After Hours (46 page)

Rob nodded. ‘We're all thrilled to bits. Ett says she'll finish with the Sally Army. Her major says it's the right thing. She says Ett's given the Army more than most already, and God won't mind her helping to run a decent, honest pub. You know Ett, she'd give her last farthing away. She's a saint.' He chatted on, knowing that the good news would help raise Walter's spirits.

‘Whoa!' he protested. ‘You say it's all settled?'

‘Signed, sealed and delivered.'

‘Blimey.'

The nurse came up at last and warned Rob not to overtire her patient. She checked his temperature. ‘Going down nicely,' she reported.

When Sadie came in early the following morning, Walter was sleeping peacefully. Dr Matthews came and studied his charts, sounded his chest without waking him. He nodded briefly.

‘What's he say?' Sadie demanded of another brisk, pretty nurse, as soon as the doctor had passed by.

‘He says things look a lot brighter than they did this time yesterday,' she reported.

Sadie held her breath. She thought she saw the colour creep back into Walter's cheeks as he slept.

So far, since she'd realized the depth of her feelings for Walt, she'd merely managed to outstare despair, convincing herself with blind faith that he would pull through. Now she relaxed as she looked at him. His breathing was deeper, he slept soundly, without the haunted, tormented look. They said he was over the worst.

He would come back to Duke Street. She thanked God and the doctors and nurses. For the first time since the accident, she was
able to think beyond Walter lying in danger on his hospital bed, to having him home safe and well.

There was a collective deep breath down Duke Street as Walter Davidson turned the corner on the road to recovery. His survival raised spirits and was seen as the triumph of courage over adversity. It made a change from short-time working, rising prices and dire warnings on the radio against the depraved new craze for Dixieland jazz. This, and the prospect of Duke returning to his pub, under the auspices of George and Hettie Mann, brought the year of 1925 to a happy close.

They likened Richie Palmer's disappearance to the famous music hall illusionist, Lafayette. He'd vanished in a puff of smoke. It was just as well: a lynching mood overtook the men of the area whenever they thought of him tampering with the brakes on Rob's car; an ugly, riotous intention which the police were glad to see dissolve, as Christmas approached. There was no trace of Palmer, either in Mile End or in Hoxton, and they made no great effort to bring him to book. People said he'd joined the restless, unhoused tramps whose shadowy figures drifted under the railway arches and along the Embankment: anonymous, faceless, hopeless men who shrugged off another layer of their humanity with each cold and bitter night they spent, numbed by drink, drifting into oblivion.

Sadie shivered when she thought of him. Richie and Wiggin began to mingle in her mind. She cried when she thought of what he might have been, decently set up in the motor trade, with a loving family. She forced her mind over what had sent him downhill on his destructive path. In the end, she saw that forces of degradation were too strong for some; for every Maurice who rose out of the bleak misery of East End poverty there were ten thousand Richies. She felt that in her own distress she had judged him too harshly. ‘Poor Richie,' she thought now. ‘I read him wrong, right from the start.'

As usual, Annie was the one to pull Sadie out of the past. ‘Ain't no use moping, not when you've got more than enough to do already.'

‘I ain't moping, Annie.' Sadie folded freshly laundered clothes for Meggie.

‘You been over to see Walter lately?'

‘This morning. I took Meggie along. He's nicely on the mend, he says.'

‘And what about you and him?' Annie's inquisition was less sharp than it sounded. She wanted to heal the wounds for good, now that Walter had been given a date for coming home. ‘We don't want no more rows over you-know-who!'

Sadie sighed. ‘Over Richie. No, I ain't gonna think no more about him. Walter says I weren't the one to blame.' She ran her fingertips along her forehead. ‘It's good of him, Annie, but it ain't all that easy to forgive myself.'

Annie took her up sharply. ‘Oh, so you
meant
Richie to go and take them bleeding brakes to bits, did you? You meant Walter to jump right into Rob's car and have his accident? On top of getting yourself dumped with a kid and no job? It was part of your plan? Oh, very clever, I must say!'

Sadie felt her eyes smart. ‘'Course not.'

