The Lights of London (7 page)

The constable’s tongue flicked across his fleshy lips. He moved closer, flashing his light over Tibs’s face to get a better look. ‘If you were nice to me,’ he said, ‘I might find it in my heart to give you a few pennies to spend on a room for the night. Think of that. A chance to get all nice and warm.’

‘Sod off,’ she snarled, ‘or I’ll be down that station so fast …’

‘Aw yeah, and what’ll you do then?’ he asked cockily.

‘I’ll be grassing you up to your sergeant. Telling him how you take money off Limpy Mick and turn a blind eye to the betting on his terrier fights.’

‘Will you now?’ he asked, his confidence draining.

‘So fast, you won’t know your big fat arse from your old woman’s skinny, bony, rotten elbow.’

He lifted his hand. ‘You little whore.’

Instead of backing away, Tibs stood her ground. She folded her arms across her chest and stuck her chin in the air. ‘Go on,’ she taunted him, ‘hit me. My feller’s Albert Symes – a spiteful bastard he is, but then you probably know him. And he’d just love that, me having a nice black eye for work.’

‘I’ve a good mind …’

‘You, a good mind? Do us a favour.

He took out his whistle. ‘I’m; warning you.’

‘Go on, blow it. And you’ll have every lad for miles around coming looking for a bundle. You wouldn’t dare.’

He glared at her, his jaw set in impotent rage. He wanted to smack her pretty little face so badly it almost hurt. But he knew she was right. He shouldn’t be patrolling these streets at night, when the likes of Albert Symes might be around. Especially not alone and definitely not at his age, and with the rheumatism in his knees playing him up again. He should be back at the station with his feet up and a cup of hot, sweet tea in his hand.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ asked Tibs, pushing her luck. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you go down Chinatown and sort out all that white slavery lark? Or that too scary for you and all, is it?’

The policeman’s chin trembled. ‘I’ve got me eye on you, young woman.’ With that he walked off into the rain with as much bounce as if he’d just won a great victory.

Tibs snorted contemptuously and flipped a two-fingered salute at his retreating figure.

Acknowledging the looks of grateful admiration from her temporary neighbours, she slid back down the wall and settled herself next to Kitty. ‘That showed him, eh, Kit?’

Kitty’s only reply was a self-pitying sniffle.

‘Don’t cry, darling. It’ll be getting light before you know it. Then the sun’ll be up and everything’ll look just sweet and dandy.’

‘I feel that scared. And I’m so cold.’

‘I’ll see if I can find a bit more wood to get the fire
going again. How’d that be, eh?’ Tibs put her arm round Kitty’s shoulders. ‘I’ll have a lovely blaze going before you know it, then I’ll entertain you with the story of how I come to be living in the smoke.’

She stood up and grinned. ‘I’ve been up and down more times tonight than a bride’s nightie.’

Kitty managed a thin smile.

‘Look, I know you’re tired, love, but don’t nod off till I get back, will you?’ Tibs bent forward, glanced to either side of her and whispered, ‘And keep your voice down when you talk to me. We don’t want them all knowing you ain’t a local.’

‘It makes me sick, Bug, d’you know that? Don’t show no gratitude, some people. None at all.’

Buggy shoved a tankard into Teezer’s hand and settled back into his seat. ‘Who d’you mean then, Teeze? Who don’t show no …’

‘Who d’you think? That lanky mare I pulled out of the sodding river, that’s who.’

‘You ain’t still going on about her, are you?’

‘Can you blame me? She was gonna be the start of my business empire, she was. I’ve made me mind up, I’m gonna find her. That’s what I’m gonna do.’

‘You don’t need her to start a business empire, Teeze. See, what you wanna do is …’

Before Buggy could get into his stride, Teezer raised his hand to silence him. ‘Just shut up, eh? Look, the talking dog’s coming on again.’ He swallowed a long pull of dark stout, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and muttered dourly, ‘And I’ll bet it’ll speak a sight more bloody sense than you ever do.’

Tibs stamped on the big wooden crate with surprising force, splintering it into two jagged pieces. Setting down
the larger part safely by Kitty’s side, she gave the other bit to a group of sunken-cheeked youngsters who were sitting by the miserable remains of their pitifully small fire.

The oldest of them, an emaciated little thing of about nine – with a man’s cap pulled down low over her matted hair, sores around her mouth and a cough that shook her shoulders – snatched the firewood from Tibs with a distrustful stare. Then, with a knowledge that no child of her age had any right to have, she carefully broke it into tiny pieces, in order to eke it out the best she could.

