East End Angel Part 7

Blanche kept her rival's head at an awkward angle while yanking her into the alley. 'I've told you to leave me husband alone, but I saw you cosying up to him again earlier in the week.' Blanche emphasised her words with a tug on Joyce's hair.

'Get off me, you mad cow!' Joyce tried to prise Blanche's fingers away from her scalp. Unable to do so, she punched at them in frustration, worsening the pain in her head. 'He don't want you no more. Why don't you ask Nick yerself if you don't believe me?'

There was nothing more likely to infuriate Blanche than the truth. Every time the post came in the morning she was expecting to see a solicitor's letter bearing news of the divorce proceedings.

'He's married to me and that's how it's gonna stay,' Blanche bellowed, as though hoping it might come to pa.s.s the louder she shouted. 'Understand what I'm saying, do you, you stupid scrubber?' She delivered a stinging slap to her opponent's cheek, making her howl.

'Get off me!' Joyce shrieked.

A man came out of the cafe and, hearing the commotion, strolled over.

'What you two up to then?' Charlie Potter grinned as he saw the waitress who'd just served him being treated like a rat by a terrier. He'd always thought her a bit above herself. She'd banged down his cup and saucer once when he'd pinched her backside in the cafe, slopping tea down the front of his trousers.

He knew the names of both women and he could guess what the argument was about: Nick Raven. The fellow had been on Charlie's mind lately. Potter never forgot people who got the better of him, especially when women had been watching his humiliation. Nick Raven had made him look a prat in front of Nurse Finch and his own wife on the night the little c.h.i.n.k b.a.s.t.a.r.d was born.

Chuckling, Charlie pulled the two women apart and wedged his hefty body between them. Joyce immediately dodged sideways and let rip with her nails down the side of Blanche's face, then turned and fled, swearing over her shoulder.

'You remember what I said, you f.u.c.kin' b.i.t.c.h,' Blanche yelled, her chest heaving with exertion. She was enraged that Joyce had managed to get in the final blow. 'What d'you think you're doing sticking yer oar in?' she stormed at Charlie. 'I would have floored her.'

'I reckon you would've 'n' all, darlin'. She scarpered pretty quick. Your face is bleeding,' Charlie pointed out to Blanche, grinning. He'd needed a boost because he was almost out of money and had nothing to do but go home and take it out on his wife and kids. Seeing two young women having a sc.r.a.p had cheered him up nicely.

Blanche flicked him a dark glance, brus.h.i.+ng herself down.

'I know you.' Charlie was unperturbed by her contemptuous look. 'You're Nick Raven's wife.'

'That's right,' Blanche snapped. 'That's who I am. Shame she don't remember it, the little tart.'

'Ah ... playing away, is he?' Charlie said, as though it was news to him. He'd known since Blanche started sleeping with Wes Silver that Nick had dumped his wife and not long after started seeing other women. He might hate the bloke but he had to give Nick credit for how he'd played it: cool as you like. No drama, no punch-ups, no nothing; he'd just kicked Blanche out, back to her parents, and carried on regardless.

'Nuthin' will come of it with her, darlin',' Charlie crooned, eyeing Blanche up and down. She was a comely sort with a good pair of t.i.ts on her, and he started feeling h.o.r.n.y despite her face looking a mess and her hair matted. 'That Joyce ain't a patch on you fer looks, is she? Nick'll come to his senses.' He s.h.i.+fted back against the wall and crossed his arms, watching as she dabbed at scarlet scratches with a handkerchief.

He might be as old as her dad, and a bit rough and ready, but he knew the right things to say, Blanche realised. She peeped at him from beneath her lashes, noticing he had quite a rugged attractiveness. He wasn't that much older than Wes Silver; she reckoned he might be a few years the wrong side of forty. She recalled now that she had seen him with Wes once or twice, acting as his sidekick, but couldn't bring to mind his name.

'Still working fer Wes, are you?' She smiled coyly. 'Forgotten yer name though, sorry.'

'Yeah ... on and off, I work fer Wes, when I ain't on s.h.i.+ft down the docks. Busy man, me ...' Charlie's chest expanded boastfully. 'Got fingers in lots of pies, I have, luv, 'cos it keeps the money rolling in, see. And we all need that, don't we?' He gave her an exaggerated wink. 'Me name's Charlie, in case yer interested in remembering it this time. Charlie Potter.'

As far as Charlie was concerned, Blanche Raven was a nice cla.s.sy bird and he wouldn't mind at all getting to know her better. She might fight and swear; she might have dropped her drawers for Wes till he gave her the elbow, and went home to his wife, but in comparison to the rough old sorts like Beverly, who hung about down by the docks and were his usual targets, she was a princess.

