The Girl from Cotton Lane (46 page)

Councillor Edith Squires dabbed at her eyes and Councillors Thompson and Smith swallowed hard. Councillor Streetley sat impassive, while the chairman fiddled with the nameband of a new cigar. Billy Sullivan sat with his head lowered, unable to look up lest people should see the tears in his eyes. He did not hear the call for a vote but he heard the loud cheering which broke out around him and finally he lifted his head. There in the doorway he saw Annie, with the baby in her arms and his two sons holding on to their mother’s skirts. She was smiling broadly and he got up and rushed over to her, his arms going around her and the baby.

‘You’ve won, Billy!’ she said proudly.

He opened his mouth to speak but the words would not come. Instead he lowered his face on to Annie’s soft shoulder and wept.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Carrie walked back from the Rotherhithe Infirmary through the cool of the evening, saddened by Fred’s condition. He had been in good spirits when she sat with him in the long white-painted ward, but he was very weak. His face had become drawn and grey, and his arms resting over the bedclothes looked thin and drained of blood. He seemed much older than his fifty-six years and his speech was slow and faltering. The doctors said that he had suffered another stroke, and although it was a mild one in the light of his previous condition it had had a bad effect on him. His heart was weak and they said that it was quite likely he would now remain bed-ridden.

It was going to be hard, Carrie thought, what with the problems of running the new business and going out to find contracts, apart from the day-to-day tasks of seeing to the horses and keeping the carts in good condition. She was glad that Sharkey Morris had agreed to put in a few hours every day. He was turned seventy but still active and alert, and he had worked wonders with the harness leathers and brasses. The horses looked very well turned-out and the carts were clean too. Sharkey had seen to the axles, working grease around the moving parts and along the shafts. He had explained to Carrie the importance of always keeping the cart axles well greased.

‘I remember when I was workin’ fer ole Galloway an’ one o’ the axles seized up,’ he said with a serious expression on his face. ‘I lost the full load o’ wet skins. Stinking ter the ’igh ’eavens they was. They shot orf the cart right outside the pub in Long Lane. Nobody could get in or out. Mind yer, it was all right fer those inside. They all come out pissed as ’and-carts.’

Sharkey kept the yard well washed down too and the horses’ stalls were always mucked out and fresh straw provided daily. He never appeared to hurry in his work but he was efficient, and he seemed to have taken on a new lease of life in the short time he had been at the stable. He had always been on good terms with William Tanner and the two men spent much time talking about the old days when they both worked at Galloway’s yard.

Carrie had managed to secure a year-long contract with a wine merchants in Bermondsey, which entailed collecting casks of sherry and pipes of port from the wharves in Tooley Street and making an occasional journey to the coopers in Stepney. She had taken on another carman who was experienced in handling the heavy, dangerous barrels, and the wine merchants seemed to be happy with the arrangement. The new carman, Percy Harmer, was a short, powerfully built man in his mid-thirties who handled the casks with ease. He was good with the team of Percherons, which could be difficult to handle at times, and Carrie felt pleased that she had at least made a start with the new contract towards building up the business.

The sun was dropping behind the rooftops as she crossed Jamaica Road on that Saturday evening and walked along to Salmon Lane. Her parents had gone to Greenwich for the day and taken Rachel with them, and as she opened the wicket-gate and stepped into the yard she heard someone call out to her.

Don Jacobs was crossing the street holding an envelope in his hands. ‘I’ve got the men’s union cards, Carrie,’ he said smiling, ‘I was on me way ter the pub so I thought I’d drop ’em in.’

She beckoned him into the yard. ‘C’mon in, Don,’ she said, fumbling in her handbag for the front door key. ‘I’m dyin’ fer a cup o’ tea. D’yer fancy one or will it spoil yer pint?’

Don laughed. ‘I’d sooner ’ave a cup o’ tea wiv you than a pint wiv that crowd at the Crown,’ he said, stepping into the yard.

Carrie let herself into the quiet house and waved Don into the front room while she went into the scullery and lit a gas jet under the kettle. ‘It won’t take long,’ she shouted out.

‘Where’s Fred?’ he called out to her.

Carrie walked back into the parlour. ‘’E’s in ’ospital,’ she told him. ‘It’s anuvver stroke.’

