Dream On (21 page)

Ted flashed him one of his specials, a real winner of a smile that made the sides of his eyes crinkle as though he really meant it. ‘Look here, Mr Roberts, I am going to sell this motor, because I am now fortunate enough to own an MG.'

Mr Roberts cooed in appreciation at such bounty.

‘And you know me from our previous dealings,' Ted went on. ‘I like to spread me good fortune about a bit.'

Mr Roberts was practically wetting himself at the thought that he might soon be driving around in a Talbot! It would take a bit of explaining to his colleagues, of course, but maybe he could invent an aged uncle. Of Ellen's, of course, not of his. He would be called Bernard, Uncle Bernard, and he would have left the Talbot to them in his will. Perfect!

Mr Roberts couldn't resist a little smirk at his own guileful inventiveness.

‘Spread your good fortune, Mr Martin? So how would that relate to this instance, then?'

‘Well, Mr Roberts, let's see.' Ted clapped the man matily around the shoulder. ‘You know the old saying, you scratch my back . . .'

‘I do indeed.' Here it comes, thought Roberts, just about able to stop himself from drooling.

‘Now, I have this friend, a young lady. Tragic story, Mr Roberts. Her fiancé, the father of her little kiddie, her only child I might add, was killed in the most terrible accident. Just two weeks before the wedding. In the RAF he was. Testing one o' them new secret bombing planes. You know, the ones what're gonna keep us all safe so we never have to have another world war again.' Ted took off his hat to show respect for the non-existent hero, shaking his head in sadness at such misfortune. ‘I don't have to explain to a man such as yourself, Mr Roberts, that it was all kept very hush-hush.' Ted tapped his index finger on the side of his nose. ‘Walls have ears, as they say.'

Roberts arranged his face into a suitably sombre expression. ‘They have indeed.'

‘Well,' Ted wrapped his arm round Roberts's shoulders, ‘what I was wondering like, was how you'd be disposed to finding the little lady, this good friend of my family's, some sort of a place to live? She wouldn't be expecting no Butlin's holiday camp, just something nice. So's I can visit her privately, to offer me sympathy without anyone knowing what a charitable man I am.'

Ted winked and dangled the car key tantalisingly in front of Roberts's eyes, twirling it between his fingers so that it glittered and flashed in the light from the street lamp. ‘And without getting no bugs while I'm there. If you catch me drift.'

Ginny unknotted her headscarf, stuffed it in her pocket and threw her coat across the end of the banister. ‘It's only me, Nell,' she called.

‘Mum ain't in.'

Ginny stood in the kitchen doorway, her eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘I didn't expect to see you here.'

‘No?' Ted flipped the
Evening News
shut and tossed it to one side. ‘Who was you expecting then? The milkman? The landlord? The coalman?'

‘Leave off, Ted.' Ginny heaved her bag on to the draining board and began unpacking the shopping. ‘Where's Nelly got to, then?'

‘She went round Dilys's.'

Ginny twisted round to look at him, a loaf still in her hand. He was leaning back easily in his chair, with his hands linked across his firm, muscled stomach, staring at her.

She couldn't deny it, he could still make the blood thump in her ears. He was a good-looking man all right. In fact, at getting on for thirty years old Ted Martin was more handsome than ever. If she didn't know him better, she might almost be tempted to believe that he would still change . . .

With a quick swallow and a little shake of her head to clear her mind, Ginny said hurriedly, ‘No, I don't think she is. There was no lights on across the street when I come along just now. And you know Dilys, she always turns 'em on full pelt, even at this time of evening.'

Ted yawned loudly, leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. ‘Dilys ain't over the road no more.'

‘How d'you mean?'

‘Her and the little 'un have been given a prefab. Down Stepney. The bloke come round to tell her today.'

‘A prefab?'

‘You ain't gonna start that bleed'n' parrot lark, are you?'

‘But—'

‘Now I'm here, I might as well have a bit of something for me tea. What we got then?'

Ginny turned back to the shopping bags and carried on the unpacking. ‘I've got some corned beef. I was gonna make a hash.' Her voice was flat, dull with shock.

Ted opened up the paper again. ‘That'll do.'