Nick might not have cared in the past what his wife got up to but Charlie reckoned he wouldn't take kindly to him s.h.a.gging his wife. It would also make a point to Lottie Raven that Charlie Potter could have women far younger than her if he wanted to.

'Bit shaky on yer pins, luv, after that set-to? Want me to walk you home, do you?' Charlie crooked an elbow at her for her to hold. 'Take you on the bus, if you like.'

'Not got a car then?' Blanche returned. She knew what he was hinting at, and it wasn't just a bus fare paid for out of the kindness of his heart. But she had her requirements in a man: enough money for a good drink and a decent dinner came top of her list. A car to sw.a.n.k about in wasn't far behind.

'Nah ... getting an Austin soon, though.' Charlie felt deflated. 'Please yerself ...'

Blanche stuffed the bloodied hanky in her pocket, feeling a bit miffed. She enjoyed flattery and attention from any man even one like Potter with little to recommend him. She certainly liked to choose to walk away first from a bit of flirting. 'Let me know when you get that car,' she taunted Charlie as he swaggered off up the road, then smirked when she saw his big hands form fists at his sides.

'It's yer own bleedin' fault you're in deep s.h.i.+t, so don't come crying round here. You won't get no handouts from me.'

Ruby had known she'd get little sympathy from her mother-in-law, but she'd hoped she might get at least a s.h.i.+lling off the woman seeing as when Violet was short recently she'd lent her half a crown, and never got it back. But it seemed that Vi Potter wasn't even going to let her in the front door let alone clear her debt.

''Ere ... you hang on a mo, Vi.' Ruby tilted her chin to a combative angle, wedging a foot over the threshold. 'Ain't after no handouts. You owe me half a crown and if you ain't got it all to give back you can find at least half.'

'I'm givin' you nuthin'!' Violet spat. 'Go ask yer husband for money.' She pulled the door open wider to sneer, 'Oh, yeah, that's right, you can't, can yer, 'cos if you do he'll probably knock yer teeth down yer throat fer making him a larfin' stock.' Vi looked Ruby up and down with despising eyes. 'Tell yer wot, Ruby, it's a bleedin' shame yer didn't give Ivy Tiller the job of turnin' up and helping out. She'd've sorted you out a bit of graveyard luck with that one.' Vi snapped her head at baby Paul, asleep in the pram. 'But too late now, ain't it, so why don't you go find the Chinaman wot knocked you up and ask 'im to give yer summat? 'Spect he'll want you to give him summat in return, but then yer used to doing that, ain't yer, gel?'

Charlie's mother slammed the door in her daughter-in-law's face. Ruby knew exactly what Vi had been hinting at: a few rogue handywomen could be persuaded to lose an unwanted baby and cover it up as a stillbirth. Ruby was used to her mother-in-law being spiteful, even in front of her grandchildren, but she'd sunk to new depths with that remark. But Ruby let the woman's callousness pa.s.s, concentrating on getting some money as none of the kids had eaten yet that day. She quietened Pansy, who was sitting atop the pram coverlet, grizzling. She hammered on the door, ignoring Violet cursing colourfully from behind the panels.

'Give us a coupla bob or I'm not leaving. Me kids are hungry and that good-fer-nuthin' son of your'n don't give a toss about their empty bellies.'

'Good-fer-nuthin' son, is he?' Vi screamed, yanking open the door. 'You've got a bleedin' cheek, you sc.u.mmy wh.o.r.e.' She launched herself forward, clumping Ruby on the side of the head and making Pansy howl in fright.

Violet was a hefty bruiser of a woman, even though she'd turned sixty-one a few months ago, and she never let anybody disrespect any of her family despite being aware that most of her eight kids were wrong 'uns.

In fact, Charlie, in Vi's mind, had turned out the best of the lot of them. He'd got a good job and had contacts with important people. Wes Silver had come over and had a cup of tea with her in the past. Vi had almost burst with pride at the look on some of the neighbours' faces when his posh car drew up outside and out he got in all his flash togs to knock on her front door.

At Christmas-time, Charlie always brought her in a load of hooky stuff that'd stuck to his fingers when the containers were being unloaded at the docks. Her eldest son looked after her far better than his useless father ever had. But thankfully, Greg Potter was long gone to meet his maker and her new man treated her better probably because he knew that he'd get a clump if he didn't.

