Eve of the Isle (10 page)

‘What are you two up to?' she asked as she looked over the wall at the rear of the cottage.

‘Nothing,' said Albert, looking guilty.

‘I don't want you touching nothing dead.'

‘It ain't got no feathers,' spluttered Samuel, pushing his boot against a lump on the ground. ‘We was going to bury it.'

Eve pointed to the cress patch by the underground stream. ‘Make yourselves useful and tell me if you can see the cress.'

Both boys ran over. They trod around in their big boots. ‘Can't see,' shouted Samuel, ‘it's all muddy.'

Eve sighed. She knew that in winter the little shoots were delicate and struggling for life. How could they have survived under all that?

Suddenly there were shouts from the front of the house. Eve ran back to see the long hose coming to life.

‘The pump is working!' cried Joseph as Charlie sprang to his feet from the hole in the road. He was only just in time to catch the nozzle. There were cheers and laughter as the water burst up like a fountain.

‘What time do you call this?' yelled Joan as Eve, Peg and the twins entered the dark hall. Joan was wearing her dressing gown and standing in the kitchen. She had an empty bottle in her hand. ‘It's half past seven. You might as well not have bothered to come back!'

‘Oh, shut your gob, you old soak,' retaliated Peg as she pushed her way forward, causing Eve's spirits to plummet. ‘Are you on the gin again?'

‘No.' Joan slipped the bottle in her pocket. ‘I could hardly walk with the pain I'm in.'

‘Pain? You don't know what pain is! We've been up to our eyeballs in muck all day and all you can do is complain.' Peg shook off Eve's restraining hand and lunged towards her sister. ‘What stopped you from cooking Harold a meal?'

‘You uncaring bitch!' screamed Joan, waving a wooden spoon in Peg's face. ‘Get away from me. You stink.'

‘And you would too, if you'd had to go through what we did today. You should see me home, or what's left of it. Ruined it is, most of it.'

‘That's your bloody problem,' cried Joan retreating to the passage. She glared at Eve. ‘I warned you to keep her away from me!'

Eve placed herself between the two angry women. ‘Stop it both of you. We're home now, Joan. I'll cook you your tea.'

‘No bloody point. Harold's been in and gone out again as there was nothing for him. Nothing. Not even a cup of tea on the go.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘Don't apologize to her,' cried Peg, trying to push Eve to one side. ‘She should be ashamed of herself. What's wrong with her getting off her fat arse and cooking for us?'

Eve took hold of Peg's shoulders and guided her into their room. ‘Peg, calm down now. You and the boys stay in here. I'll bring some hot water so you can all wash.'

Samuel took Peg's hand. ‘We can play dominoes after.'

‘Yeah,' agreed Albert, looking anxious.

Eve quickly returned to Joan. ‘Your sister has had a bad shock.'

‘So have I. Harold was upset.'

‘Where's he gone?'

‘How would I know?'

‘He'll be back.'

‘There will be hell to pay when he comes in. If it's one thing that annoys him, it's his grub. He likes it on the table when he comes in. And that was all I asked of you in return for keeping you and your brats and her –
her
– that cow of a sister of mine has the cheek to accuse me of being an old soak.' Joan moved towards the bedroom, holding her hand over her chest. ‘I can't take it no more. You've had out of me all you're going to get. Push off, the lot of you. Go on. And I mean it this time.' The door slammed.

Eve stood in her filthy clothes. It wasn't fair. They had worked so hard all day and wouldn't be home even now had not Charlie, formerly known as P.C. Merritt, given them a lift in his van. Eve slumped against the wall, as weariness overcame her. At least Harold was out. But if Joan meant what she said, was she expecting them to leave now? And where would they go?

Going to the kitchen, Eve boiled a large pan of water. Being as quiet as she could she poured it into two enamel bowls. If they had to leave tonight, they would be clean at least. She found Peg laughing and playing with the boys.

‘Play with us, Mum.' The boys had forgotten how hungry they were.

‘First, have a good wash.'

Three dirty faces gazed up at her. They were still able to laugh after all that had happened. She couldn't make them go out into the cold night. There was something she could do, although she resented doing it. But once again, there was no choice.

‘I'll just be a minute.'

‘Where are you going?'