‘Well, then.' Annie's fierce gaze drew a smile from her stepdaughter. ‘Listen, girl, if Walt's forgiven you, I should say you're duty bound to let yourself off the hook, otherwise we'll all end up in the cart!'

‘You're a hard-hearted woman, Annie Parsons. Can't a girl have no guilty feelings?'

Annie shook her head. ‘Who did you intend to harm? That's the test.'

‘No one.'

‘Well, then.'

‘But it ain't just the accident: I treated Walter rotten from the start.'

‘Bleeding hell, if they handed out medals for feeling bad, you'd be the first in line. Like I said before, did you plan it so that Walter Davidson would mope after you for the rest of his life? Or did he choose that for himself?'

Sadie shrugged. ‘I never meant to hurt him, you know that. And
so does he. I told him that in the hospital this morning. He's been very good.'

‘More fool him, then.'

‘Annie! Whose side are you on?'

‘You just mind how you go, and don't go leading him on, not unless you made up your mind this time.'

Sadie was exasperated. She went through to the other room to lift Meggie and get her ready for a trip to the market. ‘I thought you said not to feel bad.' Now she couldn't make head nor tail of Annie's inconsistent advice.

‘Just don't take him for granted, that's all.' Annie took Meggie into her arms and smiled down at her. ‘Dress up nice for his homecoming. He'd like that.'

Sadie grinned. She saw that Annie wasn't beyond a spot of matchmaking. They went downstairs together and walked up the court, Annie still carrying Meggie. They paused on the corner to watch the workmen restore the old pub name. Down came the Prince of Wales, up went the Duke of Wellington, in traditional gold letters against a beautiful green background. Annie beamed and nodded. ‘Prince of Bleeding Wales!' she chuntered, handing Meggie over to Sadie, shaking her head and trudging back up to her haberdashery stall.

Walter came home from hospital on 12 December. Rob drove him down an empty Duke Street. It was half past five. The traders had packed up their market stalls and the street-lamps were already lit. Walter noticed the lights on in Cooper's old place. The co-op was already well stocked for Christmas, with game-birds hanging in windows piled high with cheeses, tins, pies, cakes, nuts and dates. There was a buzz of activity. Shop boys mopped the floors and shook out the doormats. Girls wiped down the counters. Blinds came down and lights went off as they closed up for the day.

‘Good to be back?' Rob grinned. He held open the door for Walt to step on to the pavement outside the Duke.

Walter stared up at the old building. The name felt right. He wasn't so sure about the electric lights as he stepped inside. Gas
ones had been good enough before Bertie Hill came and upset the applecart.

Sadie came out on to the front step to greet him, dressed in a lovely, soft dress of pale blue wool. She held out both arms. For a moment he clasped her to him.

‘Come on, you two love birds, get a move on!' Rob stood on the pavement in the icy wind.

Sadie ignored him. ‘I love you, Walter Davidson,' she said. ‘And I don't care who knows it.'

‘At this rate, that's the whole bleeding world,' Rob grumbled. He pushed past the embracing couple and swung open the doors into the crowded bar.

Inside, Tommy led the rousing cheer of greeting. He stood there grinning like a Cheshire cat, a pint in his hand. Walter released Sadie at last and went up to shake his free hand warmly. He let the noise die down before he walked across to the bar, leaned both elbows on the copper top and waited for Duke to come up and serve him.

Duke slung a teatowel over one shoulder. He stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets and took his time. He winked at Annie. ‘What'll it be?' he inquired.

‘A pint of best, please, Duke.' Walter enjoyed every syllable. He watched the action of the pump handle as the old man-drew the clear, amber liquid from the barrel.

‘It's on the house,' Duke said, ‘and a Happy Christmas to you.'

‘Down the hatch.' Walter grinned.

There was another cheer. Grace darted out of the crowd and began to dance around the guest of honour. Soon Rosie O'Hagan followed, and the formality of the welcoming group broke up. Walter found his hand shaken right, left and centre. All the regulars were there: Joe and Arthur, Tommy with another new girl, Charlie talking ten to the dozen about his college course. There were newcomers from the co-op swelling the crowd, and ever more customers walked in off the street at the sound of cheerful celebration.

George and Duke worked as a team, serving pint after pint.
Ernie put in a marathon washing-up stint, while Annie and Hettie went round clearing empties. Dolly insisted on music.