Stan Wright had moved in with her a decade ago, leaving his wife and young family back in Islington. That had suited Vi: the last thing she'd wanted was to have to raise another woman's brood of kids when her own had all reached an age to be kicked out from under her feet to make their own way in the world.

Ruby had been knocked sideways by Vi's punch but regained her footing and shoved the pram to one side so Pansy, sobbing her heart out, didn't get knocked off the top of it if things turned really nasty. She might not have her mother-in-law's brawny build or vicious nature, but she'd go down fighting for the money to buy a loaf of bread.

'Put something in that or I'll make sure all yer neighbours'll hear what I've got to say about your precious son.' Ruby shook an open hand in front of Violet's face. 'Big man, Charlie, eh?' She lifted up her daughter's lank hair to display a bruise on a temple. 'That's all he's fit for: bullying women and little kids.' From the corner of an eye, she saw a dirty sc.r.a.p of net curtain twitch next door. 'Go on, shall I?' she mouthed at Vi. 'Can see old Maude's got her ear pressed to the winder so she don't miss nuthin'.'

Violet's lips tightened in rage, but she'd glimpsed her neighbour being nosy too. She hawked and spat onto Ruby's palm. 'You wanted summat ... have that!' She slammed the door in Ruby's face but a moment later a small silver coin dropped out of the letter box.

'And another, you tight-fisted b.i.t.c.h.' Ruby swooped on the sixpence. And then on the next as it fell at her feet.

'I'll be back tomorrow for the rest, so make sure you've got it ready to hand over,' Ruby bawled against the door panels, pocketing the coins with one hand and wiping slime off the other onto her coat. 'And don't bother pretending you ain't in, Vi, 'cos I'm already on to that one.'

Ruby let the brake off the pram. With a soothing stroke at her daughter's wet cheek to try to quieten Pansy's hiccuping sobs she trudged off up the street towards the bakery.

Ruby had already forgotten about her hateful mother-in-law and was calculating how far she could stretch a s.h.i.+lling if she settled for stale brown loaves, broken biscuits and sterilised milk.

'Get some bickies fer tea, shall we, Pans?' she crooned at her distressed daughter.

Pansy used her knuckles on her eyes to dry them, nodding solemnly. 'None fer Daddy ...' the girl whispered, making her mother stare at her in surprise. Her daughter rarely uttered a word and answered everything with nods or shakes of the head. It was one of the reasons Charlie set about the girl, because he saw her silence as her defiance. With an enlightened smile Ruby wondered if it was Pansy's way of showing him her hatred; her daughter had come out with that cute remark without any prompting.

'Nah ... none fer 'im,' Ruby said and, leaning forward, planted a rewarding kiss on the top of Pansy's dark head.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

'I warned you you'd end up with food poisoning if you didn't clean the place up!'

Kathy's voice was sharp with exasperation, but as Jennifer retched into the sink, she carefully anch.o.r.ed her sister's hair back from her face in one hand while the other rubbed at her heaving spine till the tension went out of it.

'Shut up going on about it,' Jennifer whined, wiping her dirty mouth with the backs of her fingers. 'Feel dreadful, I do, Kath ...' she whimpered, stumbling away from the sink to collapse onto the sofa. Drawing her knees to her chest she hugged them, rocking to and fro.

Kathy looked about at the state of her sister's home. Not that it was any worse than when she'd last visited. The living room was pretty much exactly the same: dirty plates with odd bits of food stuck to them were abandoned on the floor and a tumbler was balanced inside an overflowing ashtray. Without taking a sniff inside the gla.s.s Kathy knew it would most certainly reek of whisky.

'Has Bill been over here lately?'

Jenny nodded her head into supporting palms. 'Went home this morning, he did, when I started throwing up.'

'Has he got the bellyache as well? Have the two of you eaten something bad, d'you reckon?'

'He's got cast-iron guts,' Jenny mumbled bitterly into her hands. 'He never gets the s.h.i.+ts, the lucky thing.' Bill had cleared off as soon as he realised she was feeling poorly. He'd not even offered to go the chemist and buy her some stomach powders. The tight fist begrudged laying out for them. 'Messed meself in bed, I did, Kath.' Jennifer raised her bleary eyes to her sister. 'Couldn't get to the lavvie quick enough. Bill weren't happy ...' Her voice tailed off into embarra.s.sed quiet.

'Not surprised he's gone then,' Kathy finally said.

'Got anything to give me for it, have you, Kath?'

