Lily of Love Lane Page 5

‘You were miles away again. Did you hear what I said?’

  ‘About the pawnshop?’

  Josie shook her head sharply. ‘The winkleman is outside; I heard him calling. I’d like a couple of penneth for tea.’

  ‘I’ll go and get some.’ Lily jumped up, found her coat and bag and just in time stopped the man as he wheeled his barrow to the end of the street. The moist winkle shells glistened as he turned them over with a spoon and shovelled them onto newspaper.

  As Lily paid him, she imagined she was returning to a large house full of beautiful furniture with a grand and opulent bathroom upstairs. The good feeling inside her was so strong that she could almost believe she was there. She walked home seeing lines of long Georgian windows and white steps that sparkled in the sunlight.

  Chapter Four

  Rain seemed to blight trading all the next week. There was a wind too, which meant that Lily had to place the heavier objects on top of the lighter ones to keep them from blowing away. All the old magazines and papers became soaked. There were leaks and drips and the customers complained continually. The haberdashery stall which stood outside of the butchers, had all its cottons and laces blown away. Lily helped Florrie Mills retrieve her stock from the fur of the dead rabbits that hung outside the butchers. The Old Girl’s Stall, run by Vera Froud, was a pile of wet, soaked garments. Each one had to be taken away and mangled before they could be sold again.

  The stallholders were all disheartened. Colds and coughs abounded. It was at times like this that Lily was tempted to change her job as she stood in the miserable conditions, with no let up to the rain that soaked through the holes in her boots and distorted the shape of her hat. If she took a factory job she could earn more money and help her mum. She could also have Saturday afternoons off with Hattie. But as the week wore on, and a bright sky appeared once or twice, the thought of leaving the market dismayed her. Then, at the end of the week, when a sparkle of sunshine dotted the puddles, a trader from the West End appeared. In one fell swoop he bought all the silver and crockery, two old boxes of cutlery, and the fire fender and companion set. Lily achieved almost full price and Reube was delighted.

  ‘Good on you, girl,’ said Reube, counting out the pound notes. ‘Tell you what, here’s a five bob bonus.’

  Lily stared at him. ‘Are you sure?’

  Reube grinned. ‘Go on, take it.’

  Lily smiled. ‘Mum will be pleased with that.’

  ‘You should spend it on yourself. Them boots is as old as the hills.’

  Lily glanced down and noticed that the stitching by the soles had come apart. There had been a small hole there before, but now it showed her toe. Her feet had been too wet and numb to notice.

  ‘I’ll buy some soon.’

  ‘You do that.’ Reube began to put the money in the tin box. Lily dropped her bonus in her bag, her mind doing a quick reckoning. With working tomorrow afternoon, her wage would go up from the usual fifteen shillings to twenty. Today’s bonus would give her a total of twenty-five shillings altogether. Perhaps her dad wouldn’t have to take the skin job for too long?

  The following day Lily missed seeing Hattie, but as the rain had stopped completely, the general public came out to celebrate. It was another good business day for the traders.

  ‘What’s all this?’ Josie exclaimed when, that night, Lily turned her purse out on the kitchen table.

  ‘Reube gave me a five bob bonus for selling a lot of stuff. And with working Saturday afternoon I got twenty five shillings altogether.’

  ‘You should have some for yourself.’

  ‘No, I’ll manage.’

  Josie quickly slipped the money in her apron pocket. ‘Well, ducks, I’ll be able to go to the corner shop and hold my head up high again.’

  ‘And clear the arrears on the rent.’

  ‘Of course. Are you going to see Hattie tomorrow?’

  Lily nodded. ‘If she hasn’t got to sit with Sylvester.’ She looked through the kitchen window to the tin tub hanging on the side of the shed. ‘Is Dad using the bath tonight?’

  ‘Yes, after what he’s been doing on them ships, he’ll need a good scrub.’

  ‘Could I have the first bath, then?’ Lily hated the smell of the disinfectant he had to use, that clung to the sides of the bath.

  ‘Course you can. It’ll be filthy when he’s finished with it, anyway. I’ll get the water warmed in the copper first.’

