The Girl from Cotton Lane (42 page)

‘Don’t yer be so rude, yer great lummock,’ Sam shouted at him. ‘Yer not gettin’ on an’ orf me fer tuppence.’

The roar of laughter helped to force a coy smile out of the hard-pushed stall owner. ‘Bleedin’ sauce! As if I ain’t got enough ter do, what wiv sawin’ up the bread, makin’ tea an’ coffee an’ keepin’ the food inspector orf me back, I’ve gotta put up wiv your bleedin’ cheek. Why don’t yer go ’ome an’ nag yer missus?’

‘C’mon, Sam, where’s me cheese sandwich?’ a carman called out.

‘Give us two more teas, Sam.’

‘Gis a large tea on the quick, I’m due fer a call,’ another carman urged him.

‘Why don’t yer wait yer turn, I’ve only got one bleedin’ pair of ’ands,’ Sam replied, raising his eyes and tutting.

Danny was standing at the stall and he grinned at the harassed man. ‘Don’t let ’em upset yer, Sam,’ he told him. ‘We all know yer do the best food around ’ere.’

Sam gave Danny a rueful smile. ‘I’ve bin finkin’ o’ shuttin’ up fer good, really I ’ave,’ he said, holding a hand to his side and wincing. ‘It’s jus’ not werf the trouble. I tell yer, Danny, if I could get a decent job I’d close termorrer.’

When Danny left the stall he wrote the address of Carrie’s dining rooms on a piece of paper and handed it to him. ‘That’s me sister’s place. She’s lookin’ fer a good cook. Yer’d be all right there, provided yer can do the job,’ he grinned. ‘Why don’t yer look ’er up?’

‘I’m a bleedin’ first-rate cook,’ Sam replied indignantly. ‘There’s nuffink I can’t cook.’

‘No, that’s right,’ a docker remarked. ‘Yer cooked this bloody tea by the look of it.’

‘Shut yer ugly trap,’ Sam shouted at him, and as Danny left he called out, ‘I’ll look yer sister up on Saturday, luv.’

During the last week in August when the women of Page Street gathered in Sadie Sullivan’s parlour there was much to talk about.

‘Alice was tellin’ me ’er bloke’s in the church choir,’ Maisie informed the others.

‘Whatever next?’ Florrie said. ‘They’ll ’ave ter watch everyfing that ain’t screwed down. ’E’d nick the collection plate if it was werf anyfing.’

‘My Carrie’s took on a new cook,’ Nellie told her friends. ‘Funny sort o’ bloke by all accounts. ’E comes ter work wiv a shoppin’ bag over ’is arm. Carrie’s pleased wiv ’im though. She said ’e’s a good cook an’ really ’ard-workin’.’

‘What’s the latest about Joe Maitland?’ Florrie asked.

‘The case comes up next week,’ Nellie told her.

‘I ’ope ’e gets orf,’ Florrie remarked. ‘’E’s a nice fella is Joe. Good as gold ter me when ’e was lodgin’ at my place. I mean ter say, it ain’t as if ’e’s ’urt anybody.’

The women nodded sympathetically and Florrie got out her snuffbox.

‘’Ere, I know what I was gonna tell yer,’ Maisie said quickly. ‘Yer remember that ugly git Jack Oxford who used ter work at the stables? Well, I saw ’im at the market the ovver mornin’. Arm in arm wiv a big woman ’e was. ’E ’ad a nice suit on, an’ a collar an’ tie. ’E did look smart.’

The first round of snippets over, Florrie took a pinch of snuff and Sadie went out to make the tea. There was still much to discuss, but Sadie had decided earlier she would not mention the fact that her daughter-in-law was pregnant. She was well aware that all her friends were rather good at simple arithmetic.

Joe Maitland stood trial at the Old Bailey. The case dragged on for two days and when he was found guilty his previous conviction was read out. Carrie was sitting in the public gallery and she covered her face with her hands as she heard the judge sentence him to seven years’ imprisonment.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Carrie slipped the bolts on the front door and looked in on Rachel who was finishing wiping down the tables. ‘C’mon, luv, let’s get some tea,’ she said, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. ‘I want ter get fings sorted out wiv yer farvver.’

Rachel took off the apron which reached down almost to the floor and looked closely at her mother. ‘S’posin’ Dad won’t agree, Mum? Yer know ’e’s not gonna like the idea,’ she replied.

Carrie took her daughter’s hands and pulled her down into one of the bench seats with her. ‘Now listen ter me, Rachel,’ she began, looking into the eleven-year-old’s deep blue eyes. ‘I’ve ’ad ter run this place fer the past five years since yer dad ’ad the stroke. It’s not bin easy but I’ve made it pay. We’ve built up an established trade an’ a lot o’ goodwill. I’ve got what I fink is a fair price an’ I can’t let it pass.’