'Yeah ... a bar of carbolic and a kick up the backside.' Kathy stared grimly at her sister, feeling little sympathy for Jennifer's plight. In fact she was surprised her sister didn't come down with sickness and diarrhoea more often. It was several months since Jennifer had last had an upset stomach, and it hadn't been as chronic as this bout. Kathy sensed her irritation mounting and knew for two pins she might box her sister's ears in the hope it might knock some sense into her. To calm herself down she left the room, heading off to inspect the mess elsewhere.

'Ain't you got no medicine with you?' Jenny's mournful cry went unanswered by Kathy as she opened the door to her sister's bedroom. 'Got any laudanum, have you?' met Kathy's ears as she reluctantly entered, to be met by the sight of tatty, stained sheets. A musky fug of stale male sweat and faeces made her gag then hold her breath. But she was grateful to see that a brown stain was all that remained of her sister's accident. Gingerly, Kathy ripped the bedding free by handling just the very edges of the sheets, manoeuvring them together with her feet before kicking the ball towards the door. It was her afternoon off and if she'd known the task in front of her when she reached Jennifer's she'd have brought a rubber ap.r.o.n and gloves.

'I'll put the sheets in the copper out the back for you, and do the was.h.i.+ng up, but that's all the clearing up I'm going to do. The rest can wait till you're feeling better.' Kathy came back into the living room, still rolling the linen in front of her with the soles of her shoes. 'You can peg this lot out later. It's a nice afternoon and should dry. If you want it ironed you can do that yourself too.' She gazed at Jennifer but her sister had buried her head in a cus.h.i.+on, making Kathy sure she wasn't heeding a word she said.

'If being sick like this won't teach you a lesson, then G.o.d knows what will. I give up.' Kathy sounded defeated.

With one eye flickering open, Jennifer watched her sister as she approached the back door, hoofing the dirty sheets in front of her. 'Seen anything of Mum?' she moaned, clutching her belly with both hands as a griping pain knotted her insides. Whenever she felt ill or anxious about something she instinctively craved her mother's comfort, despite the unlikelihood of getting it. She'd not spoken to Winifred in over five years.

'Saw all of them last week,' Kathy called from the back step. She lifted the dirty linen on her shoe and let it drop onto the concrete. She knew that once she reached the washhouse just yards away she'd use the wooden tongs to drag the filthy cotton into the tub.

Having got the copper filled and alight, Kathy fed the was.h.i.+ng in, plunging it down into the steamy interior, adding more soda crystals and Sunlight soap shavings and mixing it to a froth. She gathered up the dirty towels that she found lying about indoors and dunked those in too. Suddenly bursting with zeal she carried on hunting, unearthing dirty underwear from under Jennifer's bed. Soon every piece of grimy cotton she could find even men's pants had been jammed in and there was barely room for her to agitate the suds with the wooden tongs.

Finally, Kathy came inside, blowing wispy tendrils of hair from her perspiring brow, and rummaged in the cupboard under the sink for the carbolic soap. It was still where she'd put it weeks ago, untouched in its wrapper.

Kathy washed her hands thoroughly and clattered the bar of carbolic down onto the draining board. 'When I go off home later, boil up some water and give yourself a scrub down with that. Are you listening, Jennifer?' Her sister appeared very still as though asleep.

'It stinks,' Jennifer suddenly piped up. 'Bill reckons it reminds him of hospitals. He was in hospital once and he hated it.'

'Well, if he gets a bad infection he might have a spell back inside one. And so might you!' Kathy snapped.

'If you bring me in a nice bar of Pears soap, I'll use that 'cos it smells nicer.'

Kathy picked up the bar of blue marbled soap and threw it into the sink in a fit of frustration.

'What did Mum say? Did she ask about me?' Jennifer sounded peevish.

Kathy came over, drying her hands on a clean hanky dug from her pocket. She knew it was pointless getting in a temper over her sister. Jennifer was Jennifer and had been lost to reason since the age of fourteen, when she first started taking an interest in boys ... and had caught the eye of Bill Black.

'No, Mum didn't say a word about you; but I did. I told her I had seen you recently.'

Jenny perked up, lifting her head away from the upholstery. 'Yeah? What did she say to that?'

Kathy perched on the armchair opposite the sofa. 'She wasn't happy I'd mentioned your name at all,' she said with brutal honesty. 'Dad went out soon after I arrived so he didn't hear what we talked about,' she added, antic.i.p.ating Jenny's next enquiry.

Jenny's head sagged back onto its support. 'How's Tom?'

'Driving Mum mad. I can understand why. He's knocking about with Davy Wright and that one's turned into a right tyke.' Kathy half smiled. 'He made a pa.s.s at me.'

