Two Women (24 page)

After only a month, Susan had grown to rely on Doreen. Her wit, her outlook on life and her crazy lifestyle made Susan envious of her at times.

But all in all she was happy enough with her marriage. After the disaster of the actual day they had settled into their new home and made it like a little paradise for the two of them. Kate Dalston was thrilled to bits with Susan’s aptitude for housework and cooking that matched even her own high standards. Consequently she came round every day and they were getting quite close. Susan loved having a real mother figure in her life, and if sometimes Barry did not come home, she didn’t berate him. She just cooked him some food and asked him how everything was going when he finally did arrive, and acted as if everything was normal.

Barry, realising that she was a diamond, gave her peace and quiet and affection. So long as Doreen was not in the house everything was fine.

Doreen for her part made sure she disappeared as soon as his key was heard in the door.

This morning the sun was out, the heat was growing and the council had arranged for standpipes in the road because of the water shortage. In the East End this was common in summer and Susan was grateful to Doreen’s two elder boys as they saved her the job of filling buckets then carrying them all the way home. She was making them both a cup of tea when her cousin Frances arrived without warning and with an expression on her face that told both women something bad had happened.

‘Where’s Barry?’ Frances asked tersely.

Susan shrugged. Sweat was trickling down her neck and back, making her itchy and uncomfortable.

‘How do I know, Fran? He could be anywhere.’

Frances looked lovely and Susan poured her a cup of tea while admiring her dress and shoes.

‘You look as fresh as a peach, don’t she, Doreen? You always had the figure, girl. Make the most of it, I say.’

Frances looked ashamed. Without a word she walked out into the tiny garden. She looked in a state, as Doreen put it to herself, and she had an idea it was over Barry Dalston.

‘What do you want to see him for, Fran? Only he normally comes in about sixish, if you want to come back then?’

Frances was still feigning interest in the garden.

‘Does he still drink in the Londoner?’

Susan shrugged. ‘I don’t know, he’s all over the place these days with me father. Can I give him a message?’

Doreen picked up the anxiety in Susan’s voice and leaning on the wall by the back door called out, ‘What do you want to see him for anyway?’

Her tone of voice brought Frances back into the kitchen. Susan had just sat herself down on a chair and was pulling at the neck of her dress to fan her skin and try and cool off. Her belly was huge. Looking at her cousin, Frances felt the first stirrings of regret for what she had done and what she had to say.

‘You been up the hospital lately? What did they have to say?’

Susan laughed. ‘Not a lot. I have to wait now - the last few weeks are always the hardest or so everyone tells me. Trust me to be in the fucking club through the hottest part of summer, eh? Just my luck.’

She patted her belly happily and sighed.

Frances smiled sadly.

‘It must be hard, mate. Still, at least you ain’t bothered by Barry, are you? I mean, him wanting his leg over and that. You give it up at six months, don’t you?’

Doreen and Susan both roared.

‘You’re joking, ain’t you? He’s still at me like anything. I could do with the rest to be honest.’

Frances looked dismayed and this made the other two women laugh even more.

‘Listen, Fran, you feel randier when you’re pregnant for some unknown reason and Barry says it’s good for the baby too. He read it in the paper.’

‘I bet he did! I didn’t even realise he could read, to be honest.’

Doreen and Susan laughed at that, assuming it was a joke.

Frances took Susan’s hands in hers and sighed heavily.

‘Listen, Susan. I need to talk to you, mate. What with the baby and everything . . .’ She turned to Doreen. ‘Would you mind leaving us alone, please?’

Susan pulled her hands from her cousin’s and shook her head. ‘Whatever you’re going to say, you can say it in front of Doreen, I’ll probably tell her anyway.’

She didn’t want to hear this, somehow she knew it was going to cause trouble.

‘Listen, Susan.’ Frances knelt down in front of her and gripped her hands, an action that for some reason really irritated Susan.

‘I don’t know how to tell you this, but I have to . . .’

