Where the Heart Lies (12 page)

As he closed the door they were plunged into darkness. ‘The gas is off,’ he explained sourly. ‘Mind your step.’

Feeling more uncertain by the minute, she followed him up the bare stairs to a landing which had four doors leading off it. The strange smell was even worse up here and impossible to ignore. ‘What
is
that pong?’ she asked, wrinkling her nose.

‘A couple of Indian seamen moved in the other day – it’s their curry,’ he muttered, running his fingers through his hair. ‘It tastes all right, but give me jellied eels any day.’ He paused as he reached for the door-handle. ‘Look, Julie,’ he said awkwardly, ‘you’ll ’ave to ignore the mess. I wasn’t expecting visitors.’

‘I’ve probably seen far worse on my rounds,’ she replied with a lightness she didn’t feel. ‘Can we go in and open a window? That smell is turning me stomach.’

He opened the door and hurried towards the window as she followed him. She took in the rumpled, grubby bed, the pile of discarded dirty clothes in the corner, the plates of half-eaten meals and empty beer
bottles that littered every flat surface. It was a small, musty room with a single bed, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers, but every inch of the uncarpeted floor was covered in discarded newspapers and what looked suspiciously like pornographic magazines.

She looked away quickly, but Stan must have noticed, because he hastily gathered them up and shoved them in a drawer. He also realised his shirt was flapping open and buttoned it quickly before pulling the unwashed bedclothes straight. ‘Sorry there ain’t nowhere else to sit,’ he muttered, ‘but there ain’t room to swing a cat in here.’

Julie was shocked by the state of the room and the slovenly way Stan seemed to be living. No wonder he’d never invited her in for a cuppa – not that she’d have come, she wasn’t that kind of girl. She perched on the very edge of the insanitary bed, her knees and ankles tightly together, the gas-mask box held determinedly on her lap like a barrier between them.

Stan seemed to have recovered from his initial embarrassment, for he eyed her with his familiar cheeky smile as he rolled a cigarette. ‘You look right prim and proper sitting there, gel. What’s the matter? Frightened I’ll try and ’ave me wicked way?’ He chuckled as he stuck the cigarette in his mouth and reached for a box of matches. ‘Don’t worry, gel. I’m too tired for all that.’

Julie could feel her heart hammering against her ribs. This wasn’t the Stan she knew at all. She
shouldn’t have come – should have waited until Wednesday evening as they’d planned.

He shivered and closed the window, disregarding her obvious discomfort. He rested his behind on the sill and smoked his cigarette, his dark gaze pinned on her through the drift of smoke. ‘So what’s so urgent it couldn’t wait until I’d caught up on me kip?’

Julie licked her dry lips. The doubts were growing by the minute, but she’d come for a purpose and couldn’t fail now. She tightened her grip on the gas-mask box and kept her gaze fixed to the tiny chip of diamond in her engagement ring as she told him about the events of the past twenty-four hours.

‘I’m sorry to ’ear about that, love,’ he said softly. ‘They was lovely people. Made me feel right at home, they did.’ He finished his cigarette and dropped the butt in an empty beer bottle as another ship gave a deafening blast, which reverberated right through the house. He didn’t seem to even notice as he carried on talking. ‘I only met Franny a coupl’a times, but she seemed like a nice, quiet little thing. Shame about ’er and the baby.’

‘The baby – William – is alive and being looked after at the hospital,’ she said quickly. ‘He’s a little premature, so he’ll stay there for a few weeks until he’s gained some weight.’ She hesitated, then plunged on and told him about her promise to Fanny and the difficulties she would have trying to care for the child on her own.

He narrowed his eyes and watched her with all the concentration of a feral cat stalking a bird. ‘Well, you can’t, can you? It wouldn’t be proper.’

‘But I must,’ she said urgently. ‘I promised.’

Stan’s gaze remained steady through the narrowed lids. ‘She won’t know if you break your promise,’ he said flatly. ‘And with yer parents gone, it will be impossible. You should foster the kid out, and if its dad don’t turn up, then ’e can be adopted.’

Julie stared at him. He hadn’t listened to a word she’d said – had absolutely no idea of how much that promise to her dead sister meant to her. ‘I’m not breaking that promise, Stan,’ she said, her voice edgy with emotion.