  Lily hoped she could have a long soak. She wanted to lay in the water and think of herself in a big white bath with lion’s claw feet. She had imagined doing this all week through the rain and wind. She had been disappointed not to see Charles Grey again. But what would a man like him want to return to Cox Street for?

  On Sunday afternoon, Lily called for Hattie. ‘Can you come out?’ She stood muffled up to the ears with a scarf and her hat pulled hard down around her ears. It was threatening to rain again.

  ‘I’ll ask Mum and Dad. Come in a minute.’

  Lily stepped inside. Hattie hurried off and was soon back. ‘They ain’t going for a walk as Sylvester’s poorly,’ she said in whisper as she put on her coat.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘He had one of his nightmares. Is it gonna rain?’

  ‘It might.’

  ‘I’ll take the umbrella then.’

  Lily knew that Sylvester had such bad dreams of the war that they made him very ill. As she waited for her friend to put on a hat and tuck her bob gently inside she felt very sorry for the Parks family. Their life was dominated by Sylvester’s illness. Despite this, Hattie always managed a smile and to take a pride in her looks.

  Hattie glanced in the hallstand mirror. She turned this way and that, pouting her lips, then she drew her middle finger under her eyebrows as if she was urging them up. ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Beautiful as always.’

  ‘Don’t be funny. I’ve had a rough night.’

  ‘I mean it. It don’t matter what sort of night you’ve had you always look the same.’

  ‘That’s Madame’s training for you. She’s a stickler for looking your best. She says her girls are representatives of her work. So we all have to remember that outside of work.’

  ‘She expects a lot, don’t she?’ Lily asked as they stepped out into the gloomy afternoon.

  ‘Yes, but she pays me well, don’t she? And in the end it’s the money that counts.’

  ‘You’re right about that,’ Lily agreed, thinking that nearly all her thoughts were taken up with how she was going to pay this or that, or which bill she should help her mother to settle first. It was a relief to know now that at least the rent was up to date.

  They walked arm in arm, discussing the events of the past week as they took the foot tunnel from Island Gardens to Greenwich. The tunnel wound under the River Thames to the South Bank, and by the time they saw daylight at the other end, they had begun to discuss Lily’s birthday in March.

  ‘I’m going to make a cake for me twenty-first, with twenty-one candles,’ Lily said.

  Hattie laughed. ‘You’ll need a lot of puff to blow that lot out. You’re getting old, girl.’

  ‘You’re only six months younger than me.’

  ‘Are you gonna have a party?’ Hattie wanted to know.

  ‘I’d like to. But I haven’t asked Mum yet.’

  ‘Can she afford it?’

  Lily shrugged. ‘I’m trying to save up a bit.’ She didn’t want to tell her friend just how difficult things were at home. Hattie’s Dad brought home a regular wage and with Hattie’s contribution they never seemed to struggle.

  ‘Have you seen Ben?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Reube says he’s going to buy this bloody great motor vehicle. It’s as big as a bus.’

  ‘The charabanc you mean?’

  ‘You know about that?’ Hattie asked in surprise.

  ‘Ben said he was hoping to go into weddings and funerals.’

  Hattie giggled. ‘Trouble is, it’s beige, not
black. Reube says Ben’ll have to tell people he only does happy funerals.’

  The two girls looked at one another and laughed.

  Lily wiped the tear from her eye. ‘Well, it’s got to be better than the lorry. The day we went out in it to deliver that aspidistra, I had to shout as the engine was so noisy.’

  Hattie put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’d forgotten about that! What happened?’

  After describing the lovely house in Dewar Street, in particular the bathroom, Hattie’s expression was shocked.

  ‘A real bath you mean?’

  ‘Yes, a huge white one, in a big room all to itself.’

  Hattie sighed enviously. ‘Me mum and dad would love a bathroom. It would make looking after Sylvester a lot easier.’

  Lily was thinking the same. She had managed to have a bath last night, but the Naptha from previous uses had become ingrained in the tin. She could even smell it on her today.

  ‘Where did you decide the plant should go?’ Hattie asked.

  Lily told her friend the rest of the story, adding that Ben had rushed her off and she was unable to discover more.