‘You slept with Barry on my wedding day? I already know about it.’

Susan’s voice was low, heavy with menace, and Doreen sighed in annoyance. She knew her friend was feeling under the weather and that something like this was not conducive to a peaceful lying in. As she saw the hurt in Susan’s eyes she felt an urge to punch Frances in the face.

The girl dropped her eyes and stood up unsteadily.

‘That’s not the worst of it, Susan.’

She was baffled for a moment. Suddenly she knew what her cousin was going to say and, heaving herself from the chair, felt her hands make contact with Frances’s hair. Susan was dragging her across the kitchen the next minute and attempting to throw her out of the back door.

‘You bitch! You’re in the club, ain’t you?’

She could feel her baby struggling as she strained with exertion and pushed the unwelcome guest from her home. Her home, the one she shared with Barry. Barry Dalston, the lying, cheating, two-faced bastard.

Doreen was pulling her away from Frances, using all her considerable strength to separate the two girls.

‘I’ll kill you, Frances, I take oath on that.’

Frances was crying now. She stood in the garden and cried like a baby, big fat tears that ran down her cheeks and made her make up run. Yet still she stood there, unable to leave until she had divulged all the news she had to tell the woman before her.

‘I ain’t pregnant, I wish I was. Anything would be better than this, Sue, anything.’

Susan heard the pleading note in her voice and relaxed, made her body calm down as she waited to hear something even worse than she’d imagined.

‘Well, what is it then? Is he leaving me, is that it, and ain’t got the guts to tell me himself?’

Her world was broken in two. She felt as if someone had taken a meat cleaver and sliced through her breastbone then straight to her heart. The pain could not be worse than this hatred inside her, this feeling of inadequacy, of being nothing once more.

Doreen held her as a mother might hold her child, in an embrace that was loving and caring. Being more streetwise, more worldly, she had already guessed the worst.

Frances looked into her cousin’s eyes. Shaking her head, she whispered, ‘He gave me a dose, Susan, a dose of the clap.’

At first she thought she had not heard Frances correctly, that she had somehow misunderstood the simple statement.

‘You what? He gave you a what?’

She realised she was screaming the words now. That the neighbours would hear if she wasn’t careful. She knew they all liked her, thought she was a respectable girl whatever they might think of her husband. Yes, she was a good girl, a clean girl, a decent person.

Now her cousin Frances was standing in her little garden, the garden she had carefully swept not two hours before, and telling her that she was diseased, that she had VD. That she was tainted, dirty, full of some dreadful illness.

‘You treacherous slut. How could you do this to me, Fran? How could you do this to your own?’

Frances was sobbing now.

‘I’m sorry, Sue. Honest to God if I could turn the clock back . . . I was drunk and you know what he’s like. He could talk the drawers off a French dresser. Please try and understand . . .’

Doreen laughed then, a booming sound that seemed to be amplified by the tiny kitchen.

‘You’re fucking unbelievable! You stand there and tell a heavily pregnant woman her husband has given you a round of applause - and you expect sympathy? Jesus, girl, what are you? Some kind of fucking nut?’

Frances was still crying.

Picking up her bag and throwing it out into the garden, Doreen shut the door on her, all the while shouting at her to go away in language that left no one in any doubt what would happen to her if she disobeyed.

She grabbed Susan by the arms and looked into her face.

‘Listen to me, Susan. Calm down, love. I’ll take you up the hospital meself, all right? No one will know about this, I swear. I can keep a secret, love, you know that. Now listen to me - everything is confidential at the VD clinic, no one will ever know, all right? But you have to see what they say because of the baby.’

Susan was nodding now, like a child, grateful that Doreen was taking over.

‘Will it be born blind? I know it can make people blind . . .’

Doreen pulled Susan towards her once more. Whispering gently, she tried to calm her again.

‘Listen, this only happened a month ago. There hasn’t been much time for it to affect the baby. Also, that little whore could have got it anywhere for all we know and Barry might not have it at all. That means you might not have it, so let’s only start worrying when we know the score, okay?’

