East End Jubilee (33 page)

‘Because she hasn’t been very well,’ Rose explained simply.

‘She doesn’t ever talk to us,’ Marlene commented as she clutched the brown bag to her chest. ‘She said Daddy stole that television and he didn’t.’

‘We know the truth and that’s what matters.’ Rose glanced at Em. ‘Are you all right with Matthew?’

Em held him in her arms. He was fast asleep, full up with baby milk. ‘Yes, but I’m not so sure now if this is a very good idea.’

‘Well, she’s more likely to ask us in with the children.’ Rose wasn’t entirely certain about this. But she had called once before on her own and that hadn’t worked.
As a united family, perhaps Olga would be more inclined to be hospitable.

They all followed Rose to the front door. She looked out cautiously. Only the local children played in the street and Cissy and Fanny were sitting on chairs by their front doors. There were no
cars or strangers in sight.

Rose led the way over to Olga’s. ‘It ain’t shut,’ Marlene said as Rose was about to knock.

Em gave a little gasp. ‘She never leaves her door open. She must have had too much to drink like you said, Rosy.’

‘I’ll give it a push.’ Rose gently pressed the door. It slowly swung open. They all gazed inside.

‘It smells funny,’ Marlene murmured.

‘Like something’s gone off,’ Em said as they stepped inside and stood on the lino. The hall was empty and the kitchen deserted. The door to the front room was closed. Rose
shouted Olga’s name.

‘Perhaps she’s gone out,’ Em said in a hopeful voice.

‘Let’s make sure.’ They all crowded round as Rose opened the door. Another musty smell greeted them. ‘The curtains are drawn,’ Rose said, peering into the dark.

‘Well, she never opens them, does she?’

Rose remembered how packed the room had been on Coronation Day and how tense the atmosphere was with excitement. She also recalled Olga’s vain attempts at hospitality, which had ended in
disaster for all concerned. The space where the television had stood was now filled by a footstool. The couch was in exactly the same place opposite the hearth and the big, upholstered fireside
chair that everyone assumed was Leslie’s rested against the wall. The room was cold as if it hadn’t seen a fire in months, which was probably true, Rose thought as she stared at the
abandoned fireplace. There were no ashes, no remnants of coke or wood in the empty scuttle. There was even a cobweb growing over the grate.

‘Let’s go home,’ Em whispered anxiously. ‘I feel like we’re spying.’

‘She might be resting upstairs,’ Rose shrugged.

‘Then why didn’t she wake up when you called?’

‘Mum?’ Donnie clasped Rose’s hand. ‘I don’t like it in here.’

‘Nor do I,’ said Will and Marlene together.

‘Stay here and I’ll run upstairs before we leave.’ Rose gave everyone a reassuring smile. ‘If Mrs Parker’s asleep, we’ll put the food in the
kitchen.’

Rose went into the hall and climbed the stairs. She didn’t know what she feared the worst: Olga suddenly appearing, looking aggrieved because they had entered her house without an
invitation; or Olga much the worse for wear in one of the bedrooms. All the terraced houses in Ruby Street were built to the same specifications, two up, two down. Rose found herself wondering how
much the stair carpet had cost. It was good quality with solid brass stair runners. The Parkers had lived in number thirty-nine for two years. Before that, an older couple had rented the property.
Mr Benson, an ex army man, died of pneumonia and his disabled wife had gone to live with one of their children. Rose knew the landlord lived in the West End. Had Olga kept up with the rent?

The small bedroom contained a single bed covered with a purple eiderdown. The colour reminded Rose of Olga’s shabby purple coat. Was purple Olga’s favourite colour? Beside the bed
was a modern looking chest of drawers and small wardrobe. The window that overlooked the back garden was, curiously, uncurtained, decorated only with a gauzy net. Rose closed the door quietly.

She trod carefully over the patterned runner to the front bedroom, more convinced than ever that Olga had fallen into a drink-induced sleep. When she had returned from the park she must have
gone straight to bed and not noticed the front door was unlatched.

Rose gave a loud knock. ‘Olga, it’s me, Rose.’

There was no reply. She opened the door. This room was also in darkness, but a sour, unpleasant odour filled the air. Rose narrowed her eyes to the gloom. A figure lay on the bed, a silent,
still figure that caused Rose to retreat momentarily. Quickly recovering she hurried round to the window and pulled back the heavy curtains. Two sets of brass runners jangled noisily, but Olga
didn’t stir. She lay on her side wearing only a thin dress. Her eyes were closed and her mouth open.

