Rough Justice (15 page)

George jumped in before Lily made it any worse. ‘Her. It’s her we want to talk about, Dad. Bloody butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth Nell. Like Lil said, we’ve had just about enough of it. Both of us have.’

‘That’s right,’ chipped in Lily, glaring at her brother – they’d agreed that
she
would do the talking. ‘We think she should be pulling her weight more. I mean, both of those kids of hers are going to be back at school in a few weeks, so what’s she going to do with herself all day? She could easily do a few turns down the market. It wouldn’t kill the idle bitch.’

‘Lil’s right. It’s not fair, us having to do everything. We’re working every hour there is. And
what does she do? Nothing I can think of, the lazy cow.’

Stephen stepped closer to the twins, ignoring Lily but poking his finger in George’s face. ‘If this is a way of you two having a pop at me for not controlling her right, you do know I won’t be very happy, don’t you?’

George had to think fast – something he didn’t excel at – because this wasn’t going well. ‘Course it’s not, Dad. We know how busy you are with . . .’ He paused for a moment. Bloody hell, he might have been better off approaching this when he was sober, or leaving it to Lil after all. ‘Er . . . Other things.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Now if you don’t mind, like you say, I’m busy. You want her to do something? Then you sort it out yourselves. You ain’t bloody kids any more, you’re adults – or you’re meant to be – so start acting like it.’

‘But Dad—’

Stephen shook his head. ‘Leave it, George, and stop fucking moaning. Before I lose my temper.’

He went through the door and closed it behind him, leaving Lily and George standing there. They heard him trotting up the stairs to catch up with Bernie Woods.

All the while, Sylvia had been watching and listening. What on earth did they expect of that poor girl? They might as well tie a brush to her arse so she didn’t waste any time not working when she was walking about the place. Sylvia wasn’t having this. She wasn’t going to see this
lot taking liberties with her friend any more. No, she wasn’t. She’d stood back for far too long. She was going to sort this out once and for all, and if she had anything to do with it Stephen Flanagan was going to get what was coming to him. It was about bloody time, and Sylvia was going to love every single minute of it.

‘No, Joe, I am not having you doing the washing. You do enough as it is – cooking for us all three nights a week, clearing up, changing the beds – no, and I mean no.’ Mary poured herself another cup of tea. ‘Anyway, I’ve got plenty of time to do it myself.’

‘What you really mean is that you don’t want me showing you up, because you don’t fancy all the old birds in the Buildings seeing me down there in the laundry.’

Mary put her cup down so hard that the tea splashed over the side into the saucer. ‘Joe, please love; don’t start all this again. You know Sarah doesn’t mind me going in a bit late of a Monday. The shop’s nearly empty then, cos everyone’s always busy of a Monday morning.’

‘Yeah, everyone except me.’

‘Don’t Joe, don’t do this to yourself. I know how it’s getting to you, but don’t get bitter, love.’

‘Why shouldn’t I be bitter? It’s not fair. It’s not bloody fair. No matter how hard I try I can’t find anything or anyone even interested in taking me on. I’m not fussy, I’ll do anything. What’s going on in this world when a man can’t earn the money to put food on his own table? Tell me that if you
can. If you read the papers, they’re saying how people are buying cars, even their own houses, spending like there’s no tomorrow. But not the likes of me, aw no, not Joe Lovell. That’ll be the future for the likes of Martin with his fancy new office job, him with his trilby hat instead of a cap. Me, I’m only fit for the rubbish heap. Do you know Mary, I really do not know what to think about this world any more. I’ve just about had a bellyful of it.’

Mary frowned as she noticed the light catch the grey in the stubble on his chin. ‘You haven’t shaved yet, love.’

‘What’s the point of wasting shaving soap? I’m not going anywhere important, am I?’ Joe buried his face in his hands. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Morning, Mum, Dad.’ Martin sat down at the kitchen table. He’d heard what his father had been saying and had waited outside in the hall, rather than go into the kitchen and risk making matters worse. He hated seeing his father suffering like this. He was a decent bloke who deserved better, as did the thousands of others like him who were being treated as if they were worthless, useless, fit for nothing. ‘That last bit of toast going spare?’

‘Yeah, there you are, love.’ Mary pushed the plate towards him and handed him a little jug full of strawberry jam – at least they’d never go short of something to spread on their bread while Sarah owned the corner shop.