  ‘What’s he do that for?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Are you going to see this Charles again?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Lily said a little too quickly. ‘What would he want with someone like me? I was just curious that’s all.’

  ‘You say he’s a widower, do you know anything about his wife?’

  ‘I didn’t have time to ask, did I?’

  ‘That’s a pity.’

  Lily nodded, encouraged by this spark of interest. ‘I’ve worked it out though. He must have been heartbroken and just let the house go a bit as the windows were dirty and there wasn’t much furniture downstairs. That sort of thing.’

  ‘But you say he had a maid?’

  ‘Well, a hired help anyway. She hadn’t cleaned or looked after the house though. There was a lot of dust around. He just seemed to have lost interest in the place.’

  Hattie glanced at Lily. ‘I hope you don’t feel sorry for him. You’re always a soft touch. Don’t forget he’s not from round here and you haven’t known him five minutes.’

  Lily didn’t like being thought of as a soft touch. She felt she was quite the opposite, with a sensible, level head and wasn’t taken in easily.

  ‘Come on,’ said Hattie, pulling her along, ‘let’s go to the park café. I know you’re broke, so it’s my treat.’

  As they made their way to Greenwich Park, Lily wondered what Hattie would think of Charles Grey? But then realized she was allowing her imagination to run away with her again. There wasn’t much hope of that. Charles Grey only lived in her dreams!

  It was on the last day of January, a Friday, when a group of Blackshirts arrived at market. They stood on boxes and were noisy and disruptive. No one wanted to hear their propaganda.

  ‘Bloody fascists!’ Vera Froud exclaimed, coming over to Reube and Lily. ‘That’s what they are. They’d like to overthrow the monarchy given the chance and have us all under a dictator. Why don’t they go back to where they come from!’

  ‘Italy, ain’t it?’ Florrie Mills suggested as she frowned at the noisy group.

  ‘This is Mosley’s lot,’ Reube put in. ‘Trying to find a way to stir up trouble amongst decent people. Cause unrest, so they can get in with Joe Bloggs under false pretences.’

  ‘They got big gobs on ’em that’s for sure.’ Vera crossed her arms and frowned. She had squashed her black hat down on her head and the strands of her faded red hair sprang out like snakes. ‘My Bert would like to take them down a peg or two. Trouble is, that’s what they want.’

  ‘Yer, the buggers,’ nodded Ted Shiner, coming up and sticking out his big chest. At over six foot he was well muscled and took after his grandmother, Fat Freda. For years they had run the fruit and veg pitch, and Lily knew Ted had cause to dislike the Blackshirts as he’d got in an argument down the Quarry with them once. He’d come off worst, as they’d made him look daft with their clever words and knowledge of politics. It was an occasion that he’d never forgotten.

  ‘Why don’t the rozzers move ’em off, that’s what I’d like to know,’ said Reube standing beside Ted and throwing black looks at the noisy bunch.

  ‘’Cos they’d prefer to pick on an easy touch,’ replied Vera angrily. ‘Like some poor sod who’s got a bit merry and can’t find his way home.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there,’ agreed Florrie.

  Lily hadn’t seen these men before, and she found them frightening. They shook their clenched fists and shouted ferociously. They were telling everyone that the Great Depression was a result of the country’s management and the people should rise up against the restraints of the government.

  Not content with keeping to their group, several of the dark-clothed men began to infiltrate the market. They approached the stalls and pushed their way through the crowd, handing out pamphlets. People took them because they were too scared not to. When one of them came over, he made his way towards Lily. Smiling unpleasantly at her, he waved a paper in her face.

  ‘Read this and learn how to throw off the shackles of your imprisonment,’ he yelled at her.

  Lily shook her head. ‘I ain’t in prison and I’m trying to get on with me work.’

  ‘You are ignorant of the way you’re being used,’ he boomed back. ‘Join us sister, and we’ll show you the way to freedom.’

  ‘I ain’t your sister,’ Lily replied, recoiling.

  ‘Leave her alone!’ Reube was beside her, poking the man in the shoulder. ‘Get orf, you bloody troublemaker. Can’t you see you’re losing us business?’

