Dream On (6 page)

It wasn't always easy for the men either. While they weren't exactly sorry to be away from the danger and the dying, they certainly missed their mates, the routine, the excitement even, and, as they were beginning to realise, they were missing out on a lot of other things as well. The land fit for heroes that they had been promised now all seemed to be a bit of a con. Instead of getting what they had all looked forward to: good homes, decent food and sharing a few pints down the local with the lads, they had come home instead to bomb-sites, queuing and ration books, and wives who seemed more interested in going out to work than in fetching them a cup of tea while they toasted their toes in front of the fire and listened to the Light Programme on the wireless.

Some of the older residents of Bailey Street weren't at all surprised by the younger men's disillusionment and were only too keen to say so, adding dire warnings about the newly elected Labour government for good measure. It wasn't so much that they didn't approve of what they were being offered by this Labour lot – who but a fool would refuse the promise of a bright new Britain for all, and most had actually voted for them – it was just that they couldn't help but think how it was all so reminiscent of what had happened to them after the Great War.

Promises had been made then too. And they had all been broken, dissolving in front of their eyes like the foam in a wet beer glass. The so-called boom had quickly turned to dust and the brave new world had sunk into the horrors of the 1930s and the Depression. How could they not be wary when their dreams were still haunted by nightmare visions of the workhouse and the shame of being visited by the despised Relieving Officer?

Sometimes, when Ginny stopped to pass the time of day with one or other of her elderly neighbours, she found herself sympathising all too readily with their fears about the way the world seemed to be heading, especially when Ted was being difficult – as he seemed to be more and more lately. But she knew that no matter how down she felt at times, it was always best to try and put on a brave face, to keep her chin up and to look cheerful. That way she didn't upset things even more and it also helped her convince herself that everything would turn out all right in the end. Although it wasn't always easy to be positive, especially when Dilys was working herself up into a mood.

‘I just don't see why you ain't bloody furious like I am,' Dilys fumed, as they waited at the bus-stop on the corner by Aldgate East station. ‘Anyone'd think you'd had a win on the dogs instead of getting the flaming sack.'

‘But we've not had the sack, Dil, have we? Not really. It's more like we've lost our jobs.' Ginny stamped her feet to warm them against the damp autumn chill. ‘I mean, you can't blame old Mr Bloom for retiring, now can you? He must be eighty if he's a day. And what with the last of the uniform work going . . .'

‘Can't blame him?' Dilys shook her head in amazement.

‘Anyway, this might be just the chance we could both do with. You've always said you fancied going on the buses.'

Dilys's mood, always unpredictable, took a swing away from gloom and touched on almost optimistic interest. She pouted and swung her shoulders, as she visualised herself in a conductress's uniform being chatted up by a bus stuffed full of men, all eager to show her a good time.

Ginny dropped her chin and continued shyly, ‘And what with Ted doing so well, it's probably as good a time as any for me to start thinking about staying at home and having a baby. I've—'

Shocked back to reality by such treacherous talk, Dilys almost exploded. ‘You wanna get
pregnant
? By
Ted
?'

A large, middle-aged woman standing in front of them in the queue looked over her shoulder at Dilys and stared in scandalised reproach. ‘That's nice talk for a young girl, I don't think. In my day, we didn't even know the meaning of the word.'

In reply, Dilys poked out her tongue and the woman looked away with a loud huff.

‘Of course by Ted,' Ginny hissed, her fair cheeks flushing as pink as a stick of candy-floss. ‘Who d'you think I wanna do it with, the bloody coalman?'

‘You take my word for it, Al, I'm telling you, if you can show her you've got plenty o' dough, then any bird you fancy, she's yours for the taking. You don't even have to spend that much on 'em. Just flash it about a bit. They ain't got a lot of brains see, birds ain't.' Ted tossed back the last of his drink and weighed his empty glass in his hand.

‘Like another one in there?' asked Al, rising from his chair.

‘Why not? And you can get us a chaser an' all this time.'