Susan nodded, grateful for something to hold on to.

‘Yeah, you’re right, she’s probably trying to cause trouble.’

The hope in Susan’s voice made Doreen want to cry.

‘She always liked him. All the girls do, see? I feel sorry for him at times, it must be hard . . .’

Doreen nodded, wisely keeping her own counsel.

‘Come on, mate, let’s get you up Whitechapel Hospital and see what they have to say, eh?’

Susan was in shock and Doreen guessed as much. She helped her put on a cardigan and locked up the house for her. Then, warning her own children that if they started anything she would murder them in cold blood in their beds, she walked Susan to the bus stop.

All the time her mind was working over and over, trying to remember what happened when you caught VD while heavily pregnant. But it was something no one knew about unless it had happened to them personally.

 

Barry and Joey were the best of friends again, working together to collect debts and strong arming for whoever needed a ‘touch’, the term for paid-in-the-hand threats. Sometimes a debt might be owed by a friend who, taking advantage of that friendship, might then tell the lender they could wait a while, etc, etc. The lender then became upset, seeing their money thrown down the drain, and would employ the likes of Joey and Barry to make sure the debtor understood the correct procedure for returning monies borrowed in good faith.

Joey turning up also protected the lender, because he would collect a percentage and that percentage guaranteed that if the person owing got upset, the lender had the added protection of Joey sorting it all out once more.

All in all a very lucrative and interesting business, as Barry was finding out.

On this bright August afternoon they were collecting a debt for a woman from Barking. She had lent her estranged husband two thousand pounds which she had been left as a legacy. When she had given him the money to open his new café on the Barking Road, she had believed they were happily married and that the café was going to make them a fortune.

Two years later he was living with her friend and she was not only without a husband but also without the couple of grand she had been left. She needed the money because her errant husband was also being difficult about giving her money for their six children. Consequently, through Ivy, she was introduced to Joey and Barry who assured her there would be no comebacks from her husband as they would make sure he knew the score from the outset.

The husband, a large man of Greek origins, was well known in Barking for his size and his temper. He was just the type of face Joey loved humiliating. Plus they were doing the deserted family a service - six kids unfed and unclothed!

Joey and Barry’s hypocrisy knew no bounds.

As Stefano Skarpelis was cooking his all day English breakfasts he did not feel any fear as the two well-known breakers came into his café. It was two in the afternoon and a beautiful day. The café was hot and the door stood wide open. Two heavy electric fans were working overtime. The place was nearly full, as Joey had known it would be. The two men sauntered in and found a seat.

Stefano came to their table. He knew they would not want to queue up like everyone else and wanted to show the respect due to them.

‘What can I get you, gentlemen?’

His voice was jovial. He was pleased to see them. Everyone was watching, as they’d known would be the case.

‘Nice place here, Skarpelis, I like the décor.’

Stefano nearly burst. His pride and joy were the murals of Greek village life painted on the walls.

‘Thank you, Mr McNamara, it’s a pleasure to have you here in my café. The weather today is like my homeland - hot and exciting.’

He laughed and Joey and Barry laughed with him.

‘Where’d you get the money from to open this place?’

Barry’s voice held just the tiniest hint of menace and the big man was unsure how to answer.

‘I borrowed it, of course, like everyone does.’

‘Must have cost a couple of grand at least, eh?’

Stefano nodded, suddenly unsure where this conversation was going and aware that there was a hidden agenda he would rather not think about.

‘How’s that lovely wife of yours? A great favourite of me mum’s, she is,’ Joey cut in. ‘And them kids of yours? Imagine, six fucking kids all by the one bird. Don’t bear thinking about. My mum reckons you never fired a blank in your life, mate.’

Their conversation was being listened to by everyone now and Stefano’s new woman, a thirty-year-old blonde with heavy make up and an even heavier chest, stood watching warily from behind the counter.