Eve of the Isle (6 page)

Joan stood stiffly, staring at her husband. Eve knew she was annoyed with him and that they weren't welcome, but Joan was not prepared for a public showdown. Eve hoped Peg wouldn't try to start a row, as she wrinkled her nose visibly at the surroundings.

‘Not good enough for your ladyship?' demanded Joan unable to disguise her displeasure at their arrival.

Eve was relieved when Peg merely shrugged. ‘It's all right,' she murmured. ‘Where you gonna put us?'

‘Out on the balcony if I have my way. There's no
room in this place. You must be mad, Harold, agreeing to that woman.'

‘They can have the spare room, dear. It's only one night.'

‘It's full up with our valuables!' Joan glared at her husband. ‘There ain't room to swing a cat.'

‘Perhaps we can put some of it to one side.'

‘Not so much of the “we”, Harold. You offered, you do it.' Joan went to one of the fireside chairs, sat down with a huff and picked up the Sunday newspaper.

‘Yes, Joan, go on, ignore us and have a good butcher's at the paper,' said Peg provokingly, ‘and whilst you're about it, have a nice cup of tea and rest your weary legs. 'Spect you've been cooped up in church today praying hard for the sinners like us.'

Eve gripped Peg's arm warningly. The tension in the room was palpable as the two sisters glared at one another.

‘You'd better follow me.' Harold hurriedly pushed them all into the dark hall again. ‘It's er, the next door on the right. He bustled ahead of them, clearly agitated and Eve felt a moment's pity for him. At least he had offered them shelter. ‘In you come.'

They all squeezed in to a freezing cold room half the size of the previous one and twice as cluttered. The light from the small square window was obscured by a wall of furniture. Amongst other things, Eve could discern two large armchairs, a bureau, a large brown oak cupboard and a single brass bedstead turned on its side.

‘These things were my mother's,' said Harold, pushing back the door as far as it would go. ‘She lived with us until she died three months ago. Joan is selling the furniture. It was never to her taste.'

‘Nothing wrong with this,' said Peg examining the polished cupboard. ‘It's maple, ain't it? If you ask me your old girl had an eye for good quality.'

‘Oh, well, er, thank you. Mother had her likes, but they weren't Joan's.'

‘So me sister decided to cash in on—'

‘It's good of you to put us up,' Eve interrupted, casting a warning look at Peg. ‘We shan't be no trouble.'

Harold tore his gaze away from Peg who was now inspecting the contents of the bureau. His plump face, moustache and slicked down fingers of thin hair across his bald pate added to the stiff Sunday collar under his chin gave him an upright air. He turned to Eve. ‘I don't know about blankets and so forth, I will have to ask Joan if she has any to spare. It is rather cold in here.'

Eve feared a request such as this would only make the situation worse. ‘Oh, I shouldn't trouble her again.'

‘Perhaps you're right,' Harold said quickly. ‘If you look in the wardrobe you'll find Mother's clothes. I think her bed linen must be in there too. There's no mattress for the bed though. We had to dispose of it after her death.'

Samuel tugged Eve's arm and whispered, ‘What about the lav, Mum?'

Harold overheard. ‘The toilet at the end of the balcony
is used by the residents of this floor, six flats in all. I would suggest you er . . . pay a call before retiring.'

‘Do we have to walk out there in the dark?' Albert glanced into the hall.

‘Yes, but I'll come with you,' Eve assured him.

‘My wife sleeps lightly,' Harold said hurriedly.

‘Don't worry,' Eve nodded, ‘you won't hear a murmur from us.'

He gave Eve a long, interested look. She felt uncomfortable under his stare and wondered why he had done them this favour. She guessed the moment he returned to his wife there would be hell to pay.

‘'Ere, Harold, you got something for these kids to eat?' Peg asked as she shuffled across the floor. ‘Don't mind about us, but these boys only had a bit of porridge and bread this morning at the Sally Army.'

Harold visibly jumped as he stared into Peg's close, beady eyes. ‘Uh, oh, yes, yes of course. I'll see what I can find.'

‘We won't come snooping after you,' Peg added, giving him a gentle push to the door. ‘Don't want to upset the apple cart do we?'

‘No – no, quite,' agreed Harold. ‘Stay here and er . . . make yourselves at home.'

The door closed and Peg stared at it. She turned slowly to Eve, raised her eyebrows and smiled. ‘Reckon he's gonna get a strip torn off him by old Joan.'

