After Hours (39 page)

This was the thought that swung things for him. He took off suddenly, without explanation, thinking that Sadie's hurt would soon heal. Abandoned by his own parents, growing up detached from all deep emotion, he saw being let down in life as something to accept and spring back from. Letting people down was likewise nothing serious, not when you saw babies starve, old men drown themselves, girls of twelve walking the streets.

Walter grew uneasy with the awkward silence. ‘She had a little girl, did you know?'

Richie nodded. ‘She left me a note.' He'd tried through all these weeks to steer his brain away from forming a picture of little Meggie. But Sadie's written words were too graphic. He could see in his mind's eye her long, curling lashes, her rosebud mouth.

‘And what shall I tell her when I go back?' He saw how Richie
must be going through a silent struggle. Curious feces peered at the two of them, face to face. The pretty, shrieking girl was gossiping with the barman.

‘Tell her I'll come and see her when I can,' he mumbled.

Richie came to Southwark a week later, Waiting under the railway arch at the top of Duke Street, until he caught sight of Sadie chatting to Amy in the market. Both women wheeled perambulators. As Amy went to talk to Annie on her stall, Sadie turned to make her way up the street towards the park. He waylaid her without warning.

Startled, she stared at him. He was thinner, his expression unreadable as ever. His eyes were half closed, as if to keep his feelings safely dampened down.

Sadie had changed too, he thought. Her movements were slower, more careful. She didn't cry out when she saw him, though he could tell she wanted to. Her light dress, straight and simple, worn with a long row of pearly beads, showed her creamy-brown arms. Her untameable, wavy dark hair framed her face. She clung to the pram handle, but said nothing.

‘Can I take a look at Meggie?' Richie took another step forward. People in the street rushed or sauntered by. The traffic roared and a train rumbled overhead.

The baby lay in her little wickerwork carriage, covered by a lacy sheet. He saw the dark hair against the white pillow, the same as Sadie's. He wondered what it was he was feeling. Disbelief. Curiosity. He glanced up at Sadie's proud face. ‘Can I walk with you?'

She nodded. They went on past the shops, the chapel, the public-baths, through the park gates, wandering like any young couple with their baby.

‘I got your letter,' he told her.

She nodded. ‘It ain't been easy.'

‘I weren't good enough,' he said. The trees spread their leaves in a great, green canopy. They walked slowly through the dappled shadows.

‘Don't go on. I ain't listening,' She looked stubbornly away from
him, at the pigeons, the children playing. Then she turned back. ‘At any rate, that ain't for you to say.'

‘It's what they think.'

‘Who?'

He pulled at white flowerheads on the rose bushes, crushing petals and scattering them on the grass. ‘Frances, your pa, Rob; all of them.'

‘They ain't me. Maybe I don't think the same way.' Sadie didn't want to make it too easy. She checked her pleasure in Richie's presence, forcing him to make the running as much as she could.

‘I still ain't found no proper work,' he said moodily.

She looked him in the eyes again. ‘You could try talking to Walter,' she suggested.

He frowned. ‘What about Rob?'

‘Rob was the one that told Walter where to find you.' Sadie had learned all this after Walter's successful mission to the Queen's Head. Since then her hopes had been high of bumping into Richie just like this, as if the bitter experience of being deserted had melted away.

Richie considered this. ‘Bleeding hell.'

‘Right,' she laughed. ‘Being a stick-in-the-mud family man himself now, he might see things different, I think, especially with Amy coming down on him like a ton of bricks.'

‘Amy's a decent sort,' Richie said. He sat down on a bench and waited for Sadie to put the brake on the pram.

‘Who said she weren't?' Sadie and Amy were firm friends now. It was Amy's persuasive tongue that had laid the ground for offering Richie his old job back once he finally showed up to see Sadie and the baby.

‘What's the use of him coming back to play the pa if he don't have no work?' she'd demanded. She'd recognized Rob's stubborn use of his newspaper as a shield. She went and tore it away. ‘Now you listen to me, Rob Parsons! When Richie Palmer shows his face down Paradise Court again, you gotta be man enough to let bygones be bygones, you hear?'

