Eve of the Isle Read online

  Eve led the boys out into the frosty night air. She didn’t want to confront Joan in their presence and Harold was too much of a coward to come out from the parlour. She hoped he was suffering after what he had done.

  ‘You eat us out of house and home and take advantage of our hospitality,’ cried Joan following them to the front door. ‘And then you accuse my poor Harold of . . . of . . .’

  ‘Being a dirty old man,’ yelled Peg as she hurried to join Eve. When she had caught her breath she looked back at her sister. ‘It’s a bit like ’istory repeating itself ain’t it, Joan? Only I was prepared to give the old lecher the benefit of the doubt when we came here a week ago. I thought, seeing as he’s now a pillar of the Christian community, he might have changed his ways, become the loving husband you always professed he was. You certainly told me a few home truths all those years ago, and accused me of what you accused Eve of tonight. But if you’ve got any sense, you’ll take a good long look at the saint you live with and ask yourself a few questions. Or do you know the truth and drown it in gin?’

  Eve watched Joan’s expression change: her eyes filled with tears and her body seemed to shake, until, reaching out to the wall, she steadied herself. ‘Get out,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘Get out and don’t ever come back. I don’t want to set eyes on you again. To me, you are dead.’

  The slam of the door made Eve jump. She looked at Peg whose face in the darkness was white.

  ‘Peg, you all right?’ Eve asked gently.

  ‘Yeah, gel, it’ll take more than her to get me down.’

  ‘Why was she shouting?’ asked Albert, sniffing loudly as he took Eve’s hand. ‘We ain’t done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Oh, take no notice of her, chic,’ Peg dismissed, waving her hand. ‘You two have seen a bit of the grown-up world tonight, but don’t let it worry you. It’s what happens in families, a tiff or two never hurt anyone. Come on, let’s get down those stairs and find ourselves a bed for the night. We’ll try the old Sally again, they won’t turn us away.’ She winked quickly at Eve.

  ‘What did Uncle Harold do?’ persisted Albert, as they went down the dark stairs.

  ‘He put his arm round Mummy,’ answered Samuel before Peg or Eve could reply.

  ‘When?’ his brother asked curiously.

  ‘The other night. It was in the kitchen when you was playing dominoes with Peg. He jumped away when he saw me.’

  There was silence as they all stood outside in the light of the lamp that reflected dully on Bambury Buildings. Albert looked up at Peg. ‘Did he put his arm round you too, Peg?’

  She threw back her head and laughed. ‘Yes, chic, he tried to once, but it was a long time ago.’

  ‘I don’t want to cuddle no girls,’ said Albert, wrinkling his nose in disgust. ‘That Bernadette Flanagan at school is always trying to kiss me. And she stinks worse than our lav!’

  Everyone laughed, dispelling the tension. Eve smiled to herself. Kids had a wonderful way of making light of things. At least she didn’t have to convince Peg that she was innocent of leading Harold on; it seemed that Peg knew only too well for herself.

  Once more they were sleeping on the mats in the church hall, though none of the Sally Army members they had met before were there. Another captain had allowed them a corner as there were no free beds. The number of homeless had expanded; they were mostly men now who snored and coughed in their sleep or shuffled out noisily to the lavatory. Eve thought longingly of their cottage, but now it was infested with rats, mice and bugs it was too unsanitary to inhabit – she still had images in her mind of the cholera stories. Once more she tossed and turned on the hard mats.

  ‘You asleep, gel?’ Peg’s coarse whisper came from over the heads of the two sleeping boys.

  ‘No. Me mind won’t stop working.’

  Peg gave a cough. ‘I could do with a fag. Jimmy’s promised to get me a bit of cheap baccy, seeing as how there was plenty ditched at the docks in the flood.’

  ‘Won’t it be ruined?’

  ‘There was plenty that wasn’t. It was first come first served to those who were in the know.’

  Eve sat up. ‘I hope he knows what he’s doing. Is Jimmy still with his mate at Shoreditch?’

  ‘So he says.’

  ‘When do you think we can go back to the cottage?’

  ‘Dunno, love.’

  ‘Peg, why didn’t you warn me about Harold?’

  Her friend was silent for a while, then gave a deep sigh. ‘It was a long time ago. I thought he might have turned over a new leaf. And if you remember we was desperate.’