‘Sure you don’t want it, Dad?’

‘No, you have it. Keep the food for those who have work to do. Don’t waste it on work-shy bastards like me.’

‘Joe!’

He ignored his wife and stood up, shoving his chair away. ‘I’ve had enough of all this. I’m off out, and don’t expect me back in for tea either.’

‘Where you off to then, love?’ she asked softly.

‘If you must know, I’m going for a walk to help me waste the day, pop in the library to read the papers, and then tonight I’ve decided I’m going to a meeting over in Stepney.’

Martin tried a tight-lipped smile, hoping, silently praying that he had misunderstood. ‘What, that Unemployed Union thing, Dad? I’ll go along with you tonight if you like. More and more people are getting involved with them; they make a lot of sense getting like-minded people together. They could do a lot of good if they get the support.’

‘No, I’m not going to that one, I’m going to another one.’

‘Please tell me you’re not going to listen to that Blackshirt nonsense again? Wasn’t the once enough for you? I know it was enough for me. In fact they disgusted me.’

‘Well you’re not me, are you?’ Joe kicked his chair back under the table and walked towards the kitchen door. ‘So why should you care about what they’ve got to say? You’re one of the bloody lucky ones. The ones with jobs and a bit of self-respect.’

He might not have waited to hear his son’s answer, but Martin and Mary both heard him cursing loudly as he slammed the front door behind him.

Mary shook her head, crushed by the weight of what the world was doing to her husband. ‘Martin, he hasn’t even shaved.’

She turned away as tears began to spill down her cheeks. ‘He’s not a bad man, you mustn’t get annoyed with him.’

Martin dropped the toast back on the plate. ‘I know, Mum. I know.’

With her sleeves rolled up above her elbows, and her hair tied back in a scarf, Nell dragged the steaming sheets out of one of the big boilers with a wooden copper stick and sloshed them into a two-handled enamel basin. The damp heat billowed off them into her face, adding to the already dripping atmosphere of the basement laundry. She heaved the basin up off the floor and carried it over to the bank of deep butler sinks that ran along one wall. Tipping the soapy washing into the sink, she turned on the cold tap and kneaded and pounded the linen, rinsing off the suds.

‘Least the weather held, eh Mary?’ she said, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘We’ll have all this pegged out and dry in no time. I love it when we don’t have to use the inside racks. In the home we never had anywhere like the courtyard.’

‘I don’t know how you stay so cheerful,’ Mary answered, as she arranged the sleeve of one of Martin’s shirts on the scrubbing board that she’d propped up in the sink next to the one Nell was using. Mary, despite the heat, was determined to have a good go at the cuffs; she took pride in
bringing her whites up until they gleamed as if they were brand new. ‘It’s like a flipping furnace down here.’

‘Could be worse,’ said Nell, always happy to be occupied doing a good day’s work; being busy meant not having to dwell on other things. ‘Stephen and the twins could be at home getting under my feet. I love that feeling when they’re all out and I can just get on with my jobs with no one in my way.’

‘That’s a nice way to talk, I don’t think.’

It was Ada Tanner, standing behind Nell with Myrtle, a new tenant from the block opposite. Ada had recently befriended her after finding her as willing as she was to gossip, rumour-monger and be generally unpleasant about the neighbours.

‘
Get on with my jobs with no one in the way
,’ Ada mimicked. ‘Anyone would think she was some sort of lady or something, the way she carries on. But do you know what? She’s from out of a kids’ home. Truth. I’m telling you. And now she lives over the brush with that Stephen Flanagan; I wouldn’t mind, but she’s years younger even than his children. Twins they are. And the pair of them work all hours in the market, while both her young ones are out playing all day when it’s not schooltime, and her old man goes out at about half nine of a morning – Gawd alone knows where to or what he gets up to, though I’ve heard plenty of stories, I can tell you.’

Despite her claims, Ada didn’t choose to
pursue that particular line. Even she was sensible enough not to cross Stephen Flanagan.

‘So what does she do all day?’ she went on, lifting her chin at Nell. ‘I’ll tell you, she sits around on her arse, drinking tea and stuffing herself. All right for some, eh? They don’t know they’re flaming born.’