This was just after Walter had returned from the Queen's Head.
She pinched and teased her husband until he yelled out and woke the baby. ‘Get the gripewater,' she ordered, withdrawing her labour until he gave in.

Rob went and settled Bobby and fussed him back to sleep. When he got to bed, he found she'd withdrawn conjugal rights too. ‘Bleeding hell,' he moaned. ‘I'm married to a right bleeding battleaxe!'

‘You are,' she warned. ‘Until you learn how to behave.' She preached charity and forgiveness until well past midnight.

In a mixture of exhaustion and desire, he gave in. ‘All right, he can have his bleeding job back, then.' He sighed, taking Amy in his arms. ‘If it means I can get a bit of peace and quiet.'

‘There ain't nothing peaceful about what you got in mind, Rob Parsons,' she challenged, kissing him all over his face, tickling herself with his moustache. ‘I can see it in your eyes!'

So, by the end of August, Sadie's life had turned around once more. She was out of the crumbling tenement, and had converted her temporary stay at Annie's house into permanent lodgings at Edith and Jack Cooper's; an idea mooted by clear-thinking Frances. Since his meeting up with Sadie under the railway arch, Richie had scarcely been able to keep away from her and Meggie. He'd been humble to Annie and Duke, sincere in his desire to do better from now on. The final hurdle had been cleared when Rob came specially to find him at Annie's house. Keeping things formal and stiff, he offered hint his old position at the depot.

They shook hands on it. Richie was due to start back on the first of next month. Sadie's cup was overflowing, but still she wouldn't be the one to suggest a full reconciliation with Richie. She would hold out until he asked.

‘Happy now?' he said, after accepting Rob's offer. They took a stroll up the court, before he walked back over the river to Hoxton.

She nodded.

‘And will you take me back?' He looked down at the pavement, up at the roofs, anywhere but at her.

‘I thought you'd never ask!'

Her sharp answer drew his gaze. He grinned and kissed her.
‘Ain't I the worst devil in Duke Street no more?' He'd caught sight of Dolly Ogden's lace curtain twitching.

‘You never were.' Sadie linked arms and walked on with him. ‘No, the worst devil by far is Bertie Hill.' She glanced at the open door of the Prince of Wales. ‘So you can move back in with me whenever you like, never mind what Dolly says.' She had to check with Edith, smooth the way in that direction. ‘She'll be glad of the extra rent, and the company.' She would talk her new landlady round by explaining that Richie was now all set to become the respectable family man. Sadie noticed Jack Cooper shambling up the street, and across into the Prince of Wales.

Richie said nothing, but he'd seen Tommy O'Hagan slip in just ahead. He asked Sadie about the boycott, and for five more minutes they stood by the pillar-box discussing Bertie Hill's worsening situation. ‘George is sure the brewery won't stand the losses much longer.'

‘How long will they give him?'

She shrugged. ‘That depends. Tommy says he's up to Pa's old tricks, serving after hours.'

Richie laughed. ‘That's why I just seen him heading in there, then?'

Sadie was incensed. ‘Tommy? Bleeding traitor. I'll box his bleeding ears!' she promised.

All was back to normal. They parted, lovers once more. The next day, Richie moved into Edith Cooper's with Sadie, ready to start work at the depot on the Monday.

George Mann's courtship of Hettie went along on an altogether more sedate basis. For months since he went to work at the Flag, they'd been meeting quietly, watching family developments and worrying about the welfare of others. Hettie's work at the Salvation Army Mission and at the Ealing shop took her away from Duke Street a good deal, but she was satisfied that things were as good as they could be for Duke and Annie, now that Wiggin's influence was past. She scarcely forgave herself for her lack of charity towards the poor old drunk, however, and she redoubled her energies in
the Christian hostel, soldiering for Jesus and putting her own needs way down the line. It didn't occur to her that sacrifice also affects those close to the martyr for the cause; her family lacked her gentle, affectionate presence, and George had to make do with fleeting conversations between shop and hostel, or fitted into one of Hettie's rare free days.

One Saturday in early September, he succeeded in persuading her to take time off to go and queue with him to take a boat out on to the Serpentine. The warm day made it a popular pastime with the young girls and their beaus, few things were as romantic and accessible as sculling across the flat surface in the mellow light. At last, George and Hettie came to the front of the queue, stepped into their slim; wooden boat and headed into the stillness, away from the crowds.