‘To the pub at the end of the road.' Eve knew that if she bought Joan what she wanted, then she might let them stay. She had her savings in her pocket, the two shillings from the cottage. It was a waste to spend it on gin. But it was the only way of keeping a roof over their heads.

Eve listened to the raised voices in the early hours of the morning. She guessed that Harold must have come home and a fight ensued. Joan had said he would be in a bad mood. And all because of a missed dinner! Would Harold come into their room? And if Joan was tipsy would it make matters worse? Eve felt responsible.

She listened, holding her breath and staring at the
door in the dark, fearing that either Joan or Harold might burst through it. It seemed like hours before the voices subsided and peace reigned. Well, it wasn't quite peace as she could hear muffled noises coming from the tenement block. Some were children crying, others were distant but with the same note of aggression as the Slygos'. Doors banged and thumps echoed along the balcony. Fortunately there was no one above them to bang on the ceiling, only the birds and the mice.

Eve felt dirty and her hair and skin still reeked of the sewers. After today it was a smell ingrained in her nose. She could now imagine what the Great Stink had been like and her sympathies went to the victims, even though they were all now relegated to history.

They had all washed tonight but their clothes were contaminated. The clean ones they had managed to salvage from upstairs were almost as bad as their dirty ones. The stink had got into them. Even though they had managed to shovel and sweep the worst of the mud and debris out into the gutters and down the drains, there was still a lot left. The clean water from the hose hadn't cleared it away. As many times as the floors were washed down, the filth seemed to return through the nooks and crannies.

Her dreams were filled with water. It was rising up to the windows of the tenement. She was trying to wake the twins and Peg, but they were fast asleep. Then she was being chased along the dark streets. Harold's sweating face was close and he pulled her down. Once
more she was in water. Filthy water, with the smell of death in her nostrils. She was sinking below the surface and lay on the bottom of the river. Her hair had turned into long green ribbons of seaweed and the body next to her was the man she had seen in the morgue.

‘Eve, Eve, wake up.'

She sat up, the slip she was wearing soaked through. Her shawl had fallen away and she was shivering in the cold night air.

‘You were dreaming, ducks.'

‘I was drowning.' She shuddered as Peg pulled the shawl round her. ‘And I saw that dead man again. He was lying beside me on the riverbed.'

‘It was only a dream, a nightmare. Gawd love you, gel, no wonder, after all you've been through.'

Eve looked round the dark room. There was no light creeping through the window. ‘Is it morning?'

‘No.' Peg sat on the end of the squeaky bed. A glowing red end denoted a cigarette. Soon after the smell of tobacco filled the room.

‘Did I wake you?' Eve asked in concern.

‘No, I wasn't asleep.'

‘Did you hear Joan and Harold?'

‘Yes, they were going hammer and tongs.'

‘She said he would be angry.'

Peg inhaled throatily and coughed. ‘Do you reckon she was drunk?'

Eve sighed. ‘I hope not. She said she would only have a nightcap.'

‘Bet she wanted us gone. You bought it to keep her happy, didn't you?'

‘I thought it was the only way. Now I'm not so sure.'

‘Oh, stop worrying, girl. She ain't worth the effort.'

But Eve had decided that at whatever cost, she had to keep Joan happy. ‘Tomorrow we'll be back for six. We can do a lot at the cottage before then.'

She knew it was more important than ever that they keep a roof over their heads. From what she had seen at the cottage today, there would be no early return; the cottage was uninhabitable. As much as she disliked the Slygos, where would they be without them?

‘I must go back to work,' Eve said anxiously. ‘I don't want to live off their charity.'

‘Couldn't give a fig meself,' said Peg and the red tip extinguished. ‘Anyway, I think I'll get me head down now all the shouting's over.'

‘I wish we had a clock.'

‘I'll bring mine back from the cottage tomorrow.'

Eve lay back and listened to Peg climbing on the springy bed. ‘Your copper coming again, is he?' Peg asked as she made herself comfortable.

‘If you mean P.C. Merritt, no, he's back on duty tomorrow. But he's left the wheelbarrow for us to use. His dad says there's no hurry to return it.'

‘He didn't tell no one he was a copper, then.'

‘No. And I told the boys not to say.'

