Cockney Orphan (9 page)

Connie felt sad. She was so lucky to have a family. ‘Have you had your call-up papers yet?’

‘Would you miss me if I went away?’

‘I’d hardly notice.’ She shrugged, then smiled. ‘Well maybe I would – a bit.’

‘A bit will do for now.’

‘Why do you want to join up when you’ve got a reserved job?’

He transferred Lucky to his other arm, nestling the baby comfortably as he spoke. ‘I’ve always wanted to do something that would make Mum and Dad proud of me. Even though I know
they’re not here to appreciate it. But I believe they’re somewhere, that two lovely people like them couldn’t just disappear, never to be heard of again. Do you reckon I’m
daft, thinking like that?’

Connie smiled. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘Dad was ill from a kid. He had this shadow on his lung and got turned down for the navy. Gran said he always wanted to go to sea. He had ambition but he never lived to achieve his
dreams.’ He frowned down at her. ‘What are your dreams, Connie?’

A week ago it would have been a good career with prospects, a dream that she had pursued since starting at Dalton’s in the typing pool and working her way up to Mr Burns’s shipping
office. But now her aspirations seemed to have taken a back seat. ‘Ada and me are the only ones left from our class at school that are single. Everyone else is married with kids, most of them
living in the same houses as their relations, so hard up they’ve not got a penny to spare.’ Connie looked up at him. ‘Mum keeps on at me to settle down, as she calls it. But I
don’t want to rush into a marriage I’ll regret as soon as the novelty wears off. I want – well, I want too much, she says. Apparently I’ve got exaggerated ideas of me own
importance. She maintains she’s managed on a shoestring and was happy enough, so why shouldn’t I? But I know one thing, I don’t want to be poor all my life.’

‘Not many girls think like you,’ he said quietly. ‘All they want is a ring on their finger.’ He steered her towards a stall full of china, brass and other strange
objects. ‘Come on, Miss Independence. Let’s have a look, shall we?’

Connie wondered if he was secretly laughing at her. High faluting ideas was what Mum said her dreams were. But she’d worked hard at school and even harder at Dalton’s to get where
she was. One day she could even be a secretary to the boss; it wasn’t out of the question. She glanced at Vic and Lucky out of the corner of her eye and sighed. What did she really want out
of life?

At the front of the stall stood a pile of thumbed
Woman’s Own
and
Home Notes
magazines, all priced at a bargain halfpenny each. Propped against these was a child’s
Mickey Mouse gas mask, next to this a tea service, the cups, saucers and plates all chipped but painted in a nice floral pattern.

‘Decent bit of china that,’ the stallholder yelled. ‘Get yer ’ubbie to treat you to it.’

Connie went red. She didn’t look at Vic. ‘Why is it so badly chipped?’ she asked quickly to mask her embarrassment.

‘Shrapnel. Took the full blast.’

‘Oh.’ Connie dug in a box of ornaments. She was still flustered that the stallholder had called Vic her hubbie. Had he heard the comment? It made her feel very strange, especially as
only a moment ago she’d been Dalton’s top career woman!

On the top of the box was a rude novelty toilet roll holder proclaiming ‘S(h)it down with Goering and Use Hess Paper for Mess Paper!’ She replaced it quickly.

Next to this was a stained chamber pot on top of which was propped a notice. ‘Marmet pram for sale. Ask Mrs Pritchard’.

‘A pram sounds just the job,’ Vic said over her shoulder. ‘He’ll be too heavy to carry around soon.’

Connie was still staring at it. ‘But a pram would cost a lot.’

‘Hold Lucky a moment and I’ll find Mrs Pritchard.’ Vic handed over the baby.

‘I’ve got my wages with me,’ Connie called after him, her heart already dropping at the fact that most of it was already spent. After giving her mother the housekeeping,
keeping some aside for Lucky’s food and clothes and a little for herself, the remaining amount wouldn’t be enough to pay for a pram.

Vic disappeared behind the stall. Connie lost sight of him then and went on to the next stall. Perhaps the pram was already sold!

Very soon she felt a tap on her back. Vic was grinning from ear to ear. He was rocking a large pram with a faded red hood and maroon apron. There was a large dent in the chassis and the wheels
were three times the size of those on Billy’s cart. A little blue elephant lay on the frilly pillow inside.

Connie’s jaw dropped. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘Mrs Pritchard. She was over on the pie and mash and the pram was full of junk. She took it all out and the deal was done. Try it for size.’

Gently she lay Lucky inside, placing the elephant beside him. ‘It’s a perfect fit.’