  Eve thought about this. They had been desperate. She could understand Peg not saying. ‘Well, he ain’t changed.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He said he wanted to talk to me in the parlour. I shouldn’t have gone in there. I had to put me knee in his privates.’

  Peg snorted. ‘Good for you, girl.’

  ‘Joan don’t know what he’s like. I feel sorry for her.’

  ‘Reckon they deserve each other.’

  ‘Is Harold the reason you broke up with her? Harold hinted it was the flu epidemic.’

  ‘Huh! He would say that, wouldn’t he?’ Peg gave a grunt of unpleasant remembrance. ‘She thought I was trying to take him off her. ’Course, she wouldn’t listen to me, her own sister. Thought I was lying through me teeth, just as she said to you today. So now you know why we got such a warm welcome on our arrival there.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have gone if I’d known that’s what happened to you.’

  ‘Oh, well, let’s try to kip. Me bones are achin’ something rotten. I reckon we’ll have rain tomorrow.’

  ‘I hope not. We’ve got to find somewhere to stay.’

  ‘Something will turn up,’ Peg yawned. ‘Now, get some sleep, love.’

  But sleep wouldn’t come and once more Eve found herself awake, wondering what tomorrow would bring.

  Chapter Eight

  Peg was right about the rain. The morning began with drizzle falling from skies that were gloomy and grey. Eve asked the captain if they could stay another night, but like last time, the answer was no.

  ‘Our Poplar mission will help,’ he told her. ‘Certainly your boys will be found places to stay.’

  But Eve shook her head. She had heard stories of children disappearing or put into homes. The Welfare was classed as the Worker’s Bogeyman and according to rumour it lost no opportunity to send children to institutions. Neglect was easy to prove as there was no money coming in to the poverty-stricken homes of the East End. The Depression had spread its shadow over every family; stories abounded of children whisked away to be supplied as cheap labour in other parts of the country or even abroad. Eve had heard several terrify-ing accounts from her coworkers and the public at large. She didn’t trust the authorities and nor did anyone else who had been robbed of their livelihoods by an uncaring government.

  ‘We’ll find somewhere,’ she told the captain as they packed up their few belongings and, after a breakfast consisting of hot tea and porridge, they stood undecided on the pavement outside.

  ‘I want to go home,’ said Albert stubbornly. He was shivering in the cold breeze that now added a winter chill to the air.

  ‘I can kill the rats,’ nodded Samuel. ‘Duggie Higgins showed me how. You clock them with the back of a spade.’

  ‘I don’t want you near them,’ said Eve, shuddering at the thought. ‘It’s a job for the council.’

  ‘They ain’t open on Saturdays,’ said Peg, as they hoisted their bundles and began to walk down the street.

  ‘We’ll go to the ladies at Hailing House,’ Eve decided as they hurried along. ‘They might know of somewhere.’ The big manor house on the island was run by an aristocratic family for the poor and needy. The Hailings were well known for their charitable works and as a last resort for the destitute.

  ‘Doubt it,’ muttered Peg. ‘If the Sally can’t have us, no one will. We can’t sleep rough, not with the boys.’
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  Eve kept walking, her chin stuck out and her steps fast. They might have to walk the length and breadth of the island and even sleep illegally aboard a barge under the tarpaulin covers, but it would be better than being separated.

  The ladies of Hailing House were away for the weekend at their country seat, they were told by a stiff-backed retainer, who barely opened the big front door to their knock. Call again on Monday.

  They set off once more, walking the long way back to Isle Street. As they stood at the open gap of the front door, they were met by an evil smell.

  Even the two boys were reluctant to go in. ‘Let’s go and look in the yard,’ said Samuel. ‘Duggie might have killed all the rats.’

  ‘Upstairs won’t be so bad,’ said Peg when the two boys had gone. ‘Might be able to sleep on your bed. And there’s my mattress too.’

  They went in slowly and looked in the front room. Just then a large black rat wriggled out of a hole in Peg’s mattress. All the stuffing was on the floor. Eve closed her eyes. It was worse than she thought.

  What were they to do? Could they exist even for one night amidst the rats, roaches, lice and beetles that infested the rooms?