At barely eighteen years of age, and not usually much of a drinker, Al was not exactly sure what sort of a drink a chaser was, but he would find out and Ted would have one if that was what he wanted. Al was determined to impress this new-found friend of his, because while he might not have known much about boozing, Al knew something very clearly: he definitely did not like the idea of being conscripted, especially now there wasn't even a war to fight. And Ted, whom Al had met only a couple of hours ago – when he had tipped him the wink that he had better put his suitcase full of nylons back in his boot as a copper was heading his way – had been telling him all sorts of fascinating things.

Ted had told him, for instance, that there were plenty of ways to avoid being called up and had even gone so far as to slip him a piece of paper with a doctor's address on it, with the promise that it would come in more than useful when the dreaded buff envelope arrived. He'd told him, as easy as that, and just to repay him for his help in avoiding being collared by the law!

After a few rounds of drinks, all paid for by Al, Ted had gone on to tell him that he too could earn enough money to have a flash motor and sharp-looking suits. But probably most important of all for a reluctant virgin such as Al, Ted had been generous enough to share with him the benefit of his experience with women.

Ted had said, quite matter-of-factly, that after the cheapest of nights out, he should definitely expect a whole lot more than a quick fumble inside their blouses.

This was music to Al's ears. He wouldn't have admitted it to someone as sophisticated as Ted, of course, but he had often spent the best part of the week's wages he earned at his clerking job and had not even got as far as a serious kind of kiss, let alone a real bit of how's your father.

But then, according to Ted, the way that Al earned his living showed what a mug he was. In Ted's book, anyone who worked for a governor was no better than a fool.

Al put down the three drinks, his own half pint, Ted's pint and a tot of whisky – the barmaid had been very helpful in explaining chasers, especially after Al had bought her a drink as well – and sat himself down next to Ted. ‘So, Ted,' he said, raising his glass in salutation, ‘you was saying about this, what was it, working the tweedle? How does it go again?'

Ted grinned; it was a while since he'd met a kid as innocent-looking and as trusting as this one. He was a real one-off. Particularly around the East End. He must have been brought up wrapped in cotton wool.

Ted studied him across the rim of his glass. Maybe he could be of further service some time. All right, so he wasn't exactly Brains Trust material, but a look-out with an honest face was always useful when you were on the creep around a warehouse. And anyway, it amused Ted to see the kid hanging on to his every word. He enjoyed a bit of respect.

Patiently Ted explained the con one more time.

‘I get it!' A flash of understanding at last lit up Al's baby face. ‘You have
two
rings. A real one and a fake one. And when you go back, you sell the jeweller the schneid!'

‘Right. That's it.' Ted winked at the lad, then asked his usual question whenever he met anyone under the age of thirty. ‘Now, tell me about yourself; you got any sisters, son?'

‘No, only brothers.'

Ted paused. No sisters. Well, you couldn't have everything. Then another thought struck him. ‘So how old's your mum then?'

‘Dunno.' Al grimaced. ‘Just old, I suppose, like all mums.'

Ted didn't let his disappointment show. ‘Where's this office o' your'n? Up the City?'

‘No, down the docks. I do the paperwork for the bonded warehouses.'

Ted could feel the happiness spreading through his body like warm treacle dribbling over a spotted dick.

When their bus finally arrived, Ginny was, for once, delighted to see that it was really crowded and that she had to sit by herself. She had been shown up quite enough for one day by Dilys and her big mouth.

Dilys, on the other hand, wasn't very happy at all, though her increased displeasure had nothing to do with losing her job or how many people were on the bus. It was the idea that Ginny was thinking about having a baby that had
really
upset her. That was the last thing she wanted to happen, because Dilys had been thinking very seriously about her future with Ted. Despite all the servicemen being demobbed, good-looking blokes with a few bob in their pockets were still very thin on the ground and Dilys wasn't getting any younger. She was nearly twenty-three, for goodness sake, and Ted was getting to be a bit of a last resort. All right, he was already married, but the papers were full of stories about people getting divorced. Once it had been something only the rich and famous could do, but nowadays it seemed as though every Tom, Dick and Harry could get shot of his wife if he wanted to. All you had to do was spend a couple of days down in Brighton with some willing tart or other, have a quick snapshot taken leaving your love nest, and Bob appeared to be your uncle. So why not Ted? Well, maybe it was a bit more complicated than that, but if Ginny went and got herself up the duff, it probably wouldn't matter anyway, as Dilys had seen how funny blokes could get when their wives got pregnant.