‘Here,’ said Tibs, holding out a cone of newspaper to one of the smaller children. ‘And mind you share them out proper now.’

The child dragged itself to its feet and limped forward cautiously. It was difficult to make out whether it was a boy or a girl from its gaunt face and shabby rags, but what was obvious was that its short life had been one of poverty and deprivation: the undoubted causes of the diseased spine which hindered the little creature’s movements.

Warily, it shot out a skinny hand to claim its prize.

Tibs smiled encouragingly and went back to Kitty. ‘Tiger nuts,’ she explained. ‘I usually keep a few in my pocket for when I’m hanging around of a night. Chewing on them keeps the hunger off a bit.’

‘Do you help everyone?’

‘Doesn’t hurt to share, does it, girl?’ She gathered up the smaller splinters of wood, dropped them carefully into the embers, then sat back on her haunches and waited for them to catch. ‘Who knows, I might be glad of a bit of help myself one day. And anyway, how could I, how could
anyone
, ignore them poor little arabs? Mind you, you still have to watch ’em. They’re crafty.
Wouldn’t think twice about trying to flimp you.’

‘But they’re only babies.’

‘Kit, you can’t trust no one.’

With the fire crackling back into life, Tibs threw on a larger piece of wood. ‘If you’re ill, or tired, or alone, you’re weak. Makes you an easy target and anyone can pinch off you.’ She held out her hands, warming them back from numbness. ‘When I first come up to London I was just a little nipper like them, a green, fresh-picked pea pod from the wilds of Essex. And that was a lesson I had to learn.’

‘So you really are a country girl?’

‘I know it’s hard to believe, but I was born right out in the sticks. The other side of Romford.’ She smiled, remembering. ‘Lovely out there, it was. If I close my eyes, I ain’t in no dirty, stinking street, I’m paddling in a crystal-clear stream, with me frock all tucked up round me bum, singing and splashing in the sunshine. All clean and lovely. I even nearly went to the seaside once. Me mum said she’d take me. But she didn’t.’ She paused, staring into the flames. ‘I don’t think it’s right, letting kids down.’

Satisfied with the fire, Tibs settled herself back against the wall next to Kitty. ‘When me mum fetched me up here I never even knew where we was going.’

‘How about your dad? Did he come too?’

‘Me dad – if you can believe anything me mum ever told me – was a leather worker, from over Hornchurch way. But when I come along he didn’t wanna know. Already had a family, see, and didn’t fancy having no little surprises turning up on his old woman’s doorstep.’

She leaned to one side, reached under her topskirts and took out a small packet of snuff, which she offered to Kitty, who shook her head.

Tibs took her time sprinkling, sniffing and sneezing, then continued with her story. ‘Me mum reckoned she wasn’t exactly heart-broken and, at first, just carried on doing what she’d always done. Not earning much, but no one could ever have accused her of not being a grafter.’

‘Where did you live?’

‘With me gran. It was a one-room farm cottage and the three of us shared it with the dog, a couple of pigs and a full roost of hens, but at least it was a roof over our heads. Any odd jobs on the farm, Mum’d do ’em. And if there wasn’t any, she’d sell bits and pieces around the cottage doors. She used to get a right earful from some of the cottagers, mind. They didn’t take kindly to a woman with a baby on her hip and no ring on her finger.’

‘It must have been hard,’ said Kitty, trying to understand.

‘No, not all the time. Some of it was a laugh, like when she helped out in the Romford alehouses of a market day. She was right popular there. Used to give the customers a song while she worked. Lovely singing voice she had.’

‘Can you sing?’

Tibs snorted with laughter. ‘Ever heard a cats’ chorus? Anyway,’ she went on, ‘one day she was serving in the Golden Lion and she caught the eye of one of the wagoners. He took a right shine to her. Told her that with a beautiful face like hers and with that voice she could make a good living up in the big city. Said she’d love it up there, he did. And that all the lights made it like the middle of the day even at midnight, and that all the streets was paved with gold. Even said he’d give her a ride up there in his cart, if she fancied it.’

‘So that’s how you got here?’