‘Good. If I was you I'd tell him to keep his profession under his helmet, or else we won't have no friends
or neighbours to help us out. They'll think we've gone ruddy barmy involving Mr Plod.'

Eve gazed into the darkness. She didn't know whether she was relieved or disappointed that Charlie had said goodbye when he brought them home and wished her good luck. Good luck sounded rather final, but surely she didn't expect anything else?

‘Thought he might have offered to help us,' yawned Peg.

‘No.'

‘Can't fathom him out. Didn't see him after Jimmy, or snooping around. All he did was work like a bloody beaver. Still, that could be a front. Them coppers are as crafty as a barge load of monkeys.'

Eve wanted to believe that Charlie's efforts to help were genuine, that there was no ulterior motive. But was she being naïve? Anyway, that was the last they could expect to see of him. It was probably all for the best.

Even so, she lay awake thinking of the young policeman. She must just have started to doze when she heard Harold's movements in the hall. She sat up quickly, immediately alert. It was the first alarm call of the day.

P.C. Charlie Merritt went on duty with a spring in his step. He had stowed his football kit in the changing room at the station and couldn't wait to knock the socks off the opposing team, West Ham Waterworks, at the game tonight. When he'd worked in the docks for
the PLA football had been a dream. He'd lived and breathed for the game and at twenty-four had high hopes of being signed on to a professional team. The docks were only a means to an end, a job that he'd gone in to for the money. Crane driving paid well and he liked sitting up high in the goose-necks with a bird's-eye view of London. But his aim was to play for Walthamstow Avenue, a team that by his reckoning was the best in the country. Maybe not first division, not yet, it was early days. But then some bright spark had kicked his cartilage into goal instead of the ball and he'd wound up in hospital with a season's lay-off. What a gut-wrencher that had been. The next year he was twenty-five and with his dodgy knee still giving him gyp, he lost out to Kenny Marchmant, who at three years his junior had signed for Walthamstow and was on the reserves.

‘All right, Charlie?' His chum, Robbie Lawrence, a new recruit to the Force last year and also a bit of a sportsman, nudged his arm as they left Stepney station.

‘Fit as a flea, Robbie.'

‘Nice day for a foot soldier.'

‘We're the king's men all right.' Charlie grinned. He didn't take their banter seriously, for they were green behind their ears and they knew it. But walking the streets in a uniform was a pleasure to him. He would smile and nod when he could, though he received little response in return. But he'd promised himself that if he stuck his training, he'd try to make a good copper.
It was a bit of an uphill struggle, mind, especially with Sergeant Moody in tow. Now past his prime, Moody had missed out on the promotions, and had taken root behind the station desk. It was only six months ago that the powers that be had decided he needed an airing. He had a real sour puss on him, not a shred of humour. He liked to give the rookies a verbalizing, a kick up the arse and a dressing down before they'd even set foot on the beat. If he'd had them sprinting round the yard with packs on their backs, none of them would have been surprised. It would have been acceptable if there was an up-side, a twinkle in his eye when the punishment was over. But the man was made of stone.

‘What time will you get to the ground?' Robbie asked, breaking into Charlie's distracted thoughts.

‘About half six, kick off is seven. I can't make it earlier as it'll take me twenty minutes after work to get there.' As Robbie was goalie and Charlie right wing, they liked to get in a warm-up.

‘I'm on duty till three. So I'll be there early.'

‘Lucky sod.'

‘Yeah, but I've got Moody with me all day tomorrow. Takes the shine off a bit.'

Charlie grinned. ‘Not so lucky, eh?'

Rob removed his helmet and stroked his corn-coloured hair, snapping the strap back under his chin. His dark eyes sparkled handsomely and at six foot, the same height as Charlie, they made a striking pair.

‘Eyes left,' whispered Robbie from the corner of his mouth, ‘now that's what I call tasty.'

Charlie glanced in the direction of the two young girls walking arm in arm towards the Isle of Dogs. They wore white turbans on their heads, overalls under their coats and clogs on their feet. Both were laughing and glancing in their direction, which was about as much female attention as they would draw today. The girls were young, fifteen or sixteen, too young to have developed a dislike of the law. Charlie smiled, but was nudged hard by Robbie, who said under his breath, ‘I didn't mean give them your name and address, mate.'