and frustration building up inside him. True, he had struggled at first to satisfy his beautiful young bride; he had been too long a bachelor and too set in his ways. He had worked in his father’s cafe on the riverside almost from leaving school and was never allowed to make his own way in life. He had never been allowed to mix properly with women and his few lady friends were discouraged by his mother and not made welcome in the Bradley home. Only after his ageing parents had died and he was left to manage the dining rooms did he begin to look around for a wife, and Fred smiled bitterly at the memory. He had been pathetically shy and awkward, and one particularly painful experience had sent him back to his lonely flat with the firm belief that he would die a bachelor. The woman had taunted him for his lack of passion and forthrightness and she had walked off with one of the young dockers. If she had given him time he would have been able to show her passion, he knew, but it was hard for him to relax and act confidently after years of being cowed in a stern loveless household. Carrie had changed his life and he would somehow make her love him. He would also fight tooth and nail to keep her from the likes of Tommy Allen.

The hot cinder falling from the grate jerked Fred from his thoughts and he licked his fingers and quickly tossed it back on to the fire.

Carrie walked into the room and sat down heavily in her chair. ‘I’ve put the veg on an’ the chops are doin’ nicely,’ she announced flatly, waiting for the inevitable question.

Fred merely nodded and picked up the paper, pretending to be engrossed in an article, and Carrie afforded herself a sly grin. Fred was no reader and he struggled with words. His look of deep contemplation only served to irritate her until she could bear the silence no longer.

‘Tommy Allen was tellin’me ’is wife’s pregnant,’ she began.

‘Oh?’ Fred said offhandedly.

‘Yeah. She’s upset it’s ’appened so soon,’ Carrie went on. ‘Tommy’s over the moon. ’E said ’e wants loads o’ babies. Mind you, it’s all right fer ’im, ’e ain’t gotter ’ave ’em.’

Fred closed the paper deliberately and put it down by his feet. ‘I wonder what brought ’im inter the cafe. I ain’t seen anyfing of ’im fer months,’ he said archly.

‘Well, if ’e was in the area it’s a foregone conclusion ’e’d pop in. We’re the best meal place round ’ere, an’ after all ’e used ter call in all the time when ’e ’ad that ovver job,’ Carrie reminded him.

‘Long as it’s not you ’e’s interested in,’ Fred said shortly.

Carrie got up with a deep sigh. ‘Yer not startin’ that again, are yer, Fred?’ she said wearily. ‘I’ve told yer lots o’ times me an’ Tommy finished long ago. Yer know that well enough. I’ve got me ’ands full wiv servin’ an’ lookin’ after Rachel - that’s besides runnin’ the ’ome. I’ve got no time ter gallivant about.’

‘That’s all yer want, is it, the time?’ Fred said crossly.

Carrie gave him a blinding look and stormed out of the room. It was useless to argue with him while he was in that mood, she told herself. Best to ignore him and let him come around in his own time. He would soon realise he had been acting stupidly and feel sorry for his bad temper. Better though that he simmered for a while, Carrie thought as she stirred the greens and tested the potatoes with a fork. The baby had been very demanding lately, and after trying to divide herself between the shop and the child she felt drained of energy. The thought of her husband fumbling around in bed and urgently attempting to rouse her left her feeling suddenly depressed. It had nothing to do with Tommy’s visit that morning, she tried to convince herself. She had got over their love affair before she agreed to marry Fred, although the young man’s sudden appearance had stirred a few very pleasant memories for her.

The baby was crying and Carrie sighed resignedly as she quickly replaced the lid of the potato pot and hurried into the back room.

Down in the dark and foggy street a figure stood waiting beneath a lighted gas lamp. The young, broad-shouldered man had the collar of his tattered grey overcoat pulled up around his ears and his cap was drawn down over his forehead. He tightened the red scarf around his neck and blew on his hands, stamping his cold feet on the hard wet cobblestones. The man’s pale blue eyes peered into the fog and his ears strained to catch the sound of approaching footsteps. He had waited for over ten minutes and decided that he would give his friend another five minutes before making off home. It had been a hard day and the river could be a severe taskmaster at times. He had moored three laden barges in position midstream and as the tide turned and the fog swept upriver he had finally managed to bring the last of them into its berth below Chamber’s Wharf. It had been a long, tiring business and his hands were sore and chafed from the ropes. He should have arranged to meet his friend Billy in the pub instead of in the cold street by the river, but Billy had insisted.

Danny Tanner took out his silver pocket watch and looked at it, an expression of annoyance on his wide, handsome face. Just then he heard footsteps approaching and a figure loomed out of the fog in front of him. The young man walked with a shuffle, his shoulders hunched and his hands stuffed deeply into his coat pockets.

‘Sorry, mate,’ he said in a husky voice, his grinning face belying his sincerity. ‘I got ’eld up wiv one o’ the geezers in the Kings Arms. ’E give me an ear’ole bashin’ an’ I ’ad ter listen, didn’t I? The poor ole bleeder’s one of us. ’E got a Blighty ticket early on an’ ’e ain’t bin right since. Talks a lot o’ nonsense at times, but what can yer do?’

Danny Tanner shook his head in resignation. He knew Billy Sullivan was never going to change. Always the soft touch, and always so unreliable. He put his arm around his friend’s shoulder and grinned widely as they started off.

