‘Yeah, but it wasn’t ’undred ter six, was it?’
‘I’m jus’ sayin’ s’pose it was?’
Danny puffed loudly. ‘Look, Pop, ’undred ter six is just over sixteen ter one. That means yer get sixteen tanners, not ’undred tanners. You’d get about eight an’ fourpence plus yer place money.’
‘But it wasn’t ’undred ter six, it was ’undred ter seven.’
‘That’s what I’m tryin’ ter tell yer.’
‘Well my ole woman worked it out fer me. She don’t make mistakes. She reckons she only ever made one mistake in ’er life.’
‘Well she’s made anuvver one, Pop.’
The old gent pocketed his winnings and walked off grumbling about the unfairness of it all. A short while later Danny handed over the day’s bets to Ginny and sipped the tea that she had made for him. ‘’Ere, Danny,’ she said, ‘I see that Thompson girl up the corner shop earlier on. I meant ter tell yer, she’s got a nice shiner. D’yer reckon ’er feller give it to’er?’
Danny gulped the hot tea in anger and felt it burn his gullet. ‘That’s an animal she’s wiv, I’d take money on it.’
Ginny picked up a pair of torn trousers and searched for the cotton. ‘I reckon she’s a nice kid. Too good fer ’im. I don’t know what she got ’iked up wiv that slob for.’
‘I dunno, Ginny,’ Danny said coldly, ‘there’s no accountin’ fer taste.’
Ginny gave him a playful nudge. ‘She’d ’ave bin better off wiv somebody like yerself. If I was twenty years younger yer wouldn’t ’ave ter ask me twice.’
Danny grinned. ‘You’re all woman, Ginny, an’ what’s more yer make a luvverly cup o’ tea.’
Ginny nudged him again and took his empty teacup. Danny watched as she rinsed the cup at the sink in the back scullery. She would still be a fine catch for someone, he thought. Her figure was still round and firm, and even with her hair pulled up untidily into a bun on the top of her head, Ginny looked attractive. Her skin was soft, and the few lines around her eyes did not lessen her good looks. Danny had to admit that he wouldn’t say no to her in different circumstances.
Ginny put a fresh cup of tea down on the table beside him. While he sipped the tea she picked up the torn trousers and pulled the frayed material together. Occasionally her eyes moved up from her sewing and she watched him. Her husband had been gone almost three years and she felt a stirring in her belly. It was worse at night, when the solitude and the growing desire became an ache. The young man who had taken over the pitch figured in her fantasies. Her face would flush in the darkness as her hand reached over to the pillow beside hers. Her desire was tempered by feelings of guilt; he was a mere boy compared to her, yet in her fantasies he was the one who climbed into her bed and loved her. The ache would then be drowned in a sea of passion, and in its wake a serene feeling would flow over their united bodies like an incoming tide. In the lonely silence the woman could do nothing about the salt tears that soaked her pillow. Her dead husband would come to fill her drowsy thoughts, and she always sought his forgiveness for her infidelity before sleep overtook her.
The sun was high as the carman climbed down from his dickey–seat and wrapped the wheel chain around the wooden spokes. As he strapped the nosebag over his nag’s head the animal reared back. The carman spoke quietly to the horse and stroked its neck reassuringly. Normally he parked his cart in Tooley Street while he went for his lunchtime drink, but today the horse seemed nervous. Dawson Street was quiet in comparison to the main road, and before he went off to the pub the carman satisfied himself that all was well. The horse munched away at the oats and occasionally shook its head in an effort to get rid of the pain from its abscessed ear. Along the turning Crazy Bella was kneeling at her front door and putting the finishing touches to her stone step. She mumbled to herself as she gathered up the block of whitening and the house flannel. Across the street the Brightmans’ baby slept peacefully in its pram by the front door, and a ginger–haired lad sat day–dreaming, his feet in the gutter. The sun shone down into the street and a pencil of bright light made young Billy Birkitt shield his eyes. He could see a glass marble lying in the middle of the cobbled roadway, and he got up to take a closer look. The marble was trapped between two cobblestones. Billy knelt down and tried to prise it loose with his fingers but it was firmly wedged there and the young lad ran back in his house and out into the backyard. He soon found the pointed stick that he used on the cat when it sauntered through his carefully arranged army of tin soldiers. He ran back to the middle of the street and knelt down to dig away at his prize. Crazy Bella was still wringing out her house flannel in the kerb. Up at the top of the turning, a horsefly flew into the infected ear of the cart horse throwing it into a frenzy of pain and fear. The horse reared up and bolted. The unladen cart with one wheel locked and its iron rim drawing sparks from the cobbles careered down the turning and gathered speed as the nag’s hooves thundered onto the stones. Billy Birkitt had loosened the marble but was too absorbed to hear the horse charging down towards him. Someone screamed and Crazy Bella dashed out in front of the wild animal. She only had time to grab the little lad and throw him aside before one of the shafts of the cart hit her between the shoulderblades. Bella was trampled under the horse’s hooves and the cart ran over her lifeless body. As if sensing what had happened the horse stopped at the railway arch and stood shivering, its head held down low.