George rowed for a while in silence. Hettie trailed her fingers in the cool water and took in the scene, guessing that he might have something special to say. She even had some warning of what it might be. He had been keeping her up-to-date on Bertie Hill's declining popularity with Mr Wakeley, the brewery manager – information gleaned from Alf Henderson, the landlord at the Flag. She waited patiently for George to speak.

‘I'm in a spot of bother,' he began, fitting the oars and letting the boat drift.

‘Oh?' This was unusual, not what she'd expected. She studied his broad, tanned face. ‘How can I help?'

‘That's just it, Ett.
You're
the problem.'

‘Oh,' she said again. The pleasantness of the day threatened to fall flat. ‘What did I do?'

‘Well, no, you didn't do nothing. You're not the problem; I said it wrong. Only, I got a problem over you, that's what I mean to say. I got myself tied up in knots.' He sighed.

Hettie let her hand continue to float on the water. In fact, she didn't feel George's problem, whatever it was, as such a threat after all. ‘Spit it out, why don't you?' She held on to her wide-brimmed, light straw hat and smiled.

‘First off,' he began again, ‘you know Wakeley has got his beady
eye on Hill. According to Alf, he only has to wait for him to make one false move before he gives him his marching orders.'

Hettie's eyes widened. ‘Ain't that something? God forgive me, but I hope and pray they don't take too long about it. The sooner Duke Street sees the back of that man, the better.'

George nodded. ‘So you see, Wakeley must be on the lookout for someone to step into his shoes.'

Hettie spied another rowing-boat cutting swiftly across their bows. She shouted, George seized the oars and swung away. ‘And that someone could be you, is that it?'

‘Could be.' He rowed for a while. The soft sun glinted on millions of ripples, the oars dipped and cleared the water in a steady, even rhythm. ‘But here's where I get tied up. See, I could go right up and put my name down for Wakeley to keep in mind. Alf says he'd back me. I already know the old Duke like the back of my hand. I stand a good chance of being first in line for the licence.'

Hettie's smile broadened. ‘It'd be a dream come true. It'd make Pa very happy.' She hardly dared to think about it: Duke free to come and go on his old stamping-ground.

‘I know it would. Now, Ett,
there's
my problem. If I get the licence, how can I ask you to marry me? If you said yes, I'd be the happiest man alive, but I'd be thinking you only said yes for your pa's sake, to get him back where he belongs through the back door, so to speak. And I'd never know if you'd said yes because you wanted me!' He blushed and let the oars rest again. ‘There ain't no way round it as for as I can see.'

During the speech, one of the longest of his life, the smile faded from Hettie's face. She lifted her hand clear of the water and let it drip on to her dark green skirt. ‘Hold on, George, let me get this straight. Is what I just heard a proposal of marriage?'

George looked alarmed. One oar slipped and the boat ripped sideways. ‘That's the knot I can't undo, see. Now I can't never ask you to marry me, can I? Not if I go and put my name down with the brewery.'

At last Hettie broke into a laugh. ‘Try me, George.'

‘And you'll give a straight answer? Never mind Duke and the pub?'

‘Hand across my heart and hope to die!'

He took a deep breath and steadied the boat. ‘Here goes. Hettie Parsons, will you marry me?'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘Yes, yes, yes.'

‘Blimey.' They were behaving like a couple of kids, out in the middle of the lake, with people in the distance beginning to look their way.

Hettie laughed and cried. ‘I love you, George Mann. And I don't think there's a girl in the whole world could have had a nicer proposal!'

‘And here's me thinking I'd messed it up good and proper.'

‘Well, you ain't. And you know that problem you was on about, about you not being sure why I'd said yes? It's simple as pie!'

‘It is?'

‘Yes. George, watch out!' she cried, too late to stop them from careering into the willow overhanging the bank. The boat lurched to a halt. She stepped forward and put both arms around his neck. ‘Simple. All we gotta do is get married straight off, with Hill still dug in there at the Duke. That way, ain't no one can think I'm doing it just for Pa!'