Rose approached the slumbering figure cautiously, as if she might suddenly come awake and demand to know what Rose was doing there. Timidly, she reached out and touched her. Rose jumped. Her
skin was so cold!

‘Olga, wake up!’ Rose shook her shoulders, gently at first, then firmly. When she saw the vomit on the pillow and sheet, her heart gave a lurch. The next minute she was running down
the stairs.

‘What’s wrong?’ Em’s eyes stared fearfully up at her.

‘She’s unconscious. Run along to Joan’s and ask her to telephone Dr Cox. Tell him it’s an emergency.’

‘Oh, my God!’ Em whispered hoarsely.

‘You must hurry, all of you. Go as quickly as you can. Mrs Parker is very ill.’

With that, she packed them out of the door, only remembering afterwards that Em was still carrying Matthew. But it wasn’t far to go, just to the end of the street. Rose ran back up the
stairs. She didn’t know what to do, but she knew she had to do something. Taking Olga’s thin arms, she shook her and patted her cheeks.

‘Olga! Wake up!’ she cried again, but it was no use. Rose flew to the bathroom and grabbed a flannel soaked in cold water. She twisted it over Olga’s forehead and let the water
run down her face. She couldn’t smell any alcohol. So why couldn’t she rouse her? Had Olga tried something else far more dangerous to ease the pain of her existence? Rose stared down at
the emaciated shadow that bore no resemblance to the woman who had looked so smart and sophisticated on Coronation Day.

‘Don’t give up,
Anne
,’ Rose whispered, using her real name and hoping for a miracle. ‘Life is still worth living, no matter what.’

But by the time Dr Cox arrived, Olga was parchment white and the flicker of pulse in her wrist was faint.

‘What are you going to tell the doctor?’ Em whispered as she stood with Rose in the evening sunlight. The ambulance carrying Olga’s inert form had driven
noisily away, leaving a hushed crowd waiting in the street.

‘As little as possible,’ Rose answered wearily. ‘If Olga . . .’ she corrected herself quickly, ‘
when
she gets better, she can tell them as much or as little
as she wants. But for now her secret’s safe with me.’

‘Do you think she – you know – tried to do away with herself?’

‘I don’t know,’ Rose replied honestly. ‘I couldn’t smell drink, although she was behaving very oddly.’

The crowd remained silent as Dr Cox emerged from Olga’s house, closing the door firmly behind him. Rose, who was now carrying Matthew, walked over. She had grown to respect the young
doctor despite his lack of bedside manner. He’d arrived within minutes of Joan Wright’s telephone call and ushered them all from the house. Rose had been relieved to leave the
oppressive, dismal atmosphere.

‘How is she?’ Rose asked as she approached him.

‘Very poorly. Who is her next of kin?’

‘Her husband, I suppose, Leslie Parker,’ Rose said, giving nothing away.

‘And where can he be found?’

‘Somewhere up in the City, I think. He works in an office but I don’t know where.’

Dr Cox regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You spoke to Mrs Parker today?’

‘Yes, we sat in the park for a while but she didn’t seem like her usual self. So later this afternoon we paid her a visit. The door was open and we went in. It was then I found her
upstairs and we called for you.’ Rose hesitated. ‘I thought she might have been drinking, to be honest.’

A pair of pale, but very astute eyes blinked behind unflattering round-framed spectacles. He shook his head as he replied. ‘No, I don’t believe alcohol is responsible for her
condition.’ He seemed to be weighing up what else he should tell her and she guessed he came down on the side of caution as he added, ‘All I can tell you is, if you hadn’t taken
the trouble to call this afternoon, Mrs Parker’s chances of survival would be even slimmer than they are now.’ He opened the door of his Morris Minor and climbed in. ‘I should
have some news in the morning,’ he added brusquely.

When he’d driven away Rose turned back to find everyone watching her. Matthew whined and she transferred his weight to her other arm wondering what she was going to say. Half of the street
had turned out, amongst them the Mendozas, Mike and Heather Price, the Greens, Cissy and Fanny, the Patels, Len Silverman, the Dixons and Dora Lovell.

‘How is she?’ Anita was the first to speak.

‘Not so good, I’m afraid.’

‘Did he say what’s wrong?’

Rose shook her head. ‘No. He’ll know more tomorrow.’

‘She ain’t been seen around for weeks,’ Cissy yelled, pushing her way forward. ‘The word is her old man’s done a bunk with a bit of skirt. Got fed up with her
tantrums no doubt,’ she added sourly. ‘You could hear them rowing half a mile away.’