‘There’s a harness too.’

‘What a find!’

‘Let’s try to put it in the boot of the car.’

‘I must pay Mrs Pritchard first.’

He took hold of her hands and placed them firmly on the pram. Giving her a little push, he moved her forward. ‘This one’s on me – and no arguments now.’

Connie would have preferred to pay for the pram, even if it meant owing Mum the housekeeping. After all, Lucky wasn’t Vic’s responsibility. But she sensed he would be upset if she
argued. She looked up at him. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply and he nodded.

‘You’re welcome.’

By the time they returned to Kettle Street it was almost four o’clock. Vic struggled to lift the pram from the boot where he had tied it with a rope. They had driven very
carefully back, avoiding the potholes. Now, as he lowered it to the pavement, Connie lay Lucky in again, his soft crying denoting an appetite brewing.

‘Come and meet Nan,’ Connie suggested, knowing Nan would have the bottle at her fingertips.

‘All right. But I won’t stop. I’ve got firewatching tonight.’

Nan opened the door. She put her hands over her mouth. ‘A pram!’

‘This is Vic.’ Connie smiled. ‘He bought it at the market.’

‘Lofty! Get yourself out here. We’ve got visitors.’

Lofty appeared in his shirtsleeves, a newspaper in hand. ‘Blimey, a bath on wheels.’ He grinned. ‘Which end does the water come from?’

All four of them struggled to lift it over the step and into the passage. Connie pushed it into the front room. She hadn’t realized it would take up so much space but Nan seemed
delighted.

‘Put it here by the chairs, love. I’ll fetch his bottle. It’s all ready.’ Nan went out and Lofty rocked the pram.

‘Sturdy bit of machinery this. I’ll make a shelf to fit between them wheels.’

‘Are you sure you want it here?’ Connie asked, not knowing what she would do if he said no. But he shook his head, tapping the newspaper on the apron as he inspected the new
addition.

‘A jar of jam is just what she wanted.’

‘I’ll buy some covers for it next week.’

Lofty straightened his back. ‘So you’re the lad who helped our Connie rescue the baby? We’ve heard all about you. Now you’ll stay to tea, I’m sure.’

‘I’ve got to get back,’ Vic said as Nan returned with the bottle. ‘I’m on duty at five and I have to see Gran’s all right before I go. There wasn’t a
raid today after all,’ he added, glancing at Connie, ‘but she was a bit worried.’

‘Another time then,’ Nan said. ‘Now, I’ll feed the boy whilst you see your young man off, Connie.’

‘So I’m your young man, am I?’ Vic asked as they walked out to the car.

‘I never told them that,’ Connie replied, blushing. ‘Nan just assumed—’

‘I wish I was,’ he interrupted, moving a little closer. He took her hand. ‘I wish a lot of things, Connie. And I think you know what they are. Can I see you again?’

‘I’d like that.’

‘When? Tomorrow?’

‘I have to help Mum with the chores on Sundays.’

He looked disappointed. ‘I’ll have to wait till next Saturday, then?’

‘Well, you could drop in anytime – if you’re passing.’

He gazed deep into her eyes. ‘Oh, I’ll be passing all right.’ He paused, squeezing her fingers, then slowly let them go. ‘Goodbye, I suppose.’

‘Goodbye – and thanks!’

She watched him drive off, her heart missing a beat as the car disappeared round the corner.

‘Nice boy that,’ Nan said when she went back in.

Connie sighed as she sat down. ‘I know.’

‘Reminds me of when I met lover boy here. Though you’d never believe it to look at him now, but he was a right good-looker. Romanced me good and proper he did, brought me flowers
an’ all.’ She pushed Lofty’s feet from the stool and brushed off the dirt. ‘Now all he thinks about is his grub.’

‘And lovely grub it is too,’ Lofty mumbled from behind his raised newspaper.

‘Talking of which I’ve saved a nice piece of bread pudding for you, love,’ Nan said. ‘Here, I’ve winded the child, but there’s still some left in the
bottle.’

Connie was daydreaming as she took Lucky and cuddled him in the big, comfy armchair. The fire in the grate was just embers now and the room was very warm. As Lucky sucked contentedly, gazing up
at her with his big blue eyes, her mind wandered back to Vic and the way his hand had rested lightly on her waist as they’d strolled through the market. Had he heard when the stallholder
called him her hubbie?

‘That poor old geezer popped his clogs you know,’ Lofty said suddenly as he scrutinized the middle pages of the
Gazette
.

‘What did you say?’ Connie came back to reality with a start.