They came over all stupid and loyal, and started staying in and holding their old women's hands and talking about whether it would be a boy or a girl, and if they should name it after Auntie Flo or Uncle Harold. No, Ginny getting herself pregnant was definitely not a very good idea, not a very good idea at all. Dilys had to get the thought right out of Ginny's stupid, curly blonde head, and she had to do it soon, before it got out of hand and Ted got to like the idea of becoming a daddy. And a little thing like the three rows of people sitting between her and Ginny certainly wasn't going to deter Dilys from putting her plan into action.

To Ginny's alarmed embarrassment – but to the obvious interest of the press of passengers surrounding them – the moment she sat down, Dilys started firing a barrage of questions at her. ‘Oi, Ginny! So what's Ted got to say about all this baby lark then?'

Ginny took a deep breath, twisted round in her seat and mouthed very quietly, ‘I haven't mentioned it to him yet, Dilys.'

That wasn't exactly true; she had tried to raise the subject once or twice, but Ted wouldn't even discuss it. In fact, he had forbidden her to talk about it. But now she had no job and the war was over, maybe he'd feel differently. She would have to be careful how she brought it up, of course, as she didn't want to aggravate him, and Dilys opening her big gob certainly wouldn't help matters.

‘And I'd appreciate you not mentioning it either, Dilys.'

Dilys could have kissed the silly cow. She hadn't even talked to him about it. Perfect!

Suppressing the urge to burst into laughter, Dilys carried on – her face now arranged into a concerned frown. ‘Well, he won't like it, you know.'

‘I don't agree.'

‘I'm telling you.'

‘Dilys, please, d'you mind?' Ginny pulled her coat collar tighter around her throat and tried to shrink down into her seat.

‘And how about Nellie? What's she gonna say?'

‘I'm sure Nellie would love a grandchild.'

‘What, Nellie? Are you sure? With all that screaming; and crying keeping her awake all night? Clothes-horses full of wet nappies all over the place. She'd go barmy. And you know Ted can't stand fat birds,' she added with a sudden flash of inspiration. ‘And with your legs and figure, you'd blow up like a barrage balloon. You do know that, don't you, Ginny? You'd be like a right flipping elephant. Stuck in a chair, day in day out, with just Nellie for company. You'd hate it. I'm telling you.'

‘That's what happened to me,' chipped in a sharp-nosed woman in a peculiar brown felt hat, who was sitting across the aisle from Ginny. ‘Didn't it, Charlie?'

Charlie nodded. ‘It did. Just like an elephant she was. And her legs . . . You've never seen nothing like 'em.' He winced at the memory. ‘Went all veiny and horrible, they did. And her ankles! Swollen up like a pair o' prize marrows they was. Months she was like that. Couldn't get a pair o' slippers near her feet, let alone a decent pair o' shoes on her. And as for her guts . . .' He shuddered. ‘Talk about taking over the Bile Beans factory She must have swallowed a hundred boxes of the bloody things. But nothing worked her. Bunged up like a bottle with a cork, she was.'

Dilys was triumphant. ‘See! Can you just imagine what Ted would have to say if he had to put up with all that for nine months?'

That was enough for Ginny.
She knew
Ted could be difficult and that Nellie wasn't exactly a loving mother-in-law, but Dilys didn't have to let the whole bloody bus know. She stood up and jerked the string above her head to ring the bell.

‘Excuse me,' she muttered to the woman next to her, ‘I wanna get off.'

‘Where you going?' Dilys bellowed, as Ginny shuffled sideways along the aisle towards the back of the bus.

‘Home. But I've decided to walk. All right?'

Dilys raised her eyebrows in surprise, then turned to face the steamed-up window. ‘Suit yourself. But you must be garrety, it's started pouring down out there.'