‘What way is that to speak of your neighbour who is so ill?’ Len Silverman demanded in an emotional tone.

Cissy tapped the side of her bulbous nose. ‘I keeps me ears and eyes open, don’t I?’

‘Of that I have no doubt,’ he muttered, his old eyes fixing disdainfully on his neighbour.

‘And not only that,’ Cissy continued, ‘the coppers have been round. I saw ’em knock on her door only the other day. Two uniformed blokes that passed right by me door. She
wouldn’t answer them either. And I knew she was in. I reckon she’s got plenty to hide.’

‘You would,’ Derek Green muttered. ‘The poor soul can’t defend herself.’

‘Defend herself against what?’ Fanny pushed her way angrily through the crowd. ‘We ain’t accusing her of anything.’

‘Is there anything we can do?’ Benny interrupted, and all heads turned towards Rose.

‘I don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘We just have to wait and see.’

‘Fancy it being you that found her,’ Cissy muttered spitefully. ‘She wouldn’t normally give you the time of day after your old man flogged her that bent telly.’

‘Well, she wasn’t exactly banging your door down to be friends,’ Anita pointed out. ‘And it was lucky Rose did call or else the poor cow might’ve been lying there
for weeks.’

Dora Lovell groaned. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘Let’s all go home now,’ Benny sighed, catching his wife’s arm. ‘We’ve had enough excitement for one day.’

As the crowd dispersed, Cissy and Fanny remained at Olga’s window peering in.

‘Bloody peeping Toms,’ Anita growled as she and Benny paused by Rose’s door. ‘Do you know they were the first on the scene when Dr Cox arrived? I’d just cycled up
and was opening me door and there they were, racing up like athletes to the winning line.’ She shook her head exasperatedly. ‘Anyway, love, are you all right?’

‘Yes. A bit shook up, that’s all.’

‘I’m hungry.’ Marlene tugged Rose’s elbow. Matthew stirred fretfully in her arms and Em unlatched the door and shooed all the children through.

When they had disappeared inside, Anita asked outright, ‘Do you think Olga tried to take her own life?’

‘Neet, let the girl be,’ Benny warned, but she ignored him.

‘Go in and put the kettle on. The boys’ll be home soon,’ she replied, waving her hand in his face.

Benny gave a resigned shrug. ‘Night, Rose, love. You get some rest now.’

‘Night, Benny.’

If there was a chair on the pavement, Rose thought, she might fall into it right now. The last few nights with Matthew had drained her. She felt she could fall asleep standing up. But Anita was
waiting for an answer.

‘I saw Olga up the Gardens today,’ Rose continued. ‘She actually spoke to me.’

‘Blimey, put out the flags!’ Anita exclaimed. ‘What did she say?’

‘She told me a long and very sad story and I think we’d better keep it under our hat for now.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Olga’s not Polish. She was born a German Jew. Her husband was a doctor and they had a little boy called Siegfried and along with her mother, the Nazis took them off to a labour
camp. She never saw any of them again.’

Anita whistled through her teeth. ‘Are you sure she’s not going a bit funny upstairs?’

‘She seemed strange, but I believed her.’

‘What did she tell you for?’

Rose shrugged. ‘She said because there was no one left to tell.’

‘So how did she escape from the Nazis?’

‘She said she was smuggled to Spain. After the war she came to England with false papers and met Leslie but she never married him. On Coronation Day, when the police took the telly they
started asking her questions. She thinks if they find out who she is, they’ll deport her. You heard what Cissy said, the police have been knocking on Olga’s door. No wonder she was at
the end of her tether.’

For a few moments Anita was silent. ‘You’ve had quite a day, love. P’raps we can have a good old chat on Saturday on our way to market.’

Rose nodded. But in three days a lot could happen.

Thursday morning arrived and Rose cycled to the surgery. Dr Cox telephoned the hospital whilst she waited. Olga still hadn’t come round. She was in a coma.

‘I’ll come and tell you if there’s any change,’ Dr Cox unexpectedly offered.

She cycled home and told Joan at the corner shop who said she would enlighten her customers. Rose knew that once Cissy and Fanny were informed, the news would travel with the speed of light.

On Friday, Rose woke at the crack of dawn as Matthew crooned softly in his cot. He’d slept fitfully and before he disturbed Em who was asleep in the bed beside her, she lifted him from the
cot and carried him downstairs.