Ginny was no longer listening to him. All she could think was that Susan, her lovely little Susan, was no longer just across the street waiting with chubby, outstretched arms for Ginny to lift her high into the air and to cover her soft baby face with kisses.

What was wrong with her; what had she done that was so bad that meant every bit of happiness, every dream she ever had, was always snatched away from her?

Her family. Her hopes for her marriage to Ted. Then Pearl. Now Susan . . . How much more could she take?

It was a golden autumn evening and Ted was enjoying himself. He had the slanting rays of the last of the sun warming his back; he was being admired; and he was lapping up every single bit of attention, every envious or appreciative glance, as he drove along the busy streets with the top of his MG rolled back, showing him and his motor off in all their handsome glory.

Ted especially relished the attention from the girls, of course, many of whom seemed prepared to do everything short of throwing themselves in front of his wheels for the chance of a ride with a man like him in a car like his.

At first, however, the car hadn't proved to be such an asset. In fact, it had been a bloody millstone and Ted had seriously considered getting rid of it.

First there was the law. He had had no more trouble from the plain-clothes mob – Saunders had obviously moved on to making someone else's life a misery and had called off his grasses – but every time Ted drove past a uniformed copper, anywhere around his usual manor, they were on him like a ton of bricks. How could he afford such a vehicle, him with no apparent means of support? They had always ignored the Talbot, but the flashy lines of the MG just seemed to get to them for some reason. But, in the end, coppers were only human and were as keen on getting their hands on a bit of steak and a few luxuries for the old woman as anyone else. And after a few weeks he had given a little sweetener to just about every Old Bill from Plaistow to the Aldgate pump. That was one problem off his back.

But then there was Dilys. Ted had just about had enough of her. Every time he went round to the prefab she wanted to go out in the car with him and would lead off alarming if he dared refuse her. If it wasn't for Susan – who, he didn't know why but he couldn't help it, had really got under his skin – he wouldn't have gone within a mile of Dilys and her bloody prefab. He wished he'd never set eyes on the silly tart.

He was on his way to Dilys's now and was dreading her starting again. He had almost not bothered, but someone he'd done a deal with the night before had quite unexpectedly presented him with the prettiest china doll he had ever seen. The bloke had meant it as a gift for Ted's wife, a little extra to thank him for his ‘custom'. It was the sort of thing that birds liked to sit on their beds as a decoration, he had said. But the moment Ted had seen it he knew he had to give it to his little Susan. He could just imagine the expression on her face when she saw the dolly, almost as tall as her; and with its pretty dress and lacy bonnet she'd go mad for it.

He was just turning off the Mile End Road and into Stepney Green when a particularly shapely backside wiggling along in the same direction caught his eye. The girl was balanced on such high heels and her dress was so tight that she could just about walk.

He slowed down to a crawl and drove along behind her, waiting for her to realise she was being followed and to turn round so he could see what sort of a boat went with such an appealing chassis. If he approved, he'd give her the full treatment: the smile, the chat, the whole bit. He could always take the dolly round another day.

It didn't take long for the woman to cotton on. She stopped, paused and slowly swivelled round.

As she did so, Ted eased on his brake.

At the moment their eyes met it would have been difficult to guess who was the most surprised.

‘Lilly!'

‘Ted!'

Ted was out of the car in a flash and grasping her arm. ‘It is you, ain't it, you little whore?'

‘Let go of me.' Lilly tried to pull away from him, but Ted was much stronger than her and had the advantage of not being balanced on top of a pair of almost four-inch heels.

‘D'you know what you did to me?'

‘Nothing. I ain't done nothing.'

‘Nothing?' Ted's fingers pinched into the soft flesh inside her upper arm. ‘Is that what you call it? That arsehole Saunders tells two of his bastards to give me a good hiding. They beat me black and blue and leave me to fucking freeze to death. But you reckon it's nothing?'

Lilly didn't even try to hide the contempt she felt. ‘
You
got beaten black and blue? Poor you.'

‘Don't you get lippy with me, you filthy little trollop.'

‘I ain't scared o' you, Ted Martin. Mr Saunders is looking after me.'

‘Well you should be scared, darling. 'Cos d'you know what, because of you grassing me to that shit I had to shift me business interests away from that bastard's turf –
my
turf I should say – and I ain't very happy about it.'