Don’s face dropped. ‘I’m sorry, luv. When did it ’appen?’

‘Last week,’ she replied. ‘’E collapsed by the bed an’ we ’ad ter get ’im away.’

‘’E’s gonna be all right, ain’t ’e?’ the union man asked.

Carrie shrugged her shoulders. ‘They say ’e’s not gonna get out o’ bed this time,’ she said quietly.

Don got up and walked over to her, taking her by the shoulders. ‘If there’s anyfing I can do, don’t ferget, yer know where ter find me,’ he said with concern in his voice.

Carrie gripped his forearms. ‘Fanks, Don. I won’t ferget,’ she said, giving him a friendly smile.

For a moment or two they stayed together, looking into each other’s eyes, then Carrie dropped her gaze and moved away, suddenly feeling disturbed. ‘I’ll see about the tea,’ she said quickly.

Don sat down again beside the table and opened the envelope, laying the contents on the white tablecloth, and when Carrie came back into the room carrying the tea on a tray he looked up at her and smiled. ‘I’ve got three cards ’ere. All they need ter do is sign the forms,’ he explained. ‘We ’old the monthly branch meetin’s every last Friday evenin’ at the Sultan in Bermondsey Lane. If there’s anyfing they wanna know, tell ’em ter call in.’

Carrie handed him his tea. ‘I thought it best ter get the carmen ter join,’ she said, sitting down in the chair opposite him. ‘Paddy Byrne was tellin’ me Buckman wasn’t too keen on ’em bein’ in the union.’

Don nodded. ‘The trouble wiv Buckman was, ’e was one o’ the old school, but fings are changin’, as yer know,’ he said, sipping his tea. ‘Yer best chance ter win contracts now is ter see yer men keep their union tickets. They’re tightenin’ up at the quaysides since the General Strike. There was too many blackleg firms jumpin’ on the bandwagon. Every now an’ again they’ll ’ave a purge. No tickets, no loadin’. There’s one or two firms who won’t get a look in now, Carrie, an’ I should fink there’ll be a few more contracts in the offin’.’

Carrie watched the union man while he sipped his tea. She recalled the times he had sat talking to her in the back room at the dining rooms while Fred eyed them both with a dark look on his face.

‘Penny fer yer thoughts,’ he said suddenly, smiling widely at her.

‘Oh, I was jus’ finkin’,’ she told him. ‘Remember that back room at the cafe?’

He nodded. ‘What about when Fred used ter fink I was chattin’ yer up?’ he grinned.

‘Poor ole Fred used ter grill me after yer’d gone.’

Don put his cup down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. ‘D’yer know, Carrie, I used ter love those talks we ’ad,’ he told her, his face becoming serious. ‘I used ter fink yer was a bit special.’

‘’Ave I changed much then?’ she said, smiling.

Don shook his head slowly. ‘I still fink yer somefink special, Carrie,’ he said with deliberation. ‘Yer remind me o’ the way Margie used ter be, before she got ill.’

‘D’yer still see ’er?’ Carrie asked, resting her elbow on the table and cupping her chin.

‘Nah,’ he replied. ‘It’s two years or so now since I clapped eyes on ’er. She’s courtin’ again, by all accounts. ’E’s not a union official though,’ he added quickly with a wry smile.

Carrie gazed at the fine line of his face, now showing the strain from years of union work and hard bargaining. He was still a handsome man, she thought. His hair was greying and his grey eyes looked tired and sad but his mouth had a humorous twist, which made him look as though he was enjoying even the most arduous union meetings when in fact he was battling hard to unite his men against the odds. His mannerisms intrigued her too, the way he had of rolling his cigarette and the way he would smile patiently from the corner of his mouth when angry dockers were shouting and raving. He had excited her at those meetings in the cafe, she admitted to herself. There were times when Fred had been sleeping soundly next to her and she had lain awake, needing love and wondering what it would be like to lie next to Don Jacobs and have him turn towards her and wrap his arms around her.

‘Is there a new woman in yer life, Don?’ she asked him, suddenly feeling embarrassed at what she had said.

Don looked down at his empty cup and swirled the tea-leaves, then his eyes met hers. ‘I spend a lot o’ time on union business an’ it’s usually in men’s company. Besides, I couldn’t go frew all that again,’ he said quietly. ‘I couldn’t expect a woman ter suffer the hours o’ loneliness the way Margie did.’