At one o’clock the ambulance pulled into Dawson Street to take the body away. A hush had fallen over the turning. Every door was open and people were crying silently. Billy stood beside his mother, his head buried in her apron. Alice Sutton stood with Annie Barnes and Mrs Brightman, and together they watched the ambulance draw out of the backstreet.
When it had disappeared, Alice turned to her friend. ‘Gawd rest ’er soul. She’s at peace now, Annie. The poor cow couldn’t find any while she was livin’.’
Mrs Brightman sobbed aloud. ‘I seen it ’appen,’ she said, ‘She didn’t ’ave a chance of savin’ ’erself.’
Alice was staring at the screwed up flannel and the piece of whitening which lay beside the gleaming front doorstep. ‘We’d better close ’er front door, Annie,’ she said softly.
Chapter Sixteen
Danny Sutton stepped down from the tram and took Alison’s arm as she alighted. Together they walked through the wide gateway into Greenwich Park. Danny had gone directly from Ginny Coombes’s house to meet Alison and knew nothing of what had happened. His spirits were high as he took the young girl’s hand and guided her towards the steep footpath that led up to the observatory. Only a few people were in the park and they strolled in pleasant solitude past banks of summer flowers in the shade of the leafy chestnut trees. When they reached the top of the hill and walked out onto the paved area they saw the silver band of river far below them. Cranes swung and dipped, tugs slid along with squat barges in tow, and down in the foreground the white stone Maritime Museum shone from the centre of an emerald carpet. Alison sighed and sat down on a wooden bench facing the view. She watched Danny’s slim figure as he put one foot up on the low wall and stared down the grassy hill. After a short while he turned and walked over to the bench.
‘What d’yer fink of the view? I reckon it’s gotta be the best view in London,’ he said.
Alison nodded. ‘It’s lovely here. It’s so quiet and peaceful.’
Danny looked around. One old man sat nearby stroking a mongrel that was tethered with a length of string, and away to his left he saw the gun emplacements with their protective walls of sandbags. ‘’Cept fer that yer wouldn’t fink there was a war on, would yer?’
Alison was staring down at a tiny river craft that seemed to be bobbing about in mid–stream. A puff of smoke arose from its funnel and seconds later the muted hoot of a tug whistle reached her ears. The peaceful setting and the open sky made her feel ready for the talk she must have with Danny. Alison reached out her hand and as he took it she pulled him down beside her on the bench. ‘I’ve got to get that train tonight, Danny,’ she said. ‘I’m going to miss you.’
The young cockney reached over and gently kissed her ear. ‘I’m gonna miss yer, too,’ he said. ‘The time seems to be flyin’.’
‘We should talk, Danny.’
‘What about?’
‘About us,’ she said, her dark eyes opened wide.
Danny averted his gaze for a moment and stared down at his shoes. When he looked up again he said quickly, ‘I want you, Alison.’
‘I want you too, Danny, but I’m scared for us. We hardly know each other. In some ways we’re like strangers. Well, almost.’
Danny gave her a kiss on the side of her mouth but Alison pulled away. ‘Let’s be serious, Danny, we’ve got to talk. It’s important.’
‘Listen, Alison,’ he said, taking her hand in his, ‘there’s a bloody war on. Nobody knows what’s goin’ ter ’appen in the next few months. I fink we’ve got ter take what little ’appiness we can get, while there’s still time.’
‘That’s just it, Danny. We can take, but what will we be able to give to each other?’