‘A pawn shop was broke into up Stepney last Saturday. A gang pulled this job just as the first raid started. They shot the old boy in cold blood. Defenceless he was. Had a gun but it never
worked. Was trying to scare them off.’

‘He . . . he died you mean?’

‘Yesterday, in the ’orspital.’ Lofty rattled the newspaper angrily. ‘The heartless sods want locking up and the key chucking away.’

The lunchtime drinkers of the Rose and Crown were all staring at Billy, who lay flat on his back, gasping. His jaw felt twice its normal size. Straw and sawdust spattered his
bare chest and his filthy feet poked from the ends of his muddy trousers. A wave of sickness rolled slowly over in his stomach. He hadn’t seen the blow coming. The Fat Man, his opponent and
padded with lard, had landed a good one. Billy began to regret the glass of ale that he’d drunk from sheer bravado. If he’d had his senses about him when he stepped into the ring, he
would have ducked in good time. He wasn’t a drinker, didn’t like the stuff, but all the blokes had been egging him on.

‘Come on, lad, up you get.’

Billy felt the tip of Taffy’s boot tickle his thigh. Conquering the urge to throw up, he climbed unsteadily to his feet. The heckling was loud, every man there hoping to see seven bells
knocked out of the young whippersnapper.

‘You’ll get your second wind,’ shouted Taffy in his ear as he pushed Billy forward. ‘I’ve got a few quid on you, son. Don’t let me down.’

Billy wiped his filthy hands across his swollen mouth. What had he let himself in for? He’d had no idea that you really – actually – got hurt in this game.

‘You said he was a pushover,’ Billy muttered.

‘He’s all wind. Just skip round and stay out of trouble. He’ll soon run out of puff.’

As Billy blinked the sweat from his eyes, he wished he hadn’t boasted he was handy with his fists. Taffy’s sideline of setting up pub fights had momentarily dazzled him. He should
have stuck to the roofing.

‘You a scrapper, then?’ Taffy had asked in surprise.

Billy’d nodded arrogantly. ‘What’s the money like?’

‘Not bad, boyo, but you look a bit undersized to me.’

‘See these?’ Billy had raised his fists and punched air. ‘So quick you’d miss ’em if you blinked.’

‘Don’t look up to much to me.’

Taffy’s words echoed inside Billy’s head as he wobbled precariously, trying to focus the three blurred faces of his opponent.

‘Go on, lad, move!’ he heard Taffy scream.

Billy’s last thought before he crashed into the human wall of blubber was that not even Taffy’s lorry would be able to knock this jelly flat.

‘Missed,’ growled the Fat Man as he gripped Billy’s thin body between bulbous arms. Besides being slowly crushed to death, Billy was humiliated. He’d been smacked silly,
knocked down and laughed at. He had to think of something or his roofing job would be just a distant memory.

‘All right, I give in, mate, I’ll go down,’ he wheezed into the ugly mug. A trickle of oxygen squeezed into his lungs. The massive biceps relaxed. An instant later
Billy’s teeth were fastened over a thick, fleshy ear lobe.

Fatty’s screams echoed round the pub yard. Billy tasted blood and revelled in it. He spat out the severed body part. The roar from the crowd was the last thing he remembered as he was
flattened by a ton of ferocious flesh.

Connie jumped up from the bench as Billy stumbled into the Anderson. ‘Oh!’ she gasped at the sight of his swollen face. ‘Billy, what’s
happened?’

‘I walked into a door,’ he said, trying to laugh.

‘Your eye’s all black.’

‘Let me sit down.’

Stepping around the cart in which Lucky was fast asleep, Connie poured water from the jug into the pudding basin. The shelter was now equipped with enough supplies to get them through the
difficult nights. Mum had donated old crockery and a first-aid tin. Dad had made a cupboard for food and Lucky’s things. She opened the first-aid tin and took out the cotton wool.

Gently she bathed her brother’s eye. She used a dab of tincture of iodine, a smear of Burnol cream and two of the dressings from the Emergoplast pack.

‘Well, I’m waiting,’ she said unsympathetically when she’d finished. ‘What have you done now?’

‘Sit down,’ he said with a lisp from his swollen mouth. ‘I can explain.’

‘You always can.’ She sat stiffly on the bench and folded her arms.

‘I was in a fight.’

‘I can see that.’

‘No, sis, not an ordinary fight. A proper one, like you see at pubs, with counted rounds and all. My boss, Taffy Jones, set it up at the Rose and Crown. It’s his sideline.’

Once more her jaw dropped. ‘But what do you know about fighting?’