‘Scott Joplin!' one of the girls from Dickins and Jones cried out.

‘Scott who?' Dolly dug deep into the box of pianola rolls.

‘No, the hokey-cokey!'

‘Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!'

‘Give a girl a chance,' Dolly muttered. ‘How about this one, “Abide With Me”?'

‘God save us!' Annie came and turfed her to one side. She delved into the box. ‘“Tipperary”, “Sister Susie”.' One by one, the wartime favourites were discarded.

‘“Ragtime Infantry”!' Tommy leaned across and pulled out the roll he wanted. Before anyone could stop him, he slotted it into position and set the pianola playing. He began to march in and out of the tables, followed by Mo, Grace and Rosie, leading them in a raucous chorus, with the pianola thumping out the tune in the background.

‘
We are Fred Kjarno's Army, the ragtime infantry,

We cannot fight, we cannot march, what bleeding good are we?
'

‘Tommy!' Jess stood up to protest, but Maurice grinned and held her back.

‘
And when we get to Berlin, the Kaiser he will say,

Hoch, hoch, mein Gott, what a bloody rotten lot

Are the ragtime infantry!
'

‘That ain't nice, Tommy!' Dolly pretended to be shocked. ‘You little ones, you cover up your ears, you hear!'

Mo clapped both hands to his head and marched on. ‘
Hoch, hoch, mein Gott
,' he chanted, while Grace and Mo filled in the rest.

New music soon took over. Sadie, Amy and Frances brought down food on large wooden trays: cheese-straws, sandwiches, pies.
The party was in full swing. Soon Walter drifted across to chat to Sadie. She slid her arm around his waist and gave his cheek a kiss, bold as anything. Walter blushed, but he looked like a man whose dreams had come true.

Looking on from across the room, Rob thought that Sadie seemed different; less cocksure somehow, and more gentle. She was still pretty enough to turn heads, though.

He turned to Amy. ‘Is Bobby asleep?'

She nodded. ‘In Sadie's old room, with Meggie. They've got their heads on the pillow like two little angels. Come up and take a look.' She could tell he wanted to.

They crept upstairs hand-in-hand to view the sleeping children, and afterwards stayed in the old living-room, listening to the laughter and music rise.

Duke had taken his eyes off Walter and Sadie for a moment to watch Rob and Amy go upstairs. He glanced round the bar at the joking, laughing crowd, caught sight of Frances and Billy sitting talking to Edith Cooper. He spotted Jess, and remembered the family would soon have to bear another split when Maurice took them off to Manchester, and good luck to them. Sadie caught his eye and smiled. She passed more empty glasses to Ernie. ‘Here,' Annie said, shoving Ernie along. ‘Let a dog see the rabbit.' Soon she was up to her elbows in soap suds, helping him get through the work.

George went down and tapped two new barrels. He rolled the old ones off the gantry and stood them on end. At this rate they'd need to re-order before the end of the week. He came up from the cellar and grinned at Duke.

‘You seen the time, Duke?' Annie finished at the sink and glanced at the clock above the till. ‘Time for last orders.'

‘Let's give them just a few more minutes,' he suggested, reluctant to break things up. The music was still in full swing, the party at its height.

‘Duke Parsons!' Annie gave him the full force of her most severe stare. ‘If you don't go and put them towels over them pumps, I'll do it myself!'

He grumbled, but he knew she was right. ‘Time, gentlemen, please!' he called in his gravelly voice.

Slowly they drank up and wished Duke and George goodnight. ‘Never thought we'd live to see the day.' Arthur shook Duke's hand and slapped his shoulder.

‘O ye of little faith!' Dolly quoted. She pulled him from the bar: ‘Bleeding limpet,' she complained. Then she hooked her arm through Arthur's and turned for a final say. ‘We all knew you'd get back where you belong, Duke!'

He turned and thanked them. ‘Come along now. Time, gents!'

The noise died. The doors swung and closed until the pub stood empty. The family left Duke to lock up and went upstairs. He slotted the bolts into position, taking a moment to look around the old place, hearing last orders echo down the years.

First published in 1996 by Macmillan

This edition published 2014 by Bello
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
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