Custard Tarts and Broken Hearts (45 page)

She had to give him that, the old unquenchable bravado was still there. ‘Well, you can’t stay here.’ She pulled her hand away. ‘Try showing your face at your mum’s, before you disappear again. She might take pity on you,’ she said tartly, as she disappeared into the scullery. She quickly brought him some bread, cheese and a bottle of beer, desperately wanting him to be gone. But he chewed the food slowly and after gulping the beer he seemed revived, sitting back easily in her father’s chair.

‘I’ve already been to see Mum and Dad today. Didn’t get a warm welcome from the old man.’

‘Can you blame him? Lily told me you stopped writing to your mum. You could’ve been dead! Do you know what that does to a mother? It’ll take a lot before your family trusts you again, Ted.’

He shrugged sullenly. ‘Well, whether you believe me or not, I’m back to stay. I’ve got war work of my own to do. I’ve joined the Bermondsey No-Conscription Fellowship and if the police come for me I’ll declare myself an Absolutist!’

‘Ted, for God’s sake, what’s the matter with you? They could shoot you! Why didn’t you just stay in Russia?’ It was obvious to her that Ted was not a coward, but why he would deliberately come home, to put himself in front of a firing squad, was beyond her. He seemed so careless of his own life, and of other people’s. He was silent, looking at her intently.

‘The fact is, Nell, I’d rather face an English bullet than a Russian one. I got myself on the wrong side of some dangerous people out there.’

Why he would tell her the truth, she didn’t know, other than that he had so few others he could confide in. She noticed a slight tremor in his hand as he picked up the beer and drained it.

‘Besides, Bermondsey is where my fight is. And I’m going to take on the munitions profiteers over at Woolwich, too. Now the bastard union’s sold us out to the government, they can’t even go on strike!’ He looked at her quizzically. ‘Eliza James says her sister’s a canary at the Arsenal?’

Looking into Ted’s dangerous sea-green eyes, a memory flashed before her of that day on Goodwin Sands when he’d almost got her killed. She saw the two bright claws of water closing round her, cutting her off from everything safe; she heard again the incoming rush of the tide as it swirled around her, threatening all she held dear.

31

A Dark Moon

Another sound had been drowned out by the echo of that rushing tide: the click of the latch as a key turned in the front door. Nellie was standing in the middle of the room with her back to the open kitchen door. She saw Ted’s gaze shift, suddenly, to the passageway behind her and his expression change, in an instant, from bitter to sweet. Like a spring slowly uncoiling, he stood up, all geniality, to greet Matty.

‘Ah, this must be the canary herself. We were just talking about you, weren’t we, Nellie?’

Nellie whirled round, to see Matty framed in the doorway. She wore her stage dress, with a fine chiffon stole of pale gold around her shoulders. Her height, and the elegant coil of her auburn hair, made her look much older than her fifteen years. Her hair shone like spun copper as she stepped forward into the pool of light cast by the gas lamp. Nellie could tell, from the confident way she strode across the room, that this was still ‘Matty on the stage’. Normally, as soon as she walked in after a night at the Star, that persona was dropped, along with her hat and coat. Nellie usually stayed up to make sure she had something to eat before going to bed, and Matty would always greet Nellie with a kiss and a scolding for waiting up. Stepping over the threshold of her home invariably restored Matty to their loving, contrary little canary once more. But tonight she kept her stage armour firmly around her.

‘How d’you know me nickname?’ she asked, with a wide bold smile, as though he was one of the audience.

‘Yours and a few thousand other lovely girls!’ Ted replied, falling in with the banter.

Matty shot a look at Nellie. Beneath the veneer there was little Matty, unsure of this stranger in their cosy kitchen.

Nellie jumped to the rescue. ‘This is Ted, Lily’s brother. He means the canary girls at the Arsenal.’

‘Oh, hello, Ted, pleased to meet you,’ Matty said, dropping the stole over the back of the kitchen chair and sitting down with studied poise. ‘Why were you talking about me?’ She looked brightly at Ted and back to Nellie.

‘I was asking Nellie if she thinks it’s right that your life’s worth half a man’s?’

‘Oh,’ Matty said, ‘that’s right, you’re a
Bolshevik
, ain’t you? Have you come to stir us all up?’ Her voice was mocking. But then she went on more seriously. ‘I know some of the women complain about the wages, but I’m really not sure my life’s worth twice my brother’s, when you come to think about it like that. Seems to me, if I walk out with thirty shillings a week and Sam’s fighting over there for eleven, then I’m paid too much. Anyway,’ she said with finality, ‘we’re not allowed to strike.’