‘Do I ’ave ter spell it out ter yer, Alison? I want yer because I luv yer. Not fer any uvver reason. Surely that’s somefing, ain’t it? Ter me that’s what luv’s all about.’
‘You say the word easily, Danny. I can’t find it that easy to say.’
‘Yer mean yer don’t feel the same way?’
Alison looked up at the thin clouds high in the sky and knew that she could not delay any longer. She must not allow herself to become trapped, there must be no sidetracking. She had to be bluntly honest. ‘You ask me if I feel the same way. All right, now please listen to me. I want you. I want you to love me, but I don’t think I’m ready for the strings to be tied. I don’t want to be owned, I don’t want to be tied down to a home and children yet, Danny. Marriage is what I’m talking about. There’s got to be an understanding between us.’
‘I’ll go along wiv that, Alison,’ he said, squeezing her hand in his. ‘I want an understandin’ too.’
The man with the dog got up and strolled off with his pet trotting along obediently by his side. They watched him in silence. Then Danny turned back to Alison and he could see that she was uneasy. She stared down at the gritted surface and moved the point of her shoe against the stone chippings, and when she looked up he could see the pain in her eyes. She sighed deeply and Danny felt he was about to learn something which he had been secretly dreading. As if to brace him, Alison put her free hand on his tensed arm and began.
‘I think I told you that I came into nursing when I was nineteen, just over three years ago. When I finished my training I was sent to the hospital at Dover. At first I was worried that I’d made the wrong decision and it took some time before I realised that nursing was the only thing I really wanted to do. Maybe it came to me as I gained confidence, I don’t know, but I was sure that nursing was going to be my whole life. I had been at the hospital for a year when I met a man at one of our hospital dances. He was a pilot whose family lived in the Midlands, and he was stationed on an airfield in Kent. His name was Wilfred Haggerty, though everyone called him Bill. He was good fun to be with, and I must admit he swept me off my feet. Maybe it was because I was naïve and away from home for the first time in my life, I don’t know. Anyway, we seemed to get on very well together. We began to see each other regularly, and after a couple of months he asked me to marry him. At first I was taken aback, I don’t mind telling you. It was impossible for me to even consider it. We came from different worlds: he was an officer who had gone straight from Cambridge into the Air Force, and I was a twenty–year–old from the Valleys who was just starting out on a career–I had never even had a steady boyfriend before he came along. But Bill wouldn’t accept that we were different, I couldn’t make him see it. He was a persistent type, I’ll give him that. By this time we were spending every weekend together, and most of the nights too when I was off duty and he could get away from the airfield. Bill was sure that after a time I’d change my mind and agree to marry him, and I must admit it was good at first. We were happy and he seemed content the way things were.
‘We had been together about six or seven months when the rows started. I think it had a lot to do with the realisation that there was going to be a war. He was beginning to press me again to marry him–I suppose he knew that he would be in action soon and wanted something to hold onto. I know a lot of people wouldn’t consider getting married the way things were, but Bill was different. And he began to get irritable. When I couldn’t get to see him because of my duty rota he thought I was deliberately avoiding meeting him. We had some blazing rows and we knew we couldn’t carry on like that. One weekend Bill asked me again to marry him, and in a weak moment I said I’d think about it, and he took that to mean that I’d changed my mind. He was so happy. Early next morning he gave me a lift on the back of his motorbike as far as the hospital. He left me and set off for his squadron.
‘I’ll never forget that day. Mid–morning the ward sister called me into her office and broke the news: Bill had been killed in a road accident not far from his airfield. I was devastated. And worst of all, he died believing in a lie. He never knew, Danny, that I hadn’t changed my mind. He never knew that it was all a lie.’
While Alison was talking to him, Danny’s eyes were riveted on her. His face was set hard, and when her dark eyes filled with tears he could find nothing to say. Alison remained silent for a short while. When she had composed herself again she went on. ‘You see, Danny, I’ve asked myself the same question a thousand times: how can I love a man and yet deny him marriage and children? That’s what it comes down to. If I had loved him enough I would have married him and had his children. I would have given up nursing for him.’
Danny swallowed hard. ‘But yer didn’t ’ave ter give up yer nursin’. The kids would ’ave come later if yer both wanted ’em that much.’