‘Don’t be bloody silly,’ he snapped. ‘You ain’t got nothing but your job and a place at that ’ostel.’ He began to pace back and forth in front of the grimy window, animated by his impatience with her. ‘If you take this kid on you’ll be out on yer ear and no chance to earn, not even somewhere to live. Then what you gunna do? Take in bleedin’ washing?’

‘I thought I might work part-time and pay someone to look after him.’

He gave a harsh cough of humourless laughter. ‘And what sort of work would that be, Julie?’ he asked as he turned back to her. ‘Single girls with a kid in tow ain’t respectable, and you won’t be allowed to nurse once word gets out.’

Julie bit her lip, the ready tears blinding her as she watched him resume his pacing. This was far
harder than she could ever have imagined. ‘I was . . . I thought . . . That’s to say I hoped . . .’ Her voice faded as her courage deserted her.

His gaze was intense as he came to a sudden standstill. ‘What? Come on, Julie, spit it out.’

‘I thought that as we’re engaged, we could get married a bit earlier than we planned,’ she said softly, not daring to look at him. ‘Perhaps find somewhere cheap to live and look after William until Bill gets back.’ She glanced up at him but couldn’t see his expression as his back was to the light. ‘As a married woman I could still work,’ she rushed on, ‘and it can often be cheaper for two to share food and bills, and once you pass your sergeant’s exam we could . . .’

The words stuck in her throat as Stan took a step towards her, his face ashen, his eyes glittering dangerously. ‘You’ve got it all worked out, ’aven’t you?’ he growled.

She was incapable of replying, hypnotised by those eyes which seemed to bore right through her and pin her to the bed.

She flinched as he leaned forward and rested his hands either side of her on the bed. ‘Well, I ain’t marrying you, Julie – not until you get rid of that kid.’

‘But . . .’

He leaned closer, his sour breath stirring her hair. ‘No buts, no ifs, no maybe. I ain’t raising another man’s bastard, and that’s an end to it.’

Julie gripped the gas-mask box and tried to stand.

He casually pushed her back onto the bed. ‘Get rid of the kid and we’ll set a date,’ he said, his voice low and flat. ‘Keep the kid and it’s over, Julie.’

She stared at him, terrified now of what he might do. The spell in which he’d held her broke, and she scrambled off the bed. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she babbled, edging towards the door.

He returned to his perch on the windowsill and began to roll another cigarette. ‘You do that, gel,’ he murmured. ‘And when you’ve seen sense, come back here and I’ll show you what you would’a been missing.’ He gave her a lascivious smile and winked. ‘As you said the other night, gel, it’ll be worth the waiting.’

Julie wrenched open the door and fled down the dark stairs. She slammed through the front door and stumbled into the street, gasping for fresh air and from the overwhelming need to get as far away from him as quickly as possible. Retrieving her bicycle, she pedalled furiously down the street, away from that awful room, the squabbling seagulls and the raucous noise of the docks. She didn’t stop until she’d reached the hostel.

She was shaking so badly she almost fell off the bicycle as she came to a halt, and she had to stand for a moment to regain her equilibrium. It was rather galling to realise he hadn’t chased after her, or even called to her from his window. But there were no
tears or regrets for having that awful encounter, for it was obvious she’d had a merciful escape.

Stan was not the man she’d thought he was – and certainly not the man who’d charmed her family with his nice manners and respectable prospects – but someone whose veneer of kindness and urbanity had finally slipped to reveal his true character. She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been to think she loved him when, really, she hadn’t known him at all. Looking down at the little engagement ring she’d once treasured, she decided to post it to him first thing in the morning.

She wheeled her bike through the gates and parked it alongside the others under the lean-to, her thoughts whirling. With the engagement over and Stan out of her life, she was now truly alone. She faced that fact, and began to make plans. She had always dealt with the family’s correspondence and had the family address book in her bedside drawer. Tonight, she would write to Bill and his family, explaining the situation in the faint hope his parents would take William in. Then she’d write to Eileen and her brothers, and tell them all what had happened.

She watched Horace filling a bucket with anthracite to feed the range, spilling most of it on the path as he carried it into the hostel. Yet her thoughts were elsewhere.

