The Girl from Cotton Lane (26 page)

‘Shall we all meet back here?’ another voice asked.

‘No yer bleedin’ well don’t,’ Maudie shouted as she hurried into the parlour. ‘I’m not ’avin’ my ’ouse burnt down by bloody anarchists. Piss orf out the lot o’ yer.’

Ernest looked crestfallen as he watched his comrades disappointedly trooping out of the house, and he turned to Maudie. ‘What’s the matter, luv?’ he asked quietly.

‘Don’t yer “luv” me,’ she shouted. ‘Yer no better than Percy the Painter. I’m warnin’ yer, Ern, if yer don’t mend yer ways I’m orf after Christmas.’

‘If yer seein’ ovver men then yer can get orf right now,’ Ernest growled at her.

‘Ooh! ’Ow could yer be so wicked as ter fink I’d be seein’ ovver men,’ she wailed.

‘Well, who’s this Percy the Painter?’ he asked.

Chapter Fifteen

In January 1925 Annie McCafferty arrived back in Bermondsey, and without delay she called on Carrie Bradley. The Saturday morning was a busy one at the dining rooms, for there were two Danish freighters docked along the Bermondsey riverside and another ship was waiting to claim a berth. Carrie was busy serving teas and coffees while Fred sweated in the small back kitchen. Bessie Chandler was there too, helping Fred fry bacon and sausages on the wide stove. Annie looked in the steamy window and tapped gingerly on the glass to attract Carrie’s attention, and immediately raised a squeal of delight from her.

‘I only got in last night,’ Annie said smiling as she was shown to the upstairs room. ‘I thought I had to come round to see you all as soon as I could. How’s Rachel? I really missed her.’

‘She’s fine,’ Carrie replied. ‘She’s at me mum’s this mornin’. You’ll be surprised ’ow big she’s got. She’ll be six this November.’

Carrie had left Bessie in charge and she sat back gratefully in the comfortable armchair and studied Annie closely. ‘Yer look pale. Was it a tirin’ journey?’ she asked.

Annie nodded. ‘It was a stormy crossing and I was sick most of the time, but it’s nice to be back,’ she said with a smile.

‘’Ow’s yer mum?’ Carrie asked, fearing what Annie was going to say.

‘She died before Christmas,’ Annie replied, showing little emotion. ‘I was with her and she went peacefully, thank God.’

Carrie squeezed the Irish girl’s arm in sympathy. ‘I’m so sorry. At least yer found each ovver after all that time.’

Annie nodded slowly. ‘I had to sort out my mother’s things and say my goodbyes but there was nothing, no one, to keep me once I’d taken care of everything,’ she said quietly.

‘Well, it’s lovely ter see yer again, Annie,’ Carrie said, smiling fondly. ‘’Ave yer sorted yerself wiv any work yet?’

‘I’ve been promised a job at the children’s clinic they’re setting up at the church,’ the young woman replied, ‘and they’ve given me my old room back too.’

‘That’s lovely. I s’pose we’ll be seein’ yer around ’ere then?’ Carrie said keenly.

‘Yes, I’ll be visiting some of the local mums and their children,’ Annie told her. She gazed down at her clasped hands for a few moments and then looked up again. ‘How’s Billy Sullivan?’ she asked.

‘Fine the last time I saw ’im,’ Carrie answered. ‘Billy’s workin’ now. It’s a regular job wiv a builder. Mind yer, yer never know wiv Billy. ’E seems ’appy enough, although it’s a bit ’ard fer ’im, what wiv that chest of ’is.’

Annie nodded, trying to appear unconcerned.

‘’E’s always askin’ if I’ve ’eard from yer,’ Carrie told her, guessing the young woman’s thoughts.

Footsteps on the stairs interrupted their conversation and Bessie Chandler looked into the room. Her face was flushed and she seemed agitated. ‘Can yer spare a minute, Carrie?’ she said a little breathlessly.

‘What is it?’ Carrie asked as she followed her out onto the landing.

‘There’s a woman just come in an’ she wants ter know what yer’ve done wiv ’er bloke,’ Bessie said in a low voice.

Carrie excused herself and hurried down the stairs to find the cafe in an uproar. Fred was standing behind the counter remonstrating with a large woman who looked extremely angry.

‘Don’t try ter cover up fer ’im,’ she was ranting. ‘Just tell ’im that when I get my ’ands on ’im ’e’ll wish ’e’d never bin born.’

‘What’s the trouble?’ Carrie asked.

