Backstreet Child (45 page)

Tony leaned back in his chair. ‘Ma, who’s Lola Fields?’

‘She’s a good friend,’ Mary replied. ‘Why d’yer ask?’

‘She came round soon as I got ’ome. She offered ter tidy up,’ Tony told her.

Mary nodded slowly. ‘That’s Lola. She’s a good gel, Tony. Don’t mind what people say about ’er. She’s a good ’un.’

‘What do they say about ’er, Mum?’

‘They say she’s a Tom.’

‘On the game, yer mean?’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘Is she on the game?’

Mary eased herself up on the pillows and clasped her hands together. ‘I wouldn’t be the one ter cast a stone, Tony,’ she said quietly. ‘Lola’s a good ’un right enough. She found me on the floor an’ it was ’er that looked after me till the ambulance came. What she does is no concern o’ mine, nor anybody else’s fer that matter.’

Tony looked at his mother’s frail face. ‘It’s no concern o’ mine neivver, Ma. I jus’ wanted ter know, that’s all.’

‘She might sell ’er body ter live, son, but there’s more goodness in that woman than in many o’ the so-called paragons o’ virtue I could name,’ Mary said with conviction. ‘We shouldn’t be too quick ter judge people. Take ole George Galloway. That man’s name don’t go down very well wiv most o’ the people who knows ’im, but ’e’s looked after me since I first went ter see ’im. ’E’s gonna take care o’ you when I’m gorn, an’ the way I’m goin’, I don’t fink it’ll be long.’

Tony patted his mother’s hands. ‘Yer gonna be fine, Ma,’ he said softly. ‘Just do what the doctors tell yer, an’ when yer do get out of ’ere, lay off the drink. That’s what’ll kill yer.’

Mary smiled cynically. ‘Jus’ livin’ kills yer, son. Anyway, enough o’ that. ’Ow long are yer ’ome for?’

‘I’m on a seventy-two-hour pass,’ he told her. ‘I’m due back fer first parade Wednesday.’

‘What yer gonna do while yer on leave?’ she asked.

The young man shrugged. ‘I’m goin’ down West Marden in Kent termorrer mornin’ ter see a lady friend,’ he replied. ‘I may get a room somewhere nearby so I can spend a bit o’ time wiv’er. Don’t worry though, I’ll come back ter see yer before I go back ter camp.’

‘Don’t yer worry about yer ole mum,’ Mary told him with a smile. ‘I’ll be all right. As long as yer ’appy, son.’

Tony bent down and kissed his mother’s forehead in a show of love and she patted his head. ‘Tell me about the young lady friend,’ she said.

‘Well, ’er name’s Rachel Bradley an’ she comes from Bermon’sey,’ Tony replied. ‘She’s a very nice gel, Ma.’

Mary’s face suddenly became very serious. ‘The Bradleys who’ve got the cartage business?’ she asked.

Tony nodded.

‘’Ave yer told ’er anyfing about bein’ a Galloway?’ she asked.

‘No, but I will when I see ’er,’ he answered. ‘It’s not right ter keep it from ’er, ’specially if we’re gonna get serious about each ovver.’

‘Don’t tell ’er, son. Don’t tell ’er yet awhile,’ Mary said, a note of pleading in her voice.

‘I must, Ma. It wouldn’t be right ter keep it from the gel,’ he replied.

‘I don’t want yer ter get ’urt, that’s all,’ Mary said with a deep sigh.

‘Why should I?’ he asked.

‘The gel’s muvver is Carrie Tanner. She married a bloke called Bradley who ’ad a coffee shop in Cotton Lane. Yer lady friend’s a Tanner an’ you’re a Galloway, that’s why,’ Mary emphasised. ‘I told yer about the bad blood between the families, an’ it runs deep.’

Tony leaned forward in his chair. ‘Did yer tell this woman Lola anyfing about us, about me bein’ a Galloway, I mean?’ he asked.

Mary nodded. ‘Lola’s all right, an’ I can trust ’er ter keep it secret,’ she replied. ‘I made ’er swear to it.’

Tony gave his mother a curious look. ‘But why tell ’er, Ma?’ he asked. ‘Yer’ve just told me not ter tell Rachel.’

Mary’s shoulders sagged and she shook her head slowly. ‘When I ’ad this last bad turn I thought it was me lot. Lola’appened ter call round an’ she took care o’ me till the ambulance came. While we was waitin’ we got ter talkin’ about you an’ ’ow I was worried over yer. It jus’ came out. I realised afterwards that I shouldn’t ’ave said anyfing an’ I made ’er promise ter keep it to ’erself. She will. I know she will.’