‘Do we call him “Uncle”?' said Samuel looking from Peg to Eve. ‘We ain't got one of them.'

‘Yeah, why not?' said Peg a little maliciously.

‘Do they have any kids?' asked Eve curiously.

‘They only had one, a girl gone to Australia.'

‘It's good of them to put us up,' said Eve, genuinely grateful.

‘Yeah, ain't it?' Peg made her way to the end of the bed. ‘Come on boys, give me a hand. Let's dig out this bed and some of them clothes from the wardrobe. Make ourselves comfortable.'

When the bed was lowered to the floor, the boys bounced on the squeaky round springs. ‘Did someone die on this bed?' asked Albert.

‘Yeah,' nodded Samuel, ‘she was Uncle Harold's mother, so she might be a ghost.'

Peg laughed. ‘No chance of that, Samuel. The poor old girl wouldn't haunt here. Bet she was glad to be shot of this place.'

‘At least Mrs Slygo was looked after,' commented Eve, as she opened the wardrobe door.

‘You can bet me sister would have done it only if she was on a promise from the old girl.' Peg pulled out a long brown fox fur from a small round box. ‘Blimey, does this bite?' Dangling it in front of Albert she gave a raucous laugh as he squealed. They were all too busy laughing to notice the door opening. Joan Slygo stood there, with a face as black as thunder.

That night, Eve lay awake listening to the strange sounds of the tenement building. The pitter-patter of tiny feet
was incessant. She guessed it was the pigeons who took shelter in the roof above the top floor rooms. And perhaps other kinds of furry animals that came out to scavenge at night. Before twelve there had been the usual drunken cussing and cursing from outside the window. Men returning from the pubs and attempting to find their way up the echoing stairs. At least she was warm, if not comfortable. The two boys and Peg had crammed into the bed, the springs well padded by the entire collection of Mrs Slygo senior's voluminous coats. The fox fur acted as pillow for the twins, whilst Peg's small body curled at the other end, her head buried in one of two feather pillows that reeked of Sloan's liniment. The strong substance used as a muscular rub was no stranger to Peg who inhaled it with relish and fell asleep instantly.

Eve had tried to make herself comfortable in one of the ancient armchairs. An army of moths escaped from the worn fabric but Eve wouldn't have minded if it was a nest of snakes. She was too tired to care and wrapping her tartan shawl about her, she used an embroidered antimacassar to cover her legs. The cold seemed to penetrate her frozen limbs, despite this.

She wondered what Harold's mother had been like. And how had Joan coped with an invalid? She didn't seem the nursing type. And what was the bone of contention between Peg and Joan? Peg never talked of her sister. What had happened to make them such enemies?

Just then a small figure crawled into Eve's lap. ‘I had a bad dream,' complained Albert sleepily. ‘Old Father Thames was chasing me.'

Eve hugged him tight. ‘It was just a dream, love. You're safe here with me.'

‘Why don't Aunty Joan want us?'

Eve reflected on the moment when Joan had entered the bedroom and found them playing with the old fur. Peg had laughed at her sister's infuriated expression. Joan had demanded they keep the noise down and banged the door behind her. Peg had made a face and set the boys off again. Once more, Eve had felt a pang of sympathy for Joan. Her home was not her own any longer. They were strangers to her. And now they were here, Peg seemed determined to settle old scores.

Eve stroked Albert's curly head and kissed his brow. ‘Aunty Joan doesn't really know us.'

‘Will she like us better when she does?'

Eve hoped they wouldn't be here long enough to find out. ‘Who couldn't love two adorable little scamps like you?'

Albert snuggled closer. ‘Uncle Harold ain't bad,' he murmured, yawning loudly. ‘He gave us a nice bit of bread pudding.'

The carefully quartered cubes of bread pudding had vanished along with the tea. But Eve had hoped for a hot meal for the twins, if not herself and Peg. She guessed that Harold hadn't the courage to give them more.

What would happen in the morning? It was Monday, and Harold would probably be going to work. Would Joan chuck them out on the street as soon as he left?

Eve woke with a start. There was no familiar chintz curtain beside her and she was curled in an armchair. Where was she? Rivulets of moisture ran down the unfamiliar window, pooling on the sill. Then she remembered. Pushing herself from the chair she glanced at the bed where three small bodies were top and tailed. Eve recalled stumbling there in the middle of the night, lowering Albert from her arms into the warmth of the coats. She had tucked him in and he hadn't woken. Now they all slept soundly.