She didn’t really expect a reply from Bill’s family, but if Eileen wrote back, then at least she’d know
she still lived in Cliffehaven and could begin to make plans to go down there. Apart from her brothers, who were fighting in North Africa, Eileen was all the family she had now. Although there was a gap of twelve years between them, they were still family, and that counted for a great deal to all East Enders. Eileen was duty-bound to take her in.

Still rather shaken from that scene with Stan, she nevertheless began to feel more positive about things as she went in through the back door of the hostel and headed for the bedroom. She felt grubby after sitting on that revolting bed, tainted by the sleaziness of Stan and his horrid little room – and the way she’d cheapened herself by begging him to marry her. Apart from that, she could swear the stench of curry still clung to her coat and hair.

Julie grabbed fresh towels and locked herself in the bathroom. A good scrub with soap and hot water would put her to rights. Then she could settle down to writing her letters, and start making plans to take William out of the chaos of London to what she hoped would be the safety of Cliffehaven.

PEGGY REILLY WAS
taking a few well-earned minutes to herself, having been on her feet for most of the morning at the Town Hall where she worked as a volunteer, sorting clothes for those poor unfortunate people who’d lost everything in the raids.

Her sister, Doris, had called in and thrown her weight about, which, as usual, had wound Peggy up to the point where she’d simply turned her back on her and walked away. Doris would make her pay for that moment of exasperation, she had no doubt of it, but for the moment Peggy was just relieved to be out in the fresh air.

She battled against the wind which buffeted her slight frame and brought her bicycle to a halt by one of the stone benches that were dotted along the promenade. She sat down, glad for this quiet moment after the chaos and noise of too many women squabbling over everything from frying pans to pyjamas while their babies screamed and their toddlers ran about under everyone’s feet. Beach View Boarding House could manage without her for a while.

It was early afternoon, with streaks of sunlight
piercing the clouds to lie in golden pools on the grey water of the Channel. The horizon was darkening with the promise of rain, but it would be a while yet before Cliffehaven got a soaking, and Peggy decided to risk it. She knotted her headscarf under her chin and pulled up her coat collar. The wind was bitter as it came off the sea, and the bay didn’t look its best with huge coils of barbed wire barring the way to the mined beach, but Peggy was warm in the new coat her husband Jim had given her for her forty-fourth birthday, and happy to have this moment of solitude as she drank in the view and let her thoughts drift.

Cliffehaven had been a popular seaside resort before the war, its hotels and guest houses full of visitors, with music and dancing on the pier and hundreds strolling along the promenade. Peggy had lived here all her life, taking over the running of Beach View when her parents retired some years ago. She had seen many changes over that time, but these long months of war had brought the greatest, and she wondered if the town could ever return to how it had once been.

The grand old hotels still graced the seafront, even though they bore the scars of enemy bullets and the general carelessness of the soldiers and Allied servicemen billeted there. The smaller boarding houses and Victorian villas still perched on the hills that sloped right down to the promenade, but there were gaps between them now. The High Street had
fared no better, for shops and offices had been turned to rubble, the railway station was reduced to a shell, and the slum housing behind it had been obliterated during that terrible night at the end of December.

Peggy didn’t want to dwell on the horrors, and she turned her attention back to the view. The shingled bay curved between tall chalk cliffs to the east and rolling hills to the west, the town nestling amid those hills and spreading out with new factories and hastily built emergency accommodation for those who’d been bombed out. Beyond the town and hidden from view amid the hills was a Canadian army camp, and an all-but-abandoned First World War American airbase. This base was home to a handful of American pilots and engineers who could often be seen about the town, using their heavy machinery to help shore up toppling houses or clear the debris following a raid – but everyone knew they would have preferred to be flying alongside the RAF boys, and their frustration at not being a part of things often led to trouble at closing time.

To the far north lay the extended runways, Nissen huts and hangars of Cliffe airbase, which had become strategically more important as the war went on, and therefore a prime enemy target. This airbase was where Peggy’s son-in-law, Martin, flew his Spitfire, and where her youngest daughter, Cissy, now worked as a secretary. They’d both sustained
injuries in a particularly vicious raid before Christmas, but thankfully had fully recovered.