The ward sister was coming towards them and Tony got up to go. ‘Listen, Ma, I must be off now,’ he said. ‘You take it easy, d’yer ’ear me?’

Mary gazed lovingly at her son. ‘I’ll try ter be good,’ she said with a smile. ‘Be careful what yer say ter yer young lady friend, son. Fink on what I said.’

Tony left the hospital frowning, and walked back through the foggy backstreets to his home off the New Kent Road with a troubled mind.

Fifteen minutes later he put the key in his front door and immediately smelt disinfectant. As he stepped into the house Lola called out to him from the scullery. ‘’Ow’s yer mum?’ she asked.

‘She’s perkin’ up, but she’s very weak,’ he replied, trying to appear relaxed as he walked through.

She motioned him into a chair. ‘Yer need a nice cuppa. I’ve kept the pot warm,’ she said with a smile.

Tony undid the buttons of his greatcoat and let it fall open as he looked around the room. Lola had been busy. Fresh washing had been put through the wringer and it stood in a pile on top of the copper. The stone floor had been scrubbed clean and all the dirty crockery washed and replaced on the dresser.

Lola smiled as she eyed him curiously. ‘Does it look nice?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘I’m very grateful. Muvver told me you was a good friend to ’er.’

Lola smiled again, this time with more meaning in her dark eyes. ‘I could be a good friend ter you,’ she said quietly. ‘If yer’d let me.’

Tony felt embarrassed. ‘Mum was tellin’ me ’ow yer looked after ’er when she was taken ill,’ he said. ‘I appreciate what yer did.’

Lola came over to him with the teapot in her hand, standing very close to him as she poured the tea. ‘’Ave yer got a lady friend?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘No one special. Just a friend.’

‘We all need friends,’ she said, in a vaguely mocking voice. ‘But we sometimes need more.’

Tony took the proffered cup of tea. ‘Fanks. I could do wiv this,’ he said, smiling up at her.

‘Look, it’s a nasty night outside,’ she said. ‘Why don’t I get the fire banked up in the parlour instead o’ goin’ out. We can sit an’ talk fer a while.’

‘It sounds good,’ he replied, getting up to take off his heavy coat.

Lola hurried out of the room and as Tony rolled up his sleeves he could hear her raking the fire.

‘The fire’s burnin’ up nicely,’ she called out.

Tony walked into the room and made himself comfortable in the armchair near the fire. Lola sat opposite him and clasped her hands over her knees in a childlike pose.

‘Did yer mum tell yer about what I do fer a livin’?’ she asked with an elfish grin playing about her lips.

The young man nodded, his face breaking into a smile. ‘She said she wouldn’t be the one ter cast the first stone,’ he replied. ‘It’s your business what yer do fer a livin’. ’

‘Do you approve?’ Lola asked him.

‘It’s not fer me to approve or disapprove,’ Tony answered.

‘Tell me, Tony. ’Ave yer ever bin wiv a prostitute?’ she asked suddenly.

The question took him by surprise and his face coloured slightly.

‘Now I’ve embarrassed yer,’ she said grinning.

He composed himself quickly and shook his head. ‘No, not yet,’ he replied.

‘Would yer like to?’ she asked.

‘I’ve never given it much thought,’ he countered.

‘It can be better than fightin’ fer it in some draughty doorway,’ she told him. ‘We know ’ow ter really pleasure a man. It’s our business ter give satisfaction.’

Tony stared into the fire for a few seconds and then he looked up at her. ‘Tell me somefing,’ he said. ‘D’yer ever feel the need ter make love, ter let a man love yer fer lovin’s sake?’

For an instant Lola’s face became hard, then the expression passed. ‘Why should I be different from anybody else?’ she asked. ‘Gels like me feel emotions the same as anyone else. We need a man in our lives. Sellin’ our bodies is a different fing entirely. We shut our minds ter such feelin’s while we’re workin’. Bein’ loved an’ lovin’ somebody is just as important ter street gels as ter the women who work in shops, factories or offices. It might be ’ard fer you men to understand, but I can assure yer it’s true.’

‘I fink I can understand,’ Tony replied.

‘Can yer?’ she asked.