‘I know ’e’s ’ere,’ the buxom woman shouted at her. ‘I saw the cart outside. I’d know that flea-bitten nag anywhere. Look, there it is over there.’

Carrie looked out to where the woman was pointing. ‘What, that totter’s cart?’ she queried.

‘That’s the one. That’s the scruffy whoreson’s cart,’ the woman raved.

By now everyone in the dining rooms was listening with broad grins on their faces.

‘Try the river, missus. ’E might ’ave fell in,’ one docker said.

‘’E ain’t asleep in the back o’ the cart, is ’e?’ another quipped.

‘Ain’t that Broom’ead Smith’s cart?’ someone asked.

‘I’ll give ’im Broom’ead when I get me ’ands on the dirty ole goat,’ the woman growled. ‘’E’ll be Pin’ead when I’m finished wiv ’im.’

‘Well, yer can see ’e’s not ’ere, luv,’ Carrie said, waving her hand towards her customers.

‘Well, just you tell that scruffy git that I’m waitin’ by the cart an’ when ’e does show up I’m gonna cut ’is chopper off,’ she threatened loudly, banging her fist down on the counter.

‘What’s yer bloke done, missus?’ one of the older dockers asked, trying to look serious.

‘What’s ’e done? I’ll tell yer what ’e’s done,’ the woman screamed. ‘The dirty, no-good cowson’s playin’ around wiv anuvver woman, that’s what ’e’s done.’

Carrie tried to keep a straight face as the woman stormed out of the cafe and marched across to the cart which was parked on the other side of the narrow lane.

‘’Ave any of yer seen Broom’ead?’ she asked.

The men were all laughing and pointing to one of the bench seats. Carrie looked over and saw the totter’s ginger hair sticking out from under the table. Broomhead looked frightened as he poked his head out.

‘Don’t tell ’er I’m ’ere, fer Gawdsake,’ he pleaded. ‘She’ll skin me alive!’

Carrie laughed aloud as he ducked down under the table again. ‘Well, yer can’t stop there fer ever,’ she said. ‘We close at ’alf past-twelve.’

‘Ain’t yer got a back door?’ the muffled voice said from under the table.

Fred was getting angry. ‘No, we ain’t. Yer’ll ’ave ter go in a minute, whatever,’ he told him. ‘I don’t want this place gettin’ a bad name.’

‘Blimey, guv, give us a chance,’ the muffled voice pleaded. ‘Yer don’t know the woman. She’s as mad as a March ’are. She’s got a meat cleaver under that apron. She’ll cut me up if she gets at me.’

‘Well, that’s none o’ my concern,’ Fred said. ‘Yer should be’ave yerself.’

‘I ain’t done nuffink wrong. She’s got the wrong end o’ the stick,’ Broomhead moaned.

Carrie turned to her husband. ‘Can’t we do somefink, Fred?’ she appealed to him.

‘What about if we dress ’im up as a woman?’ one of the dockers suggested.

‘I don’t care what yer do as long as yer get me away from that bloody maniac,’ Broomhead groaned.

Carrie stroked her chin thoughtfully. ‘My clothes won’t fit ’im,’ she remarked.

‘What about if I fit ’im up wiv one o’ yer old tablecloths?’ Bessie suggested. ‘We could stick a scarf round ’is ’ead as well.’

Fred just wanted to get the totter out of the cafe despite the man’s pleading but Carrie rebuked him. ‘C’mon, Fred, where’s yer sense o’ humour? We can’t let that ole cow cut ’im up, can we?’

‘I reckon we ought ter call the police. Let them sort it out,’ he said offhandedly.

‘She’d just as soon put the knife frew the copper by the look of ’er,’ Carrie replied. ‘All right, Bessie, see what yer can do wiv ’im.’

It was twelve noon when Broomhead Smith reappeared from the back room to the loud laughs of the customers.

‘Is she still out there?’ he said in a frightened voice.

‘Yeah, she’s still there. She’s bin talkin’ ter the ’orse fer the past ’alf hour,’ one of the dockers told him.

Broomhead looked resplendent in his flowered tablecloth with matching headscarf. His boots were hidden under the makeshift dress which touched the floor and he carried a basket which Carrie had meant to throw out long ago. Bessie had added a little self-raising flour to his stubble and placed a tattered blanket that was used as a draught mat around his broad shoulders.

‘Got time fer a kiss, luv?’ one man called out.

‘Where d’yer get that dress, gel?’ another piped in.