‘Ain't you? Aw, poor little baby.' Lilly stuck her chin defiantly in the air. She could feel her blood pumping round her body as though she'd run all the way to the West End and back, but she knew she had to try and keep some sort of control of the situation. No one was going to stop and help her if Ted started, not in an area like this where respectable families going about their business looked down on the likes of her. Even though some of the husbands were probably amongst her customers, if one of her sort got a whacking, they'd all look the other way or come over all moral and say it was what they deserved. If only she hadn't promised to come and get Marge on the way to work this would never have happened. The lazy cow would just have to get herself up and ready for the club in future.

Ted pushed his face close to hers. ‘You ain't learned to shut that smart mouth of yours then?'

‘Let go of me, Ted. 'Cos if you even touch me, I swear—'

He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You really ain't got it, have you?'

‘Got what?'

He dragged her across the pavement and threw her roughly into the car. She landed awkwardly and knocked the china doll that had been propped on the passenger seat crashing to the floor.

‘You stupid bitch!' he breathed. ‘Now you've really got me upset.'

‘Hun at three o'clock!'

Young Tom Copley, a scrawny, scabby-kneed boy, with thick-lensed National Health glasses wound tightly round his ears, held both arms out wide, as he flew around the bomb-site near his house in Wapping with his best pal, Charlie Tillotson. Every shot they fired, at any German fool enough to dare invade their air space, hit home with deadly accuracy. They were the heroes of the RAF. The fad with the Olympics already forgotten, the boys, just like their comic-book favourites, had returned to their all-absorbing passion of Playing War.

‘Nnnnneeeeowwww!' Tom whined down his nose as he swerved in a wide ark to confront the enemy.

Charlie, his plane imitation momentarily forgotten, pulled the pin on an invisible hand grenade and lobbed it into a German dug-out. ‘Cop that, Fritzy!' he yelled, throwing himself to the ground and covering his head to protect himself from the explosion.

‘Here, Charlie,' Tom called, ‘come and have a look at this.' Tom held up the remains of a china doll and waved it in the air like a trophy. ‘It ain't even broken or nothing. Well, not much.'

Charlie scrambled over the rubble-strewn remains of what had once been Ethel Briggs's outside lavatory to reach his friend. ‘Show us here, Tom.'

‘The arm's a bit cracked and one of its legs has come off, but I reckon we could fix it.'

Charlie raised his eyebrows in astonishment. ‘What'd we wanna fix a doll for?'

Tom rolled his eyes and tutted at his mate's stupidity. ‘So's we can sell it or something.'

‘Right! Here, let's look for more treasure.'

‘No,' Tom said authoritatively, ‘there won't be nothing else. We've gone over this debris hundreds of times and never found it before. Someone must have dumped it last night.'

Charlie looked disappointed. ‘I don't reckon you could mend it anyway.' He sulked. ‘Look at the state of its hair.' Suddenly his expression changed. ‘Tell you what'd be good,' he beamed, ‘let's go and throw it in the river, see if it floats.'

Tom grinned back at his friend and, as if a starting pistol had just been fired, they both began running full pelt towards the lighterman's steps that led down to the Thames.

Little did the boys realise how fortunate they were not to have searched any further, or they might have found something that would have haunted them for ever: part of the left arm and the right foot of poor dead Lilly.

The rest of her, unrecognisable from the beating she had taken, was scattered about the bomb-sites of London like so much unwanted rubbish.

‘ALL RIGHT, GIN?'
Micky Chivers called, as he closed the street door of number 11 firmly behind him.

Ginny, parking her bags on the step of number 18, looked over her shoulder and called back across the street, ‘Yeah. Fine. You all right, Mick?'

Micky checked that the door was shut, stuck his hands deep into his pockets and wandered over to her, his shoulders stooped in a self-deprecating slump. Like plenty of other lads in the neighbourhood, Micky had fancied Ginny since he had been tall enough – just – to peer surreptitiously down the front of her blouse. She was a fair bit older than him of course, and she certainly wasn't like the strong-minded sort of girls he usually went for – in fact she was probably too quiet for her own good – but she was a kind, smashing-looking bird and she definitely deserved a whole lot better than the deal she got from being married to Ted Martin.