‘Who cares?’ Ted said, standing up now, ready for a debate.

‘They’ll all care if they end up in Holloway,’ Nellie cut in. She needed to get Ted out. ‘Anyway, Matty, I’ll get you a bite to eat and then you’d best get on up to bed, love. You’re on earlies tomorrow.’

Nellie turned to Ted with a look that brooked no argument. ‘Ted was just going, weren’t you, Ted?’

He didn’t reply. Instead he picked up his cap and moved to the door. As he passed Matty, he extended his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Matty, I’ve heard you do a great turn at the Star, maybe I’ll come and see you one night.’

Matty gave him her stage smile and inclined her head.

‘’Night, Nellie. I’ll see yer when I see yer.’

He brushed past her and she followed him down the passage.

‘Not if I see you first,’ she whispered to herself, as she shut the door behind him.

But his visit had shaken her. She feared this wasn’t the last she’d be seeing of Ted Bosher and that night she slept badly.

The next day dawned grey, cold and damp again. Yesterday had been a single day of summer and now it had vanished, taking Nellie’s peace of mind with it. Ted’s reappearance had left her unsettled and preoccupied. She was grateful that, at least, it was Thursday. Since Lily had left Duff’s, she and Nellie were in the habit of meeting up in the Green Ginger every Thursday night: it was a comforting ritual they allowed themselves. Little Johnny was left with Mrs McBride and Alice took over at home, while they shared news of Sam and Jock, and Nellie entertained Lily with the latest custard tart news. They considered it well worth the five pence a pint of Russian Stout, their favourite tipple.

Tonight, Nellie was first to arrive in the pub. Once, she would have felt shy of sitting there on her own, but since the war it was a common sight to see women drinking alone.
And why not?
thought Nellie. They were doing the work of men; surely they should have some of their privileges. Which brought her back to Ted; her thoughts hadn’t strayed far from him all day and she resented it. Still, she couldn’t deny he had a point about the munitionettes’ wages. If only he weren’t so extreme and careless of consequences. She smiled to herself, remembering Matty’s retort about soldiers’ pay. The young girl had stopped him in his tracks, a sight Nellie had rarely seen. She’d so often tried to best him in an argument herself, and failed.

The red velvet curtain round the pub door was pulled aside and in walked Lily. She was a little more buxom since the birth of Johnny, but she had lost the frazzled look of her early motherhood and now her bright prettiness had returned. She came over eagerly and kissed Nellie on the cheek.

‘Oh, good, you’ve got the stouts in!’ she said, undoing her coat. ‘I need this. Johnny’s been such a little bugger today I almost chucked him at Grandma McBride tonight!’ She took a long sip of the dark creamy stout and ended up with a frothy lip, which Nellie leaned over to brush away. She hated to spoil her friend’s good humour, but she was bursting with the news.

‘I had a visit last night. Guess who from?’

Lily paused mid-sip and shook her head.

‘Your brother!’

Lily put down the pint glass and groaned. ‘Oh, Nell, that’s trouble. What’s he doing back? He’s got a cheek, turning up on your doorstep! What did he have to say for himself?’

Nellie told her Ted’s excuse for not coming to see her and his plans for working with the No-Conscription Fellowship.

‘Typical Ted!
Poor me! I’m scarred for life, so I can’t pick up a pen and write a letter to me girl, nor me family!
I’m sorry, Nell, but he’s always got to be the centre of attention. That’s the only reason he’s working with the conchies. He wants to play the martyr, that’s all.’

Her friend’s dismissive analysis allowed Nellie a little more perspective, she thought gratefully. On her own, she could never seem to get the correct distance between herself and Ted, to be able to see him clearly. ‘He said he’d gone round your mum’s and your dad told him to piss off!’

Lily sighed. ‘Dad’s got no time for him, but Mum’ll find a way to bail him out.’

‘He tried it on with me,’ Nellie whispered.

‘Never!’ Lily’s eyes widened. ‘I hope you told him to sod off.’

‘’Course I did! But then Matty came home, and I tell you, Lil, I’d swear he was eyeing
her
up!’

‘Matty’s got more sense.’

‘More than me, you mean?’

Lily laughed. ‘I didn’t mean that!’

‘Well, I did. You can’t see it, ’cause he’s your brother, but there’s definitely something about Ted.’ She thought it over, trying to find the key to his attraction. ‘Even though he looks a bit rough now, he can still turn on the charm when he wants to… Oh, I’m probably being silly, it’s just put me all up the wall.’

‘Well, Matty’s got other things on her mind, what with the singing at night and then all day at the Arsenal, she’s too busy for fellers!’