  The Blackshirt began to shout at Reube and Ted came running up.

  ‘What do yer want round here?’ he demanded, waving his big fist. ‘Clear orf, the lot of you!’

  But soon Mosley’s men had descended on them. One man pushed Reube who fell back on the stall. All the articles went flying. The china cups and saucers broke on the cobbles. There was shouting and yelling and Lily’s wrist was grabbed by one of the Blackshirts. She tried to wriggle free but he wouldn’t let go.

  She was so afraid she felt faint. She knew she should take the paper just to satisfy him. Then she saw Reube on the ground, with a man punching him. Ted was trying to drag him off whilst Florrie and Vera were screaming.

  Suddenly a figure appeared at her side. She looked up to see Charles Grey. Staring at the man who held her, he said quietly but threateningly, ‘You and your friends should leave before the police arrive.’ He snatched the paper from the man’s hand and tore it in half. ‘Your leader won’t be too impressed to know that your antics here will cause him a great deal of embarrassment. I believe he is conjuring hopes for a New Party?’ At these words, the man froze. ‘Go back to Mosley and tell him he has not yet penetrated the East End. Nor ever will whilst you act like ignorant thugs.’

  The man glared at him, joined by his companion who had disengaged himself from the fight. One by one they slunk off, casting disgruntled frowns over their shoulders. The market people began to jeer them. As Reube rubbed his jaw, Charles Grey helped him to his feet.

  ‘The buggers,’ Reube growled, raising his own fist to the departing group. ‘Don’t you show yer ugly mugs round here again.’

  ‘I’m afraid they might,’ said Charles Grey.

  ‘Well, they’ll find us waiting next time,’ said Reube angrily. ‘Look what they done to me china.’ He bent down and began to pick up the pieces.

  As the other stallholders came over to help Reube, Charles Grey took Lily’s arm. ‘Are you hurt, Lily?’

  She smiled shakily. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘You’re still trembling.’

  She didn’t know whether she was trembling because of the Blackshirts or because she was looking into the face that she had thought she would never see again. His dark eyes were concerned for her.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘
I came to find you.’

  Lily gasped. ‘Has the aspidistra died?’

  ‘No, in fact, it’s flourishing.’ The smile he gave her made her feel weak at the knees.

  ‘Oh, that’s a relief.’

  He laughed softly and Lily’s heart went off at a tangent again. Why had he come to find her?

  ‘Lily . . .’ He moved her across the pavement to the shelter of the café which was now empty because of the disruption. ‘I wonder if you have the time one day to join me on a trip to the city? I would like to buy some more pieces for the house. And would value your advice – and of course, your company.’

  Lily stared up at him. The noise from the stallholders and shoppers was growing as the excitement of what had happened created a stir. Reube was busy telling the story of how he had sent them off with a flea in their ear.

  ‘I . . . well—’ she stammered.

  ‘I shan’t be offended if you say no, of course.’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  How could she explain that she didn’t have any spare time? How would a gentleman like him be able to understand that she was the breadwinner of the family?

  ‘I only have Sundays free,’ she said at last.

  ‘Oh dear. I was hoping to buy in the city and on Sundays the shops are closed.’ He glanced across at Reube. ‘Is this young man your employer?’

  Lily nodded.

  ‘Would it be possible to ask him for a Saturday off?’

  Lily felt disappointed. He was making it plain that their outing wouldn’t be a social one. ‘I could ask. Pedro might be able to take my place.’

  ‘And who is Pedro?’

  ‘Just a friend who helps out.’

  ‘I shall certainly recompense both you and he for your time.’

  Charles Grey looked at her for a long while, then replaced his hat over his smooth black hair. ‘This Saturday would be most convenient.’

  Lily wanted to accept. Would Reube agree? And even if he did, what would she wear?

  But before she could decide on what to do, Charles Grey settled the matter for her. ‘It’s obviously not the right time to ask him,’ he smiled, looking once more at the noisy group of stallholders talking about the Blackshirts. ‘But if you find yourself free next Saturday, at say twelve o’clock, I would be most pleased to meet you.’