  The two boys returned from the backyard.

  ‘What did you find?’ asked Eve.

  ‘The lav is boarded up. Duggie must’ve done it.’

  Eve looked crestfallen.

  ‘We could clean the yard up a bit with the wheelbarrow,’ said Samuel enthusiastically. ‘Charlie ain’t come back for it.’

  But Eve shook her head. ‘It’s nearly dark.’

  Peg pushed her hands over her face. ‘I reckon we’ve got no choice. It’s upstairs or nothing.’

  Albert began to cry. ‘I want to go back to Aunty Joan’s.’

  Eve knew they couldn’t. But what were they going to do?

  They were standing outside the cottage when Eve heard a call.

  ‘My dears, my dears!’

  They looked round. Joseph Petrovsky was coming down the slope. He wore an overcoat and a peaked cap hid his silver hair.

  ‘Hello, Mr Petrovsky.’ Eve managed to smile.

  ‘What are you doing so late in the day?’

  ‘We ain’t got nowhere to go,’ wailed Albert, bursting into tears once more.

  ‘Is that true?’ The old man gazed at Eve from under his silvery eyebrows. ‘I thought you were in the care of relatives.’

  ‘Not no more we ain’t,’ said Peg, pulling her collar up to her ears.

  ‘You are entertaining living once more here?’

  ‘We would but for the rats and bugs,’ said Eve.

  ‘I saw them,’ nodded Joseph, ‘you cannot stay under this roof.’

  ‘It’s the only roof we have.’ Eve held out her arms. ‘We tried the Salvation Army, but they give you one night’s shelter then split you up. I couldn’t agree to that.’

  Joseph smiled. ‘And so you shouldn’t.’ He took Samuel and Albert’s hands. ‘Come with me. My home is yours, my friends.’

  ‘But Joseph, there are four of us,’ Eve protested.

  ‘And what does that matter?’

  Eve and Peg turned to each other. They didn’t know whether to laugh or cry with relief. The boys began to lead the way, the old man between them.

  Everyone laughed when they heard Albert’s next comment. ‘We never meant to break your window, Mr Petrovsky. It wasn’t us. And we ain’t never played football up your end any more. Only down in the dip where there ain’t no windows to break, only ours.’

  Eve looked round the upstairs room of number seven Isle Street, at the three single beds squeezed into the same space as they had occupied at Peg’s cottage. Each brass bed boasted a thin pillow and grey blanket and the walls were hung with photographs of men, women and children wearing what looked like Russian clothes. The children wore heavy cloth hats and bulbous trousers and the women had long skirts and wide-sleeved blouses. The military men carried sabres and looked fierce. There were one or two photographs of men with long black beards and penetrating dark eyes.

  ‘My antecedents,’ announced Joseph proudly. ‘Though I left Russia many years ago, this is my heritage. Many of these died in the revolution. It was a painful time.’

  Eve saw sadness in his eyes.

  Peg was the last to climb the stairs and enter the room. She gazed around. ‘Blimey, rogues gallery.’

  Eve was afraid Joseph would take this as an insult but he smiled. ‘There is a smaller room at the rear,’ he said quietly. ‘I sleep there but you ladies are welcome to occupy it. I have a comfortable settee downstairs that I often sleep on when guests are here.’

  ‘No thank you,’ Eve said immediately, not wishing to outwear their welcome. ‘We don’t want to put you to any trouble.’ She paused. ‘This is a nice room.’

  ‘Just the job,’ said Peg, dropping one of their two bundles on the floor. ‘We’ve got a curtain back at the cottage. We can hang it across the middle.’

  Eve nodded. ‘The boys can sleep top and tail in one bed.’

  ‘If you are certain?’

  ‘I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t come along,’ Eve said gratefully.

  ‘The room is cold and, like all the cottages, rather damp. But I have a stove in the scullery. Come down when you are ready and warm yourselves.’

  ‘Can we go with Mr Petrovsky?’ the twins asked Eve.

  ‘No. You must stay out of the way.’

  The elderly man frowned at them from under his silver hair. ‘Do you have your football?’

  Both looked startled. ‘No, Mr Petrovsky.’

  ‘In that case, I shall still have my windows in one piece when you leave.’