Eve pulled her shawl around her and replaced the antimacassar in the wardrobe. She listened for sounds and heard a faint shuffling. Opening the door quietly she peered into the dark passage. A door opened and Harold emerged. He saw her and turned to close the bedroom door quietly behind him. Treading lightly towards her, he whispered, ‘This way to the kitchen.'

Eve followed. The kitchen was small, without table or chairs. To the right was a larder, a wooden drainer and sink. The stove stood beside a workmanlike mangle under the window. The dirty glass let in the dawn's light, showing railings beyond that skirted all the outside balconies. There was washing already out on some of the lines strung in succession from door to door. Against
the whiteness, the smoky black brick of the tenement looked grimy and depressing.

‘Joan sleeps late,' Harold warned her with a nervous smile. ‘I'm off to work.'

‘Where's that?' enquired Eve.

‘The Commercial Road,' replied Harold, pulling himself up another inch. ‘Gentlemen's good quality attire, you know, a professional establishment of widespread repute.'

‘Oh,' Eve nodded. ‘Very nice.'

‘By the way, I heard on the radio this morning that much of the city has been flooded. Over your way most of the streets have been affected.'

‘But we must go home.' Eve shivered as they stood in the cold kitchen.

‘I know, my dear.' Harold moved closer. Eve could smell the grease he used on his thin, flattened hair and bristly moustache. ‘My sympathies are with you. But I fear you may have to wait.'

‘Joan won't like that,' said Eve worriedly.

Harold smiled thoughtfully, showing browned, uneven teeth under the abundance of facial hair. ‘I could put a good word in for you.'

Eve pulled her shawl tighter around her. She didn't like the look in Harold's puffy eyes.

‘I'll speak to her tonight.' Harold lay his damp, plump hand on her arm as he put his face close. ‘I have no objection to you being here . . . none at all, in fact it's . . . refreshing to have such pleasant company . . .' His thin
eyebrows rose above a sickly smile and Eve wanted to recoil as he breathed over her. He gripped her tighter. ‘I'm sure if you tried, you could win my wife over. A cup of tea in bed and a little breakfast? A few kind words?' His hand ran up and down her arm. His eyes shone as he pushed against her.

Eve turned her face, the hairs on her neck standing up. She wanted to run out of the kitchen, but he was holding on to her. His other hand rose. ‘You have such pretty hair . . .'

Before Eve could react, a little voice made them both jump. ‘Mum, I want a wee.'

Eve said a prayer of thanks as she moved quickly to Albert, pulling him into her arms. ‘Let's go and wake Samuel, then all go together.'

Harold reached for his coat and said briefly, ‘Good day to you.'

They watched him bustle along the passage and out the front door. She dreaded to think what would have happened if Albert hadn't appeared. She couldn't have cried out. Joan might have heard. The atmosphere was bad enough between the two sisters without making it worse.

Eve woke Samuel, leaving Peg to sleep. In the grey light of dawn she could see the lavatory was filthy. The roaches were busy scuttling around the walls and the smell of urine was overpowering. At least at home, Eve thought, they had a decent toilet. But in Bambury
Buildings, no one troubled to clean up or leave squares of newspaper on the string.

‘I don't like it here,' said Albert as they returned along the balcony.

‘When can we go home?' asked Samuel.

‘Soon,' said Eve, and knowing what she did about Harold now, she couldn't wait for the time to come.

When they returned to the passage, Eve stood in silence with the boys. They looked up at her.

‘Aunty Joan ain't awake yet.'

‘Uncle Harold said we should make her a nice cup of tea.' She would take Harold's advice about making herself useful.

‘Is there anything to eat?' asked Albert.

Eve squeezed his hand in hers and nodded. ‘We'll have a look.'

But the truth was, Eve was reluctant to wake Joan as she was certain to be told to clear off.

Eve slowly pushed open the door of the room Harold had come out of. She had left the two boys in the kitchen with Peg, drinking weak tea and eating bread and dripping. She couldn't let them go hungry and had helped herself to the bread and dripping in the larder which had been surprisingly well stocked. There had been a shin bone with beef on it, probably left from yesterday's dinner, a wedge of cheese under a gauze cover, several eggs, a large loaf and a china pot
of dripping. There was a shelf overflowing with vegetables and the rest of the bread pudding in an enamel baking tin. But she had not touched any of this; she hoped Joan would understand how hungry the boys were.