Tony picked up the poker and moved a large piece of smoking coal into the flames. ‘Yer know about me, about who my real farvver was, don’t yer?’ he said.

Lola nodded. ‘Yer mum told me all about yer,’ she replied. ‘Don’t yer worry though, yer secret’s safe wiv me. I’m not in the’abit o’ goin’ around talkin’ about everybody’s business. In my game yer gotta be discreet.’

Tony nodded. There was something about the woman he found puzzling. She had befriended his mother and seemed eager to please him. He had always believed that street women were hard-faced and not prone to making friends readily, but Lola was certainly not as he had imagined her sort to be. She was a good few years older than he was but she looked almost childlike as she sat in front of the glowing fire; her eyes were kind and she smiled easily. She was an attractive woman. His mother had her to thank for getting prompt attention when she was taken ill. What had happened to make a woman like Lola take up prostitution? he wondered. She was leaning back now, staring into the flames, and he suddenly felt a strong urge to reach out to her, to hold her close, and he breathed deeply in an effort to control his desire.

‘Yer look troubled,’ Lola said, sensing that he was uncomfortable. ‘Yer mum’s gonna be all right, you’ll see.’

He nodded, stretching and sighing deeply. ‘Look, Lola, I’ve only got a couple o’ days’ leave an’ I’ve gotta go down ter Kent early termorrer, ter meet some army pals,’ he told her. ‘Would yer mind if I turned in now? We could ’ave a drink the next time I get leave.’

Lola looked a little disappointed for an instant, but then she smiled at him. ‘You get yer sleep, luv,’ she replied. ‘It’ll be a quiet night ternight while the fog ’olds.’

Tony saw her to the door and suddenly she turned and kissed him on the cheek. ‘It’s bin nice meetin’ yer,’ she said. ‘I’d like us ter get ter know each ovver much better. I’ll look forward ter that drink.’

Tony watched her walk off into the fog and then he bolted the front door, settling himself beside the glowing fire as he thought about the short time he had spent with her. She seemed very friendly, and he worried about how he had suddenly felt aroused by her. He was developing a loving relationship with Rachel, and yet at that particular moment it would have been so easy for him to forget the loyalty he owed her.

The fire was dying and Tony raked at the ashes. What did the future hold for him now that he had an inheritance? he wondered. Would it bring him the unhappiness his mother had warned against? It was all in the unknowable future, he told himself, and there was no point in thinking about it now. These were dangerous times, and there was a war to be fought.

The fog was swirling through the dockland backstreets and along the river it lingered thickly. A tug chugged against the turning tide as it made its way to the brace of barges moored midstream, just downriver from Tower Bridge. No lights shone out and there were no new fires started that night as Wallace leaned his arms on the concrete top of the river wall. It was cold and he shivered. Below him he could hear the lapping of the muddy water against the thick stanchions, and further out in the shrouded darkness he heard the steady throb of the tug’s engine as it passed him. He narrowed his eyes as he tried to catch sight of it and then glanced upstream to where the twinkling lights had once been and the lighted bridge that moved up and down. Tonight he saw nothing except the swirling fog and the prow of a moored barge below him to his left. His eyes followed the heavy hawser which went down into the blackness of the hidden river, and after staring down at it for a few moments Wallace straightened up. He would come back tomorrow night when the fog had gone away, he decided. Maybe the lights would be shining tomorrow night; the bridge might go up and down as well. He turned for home, feeling the key round his neck and then slipping his hands deep into his trouser pockets as he shuffled along the quiet cobbled lane.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Maudie Mycroft hurried back from the market and stopped beside the kneeling figure of Maisie who was whitening her doorstep. ‘I just bin talkin’ ter Dolly,’ she said breathlessly. ‘We’re ’avin’ bunks put in the shelter.’

‘Well, that’s a Gawdsend,’ Maisie replied. ‘I don’t fink I could stand anuvver night sittin’ on those bloody benches. My back’s playin’ me up somefing terrible.’

Maudie looked up at the grey sky. ‘I never thought I’d ever pray fer the fog,’ she said. ‘Sleepin’ between those sheets last night was lovely.’

Sadie was coming along the turning and when she reached her two friends she put down her shopping bag and puffed. ‘Those queues are gettin’ me down,’ she groaned. ‘Twenty minutes I queued up at Pearce’s an’ then when I got ter the counter all the bloody tin loaves ’ad gone. My Daniel can’t eat a Vienna. The crust makes ’is gums sore.’