  Seeing the stern look on his face, they glanced at Eve. But she was already smiling at his joke and soon everyone was laughing again.

  Joseph Petrovsky’s cottage was arranged, like Peg’s, with two rooms upstairs and two down, a kitchen and scullery at the rear. The parlour, Eve discovered, was furnished with a settee, two fireside chairs and a large wooden dresser filled with ornate pieces of china. The fireplace was surrounded by a mantel, intricately carved in dark wood, and a large firescreen which looked very old.

  The kitchen and scullery had no duckboards to spoil the polished red warmth of the tiles, although there were big patches of damp on the walls. This cottage was built on the hill and was not at risk of flooding. The yard was small and over it hung the bowsprit of a tall ship at rest in the dry dock behind. Its mermaid figurehead was impressive and could be viewed from the kitchen window. The closet, unfortunately, was positioned below. Eve knew the boys of the neighbourhood often climbed the wall and stood on the closet roof where they could lasso the bowsprit. Mr Petrovsky was always driving them away. She would have to tell Samuel and Albert that however much of a temptation this would be, they were to avoid it.

  ‘What’s this?’ Albert hurriedly spooned the broth into his mouth as they all ate at the small wooden table by the stove.

  Joseph raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘Do you like it?’

  Both boys nodded.

  ‘In Russia we call it borsch.’

  ‘What’s in it?’ asked Peg.

  ‘Cabbage, potato and plenty of beets,’ replied the old man, providing them all with a second helping.

  ‘We ain’t had beet before.’

  Joseph smiled. ‘It’s good for you. Excellent for the bowels.’

  ‘You mean it will make us go to the lav,’ said Albert with a giggle.

  Everyone laughed and soon their dishes were empty. Joseph poured them all tea from a strange-looking urn on the dresser. The rich brown liquid was prepared in what they learned was a samovar; a barrel-like container with a large tap at the bottom used as a tea-making system in Russia.

  ‘It was presented to me by . . .’ Joseph hesitated as he gave a wistful smile, ‘. . . my friends from the old country. They brought it in many pieces, giving me a section or two each time they visited. The exterior is crafted from copper and bronze. The tea
pot on top is used to brew the zavarka, the tea you are now drinking.’

  ‘It’s strong enough to grow hairs on me chest,’ Peg laughed, as she smacked her lips. ‘Now this is what I call real tea, not like the dishwater you get served up these days.’

  Joseph nodded. ‘The samovar is a symbol of leisure, Peg. Russians take care to sit and enjoy the moment whilst tea drinking, much like our Japanese brothers and sisters.’

  ‘What’s that big pipe running through the middle?’ Eve asked.

  ‘The samovar has its own independent heating system,’ Joseph explained proudly as he showed Eve a small basket full of tiny objects. ‘I fill the pipe with these small shards of coke or coal, even fragments of wood. In Russia we use the fir cones from the trees. After the burning is over, we place the teapot on the very top to simmer on the passing hot air. It also keeps this room very warm and enjoyable.’

  ‘Why ain’t the British ever thought of this?’ demanded Peg, finishing her tea with a satisfied gulp. ‘We’re s’posed to be tea drinkers and yet we can’t hold a candle to what you got here.’

  Joseph only smiled faintly. ‘Russia is full of nostalgia, my friends. And once upon a time it was thought that the samovar seemed to contain all of our memories, hopes and unfulfilled dreams that would come flowing out into the air as we sat round drinking . . . much like the lamp of the incredible Aladdin.’

  There were a few moments of silence then as the old man’s words seemed to create the perfect picture as they sat in the warm, sweet-scented kitchen that now also seemed full of nostalgia.

  ‘Joseph, we’re so grateful for all you’ve done for us,’ said Eve as she too finished her tea.

  But Joseph dismissed this quickly. ‘I am honoured to have you as guests.’

  ‘I wish I could pay you something towards our keep. And you have my word that I will.’

  ‘Don’t upset yourself, my dear.’ Joseph patted her shoulder. ‘You will be in a better position soon. Until then, accept my small offerings. This has been a difficult time for you. But you are young and have your health. The situation will soon improve.’

  ‘We can do jobs for you,’ said Samuel brightly. ‘We’re good at cleaning things or polishin’ boots.’