Carrie leaned forward and touched his hand. ‘Yer’ll find anuvver woman, I’m sure,’ she told him.

He looked intently at her, his eyes unblinking. ‘I wish I’d met yer before Fred,’ he said in a low, husky voice. ‘I’ve always thought yer was a cut above the rest.’

Carrie felt her face grow hot and she stood up. ‘Would yer like anuvver cuppa?’ she asked, averting her eyes.

‘Yeah, I would,’ he replied, watching her as she picked up the cups.

Carrie walked out into the scullery with her heart suddenly pounding. It had been a long time since anyone had aroused her so. Only Joe had made her feel this way and she had almost forgotten how nice it was with him. She could feel her hands shaking and her stomach tighten at the thought of making love.

Carrie’s back was to the door and as she heard his footsteps she turned around. Don stood there for a moment, his eyes fixed on hers, and then slowly walked up close to her. She felt as if her whole mind were laid bare to him though not a word was spoken. She was in his arms, her body pressed hard against his. She could feel his chest rising and falling and his strong arms enfolding her and moving slowly across her back, and as delicious feelings of love filled her she joined her lips to his in a long and sensuous kiss, her breath coming in gasps as his hands fondled her body. The long months, years, of being without a man holding her, caressing her, had left her feeling empty, and suddenly long-forgotten sensations were once more flowing through her. Nothing mattered now, only her passionate desire. She slipped her hand in his as she broke away from his ardent caress. He followed her as she pulled on his hand, leading him to her bedroom, and as they passed through the doorway she was in his arms again. He slipped his hands around her back and down to the small rounded bottom, and her arms went around his neck as her lips found his in a kiss that seemed to send her head spinning. He had moved backwards to the bed and pulled her down to him. Two bodies writhed together, each needing the love which had for so long passed them by. Don groaned in her ear as he struggled with the buttons of her dress and her hands went to his belt, slipping the clasp. ‘I need yer, Don,’ she moaned.

He kissed her ears and her neck as she struggled out of her dress and then reached down to her long, slender thighs and they kissed wildly, struggling and twisting together, their lips exploring each other’s secret places, their naked bodies hot and expectant. He sought her lips and kissed her hard and long as she enfolded him in a passionate embrace. No longer able to delay their consuming desire, at last they were one.

Outside the office in the Galloway yard at Wilson Street a group of women stood together while their leader Red Ellie was inside talking to a young man, who appeared to be nodding his head vigorously. Florrie Axford reached inside her coat pocket for her snuffbox and turned to Maisie Dougall. ‘She’s givin’ ’im what for by the look of it,’ she remarked.

Maisie chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t like ter be in that young man’s shoes,’ she replied.

Maggie Jones touched the bun on the back of her head as she peered in through the window. ‘Poor little sod looks terrified of ’er. Mind yer, though, she is a bit of an ’andful.’

Jamie Robins had been with the Galloway company for only a short time and he had never before had to deal with anything other than ledgers and bills. Now he felt completely out of his depth as he faced the determined woman.

‘But I can’t tell you when Mr Galloway will arrive. I’m afraid he doesn’t take me into his confidence,’ he said plaintively.

‘Don’t yer get shirty wiv me, young man,’ Ellie told him. ‘I wanna know when I can get ter see one o’ the Galloways. I don’t care if it’s senior or junior, they’re both owners.’

‘Well, I can certainly take the petition,’ Jamie said helpfully, ‘but I can’t promise when either of the owners will see it.’

Ellie put her hands on her hips and glared at the young man. ‘Now look, my son,’ she said in a low, menacing voice, ‘if yer don’t try an’ locate one o’ the Galloways an’ get ’em ter come ter the yard right away, us ladies are gonna sit down in the doorway an’ stop any o’ your vans comin’ in or goin’ out, d’yer understand?’

Jamie Robins scratched his carroty hair anxiously. ‘Someone could get killed if you attempt to block the gateway,’ he warned her.

‘Listen ter me,’ Ellie said, waving her forefinger at him. ‘If any o’ my ladies get ’urt frew carmen drivin’ in the yard, we’ll pull ’em out o’ those seats an’ lynch ’em. Yer know what lynchin’ is, don’t yer?’