‘That’s the other thing that put the wind up me, though. He’s trying to organize an unofficial strike at the Arsenal.’

‘Just tell Matty to stay well clear. You’re talking about prison for that!’ Lily now looked as concerned as Nellie, and the two girls sipped silently until Nellie decided to change the subject to sixteen-month-old Johnny, which soon had Lily in full flow about her son’s latest exploits.

The so-called summer months of 1916 dragged on, the coldest, greyest and wettest that Nellie could remember, the only sunny day marred by Ted’s return. Still, she had more important things on her mind than Ted. Day-to-day life was becoming much harder as the German blockade took hold, and basic foodstuffs were in short supply. The factory had been badly affected as their sugar had always been imported from Germany. Added to that, half the fruit growers of England were on the Western Front, so the jelly department was working at half-strength. Nellie got used to seeing new faces as women from jellies were moved to powder packing. One day Ethel came in with a basket full of jellies.

‘Free samples, girls!’ She went along the line, handing them out. ‘We’ve got to try ’em out and let jellies know if we like ’em!’ she announced.

‘Oooh, look at lady bountiful!’ Maggie Tyrell took one, then dipped her hand in the basket for another.

‘Oi, one each!’ Ethel slapped Maggie’s hand.

‘I’ve got six kids, Ethel. It’s no good me taking home one jelly, there’ll be murders.’

‘Oh, all right, then, here y’are!’ Ethel’s massive hands scooped up a handful, dumping them into Maggie’s lap.

Nellie looked at the packet, it was branded as ‘War Jelly’.

‘Listen to this, Mag,’ she read. ‘It’s made from rhubarb and beets! Do you think your kids will eat it?’

‘My kids’ll eat anything,’ Maggie assured her. But next day she told Ethel to report back to jellies that ‘War Jelly’ was vile and that even her perpetually hungry brood wouldn’t touch it.

Bread, potatoes, milk, butter, all had doubled in price, and now a government soup kitchen had opened next door to the Salvation Army. Spa Road was constantly packed with shuffling humanity: there was a queue of tramps outside the Sally Army, a queue of women and children for the soup kitchen, and still the long line of recruits snaking down the steps of the town hall. This was the queue that Nellie saw most of, for she would walk to the town hall every day during her dinner break to check the casualty lists posted there. It was a harrowing ritual, for there was never a day when some poor woman didn’t find the name she’d been hoping not to see. Some would merely collapse into the arms of the nearest woman; others would have to voice their grief. The wail would start so pitifully, a feeble moan, building to an unbearable keening that grew louder, till it pierced Nellie’s heart. God only knew what sort of effect it had on the eager recruits, lining up to become statistics on such a list.

Food shortages meant she’d long ago abandoned any scruples about Freddie’s odd contribution to the household. In fact, she blessed every tin of corned beef or sack of potatoes he came home with. But even he could do nothing when the government started watering down her beloved Russian Stout. ‘It’s like a glass of gnat’s piss!’ was Lily’s gloomy opinion of the brew now being served up at the Green Ginger.

In spite of her fears, Ted hadn’t crossed her path again. But a month or so after his visit Matty told her Ted had been frequenting the Star. He’d taken to waiting at the stage door for her.

‘He’s started bringing me flowers, walks me home, and we sometimes go for a drink in the Golden Fleece,’ Matty said, seeming a little embarrassed. ‘I’ve been seeing a bit of him over at the Arsenal too, he still thinks he can organize a strike… I thought you’d want to know, Nellie.’

Nellie felt fear catch in her throat. The thought of Ted’s attention being directed towards Matty was horrifying, like witnessing a bird being fondled by a green-eyed cat, and Nellie’s instinct was to snatch the little canary from his grasp. She didn’t know how much the girl knew of her past with Ted and she wasn’t certain how much to tell her. Matty’s revelation filled her with a sense of failure too. She’d promised Lizzie Gilbie she’d look after the children, hadn’t she? How would letting Matty fall into Ted’s dangerous hands be protecting her? She was about to forbid Matty from seeing him again when she remembered her own father, sitting in his chair, picking away at his pipe, ordering her to have nothing to do with ‘that Bosher boy’. It was ironic to find herself in the same position, and she wouldn’t let panic at her own impotence lead her into the same mistakes her father had made. All the warnings or beatings in the world hadn’t prevented her from doing exactly as she’d wanted. Giving Matty a direct order generally tended to bring out her stubborn streak, and usually prompted her to do the opposite. Perhaps she should just gently warn Matty off Ted.