‘Not exactly. When Mum turned up the next morning,
with me in tow, he couldn’t take her with him after all, could he?’ Tibs smiled bleakly. ‘Another bloke what let her down ’cos of me. But by then, Mum was right set on the idea of seeing all them bright lights, so she decided we’d walk. Well, to be truthful, she carried me most of the way, ’cos like I said, I was only a little nipper. But I’ll always remember it. As soon as me gran was asleep we crept out of the cottage and sneaked by the back of the cow byre so’s the farmer’s wife wouldn’t see us from the farmhouse. Me mum reckoned it was ’cos she was such a good worker and the farmer’s wife wouldn’t have liked the idea of losing her. But once I got older and wiser I reckon she’d had it away with some gear from the farm.’ Tibs winked. ‘Just in case, like. Well, it had just got dark, and she was telling me how we was going on this big adventure and how I wasn’t to make any noise.’

Kitty nodded, drawn into the story.

‘We went on for what felt like a really long time, and I was really tired and moaning. So Mum said we should stop for a little sleep. Know what we did?’

She waited for Kitty to shake her head.

‘We climbed over this stile and spent the rest of the night cuddled up in a big sweet haystack. Like a pair of little field-mice we was. I always think of me mum when I smell a wagon of new-mown hay.’

She hesitated, then pinned on a smile. ‘It took a few days for me to realise we weren’t ever going back to me gran’s. And that, Kitty, my dear, is the true story of how Miss Tibs Tyler, a country girl by birth, grew up to be a genuine cockney sparrow.’

‘And you liked it, being up in London?’

‘At first. ’Cos me mum was with me. She used to make me laugh. But then, when I was about seven she buggered off and left me.’

‘She left you all alone?’

‘Yeah.’

‘How did you manage?’

Tibs shrugged, dismissing the question. ‘I’ve always been a chirpy little thing, me. Things have to be really bad to get me down.’

‘But how did you live?’

‘Well, once I’d fought my way into getting a decent pitch along the shore, I tried my hand at mud-larking. That was all right for a while.’

‘Mud-larking?’

‘Underfed kids and battered old women toshing for driftwood; raking along the banks at low tide for coal, bits of rope and lumps of old metal. Picking up anything you can sell to the junk dealers.’

‘Wasn’t it dangerous by the river?’

‘Sometimes, yeah. But after a few years of getting by and running wild with a gang of young hooligans down there I decided I’d had enough of it anyway. Thought it was time I got a proper business.’

‘But you were still only a child.’

‘Well? What age did you start work?’ Tibs asked defensively.

‘I was only a youngster, but I was working for someone. I’d have had no more idea about starting up a business than flying away in a balloon.’

‘You grow up fast on the streets. You have to.’ Tibs broke off another bit of wood and tossed it into the fire, watching as the flames threw spiky shadows across the slimy roof of the dripping arch.

‘Did you really set up a business?’

She nodded. ‘I did. Not that it was much of a success. I did wardrobe dealing. No rags or nothing. Only the best second- or third-hand gear.’ She glanced down at Kitty’s skirts. ‘No offence meant, sweetheart.’

Kitty felt her cheeks flush red. ‘None taken.’

‘Trouble was, it wasn’t that easy for a girl, especially a little dot like me. All the best stuff got grabbed by the blokes. In fact, I soon realised I’d made a real mistake. I’d given up me mud-larking pitch and I was desperate. So I started nicking stuff off of drunks and that.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I know what you must be thinking, Kit, but I wasn’t going in the spike for no one. Then, like plenty of other girls of my age, I drifted into the life of a Ratcliffe Highway bride.’

Kitty’s eyes widened. She leaned forward and whispered from behind the cover of her hand, ‘Are you saying …’

‘I’m a whore? Yeah. So?’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean …’

‘I never said I
liked
it. I just do it. I either earn money or I starve. And I’ve got Polly to think about.’

‘Polly?’

‘Just someone I help out,’ Tibs said hurriedly, ‘and, let’s face it, being on the bash is better than some of the things I could have done.’

Kitty wanted to ask more about Polly and how Tibs could manage to care for her when she seemed to be in such a state herself; and what could possibly be worse than selling yourself for a living? But it was obvious that Tibs didn’t want to discuss any of those things.

After a few moments Tibs sighed and then went on, ‘You never do find the pearl ear-rings, or the gold watch when you’re mud-larking, you know, Kit. Well, the likes of me don’t. And at least whoring’s an honest living.’

‘And probably better than being tricked into doing it by a liar who doesn’t even pay you for the privilege.’