The young girl looked down at her clasped hands and studied her thumb-nails for a few moments. ‘It’s bin Dad’s life. This cafe is all ’e knows,’ she said quietly. ‘I can’t see ’im bein’ ’appy about it.’

Carrie looked at her pretty, flaxen-haired daughter with a warm light in her eyes. ‘Fer five years yer farvver’s sat in that room upstairs ’ardly ever movin’ out of it, unless it was when I took ’im fer a walk along the riverside. ’E’s gettin’ slowly worse, Rachel. I can’t let ’im die in that room. Besides, there’s space in the new place fer yer gran an’ gran’farvver. It’s gettin’ ’ard fer ’em ter climb all those stairs in the Buildin’s. Yer gotta remember, yer gran’farvver’s seventy-two this year.’

‘I know, Mum, an’ ’e’ll be really ’appy bein’ around ’orses again, won’t ’e?’

Carrie nodded. ‘When I told ’im me plans ’e was so excited. Yer gran was a bit worried in case it don’t work out, but Gran’farvver soon talked ’er round.’

‘It will, Mum. I know it will,’ Rachel said, her young face lighting up.

Carrie slipped out of her seat and together with Rachel she climbed the stairs to the front room over the shop. Fred was sitting back in his chair beside the empty grate, staring towards the window, and when the two women entered the room he looked up slowly, as though the movement was painful.

‘Is the shop closed?’ he said in his slow voice.

Carrie nodded and sat down facing him. ‘’Ow yer feelin’, luv?’ she asked with concern.

He nodded in reply, his head moving slowly. ‘Well, are yer gonna tell me all about yer plans?’ he said, forcing a crooked smile that left the right side of his face unchanged.

Carrie was taken aback, but she reached out and laid her hands on his. ‘Sam’s made us an offer fer the cafe an’ there’s a cartage business goin’ in Salmon Lane we can afford, Fred,’ she said encouragingly. ‘There’s a nice ’ouse included an’ yer’ll be able ter spend the day on the ground floor. There’s room fer me mum an’ dad too.’

Fred looked into the empty grate for a few moments then his eyes came up to meet hers. ‘I might be infirm, but I’ve still got me ’earin’, Carrie,’ he reminded her, ‘an’ some o’ the time when I’ve bin sittin’ ’ere wiv me eyes closed I wasn’t asleep. I’ve ’eard yer talkin’ about yer plans fer the future.’

‘Well, don’t yer fink it’s a good idea, Fred?’ she asked.

His eyes seemed to cloud as he looked at the excited expression on his wife’s face. ‘Yer’ve cared fer me as well as ’avin’ the business ter run an’ it couldn’t ’ave bin easy by any means. If it ’adn’t ’ave bin fer yer the place would ’ave gone ter the wall. I reckon yer’ve got a right ter wanna sell it. I’m only worried in case yer takin’ on too much wiv the cartage business. After all, it ain’t a woman’s sort o’ work.’

‘Yer ferget I was brought up wiv ’orses,’ she said quickly, playfully tapping his hand. ‘Besides, me dad’s still pretty sprightly an’ ’e can give us all the advice we need. There’s a lot o’ carmen who’d be glad of a job wiv us as well.’

‘Yer keep sayin’ “us”, Carrie,’ he muttered sadly. ‘I’m not gonna be able to ’elp yer the way I am.’

She smiled at him. ‘Look, luv. The business is yours as much as mine. All right, I’m managin’ it, but I never make any moves until I’ve got yer approval, yer know that. Besides, I’ve done all right by us so far, an’ I jus’ know we’ll do well in the cartage business, I jus’ know it.’

‘What about the contracts? Can we get enough work ter make a go of it?’ he asked. ‘Yer said yerself there’s more an’ more firms changin’ ter motor vans. Even Galloway’s got rid of all ’is ’orses.’

Carrie leaned forward, eager to reassure him. ‘Galloway could ’ave got regular dock collections an’ deliveries if ’e’d ’ave unionised earlier. Instead ’e went fer the long-distance work wiv lorries. There’s a lot o’ local work goin’ beggin’ an’ we can undercut the motorised firms. Our carmen would all be in the union too, an’ they’ll ’ave no trouble wiv the dockers. Also there’s two good contracts goin’ wiv the business. If we can be relied on we’ll keep the work wiv the leavver-buyers an’ also the rum merchants. Galloway lost those contracts ’cos o’ the way ’e ’andled ’em. I won’t make that mistake, believe me.’

Fred forced a wan smile. ‘No, I don’t believe yer would.’

‘Well, what d’yer say, luv? Can I start the ball rollin’?’ Carrie asked him excitedly.

Fred nodded. ‘Yer might as well. Yer wouldn’t take no fer an answer anyway, would yer?’ he said.