‘Out yer go, lovely,’ the first man said, chuckling at Broomhead’s embarrassment.

‘I can’t. She’ll know it’s me,’ the totter groaned.

Carrie looked at the older docker who was winking saucily at Broomhead. ‘Let ’im ’old on ter yer arm, Chas,’ she said.

‘Bloody ’ell, Carrie, do me a favour,’ the man protested.

‘Go on, Chas, let ’er ’old yer arm,’ the men began to shout in chorus.

As the couple made for the door the men joined together in singing, ‘We’ve bin tergevver now fer forty years, an’ it don’t seem a day too much . . .’

Carrie and Bessie stood laughing until tears fell down their cheeks and one of the dockers came up to Bessie and patted her on the back. ‘Yer done a good job there, Bess,’ he said.

Bessie smiled happily. It was not very often that any of the customers said anything complimentary to her and she stuck out her chest as she walked back behind the counter.

Once outside, Chas the docker walked in a very dignified manner along the lane while Broomhead held on to his arm, his fearful eyes darting furtively in the direction of his horse-and-cart.

‘Keep lookin’ in front of yer, yer soppy git,’ the docker muttered, as they strolled along.

The elaborate ploy was doomed to fail, for no one had taken into consideration the totter’s faithful horse. It had been standing around for quite a while and when it picked up the scent of the stable from Broomhead’s hidden boots it immediately decided to follow on. The totter heard the steady clip-clop behind him and he groaned aloud. ‘Stay there, yer bloody flea-bag,’ he grunted through clenched teeth.

Alice Johnson had watched the horse set off and she suddenly realised that the strange-looking couple were even stranger than she had first thought. She spotted one of Broomhead’s boots showing beneath the dress he was wearing and with a roar she reached under her apron and brought out a large meat cleaver, waving it in the air as she set off after them. Broomhead suddenly saw her giving chase and he broke away from the docker and made off at full speed along the cobbled lane. Chas was grinning as the raving woman ran past him, then he decided perhaps it might be safer in the dining rooms in case she came back to take out her wrath on him.

One hour later a very exhausted totter sat down in his shed and stared at the horse which had nearly caused him to meet an untimely end.

‘I warned yer, didn’t I?’ he told the animal. ‘I’m just about fed up wiv yer. I’ve a good mind ter turn yer inter glue. The only trouble is, the knackers’ yard’ll take one look at yer an’ pay me ter take yer away. Still, it all worked out in the end. It’s a good job that copper showed up when ’e did. I don’t fink ’e believed me when I told ’im I was bein’ chased by a mad woman carryin’ a carvin’ knife. Alice must ’ave seen the copper an’ ’opped it orf ’ome. I wonder why ’e wanted me particulars though. I ’ope I don’t ’ear no more from ’im. I must remember not ter go near that cafe again. Alice is sure ter keep ’er eye on the place. I wouldn’t mind if I’d done anyfink wrong,’ he rambled on. ‘She’s so jealous. I was only chattin’ ter the woman, you know that,’ he reminded his horse. ‘Trouble wiv Alice is, she wants me ter spend all the bloody day at ’er place. I wouldn’t mind if there wasn’t much business about an’ I could trust yer ter stay put, but I can’t, can I? That reminds me, I mus’ get that brake chain fixed.’

The horse watched its owner for a while then appeared to lose interest, closing its eyes and leaning against the stall. Broomhead began to tidy up the bits and pieces, whistling tunelessly to himself, when suddenly he looked up and saw Alice Johnson standing in the doorway, and there was a knife in her hand.

The building work started on time at the dining rooms in Cotton Lane and Carrie made sure that the men were kept supplied with mugs of tea. The builders’ first job was to board up the front of the empty house, and when that was done the work began in earnest. The roof was pulled down and the interior knocked out until all that was left was the shell of the house. Soon the new roof timbers were in place and the rafters were covered firstly with slatting and then grey slates. The walls were plastered, the inside was fitted out with a large sink and a place was reserved for a big catering gas stove. Gas lighting was installed, cupboards were fitted, and a new chopping block was added. Then on the last Sunday in February the adjoining wall to the dining rooms was attacked with heavy hammers.

Carrie inspected the work in progress and was pleased by what she saw. When it was finished Fred would have a large kitchen and the counter would be moved back to make room for more seating. There was still much to do but by the end of March the work should be finished, she thought. Fred had been anxious at first but when he saw what had been done and realised just what the new, improved kitchen would mean to him he began to forget his earlier worries.