‘You don’t say, Ada,’ said Myrtle, sounding suitably appalled and acting as if it was all news to her, even though she and Ada had already discussed the life history of just about everyone in the Buildings. Their conversation was solely for the purpose of being heard by Nell and anyone else within earshot. Being a Monday morning the place was full, and surreptitious glances were cast towards the potential source of a scrap – always a popular entertainment in Turnbury Buildings. And as Nell was well known for keeping herself to herself – and so a bit of a snob, some claimed – she didn’t have too many advocates jumping to her defence.

‘I’m telling you, it’s a fact; and another thing, you hardly ever see her without a black eye or a fat lip. The Lord alone knows what she gets up to, to drive a man to doing that to her. A right aggravating witch she must be.’

‘That’s it.’ Mary Lovell threw her scrubbing brush into the sink of soapy water and started towards her neighbour. ‘Why don’t you just keep that mouth of yours shut for once, Ada Tanner?’ She jabbed a wet finger at Myrtle. ‘And as for her,
she’s just as bad. And you, you old cow, you encourage her.’

Nell grabbed her friend by the back of her crossover apron. ‘Don’t, Mary. Please. She doesn’t bother me.’

‘Well, I’m telling you, she bothers me.’

Ada folded her arms and looked Mary up and down. ‘And I’m telling you, I know what’s up with you and all.’ She turned to Myrtle. ‘They’ve had murders, her and her old man. That Joe went smashing out of their flat first thing this morning. Like a lunatic he was. Bloody commotion, he was making. And the language he was using. You should have heard him. Like a dog with a banger tied to its tail. Mind you, Myrt, who can blame him? He must be fed up to here with her treating him like he’s a flaming woman. A man doing housework, if you don’t mind. I ask you. No wonder I’ve got bad nerves having to live next door to the likes of them with all their hollering and hooting.’

Now all eyes were on Mary as she pulled herself free from Nell and cannoned across the duckboarded floor towards Ada.

Ada might have been a hefty type of a woman, but she had a very strong sense of self-preservation. She dodged out of Mary’s grasp and shifted herself out of the laundry before Mary could reach her – although the fact that Nell had once more latched onto Mary’s apron had slowed down her pursuer considerably.

‘Why don’t you let me finish your washing off
for you, Mary? Then you can go get yourself into work. I can sort out Ada if she comes back down here.’

‘Thanks, Nell, that’s very kind of you, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of thinking she can drive me out of here.’

‘Well, at least let me bring your washing in for you once it’s dry. So you don’t have to rush home. Maybe you could stay and have a cup of tea with Sarah after you finish work. You always say how she appreciates having company and a little chat before she goes upstairs for the evening.’

What Nell didn’t say was that Mary should take a bit of time to calm down – what she had in her marriage to Joe was something to be envied, and she shouldn’t let it be spoiled by the likes of Ada Tanner stirring up more bad feelings between the two of them.

‘Thanks Nell, but I’m fine.’

But even after Mary had finished her weekly wash, had then pegged it all out, had gone back down to the laundry and cleaned up the area around the draining board and the sink she’d been using, and had then walked to the shop, she still hadn’t had enough time to calm down. All she could hear were Joe’s words going round and round in her head:
it’s not fair; it’s not bloody fair
.

And it wasn’t, it really bloody wasn’t fair at all.

But, no matter how much she loved him and sympathised with him, Mary still couldn’t help secretly agreeing with her son, and feeling ashamed of the fact that her husband was
listening to those bullies and thugs who were blaming the troubles of the world on other decent, innocent people who were suffering just as much as he was.

Sarah Meckel weighed out two ounces of tea – not even a quarter. Everyone seemed to be buying smaller and smaller portions these days, and sometimes it hardly seemed worth serving them. But Sarah was too kind to even dream of turning anyone away, plus there was the little matter of her needing all the custom she could get. She had to pay her suppliers and she couldn’t face cutting Mary’s hours, even with the reduced takings. Still, she and David were a lot better off than most round there. At least they made ends meet. The newspapers might have kept going on about how hard things were up in the north-east, and Sarah wouldn’t deny that those poor folk were suffering, but she reckoned that the newspaper people should think about having a look at the East End – that’d give them something to write about. There were so many families who were struggling, and it was no good telling the rent man he’d have to wait for his money because you had to feed the kids, or you’d be out on your ear.