‘I was about ter give up on yer. I knew we should ’ave met in the pub,’ he said lightly.

Billy Sullivan stopped in his tracks and turned suddenly to face his friend, his face serious. ‘Look, pal, I wanted us ter meet ’ere. I’ve got somefing ter show yer,’ he said, a note of excitement in his gruff voice. With a grand gesture of his arm, he announced, ‘Take a look at that.’

‘What the bloody ’ell are yer talkin’ about?’ Danny replied, looking at what Billy was pointing to. ‘All I can see is a bloody empty yard wiv a shed in it. What’s so excitin’ about lookin’ at a poxy empty yard on a night that’s fair set ter freeze the cobblers orf a brass monkey?’

Billy hunched his shoulders and did a quick shuffle. ‘Wasn’t I the best prospect Bermondsey ’ad for a long time before I got me wound?’ he asked. ‘Wasn’t I the only bloke who could ’ave give ole Palmer a run fer ’is money? I would ’ave took that title, Danny,’ he said passionately, his voice almost breaking with a note of despair.

Danny nodded and slipped his arm around Billy’s hunched shoulders once more. ‘I know yer could, mate, but what’s that got ter do wiv what we’re lookin’ at right now?’

Billy pulled away from his friend’s arm and made towards the empty yard. ‘I made a few enquiries an’ it’s up fer rent,’ he called back. ‘It’s ideal.’

‘Ideal fer what, fer Gawdsake?’ Danny asked, feeling perplexed.

Billy Sullivan suddenly shaped up to his friend, his clenched fists pawing at the air and his shoulders moving from side to side. ‘A gym, that’s what,’ he said triumphantly. ‘A bleedin’ gymnasium wiv a ring an’ a punch bag, an’ lockers, an’ a washin’ place, an’ . . .’

‘’Ang on a minute,’ Danny said quickly. ‘Where yer gonna get the money fer all this? If yer ever get the chance o’ rentin’ the place that is? It’ll take a small fortune ter build a gym on this bleedin’ dump.’

There was a wide grin on Billy’s ring-scarred face. ‘Look ’ere, Mister Know-all,’ he said in a confident voice, ‘I’ve bin doin’ a lot o’ finkin’ an’ I’ve put meself about. Yer know that our ole boxin’ Club’s gone down the drain since those new geezers took over. They ain’t got a bleedin’ idea between the lot of ’em. The young lads at the club ain’t very ’appy, an’ accordin’ ter my information they’re all willin’ ter lend us an ’and ter knock up a timber buildin’. Farvver Murphy at the church ’as promised us some paint, an’ whitewash fer the ceilin’s, an’ one o’ the lads knows where ’e can get all the timber we need, no questions asked o’ course. All we need is the ready money ter lay down ter secure the site an’ the weekly rent. Jus’ fink of it, mate, me an’ you givin’ the lads a few lessons an’ organisin’ a few tournaments. We could make the place pay. It could be a bleedin’ goldmine.’

Danny looked into the blazing grey eyes of his friend and felt a sudden urge to throw his arms around him. He had idolised the ex-boxer since they were young children together in Page Street. He had watched Billy Sullivan box at the club tournaments and progress to the professional ranks. He had truly been a contender for the middleweight title until the severe chest wound he sustained during the heavy fighting in France had cut short his promising career. Billy had come home a physical wreck and it was only when Danny himself took up boxing seriously that his friend regained some of his self-esteem by helping and instructing him. Billy had certainly been making some enquiries but he had been misinformed, Danny thought. His best friend was due for a bad let-down, and it was he who would have to spell it out for him.

‘Now look, mate, I fink it’s a great idea, but yer gotta face facts,’ he said kindly. ‘The place ain’t fer rent. This ole plot, those two derelict ’ouses next ter me sister’s dinin’ rooms an’ that yard’s up fer sale. Carrie told me. She said ’er an’ Fred only jus’ got in wiv their bid before that bastard Galloway bought the land fer ’is business. They scotched ’is little caper an’ what was left was too small fer a cartage business so ’e pulled out. I was dead pleased when she told me but yer see, pal, yer’ll ’ave ter ’ave anuvver fink. The idea’s a good one but yer can’t ’ave that place, that’s fer sure.’

All the time Danny was talking Billy’s wide grin stayed fixed on his face. When his friend drew breath, Billy chuckled. ‘It jus’ shows yer, yer don’t know everyfink, do yer?’ he said quietly. ‘I know it’s foggy, but can yer see a “For Sale” notice on the gaff? O’course yer can’t. They took it down, that’s why. That site was up for sale but there was no takers. Farvver Murphy told my muvver so only the ovver day. ’E gets ter know all the business round this area. It’s all ter do wiv plans ter extend the wharves. Anyway, nuffink’s gonna ’appen fer a long while yet so the owners are lettin’ the place out fer rent. I can see it now,’ he went on, his eyes opening wide. ‘Billy Sullivan’s Gym. They’ll all come ’ere, Danny. Everybody’ll know about Billy Sullivan’s Gym, you jus’ wait.’

Danny felt a wave of admiration for his friend and affectionately put an arm around his shoulders. ‘C’mon, mate, let’s go an’ ’ave a pint at the Waterman’s Inn. They’ve got a nice coke fire in the public bar.’

The two young men walked away from the flickering gas lamp in Cotton Lane, their heavy boots echoing on the wet cobbles.