Carrie stood over him and slipped her hands around his neck. ‘I’ll make it work fer us, Fred. Fer the three of us,’ she told him, touching her lips to his forehead in a gentle kiss.

Billy Sullivan stepped out of his house in Page Street and walked proudly beside Annie who was carrying their new baby in her arms. It was a bright Sunday morning and they were off to the christening at St Joseph’s Church. Billy was holding on to four-year-old Patrick and two-year-old Brendan who yawned widely as he toddled along the turning. Sadie was waiting at her front door. She called out to her husband Daniel and the Sullivan tribe increased as they walked towards Jamaica Road. Sadie stepped out of her house holding on to Daniel’s arm and Shaun followed on with his wife Teresa who was carrying the baby. Behind them came the twins Pat and Terry with their wives Dolly and Frances, each holding the hands of their two children. Joe brought up the rear holding the arm of his wife Sara, who was carrying their new baby.

Florrie Axford stood at her front door talking to Maisie Dougall. Now turned seventy-two, Florrie was still upright and alert, and she nodded to the Sullivan family as they passed. ‘It looks like they’re after startin’ a football team,’ she joked. ‘Billy seems ter be makin’ up fer lost time too.’

Maisie was now in her mid-sixties and had become even more plump over the past few years. ‘They’ll be runnin’ out o’ names soon,’ she laughed.

The two women watched the Sullivan tribe leave the narrow turning then they got back down to serious matters. ‘’Ere, Flo, ’ave yer ’eard about that Ellie Roffey who’s bin creatin’ merry ’ell up at the market?’

Florrie shook her head. ‘Who’s she?’

‘Red Ellie they call ’er,’ Maisie went on. ‘Apparently she’s one o’ those Communists, so they say. Anyway, there’s bin a bit o’ trouble wiv the stall’olders an’ the Council over the pitches by all accounts, an’ this Ellie’s bin fightin’ fer the stall’olders. She ’ad a stall ’erself once an’ everybody knows ’er. Apparently she’s bin a widow since she was twenty-three an’ she was left wiv two young children. I was talkin’ ter that Tommy Allnut - you know ’im, ’im who’s got the fruit stall outside the ironmonger’s. Well, ’e was tellin’ me that this Ellie got chucked out of ’er ’ouse when ’er kids were jus’ babies an’ she got some ’elp from the Communists. That’s why she joined ’em, so Tommy Allnut reckons. ’E said she’s bin fightin’ fer people’s rights ever since.’

‘We could do wiv somebody like ’er ter fight ole Galloway about our places,’ Florrie replied. ‘It’s a bloody disgrace the way ’e’s let these ’ouses go. D’yer know, I’ve told that rent collector a dozen times about my roof but nuffink’s bin done.’

‘I know,’ Maisie said. ‘My place is the same. I’ve got the water comin’ in my upstairs rooms an’ I’m sure the ceilin’s gonna come down before long. P’raps we could see ’er about it.’

‘Would she be able ter do anyfing fer us?’ Florrie asked.

‘We can but try,’ Maisie said. ‘From what I understand this Red Ellie ’olds meetin’s every Friday night at the school in Fair Street. I’ll find out more about it an’ maybe we could get a few of the neighbours ter come wiv us. After all, everybody’s complainin’. What we got ter lose?’

‘Quite right,’ Florrie agreed. ‘I’ll ’ave a word wiv Sadie Sullivan when I go in there ternight. She’s invited me ter the christenin’ party. Are you goin?’

Maisie nodded. ‘I fink all the street’s goin’. Maudie said she’s bin invited, an’ that Alice Johnson too. I do ’ope ’er ole man won’t be there.’

Florrie reached into her apron for her snuffbox. ‘I don’t fink so. Sadie ain’t got no time fer ’im. She only invited Alice ’cos she borrered ’er pianer. I see it goin’ in early this mornin’.’

‘Is Alice gonna play it?’ Maisie asked.

‘I expect so. She can knock out a tune, so I’ve bin told.’

‘’Ere, is ’er ole man still in the choir?’

‘Nah. There was some trouble wiv the vicar, by all accounts,’ Florrie explained. ‘Apparently Broom’ead went in ter choir practice one night the worse fer drink an’ then annuver time ’e trod ’orse shit all up the aisle. What finished ’im was when ’e ’ad an argument wiv the vicar about gettin’ paid. ’E reckoned they should ’ave a collection fer the choir every Sunday. Mind yer, it was Maudie who told me, an’ yer can’t believe a word she ses. She gets everyfing arse-up’ards.’

Maisie watched and waited while Florrie went through her usual ritual, and after the loud sneeze she pointed along the turning. ‘That’s gonna cause a bit o’ trouble as well,’ she remarked.