Hearing about it drew a weak giggle from her sister. 'Cheeky little beggar.'

'He's that, all right ...' Kathy paused. 'I went round to the Bunk to find Tom just to have a chat with him before I set off home. I saw Matilda Keiver and she asked after you ... sends her best.'

Jenny smiled on hearing the news.

'Still the same old Matilda, she is, in the same old house. Beattie Evans was out and about too. She's a kind soul. She'd been feeding Tom and Davy up with bread and jam. Then I walked back to Mum's with Tom and when she found out he'd filled himself up at Beattie's, she went bonkers. You know how she hates waste. She'd done Tom a bit of steamed fish and mash for his tea and he told her he didn't want to eat it ...'

Jennifer went pale and her cheeks ballooned at the description of food she particularly disliked.

'Oh, no!' Kathy wailed. 'Hold on, Jenny, till I fetch the bowl.' Kathy leaped up, racing to the sink, groaning when she heard the sound of Jennifer vomiting behind her. She knew which of them would be clearing that up.

David Goldstein was accustomed to being sworn at because of his job. He was also used to getting abuse because of his faith, even though he was not Orthodox and considered himself no different from any other Englishman. This afternoon he risked getting it from both barrels.

He linked arms with his colleagues as the protestors surged forward. Feeling a dig in the ribs from a fist, he tried to turn but the close formation of the police line prevented him seeing much over his shoulder.

'Hold on tight, Goldie,' David heard his sergeant order as a wave of anti-Fascists rushed at them in the hope of breaking their chain and scattering them.

A well-aimed blow to the backs of David's knees sent him staggering but he quickly recovered as he saw a snarling man taking a kick at his head. He drew his truncheon to protect himself but the would-be a.s.sailant had darted away, losing himself in the crowd. 'Commie b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' David muttered, dusting himself down and rus.h.i.+ng to rejoin his colleagues and help man the barricades.

'Wish Mosley'd hurry up and get this over with,' Sergeant Booth grumbled. 'I'm ready for home 'n' me tea. Let 'em have a free-for-all if they want it, I say.'

'All these shops will get their fronts kicked in if we disappear.'

'Nah, Jews own most of 'em round here. They'll look after their own ... always do.' Sergeant Booth suddenly seemed sheepish. 'Sorry, Goldie ... forgot ... no offence ...'

It had slipped Booth's mind that his colleague was Jewish. It was an easy oversight: David Goldstein had light brown hair and hazel eyes. He didn't look a typical schmock, in Percy Booth's estimation. Privately, Booth believed that was why Goldie had been offered the job at the Met. He reckoned if David Goldstein had been swarthy with a hooked nose he'd never have got his feet under the front counter at the local cop shop. But Goldie was a pleasant character, good at his job, Booth had to give him that. Nevertheless, the sergeant still found it surprising that the lad had turned down a cushy number in the family firm in favour of doing this. In Booth's opinion n.o.body in his right mind would give up sitting on his a.r.s.e all day in favour of being punched and spat at by a mob on a regular basis.

'No offence taken ...' David finally said through his teeth. Since the Fascist rallies had started a few years ago most of the violence arose out of the antagonism between the protesters and the police. A meeting at Olympia had descended into chaos when Mosley's black-s.h.i.+rted stewards had brutally dealt with hecklers in the hall. The police had been accused of not doing enough to intervene. Privately, David had to agree with that; he'd seen first-hand what had gone on. But he'd followed orders, the same as the rest that day.

'Come on, Mosley, get on your way, for Chrissake,' Sergeant Booth muttered impatiently, aiming a backward kick at a lanky fellow deliberately elbowing him in the neck.

Sir Oswald was standing in his armoured car, addressing his supporters, one arm outstretched in a rigid salute. A roar went up as the followers realised the rally was coming to an end. Mosley suddenly dropped down into his vehicle and it slowly moved off.

'Right, get ready for a final surge, Goldie ...' Sergeant Booth had rightly antic.i.p.ated the crowd venting their anger one final time. The Union flags and Fascist colours were being waved frantically with the intention of inciting a reaction from the protestors. 'Just one last charge, son, and we'll be heading home for tea.' Sergeant Booth sounded jolly.

'Not before time,' David muttered, untangling his foot from a discarded flag on the ground. He felt his helmet go flying and, although he didn't know it, his thoughts fell in line with those of his sergeant: he wondered what on earth he was doing putting up with this s.h.i.+t when his parents wanted to give him a generous salary and a nice desk job.